Cindy A. Christiansen's Blog, page 19

Ain't No Mountain High Enough!

Ain't No Mountain High Enough - Frostie the Snow Goat Updatefrom Edgar's Mission Farm Sanctuary on Vimeo.

Maybe you've already seen Frostie the goat's inspirational story.
Stories like this amaze me, especially because I have a son, Sparky, who deals with Autism, Anxiety Disorder, Learning Disabilities and Depression, and through his life, he has generally had a defeatist attitude. He is always saying, "Okay. That's it.  I'm done."
I don’t know why that type of outlook is so hard for me to accept. I know we are all different.  I guess because living with multiple health problems and chronic pain since I was in my twenties has taught me how to be a fighter.  I grew up on a farm watching animals struggle to survive just like Frostie.  I watched plants fight to break through the hardened soil. My dad taught me early that you had to fight to survive, and I guess I expected Sparky to learn by my example.  Instead as I have posted before on my blog in A Life Without Osmosis:Which one is a dog? Sparky doesn’t learn like that, and he just won’t help himself.
At the age of eighteen when he was in the hospital with pneumonia, the doctors and nurses kept telling him to take deep breathes and cough to clear his lungs.  He wouldn’t do it.  He told them he would rather die.  And, he meant it. They finally had to bring in special NASA equipment that caused his lungs to drain.
He has had sleep studies and had it explained over and over again by doctors, friends, and even strangers the importance of wearing his CPAP machine.  He has been told he is losing brain cells and causing permanent damage, and he still won’t wear it.
And although he wants to be a diesel mechanic and told how important physical therapy was after his knee surgery, he wouldn’t do that either.  No amount of explaining, showing, or bribing by multiple people would cause him to follow through with his therapy.  He would lie about doing it.


I guess that’s why any image of a plant growing up in the center of rock or some harsh condition amazes me.  It’s why any animal or person who pushes through any kind of hardship or disability is a hero to me.  How can you teach that?  How can you give a sense of determination to your child?  How can you make them a fighter?
Cindy A. ChristiansenSweet Romance, Humor, Suspense...and Dogs! Fly into a good book at:  http://www.dragonflyromance.com
Copyright: alexeys / 123RF Stock PhotoCindy A. Christiansen
Sweet (clean) Romance Author

The Old Gray Mare… She Ain’t What She Used to Be

As the song goes, “She ain’t what she used to be.”  I’m not really talking about the old gray mare but about having a glamour photo taken.
Years ago, I had a session for a magazine cover.  Hours were spent with a team who pampered me, doing my makeup just perfect, styling my hair, adding fancy jewelry and sparkling gold lace.  But, it was the excitement of the staff, the careful attention to details, the pampering, and the sweet compliments they gave me that made me feel beautiful.  When I look at the photo today I still see my beauty shining through.  It’s something I will never forget…a special time just for me.

So recently I decided I needed to update my social media image and, in truth, wanted to experience a bit of pampering.  I booked my appointment but had to cancel due to illness.  About a month later the company was running a special, but they wouldn’t give me that price because they had already pre-charged my credit card.  I don’t know about you, but there’s something disappointing about paying double what everyone else is paying.  With a no refunds policy and the fact that I really wanted some pampering, I bull-headed forward.
I arrived with clean but un-styled hair, several blouse choices, and my mascara.  The makeup room had been left in a mess and the stylist/photographer started to complain.  She spent little time on my makeup and made me decide on color choices which I had hoped she would do.  When I looked close-up in the mirror, my lipstick was smudged and crooked and there were several black hairs from her makeup brush scattered on my face.  I tried to fix it while she was chatting on the phone.
The stylist thought my hair was done and appeared irritated that she had to do it.  I received none of the flattery I had on my previous glamour shoot.  Yeah, I’m older, more wrinkled with drooping skin, but I really longed to feel glamorous.  I’m smart enough to know I’m no young beauty, but I still would have enjoyed the fantasy…a moment of make believe.
There were no adornments, no fussing with pretty jewelry or sparkly lace wraps and certainly no staff rushing in to say how beautiful I looked.  It wasn’t surprising when the photographer said, “You don’t like to smile, do you?”
It’s no wonder my posture was hunched, I had no sparkle in my eyes, and my lips were slightly pinched.  Or, that I had a hard time picking out a photo I liked when my heart was heavy with disappointment.
Of course “she ain’t what she used to be” doesn’t just apply to portrait sessions these days.  I think not only businesses but we as individuals have lost a bit of the glamorous niceties we once shared with each other that helped us through our struggles and helped us connect with each other.  We’ve forgotten how to give compliments, accept them graciously, and make others feel special and important.
So from me to you I’d like to say…You are a wonderful, special being who has touched my life and filled it with joy. Your beautiful spirit shines through and touches all those around you. Thank you is so little to say for the kindness you’ve shown in supporting me and continuing to stay in touch.  May all your days be filled with happiness, peace and love.
The old gray mare might not be what she used to be, but it is up to each of us to spread happiness wherever we go.
Cindy A. ChristiansenSweet Romance, Humor, Suspense...and Dogs! Fly into a good book at:  http://www.dragonflyromance.com
Photo credit: http://oldgraymare.org/
Copyright glam woman and poodles: gnicolson / 123RF Stock Photo


Cindy A. Christiansen
Sweet (clean) Romance Author

Hot Dogs and Fireworks!

It’s that time of year again and it still amazes me with all the media attention about holiday fireworks that people don’t protect their dogs from the trauma.  Unlike the dog in the funny but scary video below, most pets are terrified of loud noises, flashes, and the burning smell of fireworks.  That’s why July 5th is the busiest day of the year for veterinarians and animal shelters.  Many dogs panic and flee, winding up lost, injured or dead.  So take some easy precautions.  I’ve listed a few below:     Keep your dog indoors at all times in a quiet, safe location.Insect repellant for people may be toxic for your pet so use a product specifically designed for them.   Avoid taking your dog to a fireworks display and never leave them alone in a vehicle while you attend.Although an alternative to fireworks, glow jewelry can also cause harm to your dog if ingested.Fireworks contain substances that are harmful if curious dogs ingest them.Be careful with lighter fluid and matches around your dog because they also contain harmful substances.Another danger is citronella products. 
I don’t know about you, but it just sounds safer to keep pets inside.  Your dogs will thank you and you can always spoil them after the fireworks are over.


And while we are talking about dog safety, here’s a few added tips for avoiding a hot dog:



Exercise your dog early in the morning or late at night to avoid heat and don’t work your dog too hard.Use doggie boots to protect your dog’s feet from heat and cold from cement and asphalt.Watch for signs of dehydration like panting, excessive drool, fatigue, and bloodshot eyes.Keep water with you at all times for your dog.Find innovative ways to cool your dog and remember they cool from the bottom up.Find a place in your yard that is okay for your dog to dig in order to stay cool.Never leave your dog in a parked car, chained in the heat, or even on a balcony for any length of time where they can be affected by the heat.
Have fun this summer, but keep your dogs safe, happy and loved!


Cindy A. Christiansen
Sweet Romance, Humor, Suspense...and Dogs! 
Fly into a good book at:  http://www.dragonflyromance.com

Photo image:  http://www.123rf.comCindy A. Christiansen
Sweet (clean) Romance Author

I Didn’t Expect This One

Ever find it hard to pick out a new book and/or author? Well, even as an author I struggle with this. Recently, I bought a book by a very famous author. You know. The one where his name is bigger than the title of the book.  I was totally excited to jump into the story. The cover had a photo of a dog on it, a photo of the author with his dog, and the storyline was about a woman rescuing dogs. Well, you know me. This had to be good.
It didn’t take very many chapters for me to find out this wasn’t my kind of book. I haven’t quite decided whether the characters were demented or the author for thinking about such horrible things. I also didn’t expect the sex scenes. I get that men think about sex…a lot. But, there are men out there that don’t bring sex down to the gutter level.
I have to admit, I won’t be finishing this one. Once again it has brought up the subject of rating systems for books. Here’s a little info from one of my previous posts:
 It used to be that you knew what you were getting when you purchased a book. Now days, there are so many genres, cross-genres, and heat levels that it’s hard to know.
Blurbs don’t always tell us what we need to know. My dog rescue book blurb said nothing about demented people killing people, including her own special needs child she had been torturing, or about characters who went along for the excitement of it and the sex.
After talking with a number of readers, they all want to know what they will be getting as far as heat level. Heat level is the term used to describe the sensuality level of the book.  Mind you, the author I mentioned wasn’t a romance writer but the book still could have used a heat level.
The problem is, there are no industry standards, publishers have their own rating system, and books are not labeled with those ratings. Readers are hesitant, even horrified, to select books because they are not sure what they are going to get.
Here are Turquoise Morning Press’s heat levels, which are very good general descriptions (mind you, these levels are posted for authors submitting and not necessarily for the readers to see):  1
Sweet . A sweet romance focuses on the romantic relationship between the couple. No intimate scenes or sexual situations are described in the book. The book closes the door on any love scene. We may know the main characters have sex but we don’t read about it. Sexual tension is important and can be at a high level.
Sensual.  A sensual romance elevates the sensuality level of the story with at least one consummated love scene. The love/sex scene is an integral part of the story, and could contribute to the conflict, but is not explicitly described. Emotion, conflict, and sexual tension run high; they drive the story, rather than the race to have sex.
Sizzle.  A sizzle romance can be sensual, playful, sexy, edgy and/or graphic. Sex scenes are more frequent and detailed in description. The number of sexual encounters/love scenes (two or more) that occur within the story, as well as the length and depth of description, define this level of heat. The emphasis, however, is on telling the romantic story, not how often or plentiful the sex.
Erotic Romance.  An erotic romance story pushes past the boundaries of traditional romance. Sexual situations not found in traditional sweet-sensual-sizzle romance can be found in erotic romance. The sex is hot and plentiful, the language is graphic and real, and the multiple love/sex scenes throughout are explicitly described. The plot must stay within the confines of a romantic story of two people, with the sex often the driver of the story. Happily-ever-after (HEA) ending is a must.
Erotica.  An erotica story goes beyond erotic romance to explore sexuality at a higher and diverse level. There may, or may not, be a romance or romantic elements – this is consensual sex, or sexual activity, for the sake of sex and sexual pleasure/gratification. Stories can still be sensual, sexy, intimate and satisfying, while moving beyond traditional intimacy and sexual boundaries. The stories are no holds barred on most sexual situations and may contain elements that are offensive to some. Ménage, multiple partners, BDSM, taboo fantasies are acceptable. The sex is plentiful, sporadic, intentional, chaotic, random, implied, controlled, denied, or maybe not even there at all. Illegal acts are never included in our erotica stories. HEA is not   required, nor expected.
Screech! But wait a minute. What about books touted as a clean romance? Sweet romance? Inspirational romance? Christian romance? What are the differences between them? Well, actually, all of these would fall into the first category of sweet above, but they are all just a little different:
Clean Romance can contain sex scenes between married couples only. It can also contain, what can be considered, offensive language.
Inspirational Romance contains a triad relationship between the hero, heroine and God. It does not contain offensive language.
Sweet Romance consists of the progressive, anticipation-building, emotional relationship between the hero and heroine as the story progresses and stops at the bedroom door. It may contain kissing or not. It does not contain offensive language.
Christian Romance is much the same as sweet romance but must contain an element of faith in Jesus Christ woven throughout the plot. (Don’t quote me, but I think Shadow Mountain Publishing is calling this Proper Romance.)
Great, but are heat levels noted on books? Most publishers state this information on their websites. But what about sites like Amazon, Barnes and Noble, etc.? Uh, no, not always. Usually only the blurb or jacket cover information is uploaded to these sites. So how do we know we will like what we get?
I don’t have the answer. Sorry! I guess we keep asking our friends, family, and internet buddies what books they like and hope we have the same taste.  After all, studies show most books are chosen by asking people or hearing other people talk about a book.  It’s a crapshoot!
Cindy A. ChristiansenSweet Romance, Humor, Suspense...and Dogs! Fly into a good book at:  http://www.dragonflyromance.com
1 Turquoise Morning Press: http://www.turquoisemorningpressbookstore.com/pages/romance-novel-heat-levelsDog and dice photo copyright: ewastudio / 123RF Stock PhotoCindy A. Christiansen
Sweet (clean) Romance Author

Love and a Different Perspective

Having two autistic children and a dog with a mental disability, this video really touched me.

We'll talk after you watch it.

The part about trying to "make" Ricochet something she wasn't really hit home.
It's sad that we try to make everyone fit into preconceived boxes.
I'm thankful for the special needs schooling my children received, but I really didn't see them trying to teach in ways my children needed to learn.  It was all pretty much the same old way with the statement that that's how it is.
I loved that this trainer saw Ricochet's strengths and potential and focused on what she could do!
How awesome is that?
It's difficult.  I know.It's hard to look at things differently from how you see them or how you learn.
I know that although I could never go through what my oldest son is going through right now, it's what he needs and how he needs to learn some of the things we have tried to teach him even though it wasn't in a way he understood.
My hat is off to all those who look beyond disabilities, animal or human, see possibilities and teach with compassion, understanding, and a different perspective.

Cindy A. Christiansen
Sweet Romance, Humor, Suspense...and Dogs!
Fly into a good book at:  http://www.dragonflyromance.com

Welcome Dog photo:  http://www.123rf.com


Cindy A. Christiansen
Sweet (clean) Romance Author

Peeved at Puppy Pushers

Smokey after eating strawberries right off the plant.
After my brother died, we took in his miniature Schnauzer, Smokey.  He was part of our family for longer than he had been my brother’s best friend.  So when Smokey passed, we decided to adopt another Schnauzer.  Although I usually adopt from animal shelters, I saw a sign for a puppy store and felt compelled to turn into the parking lot.

Now I’ve been to a lot of animal shelters and, yes, often they smell of dog doo-doo and strong cleaners.  But, when I opened this shop door, the heat and the stench just about floored me.  There was no hint of cleaners in this place, and the room was boiling despite it being winter.  I almost backed out the door.  I tried not to breathe as I continued inside, pressing a fist to my mouth.  The place was dark, suffocating and full of barking dogs.  Urine puddles dotted even the middle of the room.  Animal crates were stacked on top of each other around the outside of the room.
A very young, plump girl in shorts, flip flops and a tube top came out from the back, yaking on a cell phone.  She rushed over to a mop when she say me and started soaking up the urine.  I walked up and down the aisle, staring at all the sad, hot, panting puppies unable to lie down without squishing in their own messes.
Sprite at eight months after we got him.(He doesn't like the sound of the cameraand rarely can I get his photo.)
I pulled up the collar of my coat to cover my mouth and nose, cringing at the urine odor burning my throat.  I wanted to flee the stench and awful sight.  I turned and spotted him—a gray matted-haired ball.  It was hard to tell he was a Schnauzer under that muddle.  He was big compared to the two other dogs in his cage.  The young gal finally got off her phone, and I wanted to ask where the shop owner was or at least if her mommy was around.

“What can you tell me about this one,” I asked instead.
“I’ll have to look it up.”  She headed to a desk up front.  Coming back with an index card in her hand, she told me he was a seven-month-old miniature Schnauzer.
Could have fooled me.  “Can I hold him?” I asked.  
“We have a lot of younger puppies,” she said, opening the cage.
All three dogs tried to escape. Not a surprise.
She grabbed the Schnauzer and roughly shoved the other two dogs back inside.  I took the sad, timid dog in my arms, my eyes watering at how bad he reeked.  I noticed something on the left side of his face and tried to look at it under the matted hair, but he continually flinched away.
“What’s wrong with him,” I asked.
“Nothing that I know of except that we’ve had him for a while.”
I asked if I could take him to my vet and she shrugged.  I left only my name, address and phone number and immediately drove to my vet’s office.  The poor little dog stunk up my whole truck.  I felt embarrassed walking in with such a filthy, ungroomed dog, but my concern for him and the other dogs over road my discomfort.
After a thorough exam, we discovered that the dog was more like nine months to a year old.  He had a very large, ugly tumor on the side of his face that needed to be removed immediately and the reason he wouldn’t let anyone touch his face was because he had been abused…abused to the point of having minor brain damage.
Sprite
I adopted that dog that day with love, pain and concern in my heart and only disgust and anger for the business that pretended to have dogs’ best interests in mind.
I washed the poor little guy five times in a row and he still smelled.  I couldn’t seem to wash the stink of me either.
My husband is the dog name picker-outer in the family and weeks went by without a name.  I finally gave him a list of names off the internet and said, “I’m going to the store.  When I get back, I want a name.”  When I got home, the paper was on the fridge with the name Sprite circled.  My boys added the middle name of Sparkplug.
After two years, Sprite woke us up in the middle of the night, running while he was lying on his side and shaking violently.  Blood was coming from his mouth from biting his tongue.  Thinking his airway must be blocked, my husband pried Sprite’s mouth open only to have him lock down on two of my husband’s fingers.  It was Sprite’s first seizure and also our first experience with a dog having one.  Later the vet told us it was most likely due to the abuse.
Now after eight years, we have learned to deal with his seizures, multiple medications, and all his fears.  He’s gotten better over time but I think he will always be traumatized by confined spaces, other people, leashes, beeping sounds, squeaky toys, being held, and having his face touched.
I don’t know about you, but I’m disgusted by animal abuse.  It’s something that I will never understand—not physical abuse, cruelty, neglect, hording, or animal testing. I believe it is our responsibility to take care of the pet population by spaying and neutering, and I also believe in stiffer penalties for those who abuse animals and believe unnecessary testing on animals should be stopped.

“If a man aspires towards a righteous life, his first act of abstinence is from injury to animals."
-- Albert Einstein
P.S.  The puppy store was closed down within a month of my visit.

Cindy A. ChristiansenSweet Romance, Humor, Suspense...and Dogs! Fly into a good book at:  http://www.dragonflyromance.com

Cindy A. Christiansen
Sweet (clean) Romance Author

More British Animal Humor

When I include dogs in my books, I try to make them as realistic as possible.  Funny that I should find these ridiculous British animal clips so funny. Hope you enjoy them too.




Cindy A. ChristiansenSweet Romance, Humor, Suspense...and Dogs!
Fly into a good book at:  http://www.dragonflyromance.comCindy A. Christiansen
Sweet (clean) Romance Author

I Was Not Designed To Be Forced

“A beautiful day for a bicycle ride.  Don’t you think?” my cousin, Leslie, said.

Indeed the sky hadn’t a cloud in sight.  A refreshing spring breeze lightly touched the new budding foliage on the trees and kept the bugs at bay.

Leslie had come to spend a two-week vacation with us on our farm just after the school year ended.  The reason why was unknown to me and my sister, Debbie, but we had our suspicions that it had something to do with boys.  We were all headed into our teens and boys had become a subject of great interest.

Now we didn’t have extra bicycles lying around the farm.  Debbie had hers, I had mine and my older sister by nine years, Luzon, still had hers, despite hardly ever using it.  We hoped she would lend it to us.

“No,” Luzon said, “but one of you can ride with me.”

Why on earth Luzon would want to go on a bicycle ride with us kids was beyond me. Did Mom think we needed chaperoning or something?

As usual, she took over the outing and started dictating orders.  I, being the youngest, ended up with little to say in the business and found myself trying to balance on the handlebar of Luzon’s bike.  We headed down the dirt road that ran parallel to the Salt Lake canal with Debbie leading, Leslie following on my bike, and Luzon and I straggling behind.  Debbie carried a small picnic lunch in her basket on her bike for all of us.

I could immediately tell this balancing on a small bar with no place to stabilize my feet would prove highly difficult.  My left tennis shoe hit the spokes on the wheel.

“I don’t think this is going to work,” I said, acid already building in my stomach.

“Of course it will,” Luzon said.  “Keep your feet out of the spokes.”  She continued to pedal over the rocky, potholed road.

“That’s what I’m trying to say, Luzon.  I can’t do this.  Let me off.”  My shoe hit the spokes again to prove my point.

“Just do it.”

I was trying my hardest to stay balanced while we bounced over the rough road.  Luzon tried to steer clear of as many potholes as possible, which meant she kept turning the handlebar.  My feet didn’t exactly get the signal from my butt that we were turning a particular direction. My feet instinctively looked to balance on something and they both hit the spokes.

“Please let me off,” I said.  “I…I…I’ll walk.  I don’t mind.  I’ll run and try to keep up.  Or, I’ll walk home.  Just please let me off.”

“No,” she said.  “Keep your feet out of the spokes.”

I couldn’t do it.  My hands trembled and weakened.  My butt ached and had turned numb.  My legs wouldn’t cooperate.  I desperately, and I mean desperately, wanted off.  I pleaded with Luzon again.  She refused.  Could I jump clear of the bike?  I doubted it.  What could I say or do to convince her to let me off?  I felt like a trapped fly in a web.

My dry mouth gave me a clue.  “I’m thirsty,” I said.  “Stop, please.  I need a drink.”

“Just shut up and hold on.”

I felt outraged…trapped…controlled…not listened to…ignored…scared as hell.  I should know whether or not I could continue to ride like this.  Why wouldn’t she listen to me?  I hated feeling helpless and desperate.

We had just about reached the main, paved road.  I’d jump off when she had to stop for traffic.  Instead, she hit the pavement and continued right on up the street.  Debbie and Leslie were quite a distance ahead of us at this point.  Luzon struggled to pedal us both up the hill.

My shoe hit the spokes and the bike jerked.

“I’m telling you, I can’t do this,” I said angrily.

The bike jerked again.

“Stop hitting the—”

The front tire stopped turning as my shoe lodged into the spokes.  I felt the weight of Luzon hit my back as she sailed over the top of me, landing on the asphalt face first.  The bike kept me grounded, but I skidded down the road on my chin, my foot still intertwined with the wheel.  Dazed, I looked up to see Luzon covering her mouth with her hands, blood dripping.  She took off running for home.  I was trapped by the bicycle.  Debbie had spotted us and she and Leslie made their way back to me.  We managed to release my foot.  Surprisingly, it wasn’t broken.

I couldn’t take my mind off why Luzon had been determined to force me to do something I knew I couldn’t.  Anger, turmoil, and desperation filled me as we sadly made our way home, the picnic ruined.

Luzon had seriously broken off her front teeth, requiring numerous trips to the dentist.  I ended up with a scab the size of a tea candle on my chin that lasted for months.  I’d like to think both Luzon and I had learned a lesson that day, but unfortunately it was a pattern we repeated a number of times over the years.

Today I am still traumatized when someone tries to force me to do something with which I’m uncertain as to my skill level.  I think that should be my choice, and that’s why I like this quote:
“I was not designed to be forced. I will breathe after my own fashion. Let us see who is the strongest.” ― Henry David Thoreau  
Cindy A. Christiansen
Sweet Romance, Humor, Suspense…and Dogs!
Fly into a good book at:  http://www.dragonflyromance.com

Copyright: semolina / 123RF Stock PhotoCindy A. Christiansen
Sweet (clean) Romance Author

The 1960 Dream Car Is Still a Dream

Except for me and my new little pup, Chloe, I live in an all male household. Engines, classic cars, burping, and farting are all part of my life. I love classic cars...or should I say classic trucks.  (What can I say.  I'm a country girl.) Someday I'll post a photo of the truck I love.
Meanwhile, take a look at this 1960 Dream Car designed for Bobby Darin by Andrew Di Dia, a clothing designer.


It took four workers from 1953 to 1960 to hand-build this beauty.
It cost $93,647.29 but sold to Darin in 1961 at a cost of over $150,000.00.That's equal to $1.5 million in today's money.
At the time, the car was listed as the most expensive custom-made car in the world by the Guinness Book of World Records. 
Its metallic red paint was made with 30 coats of ground diamonds for sparkle.


Notice the glass cockpit in back. It also had retractable headlamps, rear indicators that swiveled as the car turned, so-called floating bumpers, and a trunk that was hinged from the driver's side.


 Dig that groovy square steering wheel.
The interior was rust colored and the design included the first backseat-mounted radio speakers and hidden windshield wipers that started themselves when it rained.  Way cool!
Each of the four bucket seats had their own thermostatically controlled air conditioning, individual cigarette lighters, ashtray, and radio speaker.

So here is the famous Bobby Darin standing by his one-of-a-kind car.He drove his wife, Sandra Dee, in this car to the 34th Annual Academy Awards in 1961 just after he purchased it.
In 1970, Darin donated his dream car to the St. Louis Museum of Transportation where it remains today.
It would be awesome to see it up close.
Happy driving!
Cindy A. ChristiansenSweet Romance, Humor, Suspense...and Dogs! Fly into a good book at:  http://www.dragonflyromance.com
(This story and images were sent to me in an email.  I have no idea of the source and do not wish to infringe on any copyright laws.  Its just a way cool car that everyone should see. You may want to check with the St. Louis Museum for further information.)Cindy A. Christiansen
Sweet (clean) Romance Author

Feeling Iffy about Technology and Future Generations

 I arrived at the doctor’s office early to fill out paperwork and wondered how many times in my life I have written my name and address on paperwork.  Sheesh!
A young woman in the latest spring fashions with her hair streaked and styled in an A-line cut entered the office with her cute blonde-haired five-year-old.  They took seats across the crowded room, and I went back to repeatedly writing my name.
A few minutes later, I stood up to take the clipboard back to the front desk.  The young woman, cell phone to her ear, and her son waited at the desk.  An older gentleman stood in line behind them, so I joined the line and leaned against a partial wall to wait.  The little boy’s eyes grew wide.  He dashed back to where he and his mom had been sitting and hefted her large purse into his arms.  He could barely walk with the overfilled bag and tettered on his feet as he proudly lifted it up to her.
“Mommy, you fa got purse,” he said, smiling up at her.
The young mother turned slightly, phone still to her ear and growled, “I don’t need that.”
She turned away before she could see the sparkle leave his eyes and his deflated posture.  Her words literally crushed the little boy.  I couldn’t believe it.  I stared and watched, not able to speak, feeling a sour weakness spread through my stomach. 
The little boy had been so proud of himself.  At such a young age, he had been looking out for his mother and wanted her praise.  In four little words, she had stomped him down.  I thought of my adult autistic son and his inability to think of anyone beyond himself.  Didn’t she know how lucky she was?
The boy dropped the heavy bag to the floor with such a look of hurt and disappointment. Did she even realize the opportunity she had missed?  She had given up a perfectly good teaching/bonding opportunity to praise her son for thinking of others in order to play on her phone.  Should I say something?  How would she react?  On more than one occasion, I'd had people turn on me and cause a scene.  Did I want one in the doctor's office?  
The young mom finished at the desk, as well as with her call, jerked her purse off the floor, and shoved her son toward the seating area.  My heart broke.  She dropped into a chair and started texting or something on her phone.  I felt like screaming at her.  “Is what you’re doing on your phone more important than your son? Can you see what you just did?”  I wanted to grab her cell phone and fling it across the room.  “How incredibly stupid are you?”
It reminded me of the story I heard recently about a young couple starving, neglecting, and killing their real baby because they were too busy taking care of a virtual baby on a computer game.
I’ve also been told by grandmothers how concerned they are that their own sons and daughters neglect their children because they are too busy texting on their phones, playing games like Candy Crush, and messaging on social media.
A sense of disbelief chills me to the core.  I ask: What will the effects of technology have on future generations?  I don't know about you, but I’m worried.

Cindy A. ChristiansenSweet Romance, Humor, Suspense...and Dogs! Fly into a good book at:  http://www.dragonflyromance.com
Copyright: damedeeso / 123RF Stock PhotoCindy A. Christiansen
Sweet (clean) Romance Author