Monday, December 31, 2007

45 x 365 #61 : Hazel

My first description: physical (impeccably dressed, hair and makeup always done) which seems shallow. But you're not shallow, just quiet. Because you're a gifted artist I know you have wonderfully interesting, compassionate stories living in your paintings. My job is to look, listen and learn.

45 x 365 #61 : Hazel

My first description: physical (impeccably dressed, hair and makeup always done) which seems shallow. But you're not shallow, just quiet. Because you're a gifted artist I know you have wonderfully interesting, compassionate stories living in your paintings. My job is to look, listen and learn.

The Year of the Primrose



Several summers ago we got some evening primroses to put in our garden. In a sense, they are the opposite of morning glories. Morning glories bloom at first light, and evening primroses bloom just as the sun sets. I have never been awake early enough to see a morning glory bloom, but that first summer, having heard about them, I wanted to see an evening primrose in action.

That first night we went outside and crouched down in front of the primrose patch until our legs fell asleep. Then we knelt until our knees hurt. After awhile we were laying down, stretched out on our stomachs, with our chins propped up on our hands. The grass was cool and fresh, staining our elbows and knees and the toes of our tennis shoes as our legs kicked back in forth like the second hand of a clock, marking the passage of time.

Not knowing what we were looking for, but knowing what we wanted to see, we stared and we stared and we stared.

Every little movement brought a flurry of conversation. "It moved! Did you see that? I think it's about to open? Do you think it was the wind?" It was boring and fascinating and utterly spellbinding all at the same time. I think all of us wanted to go back inside, but none of us dared. We didn't want to miss it. After an hour had passed, we all figured we had invested too much time to leave. So we watched some more.

Without knowing any technical jargon, the flower petals are held tightly by some small thin leaves. As the petals begin to relax and loosen from their tightly coiled beginnings, these small thin leaves begin to split slowly from bottom to top. When all the leaves have come apart, the flower springs open, much like you might see if you were watching time-lapsed photography.

As we watched these plants it was amazing to see them move and twist, without benefit of wind or animal or human intervention. It was one of those moments that physically confirmed an intellectual fact. Yes, a plant is a living object, but here was an opportunity to see it live? Everyone knows seeing is believing, but I have to tell you, it's a little spooky when you're talking about a plant.

And yes, there were copious "Feed me, Seymour" lines tossed around for good measure.

When the first blossom sprung open, we practically jumped with surprise (a bit difficult when you're laying on your stomach), and then oohed and ahhed as if it were a magic trick. Then we watched the next one and the next one and the one after that. It wasn't until the last bud bloomed that evening that we picked ourselves up, brushed off the grass and started itching the 97 mosquito bites we acquired that evening. But they were worth it. Every single one.

Evening primrose watching became a nightly ritual. When people came over to the house we'd drag them outside, saying "You have to see these flowers!" We explained how they opened. We showed them move without the wind. We came armed with bug spray and lawn chairs for our guests and we sat outside in the warm summer evenings staring at the garden bed as if it were a drive-in movie screen.

Over the years we've gotten better at timing the evening primroses so we only need to stay outside 5-10 minutes before they burst into a beautiful (if brief) existence outside their green bars. But I'll never forget that first summer of waiting and wonderment.

To know that something is going to happen, and yet not know how it might or what it might look like, or when it might be or why it even happens can both frustrating and exciting. For myself, I'm declaring 2008 to be My Year of the Primrose. I don't know what exactly I'm looking for, or when or how it will happen, but this year is for me. And you can be darn sure that I'll be watching and waiting -- probably bored at times, but still excited -- for that magic to happen. It's all inside of me. It's time to set me free.

Happy 2008.

The Year of the Primrose



Several summers ago we got some evening primroses to put in our garden. In a sense, they are the opposite of morning glories. Morning glories bloom at first light, and evening primroses bloom just as the sun sets. I have never been awake early enough to see a morning glory bloom, but that first summer, having heard about them, I wanted to see an evening primrose in action.

That first night we went outside and crouched down in front of the primrose patch until our legs fell asleep. Then we knelt until our knees hurt. After awhile we were laying down, stretched out on our stomachs, with our chins propped up on our hands. The grass was cool and fresh, staining our elbows and knees and the toes of our tennis shoes as our legs kicked back in forth like the second hand of a clock, marking the passage of time.

Not knowing what we were looking for, but knowing what we wanted to see, we stared and we stared and we stared.

Every little movement brought a flurry of conversation. "It moved! Did you see that? I think it's about to open? Do you think it was the wind?" It was boring and fascinating and utterly spellbinding all at the same time. I think all of us wanted to go back inside, but none of us dared. We didn't want to miss it. After an hour had passed, we all figured we had invested too much time to leave. So we watched some more.

Without knowing any technical jargon, the flower petals are held tightly by some small thin leaves. As the petals begin to relax and loosen from their tightly coiled beginnings, these small thin leaves begin to split slowly from bottom to top. When all the leaves have come apart, the flower springs open, much like you might see if you were watching time-lapsed photography.

As we watched these plants it was amazing to see them move and twist, without benefit of wind or animal or human intervention. It was one of those moments that physically confirmed an intellectual fact. Yes, a plant is a living object, but here was an opportunity to see it live? Everyone knows seeing is believing, but I have to tell you, it's a little spooky when you're talking about a plant.

And yes, there were copious "Feed me, Seymour" lines tossed around for good measure.

When the first blossom sprung open, we practically jumped with surprise (a bit difficult when you're laying on your stomach), and then oohed and ahhed as if it were a magic trick. Then we watched the next one and the next one and the one after that. It wasn't until the last bud bloomed that evening that we picked ourselves up, brushed off the grass and started itching the 97 mosquito bites we acquired that evening. But they were worth it. Every single one.

Evening primrose watching became a nightly ritual. When people came over to the house we'd drag them outside, saying "You have to see these flowers!" We explained how they opened. We showed them move without the wind. We came armed with bug spray and lawn chairs for our guests and we sat outside in the warm summer evenings staring at the garden bed as if it were a drive-in movie screen.

Over the years we've gotten better at timing the evening primroses so we only need to stay outside 5-10 minutes before they burst into a beautiful (if brief) existence outside their green bars. But I'll never forget that first summer of waiting and wonderment.

To know that something is going to happen, and yet not know how it might or what it might look like, or when it might be or why it even happens can both frustrating and exciting. For myself, I'm declaring 2008 to be My Year of the Primrose. I don't know what exactly I'm looking for, or when or how it will happen, but this year is for me. And you can be darn sure that I'll be watching and waiting -- probably bored at times, but still excited -- for that magic to happen. It's all inside of me. It's time to set me free.

Happy 2008.

Sunday, December 30, 2007

45 x 365 #60: Scott S.

You thought you were such hot stuff and acted all tough and swore like a sailor. How on earth third graders think they are anything more than dweeby eight-year olds is beyond me. Now you sell carpeting. I guess the dweebiness caught up with you.

45 x 365 #60: Scott S.

You thought you were such hot stuff and acted all tough and swore like a sailor. How on earth third graders think they are anything more than dweeby eight-year olds is beyond me. Now you sell carpeting. I guess the dweebiness caught up with you.

Laughing All the WayHEY!



There's something wonderfully refreshing about spending time with little littles. Today we hung out with NephewsanTuna and his family. Littlest Tuna, being all of two, is of the absolutely hysterical age I love. He is of the age where -- as long as he's not your kid -- you try to get him to do anything you can that will amuse you. Littlest Tuna and I had a piratey kind of afternoon, where everytime he looked at me we'd both go a-squintin' and a-rrrrrrrghin' until we started laughing. I got him to say "Shiver me timbers" and "Ahoy Matey" but sadly, when I tried to get him to sing "O First Matey" (the pirate version of "O Christmas Tree") he looked at me and said, "no" and started singing O Christmas Tree that much louder because obviously I don't know what I'm talking about.

Little Littles are great because they are often very agreeable. Over and over we'd ask Littlest Tuna a question, and no matter what the question was, the answer was a highly agreeable "Uh huh!" Would you like to open presents? "Uh Huh!" Would you like to sit over here? "Uh Huh!" Would you like to tap dance with a hippo? "Uh Huh!" I said he had mastered the agreeable "Uh Huh" skill early in life, as that was generally used by bored adults every 180 seconds when trapped in a deadly conversation.

But I know he's paying attention (mostly) to what is being asked, because there were hysterical moments when you'd ask him a question fully expecting the highly agreeable "Uh Huh!" and instead you'd get the equally highly agreeable, "Why, No!" May I sit by you? "Why, No!" Would you like to come over here and take a picture? "Why, No!" And it's so darn polite, you can't get upset about it. It's a skill I'd like to cultivate.

At one point, as the various adults were debating the merits and the importance of the Patriots-Giants game last night and whether or not it was THE GAME of great historical importance, Littlest Tuna sat playing with his trucks ignoring everybody while simultaneously giving his non-stop opinion as he sing-songed over and over "THE game! THE game! THE game! THE game!"

But really, he was one amazingly behaved little goober. There were no meltdowns, and he was stellar (in a very piratey way (guilty!!)) at dinner. He said what he meant, and he meant what he said, and he sang a mean chorus of "Jingle Bells" just about any time he was asked.

Is that about as good as it gets?
"Uh Huh!"

Laughing All the WayHEY!



There's something wonderfully refreshing about spending time with little littles. Today we hung out with NephewsanTuna and his family. Littlest Tuna, being all of two, is of the absolutely hysterical age I love. He is of the age where -- as long as he's not your kid -- you try to get him to do anything you can that will amuse you. Littlest Tuna and I had a piratey kind of afternoon, where everytime he looked at me we'd both go a-squintin' and a-rrrrrrrghin' until we started laughing. I got him to say "Shiver me timbers" and "Ahoy Matey" but sadly, when I tried to get him to sing "O First Matey" (the pirate version of "O Christmas Tree") he looked at me and said, "no" and started singing O Christmas Tree that much louder because obviously I don't know what I'm talking about.

Little Littles are great because they are often very agreeable. Over and over we'd ask Littlest Tuna a question, and no matter what the question was, the answer was a highly agreeable "Uh huh!" Would you like to open presents? "Uh Huh!" Would you like to sit over here? "Uh Huh!" Would you like to tap dance with a hippo? "Uh Huh!" I said he had mastered the agreeable "Uh Huh" skill early in life, as that was generally used by bored adults every 180 seconds when trapped in a deadly conversation.

But I know he's paying attention (mostly) to what is being asked, because there were hysterical moments when you'd ask him a question fully expecting the highly agreeable "Uh Huh!" and instead you'd get the equally highly agreeable, "Why, No!" May I sit by you? "Why, No!" Would you like to come over here and take a picture? "Why, No!" And it's so darn polite, you can't get upset about it. It's a skill I'd like to cultivate.

At one point, as the various adults were debating the merits and the importance of the Patriots-Giants game last night and whether or not it was THE GAME of great historical importance, Littlest Tuna sat playing with his trucks ignoring everybody while simultaneously giving his non-stop opinion as he sing-songed over and over "THE game! THE game! THE game! THE game!"

But really, he was one amazingly behaved little goober. There were no meltdowns, and he was stellar (in a very piratey way (guilty!!)) at dinner. He said what he meant, and he meant what he said, and he sang a mean chorus of "Jingle Bells" just about any time he was asked.

Is that about as good as it gets?
"Uh Huh!"

Unconscious Mutterings

I say ... And You Think:

1. Memorable :: Unforgettable

2. Resolution :: New Years

3. Goal :: Score

4. 2008 :: Let's hope it's a good one

5. Sensational :: Fantastic

6. Popular Demand :: Back by...

7. Old :: New

8. Music :: I got it in me

9. Intense :: Focused

10. 2007 :: So long, farewell


About as I would have expected. Thanks for a great 2007, LunaNina.com -- here's to more mutterings in 2008.

Unconscious Mutterings

I say ... And You Think:

1. Memorable :: Unforgettable

2. Resolution :: New Years

3. Goal :: Score

4. 2008 :: Let's hope it's a good one

5. Sensational :: Fantastic

6. Popular Demand :: Back by...

7. Old :: New

8. Music :: I got it in me

9. Intense :: Focused

10. 2007 :: So long, farewell


About as I would have expected. Thanks for a great 2007, LunaNina.com -- here's to more mutterings in 2008.

One Word Sarcomical Sunday

I'll pretend like I saw this on Sunday, and then I'll backdate this so nobody will know. Except all of you.

The rules are simple yet difficult:
  1. Change the italicized word.
  2. Insert your own answer
  3. The answer must be one word and one word only. Uno. One-o. No cheating!

Your last meal:Burrito
Something on your desk/work area:Remote
Your New Year's Eve plans:Driving
The smallest gift you received this year:Earrings
The largest gift you received this year:Hugs
Something you wish you hadn't eaten so much of during the holidays:Chocolate
On your feet:Socks
Your hair:Clean
How many other countries you've traveled to:Eight?
One country you dream of visiting:Egypt
A hobby you'd like to take up/revisit this year:Weaving
A hobby of yours that died (aww, buh-bye) this past year:Ornamenting
A publication you subscribe to (print):None!
The most embarrassing subscription in your feed reader (if you have one):X17 Online
One of your favorite stores to window shop dreamily in:Bookstore
One of your favorite online stores to window shop dreamily on:MaryJanes
A color you love to wear:Blue
Your bed pillow:Warm
The color of your kitchen counter:Replaceable
What you plan to do when you get up from the computer:Sleep

One Word Sarcomical Sunday

I'll pretend like I saw this on Sunday, and then I'll backdate this so nobody will know. Except all of you.

The rules are simple yet difficult:
  1. Change the italicized word.
  2. Insert your own answer
  3. The answer must be one word and one word only. Uno. One-o. No cheating!

Your last meal:Burrito
Something on your desk/work area:Remote
Your New Year's Eve plans:Driving
The smallest gift you received this year:Earrings
The largest gift you received this year:Hugs
Something you wish you hadn't eaten so much of during the holidays:Chocolate
On your feet:Socks
Your hair:Clean
How many other countries you've traveled to:Eight?
One country you dream of visiting:Egypt
A hobby you'd like to take up/revisit this year:Weaving
A hobby of yours that died (aww, buh-bye) this past year:Ornamenting
A publication you subscribe to (print):None!
The most embarrassing subscription in your feed reader (if you have one):X17 Online
One of your favorite stores to window shop dreamily in:Bookstore
One of your favorite online stores to window shop dreamily on:MaryJanes
A color you love to wear:Blue
Your bed pillow:Warm
The color of your kitchen counter:Replaceable
What you plan to do when you get up from the computer:Sleep

Saturday, December 29, 2007

45 x 365 #59: John H.

How many Saturday nights did we spend together having calculator wars, racing to close out and handicapping the Oscars when the money was deposited for the night? Of all the blue coats I worked with, you were the most normal. Then again, consider the competition.

45 x 365 #59: John H.

How many Saturday nights did we spend together having calculator wars, racing to close out and handicapping the Oscars when the money was deposited for the night? Of all the blue coats I worked with, you were the most normal. Then again, consider the competition.

Weekend Therapy



Today was all about the fiber arts and pumping up the economy by supporting the independent store owner.

At home there is a bit of a "local" revival, from local farmer's markets to restaurants to shops. There is something undeniably wonderful about going to the usual haunts where the shop owners know your name. Whether it's once a week or once a year, every time you walk in, catching up on family and life is just as important as buying lunch or a basket full of therapy. Having this personal connection -- even on a professional basis -- is a win-win situation. As a consumer I want to visit these shops, I want to support the owners. I want to see them succeed.

I need my therapy.

So, no big box stores for me today. We drove past strip mall after strip mall after strip mall and found the little out-of-the-way places where we walked in and were greeted with, "My MICHIGAN Friends!"

It's good to be home, especially when you're on vacation.

Weekend Therapy



Today was all about the fiber arts and pumping up the economy by supporting the independent store owner.

At home there is a bit of a "local" revival, from local farmer's markets to restaurants to shops. There is something undeniably wonderful about going to the usual haunts where the shop owners know your name. Whether it's once a week or once a year, every time you walk in, catching up on family and life is just as important as buying lunch or a basket full of therapy. Having this personal connection -- even on a professional basis -- is a win-win situation. As a consumer I want to visit these shops, I want to support the owners. I want to see them succeed.

I need my therapy.

So, no big box stores for me today. We drove past strip mall after strip mall after strip mall and found the little out-of-the-way places where we walked in and were greeted with, "My MICHIGAN Friends!"

It's good to be home, especially when you're on vacation.

Friday, December 28, 2007

45 x 365 #58: Mike McS.

Your office cube was prime real estate: in a corner with windows. You were very quiet, but hardworking, I thought. Just yesterday I found out that you taught literature at the University for several years. I’m saddened because I learned that by reading your obituary.

45 x 365 #58: Mike McS.

Your office cube was prime real estate: in a corner with windows. You were very quiet, but hardworking, I thought. Just yesterday I found out that you taught literature at the University for several years. I’m saddened because I learned that by reading your obituary.

Corporate Conglomerate Bowl 2007



Tonight I watched TunaU play in the Corporate Conglomerate Bowl. We thought it was the Citrus Bowl, but evidently fruit are out this year, and now its name is the Champs Sports Bowl. This is also highly ironic, because neither team was a Champ of anything, and once this bowl game was over, only one team *cough*cough*TunaU*cough*cough* managed to keep their non-champ streak alive. Unless they are now the champ at not being a champ...

Yes, as usual, TunaU pulled their traditional 3rd quarter impression of a souffle -- they fell flat. Sure, they tried to rise up again, but they just didn't have anything left to give, so try as they might, they (predictably) lost. Again.

I wondered though...is it better to live with predictability or enjoy the wild ride of what's next? Each has its own drawbacks and charms. While there is a certain comfort in knowing what comes next, there is also an undeniable excitement in not knowing what lies around the next corner.

The problem of predictability lies solely at the feet of the result. If it's going to be a happy ending or a good surprise, we're all for it. But if there is a bear waiting to eat you around that next corner, you might wish you had that day's script ahead of time so you could call for a rewrite.

The best course of action seems to be to plan for the worst and hope for the best. That way, when surprises are thrown your way, you can be somewhat prepared. Best to bring a rolled up newspaper to smack on the nose of that bear. And in the case of TunaU, smile and say, "There's always next year."

Where, if they make it, they'll most likely fall apart again.
Predictably.

Corporate Conglomerate Bowl 2007



Tonight I watched TunaU play in the Corporate Conglomerate Bowl. We thought it was the Citrus Bowl, but evidently fruit are out this year, and now its name is the Champs Sports Bowl. This is also highly ironic, because neither team was a Champ of anything, and once this bowl game was over, only one team *cough*cough*TunaU*cough*cough* managed to keep their non-champ streak alive. Unless they are now the champ at not being a champ...

Yes, as usual, TunaU pulled their traditional 3rd quarter impression of a souffle -- they fell flat. Sure, they tried to rise up again, but they just didn't have anything left to give, so try as they might, they (predictably) lost. Again.

I wondered though...is it better to live with predictability or enjoy the wild ride of what's next? Each has its own drawbacks and charms. While there is a certain comfort in knowing what comes next, there is also an undeniable excitement in not knowing what lies around the next corner.

The problem of predictability lies solely at the feet of the result. If it's going to be a happy ending or a good surprise, we're all for it. But if there is a bear waiting to eat you around that next corner, you might wish you had that day's script ahead of time so you could call for a rewrite.

The best course of action seems to be to plan for the worst and hope for the best. That way, when surprises are thrown your way, you can be somewhat prepared. Best to bring a rolled up newspaper to smack on the nose of that bear. And in the case of TunaU, smile and say, "There's always next year."

Where, if they make it, they'll most likely fall apart again.
Predictably.

Friday's Feast

It's the East-Coast-No-There-Really-ISN'T-Anything-To-Eat-Besides-Christmas-Cookies version of the Friday Feast. What's for eats, and more importantly, does it have sprinkles?

Appetizer: Name Two Things You Would Like to Accomplish in 2008
January 1st, 2008
December 31st, 2008

Soup: With Which Cartoon Character do you Share Personality Traits?
Lucy. Smart, loudmouth, and a sucker hopeless romantic for the musicians.

Salad: What time of day (or night) were you born?
I believe family lore says approximately 7am.

Main Course: Tell Us Something Special About Your Hometown
The weather never changes. It is always 67 degrees with a 40% chance of rain.
(Shamelessly stolen from Waiting for Guffman)

Dessert: If you could receive a letter from anyone in the world, who would you want to get one from?
As long as there isn't a bill inside, it says something pleasant, and it's read to me by the sender while I am served breakfast in bed or sitting by a roaring fire, I'm not picky. Wait. Maybe that was picky...

Friday's Feast

It's the East-Coast-No-There-Really-ISN'T-Anything-To-Eat-Besides-Christmas-Cookies version of the Friday Feast. What's for eats, and more importantly, does it have sprinkles?

Appetizer: Name Two Things You Would Like to Accomplish in 2008
January 1st, 2008
December 31st, 2008

Soup: With Which Cartoon Character do you Share Personality Traits?
Lucy. Smart, loudmouth, and a sucker hopeless romantic for the musicians.

Salad: What time of day (or night) were you born?
I believe family lore says approximately 7am.

Main Course: Tell Us Something Special About Your Hometown
The weather never changes. It is always 67 degrees with a 40% chance of rain.
(Shamelessly stolen from Waiting for Guffman)

Dessert: If you could receive a letter from anyone in the world, who would you want to get one from?
As long as there isn't a bill inside, it says something pleasant, and it's read to me by the sender while I am served breakfast in bed or sitting by a roaring fire, I'm not picky. Wait. Maybe that was picky...

Thursday, December 27, 2007

45 x 365 #57: Ted M.

Your tenor voice was so loud I was afraid of it. It didn’t take long for you to sing it right out of your body and damage it permanently. I felt sorry because you loved music so much. To this day you’re a cautionary tale.

45 x 365 #57: Ted M.

Your tenor voice was so loud I was afraid of it. It didn’t take long for you to sing it right out of your body and damage it permanently. I felt sorry because you loved music so much. To this day you’re a cautionary tale.

With All Due Respect



Because I'm on vacation and not sitting at my computer for nine hours straight, I didn't hear about the assassination of former Pakistani Prime Minister Benazir Bhutto the instant it came across the wires. However, this afternoon we finally had an opportunity to watch the news and get a few more details on this tragic event.

Tonight I was trolling the blogs and catching up on important things (comics) and less important things (everything else). While I was reading guilty-pleasure blogs (OK, who am I kidding? They're all guilty pleasure blogs) I thought I should jump over to my collection of political blogs to see what they had to say about the current international situation.

I guess I must be a bit naive, because it really surprised me to read the analysis. What surprised me wasn't the analysis of the reaction of the Pakistani people or Pakistani government or the Muslim community or women all over the world. What surprised me was to read the analysis and grading of the sound bites offered up by our current slate of 2008 Presidential hopefuls.

Because you know, it's all about us.

And it wasn't just the bloggers who offered up their opinions. The Washington Post stampeded online with its own take on how the news was going to affect the primaries and how the various candidates were positioning themselves based on this tragedy. To their credit, The WaPo reminded its readers that this article was posted on their political blog, and tragedy or not, their focus is politics. The WaPo continued, saying this event would certainly have repercussions in the US political arena, so dammit they were going to talk about it whether anybody liked it or not.

Still, I have to wonder if it would have been that much of an imposition to wait oh, say, even a scant twenty-four hours before attempting to connect dots that are over 7000 miles apart. The waters of analysis are murky enough as it is without attempting an instantaneous political GPS recalculating procedure of both major US political parties and their presidential candidates based on two sentences.

In this age of instant gratification and 24-hour news cycles that frankly, run out of things to say after 45 minutes, it's difficult not to overdo the incessant analysis of everything and everybody everywhere all the time. But just once I'd like to see us (as a people us and as a country US) hold off on the temptation to pick apart and over-analyze every tragedy the instant it occurs. Will it have ramifications? Of course it will. But there will be more appropriate times and places to crank up the rhetoric for the nightly news cycle.

Today it should be enough to say first and foremost, she was a human being. Today it should be enough to say another light in this world was extinguished far too soon. That and that alone should give us more than enough fodder to stop and quietly reflect on the loss we all have suffered.

With all due respect, today, all due respect should be enough.

With All Due Respect



Because I'm on vacation and not sitting at my computer for nine hours straight, I didn't hear about the assassination of former Pakistani Prime Minister Benazir Bhutto the instant it came across the wires. However, this afternoon we finally had an opportunity to watch the news and get a few more details on this tragic event.

Tonight I was trolling the blogs and catching up on important things (comics) and less important things (everything else). While I was reading guilty-pleasure blogs (OK, who am I kidding? They're all guilty pleasure blogs) I thought I should jump over to my collection of political blogs to see what they had to say about the current international situation.

I guess I must be a bit naive, because it really surprised me to read the analysis. What surprised me wasn't the analysis of the reaction of the Pakistani people or Pakistani government or the Muslim community or women all over the world. What surprised me was to read the analysis and grading of the sound bites offered up by our current slate of 2008 Presidential hopefuls.

Because you know, it's all about us.

And it wasn't just the bloggers who offered up their opinions. The Washington Post stampeded online with its own take on how the news was going to affect the primaries and how the various candidates were positioning themselves based on this tragedy. To their credit, The WaPo reminded its readers that this article was posted on their political blog, and tragedy or not, their focus is politics. The WaPo continued, saying this event would certainly have repercussions in the US political arena, so dammit they were going to talk about it whether anybody liked it or not.

Still, I have to wonder if it would have been that much of an imposition to wait oh, say, even a scant twenty-four hours before attempting to connect dots that are over 7000 miles apart. The waters of analysis are murky enough as it is without attempting an instantaneous political GPS recalculating procedure of both major US political parties and their presidential candidates based on two sentences.

In this age of instant gratification and 24-hour news cycles that frankly, run out of things to say after 45 minutes, it's difficult not to overdo the incessant analysis of everything and everybody everywhere all the time. But just once I'd like to see us (as a people us and as a country US) hold off on the temptation to pick apart and over-analyze every tragedy the instant it occurs. Will it have ramifications? Of course it will. But there will be more appropriate times and places to crank up the rhetoric for the nightly news cycle.

Today it should be enough to say first and foremost, she was a human being. Today it should be enough to say another light in this world was extinguished far too soon. That and that alone should give us more than enough fodder to stop and quietly reflect on the loss we all have suffered.

With all due respect, today, all due respect should be enough.

Wednesday, December 26, 2007

45 x 365 #56: Judy

You play everywhere, everyday, for everyone. Even though that doesn’t say anything about you the person -- funny, kind, sensitive, extremely opinionated, intelligent and witty -- in reality, it comes through in every note you play. That's the difference between an accompanist and a musician.

45 x 365 #56: Judy

You play everywhere, everyday, for everyone. Even though that doesn’t say anything about you the person -- funny, kind, sensitive, extremely opinionated, intelligent and witty -- in reality, it comes through in every note you play. That's the difference between an accompanist and a musician.

The Day After



It's officially the day after Christmas. I know this because 1. the calendar told me so, 2. Santa ate all the cookies, 3. the stockings are no longer hung by the chimney with care (ok, I don't have a chimney, so technically they never were), and, 4. we're in Maryland.

We are officially in Maryland. I know this because 1. I saw the signs saying "Mason-Dixon Line" and "Welcome to Maryland", 2. I started in with the "y'all", 3. It was drizzling and people were driving like the rain was sent by the love child of The Four Horsemen and Nostradamus, and, 4. Everybody loves to drive 90 mph and then slam on their brakes. Over and over and over again.

But we're here, and it's great, and all that driving and slamming breaks and hurry up so you can slow down stuff doesn't matter. We made our best time of the trip on the Washington DC beltway. If you know anything about Satan's highway, you know just how insane that sounds. We made our worst time....30 minutes from home, where we sat on the highway and didn't move for upwards of an hour. So, it's a Topsy-turvy world out there.

The annual day-after-Christmas drive is something The Tuna Clan actually looks forward to. What's so appealing about an all-day date in your car? It's forced rest. There are no concerts. There are no commitments. There are no plans, except to get to where we're going in one piece. The day after Christmas is a major symbolic turning point. It means we made it through the fall, and through the miserable month wonderful festive month of December.

It's good to be on the other side of December 25th, y'all.

The Day After



It's officially the day after Christmas. I know this because 1. the calendar told me so, 2. Santa ate all the cookies, 3. the stockings are no longer hung by the chimney with care (ok, I don't have a chimney, so technically they never were), and, 4. we're in Maryland.

We are officially in Maryland. I know this because 1. I saw the signs saying "Mason-Dixon Line" and "Welcome to Maryland", 2. I started in with the "y'all", 3. It was drizzling and people were driving like the rain was sent by the love child of The Four Horsemen and Nostradamus, and, 4. Everybody loves to drive 90 mph and then slam on their brakes. Over and over and over again.

But we're here, and it's great, and all that driving and slamming breaks and hurry up so you can slow down stuff doesn't matter. We made our best time of the trip on the Washington DC beltway. If you know anything about Satan's highway, you know just how insane that sounds. We made our worst time....30 minutes from home, where we sat on the highway and didn't move for upwards of an hour. So, it's a Topsy-turvy world out there.

The annual day-after-Christmas drive is something The Tuna Clan actually looks forward to. What's so appealing about an all-day date in your car? It's forced rest. There are no concerts. There are no commitments. There are no plans, except to get to where we're going in one piece. The day after Christmas is a major symbolic turning point. It means we made it through the fall, and through the miserable month wonderful festive month of December.

It's good to be on the other side of December 25th, y'all.

Tuesday, December 25, 2007

45 x 365 #55 : Lucy S.

I sang for your Master Class when I was in graduate school. I should have been more impressed with all your twentieth-century work and commissions, but I actually found it so much more interesting that you got to pick the cover colors for International Editions.

45 x 365 #55 : Lucy S.

I sang for your Master Class when I was in graduate school. I should have been more impressed with all your twentieth-century work and commissions, but I actually found it so much more interesting that you got to pick the cover colors for International Editions.

Wrapping it Up



Nothing much to report on the holiday front. Once my overly incensed (as in "full of incense" not "full of anger") brain managed to clear out the smoke and accompanying whiff, things were a little less fuzzy. I'm not sure when my church turned into smells-and-bells central, but the (caution: Techno-Speak ahead!) incense-guy was whipping the incense thing around like he had the starring role in the Will Rogers Follies. Yippee-Kay-Yay!

Either that, or his moves were inspired by several yo-yo tricks.

Wrapping it Up



Nothing much to report on the holiday front. Once my overly incensed (as in "full of incense" not "full of anger") brain managed to clear out the smoke and accompanying whiff, things were a little less fuzzy. I'm not sure when my church turned into smells-and-bells central, but the (caution: Techno-Speak ahead!) incense-guy was whipping the incense thing around like he had the starring role in the Will Rogers Follies. Yippee-Kay-Yay!

Either that, or his moves were inspired by several yo-yo tricks.

Monday, December 24, 2007

45 x 365 #54: Hope

To describe you is to describe pure wonder, excitement, love and joy. You give smiles and hugs to everyone as if these were the only things necessary for survival. You're the essence of happiness and light. What better person to write about on Christmas Eve?

45 x 365 #54: Hope

To describe you is to describe pure wonder, excitement, love and joy. You give smiles and hugs to everyone as if these were the only things necessary for survival. You're the essence of happiness and light. What better person to write about on Christmas Eve?

In-Between



I'm in-between two churches:
Service Early. Service Late.

I'm in-between my dinner:
wanting cheesecake on my plate.

I'm in-between the baking.
Oven needs a well-earned rest.

I'm in-between the wrapping
putting patience to the test.

I'm in-between so many things
I know I have to do.

I'm in-between the laundry
and the searching for my shoe.

I'm in-between the dishes
and the sweeping of my floor

I'm in-between the cleaning
and the messes made galore.

I'm in-between, this Christmas Eve,
of things done and things not

I'm in-between the rock it seems
and that strange hard-place spot.

I'm in-between a realist
and doing what I should.

I'm in-between an optimist
and doing all I could.

I'm in-between that "Publish Post"
and wanting more to write.

But I think that I shall finish up
and wish to all, goodnight.

In-Between



I'm in-between two churches:
Service Early. Service Late.

I'm in-between my dinner:
wanting cheesecake on my plate.

I'm in-between the baking.
Oven needs a well-earned rest.

I'm in-between the wrapping
putting patience to the test.

I'm in-between so many things
I know I have to do.

I'm in-between the laundry
and the searching for my shoe.

I'm in-between the dishes
and the sweeping of my floor

I'm in-between the cleaning
and the messes made galore.

I'm in-between, this Christmas Eve,
of things done and things not

I'm in-between the rock it seems
and that strange hard-place spot.

I'm in-between a realist
and doing what I should.

I'm in-between an optimist
and doing all I could.

I'm in-between that "Publish Post"
and wanting more to write.

But I think that I shall finish up
and wish to all, goodnight.

Sunday, December 23, 2007

45 x 365 #53: Bob T.

During our senior year our student assistantship was spent every day setting up chairs before rehearsal. We sang together, played together and generally hung out. We were even graduation partners, and spent the entire ceremony sitting in the front row wondering who these people were.

45 x 365 #53: Bob T.

During our senior year our student assistantship was spent every day setting up chairs before rehearsal. We sang together, played together and generally hung out. We were even graduation partners, and spent the entire ceremony sitting in the front row wondering who these people were.

Unconscious Mutterings



I say ... And You Think:

1. Health :: Well-being

2. Tacky :: Tasteless

3. Heels :: Feet

4. Yay! :: Hooray!

5. Model :: Fashion

6. Gather :: Ye Rosebuds while ye may

7. Best Gift Ever :: Unasked for ones from the heart

8. Clients :: Business

9. Stomp :: Out Loud

10. Clothing :: Apparel


There really isn't much to say here. From poetry by Robert Herrick who reminded Virgins that life was one big ticking clock to STOMP with their rhythmic broomsticks and trashcans and clapping, I think the best thing to say on this two day before Christmas Sunday is #7 is where it's at.

But I still like the brooms.

Unconscious Mutterings



I say ... And You Think:

1. Health :: Well-being

2. Tacky :: Tasteless

3. Heels :: Feet

4. Yay! :: Hooray!

5. Model :: Fashion

6. Gather :: Ye Rosebuds while ye may

7. Best Gift Ever :: Unasked for ones from the heart

8. Clients :: Business

9. Stomp :: Out Loud

10. Clothing :: Apparel


There really isn't much to say here. From poetry by Robert Herrick who reminded Virgins that life was one big ticking clock to STOMP with their rhythmic broomsticks and trashcans and clapping, I think the best thing to say on this two day before Christmas Sunday is #7 is where it's at.

But I still like the brooms.

Saturday, December 22, 2007

45 x 365 #52: KJW

It's not that you're deaf. It's not that you're dumb. It's not that you're blind. I know what it's not, but the problem is I don't know what it is. All I want to do is shake you and make you understand what you're missing.

45 x 365 #52: KJW

It's not that you're deaf. It's not that you're dumb. It's not that you're blind. I know what it's not, but the problem is I don't know what it is. All I want to do is shake you and make you understand what you're missing.

List Checking 101



I have no logical explanation, but my marathon shopping session today? Went fine.

The stores were crowded, but not overly so. My fellow shoppers were pleasant. The store employees were downright cheerful and pleasant. And I think I left every single store saying, "Well, THAT wasn't too bad." I kept waiting for the holiday horror to kick in, but it never did. The closest I came to panic was leaving my master shopping list in a store, which I ran back and retrieved 5 minutes later. Meltdown avoided.

I'm also pleased and proud and frankly relieved to report that I did not walk inside a mall. The closest I came was hitting several stores in an emporium where each has its own outside entrance. But we parked the car once and then walked the enormous square and got everything accomplished. Then we headed to a bunch of quirky local, independent shops and had a great time.

So, with TWO ENTIRE DAYS until the Big Lebowski, I think I just may have time to cook, wrap, and maybe...just maybe...sleep. Of course, there are still three church services, twenty seven anthems, eighty nine hymns, one solo, two duets and a partridge in a pear tree I have to squeeze in there too, but at this point it doesn't seem like much, and I almost don't know what to do with myself.

Almost.

List Checking 101



I have no logical explanation, but my marathon shopping session today? Went fine.

The stores were crowded, but not overly so. My fellow shoppers were pleasant. The store employees were downright cheerful and pleasant. And I think I left every single store saying, "Well, THAT wasn't too bad." I kept waiting for the holiday horror to kick in, but it never did. The closest I came to panic was leaving my master shopping list in a store, which I ran back and retrieved 5 minutes later. Meltdown avoided.

I'm also pleased and proud and frankly relieved to report that I did not walk inside a mall. The closest I came was hitting several stores in an emporium where each has its own outside entrance. But we parked the car once and then walked the enormous square and got everything accomplished. Then we headed to a bunch of quirky local, independent shops and had a great time.

So, with TWO ENTIRE DAYS until the Big Lebowski, I think I just may have time to cook, wrap, and maybe...just maybe...sleep. Of course, there are still three church services, twenty seven anthems, eighty nine hymns, one solo, two duets and a partridge in a pear tree I have to squeeze in there too, but at this point it doesn't seem like much, and I almost don't know what to do with myself.

Almost.

Friday, December 21, 2007

45 x 365 #51: The Boy

Describing you, I could talk about goat camp, mad cows or off-kilter chickens. But more important, you are my modern-day Solomon. You have open mind and you listen carefully, filter judiciously, ask pointedly, counsel wisely and still care passionately about the wellbeing of your friends.

45 x 365 #51: The Boy

Describing you, I could talk about goat camp, mad cows or off-kilter chickens. But more important, you are my modern-day Solomon. You have open mind and you listen carefully, filter judiciously, ask pointedly, counsel wisely and still care passionately about the wellbeing of your friends.

72 Hours and Counting



With exhaustion at an all-time high, the last of the performances over (with the exception of a vocal marathon on Christmas Eve) the only thing that stands in the way of anything that even vaguely resembles a vacation is a butt-load of Christmas shopping. JOY!

I spent the morning compiling a comprehensive list of giftees, gifters, ideas and that ever famuous column: where the heck am I going to go to get this stuff? Although tomorrow I'll be racing around with the other losers procrastinators discriminating shoppers, I'm hoping my shopping list will give me a leg up on the rest of humanity.

Until then, I'd better hit it and git it. My dogs are barking.
And I don't even HAVE any dogs.

72 Hours and Counting



With exhaustion at an all-time high, the last of the performances over (with the exception of a vocal marathon on Christmas Eve) the only thing that stands in the way of anything that even vaguely resembles a vacation is a butt-load of Christmas shopping. JOY!

I spent the morning compiling a comprehensive list of giftees, gifters, ideas and that ever famuous column: where the heck am I going to go to get this stuff? Although tomorrow I'll be racing around with the other losers procrastinators discriminating shoppers, I'm hoping my shopping list will give me a leg up on the rest of humanity.

Until then, I'd better hit it and git it. My dogs are barking.
And I don't even HAVE any dogs.

Thursday, December 20, 2007

45 x 365 #50: Mrs. T.

You were always a little weird, but so was your entire family. We knew you had really gone off the deep end when you walked into our house unannounced, opened our refrigerator and wanted to know what was for supper. Unsurprisingly, you ended up institutionalized.

45 x 365 #50: Mrs. T.

You were always a little weird, but so was your entire family. We knew you had really gone off the deep end when you walked into our house unannounced, opened our refrigerator and wanted to know what was for supper. Unsurprisingly, you ended up institutionalized.

Setting the Stage (Parenthetically)



I'm sitting at my computer (customary)
drinking a glass of white wine (elegant)
eating potato chips (trashy)
and chasing it down with an occasional sip of Diet Coke (thirsty)

One cat is running around like a lunatic (annoying)
while the other is currently on my desk behind my screen (endearing annoying)
my cell phone is charging next to me (prepared)
and my iPod is charging by my bed (super prepared)
as if I've tucked in all my electronic children for the night (nerd central)

I'm trying to decide what to write (customary)
because it is nearly 11:30 pm (deadline)
and I haven't missed a post since October 25th (amazing)
and I'm not about to miss one now (dedicated)

I thought I might write about wine (trendy)
how I buy wine totally based on the picture on the label (gullible)
and don't really know good wine from bad (ignorant)
and suddenly it occurs to me that it's a lot writing about men (epiphany)
Trendy, Gullible and Ignorant (Law offices of)

I thought I might write about Christmas (obligatory)
but tonight I'm not really feeling it (honest)
and although I'm not anti-Christmas at the moment (improvement)
I think I'll save it for another day (procrastinator)
because it doesn't go with my wine and potato chips and Diet Coke (practical)

I thought I might write about Facebook (obsession)
and the friends I have found (Kumbahyah)
and the fun I've had wasting time ("research")
finding more (social electronic crack)

I thought I might write about my unfolded laundry (boring)
or my unwashed dishes (boring)
or my unmatched socks (boring)
or my constant search for the second shoe (boring)
But I don't think so tonight (thankful)

I think I'll just write (finally)
about sitting at my computer (customary)
drinking a glass of wine (elegant)
eating potato chips (trashy)
chasing it down with a Diet Coke (thirsty)
and feeling totally and entirely and utterly content (redundant)
with myself and my surroundings

(Peace)

Setting the Stage (Parenthetically)



I'm sitting at my computer (customary)
drinking a glass of white wine (elegant)
eating potato chips (trashy)
and chasing it down with an occasional sip of Diet Coke (thirsty)

One cat is running around like a lunatic (annoying)
while the other is currently on my desk behind my screen (endearing annoying)
my cell phone is charging next to me (prepared)
and my iPod is charging by my bed (super prepared)
as if I've tucked in all my electronic children for the night (nerd central)

I'm trying to decide what to write (customary)
because it is nearly 11:30 pm (deadline)
and I haven't missed a post since October 25th (amazing)
and I'm not about to miss one now (dedicated)

I thought I might write about wine (trendy)
how I buy wine totally based on the picture on the label (gullible)
and don't really know good wine from bad (ignorant)
and suddenly it occurs to me that it's a lot writing about men (epiphany)
Trendy, Gullible and Ignorant (Law offices of)

I thought I might write about Christmas (obligatory)
but tonight I'm not really feeling it (honest)
and although I'm not anti-Christmas at the moment (improvement)
I think I'll save it for another day (procrastinator)
because it doesn't go with my wine and potato chips and Diet Coke (practical)

I thought I might write about Facebook (obsession)
and the friends I have found (Kumbahyah)
and the fun I've had wasting time ("research")
finding more (social electronic crack)

I thought I might write about my unfolded laundry (boring)
or my unwashed dishes (boring)
or my unmatched socks (boring)
or my constant search for the second shoe (boring)
But I don't think so tonight (thankful)

I think I'll just write (finally)
about sitting at my computer (customary)
drinking a glass of wine (elegant)
eating potato chips (trashy)
chasing it down with a Diet Coke (thirsty)
and feeling totally and entirely and utterly content (redundant)
with myself and my surroundings

(Peace)

Wednesday, December 19, 2007

45 x 365 #49: Caroline

You have the fierce determination of a tiger and the beauty of a butterfly. If your moral fiber and strength could be collected and sprinkled over humanity, the world would be a confident, spectacular place. Who wouldn't give all they have to see you well?


45 x 365 #49: Caroline

You have the fierce determination of a tiger and the beauty of a butterfly. If your moral fiber and strength could be collected and sprinkled over humanity, the world would be a confident, spectacular place. Who wouldn't give all they have to see you well?


Super Duper Secret Santa



I'm going to do my best to explain this.

So at work -- my newish half time cubicle work -- my unit engaged in a sort of "Secret Santa" activity. I say "sort of" because it really wasn't a traditional Secret Santa at all. It wasn't one of those draw a name and leave little gifts anonymously until the end when all the Santas are revealed and everyone stands in a circle singing "Wahoo-Doray" and eats Roast Beast. I'm calling it a "Secret Santa" because it's December (hence, the Santa) and because it was a secret. To somebody.

I walked in this morning and the party table (yes, there is a party table) had a tablecloth on it, and candles and a holiday centerpiece, and at 8am, was already loaded with food. And I looked at this table and thought to myself, "Self? I think our unit is having a party."

And funny thing. I knew nothing about it.

That was the secret part.

But sadly it wasn't a secret like "Surprise and welcome to the section" secret. It was a secret like "We're having a party and nobody remembered to tell you" secret.

To make matters even more incomprehensible, later that morning my boss came into my cube and told me she had heard that the party coordinator had neglected to include me on the planning emails. And then...AND THEN she said, "but I told her it was OK because you probably had real work to do today anyway." And she smiled and left.

What on earth do you say to that? I was so dumbfounded, I was ... dumbfounded. I couldn't decide if they were the most insensitive people on the entire planet, or just utterly clueless. I really couldn't choose, so I shook my head, cranked my iPod and waited for a speedy end to my shift.

I'm almost afraid to see what happens on Valentine's Day.

Super Duper Secret Santa



I'm going to do my best to explain this.

So at work -- my newish half time cubicle work -- my unit engaged in a sort of "Secret Santa" activity. I say "sort of" because it really wasn't a traditional Secret Santa at all. It wasn't one of those draw a name and leave little gifts anonymously until the end when all the Santas are revealed and everyone stands in a circle singing "Wahoo-Doray" and eats Roast Beast. I'm calling it a "Secret Santa" because it's December (hence, the Santa) and because it was a secret. To somebody.

I walked in this morning and the party table (yes, there is a party table) had a tablecloth on it, and candles and a holiday centerpiece, and at 8am, was already loaded with food. And I looked at this table and thought to myself, "Self? I think our unit is having a party."

And funny thing. I knew nothing about it.

That was the secret part.

But sadly it wasn't a secret like "Surprise and welcome to the section" secret. It was a secret like "We're having a party and nobody remembered to tell you" secret.

To make matters even more incomprehensible, later that morning my boss came into my cube and told me she had heard that the party coordinator had neglected to include me on the planning emails. And then...AND THEN she said, "but I told her it was OK because you probably had real work to do today anyway." And she smiled and left.

What on earth do you say to that? I was so dumbfounded, I was ... dumbfounded. I couldn't decide if they were the most insensitive people on the entire planet, or just utterly clueless. I really couldn't choose, so I shook my head, cranked my iPod and waited for a speedy end to my shift.

I'm almost afraid to see what happens on Valentine's Day.

Tuesday, December 18, 2007

45 x 365 #48: Beth T.

In high school you were one of the most awkward, painfully shy and socially outcast people I knew. Twenty years later we met again at your mother's funeral. You were smart, self-assured, intelligent and fascinating to talk to. It was nice getting reacquainted as grownups.

45 x 365 #48: Beth T.

In high school you were one of the most awkward, painfully shy and socially outcast people I knew. Twenty years later we met again at your mother's funeral. You were smart, self-assured, intelligent and fascinating to talk to. It was nice getting reacquainted as grownups.

Free Willy



Warning: this post is all about certain body parts I am quite certain I do not possess, no matter what my Spam and Junk folders say.

The spammers have been getting increasingly creative with their pleas for me to buy stuff for a medical condition I do not nor will not ever have. I'm used to the everyday drivel, but some of the emails have had a bit more holiday cheer, as it were. I almost feel badly that someone is wasting their mad writing and advertising skills on the wrong demographic. Be that as it may, some of the latest include:

Real New Year Present for Your Willy!
Did it make a list? If not, it's out of luck.

Get super-size for your Willy!
Would it like fries with that?

Promote your little soldier of love in a new year!
Will it get a raise too? Oh, wait... Never mind.

Chicks like when you have a big instrument.
Like a euphonium?

Free Willy



Warning: this post is all about certain body parts I am quite certain I do not possess, no matter what my Spam and Junk folders say.

The spammers have been getting increasingly creative with their pleas for me to buy stuff for a medical condition I do not nor will not ever have. I'm used to the everyday drivel, but some of the emails have had a bit more holiday cheer, as it were. I almost feel badly that someone is wasting their mad writing and advertising skills on the wrong demographic. Be that as it may, some of the latest include:

Real New Year Present for Your Willy!
Did it make a list? If not, it's out of luck.

Get super-size for your Willy!
Would it like fries with that?

Promote your little soldier of love in a new year!
Will it get a raise too? Oh, wait... Never mind.

Chicks like when you have a big instrument.
Like a euphonium?

Monday, December 17, 2007

45 x 365 #47: Juan Valdez

You were a pain; when you showed up I faked trips to the bathroom or emergency phone calls. But when I got trapped, I nodded and "uh-huhed" my way through your feeble attempts to pick a fight about music and politics. Too bad for you.

45 x 365 #47: Juan Valdez

You were a pain; when you showed up I faked trips to the bathroom or emergency phone calls. But when I got trapped, I nodded and "uh-huhed" my way through your feeble attempts to pick a fight about music and politics. Too bad for you.

Just Another Manic Sunday



Sunday morning we awoke to the doom that had been foretold: snow. Now, despite what you might hear on the weather channel (OH MY GOD, TELL ME BOB, HOW MANY LAYERS OF CLOTHES ARE YOU WEARING RIGHT NOW? ARE YOU STAYING WARM??) it wasn't that big of a deal. When it was said and done, we had seven inches of snow. White powder-puffy snow. No sleet. No ice. Just snow.

Luckily, it was manageable snow, because, being a weekend like every other weekend lately, The Tunas had places to go and songs to sing. TeenTuna was required to be at church for psalm-duty (Baby G does not observe snow days) and then was to be picked up shortly thereafter so she could travel to symphony dress rehearsal. When dress rehearsal was completed, she was to be picked up, taken home, have food lovingly shoved down her gullet, tossed in her performance clothes and dragged back again within the hour for the performance. Post-concert was a family birthday party for the lovely niece Tuna. It sounds like insanity, but as I said, this is fairly typical fare for that batshit crazy most joyous holiday season.

Truth be told, this weekend had previously had the potential for being even crazier. A few weeks earlier TeenTuna had been asked to sing that National Anthem for the MSU Lady Spartans Basketball Game. We were going to attempt to squeeze that in (National Anthem at noon) and try to be just a wee bit late for the dress rehearsal. Sadly, that wasn't going to work, and although TeenTuna was disappointed, she understood she had a previous commitment. Her friend, Stretch, was pegged to sing the anthem instead.

We left early for church and made it down with no real troubles, due in large part to the fact that most sane people were staying indoors and not driving around. When we got to church, it had been decided that attendance would most likely be lousy and so all choirs would join together and sing what was originally slated to be the High School anthem. But a funny thing, that. Adult choristers kept showing up, and soon we had a fairly respectable roster. Those in attendance insisted that the adults sing the anthem that had been rehearsed (and rehearsed and rehearsed). But then the question came as to what to do about the High School Choir, because its members stood at two: my 13-year old daughter and my friend's 15-year old son, and one of them had to leave early for symphony dress rehearsal.

  • First it was strongly inferred that no way were the adults NOT going to sing the anthem they had rehearsed and rehearsed and rehearsed.
  • Next it was suggested that the high school anthem was only two-parts anyway, and since there were two people, why not?
  • Then it was reminded that somebody had to leave early, but if she could be done by 10:45, by all means, go ahead.
  • Finally it was decided that they would sing it as a duet for the prelude.

So when church started, these two teenagers sang. There weren't as many people there as usual, but the message was powerful. I thought it was very much like the way Advent should be. Not loud and bombastic. No throngs of people. The morning was cold and dark and the empty church made it a little lonely. And then there were these two voices, free and easy and clear, singing about hope and expectation for the entire world. That was church. They were church. And their song was the message.

Later that afternoon when I picked up TeenTuna from her dress rehearsal I told her how special I thought it was. Looking at her I said, "What you did this morning was WAY better than singing the National Anthem at the basketball game."

She looked and me and smiled and said, "Way, WAY better."

Just Another Manic Sunday



Sunday morning we awoke to the doom that had been foretold: snow. Now, despite what you might hear on the weather channel (OH MY GOD, TELL ME BOB, HOW MANY LAYERS OF CLOTHES ARE YOU WEARING RIGHT NOW? ARE YOU STAYING WARM??) it wasn't that big of a deal. When it was said and done, we had seven inches of snow. White powder-puffy snow. No sleet. No ice. Just snow.

Luckily, it was manageable snow, because, being a weekend like every other weekend lately, The Tunas had places to go and songs to sing. TeenTuna was required to be at church for psalm-duty (Baby G does not observe snow days) and then was to be picked up shortly thereafter so she could travel to symphony dress rehearsal. When dress rehearsal was completed, she was to be picked up, taken home, have food lovingly shoved down her gullet, tossed in her performance clothes and dragged back again within the hour for the performance. Post-concert was a family birthday party for the lovely niece Tuna. It sounds like insanity, but as I said, this is fairly typical fare for that batshit crazy most joyous holiday season.

Truth be told, this weekend had previously had the potential for being even crazier. A few weeks earlier TeenTuna had been asked to sing that National Anthem for the MSU Lady Spartans Basketball Game. We were going to attempt to squeeze that in (National Anthem at noon) and try to be just a wee bit late for the dress rehearsal. Sadly, that wasn't going to work, and although TeenTuna was disappointed, she understood she had a previous commitment. Her friend, Stretch, was pegged to sing the anthem instead.

We left early for church and made it down with no real troubles, due in large part to the fact that most sane people were staying indoors and not driving around. When we got to church, it had been decided that attendance would most likely be lousy and so all choirs would join together and sing what was originally slated to be the High School anthem. But a funny thing, that. Adult choristers kept showing up, and soon we had a fairly respectable roster. Those in attendance insisted that the adults sing the anthem that had been rehearsed (and rehearsed and rehearsed). But then the question came as to what to do about the High School Choir, because its members stood at two: my 13-year old daughter and my friend's 15-year old son, and one of them had to leave early for symphony dress rehearsal.

  • First it was strongly inferred that no way were the adults NOT going to sing the anthem they had rehearsed and rehearsed and rehearsed.
  • Next it was suggested that the high school anthem was only two-parts anyway, and since there were two people, why not?
  • Then it was reminded that somebody had to leave early, but if she could be done by 10:45, by all means, go ahead.
  • Finally it was decided that they would sing it as a duet for the prelude.

So when church started, these two teenagers sang. There weren't as many people there as usual, but the message was powerful. I thought it was very much like the way Advent should be. Not loud and bombastic. No throngs of people. The morning was cold and dark and the empty church made it a little lonely. And then there were these two voices, free and easy and clear, singing about hope and expectation for the entire world. That was church. They were church. And their song was the message.

Later that afternoon when I picked up TeenTuna from her dress rehearsal I told her how special I thought it was. Looking at her I said, "What you did this morning was WAY better than singing the National Anthem at the basketball game."

She looked and me and smiled and said, "Way, WAY better."

Sunday, December 16, 2007

45 x 365 #46: Sue L.

Years ago we worked together, and now once again we're cube mates. I think you knew I wasn't happy being back but you let me be mad. Every once in awhile we chat about music. Although I'd probably never admit it, I feel better. Thanks.

45 x 365 #46: Sue L.

Years ago we worked together, and now once again we're cube mates. I think you knew I wasn't happy being back but you let me be mad. Every once in awhile we chat about music. Although I'd probably never admit it, I feel better. Thanks.

Two by Two Minus One



I am not too proud to admit I would make a very, very lousy Noah. I simply cannot seem to find two matching anythings. I have a large plastic bin down by my washing machine that holds an army of lonely socks and I'm forever looking for that second shoe that left my second foot in the same approximate place as the first. This morning, as I pulled myself together for an early morning session with the snow blower, I couldn't find my mittens. The mittens I had just worn the day before. But this time it wasn't just one mitten, it was both. They were nowhere to be seen.

I'm not too proud to admit that as I stood in the kitchen pondering my lack of winter hand wear and options, I wondered -- quite seriously -- just how ridiculous I would look in oven mitts?

Although the option was appealing, I fell victim to peer pressure. After all, what would TeenTuna have said if she caught me outside running the snowblower with oven mitts on? Sure, it's the season to "don we now our gay apparel" but I really don't think this is what they had in mind. Ultimately I decided I had better buck up and find another pair. Which I finally did. And they matched.

Maybe tomorrow I'll go for broke and look for a shoe.
Take that, Noah.

Two by Two Minus One



I am not too proud to admit I would make a very, very lousy Noah. I simply cannot seem to find two matching anythings. I have a large plastic bin down by my washing machine that holds an army of lonely socks and I'm forever looking for that second shoe that left my second foot in the same approximate place as the first. This morning, as I pulled myself together for an early morning session with the snow blower, I couldn't find my mittens. The mittens I had just worn the day before. But this time it wasn't just one mitten, it was both. They were nowhere to be seen.

I'm not too proud to admit that as I stood in the kitchen pondering my lack of winter hand wear and options, I wondered -- quite seriously -- just how ridiculous I would look in oven mitts?

Although the option was appealing, I fell victim to peer pressure. After all, what would TeenTuna have said if she caught me outside running the snowblower with oven mitts on? Sure, it's the season to "don we now our gay apparel" but I really don't think this is what they had in mind. Ultimately I decided I had better buck up and find another pair. Which I finally did. And they matched.

Maybe tomorrow I'll go for broke and look for a shoe.
Take that, Noah.

Unconscious Mutterings

I say ... And You Think:

1. Interview :: Job

2. Army :: Navy

3. Unwrap :: Open

4. Evolve :: Improve

5. Bus :: Stop

6. The real thing :: Coke

7. Streak :: Nekkid!

8. Gorge :: Eat and Eat and Eat and Eat

9. Spicy :: Meatball

10. Course :: Class


I don't remember this specific commercial, but I sure remember the song. Frankly, I'm not surprised the ad doesn't look familiar, because it looks as if it were constructed from Senior Pictures.





I remember this commercial though. Mama Mia, That's-a-Spicy Meatball!

Unconscious Mutterings

I say ... And You Think:

1. Interview :: Job

2. Army :: Navy

3. Unwrap :: Open

4. Evolve :: Improve

5. Bus :: Stop

6. The real thing :: Coke

7. Streak :: Nekkid!

8. Gorge :: Eat and Eat and Eat and Eat

9. Spicy :: Meatball

10. Course :: Class


I don't remember this specific commercial, but I sure remember the song. Frankly, I'm not surprised the ad doesn't look familiar, because it looks as if it were constructed from Senior Pictures.





I remember this commercial though. Mama Mia, That's-a-Spicy Meatball!

Saturday, December 15, 2007

45 x 365 #45: Norris

Between your writing, your photography and your breadth of knowledge about damn near everything, people liked to call you a true Renaissance man. But I don't think even that does you justice, because NOBODY who lived in the Renaissance could quote "The Vatican Rag" verbatim.

45 x 365 #45: Norris

Between your writing, your photography and your breadth of knowledge about damn near everything, people liked to call you a true Renaissance man. But I don't think even that does you justice, because NOBODY who lived in the Renaissance could quote "The Vatican Rag" verbatim.

Weekend Update



Yes tonight here in Michigan the warnings are for snow, snow, snow, more snow, snow mixed with snow and DESPAIR (with a 95% chance of snow). Granted we've had these weather warnings on a near weekly basis for the past several weeks, and each time we've gotten nothing, nothing, nothing, more nothing, nothing mixed with night and ENNUI (with a 95% chance of nothing). At the moment it really is snowing, which only proves the whole broken clock being right twice a day adage. I'd be more worried, scared and upset about snow if first of all, I didn't live in a state where Canada is truly our neighbor to the SOUTH, and secondly, if it wasn't December, which, believe it or not, is the traditional month for snow (with a 95% chance of presents). So yeah. Whatever. It's snowing. Have a parade.

Concert number I've lost count is in the completed column. All went well, although as we were reminded that many of our pieces were about Mary (Mama G) and we all had some Mary inside of us, I turned to my friend and asked, "So how's that virginity thing going for you?" Since we both have teen-aged children, we agreed it had been awhile, and probably we'd need more makeup to be convincing. Personally, I'm not sure there is enough concealer in the world...

Tomorrow TeenTuna is up again with another symphony concert. This one will be televised on and around Christmas Day. GramTuna and I will be up in the cheap seats, hoping they sing fast and that the cameras do NOT focus on us during the sing along portion of the concert because we are not those people who smile and clap joyously (in some entirely unrelated tempo) to the music. No, I can confidently say we would never be hired for Up With People. Up Yours, People, maybe.

So that's our current life in a nutshell. Snow, Singing, Virgins, and Up Yours, People.
It must be the holiday season once again.

Weekend Update



Yes tonight here in Michigan the warnings are for snow, snow, snow, more snow, snow mixed with snow and DESPAIR (with a 95% chance of snow). Granted we've had these weather warnings on a near weekly basis for the past several weeks, and each time we've gotten nothing, nothing, nothing, more nothing, nothing mixed with night and ENNUI (with a 95% chance of nothing). At the moment it really is snowing, which only proves the whole broken clock being right twice a day adage. I'd be more worried, scared and upset about snow if first of all, I didn't live in a state where Canada is truly our neighbor to the SOUTH, and secondly, if it wasn't December, which, believe it or not, is the traditional month for snow (with a 95% chance of presents). So yeah. Whatever. It's snowing. Have a parade.

Concert number I've lost count is in the completed column. All went well, although as we were reminded that many of our pieces were about Mary (Mama G) and we all had some Mary inside of us, I turned to my friend and asked, "So how's that virginity thing going for you?" Since we both have teen-aged children, we agreed it had been awhile, and probably we'd need more makeup to be convincing. Personally, I'm not sure there is enough concealer in the world...

Tomorrow TeenTuna is up again with another symphony concert. This one will be televised on and around Christmas Day. GramTuna and I will be up in the cheap seats, hoping they sing fast and that the cameras do NOT focus on us during the sing along portion of the concert because we are not those people who smile and clap joyously (in some entirely unrelated tempo) to the music. No, I can confidently say we would never be hired for Up With People. Up Yours, People, maybe.

So that's our current life in a nutshell. Snow, Singing, Virgins, and Up Yours, People.
It must be the holiday season once again.

Friday, December 14, 2007

45 x 365 #44: Nim

The real reason was a car accident. But we were the kids and you were the teacher. You know we couldn't help but give you that nickname behind your back. But it was better than in front of your bashed up destroyed nose though, right?

45 x 365 #44: Nim

The real reason was a car accident. But we were the kids and you were the teacher. You know we couldn't help but give you that nickname behind your back. But it was better than in front of your bashed up destroyed nose though, right?

Pencils Down



With no time left on the clock, Fall Semester officially came to a close today at 5pm. The students have packed up and taken off for the month and my sleepy little town has now officially become sleepy again, if just for a little while.

When the students are here, for better and for worse, this is a different place. There is a kind of buzz and excitement from faces younger than mine. There is optimism that can be downright infectious and an innocence that you might like to tweak on the cheeks because its simplicity is downright adorable and betrays that all-grown-up persona so wonderfully. But on the reverse side of the coin, there is that grating sense of entitlement that seems to seep from the pores and cellphones and laptops and BlackBerrys of students who feel as if things are owed to them. There is the know-it-all attitude from those who really don't, and the all-encompassing cloud of pessimism that should be reserved for an older relative ... on that side of the family.

Students live and move in herds which can be disconcerting to those not used to their daily migratory patterns. Over the years bar night has gradually moved up, and now Thursday is the new Friday, and Thursday night bar night is when students must go out and see what there is to see. They go to class together, eat lunch together, and hang out at coffee bars until all hours of the night, drinking and noshing as if they were at very expensive troughs partaking of the sweet caffeinated nectar of the Gods.

For those of us who consider this place a permanent residence, we do our best to coexist. Some go out of their way to introduce themselves to the opposing team. Others simply grumble behind their back. We put up with increased traffic, neighborhood noise and longer lines everywhere we go. Intellectually we know it's a part of university life, but emotionally there is always a small part that just can't wait to see them leave.

Once the last car filled to the brim with dirty laundry has left campus, those of us left tend to look at each other with a deer-in-the-headlights kind of stare and just sit and slump for a minute. There is satisfaction at the finish line of a semester, but unlike the students, we cannot go home and have someone feed us, give us shelter and bring us clean, folded socks in the morning. This is precious time, and as tempting as it would be to sit around and engage in high-stakes thumb twiddling, semester break is the time clean up, catch up and regroup before January.

So Godspeed, students. Have a wonderful break. The town won't be the same without you. But pardon us for a day or two while we think that's a really good thing.

Catch you in 2008. Clean socks and all.

Pencils Down



With no time left on the clock, Fall Semester officially came to a close today at 5pm. The students have packed up and taken off for the month and my sleepy little town has now officially become sleepy again, if just for a little while.

When the students are here, for better and for worse, this is a different place. There is a kind of buzz and excitement from faces younger than mine. There is optimism that can be downright infectious and an innocence that you might like to tweak on the cheeks because its simplicity is downright adorable and betrays that all-grown-up persona so wonderfully. But on the reverse side of the coin, there is that grating sense of entitlement that seems to seep from the pores and cellphones and laptops and BlackBerrys of students who feel as if things are owed to them. There is the know-it-all attitude from those who really don't, and the all-encompassing cloud of pessimism that should be reserved for an older relative ... on that side of the family.

Students live and move in herds which can be disconcerting to those not used to their daily migratory patterns. Over the years bar night has gradually moved up, and now Thursday is the new Friday, and Thursday night bar night is when students must go out and see what there is to see. They go to class together, eat lunch together, and hang out at coffee bars until all hours of the night, drinking and noshing as if they were at very expensive troughs partaking of the sweet caffeinated nectar of the Gods.

For those of us who consider this place a permanent residence, we do our best to coexist. Some go out of their way to introduce themselves to the opposing team. Others simply grumble behind their back. We put up with increased traffic, neighborhood noise and longer lines everywhere we go. Intellectually we know it's a part of university life, but emotionally there is always a small part that just can't wait to see them leave.

Once the last car filled to the brim with dirty laundry has left campus, those of us left tend to look at each other with a deer-in-the-headlights kind of stare and just sit and slump for a minute. There is satisfaction at the finish line of a semester, but unlike the students, we cannot go home and have someone feed us, give us shelter and bring us clean, folded socks in the morning. This is precious time, and as tempting as it would be to sit around and engage in high-stakes thumb twiddling, semester break is the time clean up, catch up and regroup before January.

So Godspeed, students. Have a wonderful break. The town won't be the same without you. But pardon us for a day or two while we think that's a really good thing.

Catch you in 2008. Clean socks and all.