Take a Message

I'm officially too tired to be witty or profound on my own, so tonight I'm going to highlight some favorite blog reads. Both of these are sort of "message in a bottle" blogs that are both fun and poignant inside with what we think and how we share it.

The first is the hysterical Postcards from Yo Momma which is a blog filled with IM conversations from the maternal unit.

Some favorites include the hilariously biting Mom, Dad and Facebook: A Dangerous Combination


There are always the wonderfully inane Post-Election Reward



Or the top vote getter of all time, Don't Passive-Aggressive-Smile-Face-ME. If that doesn't sum up mother-child relationships in one short paragraph, I don't know what does.




The other site as poignant as "Postcards" is funny. PostSecret is a Sunday-only blog that posts...secrets. According to the website, "PostSecret is an ongoing community art project where people mail in their secrets anonymously on one side of a postcard." The secrets are sometimes funny, sometimes sad, sometimes risque, sometimes poignant, sometimes celebratory, sometimes defiant and sometimes cries for help. Secrets from the PostSecret site have prompted the publication of four books, as well as national art exhibits and lectures all over the country.

You might wonder why anyone would share their secret with the world. I think the answer is, because everyone needs a sounding board, a wailing wall, a strong shoulder or a sympathetic ear. As you read through the site, you might be embarassed at some and think others are silly or strange. But it's very comforting when you hit on someone else's secret and your gut reaction is, "I thought I was the only one who felt this way." It makes the world a little smaller, and a lot more sympathetic.



So....what do YOU have to say?

Take a Message

I'm officially too tired to be witty or profound on my own, so tonight I'm going to highlight some favorite blog reads. Both of these are sort of "message in a bottle" blogs that are both fun and poignant inside with what we think and how we share it.

The first is the hysterical Postcards from Yo Momma which is a blog filled with IM conversations from the maternal unit.

Some favorites include the hilariously biting Mom, Dad and Facebook: A Dangerous Combination


There are always the wonderfully inane Post-Election Reward



Or the top vote getter of all time, Don't Passive-Aggressive-Smile-Face-ME. If that doesn't sum up mother-child relationships in one short paragraph, I don't know what does.




The other site as poignant as "Postcards" is funny. PostSecret is a Sunday-only blog that posts...secrets. According to the website, "PostSecret is an ongoing community art project where people mail in their secrets anonymously on one side of a postcard." The secrets are sometimes funny, sometimes sad, sometimes risque, sometimes poignant, sometimes celebratory, sometimes defiant and sometimes cries for help. Secrets from the PostSecret site have prompted the publication of four books, as well as national art exhibits and lectures all over the country.

You might wonder why anyone would share their secret with the world. I think the answer is, because everyone needs a sounding board, a wailing wall, a strong shoulder or a sympathetic ear. As you read through the site, you might be embarassed at some and think others are silly or strange. But it's very comforting when you hit on someone else's secret and your gut reaction is, "I thought I was the only one who felt this way." It makes the world a little smaller, and a lot more sympathetic.



So....what do YOU have to say?

I'd Like to Teach the World to Sing...

As i was getting ready for long-teaching-day Tuesday, I started thinking about the whole process of teaching which led me to think about the 2008 word of the year, which has to be change. Over the past many many months we have had the word "change" blasted at us every which way, and I wonder if the entire concept hasn't become a little, well...yesterday. If so, that would be too bad because if there is one thing change is NOT, it's blasé.

To teaching voice is to teach change. It's truer for this particular musical instrument moreso than any others because we sing as soon as we can babble. Nobody teaches us how. It's just one of many ways we express ourselves. The problem is, after years of singing with Elmo, giggling through all 99 bottles of beer on the wall and wailing with all due teenage angst with the tortured alternative grunge singer du jour, our instrument (to put it bluntly) has been through the ringer and then some. So, when the time comes to study voice, there is a lot of un-doing that has to be done. There needs to be a lot of change.

But here's the problem. There is one little detail that is easy to forget. Although there is a certain excitement and allure to making the decision to change, the actual process isn't all that exciting. In fact it's often boring. And time-consuming. And frustrating. Progress can be so incremental, it often seems as if nothing is changing at all. Once that happens, the self-doubts set in: to undo past habits we SWEAR always worked before (except, of course, when they really didn't, but who wants to admit THAT?) for an unsure result seems folly. Why spend all this time spinning our wheels going nowhere? Forget the work and turn up the radio. We'll sing what we can and fake the rest. It's so much easier that way.

The important thing to remember is, without training eventually the voice is going to fail. Without changing old habits, the same notes will always be problems. We'll never be able to sing as high as we want to, or as long as we want to, or as freely as we want to. Without change, we've chosen to limit ourselves to only that which we know, instead of that which we imagine we can become.

This semester I've been teaching a pedagogy course -- that is, a course in teaching students how to teach. After assigning a certain set of readings, they came back and said they understood now how I taught. Actually, they accused me of being overly encouraging, which, frankly, I found hysterical. Over the weeks, what these students came to learn was that although teachers teach, the good ones do more than instruct. Good teachers encourage and challenge students to change for the better. Good teachers remember what it was like to be a student and empathize when change seems to come too slowly. Good teachers recognize and celebrate improvements, and inspire students to listen, work and practice diligently on their own.

Teachers are changed with the task of seeing possibilities, hearing potential and inspiring change. Our reward is sharing in the student's realization of a free and relaxed vocal instrument. It doesn't happen with every student, but I never give up trying. Every singer represents another opportunity to embrace change for the better. And looking at all the thousands upon thousands of songs to sing in this world, I know for certain it's worth the work. It's worth the trouble. It's worth the change. Every single time.

I'd Like to Teach the World to Sing...

As i was getting ready for long-teaching-day Tuesday, I started thinking about the whole process of teaching which led me to think about the 2008 word of the year, which has to be change. Over the past many many months we have had the word "change" blasted at us every which way, and I wonder if the entire concept hasn't become a little, well...yesterday. If so, that would be too bad because if there is one thing change is NOT, it's blasé.

To teaching voice is to teach change. It's truer for this particular musical instrument moreso than any others because we sing as soon as we can babble. Nobody teaches us how. It's just one of many ways we express ourselves. The problem is, after years of singing with Elmo, giggling through all 99 bottles of beer on the wall and wailing with all due teenage angst with the tortured alternative grunge singer du jour, our instrument (to put it bluntly) has been through the ringer and then some. So, when the time comes to study voice, there is a lot of un-doing that has to be done. There needs to be a lot of change.

But here's the problem. There is one little detail that is easy to forget. Although there is a certain excitement and allure to making the decision to change, the actual process isn't all that exciting. In fact it's often boring. And time-consuming. And frustrating. Progress can be so incremental, it often seems as if nothing is changing at all. Once that happens, the self-doubts set in: to undo past habits we SWEAR always worked before (except, of course, when they really didn't, but who wants to admit THAT?) for an unsure result seems folly. Why spend all this time spinning our wheels going nowhere? Forget the work and turn up the radio. We'll sing what we can and fake the rest. It's so much easier that way.

The important thing to remember is, without training eventually the voice is going to fail. Without changing old habits, the same notes will always be problems. We'll never be able to sing as high as we want to, or as long as we want to, or as freely as we want to. Without change, we've chosen to limit ourselves to only that which we know, instead of that which we imagine we can become.

This semester I've been teaching a pedagogy course -- that is, a course in teaching students how to teach. After assigning a certain set of readings, they came back and said they understood now how I taught. Actually, they accused me of being overly encouraging, which, frankly, I found hysterical. Over the weeks, what these students came to learn was that although teachers teach, the good ones do more than instruct. Good teachers encourage and challenge students to change for the better. Good teachers remember what it was like to be a student and empathize when change seems to come too slowly. Good teachers recognize and celebrate improvements, and inspire students to listen, work and practice diligently on their own.

Teachers are changed with the task of seeing possibilities, hearing potential and inspiring change. Our reward is sharing in the student's realization of a free and relaxed vocal instrument. It doesn't happen with every student, but I never give up trying. Every singer represents another opportunity to embrace change for the better. And looking at all the thousands upon thousands of songs to sing in this world, I know for certain it's worth the work. It's worth the trouble. It's worth the change. Every single time.

Unconscious Mutterings

I say ... And you think:

1. Coverage :: Some people never seem to have enough

2. Cynical :: Guilty as charged

3. Gust :: of wind

4. Improvised :: Takes as much skill as it does imagination

5. V :: How I sign most of my emails

6. Guests :: No room for any at the moment

7. Brutal :: Truth

8. Grant :: Give

9. Pull :: Influence

10. Streaming :: Media

Wow. Guess this is all about me week. That, or I need a nap. Or a timeout. Or a big bottle of wine. Frankly, all of the above sounds good.

Unconscious Mutterings

I say ... And you think:

1. Coverage :: Some people never seem to have enough

2. Cynical :: Guilty as charged

3. Gust :: of wind

4. Improvised :: Takes as much skill as it does imagination

5. V :: How I sign most of my emails

6. Guests :: No room for any at the moment

7. Brutal :: Truth

8. Grant :: Give

9. Pull :: Influence

10. Streaming :: Media

Wow. Guess this is all about me week. That, or I need a nap. Or a timeout. Or a big bottle of wine. Frankly, all of the above sounds good.

Once more, with peeling

Here we go again: once again I'm covered in paint chips.

Progress on my bedroom (which has been next in line since AUGUST for an interior overhaul) has moved at a pace that would insult snails, molasses in winter three-toed sloths. Needless to say I've been a little busy. But despite my insane schedule, I've been trying to get through the prep work -- a little bit at a time -- so when painting day finally comes around, everything will be chipped, washed, repaired and ready to rock and roll.

One wall was already completed. I basically had to chip away all the paint, because it was cracked in bits and pieces all over the wall. I wasn't entirely surprised that the dingy off-drab grey chipped down to white plaster. After all, it was an outside wall, and I imagined the constant exposure to hot and cold, sun and snow, and wind and rain didn't help matters much. It seemed a very plausible excuse, and explains, in some sort of twisted way, why tonight I thought I'd move the computer table and expose the smaller interior wall to make sure there weren't any repair-type surprises.

And there weren't. Until I picked up a paint chipper to get at a little corner that had started to chip. And with one not-particularly strenous swoop, a huge swath of paint came off the wall.

Ugh.

So, I spent the next couple of hours chipping the wall. Luckily for the wall, my sanity, and any other innocents, the paint came off fairly quickly and easily. So now, it's two walls done. Two to go. I'm no longer betting that any of the remaining walls "won't need that much work." They probably will. But I'm hoping, frankly, that my lack of despondency, panic and sheer anger at the slowness of this project shows my newfound understanding of the home renovation biz. Nothing ever goes as planned, nothing is ever as easy as you thought and you might as well accept it now and get over it. But I also know that time spent on the front end of the project will pay off in the end. Over the long haul I'll be glad I scraped and repaired and took the time necessary to do the job right.

Just do me a favor and remind me of how serene and accepting I am of this situation when, after picking paint chips out of my hair and surveying the spectacular destruction of my house, I decide the best home improvement would be to stick my head in the oven and just forget the rest.

Once more, with peeling

Here we go again: once again I'm covered in paint chips.

Progress on my bedroom (which has been next in line since AUGUST for an interior overhaul) has moved at a pace that would insult snails, molasses in winter three-toed sloths. Needless to say I've been a little busy. But despite my insane schedule, I've been trying to get through the prep work -- a little bit at a time -- so when painting day finally comes around, everything will be chipped, washed, repaired and ready to rock and roll.

One wall was already completed. I basically had to chip away all the paint, because it was cracked in bits and pieces all over the wall. I wasn't entirely surprised that the dingy off-drab grey chipped down to white plaster. After all, it was an outside wall, and I imagined the constant exposure to hot and cold, sun and snow, and wind and rain didn't help matters much. It seemed a very plausible excuse, and explains, in some sort of twisted way, why tonight I thought I'd move the computer table and expose the smaller interior wall to make sure there weren't any repair-type surprises.

And there weren't. Until I picked up a paint chipper to get at a little corner that had started to chip. And with one not-particularly strenous swoop, a huge swath of paint came off the wall.

Ugh.

So, I spent the next couple of hours chipping the wall. Luckily for the wall, my sanity, and any other innocents, the paint came off fairly quickly and easily. So now, it's two walls done. Two to go. I'm no longer betting that any of the remaining walls "won't need that much work." They probably will. But I'm hoping, frankly, that my lack of despondency, panic and sheer anger at the slowness of this project shows my newfound understanding of the home renovation biz. Nothing ever goes as planned, nothing is ever as easy as you thought and you might as well accept it now and get over it. But I also know that time spent on the front end of the project will pay off in the end. Over the long haul I'll be glad I scraped and repaired and took the time necessary to do the job right.

Just do me a favor and remind me of how serene and accepting I am of this situation when, after picking paint chips out of my hair and surveying the spectacular destruction of my house, I decide the best home improvement would be to stick my head in the oven and just forget the rest.

Riding the Bullet Train

• I now have clean plates. I'm still short on silverware, but if I got up and left you all hanging for 15 minutes, I'd have a full complement of forks, knives and spoons.

• Why is it when you run out of plates you run out of everything else too? This applies to socks, toilet paper, toothpaste and patience. Conspiracy theory, anybody?

• Survivor finally got interesting last night. America's Next Top Model has been rather boring this entire cycle. And I hate to say it, but Amazing Race -- a show I LOVE -- has been less than riveting as well. Don't get me started on Heroes. I don't think I understand anything about this show anymore. I fully expect the weird Hawaiian Island Polar Bear to show up at any moment.

• No more political commercials and no more robocalls. Life is very, very good. However, I'm still not planning on answering my phone if the incoming call doesn't pass my caller ID test. I'm happy, not stupid.

• Opportunities for leaf scuffling are growing thin. This week was perfect for mid-afternoon scuffling. It's supposed to rain this weekend, though, which totally ruins the scuffling experience. Wet leaves don't scuffle. They wilt like soggy corn flakes, and then they stick to your shoes. Yuck.

• Tomorrow is the last home game of the football season here at TunaU. Can I say THANK GOD? I think you're either born with the whole football tailgating gene or not, and I was definitely reading a book, or sleeping, or cleaning out the lint trap when the love of the tailgate was passed out. If I wanted to eat out of my trunk, I'd just set up shop in the grocery store parking lot every Saturday.

• South Park continues to amaze me for their ability to take current events and put huge chunks of actual quotes in an episode less than 48 hours later. If you missed it, the entire 2008 Election ended up being an "Ocean's Eleven" ripoff, which was priceless. The Simpson's Halloween show was quite spectacular this year as well. I especially loved the whole Charlie Brown Halloween sendoff.

• Do you think it would be possible for South Park and The Simpons to go to The Cartoon Network and beat up all the animated crap they show on TV? I think the Fairly Odd Parents and all those other unbelievably inferior cartoons would be in a world of hurt. It would be a public service.

• Friday is nearly officially over. I'm way tired (there's something not new at all), and Fiddle-Dee-Dee, tomorrow is another day. With God as my witness, I'll see you all back here tomorrow.

Riding the Bullet Train

• I now have clean plates. I'm still short on silverware, but if I got up and left you all hanging for 15 minutes, I'd have a full complement of forks, knives and spoons.

• Why is it when you run out of plates you run out of everything else too? This applies to socks, toilet paper, toothpaste and patience. Conspiracy theory, anybody?

• Survivor finally got interesting last night. America's Next Top Model has been rather boring this entire cycle. And I hate to say it, but Amazing Race -- a show I LOVE -- has been less than riveting as well. Don't get me started on Heroes. I don't think I understand anything about this show anymore. I fully expect the weird Hawaiian Island Polar Bear to show up at any moment.

• No more political commercials and no more robocalls. Life is very, very good. However, I'm still not planning on answering my phone if the incoming call doesn't pass my caller ID test. I'm happy, not stupid.

• Opportunities for leaf scuffling are growing thin. This week was perfect for mid-afternoon scuffling. It's supposed to rain this weekend, though, which totally ruins the scuffling experience. Wet leaves don't scuffle. They wilt like soggy corn flakes, and then they stick to your shoes. Yuck.

• Tomorrow is the last home game of the football season here at TunaU. Can I say THANK GOD? I think you're either born with the whole football tailgating gene or not, and I was definitely reading a book, or sleeping, or cleaning out the lint trap when the love of the tailgate was passed out. If I wanted to eat out of my trunk, I'd just set up shop in the grocery store parking lot every Saturday.

• South Park continues to amaze me for their ability to take current events and put huge chunks of actual quotes in an episode less than 48 hours later. If you missed it, the entire 2008 Election ended up being an "Ocean's Eleven" ripoff, which was priceless. The Simpson's Halloween show was quite spectacular this year as well. I especially loved the whole Charlie Brown Halloween sendoff.

• Do you think it would be possible for South Park and The Simpons to go to The Cartoon Network and beat up all the animated crap they show on TV? I think the Fairly Odd Parents and all those other unbelievably inferior cartoons would be in a world of hurt. It would be a public service.

• Friday is nearly officially over. I'm way tired (there's something not new at all), and Fiddle-Dee-Dee, tomorrow is another day. With God as my witness, I'll see you all back here tomorrow.

Shuffle. Play. Repeat.

Another Thursday done which means another week done which means another week closer to doneness. Yes, I know that maybe none of that made any sense at all. It's alright. It's Thursday.

I measure all my weeks in Tuesdays and Thursdays. Those are the days that I drive north and teach and teach and teach and teach and teach until my back hurts, my eyes are blurry, and I cannot speak a single sentence without having to repeat it and try to make sense of my somewhat jumbled thoughts. By the time Thursday night rolls around, I'm in WOOT weekend mode, even though I have to work all day Friday and half the day on Saturday. When I finally make it to Sunday, I get the Sunday blues like everyone else. Not because the next day is Monday, but because the next day is Monday and the day after that is Tuesday...and for me, Tuesday starts it all again.

What's surprising about this lifestyle of voluntary insanity is that for the most part, I'm not complaining. I'm really not. But not complaining doesn't mean that I'm not ten thousands ways of tired. Not complaining doesn't mean I have cleanliness and order, because at this point I really don't have a house; I merely have strategically arranged mountains of clutter that I pray will not fall over and crush the cats. Not complaining doesn't mean that I have any clean plates (nope), or silverware. No, at this point my choices are a vegetable peeler, an ice cream scoop, a grapefruit knife and a slotted spoon. Although it makes for limiting (albeit interesting) dinner options, if I were going on "Let's Make a Deal" I'd be golden.

What makes all the clutter and exhaustion and "who am I and where am I?" palatable is that every Tuesday and Thursday I am surrounded by a bunch of cool students who love to sing and who want to study. Over the years I've always had a student or two every semester that tests the limits of my patience. Not this year. My students are engaged and active. They are thoughtful and questioning. They are funny and challenging. Best of all -- they are passionate. And that is a quality that I can hope to inspire or awaken in others, but really it cannot be taught. This year my students are better prepared from week to week than I have ever seen before. And on the odd occasion that someone has a lousy lesson, they don't come back the next week defeated or surly or confrontational. Quite the contrary. They come back prepared and anxious to prove that the previous week was an anomaly. What more could I ask?

So at the end of a long Thursday, which marks the end of a long Tuesday and Thursday and the beginning of the easy part of the week(-end), I may be so tired that I'm not sure of my name, but I'm not too tired to pop in my iPod, hit "shuffle" and sing, sing, sing all the way home.

That's what it means to be passionate. And honestly, it's just the way life goes around here. My life may look like a bit of chaos wrapped in exhaustion, but I wouldn't trade my personal soundtrack for anything.

Shuffle. Play. Repeat.

Another Thursday done which means another week done which means another week closer to doneness. Yes, I know that maybe none of that made any sense at all. It's alright. It's Thursday.

I measure all my weeks in Tuesdays and Thursdays. Those are the days that I drive north and teach and teach and teach and teach and teach until my back hurts, my eyes are blurry, and I cannot speak a single sentence without having to repeat it and try to make sense of my somewhat jumbled thoughts. By the time Thursday night rolls around, I'm in WOOT weekend mode, even though I have to work all day Friday and half the day on Saturday. When I finally make it to Sunday, I get the Sunday blues like everyone else. Not because the next day is Monday, but because the next day is Monday and the day after that is Tuesday...and for me, Tuesday starts it all again.

What's surprising about this lifestyle of voluntary insanity is that for the most part, I'm not complaining. I'm really not. But not complaining doesn't mean that I'm not ten thousands ways of tired. Not complaining doesn't mean I have cleanliness and order, because at this point I really don't have a house; I merely have strategically arranged mountains of clutter that I pray will not fall over and crush the cats. Not complaining doesn't mean that I have any clean plates (nope), or silverware. No, at this point my choices are a vegetable peeler, an ice cream scoop, a grapefruit knife and a slotted spoon. Although it makes for limiting (albeit interesting) dinner options, if I were going on "Let's Make a Deal" I'd be golden.

What makes all the clutter and exhaustion and "who am I and where am I?" palatable is that every Tuesday and Thursday I am surrounded by a bunch of cool students who love to sing and who want to study. Over the years I've always had a student or two every semester that tests the limits of my patience. Not this year. My students are engaged and active. They are thoughtful and questioning. They are funny and challenging. Best of all -- they are passionate. And that is a quality that I can hope to inspire or awaken in others, but really it cannot be taught. This year my students are better prepared from week to week than I have ever seen before. And on the odd occasion that someone has a lousy lesson, they don't come back the next week defeated or surly or confrontational. Quite the contrary. They come back prepared and anxious to prove that the previous week was an anomaly. What more could I ask?

So at the end of a long Thursday, which marks the end of a long Tuesday and Thursday and the beginning of the easy part of the week(-end), I may be so tired that I'm not sure of my name, but I'm not too tired to pop in my iPod, hit "shuffle" and sing, sing, sing all the way home.

That's what it means to be passionate. And honestly, it's just the way life goes around here. My life may look like a bit of chaos wrapped in exhaustion, but I wouldn't trade my personal soundtrack for anything.

Meeting of the Minds

Tonight on my personal hit parade of pain-in-the-ass parental activities was that semi-annual torture known as parent-teacher conferences. As the parent of a freshman, the venue was new, but the exercise as a whole was as annoying as always. What lessons can I share from my side of the table?

1. When in Doubt, Bullshit
With each teacher I met, I would introduce myself, tell the teacher my child's name and which hour her class was. One teacher flipped through the appropriate files, engaging in random chit-chat while looking for the grade sheet. Once found, this teacher looked it over and summarized the information that was clearly printed. On the sheet. In front of me. As if I were unable to read English and decipher points and percentages listed in tidy columns. When the teacher's remarks never got any more personal than pointing to random scores I got the sneaking suspicious this educator had NO IDEA who he was talking about. Sure enough, TeenTuna told me he didn't know the names of any of his students, and that he calls everybody "you guys" or "that kid". NICE.

2. When in Doubt, Justify
In the most troublesome class, I was prepared to sit down and brainstorm some ideas for improving scores. Once I acknowledged that TeenTuna was struggling, the teacher's response? "Well, some kids are doing worse." Guess what? THAT DOESN'T MAKE ME FEEL BETTER.

3. No Excuses - part 1
One of the difficulties of parent-teacher conferences is I'm a team of one and constantly have to play line roulette. Which line is going to move more quickly? Do I suck it up and stay in the slowest moving line to get it over with, or do I zip through several less-busy lines in the hopes that the slow line will be less congested later? Two-parent teams are able to divide and conquer, hedging their bets among several lines. Me? It's like the grocery store. Once I've selected a checkout lane and unloaded half my groceries, there's nothing left to do but grumble if a new lane suddenly opens up. Parent teacher conferences are 98% standing around waiting your turn while waiting for either death or dinner (whichever comes first). It's one big exercise in hurry up and wait. So, when I finally reach the promised land of the chair on the other side of the card table, the last thing I want to hear out of the always-seated teacher is, "What time is it? I'm really tired." Hey guess what? Me too. But one of us at this table is getting paid for this exercise, while the other has been standing in lines in a stuffy high school gym for upwards of two hours.

4. No Excuses - part 2
At one table I decided to ask about a particular writing assignment. I got a look that made me wonder if I had asked about the opportunities for goat sacrifice instead of asking about Homeric inspired personal essays. The answer was a very terse, "No. I have 90 students." Oh. sorry. I mistakenly thought my child was one of them. Which way to the goats?

5. Cherish the Gems
There are some teachers that are absolute gems. Those would be the ones who know your child. Who appreciate your child for who they are as well as for the work they have done. Who are invested in their subject matter and their students. Who care about what is being taught, how it is being taught, and how it is being learned. Teachers like you are easy to spot and an absolute pleasure to talk to. I am so grateful that TeenTuna has several of you this year. It has made her high school experience a positive one. To you I offer my sincere thanks. You get an A+

Meeting of the Minds

Tonight on my personal hit parade of pain-in-the-ass parental activities was that semi-annual torture known as parent-teacher conferences. As the parent of a freshman, the venue was new, but the exercise as a whole was as annoying as always. What lessons can I share from my side of the table?

1. When in Doubt, Bullshit
With each teacher I met, I would introduce myself, tell the teacher my child's name and which hour her class was. One teacher flipped through the appropriate files, engaging in random chit-chat while looking for the grade sheet. Once found, this teacher looked it over and summarized the information that was clearly printed. On the sheet. In front of me. As if I were unable to read English and decipher points and percentages listed in tidy columns. When the teacher's remarks never got any more personal than pointing to random scores I got the sneaking suspicious this educator had NO IDEA who he was talking about. Sure enough, TeenTuna told me he didn't know the names of any of his students, and that he calls everybody "you guys" or "that kid". NICE.

2. When in Doubt, Justify
In the most troublesome class, I was prepared to sit down and brainstorm some ideas for improving scores. Once I acknowledged that TeenTuna was struggling, the teacher's response? "Well, some kids are doing worse." Guess what? THAT DOESN'T MAKE ME FEEL BETTER.

3. No Excuses - part 1
One of the difficulties of parent-teacher conferences is I'm a team of one and constantly have to play line roulette. Which line is going to move more quickly? Do I suck it up and stay in the slowest moving line to get it over with, or do I zip through several less-busy lines in the hopes that the slow line will be less congested later? Two-parent teams are able to divide and conquer, hedging their bets among several lines. Me? It's like the grocery store. Once I've selected a checkout lane and unloaded half my groceries, there's nothing left to do but grumble if a new lane suddenly opens up. Parent teacher conferences are 98% standing around waiting your turn while waiting for either death or dinner (whichever comes first). It's one big exercise in hurry up and wait. So, when I finally reach the promised land of the chair on the other side of the card table, the last thing I want to hear out of the always-seated teacher is, "What time is it? I'm really tired." Hey guess what? Me too. But one of us at this table is getting paid for this exercise, while the other has been standing in lines in a stuffy high school gym for upwards of two hours.

4. No Excuses - part 2
At one table I decided to ask about a particular writing assignment. I got a look that made me wonder if I had asked about the opportunities for goat sacrifice instead of asking about Homeric inspired personal essays. The answer was a very terse, "No. I have 90 students." Oh. sorry. I mistakenly thought my child was one of them. Which way to the goats?

5. Cherish the Gems
There are some teachers that are absolute gems. Those would be the ones who know your child. Who appreciate your child for who they are as well as for the work they have done. Who are invested in their subject matter and their students. Who care about what is being taught, how it is being taught, and how it is being learned. Teachers like you are easy to spot and an absolute pleasure to talk to. I am so grateful that TeenTuna has several of you this year. It has made her high school experience a positive one. To you I offer my sincere thanks. You get an A+

Wow

It appears Campaign 2008 is finally over. Although they called a winner at 11pm Eastern time, I keep waiting for someone to cut in and say, "Oh wait...we can't call the result yet." Even though McCain has already given a concession speech -- the most gracious words and heartfelt words I have heard him speak in many months -- I am still afraid the results won't hold.

I'm afraid.

This is what the last eight years have done. Turned us into a culture of distrust and fear. Distrust allowed us to be confused and unfocused, and then fear paralyzed us and denied us the opportunity to think and do for ourselves.

I think we may be breaking free. Our country made a bold choice and said loudly that it wants to move and think and feel again. But at the same time, I am well aware that there are thousands upon thousands of people tonight who aren't celebrating. Their candidate lost and they are afraid.


Tonight many people are excited for tomorrow. They are ready to move and do and act. They are ready to turn hope into action for the betterment of themselves, their communities and their country. What better time to stop and reach out a hand to those who are afraid and find a common voice and a common goal. Really we all have so much more in common than not. We'll be stronger if we work together.




If your candidate won tonight, then celebrate.
If your candidate lost tonight, don't be afraid.
Let's all roll up our sleeves and do the good work that needs to be done.

Yes We Can!

Wow

It appears Campaign 2008 is finally over. Although they called a winner at 11pm Eastern time, I keep waiting for someone to cut in and say, "Oh wait...we can't call the result yet." Even though McCain has already given a concession speech -- the most gracious words and heartfelt words I have heard him speak in many months -- I am still afraid the results won't hold.

I'm afraid.

This is what the last eight years have done. Turned us into a culture of distrust and fear. Distrust allowed us to be confused and unfocused, and then fear paralyzed us and denied us the opportunity to think and do for ourselves.

I think we may be breaking free. Our country made a bold choice and said loudly that it wants to move and think and feel again. But at the same time, I am well aware that there are thousands upon thousands of people tonight who aren't celebrating. Their candidate lost and they are afraid.


Tonight many people are excited for tomorrow. They are ready to move and do and act. They are ready to turn hope into action for the betterment of themselves, their communities and their country. What better time to stop and reach out a hand to those who are afraid and find a common voice and a common goal. Really we all have so much more in common than not. We'll be stronger if we work together.




If your candidate won tonight, then celebrate.
If your candidate lost tonight, don't be afraid.
Let's all roll up our sleeves and do the good work that needs to be done.

Yes We Can!

Prepare to Exit Tunnel. Maintain Speed.

I don't know about you, but it's been a long couple of years.

In 2001 our country suffered a great loss.
Some mourned and naively wondered why anybody would hate us.
Some mourned and recognized opportunity wrapped in revenge.
We responded by declaring war on a concept.
We responded by attacking a country that wasn't involved.
We responded by taking more lives while sacrificing our own.

We relished our power by posturing on aircraft carriers
-- orchestrating photo-ops under huge banners --
while denying media coverage of our own war dead.
Because if you can't see it, then it can't be all that bad.
Or it can't be at all.

We toppled statues from foreign regimes
while we built our own heroic delusions higher than ever before.
We were the ultimate role model
saving the rest of the world from itself.

But we forgot that we live in this world too.
We were not immune to the lure of power or wealth.
And by making our own rules,
we would become more powerful.
More wealthy. More heroic.
We were sure to win. And that's all that mattered.
Being on top.

But we forgot to save us from ourselves.
And now our towers are crumbling and our money is gone.
The people of this country are holding their breath praying that nothing else happens
While our leaders use one hand to count the days until they leave
and the other hand to point fingers of blame at everybody else.
Where is our aircraft carrier now and what would the banner say?

After too many years of trying to beat up the entire world
and only succeeding in giving ourselves a big black eye
let's hope we're ready to exit this long, lonely tunnel.
Let's hope that lessons have been learned.
Let's hope that instead of thumping our chest and crowing our delusions of grandeur,
we might be able to exercise, patience, humility, respect and a true sense of patriotism.

Tomorrow, let "Mission Accomplished" be a new statement.
Simple but powerful.

"I voted"

Prepare to Exit Tunnel. Maintain Speed.

I don't know about you, but it's been a long couple of years.

In 2001 our country suffered a great loss.
Some mourned and naively wondered why anybody would hate us.
Some mourned and recognized opportunity wrapped in revenge.
We responded by declaring war on a concept.
We responded by attacking a country that wasn't involved.
We responded by taking more lives while sacrificing our own.

We relished our power by posturing on aircraft carriers
-- orchestrating photo-ops under huge banners --
while denying media coverage of our own war dead.
Because if you can't see it, then it can't be all that bad.
Or it can't be at all.

We toppled statues from foreign regimes
while we built our own heroic delusions higher than ever before.
We were the ultimate role model
saving the rest of the world from itself.

But we forgot that we live in this world too.
We were not immune to the lure of power or wealth.
And by making our own rules,
we would become more powerful.
More wealthy. More heroic.
We were sure to win. And that's all that mattered.
Being on top.

But we forgot to save us from ourselves.
And now our towers are crumbling and our money is gone.
The people of this country are holding their breath praying that nothing else happens
While our leaders use one hand to count the days until they leave
and the other hand to point fingers of blame at everybody else.
Where is our aircraft carrier now and what would the banner say?

After too many years of trying to beat up the entire world
and only succeeding in giving ourselves a big black eye
let's hope we're ready to exit this long, lonely tunnel.
Let's hope that lessons have been learned.
Let's hope that instead of thumping our chest and crowing our delusions of grandeur,
we might be able to exercise, patience, humility, respect and a true sense of patriotism.

Tomorrow, let "Mission Accomplished" be a new statement.
Simple but powerful.

"I voted"

Unconscious Mutterings

I say ... And You Think:

1. In Love :: Shakespeare

2. Be My Guest :: Beauty & the Beast

3. Number One :: Star Trek, The Next Generation

4. Swallowed Whole :: Jonah

5. 50 percent :: Half

6. Made in :: China

7. Supplement :: Vitamin

8. Right For :: Appropriate

9. Endless :: Love

10. Ceramic :: Cat


Well, well, well. This is what I get for being away from this weekly exercise for awhile. Several popular culture references, one Bible story for redemption, and a ceramic cat. Some of them I think I can offer plausible excuses: TeenTuna is studying Romeo and Juliet in school, and asked about the movie "Shakespeare in Love." A local high school is putting on "Beauty and the Beast" and I drive past the sign several times a week. Star Trek, Next Generation? Well, Jonathan Frakes ("Number One") was definitely easy on the eyes, back in the day.










I have nothing but an apology to offer in regards to the treacly Lionel Richie - Diana Ross duet.

And last but not least, I do not own a ceramic cat.
No wait. I think I do.

I think my unconscious mutterings are telling me my unconscious is tired and needs sleep.
More tomorrow for NaBloPoMo.

Unconscious Mutterings

I say ... And You Think:

1. In Love :: Shakespeare

2. Be My Guest :: Beauty & the Beast

3. Number One :: Star Trek, The Next Generation

4. Swallowed Whole :: Jonah

5. 50 percent :: Half

6. Made in :: China

7. Supplement :: Vitamin

8. Right For :: Appropriate

9. Endless :: Love

10. Ceramic :: Cat


Well, well, well. This is what I get for being away from this weekly exercise for awhile. Several popular culture references, one Bible story for redemption, and a ceramic cat. Some of them I think I can offer plausible excuses: TeenTuna is studying Romeo and Juliet in school, and asked about the movie "Shakespeare in Love." A local high school is putting on "Beauty and the Beast" and I drive past the sign several times a week. Star Trek, Next Generation? Well, Jonathan Frakes ("Number One") was definitely easy on the eyes, back in the day.










I have nothing but an apology to offer in regards to the treacly Lionel Richie - Diana Ross duet.

And last but not least, I do not own a ceramic cat.
No wait. I think I do.

I think my unconscious mutterings are telling me my unconscious is tired and needs sleep.
More tomorrow for NaBloPoMo.

Awakening

And here we are again, on November 1st.

Because I have a love of Internet graphics coupled with a desire to fit in with the popular crowd, I'm participating in the annual National Blog Posting Month (NaBloPoMo) writing exercise, which is a poor-man's (or busy woman's) answer to National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo).

November 1st is also All-Saints or All-Souls Day, a day where the departed are remembered. It's also the first full day of gorging after Halloween, Saturday night Halloween party night, College football Saturday night, and the day stores can stop apologizing for having Christmas decorations and display (that have been there since August...who are we kidding?).

I spent some time today cleaning up my blog. I checked links, deleted a few, and added several. I removed programs that had ceased to exist, and just tried to spiff the whole thing up a little bit. Although I always read my blogs via Bloglines, today I clicked through every link from my blog page. I have to admit that although RSS feeders are much more time efficient, there was something entirely pleasing about going to the actual page and looking at the Blog design: colors and graphics and everything that made a blog personal. I've missed that personal connection that an actual page has, and I think over the next few months I'm going to make a point of spending less time on the RSS reader and more time on the actual page.

Once again, it's been awhile since I've posted with any sort of regularity, and I'm not going to apologize, but my excuse is neither new nor exciting: I've been busy. But I'm excited to dust things off and start writing again, which tells me that my time off has been good. With a teenager, two cats, two jobs, a fifteen year old car, a house and garden in a constant state of upheaval and change, and 1200 pictures taken from a summer trip to England, I am swimming in Blog Security. I don't think I'll run out of material for awhile.

Must post to make my November 1st deadline.
Happy NaBloPoMo!

Awakening

And here we are again, on November 1st.

Because I have a love of Internet graphics coupled with a desire to fit in with the popular crowd, I'm participating in the annual National Blog Posting Month (NaBloPoMo) writing exercise, which is a poor-man's (or busy woman's) answer to National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo).

November 1st is also All-Saints or All-Souls Day, a day where the departed are remembered. It's also the first full day of gorging after Halloween, Saturday night Halloween party night, College football Saturday night, and the day stores can stop apologizing for having Christmas decorations and display (that have been there since August...who are we kidding?).

I spent some time today cleaning up my blog. I checked links, deleted a few, and added several. I removed programs that had ceased to exist, and just tried to spiff the whole thing up a little bit. Although I always read my blogs via Bloglines, today I clicked through every link from my blog page. I have to admit that although RSS feeders are much more time efficient, there was something entirely pleasing about going to the actual page and looking at the Blog design: colors and graphics and everything that made a blog personal. I've missed that personal connection that an actual page has, and I think over the next few months I'm going to make a point of spending less time on the RSS reader and more time on the actual page.

Once again, it's been awhile since I've posted with any sort of regularity, and I'm not going to apologize, but my excuse is neither new nor exciting: I've been busy. But I'm excited to dust things off and start writing again, which tells me that my time off has been good. With a teenager, two cats, two jobs, a fifteen year old car, a house and garden in a constant state of upheaval and change, and 1200 pictures taken from a summer trip to England, I am swimming in Blog Security. I don't think I'll run out of material for awhile.

Must post to make my November 1st deadline.
Happy NaBloPoMo!

Tuesday Night Debate Highlight

Love It.


And in case you're wondering what that means, maybe you missed this:

Tuesday Night Debate Highlight

Love It.


And in case you're wondering what that means, maybe you missed this:

For those who may have missed it

Click on the image for slightly larger version.

For those who may have missed it

Click on the image for slightly larger version.

Five Friends, Uncensored

You know you have to register, right?

Five Friends, Uncensored

You know you have to register, right?

PIE!

Of course, it's not blueberry pie, which would be 95% gone because I would save the last 5% for NephewTuna who also LOVES blueberry pie. And it's not mincemeat (MPF!!) which would be 100% gone because I would rather feed it to a roving band of rabid badgers rather than have it in my house.

But it's still PIE. So, it's good enough for me.

Thanks to Mensch for the heads up. I LIKE PIE.

PIE!

Of course, it's not blueberry pie, which would be 95% gone because I would save the last 5% for NephewTuna who also LOVES blueberry pie. And it's not mincemeat (MPF!!) which would be 100% gone because I would rather feed it to a roving band of rabid badgers rather than have it in my house.

But it's still PIE. So, it's good enough for me.

Thanks to Mensch for the heads up. I LIKE PIE.

A Letter to TeenTuna on her First Day of High School

So, it all starts today.

This week it's back to school. Next week we add dance, choir and choir. And now that you're a Freshman in High school, I'm sure there will be there will be football games, basketball games, school plays, after-school clubs and other events which are social necessities.

I hate to jinx opening day, but I think you're ready. Sure, you are set with new shoes and clothes and office supply doo-dads. And yes, we went to school last week, met most of your teachers, and walked your class schedule (downstairs, upstairs, downstairs, upstairs, downstairs, upstairs, downstairs) twice. But more than that, despite your jump to the "big time" you seem to be on an even keel. Sure, there was some nervousness this morning, but I fully expect by this afternoon that the report will be a nonchalant, "it was fine" which is teenspeak for "it was awesome."

I hope it is. I hope school is wonderful and exciting and full of new friends and great adventures. You had three fabulous years of middle school -- especially this last one -- and I hope that the next four continue the same.

My biggest wish for you is to stay open to possibilities and stay true to yourself. It's so easy to turn yourself inside out worrying about what people will think and say. But for the past fourteen years, your family and friends have given you all the tools you need to be self-confident and responsible. I believe in you and trust you, and if you think carefully and make your decisions based on the person I know you to be, you will be just fine.

But remember, being in high school and being a teenager doesn't mean that you know everything. Hard as it is to believe sometimes, you're not grown up yet. There are still a lot of lessons to learn and life to live and the same family and friends who have watched you grow all these years are still nearby, ready to catch you, point you in the right direction, or just listen when you want to vent. People are the best resources you have, and chances are that we've been there before, and faced the same struggles. Ask us, lean on us, confide in us. It's not a sign of being weak; it's being smart.

And understand, too, that I'm just not ready for you to be grown up yet. So indulge me when I'm excited for you, or ask you one too many times about your day. The time goes by so quickly and I want to hear all your stories and hold onto those memories as long as I can.

Have a wonderful, wonderful year. Be cheerful and polite. Use consonants AND vowels when you write. Be helpful to your friends. Be a little thick-skinned when necessary, but remember that the real you is kind, caring and compassionate. Lastly, keep your eyes, your ears and your heart open. There are saints and angels everywhere, disguised as parents, teachers, family and friends, who are pleased with the person you are, excited for the person you are to become and ready to guide you and cheer you on your way.

Have a great day and a wonderful year.
Go Class of 2012!

Love,
Mom

A Letter to TeenTuna on her First Day of High School

So, it all starts today.

This week it's back to school. Next week we add dance, choir and choir. And now that you're a Freshman in High school, I'm sure there will be there will be football games, basketball games, school plays, after-school clubs and other events which are social necessities.

I hate to jinx opening day, but I think you're ready. Sure, you are set with new shoes and clothes and office supply doo-dads. And yes, we went to school last week, met most of your teachers, and walked your class schedule (downstairs, upstairs, downstairs, upstairs, downstairs, upstairs, downstairs) twice. But more than that, despite your jump to the "big time" you seem to be on an even keel. Sure, there was some nervousness this morning, but I fully expect by this afternoon that the report will be a nonchalant, "it was fine" which is teenspeak for "it was awesome."

I hope it is. I hope school is wonderful and exciting and full of new friends and great adventures. You had three fabulous years of middle school -- especially this last one -- and I hope that the next four continue the same.

My biggest wish for you is to stay open to possibilities and stay true to yourself. It's so easy to turn yourself inside out worrying about what people will think and say. But for the past fourteen years, your family and friends have given you all the tools you need to be self-confident and responsible. I believe in you and trust you, and if you think carefully and make your decisions based on the person I know you to be, you will be just fine.

But remember, being in high school and being a teenager doesn't mean that you know everything. Hard as it is to believe sometimes, you're not grown up yet. There are still a lot of lessons to learn and life to live and the same family and friends who have watched you grow all these years are still nearby, ready to catch you, point you in the right direction, or just listen when you want to vent. People are the best resources you have, and chances are that we've been there before, and faced the same struggles. Ask us, lean on us, confide in us. It's not a sign of being weak; it's being smart.

And understand, too, that I'm just not ready for you to be grown up yet. So indulge me when I'm excited for you, or ask you one too many times about your day. The time goes by so quickly and I want to hear all your stories and hold onto those memories as long as I can.

Have a wonderful, wonderful year. Be cheerful and polite. Use consonants AND vowels when you write. Be helpful to your friends. Be a little thick-skinned when necessary, but remember that the real you is kind, caring and compassionate. Lastly, keep your eyes, your ears and your heart open. There are saints and angels everywhere, disguised as parents, teachers, family and friends, who are pleased with the person you are, excited for the person you are to become and ready to guide you and cheer you on your way.

Have a great day and a wonderful year.
Go Class of 2012!

Love,
Mom

Perfect

There is no better way to wrap up the week, the month and the entire summer. Many thanks to PBSTuna who managed to make me snort Diet Coke at 7:30am.

This is exactly what the country needs.
Absolutely awesome.

Perfect

There is no better way to wrap up the week, the month and the entire summer. Many thanks to PBSTuna who managed to make me snort Diet Coke at 7:30am.

This is exactly what the country needs.
Absolutely awesome.

Oh, And Another Thing

Did I mention I'm going to England tomorrow?

...And I have to be a grown up responsible chaperone type for some squirrely teenagers?

...And I'm not ready to go?

...And as usual I'm more concerned remembering all the CORDS I need to bring rather than the CLOTHES I need to wear.

...Assuming all goes well, I am taking my laptop, so there will be copious reporting of tea with the Queen and life in Chippingham-Beeftoastshire-on-the-Rye and other points of interest from the other side of the pond.

It's all true. Except the Queen part.

Back to making lists (a lot) and panicking (a little).

Oh, And Another Thing

Did I mention I'm going to England tomorrow?

...And I have to be a grown up responsible chaperone type for some squirrely teenagers?

...And I'm not ready to go?

...And as usual I'm more concerned remembering all the CORDS I need to bring rather than the CLOTHES I need to wear.

...Assuming all goes well, I am taking my laptop, so there will be copious reporting of tea with the Queen and life in Chippingham-Beeftoastshire-on-the-Rye and other points of interest from the other side of the pond.

It's all true. Except the Queen part.

Back to making lists (a lot) and panicking (a little).

Primed, Sealed, Delivered

One of the reasons I've been absent lately is that this summer has turned into Home Makeover : GreenTuna edition. For those of you who do not own stock in Home Depot, I'm sorry. We've dropped so much coin there, every time we walk through the door, some orange aproned lackey gets their wings.

This wasn't necessarily the plan for Summer, 2008, but if you took a look at the 1953 house that seemed to be painted by blind orangutangs whose color choices were either on-sale dingy drab, or on-sale off-dingy drab, you wouldn't be surprised. Add to the fact that we're fairly certain nobody ever took the time to actually prepare the the walls or ceilings to do it correctly has meant we've been staring at some butt-ugly paint-chippy plaster-cracking messes for far, far too long.

So a scant 3 days after returning from vacation after walking into my kitchen and discovering a new crack in the ceiling accompanied by more than a few outdoor type creatures in search of a picnic basket, I decided that was it. It had to be fixed, NOW. There was none of my customary hemming or hawing or pondering or debating. In fact, the decision was so immediate, I instantly started emptying cupboards and shelves, in part so I wouldn't be able to change my mind. It was the home improvement equivalent of "I'm mad as hell, and I'm not going to take it anymore!"

So we started the process of removing furniture and cupboard doors, light plate switches and curtains and all the billions of things that accumulate in a kitchen so we could begin phase two: scraping, chipping, more chipping and redirecting the ant party into the trash courtesy of a large can of Raid. Once the toxic fumes cleared, it was time for wall and ceiling repair, which is always a party. That you never want to be invited to.

And then came the cleaning and washing of the walls...

I'd like to take this opportunity to apologize to each and every one of you who has ever been to my house. It was bad enough that the wall color was on-sale off-dingy drab. However, the amount of great big gobs of greasy grimy non-gopher gunk that had accumulated was GROSS. It was grosser than gross. We changed the water and changed the water and changed the water and changed it some more. I think I had a 4-hour nonstop Mince Pie Face. It. Was. SICK. But once done, at least the on-sale off-dingy drab walls were at least cleaner.

I haven't had enough therapy to discuss the kingdom behind, to the side, and underneath the stove. Ditto the refrigerator. On the positive side, however, we found approximately 58 cat toys. They were thrilled in that cat sort of way, meaning they opened one eye as if to say, "Oh, THAT'S where they were" before rolling over and sleeping for another 17 hours.

Finally we made it to primer. And the first coat? Didn't cover. But it was better. The second coat? Looked beautiful. It was such an improvement that I could have lived with just primer for the next twenty years. But TeenTuna and I had picked out a very pretty light aqua blueish color, and on day 6 we finally got color.

Once it was done, I cannot tell you what a difference it made. Once dark, dingy, grimy and cracking, now it's crisp and clean, light and airy. The ceiling hasn't looked this good EVER and down the line (a bit of a long line, but it's still in the plans) there will be new cupboards and appliances. TeenTuna did quite a turn-around in this whole process as well, and went from being rather incredulous that we had to be our own handyman army to being quite proud of the fact that she helped pick the color, wash the walls, and learned to effectively wield a paint-roller. I consider it Life Skills 101.

It took another week to put the kitchen back together again and get everything in place. Since that time we've also repainted GramTuna's bedroom (a lovely restful herbal green) and my bathroom (a very fun art deco kind of purple), which just had the painters tape removed yesterday. The rest of the house is still the holding ground for our destruction, but hopefully soon things will start to find their way back to where they belong.

I can't say what possessed me to go at all this home improvement with such abandon. But there has been a great deal of satisfaction in fixing all those cracks and holes that I've lived with for all these years. Given all the recent personal and professional upheaval of the past several months, it's been a bit therapeutic to patch the cracks, fill in the holes, smooth out the rough places, and start all over with a fresh clean coat of paint. After a lot of sweat, tears and exhausted trips to the Depot (guess where I'm going during lunch today?), things are starting to shape up nicely.

When it's all said and done, it's still the same four walls. But now they are clean and fresh and new. Everything seems to radiate optimism and possibilities.

That may be the biggest home improvement of all.

Primed, Sealed, Delivered

One of the reasons I've been absent lately is that this summer has turned into Home Makeover : GreenTuna edition. For those of you who do not own stock in Home Depot, I'm sorry. We've dropped so much coin there, every time we walk through the door, some orange aproned lackey gets their wings.

This wasn't necessarily the plan for Summer, 2008, but if you took a look at the 1953 house that seemed to be painted by blind orangutangs whose color choices were either on-sale dingy drab, or on-sale off-dingy drab, you wouldn't be surprised. Add to the fact that we're fairly certain nobody ever took the time to actually prepare the the walls or ceilings to do it correctly has meant we've been staring at some butt-ugly paint-chippy plaster-cracking messes for far, far too long.

So a scant 3 days after returning from vacation after walking into my kitchen and discovering a new crack in the ceiling accompanied by more than a few outdoor type creatures in search of a picnic basket, I decided that was it. It had to be fixed, NOW. There was none of my customary hemming or hawing or pondering or debating. In fact, the decision was so immediate, I instantly started emptying cupboards and shelves, in part so I wouldn't be able to change my mind. It was the home improvement equivalent of "I'm mad as hell, and I'm not going to take it anymore!"

So we started the process of removing furniture and cupboard doors, light plate switches and curtains and all the billions of things that accumulate in a kitchen so we could begin phase two: scraping, chipping, more chipping and redirecting the ant party into the trash courtesy of a large can of Raid. Once the toxic fumes cleared, it was time for wall and ceiling repair, which is always a party. That you never want to be invited to.

And then came the cleaning and washing of the walls...

I'd like to take this opportunity to apologize to each and every one of you who has ever been to my house. It was bad enough that the wall color was on-sale off-dingy drab. However, the amount of great big gobs of greasy grimy non-gopher gunk that had accumulated was GROSS. It was grosser than gross. We changed the water and changed the water and changed the water and changed it some more. I think I had a 4-hour nonstop Mince Pie Face. It. Was. SICK. But once done, at least the on-sale off-dingy drab walls were at least cleaner.

I haven't had enough therapy to discuss the kingdom behind, to the side, and underneath the stove. Ditto the refrigerator. On the positive side, however, we found approximately 58 cat toys. They were thrilled in that cat sort of way, meaning they opened one eye as if to say, "Oh, THAT'S where they were" before rolling over and sleeping for another 17 hours.

Finally we made it to primer. And the first coat? Didn't cover. But it was better. The second coat? Looked beautiful. It was such an improvement that I could have lived with just primer for the next twenty years. But TeenTuna and I had picked out a very pretty light aqua blueish color, and on day 6 we finally got color.

Once it was done, I cannot tell you what a difference it made. Once dark, dingy, grimy and cracking, now it's crisp and clean, light and airy. The ceiling hasn't looked this good EVER and down the line (a bit of a long line, but it's still in the plans) there will be new cupboards and appliances. TeenTuna did quite a turn-around in this whole process as well, and went from being rather incredulous that we had to be our own handyman army to being quite proud of the fact that she helped pick the color, wash the walls, and learned to effectively wield a paint-roller. I consider it Life Skills 101.

It took another week to put the kitchen back together again and get everything in place. Since that time we've also repainted GramTuna's bedroom (a lovely restful herbal green) and my bathroom (a very fun art deco kind of purple), which just had the painters tape removed yesterday. The rest of the house is still the holding ground for our destruction, but hopefully soon things will start to find their way back to where they belong.

I can't say what possessed me to go at all this home improvement with such abandon. But there has been a great deal of satisfaction in fixing all those cracks and holes that I've lived with for all these years. Given all the recent personal and professional upheaval of the past several months, it's been a bit therapeutic to patch the cracks, fill in the holes, smooth out the rough places, and start all over with a fresh clean coat of paint. After a lot of sweat, tears and exhausted trips to the Depot (guess where I'm going during lunch today?), things are starting to shape up nicely.

When it's all said and done, it's still the same four walls. But now they are clean and fresh and new. Everything seems to radiate optimism and possibilities.

That may be the biggest home improvement of all.

Introductions and Explanations

I've been thinking for awhile now about how I might jump start my sadly neglected blog. I wondered if I could get away with sneaking back in and posting some mindless meme as if I'd never really left. Actually, I've tried that a couple of times, but since my last post was mid-May, it seems obvious that that strategy was pretty much a bust.

Blogs are a funny thing, and even here in my own dusty corner of the Internet, it's hard to know what to divulge. As usual, I'm of several different opinions simultaneously. Part of me is very guarded and strongly believes that personal and private information is just that. I tend to hold my cards fairly close to the vest because as much as I love you all (and I do...I really do!), please take no offense when I say certain things are none of your business. Smooches!

Part of me is firmly convinced that nobody really wants to hear the gory details of my life. Heck, I'm living it, and half the time I don't want to hear the gory details of my life. I'm sure they're boring. I'm sure I'm whining. I'm sure what few readers would spend the afternoon picking up their eyeballs that rolled out of their sockets and onto the floor, and I bet you all have better things to do.

Part of me worries about The Big Blog Boogiemonster with his bag full of horror stories. Be careful what you say, you could get fired (sadly true) or stalkers could stalk you with stalkiness (less likely, but still true). Lives will be destroyed and there will be gnashing of teeth while all the smart people in the world look at you as a pathetic cautionary tale and shake their head and cluck like hens saying "should have known better." Best just to keep my mouth shut.

But at the same time, part of me thinks those of you who have stuck it out, checking every now and again to see if there is anything new deserve some sort of explanation. Heck, if my friends disappeared with no warning for months at a time and then suddenly showed up again, it would be natural to ask in a kindly but pointed manner, "where the hell have you been?"

So, after considering privacy, self-esteem, paranoia and guilt, this is what I have for you.

The last 11 months have been difficult. Big changes came at me from out of the blue and it has been a struggle to meet these challenges and maintain my sanity. You may have noticed from my blatant lack of discussing the subject that Scout is out of the picture. Falling under the category of "I love you Internet, but it's none of your business" I will simply say it was unexpected and extremely hurtful. Of course you know there was much, much, much more to it than that, but that's all you're getting, and it's enough that you may fill in the blanks however you like.

Then, with no warning and very little communication before, during, or after, came a major job change with a partial reassignment. Coming on the heels of the Scout debacle, this was a tough one, and really caused a lot of personal and professional upheaval.

Teaching this year was a good news-bad news proposition, but overall, I was always glad to get behind a piano and lose myself in music for awhile. I hated the drive that gave me far too much time to wrestle with The Ghosts of Problems Past, Present and Future. At the same time I discovered the hour-long commute gave me a chance to think out loud and work some things out for myself.

I went on vacation determined to clear my head, pull myself together, and come back home a more whole, healed person. I was going to start writing again (seriously, you should see the number of drafts I have stored away), and start doing things for myself. That plan worked out absolutely great...until the first day back at work. At 10am I was informed by the powers that be that while I was on vacation they decided they weren't quite finished with me and big job changes. In many respects, I became a victim of my own success, and partial reassignment has become total reassignment.

So here I am, back in the soup once again. Every time I think I'm past the worst of it, someone or something throws me back in and tells me to take another 20 laps. All of this hasn't translated well for the poor neglected Tuna News. I'm too tired, too stressed, too sad, too worried, and just plain too overwhelmed.

Over the past week, however -- which is exactly how long it's been since the latest bombshell-- I've done an enormous amount of thinking. Not so much about this job or that job, or why I will have to be here rather than there doing this instead of that. There are no answers to those questions, and I'm trying hard to put a stop to thinking that does little more than drive me crazy. Instead, I started thinking about myself.

I started thinking about who I am, and what makes me who I am. I came to the conclusion that I am not my job. I am not defined by my job. My job is something I do, but it isn't the essence of who I am. So yes, my job was -- and Lord help me, is again -- changing. But it's my job that's changing. Not me. It may seem like a little thing, but recognizing the difference between what I do and who I am helps me keep my sanity as I continue to deal with a situation I can neither change nor control.

Ditto for the artist formerly known as Scout. Yes, there was a great deal of loss, but as the saying goes, there is no point of throwing the baby out with the bathwater. I lost a relationship. I didn't lose myself. I'm still here with my familial trademarked off-kilter sense of humor, wicked sense of puns and a mischievous sparkle in my eye. I should never let anything or anyone stifle it or take it away. Including myself.

All this doesn't mean that I have been spending my days skipping down the primrose path eating rainbows and pooping butterflies. I'm still fairly sad and overwhelmed. But I'm determined to be okay. I'm determined to remember exactly who I am and not lose my sense of self as I navigate through all the changes life has thrown at me lately. And I would be horribly remiss if I didn't mention the fact that Teen Tuna has been incredibly supportive over the past year. She has been an excellent listener, caretaker, and a distraction for the good whenever I have needed one. She has had to grow up a lot over the past year, and has learned -- kind of the hard way (which is regretful) -- that sometimes grownups do plain old crappy things. I am so proud of this kid and I'm damn lucky to be her mother. And no, she still can't have a cell phone. I'm proud of her, not insane.

Lastly, but not leastly, I want to promise you that GreenTuna and The Tuna News are here to stay, and I plan to resume regular postings soon. I promise to be funny sometimes, serious sometimes, and a total slacker meme-poster sometimes. I'll tell you as much as I can without invading my own privacy or boring you to tears. And as for the Big Blog Boogiemonster, I'm going to chill out a little bit. I'm really not all that concerned about stalkers stalking me with stalkiness, because frankly, if you ever did stalk me, I'd make you do my dishes, weed the garden and then find my lonely socks.

And since we've come to an understanding, I just have one more thing to tell you.
My name is Vicki.

Introductions and Explanations

I've been thinking for awhile now about how I might jump start my sadly neglected blog. I wondered if I could get away with sneaking back in and posting some mindless meme as if I'd never really left. Actually, I've tried that a couple of times, but since my last post was mid-May, it seems obvious that that strategy was pretty much a bust.

Blogs are a funny thing, and even here in my own dusty corner of the Internet, it's hard to know what to divulge. As usual, I'm of several different opinions simultaneously. Part of me is very guarded and strongly believes that personal and private information is just that. I tend to hold my cards fairly close to the vest because as much as I love you all (and I do...I really do!), please take no offense when I say certain things are none of your business. Smooches!

Part of me is firmly convinced that nobody really wants to hear the gory details of my life. Heck, I'm living it, and half the time I don't want to hear the gory details of my life. I'm sure they're boring. I'm sure I'm whining. I'm sure what few readers would spend the afternoon picking up their eyeballs that rolled out of their sockets and onto the floor, and I bet you all have better things to do.

Part of me worries about The Big Blog Boogiemonster with his bag full of horror stories. Be careful what you say, you could get fired (sadly true) or stalkers could stalk you with stalkiness (less likely, but still true). Lives will be destroyed and there will be gnashing of teeth while all the smart people in the world look at you as a pathetic cautionary tale and shake their head and cluck like hens saying "should have known better." Best just to keep my mouth shut.

But at the same time, part of me thinks those of you who have stuck it out, checking every now and again to see if there is anything new deserve some sort of explanation. Heck, if my friends disappeared with no warning for months at a time and then suddenly showed up again, it would be natural to ask in a kindly but pointed manner, "where the hell have you been?"

So, after considering privacy, self-esteem, paranoia and guilt, this is what I have for you.

The last 11 months have been difficult. Big changes came at me from out of the blue and it has been a struggle to meet these challenges and maintain my sanity. You may have noticed from my blatant lack of discussing the subject that Scout is out of the picture. Falling under the category of "I love you Internet, but it's none of your business" I will simply say it was unexpected and extremely hurtful. Of course you know there was much, much, much more to it than that, but that's all you're getting, and it's enough that you may fill in the blanks however you like.

Then, with no warning and very little communication before, during, or after, came a major job change with a partial reassignment. Coming on the heels of the Scout debacle, this was a tough one, and really caused a lot of personal and professional upheaval.

Teaching this year was a good news-bad news proposition, but overall, I was always glad to get behind a piano and lose myself in music for awhile. I hated the drive that gave me far too much time to wrestle with The Ghosts of Problems Past, Present and Future. At the same time I discovered the hour-long commute gave me a chance to think out loud and work some things out for myself.

I went on vacation determined to clear my head, pull myself together, and come back home a more whole, healed person. I was going to start writing again (seriously, you should see the number of drafts I have stored away), and start doing things for myself. That plan worked out absolutely great...until the first day back at work. At 10am I was informed by the powers that be that while I was on vacation they decided they weren't quite finished with me and big job changes. In many respects, I became a victim of my own success, and partial reassignment has become total reassignment.

So here I am, back in the soup once again. Every time I think I'm past the worst of it, someone or something throws me back in and tells me to take another 20 laps. All of this hasn't translated well for the poor neglected Tuna News. I'm too tired, too stressed, too sad, too worried, and just plain too overwhelmed.

Over the past week, however -- which is exactly how long it's been since the latest bombshell-- I've done an enormous amount of thinking. Not so much about this job or that job, or why I will have to be here rather than there doing this instead of that. There are no answers to those questions, and I'm trying hard to put a stop to thinking that does little more than drive me crazy. Instead, I started thinking about myself.

I started thinking about who I am, and what makes me who I am. I came to the conclusion that I am not my job. I am not defined by my job. My job is something I do, but it isn't the essence of who I am. So yes, my job was -- and Lord help me, is again -- changing. But it's my job that's changing. Not me. It may seem like a little thing, but recognizing the difference between what I do and who I am helps me keep my sanity as I continue to deal with a situation I can neither change nor control.

Ditto for the artist formerly known as Scout. Yes, there was a great deal of loss, but as the saying goes, there is no point of throwing the baby out with the bathwater. I lost a relationship. I didn't lose myself. I'm still here with my familial trademarked off-kilter sense of humor, wicked sense of puns and a mischievous sparkle in my eye. I should never let anything or anyone stifle it or take it away. Including myself.

All this doesn't mean that I have been spending my days skipping down the primrose path eating rainbows and pooping butterflies. I'm still fairly sad and overwhelmed. But I'm determined to be okay. I'm determined to remember exactly who I am and not lose my sense of self as I navigate through all the changes life has thrown at me lately. And I would be horribly remiss if I didn't mention the fact that Teen Tuna has been incredibly supportive over the past year. She has been an excellent listener, caretaker, and a distraction for the good whenever I have needed one. She has had to grow up a lot over the past year, and has learned -- kind of the hard way (which is regretful) -- that sometimes grownups do plain old crappy things. I am so proud of this kid and I'm damn lucky to be her mother. And no, she still can't have a cell phone. I'm proud of her, not insane.

Lastly, but not leastly, I want to promise you that GreenTuna and The Tuna News are here to stay, and I plan to resume regular postings soon. I promise to be funny sometimes, serious sometimes, and a total slacker meme-poster sometimes. I'll tell you as much as I can without invading my own privacy or boring you to tears. And as for the Big Blog Boogiemonster, I'm going to chill out a little bit. I'm really not all that concerned about stalkers stalking me with stalkiness, because frankly, if you ever did stalk me, I'd make you do my dishes, weed the garden and then find my lonely socks.

And since we've come to an understanding, I just have one more thing to tell you.
My name is Vicki.