Thursday, September 30, 2004

Fingers and Toes

I'm keeping everything crossed (which makes typing a challenge, let me tell you). My last student of the day is not here. I'm giving her another 10 minutes and then I'm bolting. Why should I sit here for an hour just to hear "I wasn't feeling good and overslept" the next week? Please Voice Gods. Give me a break. Let me go home early. I promise to practice my states (North Dakota, South Dakota, Nebraska, Kansas, Minnesota, Iowa, Missouri, Wisconsin, Illinois, Indiana, Ohio and Michigan), feed the bunny and take out the trash.



Oh yeah. And watch Survivor. And the debates. And commando needlepoint.

What an evening!

Please?

Fingers and Toes

I'm keeping everything crossed (which makes typing a challenge, let me tell you). My last student of the day is not here. I'm giving her another 10 minutes and then I'm bolting. Why should I sit here for an hour just to hear "I wasn't feeling good and overslept" the next week? Please Voice Gods. Give me a break. Let me go home early. I promise to practice my states (North Dakota, South Dakota, Nebraska, Kansas, Minnesota, Iowa, Missouri, Wisconsin, Illinois, Indiana, Ohio and Michigan), feed the bunny and take out the trash.

Oh yeah. And watch Survivor. And the debates. And commando needlepoint.
What an evening!
Please?

No Can Do

Things I WILL NOT be doing today:



1. Hearing Michael Moore speak at TunaU. I got two free tickets (they were free anyway, but I scored some tickets), but I cannot go because I'm teaching up north today. Doh. GramTuna gets the goods. She said she would "represent" (hee. She really said that!)



2. Anything productive for the next 17 minutes while I sit here trying to decide if my student who is now 10 minutes late is going to show up or not. He gets 5 more minutes and then I'm bolting for the copy machine to kill a few trees.



3. Forgetting to do something about my Survivor fantasy pick. I grabbed four random people last week, but I have no clue if they are who I really want to carry into the game tonight. I must not forget my picks.... I must not forget my picks... I must not forget my picks.... (I'll forget. I know it)



4. Purchasing enough legal stimulants or depressants to make it through the Presidential debates tonight. I just about had a stroke watching Dr. Phil perform an hour-long lip implant on Shrub's butt yesterday afternoon. Bleah.



5. Waiting any longer for my student. He snoozes...he loses.

No Can Do

Things I WILL NOT be doing today:

1. Hearing Michael Moore speak at TunaU. I got two free tickets (they were free anyway, but I scored some tickets), but I cannot go because I'm teaching up north today. Doh. GramTuna gets the goods. She said she would "represent" (hee. She really said that!)

2. Anything productive for the next 17 minutes while I sit here trying to decide if my student who is now 10 minutes late is going to show up or not. He gets 5 more minutes and then I'm bolting for the copy machine to kill a few trees.

3. Forgetting to do something about my Survivor fantasy pick. I grabbed four random people last week, but I have no clue if they are who I really want to carry into the game tonight. I must not forget my picks.... I must not forget my picks... I must not forget my picks.... (I'll forget. I know it)

4. Purchasing enough legal stimulants or depressants to make it through the Presidential debates tonight. I just about had a stroke watching Dr. Phil perform an hour-long lip implant on Shrub's butt yesterday afternoon. Bleah.

5. Waiting any longer for my student. He snoozes...he loses.

Wednesday, September 29, 2004

Holy Hanes, It's Banned Books Week

Hang onto your tighty whiteys. It's Banned Books week again.





This year's mascot, Captain Underpants wants you to read a banned book today! Who was naughty in 2003? The most frequently challenged books were:

  1. Alice series, for sexual content, using offensive language, and being unsuited to age group.
  2. Harry Potter series, for its focus on wizardry and magic.
  3. "Of Mice and Men" by John Steinbeck, for using offensive language.
  4. "Arming America: The Origins of a National Gun Culture" by Michael A. Bellesiles, for inaccuracy.
  5. "Fallen Angels" by Walter Dean Myers, for racism, sexual content, offensive language, drugs and violence.
  6. "Go Ask Alice" by Anonymous, for drugs.
  7. "It's Perfectly Normal" by Robie Harris, for homosexuality, nudity, sexual content and sex education.
  8. "We All Fall Down" by Robert Cormier, for offensive language and sexual content.
  9. "King and King" by Linda de Haan, for homosexuality.
  10. "Bridge to Terabithia" by Katherine Paterson, for offensive language and occult/satanism.
I cannot believe Go Dog, Go isn't in that list. Fifteen dogs sleeping in the same bed? That's not right. And what about The Cat in the Hat? Isn't that child abandonment? And what about cruelty to fish?

Holy Hanes, It's Banned Books Week

Hang onto your tighty whiteys. It's Banned Books week again.


This year's mascot, Captain Underpants wants you to read a banned book today! Who was naughty in 2003? The most frequently challenged books were:
  1. Alice series, for sexual content, using offensive language, and being unsuited to age group.
  2. Harry Potter series, for its focus on wizardry and magic.
  3. "Of Mice and Men" by John Steinbeck, for using offensive language.
  4. "Arming America: The Origins of a National Gun Culture" by Michael A. Bellesiles, for inaccuracy.
  5. "Fallen Angels" by Walter Dean Myers, for racism, sexual content, offensive language, drugs and violence.
  6. "Go Ask Alice" by Anonymous, for drugs.
  7. "It's Perfectly Normal" by Robie Harris, for homosexuality, nudity, sexual content and sex education.
  8. "We All Fall Down" by Robert Cormier, for offensive language and sexual content.
  9. "King and King" by Linda de Haan, for homosexuality.
  10. "Bridge to Terabithia" by Katherine Paterson, for offensive language and occult/satanism.
I cannot believe Go Dog, Go isn't in that list. Fifteen dogs sleeping in the same bed? That's not right. And what about The Cat in the Hat? Isn't that child abandonment? And what about cruelty to fish?

How Can I Keep From Singing? Part 2

Is it art or is it business? Music is big business. Check out the top ten most expensive videos ever produced. The itemized expenses are beyond insane. And how does Janet Jackson's makeup cost $8,000 a day?



10. "Girlfriend/Boyfriend"

Cost: $1,500,000+

Artist: Blackstreet (featuring Janet Jackson)



9. "November Rain"

Cost: $1,500,000+

Artist: Guns N' Roses



8. "Unpretty"

Cost: $1,600,000+

Artist: TLC



7. "She's a Bitch"

Cost: $2,000,000+

Artist: Missy Elliot



6. "Miami"

Cost: $2,000,000+

Artist: Will Smith



5. "Larger Than Life"

Cost: $2,100,000+

Artist: Backstreet Boys



4. "What's It Gonna Be"

Cost: $2,400,000+

Artist: Busta Rhymes (featuring Janet Jackson)



3. "Heartbreaker"

Cost: $2,500,000+

Artist: Mariah Carey



2. "Victory"

Cost: $2,700,000+

Artist: Puff Daddy (featuring Notorious B.I.G. & Busta Rhymes)



1. "Scream"

Cost: $7,000,000+

Artist: Michael Jackson (featuring Janet Jackson)



And when you're done crunching those numbers,

Please, please check this out.



"World On Fire"

Cost: $150,000

SPENT: $15

DONATED: $148,270

Artist: Sarah McLachlan




The power and humanity of music. THAT is something to sing about.

Many thanks to John Scalzi for this link.

How Can I Keep From Singing? Part 2

Is it art or is it business? Music is big business. Check out the top ten most expensive videos ever produced. The itemized expenses are beyond insane. And how does Janet Jackson's makeup cost $8,000 a day?

10. "Girlfriend/Boyfriend"
Cost: $1,500,000+
Artist: Blackstreet (featuring Janet Jackson)

9. "November Rain"
Cost: $1,500,000+
Artist: Guns N' Roses

8. "Unpretty"
Cost: $1,600,000+
Artist: TLC

7. "She's a Bitch"
Cost: $2,000,000+
Artist: Missy Elliot

6. "Miami"
Cost: $2,000,000+
Artist: Will Smith

5. "Larger Than Life"
Cost: $2,100,000+
Artist: Backstreet Boys

4. "What's It Gonna Be"
Cost: $2,400,000+
Artist: Busta Rhymes (featuring Janet Jackson)

3. "Heartbreaker"
Cost: $2,500,000+
Artist: Mariah Carey

2. "Victory"
Cost: $2,700,000+
Artist: Puff Daddy (featuring Notorious B.I.G. & Busta Rhymes)

1. "Scream"
Cost: $7,000,000+
Artist: Michael Jackson (featuring Janet Jackson)

And when you're done crunching those numbers,
Please, please check this out.

"World On Fire"
Cost: $150,000
SPENT: $15
DONATED: $148,270
Artist: Sarah McLachlan


The power and humanity of music. THAT is something to sing about.
Many thanks to John Scalzi for this link.

Tuesday, September 28, 2004

How Can I Keep From Singing? Part 1

Hang onto your high notes. I'm about to gush.



You have to understand this is not normal Soprano behavior. We NEVER gush. We brag. We boast. We bash altos, tenors and basses. We EAT sopranos. One less soprano in the world is a very, very good thing. Singing, my friends, is not for the weak.



I'm teasing. A little.



I've known singers like that. Lots and lots of singers. And honestly, to be a performer you need a certain amount of ego and a healthy dose of braggadocio to survive. It's simply part of the business.



But I love the heart of singing. I love the words. Songs of love and hope and sorry and joy. I know them. I live them. I sing them. And I teach them.



I am unbelievably privileged and blessed to to be able to share my unabashed love with the next generation. Not everyone will feel the same way. Some will not understand. Some will not hear. Some will be lost to the multitude of distractions in this life. But some DO hear and understand. And when I am a witness to the discovery of the wonderous, I know I am the luckiest person in the world.



And the song will go on

and on

and on.

How Can I Keep From Singing? Part 1

Hang onto your high notes. I'm about to gush.

You have to understand this is not normal Soprano behavior. We NEVER gush. We brag. We boast. We bash altos, tenors and basses. We EAT sopranos. One less soprano in the world is a very, very good thing. Singing, my friends, is not for the weak.

I'm teasing. A little.

I've known singers like that. Lots and lots of singers. And honestly, to be a performer you need a certain amount of ego and a healthy dose of braggadocio to survive. It's simply part of the business.

But I love the heart of singing. I love the words. Songs of love and hope and sorry and joy. I know them. I live them. I sing them. And I teach them.

I am unbelievably privileged and blessed to to be able to share my unabashed love with the next generation. Not everyone will feel the same way. Some will not understand. Some will not hear. Some will be lost to the multitude of distractions in this life. But some DO hear and understand. And when I am a witness to the discovery of the wonderous, I know I am the luckiest person in the world.

And the song will go on
and on
and on.

Do Not Anger The Soprano

If my first student of the day...

If my 9:00 AM student of the day...

If the student for whom I race around at home like a crazy person so I can arrive in time...



Oh lucky him. He just showed up.

One less murder in the world.

Do Not Anger The Soprano

If my first student of the day...
If my 9:00 AM student of the day...
If the student for whom I race around at home like a crazy person so I can arrive in time...

Oh lucky him. He just showed up.
One less murder in the world.

Monday, September 27, 2004

PUSHERS

Speaking of lists from which I need to remove myself: About.com sent me an email last week (LAST WEEK) with the title: Plan Your Costume Now.



Oh. No. You. Don't.



I don't have to start that nonsense yet. Yes, I know the Halloween Candy has been out for weeks, and the harvest of plastic pumpkin pails has been plentiful indeed. No longer are the beautiful colors of autumn leaves a sign that fall has truly arrived. Now you need only to look for that transformation of empty storefronts as they magically become a seasonal Halloween U.S.A. extravaganza.





Doesn't it look like an extravaganza?





Nice. Key.



So listen up Mr. Pusher of Halloween Treats and other costly paraphernalia. MY calendar says I have over a month before the dreaded day. I need every possible second so my be a pirate...be a pirate...be a pirate mantra can have a chance to work. This year, it just might. After all, TinyTuna already has the hat.





Ye shall NOT be a princess!

Ye shall NOT be a princess!

Ye shall NOT be a princess!

Arrrrrrgh!

PUSHERS

Speaking of lists from which I need to remove myself: About.com sent me an email last week (LAST WEEK) with the title: Plan Your Costume Now.

Oh. No. You. Don't.

I don't have to start that nonsense yet. Yes, I know the Halloween Candy has been out for weeks, and the harvest of plastic pumpkin pails has been plentiful indeed. No longer are the beautiful colors of autumn leaves a sign that fall has truly arrived. Now you need only to look for that transformation of empty storefronts as they magically become a seasonal Halloween U.S.A. extravaganza.


Doesn't it look like an extravaganza?


Nice. Key.

So listen up Mr. Pusher of Halloween Treats and other costly paraphernalia. MY calendar says I have over a month before the dreaded day. I need every possible second so my be a pirate...be a pirate...be a pirate mantra can have a chance to work. This year, it just might. After all, TinyTuna already has the hat.


Ye shall NOT be a princess!
Ye shall NOT be a princess!
Ye shall NOT be a princess!
Arrrrrrgh!

TIME FLIES

Last week NPR's Morning Edition ran a story called "The Commercial Possibilities of Sleeping Less." The basic premise of the story was all-too familiar to me: We are all doing more and sleeping less.



I chuckled at the mention of workplaces offering structured coffee breaks, yoga breaks at work or "acupuncture on the run" (Their terminology. And, Ow) as a means to squeeze more work out of their employees. I don't know about anybody else, but the only time yoga is practiced in this Ivy Covered Closet is when I assume the Manic Mohammad position, trying to move a mountain of work.



The thrust of the story, however, was looking at this phenomenon from a commercial standpoint and discussing how business is capitalizing on a life lived at breakneck speed. Our world is now filled with products developed to make our time pass more efficiently.



Then, we measured, stirred and sifted. We dumped in big yellow bags of chocolate chips, being to leave a few extras inside the bag for snacking. When we were done we licked the beaters as a reward for a job well done. Along the way we learned how to follow directions, measure accurately, clean up our messes, and provide food for ourselves and others. It was not the most effiencent method by today's standards. But it was fun.



Today in my fridge you'll find two packages of break-apart cookies. 12 minutes in the oven and they're done. No muss. No fuss. No beaters.



Then, we went to the library and checked out books. We filled out Scholastic order forms at school and anxiously awaited for our new books to arrive. We climbed into the comfiest chair or sat in a porch swing and got lost in stories that would take your breath away.



Today in my car you'll find books on tape.



Then, we had four channels from which to choose, and an aerial antennae. Changing channels meant changing the TV channel dial as well as the aerial antennae dial. I always thought of it like a clock. CBS was at 1:00. NBC was at 4:00. ABC was at 10:00. PBS was a whole different story. Once you moved the antennae dial, you waited.



Ca-CHUNG ... Ca-CHUNG ... Ca-CHUNG ... Ca-CHUNG



It was slow and annoying. In fact, TV surfing didn't really exist because of all the Ca-CHUNGing that was necessary just to see what was on. It just wasn't worth it. Today in my house I have enough remotes to equip the descendants of Abraham. I have TV remotes, VCR remotes, DVD remotes and several backup remotes, just in case.



Don't get me wrong. I'm not pining for the olden days because THERE WERE NO REMOTES. But it is curious that despite a world filled with time-saving products, I, for one, am still significantly short.



What happened? Weren't salad-in-a-bag, computers and disposable toilet brushes supposed to give me back my lost time? Aren't plug-in air fresheners and ziplock bags and Swiffer Sweepers the answer for busy consumers everywhere? Bill Gates, Mr. Clean and Mrs. Fields, why have you forsaken me?



Unfortunately, I have no one to blame but myself. For every time-saving device I use, I manage to take that time and smother it with so many more activities, I am more behind than where I started. If only I could Etch-A-Sketch all the busy-ness out of my life and start with a clean slate. But would I change? It's doubtful. I'd probably go right back into filling that void with things and activities and until I'm frantic all over again.



Time saved is a gift. I have to learn to accept this gift and be a better steward. I'm not going to abandon the conveniences of the 21st century, and nobody, NOBODY will be able to pry the remote out of my hand. But once the commando needlepointing is done, and the tests are graded, the homework completed, the emails are written and the dishes washed, I am going to take the time to tour the garden, go on a bike ride with TinyTuna, bake some chocolate chip cookies and lick the beaters.

TIME FLIES

Last week NPR's Morning Edition ran a story called "The Commercial Possibilities of Sleeping Less." The basic premise of the story was all-too familiar to me: We are all doing more and sleeping less.

I chuckled at the mention of workplaces offering structured coffee breaks, yoga breaks at work or "acupuncture on the run" (Their terminology. And, Ow) as a means to squeeze more work out of their employees. I don't know about anybody else, but the only time yoga is practiced in this Ivy Covered Closet is when I assume the Manic Mohammad position, trying to move a mountain of work.

The thrust of the story, however, was looking at this phenomenon from a commercial standpoint and discussing how business is capitalizing on a life lived at breakneck speed. Our world is now filled with products developed to make our time pass more efficiently.

Then, we measured, stirred and sifted. We dumped in big yellow bags of chocolate chips, being to leave a few extras inside the bag for snacking. When we were done we licked the beaters as a reward for a job well done. Along the way we learned how to follow directions, measure accurately, clean up our messes, and provide food for ourselves and others. It was not the most effiencent method by today's standards. But it was fun.

Today in my fridge you'll find two packages of break-apart cookies. 12 minutes in the oven and they're done. No muss. No fuss. No beaters.

Then, we went to the library and checked out books. We filled out Scholastic order forms at school and anxiously awaited for our new books to arrive. We climbed into the comfiest chair or sat in a porch swing and got lost in stories that would take your breath away.

Today in my car you'll find books on tape.

Then, we had four channels from which to choose, and an aerial antennae. Changing channels meant changing the TV channel dial as well as the aerial antennae dial. I always thought of it like a clock. CBS was at 1:00. NBC was at 4:00. ABC was at 10:00. PBS was a whole different story. Once you moved the antennae dial, you waited.

Ca-CHUNG ... Ca-CHUNG ... Ca-CHUNG ... Ca-CHUNG

It was slow and annoying. In fact, TV surfing didn't really exist because of all the Ca-CHUNGing that was necessary just to see what was on. It just wasn't worth it. Today in my house I have enough remotes to equip the descendants of Abraham. I have TV remotes, VCR remotes, DVD remotes and several backup remotes, just in case.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not pining for the olden days because THERE WERE NO REMOTES. But it is curious that despite a world filled with time-saving products, I, for one, am still significantly short.

What happened? Weren't salad-in-a-bag, computers and disposable toilet brushes supposed to give me back my lost time? Aren't plug-in air fresheners and ziplock bags and Swiffer Sweepers the answer for busy consumers everywhere? Bill Gates, Mr. Clean and Mrs. Fields, why have you forsaken me?

Unfortunately, I have no one to blame but myself. For every time-saving device I use, I manage to take that time and smother it with so many more activities, I am more behind than where I started. If only I could Etch-A-Sketch all the busy-ness out of my life and start with a clean slate. But would I change? It's doubtful. I'd probably go right back into filling that void with things and activities and until I'm frantic all over again.

Time saved is a gift. I have to learn to accept this gift and be a better steward. I'm not going to abandon the conveniences of the 21st century, and nobody, NOBODY will be able to pry the remote out of my hand. But once the commando needlepointing is done, and the tests are graded, the homework completed, the emails are written and the dishes washed, I am going to take the time to tour the garden, go on a bike ride with TinyTuna, bake some chocolate chip cookies and lick the beaters.

Wednesday, September 22, 2004

Agricultural Report

Both thanks and apologies for today's Agricultural Report must be given to Legal Eagle Tuna, AKA The Boy, who used to be a very important governmental muckity-muck (with a badge) for Mitten Agriculture, and has now changed jobs. His new job? It's kind of like a governmental version of the string that attaches to your mittens and keeps them safe from harm. He now keeps the entire Kingdom of Tuna in the Country of Mitten free from Evil Agriculture. Like Cows. Because if you tip them, the terrorists win.



Wow. That was a long intro. Anyway, the first item in today's Agricultural report was the publishing of this warning. The mitten, it seems, has been warned against the consumption of wild game, including Wild Turkey Meat, Wild Deer Livers and Wild Squirrels, not to mention the ongoing warning against eating the three-eyed fish that frolic in the rivers near the Dow Chemical plant.







Three-eyed fish and Wild Turkey aside (Hmmm, that sounds like a Redneck Thanksgiving Dinner), this report was a real eye-opener. Not about the mutant animals roaming my fair state. Oh no. At the apparant blandness of my diet. I have always considered myself to be a rather adventuresome eater. I mean, I eat hot dogs, and what's riskier than that? It's edible roulette in a bun (unless you're TinyTuna, in which case, hold the bun). And while wild deer livers are ewww enough, since when did Mitteganians start running around eating squirrels? People, this is Michigan, and you are neither Jed Clampett nor Pa Walton. If you really want to insult your taste buds (not to mention your digestive system), head on over to a McDonald's restaurant near you. However, if you're hell-bent on Squirrel Pie (pie!), then will you please come on over to TunaU? Not only are the squirrels around here mean, everybody knows that squirrels are scary.



Equally troubling is this comment from Anne Ainsworth, a spokeswoman for Dow who said the company agrees with the advice against eating deer liver or turkey skin. But "we still conclude that individuals who consume venison, squirrel or turkey with the skin off taken south of Midland would incur no greater exposure than by eating meat, fish or poultry from the national food supply."



What does this mean? Does this mean if I drink a Bud Lite, (survive), shoot lil' Bucky, throw him in my rucksack, hop into my truck, drive south of Midland and THEN skin the critter, I'm OK? And while it's comforting to know that southern squirrel is as safe as meat, fish or poultry from the national food supply, there isn't any real opportunity for comparison where furry long-tailed rodents are concerned. At least, not in my neighborhood.



Elsewhere, The Pickle Boycott Is Over! Well, gosh, I never knew there was a pickle boycott in the first place. And now, I have guilt because my family (mostly TinyTuna) eats pickles with a reckless abandon. I'm still trying to figure out how and why The Methodists are involved, but I fear that is greater research for another day. Maybe the answer is somewhere in Leviticus. I bet my good pal PhotoTuna would know.



Meanwhile, don't hide your pickles under a bushel

wait, that didn't sound quite right




Proclaim your pickle love today!

I'm not sure that one did, either




Pickles. They're Shocking.

Enough already





Avast Ye Bucko! I'm Pickle Pete.

The most feared pickle that ever

sailed the Briny Deep! Arrrrrrr!

Agricultural Report

Both thanks and apologies for today's Agricultural Report must be given to Legal Eagle Tuna, AKA The Boy, who used to be a very important governmental muckity-muck (with a badge) for Mitten Agriculture, and has now changed jobs. His new job? It's kind of like a governmental version of the string that attaches to your mittens and keeps them safe from harm. He now keeps the entire Kingdom of Tuna in the Country of Mitten free from Evil Agriculture. Like Cows. Because if you tip them, the terrorists win.

Wow. That was a long intro. Anyway, the first item in today's Agricultural report was the publishing of this warning. The mitten, it seems, has been warned against the consumption of wild game, including Wild Turkey Meat, Wild Deer Livers and Wild Squirrels, not to mention the ongoing warning against eating the three-eyed fish that frolic in the rivers near the Dow Chemical plant.



Three-eyed fish and Wild Turkey aside (Hmmm, that sounds like a Redneck Thanksgiving Dinner), this report was a real eye-opener. Not about the mutant animals roaming my fair state. Oh no. At the apparant blandness of my diet. I have always considered myself to be a rather adventuresome eater. I mean, I eat hot dogs, and what's riskier than that? It's edible roulette in a bun (unless you're TinyTuna, in which case, hold the bun). And while wild deer livers are ewww enough, since when did Mitteganians start running around eating squirrels? People, this is Michigan, and you are neither Jed Clampett nor Pa Walton. If you really want to insult your taste buds (not to mention your digestive system), head on over to a McDonald's restaurant near you. However, if you're hell-bent on Squirrel Pie (pie!), then will you please come on over to TunaU? Not only are the squirrels around here mean, everybody knows that squirrels are scary.

Equally troubling is this comment from Anne Ainsworth, a spokeswoman for Dow who said the company agrees with the advice against eating deer liver or turkey skin. But "we still conclude that individuals who consume venison, squirrel or turkey with the skin off taken south of Midland would incur no greater exposure than by eating meat, fish or poultry from the national food supply."

What does this mean? Does this mean if I drink a Bud Lite, (survive), shoot lil' Bucky, throw him in my rucksack, hop into my truck, drive south of Midland and THEN skin the critter, I'm OK? And while it's comforting to know that southern squirrel is as safe as meat, fish or poultry from the national food supply, there isn't any real opportunity for comparison where furry long-tailed rodents are concerned. At least, not in my neighborhood.

Elsewhere, The Pickle Boycott Is Over! Well, gosh, I never knew there was a pickle boycott in the first place. And now, I have guilt because my family (mostly TinyTuna) eats pickles with a reckless abandon. I'm still trying to figure out how and why The Methodists are involved, but I fear that is greater research for another day. Maybe the answer is somewhere in Leviticus. I bet my good pal PhotoTuna would know.

Meanwhile, don't hide your pickles under a bushel
wait, that didn't sound quite right


Proclaim your pickle love today!
I'm not sure that one did, either


Pickles. They're Shocking.
Enough already


Avast Ye Bucko! I'm Pickle Pete.
The most feared pickle that ever
sailed the Briny Deep! Arrrrrrr!

Tuesday, September 21, 2004

There She is, Miscellania

Welcome to the mish-mash that is today's blog. It's the Kibbles and Bits of Life that have sort of stuck to my essence over the last several days. Come to think of it, I suppose that makes it more like lint than dogfood, which in turn makes my blog the literary equivalent of a little Scotch-tape ring that I put around my fingers because with God and Martha Stuart as my witness, I couldn't find a lint brush in my house if my fuzzied soul depended upon it. So, here goes.



Miss America

I watched oh, about half. Why only half? Because there WAS. NO. TALENT. OK, Technically there was a little talent. And the talent that was there was suspect at best. What could tear me away from my annual ritual of score sheets, ice cream and giggles? A super-sized repeat of The Apprentice (Now with 10 extra boardroom minutes!) which was great. The Apprentice is fascinating, because to me, Corporate America is as far from Academia and the Performing Arts as one could get. Of course, I know Sopranos more ruthless than The Donald and Stage Directors more clueless than Omorosa. Still in all, it's like watching animals in a zoo. Well, animals in a zoo that wear business suits and drink coffee and have to design new toys and ice cream flavors.



But back to Miss America. I switched over just as they were taunting me a second time by playing 5-second talent snippets of the top ten finalists. They cut it to five, and then they cut it to two. I was somewhat dismayed to see the cut to five left us with an awfully pale panel of scholarship hopefuls. The final two included a jazz dancer and a "singer." Yes it's in quotes for a reason. They tried to sell us on the premise that (IMPORTANT: INSERT MONSTER TRUCK RALLY VOICE HERE) the final two were going to go head-to-head in a talent competition that could tip the scales to either one. Based on who was wearing the crown and sashaying to Clay Aiken doing his best Bert Parks, she only tipped the scales if atonal singing was the goal. Yuck. If we have to suffer through crappy talent, I want equal opportunity for all 50 states. And make baton twirling mandatory, dag-nabbit!



The Obscurity of the Edmund Fitzgerald

Today I finished up the Folk Song unit in Class Voice. I played folk songs of the Aborigines, folk songs from the Carolinas (waves to Ocracoke and Roy Parsons), Scottish and Irish folk songs, and some Limeliters. I also played TinyTuna's favorite, The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald as an example of a folk song that told a story, recounted history, and was also a success on the American pop charts. Only ONE student had heard of either the song or Gordon Lightfoot. How can that be? He's a legend. And the legend lives on from the Chippewas on down from the big lake they call Gitcheegumee. I mean, really. Her comment? "They play it on the oldies station in November." Oy gah. It won't be long before they say, "Beatles, who?"



States and Capitols, Continued

Yes. Yes. New Hampshire. Concord. I forgot. This week? The Virginias (again), The Carolinas, Georgia, Florida, Alabama, Mississippi, Arkansas, Tennessee, Kentucky and Louisiana. Do I know all the capitols? You betcha. And I can spell 'em right, too!



Paper Roses

The archival calendar tells me today is the one-year anniversary of this little pile of bits and bytes. How did that happen? I've always loved the written word, but I've loved it by singing it, not writing it. And here I am, writing (more like blathering today) and enjoying it immensely. I read everyone on my list religiously, and many more besides. You've all inspired me in your own ways, made me think, and I am thankful and blessed to be one small part of this community of talented, creative souls. To those of you who visit regularly or just now and again, thank you. You presence is appreciated, your comments are welcomed, and No, I don't have any information on why Kirstie Allie is fat.



To another year of TunaNews. *Clink*

There She is, Miscellania

Welcome to the mish-mash that is today's blog. It's the Kibbles and Bits of Life that have sort of stuck to my essence over the last several days. Come to think of it, I suppose that makes it more like lint than dogfood, which in turn makes my blog the literary equivalent of a little Scotch-tape ring that I put around my fingers because with God and Martha Stuart as my witness, I couldn't find a lint brush in my house if my fuzzied soul depended upon it. So, here goes.

Miss America
I watched oh, about half. Why only half? Because there WAS. NO. TALENT. OK, Technically there was a little talent. And the talent that was there was suspect at best. What could tear me away from my annual ritual of score sheets, ice cream and giggles? A super-sized repeat of The Apprentice (Now with 10 extra boardroom minutes!) which was great. The Apprentice is fascinating, because to me, Corporate America is as far from Academia and the Performing Arts as one could get. Of course, I know Sopranos more ruthless than The Donald and Stage Directors more clueless than Omorosa. Still in all, it's like watching animals in a zoo. Well, animals in a zoo that wear business suits and drink coffee and have to design new toys and ice cream flavors.

But back to Miss America. I switched over just as they were taunting me a second time by playing 5-second talent snippets of the top ten finalists. They cut it to five, and then they cut it to two. I was somewhat dismayed to see the cut to five left us with an awfully pale panel of scholarship hopefuls. The final two included a jazz dancer and a "singer." Yes it's in quotes for a reason. They tried to sell us on the premise that (IMPORTANT: INSERT MONSTER TRUCK RALLY VOICE HERE) the final two were going to go head-to-head in a talent competition that could tip the scales to either one. Based on who was wearing the crown and sashaying to Clay Aiken doing his best Bert Parks, she only tipped the scales if atonal singing was the goal. Yuck. If we have to suffer through crappy talent, I want equal opportunity for all 50 states. And make baton twirling mandatory, dag-nabbit!

The Obscurity of the Edmund Fitzgerald
Today I finished up the Folk Song unit in Class Voice. I played folk songs of the Aborigines, folk songs from the Carolinas (waves to Ocracoke and Roy Parsons), Scottish and Irish folk songs, and some Limeliters. I also played TinyTuna's favorite, The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald as an example of a folk song that told a story, recounted history, and was also a success on the American pop charts. Only ONE student had heard of either the song or Gordon Lightfoot. How can that be? He's a legend. And the legend lives on from the Chippewas on down from the big lake they call Gitcheegumee. I mean, really. Her comment? "They play it on the oldies station in November." Oy gah. It won't be long before they say, "Beatles, who?"

States and Capitols, Continued
Yes. Yes. New Hampshire. Concord. I forgot. This week? The Virginias (again), The Carolinas, Georgia, Florida, Alabama, Mississippi, Arkansas, Tennessee, Kentucky and Louisiana. Do I know all the capitols? You betcha. And I can spell 'em right, too!

Paper Roses
The archival calendar tells me today is the one-year anniversary of this little pile of bits and bytes. How did that happen? I've always loved the written word, but I've loved it by singing it, not writing it. And here I am, writing (more like blathering today) and enjoying it immensely. I read everyone on my list religiously, and many more besides. You've all inspired me in your own ways, made me think, and I am thankful and blessed to be one small part of this community of talented, creative souls. To those of you who visit regularly or just now and again, thank you. You presence is appreciated, your comments are welcomed, and No, I don't have any information on why Kirstie Allie is fat.

To another year of TunaNews. *Clink*

Friday, September 17, 2004

She Can Be Taught

Augusta, Maine

Hartford, Connecticut

Montpelier, Vermont

Providence, Rhode Island

Boston, Massachusetts

Harrisburg, Pennsylvania

Trenton, New Jersey

Dover, Delaware

Annapolis, Maryland

Richmond, Virginia

Charleston, West Virginia

Albany, New York

Washington, D.C.



And, because I'm a truthful Tuna, I will admit to double-checking the capitol of Delaware with my boyfriend AFTER I typed this, because it didn't sound right. But I'm telling you right now, if I can't remember something important later on, it's because my head was filled up with this stuff.

She Can Be Taught

Augusta, Maine
Hartford, Connecticut
Montpelier, Vermont
Providence, Rhode Island
Boston, Massachusetts
Harrisburg, Pennsylvania
Trenton, New Jersey
Dover, Delaware
Annapolis, Maryland
Richmond, Virginia
Charleston, West Virginia
Albany, New York
Washington, D.C.

And, because I'm a truthful Tuna, I will admit to double-checking the capitol of Delaware with my boyfriend AFTER I typed this, because it didn't sound right. But I'm telling you right now, if I can't remember something important later on, it's because my head was filled up with this stuff.

Thursday, September 16, 2004

Five-Second Update

With mere moments before my next victim knocks on my studio door, I need to attend to several small details.



HAPPY BIRTHDAY GRACE!

Since I'm typing this on Beelzebub's very new Apple computer and staring at the ginormous screen of Overcompensation, I cannot link to her blog. But go over and find The Friday Chef, and wish her a Happy Birthday. 29 Never looked so good!! I'm sure I'll enjoy it when my time comes as well. May you have a great day, a wonderful year, and lots of stories to tell. *Mwah*



NOT-QUITE 50 STATES

The good news is we've had a slight reprive in learning all 50 states. Now we're down to Northeast Region. *Phew* !! That means I'm good on Maine, Pennsylvania and Rhode Island. The bad news? They have to know State Capitols as well. DOH.



BETWEEN THE LIONS

A sign spotted today in Scottish college country (this is in mid-Michigan, mind you) promoting the college climbing club:



While being chased by a lion you find yourself

cornered between the ferocious lion and steep

rock walls--your only way to escape is up.



Learn the skills of survival Monday night at 10

at the climbing wall.



WE COULD ESCAPE. COULD YOU?




Written in pencil at the bottom of the page was one student's answer:

I'd just shoot the lion



Although I'm fairly certain that the lion population (not to mention the steep rock wall population) is way, way down, I thought the answer was absolutely priceless. I kept the sign.



SURVIVOR

Starts tonight. I'm NOT ready. I have 1/2 hour to scour the web and find out what's going on.



OH-WAY-OH-WAYOH-WAYOHWAYOHWAYAHHHHHHH!

Five-Second Update

With mere moments before my next victim knocks on my studio door, I need to attend to several small details.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY GRACE!
Since I'm typing this on Beelzebub's very new Apple computer and staring at the ginormous screen of Overcompensation, I cannot link to her blog. But go over and find The Friday Chef, and wish her a Happy Birthday. 29 Never looked so good!! I'm sure I'll enjoy it when my time comes as well. May you have a great day, a wonderful year, and lots of stories to tell. *Mwah*

NOT-QUITE 50 STATES
The good news is we've had a slight reprive in learning all 50 states. Now we're down to Northeast Region. *Phew* !! That means I'm good on Maine, Pennsylvania and Rhode Island. The bad news? They have to know State Capitols as well. DOH.

BETWEEN THE LIONS
A sign spotted today in Scottish college country (this is in mid-Michigan, mind you) promoting the college climbing club:

While being chased by a lion you find yourself
cornered between the ferocious lion and steep
rock walls--your only way to escape is up.

Learn the skills of survival Monday night at 10
at the climbing wall.

WE COULD ESCAPE. COULD YOU?


Written in pencil at the bottom of the page was one student's answer:
I'd just shoot the lion

Although I'm fairly certain that the lion population (not to mention the steep rock wall population) is way, way down, I thought the answer was absolutely priceless. I kept the sign.

SURVIVOR
Starts tonight. I'm NOT ready. I have 1/2 hour to scour the web and find out what's going on.

OH-WAY-OH-WAYOH-WAYOHWAYOHWAYAHHHHHHH!

Tuesday, September 14, 2004

Roll Out The Role Models

Reason Number 896 that being a parent bites: You have to do things -- in the name of being a good role model -- you'd otherwise never do. And this happens all the time. Now that I'm a big 5th Grader my latest assignment is being able to name all 50 states. Is that all? Oh Nooooo! I have to correctly place them in the appropriate place on a map of the United States.



DOH



Of course, TinyTuna is in fifth grade, not me. But I can't help her if I don't know how to do it myself. And no, I can't put all the states on a map. There are a whole bunch of rectangle states that look EXACTLY THE SAME. Sure, I can do Florida, Michigan, California and Texas. I can probably get Oregon, Washington, Wisconsin, Illinois, Indiana, Ohio and Pennsylvania too. But after that? Kansas? Where is Kansas? I don't know. It's a rectangle state. I think. I don't even know.



Should I be able to correctly label a map of my country? I suppose. But I always figured my brain has a finite amount of space, and God created maps so if I should have to travel to Kansas, I'll know which rectangle it is because my Godly map will tell me so. Should I be able to spout off all fifty states? I suppose it would come in handy when I have to make my Miss America (BRING BACK THE TALENT, DAMMIT) scorecard. There is nothing worse than coming up with 46 states and then having to do a Google search for the rest.



So, I'm learning my 50 states. There are 4-A's, no-B's, 4-C's, 1 each of D, F, G and H...and then I fell asleep. All I know is there are a buttload of M's and N's. Darn North This and New That. And then I have to learn where they go on a map. By Friday. Ugh. What's a poor MittenTuna to do?



Maybe I can get some extra credit for knowing all seven dwarves. There's Grumpy, Doc, Dopey, Happy, Sleepy, Sneezy, uh...Sleazy, and...uh....that other guy.



It's going to be a long year.

Roll Out The Role Models

Reason Number 896 that being a parent bites: You have to do things -- in the name of being a good role model -- you'd otherwise never do. And this happens all the time. Now that I'm a big 5th Grader my latest assignment is being able to name all 50 states. Is that all? Oh Nooooo! I have to correctly place them in the appropriate place on a map of the United States.

DOH

Of course, TinyTuna is in fifth grade, not me. But I can't help her if I don't know how to do it myself. And no, I can't put all the states on a map. There are a whole bunch of rectangle states that look EXACTLY THE SAME. Sure, I can do Florida, Michigan, California and Texas. I can probably get Oregon, Washington, Wisconsin, Illinois, Indiana, Ohio and Pennsylvania too. But after that? Kansas? Where is Kansas? I don't know. It's a rectangle state. I think. I don't even know.

Should I be able to correctly label a map of my country? I suppose. But I always figured my brain has a finite amount of space, and God created maps so if I should have to travel to Kansas, I'll know which rectangle it is because my Godly map will tell me so. Should I be able to spout off all fifty states? I suppose it would come in handy when I have to make my Miss America (BRING BACK THE TALENT, DAMMIT) scorecard. There is nothing worse than coming up with 46 states and then having to do a Google search for the rest.

So, I'm learning my 50 states. There are 4-A's, no-B's, 4-C's, 1 each of D, F, G and H...and then I fell asleep. All I know is there are a buttload of M's and N's. Darn North This and New That. And then I have to learn where they go on a map. By Friday. Ugh. What's a poor MittenTuna to do?

Maybe I can get some extra credit for knowing all seven dwarves. There's Grumpy, Doc, Dopey, Happy, Sleepy, Sneezy, uh...Sleazy, and...uh....that other guy.

It's going to be a long year.

Monday, September 13, 2004

Perspective

As I was flipping channels last night, I ran across Star Wars: Empire of Dreams on A&E. Being a sucker for how did they do that? kind of show, I watched as Lucas & Co. struggled to complete the film, despite just about every problem you can imagine.



At one point, while everything in a galaxy far-far away was going wrong, the studio heads realized they had a serious problem on their hands. Sure, they were over-budget and off-schedule. But there were more important issues to face:



The Wookie Has No Pants



This is my new motto. When life is overbearing...When I am asked to do more with less...When I'm frantically trying to stay one step ahead of rat race... I won't ask "What Would Jesus Do?" I'll just recite my mantra of perspective



The Wookie Has No Pants



Perspective

As I was flipping channels last night, I ran across Star Wars: Empire of Dreams on A&E. Being a sucker for how did they do that? kind of show, I watched as Lucas & Co. struggled to complete the film, despite just about every problem you can imagine.

At one point, while everything in a galaxy far-far away was going wrong, the studio heads realized they had a serious problem on their hands. Sure, they were over-budget and off-schedule. But there were more important issues to face:

The Wookie Has No Pants

This is my new motto. When life is overbearing...When I am asked to do more with less...When I'm frantically trying to stay one step ahead of rat race... I won't ask "What Would Jesus Do?" I'll just recite my mantra of perspective

The Wookie Has No Pants

Wednesday, September 08, 2004

DEJA VU, ALL OVER AGAIN

Yesterday was TinyTuna's first day of 5th grade. This was her day:



1. Arrive at school

2. Find the door she needed to enter

3. Find her desk

4. Introduction by the teacher

5. Art project making gingerbread men

6. Recess (it was extra long, Mom!)

7. Finish art project

8. Go home.



For those of you scoring at home, it's



Screw Around All Day: 1

Education: 0


DEJA VU, ALL OVER AGAIN

Yesterday was TinyTuna's first day of 5th grade. This was her day:

1. Arrive at school
2. Find the door she needed to enter
3. Find her desk
4. Introduction by the teacher
5. Art project making gingerbread men
6. Recess (it was extra long, Mom!)
7. Finish art project
8. Go home.

For those of you scoring at home, it's

Screw Around All Day: 1
Education: 0

Tuesday, September 07, 2004

TEA AND SYMPATHY

Well, Bessie is at it again.



Friday night she was humming away. I had last checked for email and other pertinant information at about 11pm, Tuna time. Then, an hour later, she had lost her connection. This, in an of itself, is not unusual. With 45,000 additional Tunas crowding the University servers, it's common to get bumped offline.



Yeah. Damn dial-up. I know.

But it's free damn dial-up, so I've been making do.



But now...nothing. It says the modem is already in use or something else is using the COM port or is not configured right. It might as well have told me that the moon was in the 7th house, and Jupiter was aligning with Mars.



I think error messages delivered by the Fifth Dimension would be a lot more palatable. Oh, except I still don't have any audio. DOH.



So I'm stuck with a computer who dreams of starring in The Miracle Worker.

Unfortunately, I don't think "Water!" is going to do her much good at all.



Meanwhile and in other news, I'm up north today to begin my 2004-2005 stint as Voice Instructor to the little Scottish Tunas. This week is easy, since I don't have to teach private lessons...just my classes. Today is even easier, since I missed my first class because NOBODY HAD THE COURTSEY TO TELL ME THEY CHANGED THE SCHEDULE. Normally, I wouldn't mind too terribly much, but this is a seven-week course (when it should really be a whole-year) and to miss one class means I'll have to do some serious speed-talking on Thursday.



The drive up to Scotland, USA (that's the motto of the town, no joke) hasn't improved in the slightest. The roads are still as straight and flat as they ever were. The 20-miles of 55 mph driving is still there, nipping at my lead-foot toes. The wetland bird sanctuary is still beautiful, and I saw lots of cranes (of the bird variety, not the construction variety) and other winged things as I drove by. I always wish I could stop. I never have time. The enormous cider mill has begun its siren call. How many times will I be able to drive by before I must succumb to fresh cider and doughnuts? At least two more weeks, my wallet says.



I walked into my office and let out a huge groan. My office mate -- who makes me look like a neatnik in comparison -- has been allowed to ooze and multiply in my absence. After lugging in much of my music, I began the long process of shovel and pile and toss. I mean, really. Socks in the middle of the floor? Ewww.



Things are now looking a bit better. I only have three more crates of music to unpack and a great deal of filing to do. My remaining course doesn't start for another two hours, so I can putter on Beelzebubs much much bigger Mac with the super-enormo screen. Techno-envy. I have it.



Hopefully, if the day is calm, when I get home, I'll have another heart-to-heart with Bessie and see if she won't cooperate for just a few weeks more. If you see me around, you'll know I was successful. Otherwise, just pass the tea and sympathy, and I'll see you online at work tomorrow.

TEA AND SYMPATHY

Well, Bessie is at it again.

Friday night she was humming away. I had last checked for email and other pertinant information at about 11pm, Tuna time. Then, an hour later, she had lost her connection. This, in an of itself, is not unusual. With 45,000 additional Tunas crowding the University servers, it's common to get bumped offline.

Yeah. Damn dial-up. I know.
But it's free damn dial-up, so I've been making do.

But now...nothing. It says the modem is already in use or something else is using the COM port or is not configured right. It might as well have told me that the moon was in the 7th house, and Jupiter was aligning with Mars.

I think error messages delivered by the Fifth Dimension would be a lot more palatable. Oh, except I still don't have any audio. DOH.

So I'm stuck with a computer who dreams of starring in The Miracle Worker.
Unfortunately, I don't think "Water!" is going to do her much good at all.

Meanwhile and in other news, I'm up north today to begin my 2004-2005 stint as Voice Instructor to the little Scottish Tunas. This week is easy, since I don't have to teach private lessons...just my classes. Today is even easier, since I missed my first class because NOBODY HAD THE COURTSEY TO TELL ME THEY CHANGED THE SCHEDULE. Normally, I wouldn't mind too terribly much, but this is a seven-week course (when it should really be a whole-year) and to miss one class means I'll have to do some serious speed-talking on Thursday.

The drive up to Scotland, USA (that's the motto of the town, no joke) hasn't improved in the slightest. The roads are still as straight and flat as they ever were. The 20-miles of 55 mph driving is still there, nipping at my lead-foot toes. The wetland bird sanctuary is still beautiful, and I saw lots of cranes (of the bird variety, not the construction variety) and other winged things as I drove by. I always wish I could stop. I never have time. The enormous cider mill has begun its siren call. How many times will I be able to drive by before I must succumb to fresh cider and doughnuts? At least two more weeks, my wallet says.

I walked into my office and let out a huge groan. My office mate -- who makes me look like a neatnik in comparison -- has been allowed to ooze and multiply in my absence. After lugging in much of my music, I began the long process of shovel and pile and toss. I mean, really. Socks in the middle of the floor? Ewww.

Things are now looking a bit better. I only have three more crates of music to unpack and a great deal of filing to do. My remaining course doesn't start for another two hours, so I can putter on Beelzebubs much much bigger Mac with the super-enormo screen. Techno-envy. I have it.

Hopefully, if the day is calm, when I get home, I'll have another heart-to-heart with Bessie and see if she won't cooperate for just a few weeks more. If you see me around, you'll know I was successful. Otherwise, just pass the tea and sympathy, and I'll see you online at work tomorrow.

Friday, September 03, 2004

Peace Like A River

Busy. Busy. Busy.



It's not only the fault of Fall Semester. It's not only the fault of TinyTuna and her growing calendar of activities. It's not only the fault of the house needing attention and the garden needing attention and the bunny needing attention and what's for dinner and teaching starts next week and where's my shoes and answer the phone and fix the bikes.



It's not only, but each activity plays a part in making my life one best lived on rollerskates. And yet, I wonder if I could, or would, live my life any other way?



I'm a compulsive multitasker. If I'm driving, I'm learning music. If I'm stitching or spinning or knitting, the TV is on. If I'm at work, I have library catalogs, email programs, Instant Messaging chats and something playing on RealAudio simultaneously. I wake to radio and fall asleep to TV. There is nothing worse in my book than finding myself someplace with NOTHING TO DO. No place is sacred. Even the bathroom is stocked with reading materials, because let's face it, it's a perfect opportunity to do something while I'm doing something.



The other day, as I was in the reading room, I came across a page from a book I bought on vacation called A Hatteras Anthology : The Voices of Hatteras Island. As I was thumbing through the essays, I ran across a poem by Linda Elizabeth Nunn, called "Cape of Hatteras." It was written in a similar style to "The Lake Isle of Innisfree" by William Butler Yeats. The Hatteras poem began:



I will arise and go now, and go to Hatteras,

And a small house make there, of driftwood built.

A plot of sea oats will I have there, and a row boat,

And live alone on the sand dune hill.



And I shall have some peace there, for peace is slow...




Peace is slow.



Slow.



I went back and read it again



And I shall have some peace there, for peace is slow.



Gah. That sentence struck me as unusual and interesting and just plain odd. Peace is slow. I have to admit I never equated the two. Peace was peace, and slow was slow. Maybe I never saw the connection because slow isn't a good thing.



There are slow people who ride the slow bus. There are slow athletes who never win a race. Today it's speed reading, working on the fast track and going 0-60 in eight seconds. And it's not just corporate America. Look around the kitchen. With Quick Oats, Minute Rice, and Instant Pudding, we don't have to take the time anymore. Slow is bad. Slow gets in the way of doing all those other things...Like heaping even more projects on the already overburdened multi-tasking mule. And I'm here to say, the old gray mare, she ain't what she used to be.



I have to plan to be slow. In fact, I set aside time every year as my special "slow" time. It's called vacation. Yet the "slow" part doesn't come until we have completed several vacation days filled to the brim with traveling and visiting at a breakneck speed. And the nanosecond the "slow" part is over, it's back into the car, driving home at a very fast (yet law-abiding!) speed. Yeah. So much for slow. See you next time.



I want to blame the culture. I want to say it is quintessential American behavior to go, to do and to be fast. Other countries have month-long vacations. Not here. Other countries close their shops in the afternoons and all day on Sunday for rest and family time. We're a 24/7 nation. Peace is slow is such a foreign concept to Americans that we actually scheduled peace into our battle plan, and then proceeded to tsk tsk every time a self-imposed deadline passed. Peace can't be slow. It's just not the American way.



But I really can't blame the culture. I know I do too much, and I know it's my own fault. Or choice. Even my hobbies are done on overdrive, as I'm constantly trying to finish one more row, one more stitch, one more chapter, or one more project before I start three others.



Could I ever achieve slow? Would I be able to live slow? Perhaps, hardest of all, could I be content with a life less cluttered, or would I become so uncomfortable in my own existence that I would simply start filling it up again?



These are difficult questions that cannot be quickly or easily answered. I'm just going to let this idea of slow percolate in my brain for awhile. Peace is slow sounds fabulous, but seems impossible. I'm going to look for the slow in my life, and see if I can't nurture it a little. I'll keep you posted.



I will arise and go now, and go to Hatteras,

And a small house make there, of driftwood built.

A plot of sea oats will I have there, and a row boat,

And live alone on the sand dune hill.



And I shall have some peace there, for peace is slow,

Slow over the horizon, coming when the dawn sings.

There midnight is black velvet, and noon a furnace,

And evening full of seagull wings.



I will arise and go now, for always night and day,

I hear the ocean tumbling with mirth on the shore.

From maritime forest to windswept beach,

I hear it in my deep heart core.


---Linda Elizabeth Nunn

(with regards to William Butler Yeats and The Lake Isle of Innisfree

Peace Like A River

Busy. Busy. Busy.

It's not only the fault of Fall Semester. It's not only the fault of TinyTuna and her growing calendar of activities. It's not only the fault of the house needing attention and the garden needing attention and the bunny needing attention and what's for dinner and teaching starts next week and where's my shoes and answer the phone and fix the bikes.

It's not only, but each activity plays a part in making my life one best lived on rollerskates. And yet, I wonder if I could, or would, live my life any other way?

I'm a compulsive multitasker. If I'm driving, I'm learning music. If I'm stitching or spinning or knitting, the TV is on. If I'm at work, I have library catalogs, email programs, Instant Messaging chats and something playing on RealAudio simultaneously. I wake to radio and fall asleep to TV. There is nothing worse in my book than finding myself someplace with NOTHING TO DO. No place is sacred. Even the bathroom is stocked with reading materials, because let's face it, it's a perfect opportunity to do something while I'm doing something.

The other day, as I was in the reading room, I came across a page from a book I bought on vacation called A Hatteras Anthology : The Voices of Hatteras Island. As I was thumbing through the essays, I ran across a poem by Linda Elizabeth Nunn, called "Cape of Hatteras." It was written in a similar style to "The Lake Isle of Innisfree" by William Butler Yeats. The Hatteras poem began:

I will arise and go now, and go to Hatteras,
And a small house make there, of driftwood built.
A plot of sea oats will I have there, and a row boat,
And live alone on the sand dune hill.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace is slow...


Peace is slow.

Slow.

I went back and read it again

And I shall have some peace there, for peace is slow.

Gah. That sentence struck me as unusual and interesting and just plain odd. Peace is slow. I have to admit I never equated the two. Peace was peace, and slow was slow. Maybe I never saw the connection because slow isn't a good thing.

There are slow people who ride the slow bus. There are slow athletes who never win a race. Today it's speed reading, working on the fast track and going 0-60 in eight seconds. And it's not just corporate America. Look around the kitchen. With Quick Oats, Minute Rice, and Instant Pudding, we don't have to take the time anymore. Slow is bad. Slow gets in the way of doing all those other things...Like heaping even more projects on the already overburdened multi-tasking mule. And I'm here to say, the old gray mare, she ain't what she used to be.

I have to plan to be slow. In fact, I set aside time every year as my special "slow" time. It's called vacation. Yet the "slow" part doesn't come until we have completed several vacation days filled to the brim with traveling and visiting at a breakneck speed. And the nanosecond the "slow" part is over, it's back into the car, driving home at a very fast (yet law-abiding!) speed. Yeah. So much for slow. See you next time.

I want to blame the culture. I want to say it is quintessential American behavior to go, to do and to be fast. Other countries have month-long vacations. Not here. Other countries close their shops in the afternoons and all day on Sunday for rest and family time. We're a 24/7 nation. Peace is slow is such a foreign concept to Americans that we actually scheduled peace into our battle plan, and then proceeded to tsk tsk every time a self-imposed deadline passed. Peace can't be slow. It's just not the American way.

But I really can't blame the culture. I know I do too much, and I know it's my own fault. Or choice. Even my hobbies are done on overdrive, as I'm constantly trying to finish one more row, one more stitch, one more chapter, or one more project before I start three others.

Could I ever achieve slow? Would I be able to live slow? Perhaps, hardest of all, could I be content with a life less cluttered, or would I become so uncomfortable in my own existence that I would simply start filling it up again?

These are difficult questions that cannot be quickly or easily answered. I'm just going to let this idea of slow percolate in my brain for awhile. Peace is slow sounds fabulous, but seems impossible. I'm going to look for the slow in my life, and see if I can't nurture it a little. I'll keep you posted.

I will arise and go now, and go to Hatteras,
And a small house make there, of driftwood built.
A plot of sea oats will I have there, and a row boat,
And live alone on the sand dune hill.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace is slow,
Slow over the horizon, coming when the dawn sings.
There midnight is black velvet, and noon a furnace,
And evening full of seagull wings.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day,
I hear the ocean tumbling with mirth on the shore.
From maritime forest to windswept beach,
I hear it in my deep heart core.

---Linda Elizabeth Nunn
(with regards to William Butler Yeats and The Lake Isle of Innisfree

Wednesday, September 01, 2004

Dancing As Fast As I Can

I'm not gone, just swamped. School has started, and TunaU has been blessed with the biggest Freshman Class in its history. With over 7000 guppies, it is actually one of the biggest in the country, or so said the local newspaper. Needless to say, people are driving down the wrong side of the road, walking into moving traffic while trying to read a map, and searching for floors on buildings which do not exist.



Good Times.

Dancing As Fast As I Can

I'm not gone, just swamped. School has started, and TunaU has been blessed with the biggest Freshman Class in its history. With over 7000 guppies, it is actually one of the biggest in the country, or so said the local newspaper. Needless to say, people are driving down the wrong side of the road, walking into moving traffic while trying to read a map, and searching for floors on buildings which do not exist.

Good Times.