To the Class of 1980

Then...
We didn't walk five miles in the snow uphill both ways to go to school. We caught the school bus which stopped (oh so conveniently) two houses up the road. If were late and saw the school bus race by, we could run about two blocks, down the hill and up the hill to the next bus stop. The bus? Waited for us.

Now...
Kids have a better likelihood of walking to school in the snow. It is possible for some to catch the school bus, but it is no longer a guarantee. First of all, you have to live far enough away from school to warrant school bus transportation. Living a mile or a mile and a half away from school is not far enough. You walk or make your parents drive. Prefer to ride your bike? In some school districts that is also forbidden. You walk or have your parents drive you. Next year in several school districts there won't be buses at all. There just isn't the money. You walk or make your parents drive.

Then...
We went to class, came home and did homework. We all took the same basic roster of classes. Our senior year might include an advanced placement course or two, which we took in order to pass out of a college class (or two), thus saving us a wee bit of tuition. Our tests consisted of real pieces of paper requiring real answers. Fill-in-the-bubble Scan-tron sheets were reserved for state-wide or nation-wide tests only.

Now...
You go to class, you come home and do homework. You are issued a planner in which you write all your homework assignments. Many students attempt to pass out of an entire year of classes as soon as they hit high school. They are required to take a comprehensive exam and must score very high in order to do this. Many take the test, few pass. Advanced Placement courses are highly popular beginning sophomore year, not so much as a tuition saver, but because the grades are more heavily weighted than a "normal" class, and it is felt that AP classes are make an applicant more attractive for college. The only test in high school which does NOT consist of multiple choice bubble-filling is a written essay for English and perhaps for history. You never get to keep a test to learn what you answered correctly, and it's rare that you even get one back to look at it.

Then...
We had school-wide pep assemblies in conjunction with football or basketball games. We might also have a single assembly to highlight the school play.

Now...
You have assemblies in conjunction with homecoming week in the fall. You also have an entire day dedicated to the concept of "excellence" -- where invited guests spend the day with you speaking on concepts that relate to tolerance, acceptance and general good behavior toward peers and adults alike.

Then...
We had an informal school dance every Friday night after a home football or basketball game.   Plus Homecoming.  Plus Sadie Hawkins.  Plus Prom.

Now...
There are three dances PERIOD during the school year: Homecoming, Sadie Hawkins and Prom. They are ticketed events. You have to register yourself and your guest. You have to abide by a strict code of conduct. You may not leave the venue at any time and then return.

Then...
We talked to each other during the day in school, and we called each other at night on the telephones. 

Now...
Cellphones and Facebook. And although there is plenty of phone use out there, it is overwhelmingly NOT used for calling. It serves three main functions: as a communication device (TEXT ONLY), as a watch and as a camera.

Then...
Big concerns would include a date for a formal dance, a big exam, and maybe what wewere doing over the summer. Kids moved in herds with like-kinds, and those that didn't fit in (or felt as if they didn't fit in) hung out together outside, usually smoking in the woods.

Now...
Kids are worried about everything. The formal dance, the next exam, every single grade on every single assignment, the musical, the play, the drama behind the musical and the play, being accepted for who they are, what they believe and how they choose to live. And every single fear, drama or moment of angst is played out on the Internet for the whole world to see.  Kids still move in herds, but "friend" everyone online.  And although I'm sure kids still smoke, I really don't think it's cool like it used to be.

I'm not sure I'd tell you that I had an idyllic high school experience, but I would tell you quite honestly that it was fine. I know there were some who were outcasts, some who were popular and some who were just plain miserable because they weren't what or whom they thought they should be. I'm not sure if I was lucky and just managed to avoid the angst-filled teenage heartbreak, unhappiness, and stress, or if I was just oblivious to how I should have been feeling and acting, but looking back on it all, I feel as if I avoided the worst of it. I'm sure the answer lies somewhere in the middle. I had a little bit of luck and a whole lot of not caring about the rest. I had a small band of friends and yes, we moved around in herds. I surrounded myself with people that didn't make me feel as if I needed to change who I was.

An interesting and somewhat uncomfortable result of my semi-nomadic high school experience has manifested itself twice over these almost thirty years. The day of my high school graduation as I sat watching people receive their diplomas, I realized that I had no idea who more than half of my graduating class was. I was closer to people in the graduating classes before mine, and as I heard name after name, I kept thinking, "Who? Who? Who is that?" I was a little embarrassed, but like most things in high school, it didn't bother me for long. I knew my people, and I was fine with that.

Jump to today. With the exploding popularity of Facebook (*waves*) I am friends with lots of my high school peers. Some of my Facebook friends now were my very close high school friends then. Others were people I had limited contact with, and still others were in the super popular or out-there fringe groups (as rated on the high school scale of acceptability), neither of which I had much contact with at all. But I friended them all, because...well....why not? We're all grownups now, and having friends is a good thing.

But you know what? I probably shouldn't say this, but I will anyway. Thirty years later, I still don't know who a lot of you are. Maybe I don't remember (which in my case seems to be a common thing) or maybe I never really knew you way back when. It's embarrassing to have to admit it, and I'm sorry.

But what's nice is having the chance to meet you -- some for the first time, some once again -- with the perspective of a nice chunk of adult life lived. We are all on entirely different footing now, with children and grandchildren of our own. We have lived and loved and lost, and are, frankly, much more interesting people now than we were then. I look forward to seeing pictures and hearing what my classmates are up to nowadays. Not so much because they were my friends from back then, but because they are my friends now. And if I tell you that I don't remember you from the class of 1980, please don't be offended. The cocoon I inhabited in high school was of my own making and had nothing to do with any of you. It's always fun to reminisce about the good old days, but I'm even happier to have the opportunity to get to know you in the here and now.

Unconscious Mutterings

I say ... And YOU THINK:


1.  Food :: Delicious
2.  Death :: End
3.  Cafeteria :: School lunch
4.  Need :: Want
5.  Born :: Free
6.  Stitch :: In time
7.  Badly :: Poorly
8.  Blocks :: Wood
9.  Chuck :: Throw
10. Spiral :: Staircase

WHAT A WEEK.  Which has nothing to do with this list, but I thought I'd say it anyway.  This is a very interesting list of mutterings, because as I look over it, many of my answers don't necessarily reflect my own beliefs, yet they really were my answers in this free association exercise.  Do I think all food is delicious?  No, but there aren't many I don't like, so maybe?  At the same time, I've had plenty of dishes of lousy food, yet I always associate it with something yummy.  I certainly don't think death is the end, although I don't know what happens next.  It's the end of the current, though, as it moves to something different and unknown.  I have eaten in plenty of cafeterias, and not all of them located inside a school.  Yet, "cafeteria" always makes me think of schools and school lunches and ugh...pizza, french fries and rolls (see above:  Food.  Not so delicious)  I think needs are often confused with wants, at least that's the gospel I preach around here.  It's difficult but so important to separate the two.  "Born Free" is a song I learned to play on the piano when I was young.  Of course, that means I played it for hours on end, torturing everybody.  I remember the movie too, with Elsa the lion.  "Stitch" I could have easily answered "that which I used to do a lot but have no time at the present which sometimes makes me bummed."  However, in the interest of space, I went with "in time." One should never chuck blocks when feeling badly, and finally, spiral staircases are great in theory and look extra snazzy, but honestly, unless you live in a lighthouse or other tall cylindrical space, are dizzying, difficult to maneuver, and wholly impractical.

Happy Sunday.  Mutter along HERE.

Late Night with Me.

Windows Movie Maker and a couple thousand pictures of a trip to England two years ago is going to be the death of me.

A fun, creative death,
But a death all the same.

My learning aids here consist of Google, the tubes of the Internet, and a complete lack of fear when it comes to figuring out technology. I wholeheartedly subscribe to the point and click, "I wonder what that does" educational system.

Hey, Let's Start Another one!

One of the greatest philosophical and culinary divides in the world.
You're either a Whip person or a not-Whip person. 
Personally, I'm all about the whip.

Let's get it rolling.  How about you?

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forte

Last night, like I have for (nearly) every single night since November 1, 2009, I sat down and dumped out some brain matter in my little corner of the blogosphere. As I do most nights (if I remember), I crossed posted it to Facebook, and allowed Twitter to pick up the feed as well.

And then I went to bed.

This morning I woke up, took my kid to school at the crack of yesterday (oh zero-hour, how I love thee...NOT) and then went into work for a few hours. A few comments popped up on Facebook, which was fine and dandy and mid-morning I left to drive north to teach.

Teaching was wonderful. The kids are still fresh and excited. They were happy for music and happy to sing. They were excited about what we plan to do this semester, and we had a few more new faces. It was a great morning. I drove up north singing, and I drove back singing. I know it's early in the semester when everything is still good, but I was lifted up all the same, equally grateful for music, students, and my opportunity to be involved in the musical, creative, and educational process.

I settled back in at my desk and booted up several programs and windows in my usual anal-retentive precise order:  Email, new webby library catalog, old DOS-like library catalog and Firefox (blog, gmail, facebook, twitter).

Oh my. 

It seems that while I was off whistling a happy tune, there was QUITE the discussion about my post from yesterday.  Well, I was in such a good mood, I decided to let all the parties get it out of their system, and then I'd go back and deal with it later.  I'd let "later" be tomorrow, but it's already tomorrow, and I know if I don't tackle this now, I won't sleep.  So here goes.

I like to think that one of my strengths is to write from a fairly non-confrontational point of view.  That isn't to say that I don't have an opinion -- of course I do -- but for better or for worse, I have never particularly been a "my way or the highway" kind of person.  In fact, one of my baby blogs that dealt with political issues was called "Waffles of Compromise" because I felt as if I could usually see the positive aspects on either side of a debate.  You might think it's more waffle-ish and less compromise, and you might be right.  Or not.  (SEE?)

At any rate, I entirely stand behind what I wrote, but I feel compelled to reiterate a few points that I think have gotten lost in the shuffle.

Yes, I had (and still have) a problem with statements about cursed nations, pacts with the devil and the repression of "Napoleon the 3rd, or whatever."  I have to wonder, how long will it be before I am blamed along with the entire female population for some calamity or other because we're cursed because Eve talked to the serpent and ate the apple?  As troubling as those thoughts are, one of my big concerns is the timing of  these statements.  I had, indeed, heard that he and his organization had sent relief.  Wonderful.  As he should.  As we should. As everybody should.  But what would compel anyone to assist with one hand and rebuke with the other?  And as for the tired, "they took my comments out of context," all I can say is, I've heard that "bad editing" excuse from plenty of reality television type people.  Yes, there is such a thing as editing.  But they can only edit what you say.  And, to the best of my knowledge, although Mr. Robertson has issued statements on the "pact with the devil" statement, I have yet to hear a plausible explanation how on this earth a tragedy of this magnitude could be considered "a blessing in disguise."

The point of my post yesterday was to encourage everybody to action; to DO and DO and DO some more for those who are hurting.  This is not the time for sermons or speculations or suppositions.  There is so much to do, there is so much need out there, there is so much hurt that needs healing.  If Mr. Robertson has sent all the aid he claims and has organized support groups to go over there and take an active part in compassionate assistance, that's great.  But his terribly mistimed, unnecessary and ultimately hurtful statements have drowned out any good work he may have done and any good intentions he may have.  As one commentator stated online, "Oh Pat... you are like the weird uncle we wish nobody would listen to."

I have read two excellent and well-balanced articles on the Mr. Robertson in light of the Haiti tragedy that can be found HERE and HERE.  I think this says it the best:

"To suggest that Haiti's extreme poverty or epic tragedy is a result of God or the devil is not for you or me to say. It is our responsibility to communicate the character of a loving God who calls us to care for orphans and widows, to feed the hungry, to welcome the stranger, clothe the naked and look after the sick."

I'm OK with debate, and I'm perfectly fine with differences of opinion.  I am quite certain that we all have more things in common with each other than differences.  But now is the time for action.  Now is the time to DO.  Be the living spirit of the compassion.  Be the helping hands of love.  Save all the rest for another day.

I love you all.

The Greater Tragedy

I subscribe to a couple of email news alert sites: CNN, NPR and the New York Times. I'm sure they pretty much overlap each other, but that's alright. At least I'm sure to receive the latest news when extraordinary circumstances warrant it.

The downside to being "in the know" is, frankly, being "in the know." While I'm grateful for the notification, I will admit that every time I see one in my in-box, the very first thing that runs through my head is, "now what?" I've learned that news-bulletin newsworthiness is in the eye of the beholder. Topics range from political stuff on both the international and domestic stage (which frankly are of varying degrees of importance), to national news alerts (which are mostly important) to major sports scores (world series winners, etc.) to miscellanea (generally not terribly important when you get right down to it). Last week was definitely hot in number of emails received focusing on the less than important (Simon Cowell leaving American Idol!), but with each and every email I muttered, "Lord, now what?" read the email and then deleted it, usually without a second thought.

 

Today I got back from lunch and a CNN news alert was waiting for me in my inbox.  After the obligatory mutterings, I opened it up and read that the estimate of lives lost in Haiti was "hundreds of thousands."  For a minute I thought I read that wrong.  HUNDREDS of THOUSANDS.  Not just thousands.  Hundreds of Thousands.  My stomach dropped, my heart broke and I just shook my head.  I couldn't believe it.

It's interesting what people choose to do and say in any given situation, but especially, I think, when trouble or tragedy strike.  I hesitate to call it a "parent thing" or a "woman thing" but to me -- as both a parent and a woman -- my very first inclination is to find out what I can do to help.  The discussion can come later.  The same holds true for any finger-pointing, deconstruction of events, or the ridiculously pious, generally unnecessary, yet often mandatory recitation of lessons learned.  No, I say!  DO first.  DO and DO and DO and DO some more.  TALK about it later.  Much later.

 

 

Today, on the heels of HUNDREDS of THOUSANDS, and in the midst of my gut reaction to wonder what I could DO for people who were hurting and desperate for help,  and reading the many Facebook and Twitter messages about organizations and opportunities to assist came a lone voice.  And this lone voice decided that in the midst of tragedy centered in the heart of a city destroyed, in a country filled with mothers and fathers and children -- all fellow inhabitants of this wonderful, fragile planet earth -- that what they needed was a good religious spanking.  And the horrible feeling in my stomach grew as I wondered what kind of person chooses a rambling, nonsensical half-baked story about the French occupation, Napoleon and compacts with the Devil as a way to chastise an entire country who has lost HUNDREDS of THOUSANDS of people, and whose needs at present are focused on food, water, medical assistance, care and compassion. What kind of person blames first? In the face of any natural disaster, what kind of person blames at all?

If you told me it was a religious man, I'd like tell you that I couldn't believe it.
But the overwhelmingly sad and horrible part is, I can believe it,
which makes it all the worse.

How Can I Keep From Singing?

Tonight PBS showed an incredible documentary about the Young @ Heart Chorus.  As you can see, they are a senior citizen choir, and then some, with the average age being 81 years old.  This particular choir doesn't just sit around in rocking chairs singing Stephen Foster's "Old Folks at Home."  Their repertoire is contemporary pop, rock, alternative and blues, sung without apology.  The conductor is known to be somewhat of a taskmaster and perfectionist.  But why not?  He wanted correct pitches and rhythms, and there was no reason to coddle his choir.  I think after four scores and several years, they were old enough to hear the truth, and there was no age limit on expectations.

It was amazing to watch this group of people rehearse (and rehearse and rehearse and rehearse) and then perform.  Of course, it wasn't just a matter of old folks getting on stage and wailing out a couple of tunes.  This choir had other issues they had to face.  More than once in this documentary, a choir member was taken to the hospital.  And yet the choir sang on.  Some died.  And yet the choir sang on.  To hear an elderly woman sing Sinead O'Connor's "Nothing Compares 2 U" in memory and tribute to a fellow choir member who had passed the day before, the words suddenly become less about an angry, angsty and hurt breakup, and more about loss and honoring a memory.

It's been seven hours and fifteen days

Since you took your love away

I go out every night and sleep all day

Since you took your love away

Since you been gone I can do whatever I want

I can see whomever I choose

I can eat my dinner in a fancy restaurant

But nothing

I said nothing can take away these blues

`Cause nothing compares

Nothing compares to you

In one of their performances, they crank out a version of  "I Feel Good"made famous by James Brown.  You cannot help but feel the fun, the joy and the celebration of life.

Speaking as one who eats, drinks, and breathes music as both performer and teacher, there is something indescribably wonderful and magical about singing and the human voice.  It's an instrument that exists within us day in and day out.  It is an extension of our physical and emotional selves, and is an integral part of our culture.  It explores and defines emotions, generations and genders.  It sings the stories of history, and provides commentary.  It makes us laugh and cry and think.  It allows us to look back in remembrance, and forward in hope.  It celebrates everything we are and hope to be.  My joy in being a performer has nothing to do with fame, applause, high notes and sparkly gowns.  It's is the opportunity to be the voice and soul of both poet and composer.  The joy of being a teacher is equally great, because through my work I am able to help others find their voice.  It is a wonderful and humbling activity to help others discover that unique love of musical expression.

All you have to do is turn on the television to discover there has been a real resurgence in the vocal arts.  If you look beneath the surface desires of fame on American Idol, if you see past the unpredictability of reality competitions like America's Got Talent, and if you can forgive the out and out silliness of Glee, they share a great and common bond.  It is the simple and profound love of singing, the joy the comes in expressing yourself in song, and the community that comes in sharing music with others. It doesn't matter if you're eight or eighty eight, everyone has a song.

And it's all very, very good.

Go With the Flow

Tonight is officially the end of my teaching break, and tomorrow morning I head back up to begin the Winter semester.  I am so incredibly grateful to the calendar and the Gods of Scheduling to have had this last week.  Public schools started last week, but most colleges didn't start until today. I can't imagine having New Years on a Friday and starting the college-go-round on the following Monday.  These past seven days were golden.

When I say goodbye to my students at the end of the semester, or for spring break, or even the long weekend they get in October, they all come back and ask me "how was your break?"  It's a sweet idea, but my answer (aside from that the break was "good") is that I am really not "on vacation" during that time.  During spring and fall break, my break consists of one job instead of two, and a blessed absence from the twice weekly hour commute.  Christmas break is a bit longer, but unlike my students (whom I tell to go home, have someone do their laundry and make you a PIE), a musicians life (not to mention a parent's life) is pretty insane during the month of December.  The goal is to make it to the 25th in one piece.  Then the goal is to make it to the East Coast to visit family in one piece.  Then the goal is to make it home in one piece.  Ditto New Year's Eve (AKA "Amateur Night") and before you know it, it's time to go back again.

But I'm ready, I think.  I wasn't ready last night, as I woke up at 3:30, and 4:30 and 5:30 with a severe case of monkey mind, worries about teaching in 48 hours, and fears that I was going to oversleep.  Today, although tired, I feel ready to go.  It always takes a week or so for students and schedules to shake out.  Then comes the fun of picking music, preparing students and another 13 fabulous weeks of singing.  This winter and spring I've got a Carmina Burana to sing (I've lost count which performance number this is), and a Beethoven's Ninth, which amazingly, I have never sung before.  (I KNOW!?!!)  TeenTuna has a plenty busy calendar in her own right, and when I'm not teaching my college kids, I'll be coaching her, accompanying her, or listening to her one way or another.  As is always the case in our house, we shan't be lacking for things to do.

Here's to hoping the next four months go as smoothly and as calmly as possible, and if not, I hope and pray that I do a credible job faking it.  It's so much easier when you learn to go with the flow.  Ohmmmmmmmmmmm...........

Ready.....set.....GO!
Well, tomorrow.

Clean Slate

So, I had a fairly successful weekend of attacking the clutter, primarily in the basement. I say "fairly" because I'm nowhere near close to done. I'm not even halfway. Heck, I'm not even close to halfway.  But I say successful because 1. I can still move (this was somewhat in doubt last night as I collapsed at the ripe hour of 9:15pm), and 2. I am physically and emotionally ready to do more.

I'd tell you I don't know why it's so hard to get a handle on the clutter and the mess, but yesterday as I cleaned and cleaned and cleaned and cleaned, I had quite a bit of time to think about it (while watching yet not-watching crap TV).  This is what I've come up with...positives and negatives.

Negative -- There's a lot of stuff.  A lot a lot.  It's a downside of redoing the entire upstairs.  Things kept getting tossed in the basement.  Now there is no place left to toss.  So, there's either a place for it, or there's not.  Right now, there's a lot of not, and I need to decide what's important to me in my life and what is clutter.

Positive -- When I'm finished, I'll have additional space to function and live and do those things I want to do.  It won't be that room where once upon a time (I kid you not, many years ago, when it was unbelievably MORE junky than it is now) I paid my much younger, smaller and nimbler child to climb on top of stuff to retrieve something in the far corner.  It was mortifying to me, but she was young enough that she thought it was cool.  I know nowadays I could never get away with it.

Negative -- Attitude #1:  I'll need it later.  I have such a hard time getting past this.  Maybe I'll need it.  Maybe I'll want it.  Maybe someone in my family will need it.  Maybe my child will need it.  Maybe my child will want it.  I'll kick myself if I need it later, and I had it once upon a time, and then I threw it out.

Positive -- Reality #1:  If I need it later, will I really  need the 10-15 year old version?  If I lose weight, will I want to wear clothes from the Clinton Administration?  Will my child honestly and truly want the stuff that has been living in the basement this long?  Even if I did need something later (1 year, 5 years, 10 years), what kind of prison am I building for myself NOW while I'm waiting to need it later?

Negative -- Attitude #2:  Throwing out means tossing things in landfills and am I really such a greedy, horrible person that I have no regard for the earth or the environment?  I should hold onto things until such time that I can figure out a proper way to recycle them and protect the planet.

Positive -- Attitude #2:  I recycle a lot.  And we, as a country, recycle much more than we did before.  There are still opportunities to dispose of unwanted items properly.  It might mean a little research or legwork, but it is possible.  This is a tough negative to overcome, but it should only be a negative...not an EXCUSE.

Negative -- It's overwhelming and time consuming.  There really is something to "out of sight, out of mind."

Positive -- Seriously?  Get over yourself and clean up your mess.

Negative -- If I am getting rid of something I should sell it.  How silly to get rid of things and not make a buck, or ten or twenty, or start my own resale business and retire early.

Positive -- Seriously?  Being organized and able to function in your own home is now tied to a successful corporate venture?  Stop being greedy and GIVE it to someone who needs it.  Sure, you could use a buck or two or twenty, but you need the space and the peace of mind much more.

Negative -- But I like these things.  Old children's books.  Games.  Puzzles.  Crifty-crafty things.  Movies.  DVDs.  I might need these, want these, use these, or want to give them to grandchildren (HAH, it's funny to even type that) 20 years down the road.

Positive -- I like lots of things, but right now I can't enjoy anything that is down there because it is buried.  It's a great temptation to hold onto things for future generations, but why hold books and toys and clothes and blankets hostage for the next few decades when someone could be using them and enjoying them now?  Toys were meant to be played with.  Books were meant to be read.  None of that is happening in the basement.

 My goal.  Dog not included.

So, these are my struggles.  But as I went down this afternoon for a brief 2-hour session, and really did more strategic organizing than purging, despite all the stuff -- and oh, there is still A LOT -- I could see opportunities.  I don't know when I'll be done, or even close, or even halfway.  But I'm pretty dedicated to continuing on.  As long as I get rid of more things than I bring in each week, I'll be moving in the right direction.  This is going to be a long haul, but one I really look forward to tackling and putting in the "win" column.  Someday.

Unconscious Mutterings

I say ... And YOU Think:


1. Resolutions :: Promises
2. Page :: Opportunity
3. Narrow :: Ruled
4. Refuse :: Deny
5. Fountain :: Of Youth
6. Grunt :: Groan
7. Construct :: Build
8. Nightmare :: Before Christmas
9. Inch :: Mile
10. Instant :: Coffee

Well, that was a bizarre lot.  I scaled down my resolutions answer, which started out being "ridiculous promises made while drunk."  I don't know what it is about resolutions that bother me so much.  I think it is the combination of life-changing vows with the New Years party-on, dude date.  It just seems to me it is a recipe for failure.  Of course, any resolution followed is better than none at all, so if it works for you, I say more power to you.  Resolve to be resolute on New Years Day!

Numbers 2-3 highlight my love of paper products in particular and office supplies in general.  A blank sheet of paper could become all sorts of things in the future.  And yes, yes, yes, it must be narrow (college) ruled.  I cannot tolerate the big wide stuff.  It's like using an unsharpened pencil. Or a even worse...an unsharpened #3 pencil.  AIEEEE!  You might as well ask me to write with a four-inch charcoal briquette.

Numbers 4-7 morphed towards my massive cleaning job yesterday.  This morning I am sure wishing for the fountain of youth, because I'm one sore puppy.  I'm about to embark upon hot shower therapy, and see if that helps.

Number 8 - a great movie
Number 9 - needs a "give them an ... and they take a" thrown in
Number 10 -  don't drink it (instant or otherwise), but remember all those instant coffee commercials?  They used to be everywhere, and now, I think not so much.

Tonight, Tonight

Earlier this evening it was a a pizza-ordering, chauffeuring the teenagers to the movies kind of night. Then it morphed into the pillow-clutching, cat skritching, dongle-using, documentary watching kind of night. Then it took a turn and became the movie picking up, heater on high while we drive home kind of night. And now it's a head bobbing, hard to stay awakey, minimal blog writing, chilly on the floor, four-sock kind of night. Tomorrow hopefully is going to be a real house-cleaning, clutter busting kind of day.

We'll see how that goes.

An Entirely TRUE Story

On New Year's Eve I discovered I was missing something.  I really needed it, and suddenly it seemed I couldn't live without it.  I went to Sears and they looked quite shocked.  They said, "Oh no!  You cannot buy them in a store!"  I was half amazed, half confused and entirely irritated.  "Why not?"  I demanded.  "I can't do it without one!!"  The service guy, who, at this point, was less than serviceable, just shrugged.  "Internet," he said abruptly, as he walked away.

Not to be deterred, and even MORE desperate, I went to Best Buy.  Surely they HAD to have them there.  I walked to the back of the store (near the darkened little room), and when I was asked if I was being helped, I gathered up all my courage and said, "I NEED A DONGLE!"

The blue-shirted Best Buy Boy nodded his head.  "Sure.  We have Dongles."

"REALLY?"  I asked incredulously.  "Because I was at that other store that rhymes with 'Rears' and they didn't have any DONGLES.  In fact they said I couldn't buy a DONGLE in a store.  They told me I had to find one on the Inernet."

The Blue-shirted Best Buy Boy shook his head.  "Nope," he said, matter-of-factly.  "We have Dongles."  And with that, he started typing into his computer.  Suddenly he frowned and looked up.  "But we are out of them."

"NO DONGLES?"  I asked.

"No dongles," he answered.

"But I need a DONGLE!" I practically wailed.  It doesn't work without one.

"I know," he said.  "They are usually over there," he said, pointing at a row of corded wonders.  "Guess there has been a big demand for them."

Knowing I really had no other choice, I decided to order my own DONGLE and have it delivered to the store.  I'd just have to be patient until my DONGLE arrived and I could plug it in.  So we took care of the ordering and the paying, and I walked out of the store, DONGLELESS, but hopeful for the day my DONGLE arrived.

My DONGLE was scheduled to arrive on Tuesday.  But when I called?  No DONGLE.
My DONGLE was scheduled to arrive on Wednesday.  But when I called?  No DONGLE.

Finally, this morning, I got an email (in my SPAM folder, of all things!) telling me my DONGLE was here.  Too excited to wait until after work, I decided to get my DONGLE and eat lunch too.  So, back to Best Buy I drove.

When I arrived (DONGLE papers in hand) I went to the service desk.  "I'm here for a pick up!" I said excitedly.  The Blue-Shirted Best Buy girl started talking into her super-secret microphone to tell someone (I'm guessing her manager) that I was here.

"What are you picking up?"  She asked.

"A DONGLE!" I said loudly.

She started speaking into her microphone again, to tell the manager what I needed.  And then ... she started to laugh.

"What?" I asked.  "MY DONGLE ISN'T HERE AT THE DESK?"

"No," she said, laughing harder.  They have to get it.

"They have to GET MY DONGLE?" I asked.

The girl nodded and laughed harder.

"I can't wait to see it!" I told her.  And then I lowered my voice and explained, "I've been waiting for my DONGLE for the past week!"

The manager came walking up holding my DONGLE.  She was laughing too.

"Does my DONGLE come in a brown paper bag?" I asked.

Everybody laughed.

"No -- it's right here.  You're all set."

"OK," I said.  I hope my DONGLE fits.  I had to special order this DONGLE especially for me.

They all laughed some more and waved goodbye as I put my brand new DONGLE in my purse and walked towards the car.

"You're an embarassement," said GramTuna.

I looked at her and smiled.  "Just think," I said.  "I made their day.  My DONGLE and I."

When I got home I was anxious to put my DONGLE to use.  I had to hunt for the right opening, and do a fair bit of fiddling, but when all was said and done, I was entirely satisfied.

And my Samsung Blu-Ray player picked up the wireless Internet signal and I was set.

All thanks to my DONGLE.

Addendum: I don't know who on earth is responsible for naming things, but I have been running around for the past week saying DONGLE like it is the funniest word on the planet.  I can only hope that DONGLE is the English translation for a Korean word that hopefully means something noble, or technical, or really, really advanced.  Because really?  DONGLE?  Who cannot help but turn into an eight-year old with uncontrollable playground humor when you're in the presence of the word DONGLE?


Yeah.  Probably everybody else but me.  
But at least I was amused. 

Come Out, Come Out, Wherever You Are

Today a friend of mine joined the POT club: Parents of Teenagers. As I welcomed her to the madness and wished her luck as her son turned 13, her response was that although he had been acting like a teenager for awhile anyway, she still wondered, "Where is my little boy?"

As a parent of a teenager myself, I have to admit, I could totally relate to that sentiment. Although in all honesty I have enjoyed my child at every age (MOST of the time), I do miss, to a certain extent, some of the behaviors and personality traits that I really enjoyed when she was younger. But despite my teenager's advanced age of 15-going-on-16, it's not like youthful innocence, joy and needs have slipped away forever, crushed in the typhoon of Adolescence. It's more like they have been repressed upon eye-roll and sigh-roll pain of death, accompanied by an interminably long, lamenting, multi-syllabic wail of MOM!!!!!!!

But you know, despite how much she protests, how she feels she must maintain certain behaviors at critical moments, and how there is a real and distinct separation between parent and child (Good God, don't walk TOO CLOSE and upon pain of death NO TOUCHING. EVER), there are still times (somewhat rarer, these days) when I see glimpses of the little girl.  The other night she was just really, really tired and stressed out.  We were both on the couch watching television, and the next thing I knew she was lying down, and then without a word, I was suddenly a pillow.  I knew she was exhausted and just needed some TLC, which she got, without lecture or discussion or teasing.  I knew it was a moment.  Special for me.  Necessary for her.  And we both felt better for it.

It doesn't matter how old you get, how grown you might feel, or how important you believe it is to assert your independence.  Everyone is still a child.  Everyone is a son or a daughter, and there are times in everybody's life where I think they would like nothing better than to be listened to, to be cared for, to be freed from worries and responsibilities, and to go out and laugh and play, or stay inside and be fed chicken soup, applesauce, and cinnamon toast.

Where is the child?  I don't think -- I know -- it is in every one of us.  Much to the horror of my teenager, I still love the fun and humor that is often lost in adulthood.  Heck, half the time still feel like "the kid."  But I know I'm not.  I'm the mom of a teenager, and now I pay a great deal of attention to those rare moments when the guard drops out of necessity or fun and the child peeks its head around the corner for a visit.  After all, we are grown-ups every single day of our life.  It would be a shame to miss that special moment when the posturing of adolescence or the responsibility of adulthood takes a break and we are treated to that rare visit from an earlier time full of funny faces, irrepressible giggles, fantastic stories, jokes, wonderment, hugs and a never-ending flow of I love you's.

Follow That Star!

Every night I take stock of who is where. It isn't that difficult, since there are only two humans and two cats in the house. I know where the humans are, but I'm always interested to see where the cats have gone. There are several choices, but taking the COLD weather into account, they are narrowed down considerably. The favored locations include in front of the heating vents or on a blanket on the bed. When I finally crawl into bed, it's not unusual for both cats to settle in with me -- one at the foot of the bed and one to my right. Although which furry beast is where is somewhat interchangeable, I know to expect at least one of them every night.

It's a comforting and comfortable feeling when things and people and events are exactly who and where and what we expect them to be. There is a certain satisfaction in having a set routine in our day. It's nice to be able to walk from the bedroom to the bathroom without smashing my toes into something immovable. Relationships with family and friends and colleagues are based on the personalities and our interactions with each individual person.

But who decides the norm? How do we determine what is usual, or routine? Is one personality better than another, and do we rank our relationships in some sort of hierarchy based on untold preferences?

The answer, of course is, there is no norm. Life shifts and changes, often without our permission. The same goes for people and relationships. Nobody and nothing is static, although sometimes we might wish otherwise. Life, like the tide, ebbs and flows and constantly changes. The question isn't how do we stop it? The question is, how do we recognize it? And then, the challenge is how do we learn to ebb and flow along with it?

January 6th marks the season of Epiphany, when, according to the story, all was made clear. At least that's what we're told. It's easy for us, thousands of years later, to read the story and do a bit of Monday morning armchair quarterbacking, saying, "Oh yeah...Of course...Divinity manifested...I knew it all along."

Right.

We are a people that loses our collective sanity when there is rerouting due to road construction, or when a television program is postponed because Sunday night football is running long. We can't handle people who suddenly become withdrawn or overly obnoxious or emotionally needy or physically unwell. Why? Because it's different. Because people or events or things no longer fit into our immovable, static existence, and we are too inflexible and indifferent to adapt.

The challenge of the season is to be open to our own Epiphany. By its very definition, it's something that is an unknown until the sudden realization. It doesn't come with timetables and charts and plans. And who knows? Maybe learning to ebb and flow just a little bit will make each of us open to change, and able to recognize an Epiphany, whenever, however and whoever presents it.

Bedtime Stories

If you looked throughout my house, there is something (EXCLUDING DUST) that you would find in every room (upstairs, downstairs and in my lady's chamber).  That something would be books.  I have books everywhere.  Piles in the bedroom, a small, select stack in the bathroom (don't EVEN give me grief on that one.  I am a big fan of the reading room).  There are cookbooks in the kitchen, coffee table books in the living room, and a secondary library in the basement.  With books occupying so much real estate and every nook and cranny, you might think I dedicate a lot of time to reading.

I might think that too.  I might even hope it.  But sadly, it's generally not the case.

It's not because I don't like book and I don't like to read.  Au contraire.  I wouldn't buy them if I didn't love them.  In fact, walking into a bookstore, breathing the air and being with "my people" can simultaneously lower my blood pressure and raise my level of excitement to new heights.  There are so many things to read.  There is so much to learn.  There are ideas I haven't heard, and rhymes I haven't yet allowed to trip over my tongue.  I want these things.  I need these things.  Addict?  Maybe so.

The very, very sad thing, though, is that I have practically no time to read.  In fact, for years, I used to go to the beach on vacation with a bagful of books.  It was my only chance to read, and I would take every advantage of it.  No War or Peace, here, but no bodice busters or fluffy summer fare.  My stash would include the best of things I can purchased over the course of the year.  And read, I did.  Sometimes a book a day.  And when I got home? All the books went back into piles, and I would reassess in 365 days.

As much as I looked forward to my annual speed-read-athon, and cherished my one chance to bond with a sheaf of bound paper, there was always a twinge of sadness at the frantic pace I was forced to undertake.  I would forsake walks on the beach, conversations with my family and a wickedly delightful mid-afternoon nap if it meant I could get through that next page... that next chapter... that next section.  If I was lucky, I would achieve a modicum of retention for a week or two after vacation.  But please, don't quiz me on the character traits of the protagonist in the novel The Life of Pi.  I know there was a kid.  And animals.  And a boat.  And it was weird.  And I liked it a lot.  That was the limit of my retention.

As I take baby steps to get my stuff in order I'm finding both the time and the inclination to read in months other than mid-June.  When life and home get too overwhelming, it's so much easier to do a human etch-a-sketch erase on the brain and let the television supply the story and the imagination, and then connect all the dots.  But now, as I'm carving out these little pockets of time for myself, I find I'm looking to create opportunities to read.  It still won't be an all-day literary affair, complete with cheese and crackers and wine, or an hour-long soak in the tub.  I doubt that I will ever have that kind of time.  But I AM looking forward to crawling in bed and reading a chapter or two as a way to treat myself at the end of the day.

Every day.
And not just days in June.

A Hefty Hope

There is something comforting about getting things in order. Now, I know for some, this is not news and is, in fact a daily occurrence. A routine, a habit, and dare I say, a necessity of daily living. I am nowhere near that level, although when life really starts to pile up, I wish I were. The best I can do I keep my head above water, and then (when time allows) I do my best to lower the flood waters to something less than disaster levels.

Every time I make progress, I feel so much better. I have more room, I can see surfaces instead of mountains of clutter, and I feel just a little bit more in control of life. The question is, if the results are always so self-satisfying, why does it take me so darn long to get to that point?

I don't have answers, really, and I try not to spend a lot of time beating myself up for things done and things left undone. But once again, I am focused and rededicated to purge, eliminate, donate, straighten and sit down and make some decisions once and for all on what is important to me in my life, and what simply is not.

I'm also aware that in seven more days, when I return to a two job, sixty-plus hour workweek, all bets may be drastically reduced. Regardless, I am truly hoping to not give in entirely during in the busy months. Everything I can manage to do -- no matter how slight -- will be one more thing done. I just want to remember that my goal isn't a clean my house (although that will certainly be a huge plus). My goal is to find what is truly important in all this STUFF, and hopefully at the end of the day I'll have given myself the gift of time and space and freedom to live and be.

Tonight I did a bit of both.  I took some time for myself and went out in the freezing cold, then grabbed some dinner and ran to the store.  But when I came home, I sat down and gave my shredder a workout and filled the trash can twice.  I have a small list of things I really need to get done this week.  It's not a 5-mile list, which depresses me, and it isn't a list filled with tasks I've put down just for the sake of having something to cross off:  #1:  Make a list.  CHECK! #2: Check completed items off the list.  CHECK!

Not mine, but obviously I am not alone

in failing to create a meaningful to-do list

I know this isn't my strong point, but I'm trying to go at this from a positive "one step at a time" outlook, and make progress because it's a good thing to do for myself and not a frantic thing I am doing out of desperation. 
Keep your fingers crossed for me and maybe say a prayer.

Oh, and word to the wise:  buy stock in garbage bags.