TUNA NEWS

Verily Veritas

2011-12-15T14:32:00.000-05:00

The Internet is a funny, funny place. Part information clearinghouse, part social hub, part criminal breeding ground, part miraculous source of all that is good and part colossal time-waster, there is something in the tubes of the Internet for everybody. In fact, when Churchill was talking about riddles wrapped in mysteries inside enigmas, was he truly referring to Russia? Or the web? Best to check Wikipedia.

Ah, Wikipedia. Wikipedia is either an all-knowing oracle, or a main reason for the decline of the entire educational system in our country, depending on whether you are the provider or receiver of said research. In truth it's a bit of both. It's fine if you need to check a concrete, established fact (Lincoln was the president of which country?) but the problem is, you have to know if the information you seek is factual, research-based, or speculative. Odds are, if you knew all of that, you probably already knew which country elected Lincoln to be their president.

Wikipedia, like so many other things, is a handy stop in the quest for basic drive-through information, and there is nothing wrong with it, provided that additional stops are made to verify your information. And that's the problem. We're too often a one-stop-shopper, and assume that what we read is factually accurate, no matter the source. And it isn't just Wikipedia. From print media to televised media to electronic media, everything should be questioned, but often is not. We're increasingly becoming a society all too willing to grab a pitchfork first and ask questions later. Or never. I used to joke that "if it's on the Internet, it MUST be true." Nowadays it's not a joke, and it's really, really not funny.

It's one thing to be skeptical of factoids, news items and political ramblings. In fact, I think it's healthy to ask questions and do your own research. But what about literature? It's disheartening to invest time and emotion and interest (not to mention money) into works that are peddled as true stories, and end up, months if not years later, to be nothing more than a million little pieces of half-truths served with three cups of tea. I simply don't understand the logic. A well-written story is a well-written story. Why would a classification of fiction make it second-rate?

The problem, I would guess, lies with the four horsemen money, power, greed and notoriety. It's a powerful draw to be a superlative, whether it is being first, the most controversial, the most sentimental or the most prolific. Somewhere in that race we're losing the most precious gift of all: we're losing ourselves. The more we stretch the truth and embellish the facts, the more we become like everyone else: jockeying for position and attention, truth be damned. And that's really too bad, because an honest slice-of-life piece can be just as compelling as a work of fiction. But anymore, no matter what I read, I'm going to smile and nod and doubt.

And then run to Wikipedia to see if it's true.

Christmast Lost and Found

2011-12-14T08:27:00.001-05:00

If you walked into my house, you would never know that Christmas is only 11 days away. There is no tree, no presents (wrapped or unwrapped), no cards and no cookies. There are some stockings, not hung by the chimney with care, but rather piled on the couch (CLEAN!) waited to be matched, folded and put away. The only Christmas music you'll hear is from television commercials, but you won't even hear that because nobody is watching television either. If we're home at all, we're either sleeping, practicing, or doing some form of school-related work.

Right now, there is no Christmas in our house. There is December, but no Christmas.

December is a crazy month. There have been rehearsals for something and usually more than one something every single day. And I'm not cheating by counting classroom rehearsals. There have been ten performances with six more pending. There have been auditions, applications and essays. December has been late nights early mornings blanketed with a thick coat of stress.

With stories of elves, holiday baking, parties, decorations, and other festivities, my lot in life sounds a bit sad and depressing. Surprisingly though, it isn't. I will freely admit that we are all stretched, and the word tired doesn't even come close. But it is with the smallest amount of pride that I tell you we're all hanging in there. Some days it's better than others, but we've circled the familial wagons. We have pulled together to execute complex schedules and transports that would make the military weep. We have made certain we have the correct music, instrument, book, assignment, supporting document, permission slip, fee, gift, clothing, performance attire, contributing money or snack that is required.

But most important of all is that we, as a family have been there for each other. If there is an event, we, and many of our wonderful friends, have attended to support whomever is performing and enjoy the offering. If there was an obligation, we fulfilled it. And when one of us is down, overwhelmed, or frazzled to the point of despair, someone else has been there to lend a hand, a sympathetic ear, or a well-needed hug.

There may be no tree or twinkling lights or decorations or presents in our house right now, but there is something even more valuable. There is patience, support and love in the form of family and friends.
Truth be told, I can't think of a better Christmas present.

Journeys and Miracles

2011-12-10T23:22:00.001-05:00

Long Winter's Night

2011-12-09T23:08:00.001-05:00

It's nights like this
when I've put on another sweater
and my feet are cold even with socks
that I remember hot July evenings.
The fan humming steadily above me.
The windows open a bit in the hopes that a breeze
might lose its way in the dark summer night
and land in my bedroom
before it chases after something else.

It's nights like this
when I crawl into bed
disturbing comforters and blankets alike.
Layer after layer like an archeological dig.
Until finally I reach the center and I am the core.
One by one I return the blankets and comforters.
Stretching and smoothing each layer.
Adding warmth and weight
to my feet still cold even with socks
and my sweater on top of sweater.

How long until warmth swaddles me like a baby?
How long until I open the window at night, wishing for a lost breeze?
How long until the fan lulls me to sleep
humm humm humming above me
welcoming me back from the cold of December.
From nights just like this.

All Is Calm?

2011-12-08T23:11:00.001-05:00

Every year I feel like I'm doing it wrong.

The holidays are a festive time.
I'm cranky and stressed.

The holidays give us a reason to join together and celebrate.
I want nothing more than a very long uninterrupted sleep.

The holidays give us opportunities to play, sing and listen to special seasonal songs.
I crave a silent night of the non-musical variety.

The holiday season is beautiful with colorful Christmas lights that sparkle in the freshly fallen snow.
Snow is pretty, but not when you have to commute. As for Christmas lights, a hearty bah-humbug to all.

I'm not anti-Christmas or Hannukah or Kwanzaa or any other festive holiday that happens around this time.
I like the thought of festive days, and celebrating and singing together, but when it comes to holidays, it seems I am always about sixteen months behind. So let me take this moment to wish you a very happy Labor Day (2010)

Generally speaking, I try not to get too terribly upset at my lack of preparedness. But every now and again I wish my life would align with a stereotypical greeting card filled with sleighs and horses and snow-covered picket fences and a small house in the distance where people are undoubtedly singing, dancing and enjoying their time spent together, right down to the last perfect chestnut roasting on an open fire.

Despite its appeal, I am not at all anxious to hurl myself into a mystical, magical landscape courtesy of Thomas Kinkade. I'd miss that touch of crazy that whispers, "this is your life." I'd miss sharing music, from a rousing chorus of O Come, All Ye Faithful, to an inspiring Oh, Holy Night, to a spin around the room with Rudolf, Frosty and Santa, Baby. I'd even miss the struggle to find a calm, quiet peace in myself and my life because even that journey -- as difficult as it is -- is a part of who I am now and who I'd like to be.

Maybe it's not so much a matter of doing it wrong.
Maybe it's becoming aware of the many ways I can do it better.

Gigku

2011-12-07T23:36:00.001-05:00

Singing and dancing

at seven in the morning

Suffer for your art.

Goats Goats Everywhere

In a box with a fox? No!

That would be easy.

I possess some skills

Night vision without goggles

Is not one of them.

Fast music is great

but not "HELP I'M BEING CHASED

BY A BIG BEAR" fast.

Dedication is

working to improve talent,

not spotlight ego.

The arts: wonderful,

rewarding and uplifting.

But the journey? Hard.

Someday (I hope soon)

Bedtime comes before Stewart,

Colbert and Fallon.

Something Funny About Goats Here

2011-12-06T23:25:00.001-05:00

I spent a lot of time tonight talking about goats. It was that sort of day. There were a large number of them and to say that they were unruly would have been an understatement of ginormous proportion. But as it is with goats, it's best to learn their ways -- no, not become one -- but seemingly integrate into their society on an as-needs basis. It's simply easier to go with the flow that way. The goat flow.

Word to the wise -- Do NOT Google flowing goats.

I told you NOT TO.

In an effort to be thankful, I will admit that I am very thankful these goats don't appear to know or at least aren't sharing any traditional songs of December. That isn't a case of thank goodness for small favors. I think it was Elton John who sang Someone saved your life tonight....Toes Magotes!

As you can tell. I'm delirious. Let's pretend it's deliriously happy,or deliriously in love, or deliriously delirious. Getting Tuesday out of the way was struggle enough. Wednesday is looking like a formidable opponent.

Totes Magotes.

Toats Magoats

Totally.

Goats.

Monday, Monday

2011-12-05T22:53:00.001-05:00

We made it through

School

Work

Rehearsal

Concert

Dinner

Homework

Facebook/Email

Still snging after a very full day

Bed

A successful day all the way around.

Tomorrow? More of the same.

Asleep in the ... HEY!

2011-12-04T23:17:00.001-05:00

In Christmas nativity scenes, you see Mary, Joseph, some shepherds, three wise men and a variety of animals. Last, but never least, is a sleeping baby Jesus. Christmas, it seems, is a season of sleep and rest. Even many Christmas Carols follow a similar theme: Sleep in heavenly peace ... asleep in the hay ... Dormi Jesu ... O little town of Bethlehem, how still we see thee lie. Why is it then, in this season of calm, quiet holiday slumbering, we are at our busiest?

During these precious few days between Thanksgiving and Christmas, everybody is bustling, which is the polite, somewhat antiquated word meaning RUNNING AROUND LIKE CRAZY PEOPLE TRYING TO FIND A PLACE TO PARK AND THEN ATTACKING YOUR FELLOW HOLIDAY SHOPPER WITH PEPPER SPRAY. Bustling. I lasted exactly 30 minutes in a mall yesterday before I had to leave or go insane. I followed that with a trip to a bookstore, which is always my go-to activity when I'm overwhelmed. Spending time in a bookstore is like being with my people. That idea was short-lived as well, as my people were overrun by other people, and suddenly my haven of literature was overrun by a bin of angry birds, holiday mugs, Twilight figurines, and an entire 3-part wall of 2012 calendars. Defeated, I slunk back to the car, which was parked a light-year away at a pizza joint.

The next seven days are so busy, our household has to map out a plan of attack every night to be sure everybody is where they need to be when they need to be there, and has the appropriate clothing, music, homework, costume, electronics, instrument, etc. Usual household activities like doing the laundry, dishes, etc. are either postponed until they reach a reading of critical, or are abandoned all together.

I like the idea of a peaceful Christmas -- heck, I like the idea of a peaceful anything -- but I wonder if I'm just not cut out for it. Generally speaking, I like to be busy, and I definitely prefer it to being bored. What I wish for isn't so much rest, as a reasonable amount of time to do everything I would like to do. I even wonder about the phrase Rest in Peace. For many people who have spent a lifetime being doers, would rest in peace be appreciated or even wanted?

My goal for the Christmas season, and life for that matter, is to be peaceful and calm whenever possible within the parameters of my life. But I'm mindful that baby Jee, like most people, didn't spend his life sleeping. He woke up, he made some noise, and he filled his life with activity. And as for that sleeping in the hay stuff? Best to leave that to nativity scenes. I have things to do.

Let Us Review Lesson Eleven

2011-12-03T22:45:00.001-05:00

Long day, long weekend. Some observations and lessons learned:

1. If you are shopping in a mall on a Saturday afternoon in December, you'll get exactly what you deserve.
2. Even bookstores are not immune. If the entire world is going to be out en masse, the bookstore is no longer safe and sacred territory.
3. People asking if they can help you and/or if you are satisfied will never be content with your first affirmative answer. Or your second. Or third or fourth.
4. It might, on first thought, be difficult to be annoyed with overly cheerful people. But with the right attitude and a will to succeed, anything is possible.
5. Loud is not always better. Never quiet is never better.
6. Practice makes prepared, and for that, there is no substitute.
7. Sometimes even when you carefully read the instructions, you're still confused.
8. There's always tomorrow. For everything.
9. It's possible to be proud of an accomplishment and gracious towards others at the same time. They are not mutually exclusive.
10. Going to bed before midnight is not a crime. Neither is declining to watch the big game on TV.
11. The best of all possible worlds is whatever you make it to be. Never apologize.

Hail to the Chief

2011-12-02T21:51:00.001-05:00

My high school and hometown are in an uproar.

The high school mascot and figurehead is a Chieftain, and this high school has been the "Chiefs" seemingly since time began. It's not an unusual link -- Michigan has a rich Native American heritage, the town itself is named for the Indian Chief. There is also a memorial rock dedicated to his memory. The high school symbol of the chief is an Indian head in profile, wearing what seems to be full headdress regalia. It isn't a satirical image, or a caricature. I always felt it was a very dignified, proud and traditional image.

Now, in a very controversial decision, the school board has voted to eliminate all images of the chieftain. The high school will still be known as the chiefs, but the name will be written rather than depicted in pictures. Current high school students, alumni and people from the town are HOT over this decision, and not in a good way.

As usual, I'm of two minds of this whole thing. I'm disappointed to lose what I always had considered a beautiful artistic rendering of our town's proud Native American heritage. I never considered the image to be inappropriate or insensitive. That being said, I'm NOT Native American, so would I really know?

A better way to handle this issue would have been to have a discussion in advance of the change. If it's truly an insensitive image, explain why. Let those who aren't of this lineage come to understand the pain it brings, or the stereotypes it portrays. A little dialogue here would have gone a long, long way.

Instead the school board just announced it was effective immediately, and attempted to soften the blow by explaining this was to have been completed several years ago and seemed to have fallen by the wayside -- as if this was both an acceptable excuse and an ingenious way to lay the blame on The Ghost of School Boards Past. This strategy did nothing to help their cause, and now everybody is mad at everybody else: the students, the grads, the school, the school board, and, I might imagine, to some extent or another, those who might actually be pleased that they have chosen to phase out this image. What could have been a teachable moment leading to greater understanding has turned into a big mess of hurt feelings and betrayal.

At the end of the day, it's important to remember that the school mascot is still The Chiefs. We can be thankful that they didn't decide to rename the mascot entirely, because considering the fact that the "new" high school building (almost 20 years young) is built on swampland and is actually sinking, we just might have been the The Fighting Marsh Rats instead.

Here's to wondering what might be in store for The Vikings who live down the road....

Twelve Haikus of Christmas

2011-12-01T23:27:00.001-05:00

Comedy Central

Home of Stewart and Colbert

Best dozing TV.

Sometimes I wonder

is the head-snap damaging?

Qwerty improvement.

December is here.

I don't have words to express

except standby, "Brrrrr!"

Made it to Friday

Sometimes it seems forever

Monday is long gone.

Collge aps bring some

heart-felt nostalgia for the

mundane things: Homework!!

December schedule

so hectic. Christmas cookies

might be Oreos.

Yearly they report

the Twelve Days of Christmas cost

Why? JUST A POEM!

Need to do laundry

"We're the ninety nine percent!"

Dirty socks do cry.

This weekend? Roadtrip

State High school choir audition

I'm just the roadie.

Keep falling asleep

It's a sign to turn it off.

Head-snap tomorrow.

I know I said twelve

but folks, it's Advent season.

You'll just have to wait.

That's a Wrap

2011-11-30T23:18:00.001-05:00

Thirty days hath September, April, June, and November

all the rest have thirty one

except February blah blah blah I don't remember the end of this poem.

And so, it's day thirty of the month of November, and National Blog Posting Month (NaBloPoMo) is drawing to an end. I wondered at the beginning of the month if I'd be able to gut this out. Certainly there are many people who write far more than I do: National NOVEL writing month (NaNoWriMo) also takes place during the month of November, and I know someone who actually completed the task! Mad props to those folks, but for me, a sixty hour work weeks combined with a senior in high school is not a successful recipe for penning a novel. In fact, I think it's the precise recipe for Mince Pie face. My writing tends to start after 10pm, and usually after 11pm, and I'm not exaggerating when I tell you if November was also National Nodding Off At Your Desk Month (NaNodOffAtYoDeskMo) I'd win a shiny banner for that one as well.

But I'm glad I did several more laps at the Tuna News. Part of me truly missed it. Part of me felt guilty every time I fired up my web browser, because The Tuna News is my homepage, and I've been staring at last winter's socks for the past 11 months. Part of me worried that with so much national and social conversation going on right now (a very polite way of saying everybody is talking and nobody is listening), I was offering nothing new or substantive, and was, in fact, only adding to the problem. Part of me was (and is) plain old boring vanilla tired. It happens.

Today took an interesting turn down the rabbit hole of YouTube. You never know when these days are going to happen, but one interesting thing after another seemed to pop up. I took it as a sign. And when music starts and ends your day, it's a good sign indeed.

Verdi - Requiem
A colleague of mine shared this video first thing this morning. I don't necessarily think you should watch the entire thing, but if you want to check out a couple of amazing moments, the Lacrymosa (40:24) is a great place to start. Soloists include a 36-year young Leontyne Price who sings with such control, beauty and sensitivity, I don't know if I should swoon or take notes. Really, both are appropriate. I love the very beautiful, formal and simplistic concert attire of the women, and I'm amazed that half the soloists and the conductor are performing this 90-minute work from memory. For those who are familiar with this work, the tell-all moment comes right at the end (1:15:46) for the Soprano. Will she or won't she (1:17:27)? You know she will. And it's glorious.

Eric Whitacre - Paradise Lost
Eric Whitacre, 20th Century composer, social media fan, and seemingly all-around nice guy, not to mention smart and encouraging to musicians of every age and skill is working on a somewhat unconventional Broadway Show that he hopes to open in London soon. Why didn't I know about this before today? I don't know, but I'm glad I know now. For an even tastier treat,you MUST listen to this. Posting it on Facebook this morning, he wrote: "A little a cappella interlude I wrote for the concert version of Paradise Lost. Thinking of expanding it into a full piece..."

Elbow - Live from Manchester Cathedral
I stumbled across Elbow this spring, and this is easily the most excited I've been about contemporary popular music in a long time. Well-sung, well-written, lyrics that are smart and thought-provoking. You could choose any part (or all of it..it's that good) to listen to, but my first suggestion would be Lippy Kids (34:30) from their latest album Build a Rocket, Boys! The lyrics are astounding on their own ("Lippy kids on the corner again. Lippy kids on the corner begin settling like crows. Though I never perfected the simian stroll, the cigarette senate was everything then. Do they know those days are golden? Build a rocket boys!" ) but when you hear it presented, it's not angry. In fact, it's respectful of youth and encouraging at the same time. A fine line to walk, I think.

My second suggestion would be One Day Like This (54:12) which is the most wonderfully unabashed love song you'd ever want to hear ('Cause holy cow I love your eyes! And only now I see the light, lying with you half-awake, stumbling over what to say, Well, anyway it's looking like a beautiful day. So throw those curtains wide, one day like this a year would see me right.)

Bonjour, Girl! - Disney's "Beauty and the Beast"
Oh, I love a good parody, and this one is fabulous. Please, please please warning -- language alert and definite Disney lampooning. If either of these are sacred cows, then you should move on.
As for me... IT'S MY FAVORITE!!

Faust - Metropolitan Opera
Directed by Des McAnuff
My buddy Des is EVERYWHERE these days. His musical "Jersey Boys" is still touring all over the United States. He is the BCMOC (Big Canadian Man on Campus) at the Stratford Festival in Canada, writing all the original music for this past season's production of "Twelfth Night", he has a hit revival of "Jesus Christ Superstar" that will open on Broadway next March and now, because, maybe he's bored or something, he's directed AN OPERA AT THE MET. Seriously. All the clips are fun, and it's in a very different and usual setting from the original concept.

So, there you have it. If you asked me how my day went, these videos sum it up. It was a very good day indeed. Thanks November. Bring it, December. I think I'm on a roll.

Sometimes

2011-11-29T23:33:00.001-05:00

Sometimes

After a 14 hour workday
After 12 singers
After 10 performances
After a 2 hour night commute that usually takes 50 minutes
After 8 inches of snow
After too many accidents to count

When you finally get home
With all four wheels on the ground
With a bumper unkissed by the guard rail or an impatient car
With dinner waiting
And with family relieved that you are home safe and sound

It's enough for one night.

Everybody Says Don't

2011-11-28T23:40:00.000-05:00

It seems there should be a dos and don'ts subject list -- much like a fashion hits and misses -- when it comes to blogs. Or maybe it should just be a huge don't list, and anything leftover is fair game. To name just a few:

1. Weather
A definite don't when the weather isn't unusual for the time of year and/or geographic location. This includes summertime heat in Arizona and sleet, snow, arctic freeze, rain, floods, tornadoes, hail, heat and/or humidity in Michigan from January through December. By the way, we are supposed to experience approximately 80% of all those options in the next 24 hours. In Michigan. SIGH.

So you better make sure you have a pair of these
when you live in the state that looks like this.

2. Cats

If you write about cats, well, don't say I didn't warn you. Writing about cats makes you the cat lady. Writing about two cats makes you the single cat lady. Writing about 65 cats makes you the crazy single cat lady. My friends Gabby and Mila inform me I am not crazy.

Gabby says "Not crazy!"

Mila says "Not crazy, but I really don't care."

3. Politics
Yes, it's all the craze at the moment. And by craze I mean crazy. And by crazy I mean WHAT ON EARTH ARE THOSE REPUBLICANS DOING NOW? Now before all the Republicans get upset with me for going all Caps-Lock on their ass, the Democrats aren't flaunting their crazy at the moment because they've all agreed to let the guy at the top take the heat. Thanks, Jesus.

4. Food
Blogging about food is a double-edged sword. It's sort of like watching it on TV. It's great for awhile, and then you're hungry, and then you're angry because you're hungry, and then you're angry because you're hungry and you're torturing yourself watching the secrets to making the perfect Ho-Ho and you don't have any perfect Ho-Hos. You don't even have any imperfect Ho-Hos.

5. Twilight

The movie. Not the time of day. Blogs, like vampires don't sparkle.

6. Holiday peeves

Oh, what an enormous category THIS is. This includes Black Friday, Cyber Monday, Dead people that stepped on in Target, shoppers that got pepper-sprayed in Walmart and anything that includes the phrase Tickle Me, Elmo. This also includes real or perceived injustices for or against Christmas Trees, Nativities, Carols, Holiday greetings, the Happy Holidays vs. Merry Christmas Smackdown, too many Christmas lights, not enough Christmas lights, wasteful spending, not enough spending, drunken debauchery at the office
Christmas party, A Charlie Brown Christmas, Rudolph,
Frosty and Herbie, who doesn't want to make toys.

If you can make it past this gauntlet without any infractions, you're well on your way to creating a real blog DO instead of a blog don't. Next up... Collegiate sports!

Twenty Questions

2011-11-27T22:22:00.001-05:00

Me: Hello. May I ask you a question?

Oracle: Thank you for asking if you may ask a question. We welcome your asking.

Me: OK, here is my question. May I...

Oracle: Thank you for asking if you may ask a question. We are so pleased you chose us when you wanted to ask a question.

Me: So is that a yes?

Oracle: Thank you for asking if you may ask a question. Please answer the following 10 pages of questions.

Me: But I just wanted to ask one question, not ten pages.

Oracle: Thank you for asking if you may ask a question. Asking to ask a question is a complex procedure.

Me: I'm confused. I just want to ask...

Oracle: Thank you for asking if you may ask a question. If you need to come back later to ask to ask your question later, be sure to click save.

Me: WAIT

Oracle: Thank you for asking if you may ask a question. Please remember there is a time limit to ask to ask your question.

Me : Time limit...?

Oracle: Thank you for asking if you may ask a question.

Me: OK, fine. I've filled out the pages of questions and I'm ready to...

Oracle: Thank you for asking if you may ask a question. You need to send outside confirmation that you are fit to ask to ask a question.

Me: Fit to ask to ask?

Oracle: Thank you for asking if you may ask a question. Please write a thorough analysis in 250 words or less on the topic of diversity and its importance to your existence. Include examples of how you handle group dynamics, and then tell two stories about profound life experiences that left you permanently changed which include a championship football game, a lost puppy and that unfortunate episode at the mall. You know the one I mean.

Me: But I...oh, alright. This seems like a lot of work just to ask a question.

Oracle: Thank you for asking if you may ask a question. Before we can answer this question, you need to pay the oracle.

Me: Pay the oracle?

Oracle: Thank you for asking if you may ask a question. There is a small processing fee to best serve you in asking to ask your question.

Me: I have to pay you to ask a question?

Oracle: Thank you for asking if you may ask a question. Payment is required to allow you to ask to ask a question.

Me: Seriously? OK, fine. It's an important question, so I guess I have no choice but to pay you to ask a question.

Oracle: Thank you for asking if you may ask a question. Payment has been received. Please click continue.

Me: OK, I'm all ready. Are you ready?

Oracle: Thank you for asking if you may ask a question. Please proceed.

Me: OK. Starting over. May I ask you a question?

Oracle: No.

Take a Number

2011-11-26T22:13:00.001-05:00

Three pies
One cheesecake
Two jello salads
Eight family members
Six bags of yard wasteThirty-two hours and counting (down)
One half of one front bed, and one entire backyard still to go.
Seven swans a-swimmingSix geese a-laying
Twenty-nine days until Christmas
Two applications finished
Three applications in process
Five hundred words or less.
First!

These days it seems all we do is quantify life. How many more until....? How many left until.... ? How many completed? Unfinished? Standings. Rankings. Ratings. Take a number, because you are one. And once you are a number, you are a measurable, comparative entity: higher than some, lower than others. You've lost all traces of personality and your identity is now calculated and exact.

Being a number ... it's not a very nice thought. But not only do we allow ourselves to be defined and compared numerically, we do the same to everybody else. After all, how can we know where we stand in the ranks if we don't know the scores of others as well.? And, for better or worse, once we know, we are consumed with moving up and being better than the person ahead of us.

Now, there's nothing wrong with self-improvement. It's important to continually stretch and grow. But moving up in the ranks merely for the sake of being ahead has nothing to do with self-improvement. It's positioning and posturing for bragging rights and that feeling of superiority.

What if we could be content with ourselves and others, celebrating who and what we are and ignoring where we are in the greater hierarchy? Would we be able to enjoy our individual gifts and those of other? Would we be able to be content without comparison? Are our own merits enough, or do we need to be better than others before we can feel good about ourselves?

I don't think it's possible to change the world. We are by nature a highly competitive, comparative society. But during this season of Advent -- this season of waiting for events far greater and grander than we could ever hope to be -- it's the perfect time to set aside the numbers and rankings and examine who and what we are. We all possess gifts as individual as we are, and these gifts of the spirit -- of our spirit -- are perfect on their own merits. There is no comparison.

A Postcard

2011-11-25T23:13:00.001-05:00

I'm sitting up, more than half-asleep, sometimes watching, always listening to a contemporary opera. The opera, Il Postino, is based on the movie by the same name. A movie that celebrates life, love, and the written and spoken word. One of the characters in this story is the real-life poet, Pablo Neruda, and another equally important character is his poems that dip, swirl and conjure up wonderfully luscious, evocative images.

In a world where importance is measured by volume, originality is obscured by the outrageous, and truth is an antiquated notion best left for philosophers, the poems of Neruda are easily ignored for something flashier, something edgier, and something with clever, ear-tickling rhymes. But to appreciate Neruda is to allow yourself to enjoy the simplest and most profound themes of life -- love, longing, nature, beauty.

A small sampling of Neruda's poems. Check out:

If You Forget Me

Sonnet XVII

Sonnet LXXXI

No other words needed.

About Face

2011-11-24T23:41:00.001-05:00

Tradition is what you make of it.

We started the day somewhat traditionally -- watching a bit of the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. Two thumbs way, way up for the Tim Burton balloon and its wonderful backstory. Two thumbs down for corporate mascot balloons and some extremely poor attempts at lip-synching.

"B. was created, Frankenstein’s monster-style, from the leftover balloons used in children’s parties at the Great Ormond Street Hospital in London. Forbidden from playing with other children because of his jagged teeth and crazy-quilt stitching, B. retreated to a basement lair, where he obsesses over Albert Lamorisse’s film The Red Balloon and dreams that he, too, will be able to fly someday."

Our day continued in a decidedly non-traditional manner. We went in search of the face. And we found it. Technically we found them. And for the record, let me say that I'm so very happy that the face is on a billboard and not on a wanted poster. Once we found them, pictures were in order.

Face number one.

Face number two.

Then it was home and time for cooking, cleaning, practice, and homework. The traditional portion of the afternoon was covered by the Detroit Lions losing in spectacular fashion to the Green Bay Packers. Dinner was delivered first and eaten second, which seemed to be very appropriate. When we got home it was anything but turkey and stuffing. Instead it was leek soup, lamb shanks, spinach noodles, fresh green beans (CASSEROLE-FREE) and an apple-cranberry pie. The teenager declared it was the best non-turkey meal EVER and frankly, I agreed. We'll do the whole turkey-ma-gig on Saturday, but today it was a little bit of familiar mixed in with a whole lot of you did WHAT? In other words, it was tradition. Tuna-style.

And that's something to be thankful for.

Good Things

2011-11-23T21:51:00.001-05:00

'Tis the season to make a laundry list of grateful things. Much like a what I did last summer essay, an annotated list of gratitude is only meaningful to the list maker, while everybody else wishes for a swift and painless ending. Somehow it doesn't seem right to itemize all the things I have and apportion my gratitude accordingly. Instead I'll leave you with a simple wish for Thanksgiving: I wish you all good things. And these things don't have to be things at all. Good things are as universal as love, happiness, acceptance, humor. Good things are as simple as a smile, a hug, a sympathetic ear and a helping hand. Good things don't have an expiration date, and you don't have to replace them over time. Good things are self-sustaining.

May your life be filled with good things.
May you wake up each morning and recognize the opportunity it brings.
May you never tire of finding good things in your life and then sharing it with others.
May you appreciate its simplicity and marvel at its power.
May you be comforted and sustained by the good you are given and the good you give to others.
May you lay down each night, not beating yourself up for what you didn't do,
but rejoicing in the fact that tomorrow brings a fresh opportunity.

There are times where it seems nearly impossible to find the good.
But it's always there.

I strongly believe our lives should be filled with good things.
I believe our lives are filled with good things.
And for that I'm grateful,
always and always and always.

Letters from the Editor

2011-11-22T23:19:00.001-05:00

Dear Beans:

This is not the poem I learned.

Dear Creative Design Team:

This piece is a cautionary tale for using

a clear and unambiguous font.

Intellectually, I KNOW the saying is

and your little dog too,

but this does NOT look like the word "little"

What on earth is a "tittie" dog?

Dear Canada -- I know I tease you a lot, but you can't blame this on me.

I'm sorry the Canadian Santa has a drunk nose and

is currently steering the sleigh off a steep cliff.

Maybe once we get past the spring thaw, super-cool

Australian Surfing Santa dude can come rescue you.

Dear Google -- I wish you put up doodles more often, even

when they are celebrating people and events from other countries.

The doodles are super creative, and who knows...

maybe someone will learn something.

Dear Twitter: I love you.

Michele Bachmann just referred to the founder of Apple as "Steve Gates".

She is a dumb stupid person who's an idiot.

if you missed #CNNDebate, impress people tomorrow with these facts from the stage:

Africa is a country and Steve Gates founded Apple

Steve Gates, the founder of Applesoft. I can not wait for the iZune. #CNNdebate

Dear Tuna readers

It was a very long day.

Oops. It's tomorrow.

Common Sense, Aisle One

2011-11-21T21:42:00.001-05:00

Hang onto your drumsticks, it's just about that time once again.

There has been a lot of hullabaloo in the past week or so because some major department stores are planning to open even earlier on Black Friday. Thanksgiving evening, it seems, is turning into dark gray Thursday night. Because Store A wants a jump on Store B, now they are going to open at midnight, meaning employees for Store A have to show up while Cinderella is finishing up her last piece of pie. Or in other words, at 11pm.

Some people are HOT (as in angry) about this development. Some people are HOT (as in excited) about Christmas shopping at midnight. And then, some people are like me.

The angry-hot people have petitions available for digital signing. "How dare they!" They cry. "Is no holiday sacred?" They ask. "It's a slippery slope!!" They warn. I understand all the arguments. I agree with them.

The excited-hot people honestly don't care. "At least they have a job!" they counter. "Stores have the right to open when they want" they claim. I understand all these arguments too. And, I agree with them as well.

Yes, I understand, sympathize and agree with both sides of this issue, which for me isn't tricky at all. Money is tight and shoppers are desperate for savings however they can get them. But Black Friday shopping has gotten more out of control with each passing year. Nowadays it's not unusual to hear reports of who got trampled in the same news story that describes the best sales.

For many, many years both in high school and college I worked in the movie theater business. My first holiday season (two screens Kramer vs. Kramer and two screens Electric Horseman -- yes, I'm that old) was a total shock. In the 17 years I had been alive it had never once occurred to me that anybody would go to the movies on a holiday. I didn't even realize they were open on days like Thanksgiving and Christmas. I learned quickly that Thanksgiving and Christmas were big BIG movie days, and for twelve years I sucked it up and worked. It might not have been my favorite thing to do, but as is usually the case, the thought was much worse than the deed, and in the end it always ended up being not as bad as I thought it would be. Besides, I learned that although holidays movies might not have been my personal choice of activities, they were exactly what was needed for others. After all, lots of people don't even celebrate Christmas, and for some families, a movie on Christmas day was a special outing for the family -- something they could enjoy together. Who was I to tell people their choice of entertainment was wrong?

And then there is the shopping. Personally, I find Black Friday shopping ridiculous. Intellectually, I understand why people plan strategies and make a real event out of shopping the early bird sales, or early-early bird sales, or the it's-so-early-the-bird-hasn't-hatched-yet sales. But would I tent out on the old parking lot campground, clothed in pajamas and armed only with cell phone, credit card and brass knuckles (in case the crowd gets unruly) and compete for shopping supremacy? Not on your life. It's not that I'm staying home to sing the 57th verse of Kum-bah-Yah or "Wahoo-Doray" with my family. I'm not staying home to fulfill some sort of Norman Rockwell picturesque family fantasy. I'm staying home because I don't like the crowds, I'm not a big fan of the crazy pants holiday sales, and frankly, I do not need a television for a nickel.

If you ask me (which you did not), it seems that the best answer with the least amount of argument and confrontation is do what works best for you. If you work at a place that is asking you to come in early to accommodate late-night and/or early morning shoppers, then you better do it, or be prepared to battle the crowds in the unemployment line. You might not like it, and it might not be fair. But work first, complain later, and if need be, find a different job. But lots of people work holidays for lots of different reasons, and you can choose to celebrate any time of any day you would like. There are options. If, on the other hand, Black Friday is an insult to your every last breath, then by all means, stay home. Vote with your feet, your car and your wallet. Nothing speaks louder to a retailer than a wallet full of money walking away. Stores won't open early if the demand isn't there.

The point is, do what works best for you and your life. And no matter what, remember the other guy. If you're shopping as soon as you hear the opening bell at midnight, remember that others may have sacrificed a little or a lot of their precious family time to accommodate your consumerism. Be polite, be grateful, say please and thank you and SMILE. If, on the other hand, you wish to protest the latest insult to common sense, holidays, and traditional family gatherings, then by all means, stay home. Consider yourself lucky that you have the time to spend time and the family to spend it with. Keep your wallet closed and your mind open because someone, somewhere, will do the exact opposite of what you choose to do, and shocker -- it's okay. It means we all have a choice. And that is something to be thankful for.

Lights Out

2011-11-20T22:47:00.001-05:00

It's probably not fair for me to complain if I haven't read any of the books. Or seen any of the movies all the way through. But the movie (the first one, I guess) is on TV now practically all the time, so it's been impossible to ignore its existance.

But still, I simply have to say: I don't get Twilight.

What little I've seen of the movie has been so excruciatingly dull, that I can't seem to stay awake more than 10 minutes, 9 of which are spent being annoyed. The vampire guy spends his time looking moody, and speaking in boring hushed tones. The only thing I can think of when I see him is, "Hey! There's the guy who DIED in Harry Potter." Other than that? *Yawn*

The non-vampire girl spends her time staring at people, looking moody and speaking in boring hushed tones. There's also a wolf-guy and I cannot quite figure out his ultimate purpose in these films. And guess what? He spends his time looking moody and speaking in boring hushed tones. No wonder vampire guy decided to be a vampire. There is nothing else to do.

Somehow readers young and not so young decided that this story was cutting edge and exciting. I just don't see it. Maybe I'm too old, or maybe I missed the vampire bus -- sparkly, at that -- but the only thing this film speaks to is a royal hazing courtesy of MST3K (Mystery Science Theater 3000). In the meantime, I will be grateful for the existence of this cinematic pile of shlock. After all, a girl has to sleep sometime, and a sure-fire sparkly cure for insomnia is a terrible thing to waste.

A Song for the Ages

2011-11-19T23:42:00.001-05:00

The first gig of the season was not a seasonal gig at all. It was a memorial service for those assisted by Hospice care over the past year. There were prayers and hymns and names read and family remembrances shared. And tears. There were lots and lots of tears.

There were tears for strangers we didn't know. There were tears for stories too easily imagined, stories that hit too close to home. We were grateful for stories that gave us a chuckle, even though they were laced with sadness and loss. They were strangers to me, but they sounded like warm, loving, resourceful, feisty, wonderful people that I think I would like to know.

The kids sang with poise and beauty; a tough feat considering many of them had been in tears themselves. But somehow they rose above it, and gave the family members such a wonderful gift. It was hope and love and compassion wrapped in melody, harmony and beautiful prose. It was sympathy and celebration and sadness and a message of hope and promise for tomorrow, sung by the young voices of today.

I'm not sure they really know the depth of the gift they gave. They knew they sang well and that it was for a good cause. But I don't know that they would fully understand at their age how something as simple as sharing music can shoulder a burden so heavy. But it did. And their voices -- young in years -- were profoundly old and wise in message.

That message of comfort was exactly what was needed today of all days, as this particular service fell on the one year anniversary of the passing of my grandmother Hazel. She was mother, grandmother and great grandmother to three of us in the church that morning. And while she was both missed and remembered this morning, the singing made it all a little easier.

Decking Them Halls

2011-11-18T23:49:00.001-05:00

Tomorrow it all begins again.

Actually it began tonight. The city closed down the major streets, put twinkly lights on firetrucks, held a parade, lit the tree in front of the capitol and had a fireworks show. I'm pretty sure this is exactly what happened in Jesus' day as well. Afterwards the crowd headed off in all directions. Some went inside to hunt down hot chocolate and cookies, others window-shopped along the main street, and others headed home. The very smart ones discovered the peanut shop and learned that nothing could beat a bag of hot freshly roasted peanuts as a portable heater.

Tonight I celebrated the start of the season by hanging in a Mexican restaurant, eating chips and salsa and nursing a Dos Equis. I'm pretty sure this is also exactly what happened in Jesus' day as well. But tomorrow we begin the seasonal singing monkey show. Tomorrow it's double-gig Saturday. There will be so much decking of the halls and fa-la-la-ing that our tidings of comfort and joy will be closer to a holiday rave.

So, if you out shopping and spy a group of high school kids trying to brighten your day with a few songs, stop and listen to the for a minute or two. Give them some applause and tell them thank you. They'll appreciate it more than a king sized camel with a quilted pillow-top mattress pad. And it doesn't take a wise man to know that means a whole lot.

Not these people. I have no idea who they are.
You are not required to stop and listen. I have no idea who they are. I don't even know what they are doing...

Lightbulb Moments

2011-11-17T09:29:00.001-05:00

This tidbit popped up on Facebook this morning, and it has stuck with me throughout the day. It seems over the past few weeks, I've crashed into this wall several times through a variety of circumstances. Interestingly, the results haven't been the same, and it never occurred to me before now that the reason why is sitting right in front of me.

I can explain it to you but I can't understand it for you.

As a teacher, you might say that I'm in the business of explaining. And explaining. And explaining. Repetition is absolutely necessary because it would be unfair for me to explain a concept once and then move on, waiting for the student to understand. If they don't understand something the first time, I do it again, but in a different way. Eventually, hopefully, there will be recognition and understanding on the part of the student. Then it's mission accomplished. This week I had a student get a little teary-eyed, not out of frustration, but because the concept we were working on suddenly made total sense, and with that sense of understanding she was able to take a giant step forward in her technique. After 17 years in the studio, this was another first for me: tears of happiness because a student finally "got it." Those firsts don't happen as often anymore, and when they do, they're something special.

A major factor in achieving understanding is being open to ideas and possibilities. Too often teaching and learning becomes a cacophony of competing viewpoints, and the words build and build and build until each side is well-insulated and protected from any and all thoughts outside your own. Understanding requires both trust and patience, especially when you feel like you don't understand at all and you're certain everything you've heard by way of explanation is insufficient or just plain wrong.

St. Francis had it oh so right way back when when he prayed not so much to be understood as to understand. "To be understood" places all responsibility for success (and blame for failure) on the other side. Although it's highly unproductive, it's an easier and more convenient path to walk. "To understand" however, recognizes the importance of participation in the process. It accepts responsibility for listening and being open to ideas. It doesn't fight back with words or attitudes, and it doesn't build up walls.

I can explain it to you but I can't understand it for you.

As a teacher, a confidant or a friend, I will explain things every way I know how. You are responsible for your own aha!! moment. Lightbulbs are not included. Kleenex, however, will be provided upon request. Maybe for both of us.

One Day at a Time

2011-11-16T23:50:00.001-05:00

It's Wednesday for not-very-much longer. It's been a long day and a long night, but looking at the clock on the wall, there will be little time for sleep. This isn't a moment for bragging, it's just reality - nothing more, nothing less. Thanksgiving is a week from tomorrow and then it's time to scream into the holiday season, which, if you haven't noticed, has already begun, whether you were ready or not. Black Friday ads have already been leaked for most major outlets, and I'm sure there are plenty of people who have already started planning their route.

I'm not ready for Black Friday. I'm not ready for Thanksgiving. I'm not ready for the day before Thanksgiving or the day before that. I'm not ready for the weekend. Hell, I'm not even ready for tomorrow, which technically is already today.

What I am ready for is ready for bed. I'm ready for this day to be done. I'm ready for a little respite from the crazy that is my life. Tomorrow I'll give it another go. Ready, set... Zzzzzzzz....

I'm Gonna Herff

2011-11-15T23:52:00.001-05:00

There are days when it's hard to think of things to say. Maybe the day was dull, or I just don't feel like I have anything new to say. There are days when I don't think my insight into life is any keener than the next blog down the street, and I retreat into a less noisy corner of the internet.

But today. OH LORD. It writes itself. Today's graduation horror: The cap and gown racket. And believe me, after all the screaming I did when I saw the ordering BOOK, there was a racket. So, here were my choices. I passed on everything except that text in green.

1. Graduation announcements
2. Announcement inserts
3. Return address labels
4. Class envelope seals
5. Senior photo stickers
6. Graduate namecards
7. Photo Invite package
8. Premium Thank you notes
9. Traditional Thank you notes
10. Graduation Celebration Cards
11. (more) Return address labels
12. (more) Class envelope seals
13. Personalized stationary
14. (more more) Return address labels
15. (more more) Class envelope seals
16. Premium memories album
17. Senior Year memory album
18. Memories Memory album (I kid you not)
19. Memory album sticker sheet
20. Personalized class emblem
21. (more) Photo invite package
22. Premium thank-you gift.
23. (more) Personalized class emblem
24. (more more more) Class envelope seals
25. Friends for life photo album
26. Graduation pen
27. Graduate namecard photo album
28. Graduate portfolio
29. (more) Senior photo stickers
30. Diploma signature frame
31. Traditional Class jewelry - Pendant only
32. Traditional Class jewelry - Pendant with 18" chain
33. Traditional Class jewelry - Pendant with 24" chain
34. Swirl necklace
35. Senior tag bracelet
36. Senior dog tag necklace
37. Heart necklace
38. Senior t-shirt
39. Senior hoodie

40. Cap, Gown and Tassel Unit

41. Memory Tassel
42. Mega tassel
43. Mini tassel
44. Ice tassel (memory)

I know I speak for my weary arm and wallet when I tell you I feel downright lucky that we're dodging this bullet for approximately $50. Yes, lucky. Package "deals" start around $165, and skyrocket quickly. But just remember, the packages that cost $298 (no joke) include a cap and gown FOR FREE. In other words, that's $298 worth of other trinkets that will get tossed in a drawer 3 days after graduations.

Oh. And you may have noticed, the laundry list above did NOT include class rings. That's a separate ~~scam~~ player in the graduation game. Lord have mercy, what's next?

Senior Moments

2011-11-14T23:48:00.001-05:00

It's November, and already I feel like this school year has been about 49 months long. For those of you who have already crossed over to the other side, please no snickering. For the rest of you who haven't yet walked this path, here are a few things I've learned so far:

1. College applications are sent from the Bastard Karmic God of Education. It's his way of saying, "See??? A late-night diorama project doesn't seem all that bad NOW. Now does it?"

2. Senior year = Open your wallet. Invert. Shake vigorously. Never ever ever ever stop.

3. The ~~insane rationalization~~ ~~argument~~ ~~logic~~ sentence that runs along the line "It's my senior year! I only get to ............ once!" gets old. FAST.

4. College essays. Why? Can't we just bake you a pie, come over, hold hands and sing Kum-Bah-Yah? We'd even clean up and take out the trash. Win-win, says I.

5. Television no longer exists. Wait, this is a good thing.

6. You worry all the time, you cannot plan ahead, you're in the dark and you don't know where you're going. If this were the Amazing Race, you'd already be in Loser's Lodge.

7. Going to the movies and sitting in the dark for two hours sounds like the biggest luxury in the whole world. Sadly, this hasn't happened since summer and probably won't happen again until Christmas vacation.

8. Bed before midnight? Winning!! Also, never happening!!

9. Your 17-year old discusses buying a business suit. For real.

10. You wonder if you hug them tightly enough, can you slow time...just for a little while? Because while the teenager is acting tough and the parent seems calm and collected, the truth of the matter is everybody is flying by the seat of their pants and there are no brakes. I guarantee at the end of this ride, nobody is getting off saying, "Wow! Let's do that again!!"

11. There really is something wonderful about cookies and milk and a short nap in the middle of the day. Those Kindergartener's have it MADE.

Haiku AieeeeeeKu!

2011-11-13T23:13:00.001-05:00

Today's grateful list:

Arms, legs, strong backs and muscles.

Family there always.

Thank God for youngsters

"Another box. Upstairs, please!"

And they go. (Knees: "Phew!")

Moving's tough, it's true.

but beyond the upheaval?

possibilities.

In a month or two

unpacking done, things away,

party at YOUR house.

The rules are the same

you should never use your back.

Haiku with your legs.

With that thought we join

familiar territory

with "That's What He Said!"

P.S.

2011-11-12T23:09:00.001-05:00

Today we pressed send.

I have to believe the first is the hardest. It seems like it takes forever to finish, and much like being a first-time parent, you agonize, worry, second-guess. and berate yourself every step of the way. Are you doing it right? What do they want? Will they like me? Is who I am enough, or do I need to be someone more? Do I need to be someone better? Do I need to be someone...else? These are horrible, cruel questions for adults to consider, let alone a teenager.

Now that we have pressed send, and the things that have been done cannot be undone, I would like to post this addenda to the process. There were no spaces for this information, and I firmly believe if you want a truer, clearer picture, here is a brief postscript of things I think you should know.

She believes in supporting the lives and interests of others. It is not at all unusual to hear things like, "of course I'll help" and "what can I do?" This past week she said, "and I really do NOT want to talk about people behind their backs." You and I both know this is unusual behavior for just about any human being, much less a teenager. She possesses and displays a genuine sense of caring that betrays the stereotypical egocentric teenage years. It touches me to see her worry about her friends who are in trouble or having difficult times. With her sympathetic listening ear and strong shoulder, she is often called upon to be therapist, confessor, confidant and friend. She understands the importance of finding the good of a situation, and sharing a genuine compliment when a criticism would be so much easier, and in abundance.

She believes in being on time. For many, many years she has lived by the philosophy, "to be on time is to be late, and to be early is to be on time." For her, a 7:00 call means 6:45. "It's always good to be a little early." This may seem a trivial point to bring up, but believe me, being on time is polite, and it says, "I know you're busy and I'm busy too. It makes no sense to be late and cause problems for everybody.

She believes in respect. Respect for adults. Respect for mentors. Respect for peers. Respect for situations and locations. She believes in dressing properly for the theater and for church -- which means dressing up. She believes in please and thank you, in shaking hands and being friendly. You might think that a part of "playing the game" but in all honesty, it's just who she is. She nice, and in a good way.

She understand responsibilities. She understands that sometimes you might not feel like doing something, but you do it anyway. Not because you're told to, or bribed, or forced, but because you said you would. She understands the importance of honoring commitments, and not leaving others stranded or saddled with extra work.

She is an expert at discretion and tact. The family saying, "save it for the car" has served her well over the years. But really, she is just a nice person. Nice to others. Nice to be around. Just nice.

None of these things listed above add to her grade point or change her class standing. But believe me, these are qualities you want to see, and these are the ambassadors you need. Nice people. Responsible people. Discrete people. Timely people. Supportive people. Passionate people. Wise people.

Ultimately everyone could be someone better. Everyone could do more. But please, don't ask her to be someone else. She's not perfect in any way, shape or form, but at the young age of 17, she's pretty damn awesome just the way she is. You'll see.

*send*

Honor Guard

2011-11-11T22:24:00.001-05:00

November 11th-- Veterans Day -- Armistice Day -- 11/11 -- 11/11/11 11:11

It's been a big day. It's also been a confusing day to know what and how to celebrate. President Woodrow Wilson, who proclaimed Armistice Day in 1919 said, "To us in America, the reflections of Armistice Day will be filled with solemn pride in the heroism of those who died in the country’s service and with gratitude for the victory, both because of the thing from which it has freed us and because of the opportunity it has given America to show her sympathy with peace and justice in the councils of the nations…"

So, one vote from a dead president for being filled with solemn pride. That's great, except that I had to work today. The ivy covered halls of academia doesn't observe Veterans Day by cancelling classes and closing the university. Any honoring or filling with solemn pride would have to happen on my own time.

Predictably speaking, the Internet likewise blossomed with free advice about what to do and how to do it. Facebook showed lots of flags, inspirational quotes and personal thanks by name. Twitter was similarly upbeat, with lots of quotes and thanks. Even Google got in on the act, with its Tony Orlando and Dawn inspired doodle.

And right now the clock says 11:11. On 11-11-11.
Now it's 11:12. Anything particularly newsworthy or special that needed to get accomplished on this perfect binary day should have been completed and turned in 60 seconds ago.

11-11-11 has been absolutely everywhere: on the television, in the media, and ALL OVER the Internet. It's supposed to be a lucky day. It's popular with brides and grooms, and anybody with a wish that needed wishing.

How to observe two totally different days? 11-11-11 is a rare day, and right now we are 20 minutes into our 100 year wait for the next one. But is there anything more to this date than the numerical oddity of a string on 1's? And how about Veterans Day? While this day demands a certain degree of gravitas, it also incorporates loud, patriotic chest thumping with moments for quiet reflection and heartfelt thanks.

Observing holidays, memorial days, historical remembrance days, and calendar anomalies are important in their own right, but the true mark of honoring a "special" day is what happens 24 hours later. And 48 hours later. And 72 hours later. Anyone can cut and paste a Facebook status full of exclamation points and waves made out of hearts. But what happens November 12th? Or December 15th? Next February? Veterans deserve thanks and support -- comprehensive support -- every single day of the year. And as singularly special 11-11-11 is, 11-12-11 is equally unique and special ... if you choose to make it so.

So, to all who have passed through these paragraphs today, I wish you both a Happy Veterans Day and a wonderful Binary Friday. But as wonderful as these days will be, I hope tomorrow will be even better. Honor our Veterans by remembering, supporting and thanking them every single day. And no matter what the date on the calendar might be, every single day is a unique 24-hour period of time. Make your time and presence in this world worth every second.

Welcome to the Rodeo

2011-11-10T22:54:00.001-05:00

It's been quite a day. Today was a Goat Rodeo.

From car problems to work problems to logistical problems...well, let's just say my day was quite full. Still in all, I made it to the end of the day. and the good news is that I'm still standing. Technically, sitting, but I'm still here. There have been numerous posts today remembering The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald, tracking the Occupy Wallstreet Movement, and decrying the situation at Penn State. This Thursday has become an official entry into the Goat Rodeo.

Tonight I'm not going to add to the noise. There is plenty enough opinion out there already and I don't need to add to the racket. Instead, I'm going to leave you with some pictures of goats. Because if you have to round up these four-legged havoc-makers, they might as well be cute.

Tomorrow I'll make some noise.

And a little teaser from the new album The Goat Rodeo Sessions
It makes lots of things all better.

Those Were the Days

2011-11-09T23:55:00.000-05:00

Lately I've been finding myself thinking about and talking about how things used to be. The olden days. But not the Pilgrims or founding fathers old-old olden days. I'm talking about the much-less-old olden days. My personal olden days. And these aren't really olden at all. They are more like the very recently retro days. It's a stretch, I know. But it's my story, so you're stuck.

The spectre of olden days keeps showing up because we are in the midst of several milestone activities, many of which involve ~~the end of days~~ the end of high school. First came Senior Pictures. Oh my, this entire procedure has changed a great deal since I had my pictures taken in the olden days. Actually let me correct that, picture taken. Picture singular. One shot, one outfit, one pose, and then into the yearbook it went! Now there are locations (multiple) with outfits (multiple) and props (multiple). The result will be so many pictures you'll need to be working jobs (multiple) in order to afford them.

Next up is college applications. This may be the one thing that I've come up against that makes me sad to be leaving the insane environment of High School. It's not because I'll be sad when she's grown up and a college student. That's perfectly fine. But these applications! You need your vital information, you need test scores, you need a comprehensive list of your significant achievements throughout high school. AND THEN (but wait, there's more!) there is the essay. Smart, hard-working and constantly helping old ladies across the street isn't enough. Now you have to include an essay on the history of the entire world, your place within it, why the dodo became extinct and why you are not a racist. In 300 words or less. In the olden days we just sort of grunted and pointed at the school, and they said, "Sure! Come one in!" Those really were the good olden days.

I was reminded of the olden days again tonight at the theatre. We were seeing a touring Broadway musical, and there was the standard greeting message reminding everyone to turn off their cellphones. This sort of announcement has morphed over the years, changing not so much to acknowledge new technology, but to remind people of things they should have thought of themselves. The history went something like this:

1. No message at all.
2. A brief message about silencing your watch.
3. A longer message about silencing your watch, your pager and your beeper.
4. A modified longer message that lumped all the equipment that 95% of us don't own (see pager and beeper, above) under the umbrella of all other electronic devices. Hello, cellphone!
5. A modified shorter message that excluded your watch because who has a watch when you have a cellphone?

6. A modified longer message that not only asked you to silence your phone, it had to further explain how NOT to be a jerk by telling people not to text either. Or play games.
7. A new message reminding you that if you turned on the cellphone during intermission, you had better turn it off NOW. And still, no texting or playing games.

Maybe someday there will be a museum where visitors can learn about and experience the olden days for themselves. Perhaps there will be dioramas showing a typical suburban neighborhood, with a voice explaining the tradition in the olden days of letting children play outside, unsupervised, until the street lights came on. There might also be interactive displays where visitors can play an 8-track tape, use a phone with a rotary dial, or flip between the three possible television channels by turning the knob (Yes, KNOB) on the TV and then using the small box that adjusts the antennae on the roof. I can imagine there will be excited cries of, "Hey, over here! Look at this!!!" and dumbstruck WOAHs as they change the ribbon on a manual typewriter or watch skilled craftsmen run a mimeograph machine. Specialists could learn the fine art of showing a filmstrip, or using a Brownie camera.

Someday my daughter will become a card-carrying member of the olden days. She won't believe how things have changed, and how so many necessities of today morph into the curiosities of tomorrow. Maybe generations to come will look at a NintendoDS or an CD and wonder what it is and what it does. I take comfort in knowing that I won't be sitting on the front porch of the olden days all by myself. It will be nice to have some company.

Full of Grace

2011-11-08T23:12:00.003-05:00

Since Tuesday is my longest day of work, commuting, teaching, commuting and home again, I don't get much of a chance to keep track of what's happening in the world. Today my news is coming from Facebook, which, let's face it, is on par with doing research on Wikipedia and reading a manga version of CliffsNotes (Sparknotes for anybody under the age of 30). Be that as it may, I'm going with what I've got, so this is your news of the day fresh from the book of the face. You're welcome in advance.

1. There was an election. People yelled about remembering to vote. People yelled about remembering their voter number. People yelled about other people who had to be reminded to vote on Facebook and said they didn't deserve to yell on this topic. Or vote. The results came in. There were winners. There were losers. Tomorrow some people will be mad, and others will be happy. The world will go on because it's Wedesday, and no one thought to vote on the "The world will stop just because it's Wednesday" proposal. This may or may not be a total bummer.

2. The Duggars are having child number 20. It's obvious these people have not learned to LEAVE A SPACE FOR JESUS. Plus, can we consider the logistics here? Not where they are going to put another baby. I don't care. Not how will they or it survive. See previous response. We need to considering HOW exactly, with 19 other children roaming the house, where and when do they find the time for God's Will To Be Done? I'm serious here. I can't even go to the bathroom in my own house without the cat knocking down the door demanding an audience because she's lonely.

3. November is grow a beard and never shave month. I will fail miserably at this challenge.

4. Surprise! Someone is bitching about grammar. Actually you and me know that this aint a surprise at all, and it bothers I alot. Just my .02 cents (only .08 more to go)

5. Pretty pictures.
6. Funny cartoons.
7. Marginally funny cartoons.

8. Birthdays! Today is a big birthday day. There are 8 on my friend's list today. Who knew? Well, they did, I suppose. I managed to wish each and every one of them a happy birthday because I got up on time this morning.

9. One baby born (congrats!) One dog adopted (woof!) Thirty profile pictures changed (overachievers!)

10. Someone in a nearby town won an election . The man's name is Martin Griffin . I've scrolled past this story 3 or 4 times now, and I keep reading "Mervin" and wondering how THAT can be.

11. It can't be. Mervin is dead. And so is Heavy D. Sadly, I've at least heard of the Merv, but don't know Mr. D. But look on the bright side -- now they can be friends.

12. Nordstrom's is STILL not putting up their Christmas decorations until the day after Thanksgiving. This miracle ranks up there with loaves and fishes and Kardashian weddings.

13. George Takei. Funny as hell.

14. Facebook friend ticker needs to crawl in a hole and die.

15. Time for the Daily Show for some REAL news!

Saving Nine

2011-11-07T21:46:00.000-05:00

It's been quite some time since we've traveled together down crifty-craft lane. Let's make up for lost time and see what surprises are lurking on Cross-stitch lane, shall we?

As you can see from this picture, mother reindeer and father reindeer are anxiously awaiting junior's return after his maiden voyage with the big guy in the red suit. Watch Santa slowly climb down the ladder, trying to find the right words to tell the proud parents that junior misjudged the landing and impaled himself on the weather vane.

After witnessing the gruesome reindeer-on-a-pike picture, the sewer lost all will to stitch any more holiday frivolity and chose to leave the upper two stories blank as a stark reminder that you'll need someplace to store all those presents. And venison.

From this picture two things are very clear: Buck and Gene are drunk, and illegal or not, tonight they WILL serve all-you-can-eat penguin (2-penguin limit)

Because nothing says welcome like gritty, grimy plastic eau d'ocean footwear.

Signed, all the pets that used to be loved before YOU showed up.

PS - Watch your back.

Stranger danger be damned!

I think I saw this defense in a Law & Order episode.

I am the angel of wrapping nightmares past.

I am the angel of holiday overeating present. Pass the Pepto!

I am the angel of nine thousand Christmas Carols yet to come.

Now, you will play the Little Drummer Boy AGAIN AND YOU WILL LIKE IT!

Except the Indians.

SPA

CIN

Nothing like a friendly reminder of mass hysteria and religious fanaticism.

Nice shout out to Giles Corey, however. He had a lot of balls.

Doesn't matter how many tricks you can do, turkey.

You're not the main act. You're the main course.

Season's Meetings

2011-11-06T22:48:00.000-05:00

Hello November.

You come around every year disguised as a month of harvest and celebration. You smell like apples and spices and your colors on a sunny, crisp Autumn day can put Rembrandt to shame. You are swirling leaves that swoop and dance as they tumble to the ground. You're an extra blanket at night and a jacket in the morning, but every now and again you whisper "not yet" as you sweep us back into the warmer months, but only for a day or two. Your hypnotic pendulum swings back and forth, giving us a little of everything without tossing us over the fence into the dog days of summer or banishing us to the frigid depths of winter.

November, I know you think you have it all worked out. You think you know how to play this game. But not so fast, November, I've got your number and I'm onto you.

Dear November, you have quickly become a scheduling nightmare. Were you getting worried that December had that wrapped up? Did you feel like a second-rate month? Well, let me tell you, November, not only is December insane, but over the past few years, January has become a not-so-distant second. And you? It seems you want in on this horse race as well. So far we've already survived the fall play and the switch back to Standard Time. But you and I both know that's just the beginning. You've now piled on college applications, a touring Broadway show, a month full of extra rehearsals for two major early December gigs, lessons, dance classes, parent teacher conferences, intern meetings, and a boatload of music that has to be memorized immediately. Do you see any swirling leaves in this picture? Any apples or spices? November, at the rate you are shaping up, when we finally gather together, we'll be asleep. Or in rehearsal.

Now my dear November, please don't blame this schedule on me, and don't let my whining bother you. I know it's hectic. I know we are constantly on the go. Not only do I know it, I've come to expect it, and accept it. It's the blessing and the curse of the performing monkeys. It's what we do. Busy is good. Busy is active. Busy challenges our minds and enriches our souls. Busy makes us not only grow, it allows us to thrive. Sure, we might grumble a bit now, but it's what gets us by. It would, however, be wonderful if you could do something about the homework. Performing monkeys don't have time for power point presentations, illustrated journals or fully annotated hunks of literature. If you could do that for us, we'd all be a lot happier, and before anyone could say, "pull out your calendars!" it will be December.

And then December, you and I are going to have to have a little talk.

Buddy, Can You Spare the Time?

2011-11-05T23:30:00.002-04:00

Tonight most states in the country are going to turn their clocks back one hour, resuming "Standard Time" and kicking Daylight Savings Time to the curb for about four months. Arizona and Hawaii still haven't figured out how to set their clocks, so as far as they are concerned, we are the ones returning to the fold, because they never switched over to that newfangled time system in the first place. I can't begin to explain the state of Indiana. Whatever time it is wherever you happen to be in the Hoosier State is undoubtedly not the time you that it was, so just buy a broken watch and consider yourself covered.

We seem to do an enormous amount of complaining when we switch to Daylight Savings Time because of the lost hour of sleep. You'd think we'd do a proportionate amount of rejoicing in the fall when we gain the hour back again. That doesn't really seem to be the case. In the fall we're a little more business-like, doing chores that need to be done, but otherwise keeping the same routine while we settle in for a longer winter's nap. Come springtime though, the complaining goes into overdrive and we run around like our pants are on fire. I don't know why -- none of that helps. We're still going to wake up too early in the fall and too late in the spring . We are going to blame our clocks, our televisions, the Internet, the newspapers we don't get anymore, pets and the power company. We'll be exhausted for about a week and we'll become very poor drivers. The gift of one extra hour of sleep will immediately be erased by the fact that now it's dark when you get up in the morning and it's dark when you leave work in the afternoon.

Right now, though, is the fun time. After spending far too much time resetting all the clocks in the house (somehow I have FIVE in my kitchen) I'm in no-man's land. My watch and all the clocks in the house except one all say 10:05 pm (Renegade clock made in Arizona. 'Nuff said). My computer, my car, my VCR and my phone say 11:05 pm. Most of these will change themselves at 2 am, and the car I leave for the teenager. Television programs think it's later. Bars think it's earlier. It's the opposite of the morning after the time change, when no matter what time it is, you're wrong. Right now, in this three hour window, no matter what time it is, you're right. Winning!

It must be time to take a nap.

In Praise of the Story Tellers

2011-11-04T23:50:00.000-04:00

Magic is powerful stuff, and the creative arts are all about magic. They inspire, educate and illuminate. They comfort, challenge and give hope. They transport and transform. Best of all, they allow us to tell stories. True stories, fanciful stories, short stories, epic stories. Some stories are spoken, others are danced and still others are presented musically. But make no mistake, there are stories to be told and the performing and creative arts give artists that opportunity to be story tellers.

Tonight I attended an outstanding production of The Triangle Factory Fire Project and was reminded once again of the power of the art of telling stories. Based on a true event, the play weaves the horrific details of the tragedy and the ensuing trial in such a way that no history book could ever hope to match. Watching these actors you felt the frustration, the panic, the desperation, all of which were made worse by the lack of responsibility taken by the owners and the finger pointing on all sides. The tagline for the show "Everyone had an opinion about what exactly went wrong" was as relevant today as it was a century ago.

I'm impressed that this particular show was selected, given its relative obscurity and its difficult subject matter. Adding to the mix was the fact that these actors were between the ages of 15-18 and had very little life experiences upon which to draw for this particular show. Their skill and sensitivity in story telling went far beyond their years and left a real impression on this audience, which is exactly what story telling is meant to do. I thank this talented ensemble of actors -- storytellers -- and look forward to tomorrow evening when they'll tell the story once again.

Void Where Prohibited*

2011-11-03T23:58:00.000-04:00

*Except when it's not.

I don't know when or where or why the practice of including microscopic print in advertisements started. My guess is that with the rise of lawsuits came the disclaimer text that grew in the sheer bulk of words while exponentially decreasing the font size until at last there was a novel's worth of verbiage smashed into a two-inch section at the bottom of the page. Television and radio ads make use of the disclaimer as well, but microscopic print is substituted by Tasmanian Devil style speed-speaking that sounds as if it were recorded and played at 78rpm.

If you don't understand that reference, ask your grandparents.

My assumption is that disclaimers are put in knowing full well the overwhelming majority of people will never read them until the opposing lawer makes them read the highlighted portion aloud as the judge dismisses your lawsuit. Likewise my assumption is that the overwhelming majority of people don't read them because they are illegible, unintelligible, and tell you a bunch of factoids so obvious, your two year old could have figured out during a commercial of Spongebob Squarepants.

So, they don't care and we don't care. Win-win, right?
Well... It is until someone cares to notice. And then notice how much they care.

My poor little State of Michigan -- The Mitten State -- has just had a rough time lately. It's not that we have extra special problems, we just have all your problems at a much high level. Unemployment is brutal. The economy is brutal. Infrastructure repair needs are brutal. As the national lists of woes marches on, so does Michigan, with one shining exception: Immigration. Boy Howdy, we've got those Canadians under control, you betcha. But sadly, that's about all we have under control.

The elected officials for the lovely state of Michigan are another story. In fact, they are so NOT in control, they are bucking for permanent residency on their own personal naughty chair. Their days are filled hacking at this group, slashing that group, reducing or eliminating aid to the poverty-stricken, the unemployed and the underemployed. What's worse, they've been at it for a couple of years now because they don't seem to care at all and we don't seem to care enough. With a like-minded governor (like-minded in that his philosophy is "I'm staying OUT of this one -- you take care of it") this bad behavior went from creeping to crawling, and now it's pretty much dancing in the street, daring us to care.

They may have -- hopefully -- fished their wish.

After much foot-dragging, the Michigan Senate finally passed anti-bullying legislation. Finally. How finally is finally? We're one of only three states that somehow hasn't found the time to publicly and lawfully state that bullying is NOT OK. I'm not sure if we were too busy playing computer games or keeping all those Canadians at bay, but whatevs. Chill. We got it done. But then....

But then someone finally took notice and said, "Hey, wait. Was THAT here before?" It was a disclaimer. No, I'm not kidding, a disclaimer. A disclaimer in an anti-bullying bill. Someone thought there needed to be an "except..." part to a bill that said it was NOT OK to bully. Really. A disclaimer. And what did it disclaim? It actually said anti-bullying requirements don't "prohibit a statement of a sincerely held religious belief or moral conviction of a school employee, school volunteer, pupil, or a pupil's parent or guardian."

In other words, if you asked yourself what would Jesus do, and your ~~answer~~ sincerely held religious belief told you that you should inform some kid they were going to hell, well, then you're A-OK. It's not bullying! It's the way, the truth and the life! And let me tell you right now, if any sincerely held Leviticus adherants get wind of this, I might be hiding out in my basement until this all blows over.

Actually, let's not kid ourselves here. It's bullying. And just because some out of control legislators snuck a disclaimer in there hoping nobody would notice doesn't make it any prettier or more acceptable. It's bullying, plain and simple. And hurtful. And sometimes, deadly.

Perhaps the most telling development was the heartbreaking statement by the father of Matt Eppling, for whom the bill was named. "Matt's Safe School Law" was named for Matt Eppling, a high school student who committed suicide after repeatedly being bullied. His father, Kevin Eppling said, "I am ashamed that this could be Michigan's bill on anti-bullying when in fact it is a 'bullying is OK in Michigan law.'"

That, my friends was no disclaimer. That was a statement. Loud and clear.

It's time to stop hiding behind the small print. It's time to wake up and pay attention.
Dare to care. Do it for Matt.
More importantly, do it for yourself.*

*Seriously, what are you waiting for? Do something NOW. And don't tempt my sincerely held religious beliefs,
or I'll have to go all moral conviction on your ass.

Of Socrates, Sarte and Sinatra

2011-11-02T12:42:00.001-04:00

Leaving my studio after a fourteen hour work/teaching day, I saw a student and we walked out together. He was beaten down, and told me (quite dramatically) "this week already SUCKS!" I couldn't help but add the customary smart ass reply, "and today is only Tuesday!" He looked at me and shook his head and asked, "when you went to college," (in the olden days, thought I) "how did you do it? How do you go on when you just ... just can't?"

"To Be is To Do" (Socrates)

I wanted to give this kid a grade-A eye roll, but he was serious and I thought I should give him an answer. After all, I've been around the block a few times myself, and surely I should have something profound to share that would give him a little hope, insight and inspiration. Unfortunately, the best I could come up with on too little sleep and not enough time to prepare was, "I do the best I can."

Lame. Lame. Lame.

Sad Trombone
I wished I had better advice. I wished it came a sense of gravitas, or awe, or wonderment. I wished, at the very least, it came with a halfway decent soundtrack. Instead, as he outlined his awful week to come, we were now halfway across the parking lot walking in separate directions, yelling across the cars that were left. Finally I said, "Look, take everything one tiny step at a time and make small, achievable goals. That's how you do it."

I got in my car and ripped up my Oprah/Dr. Phil Junior Armchair Lifecoach/Analyst membership card. But as I drove home, I wondered, was my advice all that bad? As a college student I certainly was familiar with the drill of classes, rehearsals, practicing, homework and work-work; all of which added up to more hours than there were in a day. Even today, out of college, it's a variation on the same theme with the addition of a house, finances and a teenager. In my world, "doing the best you can" isn't a cop-out, it's survival.

"To Do is To Be" (Sartre)

Of course, we all want to be successful, but today that seems to mean "ahead of everybody else any way you can". The goal is to win, and to win big. But at what cost? This philosophy of being faster than, better than, smarter than, richer than, or you-name-it more-than everybody else is unsustainable. Nobody wins all the time. Fortunes fade, regimes fall, and those who have succeeded on the backs of others can find themselves on the bottom of the heap faster than you can say Yertle the Turtle.

"Do your best" tells you everything you need to know. YOU do it -- you DO it -- and you do it to the very BEST of your abilities. The result won't be winning or losing; it will be achieving personal success, which is singular, definitive, and healthy. So maybe "do your best" isn't so lame after all. But to my drowning student, I should add, If you feel like you're sinking when you're sure the rest of the world is swimming away, try treading water. Take a minute to breathe, relax, focus, and think. Then and only then will you find yourself mentally and physically able to make an achievable goal and do your best. Believe in baby steps. Trust yourself. You'll make it. You might even come out singing.

"Do Be Do Be Do" (Sinatra)

Turn Down the Noise, I'm in a Funk

2011-11-01T06:00:00.000-04:00

The short story is, the world got very noisy.

From small user-based bulletin boards to single-author blogs, it seemed that everybody and their ugly dog or LOLCat wanted in on the action to tell a funny joke, share a heartwarming story or post a picture of their dinner. And it's not that I begrudge anyone their opportunity of expression on the Internet. Back in the day I followed lots of blogs: cooking blogs, family blogs, humor blogs, political blogs, cartoon blogs, photography blogs. All of them were fine on their own. Sure, some days were better than others, but over the months and years there seemed to be no end. Everybody had something to say, and the world got noisy.

Then came Facebook, and with it came the chance to reconnect with family you didn't speak to very often, friends that had moved away, and former classmates you hadn't seen or heard of in years. Sharing pictures and reconnecting morphed into an opportunity to publish every last thought or activity to the world. I'M GOING TO 7-11! WHO'S WITH ME? The answer was, "not me," and furthermore I really didn't need to know about the midnight drive for a Shamrock shake, followed by that most newsworthy of activities: eating a burrito on your porch. And it's not that I begrudge anyone their opportunity to bond over frozen fake food and drink. I will be the first to admit I still appreciate the opportunity to stay in touch with family and friends on Facebook. But still, the world got noisy.

Twitter showed up with a 140 character restriction. Shorter, tighter messages were handy for reporting news events in real time, or offering witty comments, or a quick link to a great article or video. But with the brevity of message came the enormity of users, and following a few key people quickly turned into following a few hundred people. It was easy to rationalize because the message was so short, but the Twitter accounts I followed multiplied by the multitude, and the world got very, very noisy.

And then it hit me. I realized, I didn't want to be noise.

Starting back in 2003, it was easier. I had a daughter in elementary school who was a never-ending source of humorous stories. But she grew up, and by the time she hit middle school, the phrase, "You're not going to BLOG THAT ARE YOU?" became a regular part of her vocabulary. But she had a point. I didn't ask her permission to be my writing prompt, so when she asked my permission not to divulge personal stories, I agreed. The downside is that some stories have been lost to my poor memory, but the upside is that she has a blog of her own, and she can tell them -- or not tell them -- for herself.

With the explosion of activity on the Internet came an explosion of noise, and somewhere along the way writing for fun became competitive. Bragging points arrived in the form of a site counter, and deeper analysis could be had by examining various referral points. Blogging joined with Facebook joined with Twitter in a powerful self-promotional unit. Click-throughs were begged-for like Halloween candy and it seemed as if it really didn't matter if you read it or not, you just had to click the button. For some it was and still is a validation of sorts; a wonderful marketing tool that provided the well-needed and deserved opportunity to get noticed and read, but to me, in the midst of this enormous push to be heard, it suddenly, collectively, got very, very loud.

So, I stopped being noise. In early January I stopped, cold-turkey. And for ten months I'd boot up my computer every day and look at my homepage, and my funky winter slipper socks with the pom-poms.... and then open up another screen. And another. Through the long winter, the spring thaw, April showers and May flowers, summer vacation and the start of the final school year for a certain High School senior, I stopped being noise. Lots of things happened; some remarkable, many not. Still, every day I opened my browser my winter slippers sat there quietly and uncomplaining. I always thought I'd get back to them one day, but I honestly didn't know when.

And now it's November, and it's time once again for that somewhat silly but fun NaBloPoMo (NAtional BLOg POsting MOnth) writing exercise, and that seemed like as good of a reason as any to come back. There is no hidden agenda, no contest to win, and in my site redesign (still, perhaps in progress) I'm not even sure the counter made the jump. Of course, if you are reading this, Welcome. I'm glad you are here. While my goal is a daily post for November and December, I'm hoping to keep the noise to a minimum. My plan is to put on my funky winter slipper socks with the pom-poms and jot down a few things before I forget them. If you are here to share them with me, that will make it all the better. But one thing I can promise you: if I'm going to eat a burrito on the porch, I'll keep that news to myself.

Back to Reality

2011-01-10T23:34:00.000-05:00

...And just like that (whatever that is), we were thrown back into life and SCHEDULE.

The college kids have returned, so our town just gained an extra 45,000 people. Teaching starts up this week, and goes into full swing next week. Sadly, I can't see my class list, so tomorrow will be a pleasant Forest Gumpian box of chocolates surprise. High School has resumed with a vengeance, and there is simultaneous preparation for finals (2 weeks), exams (this week), large-scale projects (this time it's an abbreviated film of "The Tempest". No, I don't understand why), musical performances, competitions, chair-tests, lessons, homework, and a Sadie Hawkins dance thrown in for good measure.

January has become the new December!

On the plus side, I walked out of work at 5:15pm today and it wasn't pitch black outside, I managed not to shove any junk food down my gullet, and by all indications, I'll be in bed before midnight. I'll call that a win any day of the week.

Oh, and did I mention it's really, really COLD? (I know. January. Duh)
My feet are very grateful that I brought in the reinforcements. (BooYAH!)

Warm Woolen

Say Cheese

2011-01-06T23:53:00.001-05:00

Toddlers toddle.
Teenagers text.
Tweens bounce like super balls
from this group to next.

Years pass too quickly,
and days pass too slow,
So we pull out the camera
wherever we go.

No matter the reason,
No matter the rhyme,
We do all that we can
to try to freeze time.

But toddlers toddle,
and teenagers text.
And tweens bounce like super balls
from this group to next.

Snips and Snails and Puppy Dog Tails

2011-01-05T11:33:00.001-05:00

What are little boys made of?

Snips and snails, and puppy dogs tails

That's what little boys are made of!"

There are times that I think if someone could harness the energy of a five-year old, our dependency on oil or coal or corn or sun or wind would no longer be necessary. Not only that, anyone exposed to five-year old energy would no longer need anti-depressants, therapy, chocolate or Dr. Phil. And, if you found yourself in the presence of an energetic, happy five-year old, you would no longer be obligated to participate in shallow, polite conversation or deep, divisive debate. The five-year old will run the conversation, happily bouncing from story to story, complete with demonstrations and uproarious laughter that usually demands the story start all over again... and again... and again.

And then there is the faithful friend. You can count on him to nudge you for a scritch-scratch behind the ears, a chin on your knee when he's sure you have something tasty to share, or a toy at your feet when it's time to play. Whether sitting quietly by your side or curled up nearby in a bed, he is a calming presence. Someone you can rely on. A protector and a friend.

The poem said that little boys are made of "snips and snails and puppy dog tails." I don't know how much of that is true (especially considering that, according to the poem, little girls are made of "sugar and spice and everything nice") but the boy and his dog are certainly two sides of the same coin. Full of life, full of love, full of adventures. A joy, a handful, a friend.

Time After Time

2011-01-04T23:38:00.000-05:00

Time and I are having some issues.

I would like to sit down and compose a complete thought.
No time.

I would like to sit down and read a few pages in a book.
No time.

I would like to go outside and enjoy real live fresh air.
No time.

I would like my dishes done, my house cleaned and my sanity still in tact.
No time.

I could go on and on, but I won't. I'm sure you get the idea. And yet, as much as I'm sure nearly everyone can relate to my dilemma, I still feel guilty about whining at all. Are all these things possible, and am I just a bad-choice-making machine? Honestly, my days are packed. I run from job to job, from event to event, and from appointment to appointment. It's not like I'm sitting at home eating bon-bons all night. I am very aware of what I'm missing, and more importantly, what I could do, given my time constraints.

Tomorrow I get to rest in a very automotive sort of way. Some might cringe at the thought of an all-day drive, but I rather like them. The weather should be good and holiday traffic shouldn't be an issue. The drive gives you a chance to sit still, to chat, to exercise your trivial cortex, to listen to some tunes, and
enjoy the change of scenery.

Today may have been frantic, but tomorrow?
I have nothing but time.

Photo of the Day

Whiskers on Kittens

I was fooling around with the Retro Camera app on my Droid, and I thought I'd try it on my giant furball. She's an odd cat in so many ways -- her coloring is very unique, she doesn't meow so much as squawk, much like a needy pterodactyl. She will bring a mouthful of dinner and dump it on the ground so she is closer to the nearest human. She doesn't start any kitten rumbles, but she sure as heck finishes them all. Her full name is Gabriella, but Gabby says it all.

986 Words Short

2011-01-03T23:30:00.001-05:00

Late Night Picture Show

Scan Sort Rename Save

Fiddle Fudge Fade In Fade Out

Test Sigh Smile Repeat

Sunday Roundup

2011-01-02T22:25:00.003-05:00

I say ... And You Think:

1. Carwash :: Workin' at the....
2. Intuition :: Women's
3. Desperate :: Housewives
4. Tears :: On my pillow
5. Purple :: Rain
6. Storage :: Never enough
7. Duct :: Tape
8. System :: Manner
9. Cabinet :: Does Anybody Like Theirs?
10. Manager :: An often useless and redundant position of very little importance to anybody except the person who holds it.

Aside from several song references and one television series that I never watched (I'm unsure whether it was because I wasn't Desperate or I wasn't a Housewife or I really didn't care all that much...OK, option 3), I have to ask: does anybody ever have enough storage, and does anybody like their kitchen cabinets? These questions seem to go hand in hand, and I know that whenever someone is either complaining OR bragging about their kitchen, it usually involves kitchen cabinets and storage. They are either ugly or awesome, woefully insignificant or much better, too dark, wonderfully rich, too washed out, light and airy, outdated or sleek and modern. And don't even get me started on Kitchen counters....

As for #10, what can I say? I've been one and I've had plenty. After living on both sides of the fence, I'm still sticking with my answer.

Picture of the Day

Company for dinner

The cat food that's pictured right here

was brought by a feline quite dear.

In my room I was working,

her company shirking.

She fixed that by dining quite near.

Confetti Clean Up in Aisle 2011

2011-01-01T22:21:00.000-05:00

It was a long New Year's Day.
It was an even longer New Year's Eve night.

The chauffer, the wallet, the social coordinator,
the parent, the cat wrangler, the film auteur
and the techie dweeb are quite tired.

Only one choice tonight, and that is to post and to crash.

Picture of the Day

Following (copying, really) an idea I saw on Facebook, I thought I might try (until I fail) to post one picture a day. No editing, no photoshop, no cropping... just life as it happened. We'll see how this goes.

Watch the points keep growing

See MSU play in some New Year's Day bowl game.

See MSU get destroyed in some New Year's Day bowl game.

See lots of Big Ten teams play in some New Year's Day bowl games.

See (so far) every single one of them lose.

Michigan (52-14), Michigan State (49-7), Northwestern (45-38), Penn State (37-24), Wisconsin (21-19).

Thanks for joining us in the "L" column.

It's nice to have some company.

Now and Then and Now Again

2010-12-31T23:53:00.000-05:00

I have spent much of the afternoon and evening in the company of lots and lots of family. But most of the family aren't actually here. In person, anyway. They are in piles and piles of photographs, and I've been spending time scanning, arranging and rearranging them so they tell a story.

In this case, it's the story of my Grandmother, who lived a very long and very full life. And because her mother lived a very long and very full life, there are some amazingly old pictures. It's fascinating in general to watch styles and trends change over the decades. It's another thing entirely to see your own relatives placed in those decades, often doing exactly what you would be doing today, if you were there. Swimming at the beach, fishing in a boat, petting your dog ... not much has changed in the past hundred years.

So it seems somehow oddly fitting in these last few minutes of 2010 that I wish all of you a very happy New Year filled with family and friends and wonderful moments that will fade into memories, perfect for sharing with all the generations to come.

1918

One for the Books

2010-12-30T23:28:00.002-05:00

The end of the year. It's getting to be that time again.

Best-of lists, Worst-of lists, Remember-when lists, memes of the past year passed around, resolutions made and lost -- for better or for worse, they all come to visit this time of year. I pondered doing a year-end meme yesterday and decided I just didn't have the time or frankly, the interest and picking through the last twelve months and choosing fatter or skinnier, richer or poorer, favorite this, most improved that, or desperately seeking a redo the other thing.

This year, like every year I dare say, had some of everything. There were parts of it that need to crawl in a hole and die. There were moments of wonderful news. There was joy and sorrow, there were births and deaths. I hate to add up the columns and give one final thumbs up or thumbs down on 2010. That I am here at the finish line of this year seems success enough. That I have the opportunity to do it all again, and maybe do a few more things right next year is reason enough to be optimistic. That there are some no longer here will always tug at my heart, but carrying their life and memory with me binds my soul and lets me smile in my sorrow. That each new day can be worrisome at its best and paralyzing at my worst is a good enough excuse to stay in bed, but knowing that the love and support of family and friends is there for the asking is guarantee enough that despite the craziness, the sadness, the uncertainty and the fear, it will be OK.

So 2010, for better or for worse, you're history.
And 2011? I'm not looking to you for great things.

I'm looking at myself.

How to sum up a year... a decade... a lifetime?Nobody on earth says itor sings it better than Elaine Stritch and Stephen Sondheim

Unconscious Mutterings - Several Days Late Edition

2010-12-29T22:51:00.001-05:00

I say ... And You Think:

1. Detective :: Mittens
2. Bra :: Necessary Evil
3. Prove It :: Petulant
4. The end :: Is near
5. Messy :: Life
6. Immovable :: Obstinate
7. Jingle :: Bells
8. False :: Prophet
9. Comprehend :: Understand
10. Scream :: Munch. Or PeeWee Herman (REAL LOUD)

This is the edition of Unconscious Mutterings known as I'm too tired to do much else. But that's OK, because you never quite know what you're going to get around here.

1. Behold: Detective Mittens

You're rolling around in gooey, smelly evidence!

2. Yeah.
3. Proof is important and necessary in the scientific and mathematical world. But I can't imagine any scientist pulling the preschool version of "Prove It!" That sort of prove it is short hand for "No, it's not! I don't believe you!" Generally proof is demanded when the demander is sure it doesn't exist.
4. All I need is a cardboard sign, a tin cup and a squeegee.
5. It's not the most romantic notion, but it's true.
6. Lots of things in this world are immovable. Mountains are immovable, and I don't even begrudge them their lack of mobility. Still, when I see immovable I think of someone or something that simply doesn't try.
7. What else?
8. Back to that cardboard sign again.
9. Did anybody else ever take reading comprehension tests by not reading the boring article on tectonic plates in New Mexico, but instead taking the questions and skimming backwards through the excerpt until you found the answer?
10. I just couldn't decide.

Cold as Ice

2010-12-28T23:11:00.001-05:00

It's December, it's dark, and I'm freezing. Really, really freezing.

The car and the sofa aren't mine.

This is unusual for me, because I'm not usually freezing. In fact, I'm usually warmish. But tonight I'm freezing. And as long as I'm complaining, it's also December and dark. Wah Wah Wah.

The uh... ... ... pillows aren't mine either.

December will take care of its own damn self soon enough. I'm not entirely convinced its replacement is going to be an improvement, but we'll see, right? At least we're moving in the right direction. The dark is getting dreary. I don't know what it is about this year, but WOW it's been dark. Really dark. No stars and no moon dark. Suffocatingly dark. In theory, we are over the hump of darkness and are getting a bit more light each day. In. Theory. In actuality? I haven't noticed a change.

I did a Google image search for "darkness"

and discovered none of them would work.

Most of the pics are ridiculous vampire shot

or goth comic book fodder.

NOT at all what I was going for.

Tonight, though? Freezing. Freezing enough that I'm wearing a shirt and two sweaters, warm fleece pajamas, heavy socks and slippers. And still? Freezing. I'm hoping the cats are in a snuggling mood because for once those two gigantic fluff-balls could be useful instead of ornamental. Best I can do tonight is crawl into bed, fleece, sweaters, socks and all, and pray that I wake up on a warm, sandy beach. Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease...

A Little Bit Louder and a Little Bit Worse

2010-12-27T22:18:00.000-05:00

I was thumbing through posts from January, 2010, thinking I might do a retrospective series of posts on the last twelve months. After scrolling through my January entries, it's obvious I need a plan B, because 95% of my posts talk about

Cleaning my house
My House is a mess
I'm being suffocated by clutter
Organization is highly desired yet eternally elusive
I'll never be finished

I'm like the home improvement version of 99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall or the 12 days of Christmas. You know you'll get to the end eventually, but you're sure to lose your sanity around 88 bottles of beer or 5 gold rings, respectively.

I think instead of recapping January (house. messy. clutter. bad) I better spend the rest of my time apologizing. I bet by now you all get the fact that I suffer from clutter. The rule may be a place for everything and everything in its place, but I can't get through the first half of that sentence without it being an utter failure. I don't have a place for everything, and that's the problem. My living space is very compact and is taken up by, well, living, so I don't have spare rooms scattered throughout my house to chunk my junk. My only recourse is to constantly (yet far too slowly) whittle away at what I do have, separating things into piles to file, things to toss, stuff to shred,etc.

I'm making progress. I really am. But I say that all the time too, don't I? I'm just hoping that if the purpose of life is the journey, not the destination, the same can be said for cleaning. As long as I have another pile to sort, then I have reason to be here another day. Who knew the fountain of youth came disguised as the mountain of mayhem?

The Morning After

2010-12-26T23:55:00.000-05:00

December 26th is a strange day.

Some people celebrated boxing day, and others mark the Feast of Stephen. Some people are just happy the stores are open once again, while other load themselves up with store circulars and presents to return. While it's not Black Friday, The day after Christmas can look a little bit like The Day After once the shoppers finish their appointed roads.

Television viewing over the past several days has been hysterical. FX decided that playing the animated movie Horton Hears a Who on continuous 24-hour tape loop would fill the world with the holiday spirit. Boil that dust speck .... with figgy pudding!! Another network has been having a Star Wars marathon over the past few days. And tonight there was the awesome Christmas lineup of The Sound of Music or Independence Day. Nazis or Aliens? World War II or Really really really mean aliens? "Forgive me Reverend Mother, for I have sinned...I ripped out the heart of the automotive transmision which, frankly, isn't easy to do when you're in Bethlehem!"

Oh, Baby Jesus ... is this how you wanted to be remembered?

I'm somewhat torn between wanting to pick it up, pack it up and put it all away. Not because I'm tired of it, necessarily, but because it would push me down the path of getting my house and myself organized. Then again, I hate to take down the tree so quickly after I put it up. It's a pretty reminder of the holiday, and the cats get a kick out of having some of the great outdoors sitting in the living room. As usual I'm going to split the difference. I'm going to pass on Horton and Darth and Maria and bloodthirsty aliens. But I'm also passing on Miracle on 34th Street, It's a Wonderful Life and Christmas story. I'm not going to take down my tree today or even tomorrow, but I'm certainly never going to make it to the end of the 12 days of Christmas. I'm not going shopping, or boxing or feasting with Stephen.

I'm going to hang with the family, do a bit of cleaning, get a little more organized, catch up on sleep, recharge and get myself ready for whatever comes next. As long as it's not aliens, I think I'm in pretty good shape.

Holiday Verbage

2010-12-25T23:42:00.000-05:00

Blogging

Dozing

Blogging

Posting

Sleeping

Waking

Stumbling

Perusing

Greeting

Stuffing

Unwrapping

Smiling

Thanking

Baking

Puttering

Wrapping

Assembling

Tasting

Packing

Driving

Hanging

Chatting

Unwrapping

Smiling

Thanking

Eating

Chatting

Reminiscing

Packing

Thanking

Waving

Driving

Arriving

Practicing

Puttering

Reading

Dozing

Blogging

Posting

Sleeping.

Stars and Angels

2010-12-24T23:03:00.000-05:00

For most people in this world, the stroke of Midnight on Christmas morning is what we've been waiting for since they started putting up the fake trees on Labor Day. The planning, the shopping, the baking, the parties are essentially a Mobius strip of warmup bands preparing us for the main event. Tonight Facebook exploded with Merry Christmas wishes at the stroke of midnight, followed shortly by many declarations of "and to all a good night." So, I guess that means by now all the wee ones are nestled and snug in their wee little beds, and the adults have settled at last for a long winters nap.

I might be a wee bit envious, because I didn't get back home from church until after 1am.

For a working musician who is also a parent of a heavily scheduled teenaged musician who are both card-carrying members of an entire family of working musicians, Christmas is what I'm waiting for too, but not necessarily for the same reasons. Christmas is a giant symbolic finish line to a race that started around the beginning of November. And don't get me wrong here -- I'm not complaining about Christmas the holiday whatsoever. But now that I've made it to THE DAY, I'm ready now to celebrate with the rest of the world and then move on. It's nice to spend a lot of time with the things we already have. But if we never remember to look up, we will have missed so much. There are new signs and songs and stories everywhere.

Calm and Bright

2010-12-23T23:53:00.000-05:00

By George, I think I'm going to make it.

I have made it to the end of the work week, I have wrapped the most crucial presents, my shopping (except grocery) is done, and I'm sitting here calmly writing while I listen to Joe Williams sing Harold Arlen. OK, that isn't so Christmasy, but truth be told, I kind of like it that way.

Tomorrow will be a long day and a very late night, but I can honestly say it will be just fine. There might be a little holiday cookie baking, but nothing frantic. Aside from grocery shopping, one rehearsal, and one late-night church, my day is only going to be as busy as I choose to make it. And this year, I think I'm choosing to coast a bit and enjoy. Hopefully that will include a little cookie noshing and listening to the service of Lessons and Carols broadcast from England.

Even thought it's already December 24th, I'm feeling a wee bit optimistic that I might get this "all is calm" stuff down after all.

Tree for Two

2010-12-22T23:01:00.000-05:00

With a whopping two days to spare, we just got our Christmas Tree decorated tonight. TeenTuna had strung the lights earlier this week, so the tree wasn't entirely bare, but it was nice to finish the job before baby Jesus headed off to college.

It's tough when it's Christmas Break and there is as of yet no discernible break. Sure, we're not dashing off for the high school at 6:45am, but I'm still working working, and TeenTuna is spending her time catching up on sleep (good), helping around the house (extra good), talking with friends (expected), going out with friends (expected, good, and necessary), practicing and doing homework (non-negotiable). I think the Christmas shopping is done, but I won't really know until I sit down tomorrow and do last minute figuring.

I'm still waiting to be magically, wonderfully infused with the holiday spirit. I'm not exactly bah-humbug, but the jingle-bell, angel-wings, caroling-caroling Christmas spirit hasn't hit me yet. Tomorrow isn't the day before the day before Christmas, tomorrow is Thursday. But I still have time to hop on the Christmas bandwagon if it and I both slow down just a bit.

I think I can
I think I can
I think I can
Maybe?

Do Not Disturb the Snails

2010-12-21T23:27:00.000-05:00

As I live and breathe and make my way through this world, I have discovered that I seem to have only two speeds -- snail and Tasmanian devil. Actually, snail is overstating it a bit. It's not really snail. It's more like statue. So, I either do nothing at all, or I run around like a crazy person for days or weeks on end, only to instantly revert back to statue status until it's time to wake up and dash away, dash away, dash away all.

I wonder what happened to my middle-man? Seems my genetic makeup is incapable of putting "slow and steady wins the race" into practice. So, I go with what I've got, and I deal with Jekyll or Hyde (which ever one shows up) as best I can. In short doses either one is tolerable. The real trick is coaxing the other half out in order to achieve (or at least work towards) some kind of balance.

Lately, despite the frantic pace of the holidays, I'm pretty much stuck in statue mode. I do those things that are considered to be crucial, but otherwise, I'm pretty much stuck in a rut, waiting it out. Statue mode is great when necessary activities include watching TV, surfing the web and taking naps. Sadly, those activities are not a required element on any given day. Frankly, I'm still waiting for Tasmanian devil to hit. I had a small dose of it this past weekend and managed, in only a few hours, to finish up lots of Christmas shopping.

But now I'm back to statue mode. Maybe it's laziness. Maybe it's the cold, damp weather. But if it isn't crucial to kick my life into overdrive, I'm going to spend this Christmas break being a bit more accepting of my inactivity, and chalk it up to a well-needed bout of rest and relaxation. After all, if Baby Jesus was asleep on the hay, I think I can snag a couple extra hours of shut-eye. Ready..... Set.....

Shhhh.....

Making a List and Ignoring it Twice

2010-12-20T23:49:00.000-05:00

I was really, really, really meaning to get to this earlier tonight, but once again, it is after 11pm and I'm just starting. I don't know what it is with me. I am awesome when it comes to good intentions. Today I knew I was dragging and I knew the best solution would be to turn in early, grab some extra sleep and come out swinging tomorrow. Did that happen? Heck no. So tomorrow, it's probably going to be my impersonation of The Walking Dead: Tuesday edition.

Now that I'm on break from teaching and consequently am working only one job instead of two, I should be catching up on lots of things. It's time to get my house in order (even a little bit), catch up on the chores, and start wrapping presents. So far, not much of that is happening, although I managed to bust through some laundry last night, and a super fantastic teenager helped finish it today. Yes, teenager. Yes, helped. I know ... I damn near cried. I also working toward switching out my seasonal clothes. It's been cold as Canada here the last couple of weeks, and I have been hunting down warmer clothing on an as-needed basis. Well, I need them, and I need them now.

I am also working sporadically on archiving my music into a single location (oh, what a PAIN!), and cleaning up my computer hard drive in general. I need better storage and backup plans, and I'm finally getting around to doing something about it. It's just a slow, meticulous process.

Increasingly though, I try to do what I can, and I no longer beat myself up when things are left undone. Tomorrow is another day, and I'm sure my mental and physical to-do list will still be at the ready, waiting for attention.

Beware of Spoilers

2010-12-19T23:40:00.000-05:00

You'll either understand this or you won't (Hopefully you will)
You'll either be spoiled or you won't (Hopefully you won't)
But in the realm of extremely unimportant news, this made me happy.

Way to outwit, outplay and outlast, dude.

Intermission

2010-12-18T23:04:00.000-05:00

Concert tonight, and while my brain is on overload, my body is on coma-load. I have lots of ideas floating around in the back of my head, but for the time being, that's where they are going to stay. I'm not even going to fall victim to the siren song of the Haiku, because I'm not sure I can rely on my fingers and brain to count correctly.

Instead, tonight I leave you with some random pictures.Taken from Meijer Garden in September, 2010, they mindful of many things.

Light

Humility

Protection

Joy

Rest

We'll just see what I can come up with tomorrow.

Rat Meet Race

2010-12-17T23:08:00.000-05:00

Today I finally sat down and made a plan. You know, a list making, list crossing-off, holiday consumer economy-propping-up kind of plan. Now for those of you who are already finished, wrapped, bowed, tagged, ribboned, and have moved on to chestnuts and an open fire, well.... whatever. I'm not. Not even close.

You may think I'm running very late in my annual Santapalooza, but to that I must say on the contrary...I'm actually a bit ahead of schedule. And tonight, on the last Friday night before Christmas, I went out into the fray to do some damage on my list.

And I did.
And it wasn't painful.
And people were helpful.

So although I was tired when I was finished, humanity and I were still on pretty good terms.
Who says there are no such things as Christmas miracles?

This is how it goes:

"I need help" (bat-bat-eyelash)

Employees smitten.

OK ---- not smitten,

But they were helpful humans

polite and friendly

My job? Make them laugh.

Too bad tonight's shopping list

contained no dongles.

After today when

Three days worth of stuff were packed

into one...Rest. Sleep.

Performance Notes

2010-12-16T22:55:00.000-05:00

Today was jury day, which, in the academic world of musical performance, means the students come in and sing for their supper, as it were. That is, if their supper is a grade. It's a day the music faculty loves (because we get to hear a lot of great music) and a day the students hate (because they have to sing and evidently we are scary). I usually have a strong hunch how well juries are going to go, and today did not disappoint. It was a great day of music.

When it comes to performing, I stress the importance of presentation. It's a big deal to me, and I care as much about how they look as how they sound. Impressions are made the instant a student walks on stage, and I pay attention to how they look, how they introduce their opening selection, how they carry themselves on stage, and how they express each and every song. This is, of course, in addition to correct notes, rhythms, breathing, diction, etc. There's a lot to it, and it ALL matters.

One of my unwritten rules is I don't like to be surprised. It's a very foolish student that decides to go all rogue and mavricky at the last minute and makes changes without my stamp of approval. It's not that I definitely WON'T like it, but I might not like it one little bit, and it's an awfully big risk to make unauthorized changes in a performance without prior consent.

One of my personal rules for jury requires each student to properly introduce their first piece in the format of "I would like to begin with (name of song) by (name of Composer). They only need to announce their first song, and I strongly believe this little exercise provides some benefits for the student. It allows them to get a feel for the resonance of their voice in the hall, it allows them to phonate just a bit, and frankly, it allows them to sound like an intelligent human being. I don't want any student to say, "I want to start with that one Italian thing." Call me picky, but that just doesn't sound very intelligent. Or prepared.

Today one of my students announced his first song very nicely and then ... continued. I instantly got a little nervous and a little annoyed since I had no idea what on earth he was going to say. He wasn't required to go into any more detail than name of song/name of composer, but here he was chattering away. WITHOUT PRIOR CONSENT. He spoke about the the origins of the song as being a piece sung by a slave during the Civil War. I relaxed a little bit and thought, well, okay, he's right. It was a nice small chunk of information, now sing....

But he didn't. He kept going. UNAUTHORIZED. Didn't he know I DON'T LIKE SURPRISES?
My annoyance factor grew exponentially.

But he started talking about the manner in which he chose to approach this song. Since he wasn't a slave, he didn't have that kind of reference. Instead, he explained how the deep emotion of the song fit his situation at home, where he has a relative who has a debilitating illness, and is now failing.

And with that, he sang this song.

I have never been more moved or humbled in my life. And I will never be able to hear this song again without thinking of this wonderful student who broke my rules, went off-script, and turned three pages of melody, rhythm and text into what I will always remember as one of the most honest, profound, and moving performances I have ever had the privilege to hear.

"Father, How Long?" from "The Civil War" by Frank Wildhorn
Original cast recording sung by Michel Bell.

Tell me my Father, tell me how long
Will boys keep dyin' for freedom's song?
Before we find a place to belong.
Tell me my Father, how long?

Won't bow to no man, I got my pride.
This dream I'm dreamin' can't be denied.
How long till I can sing freedom's song?
Tell me my Father, how long?

I cried my tears the same as any man you see,
so God, please tell me why this man ain't free?
How long till I can sing freedom's song?
Tell me my Father, how long?

No more this darkness, bring me the light.
Show me your morning, cast off this night.
How long till I can sing freedom's song?
Tell me my Father,
Tell me my Father,
Tell me my Father,
how long?

Keepers and Weepers

2010-12-15T23:10:00.000-05:00

On tonight's episode of household hide-and-seek I'm playing find the CD. Sadly the game isn't find ANY CD. That game I would win at the opening bell. No, I am playing advanced household hide-and-seek, and therefore must find one specific CD. Among hundreds. Scattered. Hiding. All. Over. The. Place.

Luckily I know for a fact I have seen this particular CD in the past three months. Knowing this helps me guess the approximate stratum within various piles in the playing field. I know vaguely where it should be, and I also know where it might be, should it not be where it should have been in the first place. Difficulty is factored in, however, because I have been putting things away in fits and starts, and a CD falls squarely in the category of something that just might have been picked up and put in the vicinity of away.

Please note: Vicinity in no way, shape or form means "exactly where." In fact, "vicinity" might only refer to a particular room within the house. Or an entire floor of a house. It's all relative.

Please also note: Any persons making reference to or passive-aggressive (helpful) suggestions including the phrase "a place for everything and everything in its place" will suffer instant, permanent, eternal and probably redundant banishment from this game. If you have to resort to the old "if you would have put it away the first time, then you'd know where it is now" then you're just not very nice, and you should go play tea party with neat people.

Logic tells me it should be very close by, on my desk. Or on my dresser with a pile of other CDs waiting to return to the basement. The desk is a bit messy, but it's self-contained and not terribly big. Bonus points because this playing field is a manageable size. Demerit points because the playing field is shared by the computer which means instant distraction. It's hard to stay focused on the search when there is email to read, blogs to write and the siren call of Facebook that means to distract and delay. Bonus points because there is a trash can at my feet and a shredder 4 feet away. I can search my desk and toss and shred at the same time. Demerit points because it's cold here. Bonus points because

Well, eleventy bajillion bonus points because I just found it.
Oh man, that's AWESOME.

Now what should we talk about?

M is for Memory

2010-12-14T23:42:00.001-05:00

It was the worst feeling ever.

This morning was a morning just like every other morning. I got into work, booted up the computer and started my daily routine of getting things up and running. First I open email. Next I open the library cataloging program. Next I open Firefox and within Firefox I open my tabs in a specific order. After that I open iTunes, and then another Library program. If nothing else, I am a creature of extreme habit.

So, I booted up email and went to the next program. I double-clicked the icon and waiting for the login box. Once it popped up and asked for my username and password, I suddenly had no earthly idea what it was. This program that I have used daily for years, this program that I log into without thinking twice suddenly was asking for username and password that I couldn't remember.

I tried several combinations that I was pretty sure were wrong as I typed them. They were wrong. I tried not to panic. I tried not to feel stupid. I failed on both counts. I decided that I should open up something else and do some routine work for 15-20 minutes and then return to the problem program at hand. Hopefully, I reasoned, when I came back, I would just type in the information without thinking twice. Long story short: it didn't work.

I sat at my desk awhile and pondered my next move. I wondered why I couldn't remember the login information in the first place. I diagnosed myself with a case of hysterical Alzheimers. I worried this was the beginning of a slow descent of losing my memory. I wondered what else I had already forgotten and then decided I'd never remember it anyway.

Finally I had no other recourse. I got up and went to a coworker, owning up to the dumbest question ever. "I don't have the SLIGHTEST idea what my username is with this program. Is there any reason you would have that information?" Without telling the entire world my username and password, I will, in fact, tell you that I was missing the letter "m". As soon as she said "m" I instantly lit up and said, "Oh! That's it! I know that's it!" We shared similar stories of forgetfulness, and eventually I trudged back to my desk and was successful on my first try (which was really about my 67th try).

There are so many bits of information -- phone numbers, events, names, addresses, passwords -- that need to be at the forefront of our memory where they can be nimbly plucked at a moments notice. In a way, I'm surprised that my sense of total recall hasn't broken down before now. But, armed with planners, calendars, address books, smart phones, and helpful humans, I can take comfort in knowing that tomorrow morning, once all this kerfluffle has blown over, won't forget that password.

With a little help from my M's.

Midnight Rambler

2010-12-13T23:17:00.000-05:00

Once again it is after 11pm and I'm just sitting down to write. This final hour of each day is an interesting time, and to be honest, it's taken me quite awhile to be comfortable in it. On one hand, it's quiet. By this time the teenager has crashed and the house has settled down. The cats are often asleep as well, or at least hanging out on one bed or another. There is some sort of background noise going on -- usually the TV or iTunes -- but I don't pay much attention to it at all. I sit at my computer and type, or jump around between writing, checking email (which we'll pretend is productive) or Facebook (which I cannot justify as anything else but delicious procrastination). I'm always keeping an eye on the time so I can hit "Publish Post" before my CPU turns into a pumpkin. My nighttime wardrobe is something to behold (and by "something" I mean "something else"). Tonight I'm sporting flannel plaid pants, a black top and a scarf. It's a little cold (current outside temp: FIVE), and the scarf, surprisingly does the trick. It's not a look you'd see in any magazine (except the "what not to wear" magazine), but I'm somewhat warmish and very content.

But there are nights when my quirky alone time is just that -- alone. The same house that was quiet and cozy is now way too quiet and just a little uncomfortable and sad. On nights like this I don't feel productive or even wickedly guilty as I page through Facebook for the 29th time. Quite the opposite. My electronic communication device and window on the world somehow looks like nothing more than a gigantic crutch that depend on to make it through the night. My nighttime wardrobe doesn't say "sporty" or "shabby chic" or "retro" or anything else. I'm fairly certain it says "Nobody here to impress," and believe me, I take that directive to heart. True, I'm somewhat warmish, but on nights like this, the last thing I am is content.

Darkness, solitude, and winter combine into a powerful force. It's the dichotomy of this final hour -- one night comforting, the next night crushing. But I do know that whether I'm feeling peaceful and content, or filled with a pervasive sense of melancholy, I am not alone. So, I sit and write -- sometimes silly, sometimes serious -- and look forward to morning.

Winter Wonderland

2010-12-12T23:47:00.000-05:00

24 hours later, and we're all still here.

It snowed. We didn't die. We did, however, get snow and lots of wind like they promised. All the area schools have already called snow days for tomorrow, and word from the teenager is that Facebook has been exploding with praises to various deities for a day off. I have a suspicion that many kids were postponing their homework on the hope and the prayer that school would be canceled. Lucky for them this time it worked out in their favor.

Meanwhile, I, like many people, do not get a snow day for work. It's either show up or burn a vacation day. Honestly, the weather isn't that horrible (she says now, six hours before alarm), so deadly snowstorm or not, my plan is to go in as usual. But as for tonight, it's time to crawl into bed and settle in for a far-too-short winter's nap.

Heavy fir branches

thick-wrapped with new fallen snow.

postcard perfection.

The winter snow falls

Like rhapsodic symphonies

Singing silent songs.

Warm flannel sheets made

Heavy by woolen blankets

and large, sleeping cats.

Less than two weeks left

And then George Washington starts

hawking mattresses.

This Just In....

2010-12-11T23:32:00.001-05:00

In case you haven't heard, we're all going to die.

To be more specific, what I really mean to say is, tonight and tomorrow it's going to snow. And we're all going to die.

To expand on that theme, what I'm getting at here is that tonight and tomorrow in mid-December in the state of Michigan that is full of lake-effect Lakes and snowmobile trails EVERYWHERE, it's going to snow. And we're all going to die.

To be truly clear, although it isn't technically winter YET (the druids don't dance around the igloo for another ten days), it is going to snow ANYWAY. In the middle of December. In Michigan. And there will be snow on the ground. And we will be very surprised that it is snowing in December in Michigan. So surprised that we'll die. Hitting a car, deer, or tree might be involved, but the WE'RE GOING TO DIE warning didn't mention that specifically, so we might just die from snowprise.

I know this (the snowing and dying part) because I get EMERGENCY emails from the CAPS-LOCK EMERGENCY EMAIL system. This is the same system that used to tell me what color to be afraid of. Or maybe it was what color the terrorists were afraid of. I never quite understood. Anyway, the EMERGENCY EMAILS also tell me the EMERGENCY WEATHER, like snow in December. Which is important to know, because around here (where I actually never put the shovel away after last winter), snow just shows up, uninvited, all the time, without warning. It's a really inconsiderate weather event.

In honor of dying, I prepared myself by buying fresh gasoline and filling up the snow-blower so it can blow that snow away and maybe I won't die after all. The bad news is, I can't get the snow-blower started, so unless I set it on fire (the snow blower, not the snow), I might be stuck with all that uninvited snow after all.

And you know what happens next.

King Me!

2010-12-10T23:21:00.000-05:00

When I was a seeker

I sought both night and day

I asked the Lord to help me

and he showed me the way....

Tonight I was a seeker. I was seeking my Christmas Tree stand and I had no idea where I had stashed it a mere 11 months ago. I sought high and low, over laundry piles and under spare hangers and blankets. It occurred to me, while I was seeking, that it was no wonder the Kings weren't exactly on time to the Bethlehem Birthday Bash. They were probably looking for the stuff they needed: pieces of gold, a Myrrh traveling caddy, a fistful of Frankincense and a couple bags of camel chow. Suddenly I didn't feel so bad that it took me awhile to find my well-stored stand. I was in pretty good company.

Getting a tree, getting it inside and in the stand and watered is definitely a step in the holiday direction. The cats are pretty happy to have something new and outsidey to sniff. I'm happy that the tree hasn't fallen over yet, and it has a stand to stand in. On? Tomorrow I'll see what decorations I can find and see if we can't get this show on the road.

I bet the kings said that too.

Generally I like ethnic nativity sets,

but I don't know about this one.

The main guy looks a bit like the Frito Bandito,

and what....did he EAT THEM?

Please Please Please Please tell me

they all arrived on a Fischer-Price Bus.

Camel, I don't know who you think you're fooling.

There is a TSA agent ready to

"make your acquaintance."

Toilet paper tube nativity set.

I'm not sure if it's for when you're flushed with excitement

or for when you don't give a crap.

The expression on the woman's face is priceless.

I'm not sure what I like the best: The jazz hands,

or the "Oh Lord, WHY ME?" body posture.

She's probably the one that told the Kings to take a left

at Albuquerque.

Well, Rubber Ducky is THE ONE.

Not sure I can explain the duck on the left that has the pox.

Nativity Set or nine-pin bowling figurines?

You make the call.

HEY! EVEN PIRATES GOT RELIGION.

Of course, I'm concerned about the guy on the left

who looks like he's in the middle of a hold-up.

I might really love this.

Those are the grooviest kings ever.

Once More, with Feeling

2010-12-09T23:51:00.000-05:00

With the exception of one day of singing finals next week, Fall Semester 2010 wrapped up today. As always, the weeks flew by, and it's hard to believe that September was three long months ago. Students who were new to me, or new to my studio, or new to college entirely are no longer newbies. They survived a semester of my antics as a singer, a pianist, and an educator. I got to know them and they got to know me. I asked about trips home, concerts and college classes. They asked me about my family, my commute and borrowing music.

I can't even tell you that I'd like to tell you that I was a mean, no-nonsense professor that couldn't be bothered to hear about personal problems, homework excuses, or sob stories in general. In fact, I could be bothered. And truth to tell, I really care about these kids.

Different graduating classes have different personalities and temperament. I'm not sure what it is about this year, but this fall my studio was filled with students who were hard workers, who were overwhelmingly kind to each other, and polite to me. Somehow this semester, everybody got off the excuse train, and they just buckled down and did their work. It made long days fun, and I honestly and truly enjoyed each and every one of them every single week. I cannot often say that.

Most I will see again in January, making them studio veterans. Some may not return, but that is the nature of education and college classes. They know they are welcome to drop by the studio anytime to say hi or sing a bit for me. To them I can say, "we'll always have Facebook." Like all semesters, there will be a crop of newbies as well. Not as many as in September (thank goodness), but there are always a handful of new students ready to take the plunge. Several have already asked about the class I'm teaching next semester and what repertoire I plan to do. My answer has been the same (I don't know), but I do know that we'll definitely do something. I haven't quite turned out the lights yet on Fall Semester 2010, and I truly want to savor this group of students while I can. They have brought light and life and wonderful music to my little studio in the corner, and for that I am grateful.

It's Not Exactly Peanut Butter Jelly Time

2010-12-09T00:03:00.000-05:00

I saw a commercial tonight that featured half a dozen or so kitchen timers and proceeded to tell me that it was "green bean casserole time." Honestly, I had no idea. But a mother and daughter were huddled around the oven door in joyous anticipation of the green bean casserole to come. If they could have presented said casserole with gold, frankincense, and myrrh, I'm sure they would have done that as well.

I have a hard enough time reconciling myself to everything I already know I am supposed to be doing and feeling. Advent tells me I'm supposed to be preparing and waiting. The weather tells me I'm supposed to be wrapping myself in hand-knit wonders and having playful impromptu snowball fights with the neighborhood children as I walk to my car. Sears tells me that TODAY is the biggest sale EVER. Sears will, in fact, tell me the exact same thing tomorrow. The calendar tells me I'm closing in on two weeks until Christmas. Retailers tell me to SPEND. My wallet tells me to WAIT. The cats tell me to feed them, the teenager tells me to ferry her, and my body tells me five hours of sleep really doesn't serve twelve hour workdays all that well.

I know it's the holiday season, and my inner clock just isn't in sync. The best I can come up with at the moment is that it is Wednesday for five more minutes, and tomorrow it will be Thursday. Will I be ready for tinsel and trees and cookies and milk? Is it time for ho ho ho?

No No No.

Tomorrow it will only be time for Thursday. It will be time for working, for commuting, for final lessons and for final exams. Maybe once I get past the next few days I can bring up a few decorations from the basement. Maybe my holiday spirit is down there as well, partying with the Ghost of Hoarders Past and Clean Sweep Future. I'll let you know how it goes.

Come Sail Away With Me, Lad

2010-12-07T23:56:00.001-05:00

I am afraid I need to make a confession.
I cheat at Battleship. Every. Single. Time.

This misdeed goes back quite a long, long way, to when I was a youngster. A cheating youngster, I guess. In the super olden days before GreenTuna (BGT) Battleship was actually played with pencil and paper. I'm guessing it would have been more difficult to cheat back then, but it's hard to know without trying. I was part of the "Classic" Batlteship generation. There were two flip-top playing fields. You placed your plastic ships (5 in total) in the grid on the bottom, and then you marked the guesses you made about your opponents ships on the flip top. A white peg for a miss and a red peg for a hit. The game is simple enough to pick up on the first round, and usually you just pray nobody finds your tiniest ship that only takes two hits to destroy. When all the hits have been made on a particular ship, the commercial showed some poor-guy loser hold his head and exclaim, "YOU SUNK MY BATTLESHIP!"

The Battleship cheating occurred this way: My ships never dropped anchor. As I was busy keeping track of the guesses I made on my opponent's vessels upon the top part of board, I would also secretly keep track of guesses made against my ships on the bottom part of the board, right there alongside my ship. This way, when someone called a location and it happened to hit my ship, well, it DIDN'T happen to hit my ship, because my ship would miraculously sail away to some other part of the board where guesses had not been made. My cheating wasn't particularly foolproof, and it never guaranteed a victory, but, at the very least, it bought some time.

Somehow it never made sense to me to play any other way. The board was big enough that if you were careful, you could move ships three or four times before it was "stuck." Nowadays, this classic game is electronic, so I have no idea if it is possible to twist the rules or not.

What prompted this somewhat odd confession was my youngest nephew. No, he doesn't cheat at Battleship and he's too young to read this blog, so no worries there. But he thinks on his feet and and consequently he's able to adapt to the point where if you guess what he's doing, or building something might be, he's already making it something else. A truck becomes a robot becomes an "imagination vehicle" becomes a castle becomes a parking garage becomes anything else that flits through his mind. It's The Battleship loosey goosey rules all over again, but this time in the hands of a Kindergartner clutching a wad of Lego's.

If this ailment happens to be hereditary, my nephew will be pleased to know that my cheating ways haven't permanently damaged my life. I don't cheat at cards, or trivial pursuit, or even at Monopoly, where I am always the banker. If I choose to keep the "float" in my "flotilla" what does it matter? And if my nephew builds a truck that morphs into a lawn mower that morphs into a dog, I, for one, will not be calling shenanigans. We creative types need to stick together.

Road Rules

2010-12-06T22:59:00.003-05:00

Although it's only December 6th, the pressure is mounting. It's nearly the end of the collegiate semester, so there are final lessons, final performances, and final exams. I haven't seen my college kids yet this week -- that comes tomorrow -- but I'm fully prepared for the usual panic mode. This is sometimes replaced by the overconfident bluffers ("I can get it done!!") who would, in fact, be entirely successful if a time machine was invented, giving them several more days in every hour. Yes, I said that right. Sprinkle in a liberal dose of whatever-itis (laryng- tonsil- bronch- ) and it's a typical December. I always hope for something a little calmer and perhaps more prepared, but it usually doesn't happen.

It's also the final two weeks of the 2010 high school year. This means ~~Christmas~~ HOLIDAY concerts nearly every day (there were two today!) plus the regular school concert schedule, plus a couple of auditions for good measure. Oh, and there's the daily albatross around the neck, also known as homework. Calendar checks are part of the daily routine so we are sure we are where we are supposed to be when we're supposed to be there (ten minutes early, because that is on time). I always hope for a schedule that doesn't require cloning myself several times over, but so far, it hasn't happened.

December is like living life on a curve, and usually we're going too fast. You know it's coming, you see the signs, you read the warnings, and you promptly ignore them all until it's too late. Slam on the brakes. Slow it down. Promise yourself you'll pay more attention next time. Maybe you do (once or twice), but then, more often than not, it's back to speeding, swerving, braking and promising to slow down all over again. And don't even ASK us to downshift in order to conserve what we have. It almost seems like an insult.

What breaks the cycle? Short of a burned-out clutch or worn-out brakes, I'm really not the one to ask, since it seems as if year after year I'm the one in the driver's seat doing 95 mph. I think the trick, much like driving, is to slow down before the curve. Once in the curve it's almost too late, meaning you have to do some last minute maneuvering just to survive. But preparing for the curve before you actually get there allows you the opportunity to enjoy the road before you and look forward to what's around the next curve.

Of Wills and Ways

2010-12-05T23:11:00.000-05:00

Every time there is a power outage, the first thing you do is round up some candles so you can see at least a little something while you wait. They are never particularly convenient, but if you are younger, there is something a little fun and "pioneer" about the whole thing. If you are older, it isn't too bad until the food starts to spoil, and then all bets are off.

Tonight I'm writing an itty-bitty blog on an itty-bitty screen (my phone) and trying to write and edit one finger swype at a time. It isn't exactly a candle in the darkness, but it is better than nothing. There's nothing pioneer about the large-scale multi-state Comcast outage tonight, but I will be content to say a small, humble (but heart-felt) thank you to Verizon for being there for me in this time of crisis.

And at least I can sleep easy knowing that my Klondike bars won't be a melted mess come morning. That, my friends, is progress.

Hold On!

2010-12-04T23:39:00.000-05:00

There wasn't a more appropriately titled song sung by almost 170 high school kids than their finale, "Hold On". They were singing as a selected member of the 2010 Regional Honor's Choir (Region "B"). Their day today was filled with rehearsals and another audition.

Honor's Choir is difficult enough -- learn and memorize five pieces of advanced choral music -- but with all the activities and school work these kids face on a daily basis, they amaze me that they do as well as they do.

So now it's on to State Honor's Choir. There is a new folder filled with new music, and now TeenTuna is charged with learning and memorizing works in English, Latin, indigenous Australian and Farsi. It should be a fun Christmas vacation.

As soon as I have two spare minutes to rub together (which isn't tonight, sorry) I'll figure out how to transfer a video of a few minutes of dress rehearsal I was able to grab. Until then, though, you've got to (as the song goes) hold on!

Making Perfect

2010-12-03T22:57:00.000-05:00

A long, long, long time ago when I was considering which musical pathway I wanted to take, the subject of practicing came to the forefront immediately. I was a pianist, a violist, and a singer (we're really not counting being a 12-month trombonist (2nd chair), random recorder player or half-a-bagpipe-honker in this story). I knew that pianists and violists could and should practice hours and hours and hours a day. In fact, I knew graduate student piano majors who practiced upwards of 8-10 hours a day. It's not that I didn't like to make music and I didn't like hard work to improve my skill. But being confined to a very tiny practice room, spending 90 minutes on scales and arpeggios before I ever got to the actual making music part of the deal sounded like absolute torture. My mind (and the rest of me) likes to wander too much to sentence myself to that kind of prison.

But singers, I knew were different. Singers couldn't practice 8-10 hours a day. A voice is too fragile. Singers have to practice with utmost efficiency to get the most out of every minute. I liked that idea a lot. Of course, the voice has its own difficulties and problems that other instruments do not share. We carry our instrument with us every single day. It is affected by absolutely everything -- the weather, our hormones, our emotional well-being, the food we eat, the drinks we shouldn't drink, and the amount of sleep we never seem to get. Still, it seemed like a great deal to me for NOT having to practice every waking hour of the day.

Later, of course, I discovered that our practice comes in several different forms. There was the actual in the practice room practicing. There was language study. There was acting. There was reading the works of poets and playwrights. For a singer, there was an enormous amount of preparation that had to take place before we ever darkened a practice room door. This suited me just fine. It afforded me the best of all possible worlds -- being able to practice and make music while being allowed -- required, actually -- to do other things as well, all in the name of being a well-rounded musician. Win-Win, if you ask me.

Still, learning to practice and how to practice is a skill. It takes patience and perseverance. Once in a practice room, the student becomes the teacher, and has to make their own corrections and require them to start over again, and again, and again, and again. We have to be vigilant to fix what is wrong, but it's equally important that we remember to pat ourselves on the back when it's right. It's a very important balancing act.

They say that an amateur practices until they get it right, but a professional practices until they will never get it wrong. There's a lot of truth to that statement. And for all the musicians in the world that truly love what they do, practicing 1, 2, 4, 8, or 10 hours a day, or studying languages or acting or literature isn't punishment at all. It's another opportunity to express and create. Whether it's something beautiful, tragic, playful, thought-provoking or simple, the musician embraces the moment to make music, and to do it better than the day before.

The Neverending Story

2010-12-02T23:58:00.000-05:00

There are times I am keenly aware that my kid -- the original TinyTuna and now TeenTuna -- is growing up quickly. Sometimes I mark these moments with equal parts sadness, regret and fear. "It's not much longer," I think. "How could it happen so quickly?" I wonder. "Please watch over her and keep her safe. She's smart and has a good head on her shoulders, but it's a big world out there." There are times when these emotions are fleeting and other times when I feel as if I am being carelessly tossed about in turbulent waters.

But I'm here to tell you there are other times, and other thoughts that might start with the phrase, "It's not much longer," and then I'm overcome with an odd combination of exhaustion and elation. The first time it really hit home was this past November, when I walked out of parent-teacher conferences. "It's not much longer," I thoughts. "ONLY THREE MORE CONFERENCES EVER!!!!"

You might guess that I was QUITE PLEASED with this revelation.

The next time this same emotion returned for an encore was last week, and really hasn't left yet. It occurred to me (in the midst of all the hustle, bustle, frantic activity, performances here, there, and everywhere, and maintaining that little thing we call a good "Grade Point Average") that I have a year and a half left of this nonsense. It's not much longer before she's done with high school.

Or, the modern translation: "It's not much longer before I'M done with high school. And I'm here to tell you, I cannot wait.

What's strange is, as a student, I loved High School. I realize that puts me in a very small minority, but it's true. Classes weren't difficult and I had a great core group of friends. For those four years, I took charge of my destiny and everything was fine. Today it's a little bit different. Classes ARE difficult. Daily homework requirements require the use of a fully stuffed backpack plus another canvas carrying bag. And here's the thing -- I DO NOT do her homework. DON'T DON'T DON'T. However, my function is an all important Jekyll & Hyde kind of affair. I'm part drill sergeant, I'm part cheerleader. I'm part temptress. I'm part realist. I'm all exhausted.

I cannot wait for the day when my 7pm - wheneverpm mantra is no longer, "What's your homework situation?" or "When is it due?" I look forward to resigning from the special projects advisory board (diorama division), the extra credit executive council, and The Center for Cinematic presentations of important works of literature. I look forward to retiring from the high school shuttle bus service, as well as handing over all offices and duties related to that of the social secretary. And finally, I await with Saint-like patience, the day when I no longer have to tithe boxes of tissues for each and every classroom.

In reality, I'm sure when that day finally arrives and my time thereafter is free from the demands of literature, geometric proofs, performances and more performances, the periodic table and the history of the United States, I'll wonder where it all went, and maybe I might wish for another chance to do it again.

After all, you learn by repetition, right?

November Wrap-Up

2010-12-01T23:45:00.001-05:00

It's only fitting

After six months of silence

I go thirty straight

So many badges

I can't pick. But how to count

Fa-vo-rite? Fav-rite?

Purpose is unclear

In "Foursquare" -- Can I be the

mayor of my blog?

Happy to be back.

Writing fun but takes some time.

Youtube? Blog Cliff Notes.

Holidailies next

Hope to break "ALMOST MIDNIGHT

POST DAMN YOU!!" habit.

Wonder what I'd do

If not for seven fingers?

Haiku in base five?

Fa La La La La

2010-11-30T23:29:00.002-05:00

Pop Quiz: Fill in the blank. "Tis the season to be ____________________"

I imagine that nearly everyone would say "jolly" and then a few of you might throw in the "fa la la's" for good measure. And believe me, I think it's a good thing. Somebody needs to be jolly. Somebody's halls need to be fully decked with boughs of holly. They need to have pine cones and holly berries, chestnuts roasting on an open fire, and on every street corner they need to hear silver bells. Somebody needs to do this because I simply don't have the time.

Thanksgiving is over and between now and December 25th it's high holy days for musicians. The folders of music are set and the performing duds are washed, pressed and hung up, ready for service. The list of gigs is longer than the Black Friday line at Best Buy, and we have gassed up the car so we can race over the river and through the woods to sing a holiday party at Grandmother's house.

If. Only.

Tomorrow the gig taxi leaves at 6:00. That's AM. And it's not for me, it's for the teenager. Fortunately she knows her music, but as for performing duds, I told her she better hang things up, because if they were laying down somewhere, the last thing she would want to discover at 5:15am was a lovely hairball courtesy of the cats. Tomorrow's fun includes the breakfast gig, school (work for me), a lesson, dash home to change into performance black, an "Oh Holy Night" for a memorial service, catching the end of a rehearsal, having another a brief rehearsal, then running home for homework (dishes and grading papers for me), intense music memorization and collapsing in bed. Hello December 1st. Glad to see you once again.

For the next three weeks, our lives will be a variation on that theme. But you know what? I'm actually not complaining. Or if I am (and I'm really not), I don't really mean it. Because as crazy busy as we get at this time of year, we actually wouldn't have it any other way. We love to sing. We love programs and services and chances to share this gift of music and portion of ourselves. So when you hear us muttering about where we need to be when, worrying about our instrument, living in our performance clothes, having too many cookies and cups of punch, organizing and coordinating our calendar daily, and executing each day with military precision, it's OK. We just need to talk through it to make sure we're where we need to be when we need to be with what we need to perform. We're always grateful for December 26th, because the season grinds to a halt as quickly as it began, but I guarantee you, come next fall, we're anxiously awaiting the next invitation to join in the reindeer games.

We simply like to make music anywhere and everywhere we can,
and we wouldn't have it any other way.

The Search for Common Sense

2010-11-29T22:39:00.003-05:00

So once again, the dirty laundry of the world -- primarily the United States -- is going to be published on the Internet. I think this is being done in the name of "honesty" or "transparency" or "truth" or "justice" or what have you. Frankly, I'm just not buying it.

It's a dilemma, really, because when you get right down to it, I think everybody wants an honest and open government. We want to know what's going on. We want to know that our elected officials are behaving legally and ethically. We want to be sure that everyone is following the rules, because we know when that happens the bad guys always lose and the good guys always win.

Or do they?

It seems that first you need to answer the all-important question: who are the bad guys? And for that matter, who are the good guys?

The answer depends on who you ask, what day it is, which direction the diplomatic winds are blowing, and who is mad at whom at any particular moment. The bad guy is always the other guy. Half the time it doesn't matter which other guy, just so long as it's somebody other than ourselves. The good guy is much easier to identify. It's us, without a doubt. Sometimes others can join us if invited, and usually only if we will somehow benefit from a cooperative venture. But here's the problem: if everybody thinks they are the one true good guy and everybody else is a bad guy, doesn't that mean the world is full of referees who pass down judgments on others...but never on themselves?

Somewhere in this conundrum we are missing a critical, yet simplistic element: common sense. Instead of pausing to consider ramifications down the road, we stampede over all the perceived bad guys, trampling on rules and mowing over common sense. We do this in the name of justice and right -- our right -- which, being the good guy and all, is the most important right there is. It doesn't matter if it affects others negatively. After all, "don't tread on me" didn't exactly have a list of caveats spelled out at the bottom of the flag.

So now lots of countries, especially (but not exclusively) The United States are having to explain countless socio-political blunders that weren't meant for publication, like Russia is stuck up, Canada wears mismatched socks, and the current bad-guy Korea behaves like that crazy Uncle you pray won't show up for Sunday Supper. It's going to take a lot of work to undo these seemingly trivial statements.There are many, many other, far more serious leaks of information as well, and it will take a lot more than a sincere "my bad" and bouquet of flowers.

Using a bit of common sense wouldn't necessarily change our course of action, but it implies, at the very least, that we step back and consider actions and results from all sides, both immediate and long term. Hiding evidence of serious wrongdoing isn't the answer. But tattling on others like toddlers on the playground isn't the answer either. Should we be a global community ready, willing, and able to play dirty in order to suit our needs and exercise our freedom? No.

I can't say whether these leaks should have been made public or not, but I wish the desire to DO right was as strong as the need to BE right. If only everyone employed just a little common sense, maybe we could focus our attention on healing our world-wide community, instead of cleaning up messes everybody else leaves on our global doorstep.

Waiting with Hope

2010-11-28T23:34:00.001-05:00

Advent has returned, and once again, we are in the season of waiting. As I mentioned a year ago at about this time (go figure, eh?), waiting isn't exactly most people's strong point. We are a society that isn't particularly conditioned to wait for much of anything, except usually, for whatever the waiting is, to be over.

Each Sunday in Advent has a different variation on the theme of waiting. As if waiting wasn't hard enough on its own merits, the theme of this first week is waiting with hope.

Hope. WAITING with hope. Looking around at the world today, if we wait with anything, it sure isn't hope. In fact, it's the opposite of hope. We wait with fear.

Over the years we have been increasingly pummeled with the specter of fear. There are monsters under the bed, people who want to hurt us, stranger danger, amber alerts, check your Halloween candy, the sky is falling, 2012 is around the corner and Nostradamus is waiting with a big I told you so. When we wait with fear, we wait both defensively and aggressively. We protect, fortify, and build barriers to protect, but we also arm ourselves to strike at whomever for whatever. Fear whispers and we scream. The worst is always just around the corner, and it is coming for US. Fear moves us and motivates us by the never-ending nagging what if.

But what exactly is waiting with hope? Does it mean we hope something good might happen? It seems if we are simply waiting for the possibility that something good might happen, it seems we have already lost. There are too many conditional statements. Too many chances to fail. Too many opportunities for fear to rush back in and say if only you had done it differently...

Waiting with hope is a very tall order, and unlike the song, it's not where you finish, it's where you start. It's being ready, willing, open and accepting from the get-go. It means leaving our self-made barriers and being open for the good we know is to come.

Waiting with fear means waiting for things we've been told might come.
Waiting with hope means waiting for things we know will come,
and then recognizing it when it does.

I hope I get it right.

Trading Spaces

2010-11-27T23:11:00.001-05:00

One of the benefits of having company over is you have to do something about the clutter that manages to make its presence known enough to annoy you, but never enough to make you do something about it. "You" in this case meaning "me", because I'm SURE none of YOU have this problem.

So, with Thanksgiving company on the horizon, it was time to break into action and take back the living room. Which I did with amazing speed and style (if I do say so myself). This room hasn't been this clean and put together since the big paint job a couple of years back.

HOWEVER...

The downside of suddenly having a clean space is that all the aforementioned clutter needs a "place to be". Much like one of those sliding puzzles, everything needs to shift once again so the piles (albeit smaller, as compared to years past) can be sorted and the items returned to their proper places.

Sadly, work on my bedroom begins -- once again -- tomorrow.

I've Got the Music in Me

2010-11-26T23:11:00.002-05:00

I've been working on an "organizational" project on and off for several weeks. Sadly, it has nothing to do with dealing with the treasure trove that is my basement, or launching a dating service for lonely socks. In fact the word organizational earned itself a set of quotation marks because I'm not sure this qualifies, since it isn't a roll up your sleeves, grab a label-maker, trash bag, or storage bin kind of project.

My organizational project is cleaning up all my audio files on iTunes.

There are many ways I could describe this project: Neverending. Boring. Maddening. HOW CAN IT BE THAT I'M ONLY ON "D"??? All of these are entirely true, but I'm doing my best to concentrate on the word "necessary."

With all respect to the Gods of iTunes, I'd like to meet the person who determines what information goes in the various fields of a song (Song Title, Artist, Album Artist, Composer, Duration, Album Title, etc. etc. etc.) and smack them over the head. Repeatedly. Consistency, thy name is NOT iTunes. There are composers preceding song titles, there are album titles listed as the artists. They alphabetize the way it appears in the field, which, in this warped musical universe is by FIRST NAME FIRST and THEN last name. That is, when they give you a first name. Initial articles are fair game in other languages, so titles are filed under "Das" or "Le" or whatever nonsense some entirely non-musical, non-foreign-language-speaking person chose.

This might sound like a big who cares, but believe me, for someone who arranges and orders things for a living, this kills me. Even at home, books must be arranged by genre, by hardcover/softcover and then from tallest to smallest. But there is always THAT ONE BOOK that is longer than it is tall, and leaving the organizer with gut-wrenching decision: Let it stick out? NO. That's blasphemous. Turn it on end so it doesn't stick out? No. Doing that covers up important information like THE AUTHOR AND TITLE. It's a lose-lose proposition no matter what you do.

So now I'm meticulously going through my audio files, deleting duplicates, making sure all the albums have a picture of the cover, making sure last names go last and first names go first (RADICAL!), making sure things are spelled correctly, and that I could find something with a spin of the iPod wheel. Sure, I'm kicking myself for not keeping on top of this in the first place, but it's hard to know how out of hand a collection of anything will become until you wake up one morning and realize it is just that -- out of hand.

At least while I fix it (and go a little insane) I have background music.

ThanksSharing

2010-11-25T23:49:00.000-05:00

I think of the holiday of Thanksgiving as one of those "listing" kind of days. Not listing as in maintaining a permanent tilt to one side or another (although, if you eat enough turkey and stuffing, there is a degree of danger that comes from over-achieving). No, Thanksgiving is a listing holiday like New Years Day is a listing holiday. Time to pull out pencil and paper, or stand and give a formal declaration about all those things you are thankful for.

Ending your sentence with a preposition may or may not be one of those things.

Since I'm 50% list-phobic and 50% list-deficient, a listing holiday doesn't bode well for me. I'm afraid I'm going to forget something. I'm afraid it won't be profound enough. I'm afraid it will be too serious. I'm afraid of what others might think. I'm afraid that nobody will care. I'm afraid I'm not thankful enough. I'm afraid I'm too thankful. This list -- unlike others -- goes on and on.

In reality I'm nowhere nearly as neurotic it sounds. And yet, any one of those phrases are plenty enough excuse for me on any given day. And the truth is, I usually approach the whole thing by thinking, "yeah, I should figure out what I'm thankful for" ... and end up doing nothing.

Of course I'm thankful for family, friends, a place to live, food to eat, a job (OK, two jobs), transportation and warm clothes. But all those seem so obvious. It's like saying that I'm thankful for breathing. Which I am. It's rather important. But if I need to enumerate my thanks beginning at the cellular level, we'll be here a long, long time.

Instead, I'd rather tell you that I'm thankful for the health and healing, and the care and comfort I've seen over the past year. From a new-born infant to life-long friends, to parents and grandparents, I have seen the miracle of medicine and the power of prayer do absolutely astounding things. I've seen friends and families pull together, circle the wagons and watch miracles happen. They are the heart and soul of this fight, and the medical community is the 13th player on team, providing the well-needed muscle. But there have been times when the fighting is over and friends and family are powerless and broken. It's then I'm thankful for the medical community and health care providers as they step in and serve as both shoulder and crutch, providing medical and personal comfort as life transitions peacefully and gently.

I'm thankful for infectious smile, the giggle, the somewhat inappropriate titter and the raucous belly laugh. In a world where so many would like to tell you there is NOTHING funny and NOTHING good anywhere anymore, humor -- be it silly, punny, racy, obtuse or as subtle as a falling anvil -- helps us realign and reboot our sense of perspective, even in the midst of very loud naysayers. Nayshouters.

I'm thankful for the wisdom that is found in the likes of kindergartners and fortune cookies. They both get to the heart of the matter without messing around. Sometimes the syntax is a little sketchy and the words get lost in translation, but the heart, the meaning, and the honesty is always there for the taking.

I'm thankful for second chances and new opportunities. The weather changes every day. If I don't like today, maybe I'll like tomorrow. If not then, maybe the next day. Every book in my house brings new people to meet, stories to tell, and adventures to embark upon. Putting my iPod on "shuffle" all day brings me 10,000 surprises. Sitting down with new music books gives me the chance to discover new music, new poetry and new sources of inspiration. The students I teach walk through my studio door each week and seem to be filled with endless possibilities. They inspire me and surprise me every day.

If I was really pressed, I would have to say the thing that I'm most thankful for is all those people and lives and experiences that are intertwined with my own. To be able to share joys and sorrows, successes and hardships, laughter and tears, is to be reminded that I'm not alone out here, slogging it out in the trenches of life. We're all in it together. And for that, I'm truly, truly thankful.

We Gather Together?

2010-11-24T23:26:00.004-05:00

On the day before Thanksgiving, many people travel to whatever place they call home. The feeling is warm and comfortable, and the houses are filled with the scent of spices, apples and pumpkin pie. It's nostalgic, Norman Rockwell-eve. Tomorrow will be turkey and stuffing, cranberries, sweet potatoes and all the fixings, whatever they may be. It will be too much food, too much family, and a little bit of football, parades and napping to fill in the cracks.

My today went something like this: Work at 7am. Try not to slip into a deep and fatal coma. At 11:30 we dash home and pick up TeenTuna, who is going to join us for lunch. But first, we have to go on an expedition. We are seeking the child. Alas, there isn't a star to be found at 11:45am in Michigan, so celestial navigation is out of the question. Finally, with angels singing (and car horns honking) we approach with a certain reverence the one whom we seek:

TeenTuna on a Billboard

Underneath a hamburger

So we make her stand in the middle of the weeds and point at the sign while we stand in the middle of the road... the busy road... at noon... and take pictures. Because we can. And how many times is your kid going to be on a billboard? Granted, with this one? It's hard to say. But as long as her picture isn't on a milk carton or the FBI's Most-Wanted List, we're okay.

After billboard hunting, we continued to hamburger devouring (not at Bob Evans, sorry Bob) and I returned to work to resume holding down the floor (steady), testing the quality of the air (poor), and practicing silent meditation (sleepy). Then we had to dash away dash away dash away all to her voice lesson, where I dumped her and ran to an ATM so I wouldn't have to pay her teacher with a fistful of George Washingtons. Post lesson we raced home and ran out the door yet again ten minutes later. Off to church for the usual day before Thanksgiving dinner and service. I sat next to a handsome young man who is in his freshman year at college. Instead of making him recite his favorite things about college and Chicago, I looked at him and said, "OK..... class that makes you want to poke your eyes out with a sharp stick?" Because really, whatever the answer is, it's going to be ten times better than "what do you like the best about (fill in the blank)?"

We didn't stay for church, but ran two quick errands and finally made it home. It wasn't warm (the heat was off), it wasn't spicy (although later TeenTuna warmed up leftover spaghetti), and there isn't a pumpkin pie to be found. Instead, we made a batch of spicy warm queso dip, and flipped channels between a Stephen Sondheim birthday celebration on PBS, and South Park's musical version of "The MiracleWorker".

Because really now....who can choose?

Tomorrow will be another non-traditional day. The turkey is getting a 48 hour reprieve, and we're celebrating with lamb. There might be a little parade watching (especially if it's a high-wind day... that's when it gets FUN), a little warm cider quaffing, a little laundry doing, and a lot of homework completing. About the only thing traditional in our house in this non-traditional day is that there will be NO MINCE PIE.

And for that, I will be truly thankful.

Haikuzzzzzzz

2010-11-23T22:57:00.000-05:00

Is it possible
To Haiku when you're asleep?
Evidently, yes.

The students performed
Many jazz standards tonight.
Frank and Ella smiled.

Yesterday? Sunny.
Today? Cold. Windy. Rainy.
This state's not for wimps.

Living room sofa
method actor portraying
a warm, comfy bed.

Tomorrow? Restful?
Pigs, Popes, and Bears in the woods.
Sense this does not make.

Cat snores. Tuna types.
Clock ticks. But before bedtime
Must harvest the rice.

For heavy eyelids
Remember to pack toothpicks.
Or dark sunglasses.

If I sleep right now
Six whole hours is my reward.
Sounds like a plan, Stan.

My Huckleberry Friend

2010-11-22T23:46:00.001-05:00

I've spent much of my evening preparing a program for my student's studio class tomorrow night. There are a lot of "firsts" in this particular recital. It's the first time I've done repertoire based on a theme, which happens to be The Great American Song Book. It's the first time the entire studio class will be jazz standards -- nothing classical. There isn't a G'ia il sole dal gange, Clair de lune or Nymphs and Shepherds to be found. The Vagabond has been told to take a hike. And, AND (and my former students are going to kill me)... we're going to have treats. Maybe I'm getting soft in my old age, but then again, everybody still has to dress appropriately, so I haven't lost total touch with reality.

Actually I'm looking forward to this class a great deal. There's much to learn from singing jazz standards and learning how to merge standard, healthy vocal technique with a different genre. And lest you think that singing standards is easy, learning to improvise -- that is, deviate from the notes and rhythms on the page, while staying in the same key and not getting hopelessly lost -- doesn't come naturally to most singers. But it's a wonderful exercise to let go and experiment a little bit. Try different things out and see what works for each individual singer. I'm not sure all my students would agree with the wonderfulness of this exercise, but believe me, it's good for them. LIKE JAZZY SPINACH.

Usually when I toss together a program, it's just that: I toss together a program. For tomorrow, though, I thought I'd give them a little background behind their composers and their songs. I hope they find these little blurbs half as interesting as I did. Tonight I learned that Rex Harrison refused to pre-record his numbers for the film My Fair Lady (because he said he never spoke them the same way twice), so he wore what was the first wireless microphone hidden in his tie. I learned despite all the great standards that have come out of the show St. Louis Woman, it basically tanked. Written as a showcase for Lena Horne, she dropped out, protesting the depiction of her character. I learned Fats Waller played a birthday party for Al Capone at gunpoint, that Skylark was written about Judy Garland, that Cole Porter's wife tried to arrange (unsuccessfully) for him to have lessons with Igor Stravinsky (because classical musical was more prestigious), that the classic ballad My Foolish Heart was panned along with the film, and that the famous line "my huckleberry friend" had nothing to do with Tom Sawyer. He just liked how the word sounded.

It's the same with standards. You sing them how you like them to sound.
I can't wait.

Jiggity Jigg

2010-11-21T22:50:00.000-05:00

...And just like that, the troops have reassembled.

The return flight seemed to go smoothly, although TeenTuna lost some HBA items to airport security when she mistakenly tossed it in her carry-on instead of her suitcase. I hope they enjoy her foot lotion and her hair straightener. I also hope they don't mix them up and use them on the wrong body part. Then again, maybe I DO hope they mix them up...

I can't give many details of the trip, because it seems we picked up a zombie who came home, ate, showered, and collapsed. It wasn't surprising, since it was about 3am Germany time. I have the sneaking suspicion that reentry this week is going to be difficult. Oh well, that's the price you pay when you're a teen aged world traveler.

I had several people ask me if I was going to cut loose, get arrested, or kick back and relax while she was gone. The answer ended up being: no, no, and no. It was a regular double work week with a large dollop of not enough sleep. I did manage to complete an exorcism in my bathroom, but that didn't happen until yesterday.

And tomorrow we're right back at it again. Luckily it's a short week at school, but even that is full of school, work, teaching, lessons and rehearsals. It's going to be a long holiday weekend full of making up the homework. It won't be fun, I'm sure, but it's a fair price to pay, all things considered. Meanwhile I look forward to a short but (hopefully) good nights sleep, knowing that everybody is home safe and sound.

Auf Wiedersehen, Goodbye

2010-11-20T22:59:00.000-05:00

Tomorrow evening TeenTuna returns from her European travels. I've been lucky to have been able to catch her online most days to squeeze in a 5 minute chat. She has had such an incredibly wonderful time on this trip, I encouraged her to make a mental (or actual) list of places she'd like to go back and visit again. Today, as we were finalizing plans for tomorrow (at the speed of MOM HURRY UP, WE ARE GOING OUT!), she asked me, "Do you remember when you told me to make a list of places I wanted to come back and visit?" I told her I did, and she told me, "I have my list." I was in the middle of typing, "that's great I can't wait to see it when you get home..." and she wrote "I WANT TO GO EVERYWHERE!!!"

I told her that sentence really made me smile.

Even her Facebook status tonight said although she was sad to leave tomorrow, she is leaving with great memories, experiences, trinkets, and new friends that will last forever.

As a parent, there are many time when I grumble about this trip and that trip, and being not more than a combination ATM/taxicab. But it's experiences like these that promote education, understanding, music and cultural exchanges that remind me that it's all worth it.

I'm so proud that she was flexible enough to fit in in a new country and with a new family. I'm impressed that she was mature enough to manage her money and keep track of all her documents and valuables. I'm thrilled that she loves to travel so much, and has taken a bucketful of pictures, so when she comes home, she can share her adventures with us.

Safe travels, symphony.
I can't wait to see you tomorrow!

Coda

2010-11-19T22:32:00.000-05:00

Considering all the blathering I do here, you may find it surprising that I actually believe that more often than not, words are a cumbersome lot. More can be said by the turn of a beautiful musical phrase than can be said by endless strings of paragraphs. A landscape that might take pages and pages to describe can be breathtaking when put to canvas in deep rich oils or gently shimmering watercolors. Comfort and care and love need not rely on a greeting card when a bowl of soup and a warm piece of bread will more than suffice.

So tonight, when I opt for music over words, pictures over paragraphs, and a bowl of soup to comfort me and keep me warm, I am content. It says everything I could possibly say, and more.

Harry Potter and the Comfy Pillow

2010-11-18T23:44:00.001-05:00

There are many good things in a world today, but it's very late, so I will content myself with knowing that happiness, for me, at this very moment means not being in a line for a midnight showing of Harry Potter. To whomever has my seat (because I didn't buy a ticket) -- I hope you have a very good time.

As for me, I'm crawling into bed, because I need some sleep.
But at least I don't need a nose.

Happy Thursday, everyone.