Just for the Listening

The day after Thanksgiving has traditionally been known as Black Friday -- the day businesses sell enough merchandise to become profitable. Some shoppers love it and others hate it, but I'm always amused by those who make the biggest deal out of the whole day...by yelling about how they aren't going to buy anything. For the record: I marked the occasion by painting my bedroom.

The StoryCorps organization has also made a push to make the day after Thanksgiving The National Day of Listening. The idea was profoundly simple: Spend one hour talking to someone and listening to their story. It could be a family member, a neighbor, a friend, or someone in your community. The thought is, by listening to others, we become less isolated and more interconnected. Stories allow us to learn more about who we are as a people, and preserving them let the memories, and people attached to them, live on forever. It's a very cool idea.

Judging by the thousands upon thousands of stories this project has collected thus far, it seems everyone is ready, able, and willing to jump in front of the nearest microphone and start spilling the goods. For the rest of us, this is great. But if I asked anyone in my family (not counting the nephew, because as dear as he is, the world isn't ready for armpit-noise stories, and not counting the teenager whose daily refrain is YOU'RE NOT BLOGGING ABOUT THIS!) to tell me a story about themselves, their first response would be a Mince Pie Face. Their second response would be a loud "WHAT?" Their third response would be a very confused, "Why?" And the final blow would be a conversation halting, "Oh, I really don't have anything interesting to say."

Now I'm not here to diss my family, so let me explain. Why do I think this? Because I would do exactly the same thing. Stories on demand aren't easy for everybody, but I don't consider it a defect, it's just the way some people are, and being a pretty accepting person, I think it's alright. But it doesn't mean there aren't stories waiting to be told. Wherever there are people and life and living, there are stories. Lots of them. The trick is, you just have to learn listen all the time, in all sorts of ways.

My paternal Grandfather has been gone for many years, but I know some of his stories by things he did. He used to make small wooden replicas of things: table and chairs, china cabinet, a two-seater outhouse. There were no patterns or kits. He just made them, and they were beautiful. I still have a small grand piano that he made, and although he can't tell me stories about the piano, I listen to him ... I hear him and his story as I hold it in my hands.

Sometimes stories are told unawares. A drive through an old neighborhood. A picture. An old song. A favorite recipe. These ordinary prompts wake up our memories and shake them loose. If you're listening, you'll hear it, and be very, very lucky, because sometimes the unimportant stories are the best stories of all.

Today marks the first day of Holidailies. This is my fifth year of writing for this project, and as I look over list of participants, I recognize some old favorites, and look forward to discovering some new favorites as well. When I started writing back in 2003, it wasn't a conscious effort to begin recording my every waking thought for the entire world. I had a nine-year old, which meant I had automatic story fodder too good to forget. Over the years I've shared the funny, the heartbreaking, the isane as well as the inane. If you sat me down and demanded I tell you a story, I'd tell you I have nothing to say, but it seems this blog says otherwise. It's been my side-kick, my wailing wall, my psychiatrist and my thinking out loud place. For my daughter, my family and my friends and all of you who visit regularly or who just might be passing by, consider it an open gift. The stories -- the good, the bad and the ugly -- will always be there whenever you want them.

Just for the listening.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

One year ago -- I was having difficulty adjusting my new life in Cube hell. One year later? It's just as noisy down here as ever, but I CAN tell you everybody's current medication, political leanings, and vacation plans.

Two years ago -- I was bemoaning my upcoming Christmas gigs in Haiku. Considering what I'm facing this weekend, it's just about time to crank out another set.

Three years ago -- I was thinking up excuses as to why I didn't write a 30-day novel. Even my excuse was late. No posts.

Four years ago -- I was getting ready to sing a gig in YooperLand. Hey guess what? I'll be back up there again in April, 2009.

Five Years ago -- I was bemoaning the fact that I have horrible timing. Five years later, I'm here to report nothing has changed.

Just for the Listening

The day after Thanksgiving has traditionally been known as Black Friday -- the day businesses sell enough merchandise to become profitable. Some shoppers love it and others hate it, but I'm always amused by those who make the biggest deal out of the whole day...by yelling about how they aren't going to buy anything. For the record: I marked the occasion by painting my bedroom.

The StoryCorps organization has also made a push to make the day after Thanksgiving The National Day of Listening. The idea was profoundly simple: Spend one hour talking to someone and listening to their story. It could be a family member, a neighbor, a friend, or someone in your community. The thought is, by listening to others, we become less isolated and more interconnected. Stories allow us to learn more about who we are as a people, and preserving them let the memories, and people attached to them, live on forever. It's a very cool idea.

Judging by the thousands upon thousands of stories this project has collected thus far, it seems everyone is ready, able, and willing to jump in front of the nearest microphone and start spilling the goods. For the rest of us, this is great. But if I asked anyone in my family (not counting the nephew, because as dear as he is, the world isn't ready for armpit-noise stories, and not counting the teenager whose daily refrain is YOU'RE NOT BLOGGING ABOUT THIS!) to tell me a story about themselves, their first response would be a Mince Pie Face. Their second response would be a loud "WHAT?" Their third response would be a very confused, "Why?" And the final blow would be a conversation halting, "Oh, I really don't have anything interesting to say."

Now I'm not here to diss my family, so let me explain. Why do I think this? Because I would do exactly the same thing. Stories on demand aren't easy for everybody, but I don't consider it a defect, it's just the way some people are, and being a pretty accepting person, I think it's alright. But it doesn't mean there aren't stories waiting to be told. Wherever there are people and life and living, there are stories. Lots of them. The trick is, you just have to learn listen all the time, in all sorts of ways.

My paternal Grandfather has been gone for many years, but I know some of his stories by things he did. He used to make small wooden replicas of things: table and chairs, china cabinet, a two-seater outhouse. There were no patterns or kits. He just made them, and they were beautiful. I still have a small grand piano that he made, and although he can't tell me stories about the piano, I listen to him ... I hear him and his story as I hold it in my hands.

Sometimes stories are told unawares. A drive through an old neighborhood. A picture. An old song. A favorite recipe. These ordinary prompts wake up our memories and shake them loose. If you're listening, you'll hear it, and be very, very lucky, because sometimes the unimportant stories are the best stories of all.

Today marks the first day of Holidailies. This is my fifth year of writing for this project, and as I look over list of participants, I recognize some old favorites, and look forward to discovering some new favorites as well. When I started writing back in 2003, it wasn't a conscious effort to begin recording my every waking thought for the entire world. I had a nine-year old, which meant I had automatic story fodder too good to forget. Over the years I've shared the funny, the heartbreaking, the isane as well as the inane. If you sat me down and demanded I tell you a story, I'd tell you I have nothing to say, but it seems this blog says otherwise. It's been my side-kick, my wailing wall, my psychiatrist and my thinking out loud place. For my daughter, my family and my friends and all of you who visit regularly or who just might be passing by, consider it an open gift. The stories -- the good, the bad and the ugly -- will always be there whenever you want them.

Just for the listening.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

One year ago -- I was having difficulty adjusting my new life in Cube hell. One year later? It's just as noisy down here as ever, but I CAN tell you everybody's current medication, political leanings, and vacation plans.

Two years ago -- I was bemoaning my upcoming Christmas gigs in Haiku. Considering what I'm facing this weekend, it's just about time to crank out another set.

Three years ago -- I was thinking up excuses as to why I didn't write a 30-day novel. Even my excuse was late. No posts.

Four years ago -- I was getting ready to sing a gig in YooperLand. Hey guess what? I'll be back up there again in April, 2009.

Five Years ago -- I was bemoaning the fact that I have horrible timing. Five years later, I'm here to report nothing has changed.

Move over, Odysseus

Beware of the Doghouse...



Who needs morality plays when you have something like this?
Absolutely. Hysterical.

Move over, Odysseus

Beware of the Doghouse...



Who needs morality plays when you have something like this?
Absolutely. Hysterical.

Artful Dodger

Over the past few weeks and months, my lovable, wonderful, reliable, magnificent car
(I never EVER speak poorly of my lovable, wonderful, reliable, magnificent car because it predates TeenTuna)

has been getting progressively louder, and dare I say embarassing to drive in public
(only embarrassing because other, less-enlightened people wouldn't be able to look (listen?) past the noise to see the wonderfulness)

I finally took it in to the shop this morning to get it fixed
(praying to the patron Saint of cheap car repairs all the way)

before a law enforcement officer with a fix-it-ticket forced my hand.
(please refer to less-enlightened people, above)

I dropped it off and explained that it was noisy
(which was an understatement)

and had progressed in decibel level from old lawnmower to cranky snow blower.
(coincidentally, both made by Toro!)

I explained that while I needed to get it fixed before it reached low-flying jumbo jet
(hey! wouldn't it be cool if cars had tray tables?)

it was old and didn't need anything fancy-pants.
(because my car is practically perfect in every way RIGHT NOW!)

He explained exhaust work was exhaust work
(it must be exhausting! BaDUMPbump!!)

and would cost the same no matter how old my car was.
(DON'T SAY "OLD" OUT LOUD!)

The phone rang a little later at work
(rut roh!)

And I was told Christmas came early
(I panicked.....for WHOM???)

and it was just a disconnected gasket and some broken bolts
(Halleluia!)

and it would be ready just about immediately.
(Seriously? Good news from an automotive repair shop? Just doesn't happen. EVER)

and it was.
(it was)

and I was set back a whopping $54.
(sahWEEEEET!)

Thank the lord. And the Patron Saint of Cars
(Guess that must be St. Otto.....right?)
...
...
...
(just think about it)

Artful Dodger

Over the past few weeks and months, my lovable, wonderful, reliable, magnificent car
(I never EVER speak poorly of my lovable, wonderful, reliable, magnificent car because it predates TeenTuna)

has been getting progressively louder, and dare I say embarassing to drive in public
(only embarrassing because other, less-enlightened people wouldn't be able to look (listen?) past the noise to see the wonderfulness)

I finally took it in to the shop this morning to get it fixed
(praying to the patron Saint of cheap car repairs all the way)

before a law enforcement officer with a fix-it-ticket forced my hand.
(please refer to less-enlightened people, above)

I dropped it off and explained that it was noisy
(which was an understatement)

and had progressed in decibel level from old lawnmower to cranky snow blower.
(coincidentally, both made by Toro!)

I explained that while I needed to get it fixed before it reached low-flying jumbo jet
(hey! wouldn't it be cool if cars had tray tables?)

it was old and didn't need anything fancy-pants.
(because my car is practically perfect in every way RIGHT NOW!)

He explained exhaust work was exhaust work
(it must be exhausting! BaDUMPbump!!)

and would cost the same no matter how old my car was.
(DON'T SAY "OLD" OUT LOUD!)

The phone rang a little later at work
(rut roh!)

And I was told Christmas came early
(I panicked.....for WHOM???)

and it was just a disconnected gasket and some broken bolts
(Halleluia!)

and it would be ready just about immediately.
(Seriously? Good news from an automotive repair shop? Just doesn't happen. EVER)

and it was.
(it was)

and I was set back a whopping $54.
(sahWEEEEET!)

Thank the lord. And the Patron Saint of Cars
(Guess that must be St. Otto.....right?)
...
...
...
(just think about it)

What's It All About, Alfie?

It's the last week of class in the collegiate world, so I have two more teaching days before finals. Although the days are long -- NOBODY is sick the last week of school, even if they're sick -- this is one of my favorite weeks. This week each student does a full run-through of all their repertoire, so I get to talk a lot less and listen a lot more.

There's nothing better than being serenaded by a diverse sampling of voices, composers and poets. From English folksong to German lieder, French Melodie to Italian arias, I love them all. It can be Broadway or Jazz, Opera or Oratorio, Secular or Sacred. The genre doesn't matter to me, because I find that every poet had something to say, every lyricist had a character to develop, and every composer has a melody line that allows a thought to soar over the spoken word, a rhythmic structure that gives life and movement to the text, and a harmonic structure that brings color to each underlying emotion. The trick for the singer, of course, is to find all these gems that hide in plain sight on the printed page. Part of my job as a teacher is to help each student in their own personal discovery of interpretation.

I don't like to TELL a student what a song is about, or how they should interpret every single syllable and note in a song. It's not that I can't -- I can, and often do -- but I prefer to let them struggle for awhile and think about it for themselves, so they can arrive at their interpretation, not mine. While I sometimes point them in the general direction if they seem to be floundering, I prefer to let them come to their own conclusions. When they do, it's a great AHA! moment.

As a teacher, AHA! moments are what I strive for. To riff the Rolling Stones, I don't get no satisfaction in cramming a bunch of facts into students, even if they successfully recite them on command. Regurgitation isn't education. I want them to have AHA! moments -- moments of personal discovery.

Next week all my students will sing for me for a part of their final grade. As much as I care that the songs are memorized, notes and rhythms are correct, and proper vocal technique is demonstrated, I'm much more excited to hear what they have discovered. It's one thing to have an AHA! moment; it's quite another thing to open yourself up and share it with others. But when it happens, it's nothing short of magical.

And then all that's left to say is, "Encore!"
Teaching accomplished.

What's It All About, Alfie?

It's the last week of class in the collegiate world, so I have two more teaching days before finals. Although the days are long -- NOBODY is sick the last week of school, even if they're sick -- this is one of my favorite weeks. This week each student does a full run-through of all their repertoire, so I get to talk a lot less and listen a lot more.

There's nothing better than being serenaded by a diverse sampling of voices, composers and poets. From English folksong to German lieder, French Melodie to Italian arias, I love them all. It can be Broadway or Jazz, Opera or Oratorio, Secular or Sacred. The genre doesn't matter to me, because I find that every poet had something to say, every lyricist had a character to develop, and every composer has a melody line that allows a thought to soar over the spoken word, a rhythmic structure that gives life and movement to the text, and a harmonic structure that brings color to each underlying emotion. The trick for the singer, of course, is to find all these gems that hide in plain sight on the printed page. Part of my job as a teacher is to help each student in their own personal discovery of interpretation.

I don't like to TELL a student what a song is about, or how they should interpret every single syllable and note in a song. It's not that I can't -- I can, and often do -- but I prefer to let them struggle for awhile and think about it for themselves, so they can arrive at their interpretation, not mine. While I sometimes point them in the general direction if they seem to be floundering, I prefer to let them come to their own conclusions. When they do, it's a great AHA! moment.

As a teacher, AHA! moments are what I strive for. To riff the Rolling Stones, I don't get no satisfaction in cramming a bunch of facts into students, even if they successfully recite them on command. Regurgitation isn't education. I want them to have AHA! moments -- moments of personal discovery.

Next week all my students will sing for me for a part of their final grade. As much as I care that the songs are memorized, notes and rhythms are correct, and proper vocal technique is demonstrated, I'm much more excited to hear what they have discovered. It's one thing to have an AHA! moment; it's quite another thing to open yourself up and share it with others. But when it happens, it's nothing short of magical.

And then all that's left to say is, "Encore!"
Teaching accomplished.

And the rest

Old timers (and those who watch TVland and other classic/retro programs) remember the theme song from Gilligan's Island. It was a tricky little tune, because it had two endings, and you had to know if it was an early episode or a late episode in order to get the ending right.

The later version of the theme song rattled off the entire cast, so the line "The professor and MaryAnn" was included. The earlier version, however, just ended with "and the rest" forever condemning the nerd with his coconut radio-phone and the island's cutest pie maker to a life of obscurity. For those of you dying to be in the know, there is an explanation concerning the change of lyrics here -- but honestly, I'm not going to research this, so you'll have to either believe it or chalk it up to normal Internet nonsense. Either way, I'm good with it.

At the moment I'm surrounded by and the rest, and not at all in a good way. This and the rest arises out of necessity, because it would be an impossible task to try to name all the leftover things that have found themselves homeless. So I have and the rest piles EVERYWHERE. Sadly, I'm not going to have many options here as time goes on. I'll either have to go through it and make a decision to keep, to toss or to donate, or, I'll have to buy a couple of flamethrowers and arm the cats for the afternoon. Sadly, since they are lacking opposable thumbs that idea isn't going to work out too well, and I'm back to having to go through it all bit by bit.

This is the downside to cleaning and renovation. Once a space is cleared, the real temptation is to fill it all back up again as soon as possible, as if the most important thing in this world is to equalize the negative clutter pressure that formed during the cleaning. I'm trying very, very hard NOT to fall into that trap. Besides, when is it enough? I think it many areas of personal aquisition, I'm not only there, I'm well stocked into the next century.

This plan for this winter is the purge of 2009. That way (hopefully) when I'm done, I won't be surrounded and suffocated by and the rest . It will be hard making choices of what to keep and what to pass along, but it's time. It's past time. I just wonder if the professor could build me a coconut-powered flamethrower to give me a bit of a helping hand.

And the rest

Old timers (and those who watch TVland and other classic/retro programs) remember the theme song from Gilligan's Island. It was a tricky little tune, because it had two endings, and you had to know if it was an early episode or a late episode in order to get the ending right.

The later version of the theme song rattled off the entire cast, so the line "The professor and MaryAnn" was included. The earlier version, however, just ended with "and the rest" forever condemning the nerd with his coconut radio-phone and the island's cutest pie maker to a life of obscurity. For those of you dying to be in the know, there is an explanation concerning the change of lyrics here -- but honestly, I'm not going to research this, so you'll have to either believe it or chalk it up to normal Internet nonsense. Either way, I'm good with it.

At the moment I'm surrounded by and the rest, and not at all in a good way. This and the rest arises out of necessity, because it would be an impossible task to try to name all the leftover things that have found themselves homeless. So I have and the rest piles EVERYWHERE. Sadly, I'm not going to have many options here as time goes on. I'll either have to go through it and make a decision to keep, to toss or to donate, or, I'll have to buy a couple of flamethrowers and arm the cats for the afternoon. Sadly, since they are lacking opposable thumbs that idea isn't going to work out too well, and I'm back to having to go through it all bit by bit.

This is the downside to cleaning and renovation. Once a space is cleared, the real temptation is to fill it all back up again as soon as possible, as if the most important thing in this world is to equalize the negative clutter pressure that formed during the cleaning. I'm trying very, very hard NOT to fall into that trap. Besides, when is it enough? I think it many areas of personal aquisition, I'm not only there, I'm well stocked into the next century.

This plan for this winter is the purge of 2009. That way (hopefully) when I'm done, I won't be surrounded and suffocated by and the rest . It will be hard making choices of what to keep and what to pass along, but it's time. It's past time. I just wonder if the professor could build me a coconut-powered flamethrower to give me a bit of a helping hand.

Beautiful, Beautiful Yellow

I swore that my room was going to be painted by the end of this weekend. By a bit of luck and a bucket full of stubborn determination, my "failure is not an option" attitude won out and I'm now sitting in a freshly painted bedroom. It's about halfway put back together, which is no small miracle considering the adventures I went through with the new bed frame and the missing hardware. I have some new kick-ass window treatments, courtesy of the misfortunes of Linens 'n Liquidations 'n Things. I even got the employee to dismantle some displays to get me some hardware I wanted.

So, it will be a few more days arranging and rearranging furniture and getting things back in order. For now, I'm happy not to be spending another night on the couch, and I'm looking forward to putting this project in the "done" column.

Beautiful, Beautiful Yellow

I swore that my room was going to be painted by the end of this weekend. By a bit of luck and a bucket full of stubborn determination, my "failure is not an option" attitude won out and I'm now sitting in a freshly painted bedroom. It's about halfway put back together, which is no small miracle considering the adventures I went through with the new bed frame and the missing hardware. I have some new kick-ass window treatments, courtesy of the misfortunes of Linens 'n Liquidations 'n Things. I even got the employee to dismantle some displays to get me some hardware I wanted.

So, it will be a few more days arranging and rearranging furniture and getting things back in order. For now, I'm happy not to be spending another night on the couch, and I'm looking forward to putting this project in the "done" column.

Unconscious Mutterings

I say ... And YOU think :

1. Sleepy :: Tired

2. Thanksgiving :: Holiday

3. Fifteen :: Going on Sixteen

4. Authority :: Respect mah!

5. Bangs :: Hair

6. Curled :: Hair

7. Young Man :: Lad

8. Surprised :: Agog

9. Mistake :: Whoops

10. Handle it :: With care

Yes. I really thought of "agog".....

Unconscious Mutterings

I say ... And YOU think :

1. Sleepy :: Tired

2. Thanksgiving :: Holiday

3. Fifteen :: Going on Sixteen

4. Authority :: Respect mah!

5. Bangs :: Hair

6. Curled :: Hair

7. Young Man :: Lad

8. Surprised :: Agog

9. Mistake :: Whoops

10. Handle it :: With care

Yes. I really thought of "agog".....

Black and White Friday

Today wasn't shopping

Today was clear the room
Spackle the room
Sand the room
Prime the room
Prime the room again
Paint the ceiling
Collapse on the couch.

Today might be "Black Friday" but in my world...and in my hair...and on my clothes...
it's all white.

Tomorrow? COLOR.
Too awesome for words.

Black and White Friday

Today wasn't shopping

Today was clear the room
Spackle the room
Sand the room
Prime the room
Prime the room again
Paint the ceiling
Collapse on the couch.

Today might be "Black Friday" but in my world...and in my hair...and on my clothes...
it's all white.

Tomorrow? COLOR.
Too awesome for words.

In the True Spirit of the Season

Wishing you, your family and friends all the best on Thanksgiving.

In the True Spirit of the Season

Wishing you, your family and friends all the best on Thanksgiving.

Pilgrim's Progress

Thanksgiving is an interesting holiday, to be sure. From enormous balloons in New York City, to the annual drubbing of the Detroit Lions on TV, to the welcoming of Santa, to family feasts of epic proportions to the 500-page newspapers (485 of which are ads) prepping us for Black Friday, I can't help but be reminded of the old advertising jingle, "You've come a long way, baby!" But the question is, come from- and going to- .... where?

I would never profess to be any sort of expert in Pilgrim life or history. For the most part, my education has been cobbled together from PBS, The History Channel, historical fiction and nonfiction books, and, A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving where they ate popcorn and toast. Suffice it to say, I am aware of my limitations.

But I have to imagine that way back in Pilgrim days, there probably weren't weeks upon weeks of planning for the big feast. There wouldn't have been festive decorations with holiday ribbons, faux plastic leaves and gourds. There wouldn't have been meticulous planning around the whimsical likes and dislikes of the guests -- be it for food or for people -- and the hosts wouldn't have turned themselves inside out with panic thinking the entire event "wasn't good enough."

Back in Pilgrim days, life was hard. It was uncertain. It was scary. Every single day. But I have to think if you had the luxury of worrying, it meant you had the luxury of living -- which was an accomplishment in and of itself. As much as we like to romanticize the Indians bringing corn and the sweet potatoes, the Pilgrims roasting a turkey and making a pumpkin pie, and then the whole lot of them clasping hands and sitting down together Normal Rockwell-style, I have to admit I have a really hard time believing it happened.

Although the arrival and settlement of the Pilgrims would eventually threaten the very existence of an entire nation and culture of people (which is a sad and frankly troubling thought), I still believe the essence of being a thankful individual no matter who you were was based on a shared set of common beliefs. Thankful for the beauty of nature. Thankful for the bountiful earth. Thankful for a full belly. Thankful for family. Thankful for the luxury of worrying. Thankful for the gift of living. Thankful for the hope and promise of tomorrow.

If you think about it, the scenery maybe different now, but our circumstances haven't changed all that much. Life is still hard. And uncertain. And scary. And full of worry. But we, like our ancestors, have the luxury of being alive. And if we can remember that, then this funny, overly romanticized holiday becomes less about big hats, buckle shoes, three hour parades and football, and becomes more of what it was supposed to be all along. It's easy for the gratitude to get lost among the overwhelming minutiae of the day. But even in the midst of it all, there are opportunities and reasons everywhere to find...and give...thanks.

Wishing you a full belly, a warm spirit, and infinite reasons to give thanks.

Pilgrim's Progress

Thanksgiving is an interesting holiday, to be sure. From enormous balloons in New York City, to the annual drubbing of the Detroit Lions on TV, to the welcoming of Santa, to family feasts of epic proportions to the 500-page newspapers (485 of which are ads) prepping us for Black Friday, I can't help but be reminded of the old advertising jingle, "You've come a long way, baby!" But the question is, come from- and going to- .... where?

I would never profess to be any sort of expert in Pilgrim life or history. For the most part, my education has been cobbled together from PBS, The History Channel, historical fiction and nonfiction books, and, A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving where they ate popcorn and toast. Suffice it to say, I am aware of my limitations.

But I have to imagine that way back in Pilgrim days, there probably weren't weeks upon weeks of planning for the big feast. There wouldn't have been festive decorations with holiday ribbons, faux plastic leaves and gourds. There wouldn't have been meticulous planning around the whimsical likes and dislikes of the guests -- be it for food or for people -- and the hosts wouldn't have turned themselves inside out with panic thinking the entire event "wasn't good enough."

Back in Pilgrim days, life was hard. It was uncertain. It was scary. Every single day. But I have to think if you had the luxury of worrying, it meant you had the luxury of living -- which was an accomplishment in and of itself. As much as we like to romanticize the Indians bringing corn and the sweet potatoes, the Pilgrims roasting a turkey and making a pumpkin pie, and then the whole lot of them clasping hands and sitting down together Normal Rockwell-style, I have to admit I have a really hard time believing it happened.

Although the arrival and settlement of the Pilgrims would eventually threaten the very existence of an entire nation and culture of people (which is a sad and frankly troubling thought), I still believe the essence of being a thankful individual no matter who you were was based on a shared set of common beliefs. Thankful for the beauty of nature. Thankful for the bountiful earth. Thankful for a full belly. Thankful for family. Thankful for the luxury of worrying. Thankful for the gift of living. Thankful for the hope and promise of tomorrow.

If you think about it, the scenery maybe different now, but our circumstances haven't changed all that much. Life is still hard. And uncertain. And scary. And full of worry. But we, like our ancestors, have the luxury of being alive. And if we can remember that, then this funny, overly romanticized holiday becomes less about big hats, buckle shoes, three hour parades and football, and becomes more of what it was supposed to be all along. It's easy for the gratitude to get lost among the overwhelming minutiae of the day. But even in the midst of it all, there are opportunities and reasons everywhere to find...and give...thanks.

Wishing you a full belly, a warm spirit, and infinite reasons to give thanks.

An OLD Time for Us

This one is for TeenTuna, who just finished reading Romeo and Juliet for English class. Not only did they have to read it, and listen to it, and memorize and write down 25 lines from the play, they also got to watch "the really old movie" in class. When she told me about "the really old movie, I was wracking my brain trying to think of an old black and white Gielguld or Olivier version. Then it occurred to me, and with a tone of anticipatory annoyance, I said, "are you talking about the Zeffirelli film?

"YEAH!" She said.

I picked up my eyeballs that had rolled across the floor and said, "I thought you meant OLD. This one was from the late 60's."

"Exactly," she said. "Old."
Harrumph.

An OLD Time for Us

This one is for TeenTuna, who just finished reading Romeo and Juliet for English class. Not only did they have to read it, and listen to it, and memorize and write down 25 lines from the play, they also got to watch "the really old movie" in class. When she told me about "the really old movie, I was wracking my brain trying to think of an old black and white Gielguld or Olivier version. Then it occurred to me, and with a tone of anticipatory annoyance, I said, "are you talking about the Zeffirelli film?

"YEAH!" She said.

I picked up my eyeballs that had rolled across the floor and said, "I thought you meant OLD. This one was from the late 60's."

"Exactly," she said. "Old."
Harrumph.

Research 101

When I was a devious youngster, one of my preferred activities was exploiting the gullible. I started out with small tricks, like "try this spoonful of Vanilla flavoring. It smells SOOO GOOD" and progressed to calling the police when children wouldn't eat their breakfast and then I went so far as convincing those not in the know that my pink plastic retainer was carved out of the roof of my mouth. Classics, each and every one of them.

When it comes to the Internet, though, I am and always have been a total skeptic. Regardless of what I have in front of me, my first order of business is usually to run over to Snopes to check it out. 99% of the time my skepticism is well-founded as a CAPS-LOCK, BOLD, LEANED OVER FALSE flashes on the screen. It's not like I don't want to believe. Buried somewhere in my bleak, dark exterior is a tiny flicker of blind optimism and faith. Just not so much where the Internet is concerned.

So...

Frozen tidal wave? Nope.

USS New York made from 9-11 scrapmetal? Well, yes, but the picture being passed around is the USS San Antonio.

New U.S. Dollar coins designed to eliminate "In God We Trust"? Um, no.

Warm, fuzzy musings by George Carlin? Carlin himself called it a "sappy load of shit."

And so on and so on and so on.

It doesn't take much time to go online and look for verification about whatever it is the Internet is trying to feed you. Sometimes it will totally surprise you and it will be true. I would have NEVER thought the dead dog story was valid. I must admit I was very pleasantly surprised. Emphasis on surprised. But still in all, presenting information gathered on the Internet as your sole source of RESEARCH (students, I'm talking to you) is akin to finding a wadded up piece of paper in the gutter with the same information written on it. Maybe the information is good...but maybe it isn't. That's why you check and recheck our story and our sources BEFORE hanging your research skills out on the public line.

Tonight, as I was online skimming through the daily articles of my local newspaper, I came across an article that presented a long number of stores that have declared they are closing between October 2008 and January 2009. The list was rather long and whereas some of the locations appeared to be very OLD news, others were a left-field surprise. The list wasn't just a compilation of very bad news. The list was also false.

Hitting the charts at #23 on the hot list of Internet crap, Snopes listed this "store closing" email as a mixture of accurate, inaccurate and out-of-date information. My newspaper? Printed the bogus email verbatim. What's next? The $250 Neiman-Marcus cookie recipe?

Like I said, I want to believe. If I were told the Internet were dying and the only way to save would be to clap my hands and shout my beliefs, I'd be the first one to do it.

Right after I made sure it wasn't a hoax.

Research 101

When I was a devious youngster, one of my preferred activities was exploiting the gullible. I started out with small tricks, like "try this spoonful of Vanilla flavoring. It smells SOOO GOOD" and progressed to calling the police when children wouldn't eat their breakfast and then I went so far as convincing those not in the know that my pink plastic retainer was carved out of the roof of my mouth. Classics, each and every one of them.

When it comes to the Internet, though, I am and always have been a total skeptic. Regardless of what I have in front of me, my first order of business is usually to run over to Snopes to check it out. 99% of the time my skepticism is well-founded as a CAPS-LOCK, BOLD, LEANED OVER FALSE flashes on the screen. It's not like I don't want to believe. Buried somewhere in my bleak, dark exterior is a tiny flicker of blind optimism and faith. Just not so much where the Internet is concerned.

So...

Frozen tidal wave? Nope.

USS New York made from 9-11 scrapmetal? Well, yes, but the picture being passed around is the USS San Antonio.

New U.S. Dollar coins designed to eliminate "In God We Trust"? Um, no.

Warm, fuzzy musings by George Carlin? Carlin himself called it a "sappy load of shit."

And so on and so on and so on.

It doesn't take much time to go online and look for verification about whatever it is the Internet is trying to feed you. Sometimes it will totally surprise you and it will be true. I would have NEVER thought the dead dog story was valid. I must admit I was very pleasantly surprised. Emphasis on surprised. But still in all, presenting information gathered on the Internet as your sole source of RESEARCH (students, I'm talking to you) is akin to finding a wadded up piece of paper in the gutter with the same information written on it. Maybe the information is good...but maybe it isn't. That's why you check and recheck our story and our sources BEFORE hanging your research skills out on the public line.

Tonight, as I was online skimming through the daily articles of my local newspaper, I came across an article that presented a long number of stores that have declared they are closing between October 2008 and January 2009. The list was rather long and whereas some of the locations appeared to be very OLD news, others were a left-field surprise. The list wasn't just a compilation of very bad news. The list was also false.

Hitting the charts at #23 on the hot list of Internet crap, Snopes listed this "store closing" email as a mixture of accurate, inaccurate and out-of-date information. My newspaper? Printed the bogus email verbatim. What's next? The $250 Neiman-Marcus cookie recipe?

Like I said, I want to believe. If I were told the Internet were dying and the only way to save would be to clap my hands and shout my beliefs, I'd be the first one to do it.

Right after I made sure it wasn't a hoax.

Unconscious Mutterings

I say ... And YOU think:

1. Spit it out :: MINCE PIE

2. Shadow :: 6 more weeks of winter

3. Database :: Constantly needs fixing

4. Expression :: Smile

5. Boss :: Everybody has one

6. Baby :: Infant

7. Mystic :: Guru

8. Kate :: plus 8

9. Boobies :: 3rd-grade slang

10. Raid :: ANTS


Another rather odd list, if I do say so myself. Which I do. But hey, I don't make them up. I just answer them. Mutter along HERE.

Unconscious Mutterings

I say ... And YOU think:

1. Spit it out :: MINCE PIE

2. Shadow :: 6 more weeks of winter

3. Database :: Constantly needs fixing

4. Expression :: Smile

5. Boss :: Everybody has one

6. Baby :: Infant

7. Mystic :: Guru

8. Kate :: plus 8

9. Boobies :: 3rd-grade slang

10. Raid :: ANTS


Another rather odd list, if I do say so myself. Which I do. But hey, I don't make them up. I just answer them. Mutter along HERE.

Six-Day Warning

I know that most people I know are dreaming of turkey, stuffing and pumpkin pie. While I look forward to Thanksgiving as much as the next person, what I'm really looking forward to is the next day.

No, I'm not going "Black-Friday" shopping. If I step into any store on Friday, it will be a Home Depot for painting supplies. This coming weekend, God-willing, I will FINALLY get my bedroom painted.

For the 3rd consecutive Saturday night, I spent a few quality hours with a putty knife in hand chipping away at wall number four. And it's done. There may be tiny spots to chip here and there, but I'm done. Four walls that were...well, whatever color you might want to call it...are now chipped down to plaster. This gives me several days to do some repairs to walls and ceilings, fill eighty billion nail holes, sand and wash the walls. I'll take off Thursday to eat, drink and be merry, but then Friday starts three solid days of "Get it done, or ELSE."

Take it from me: there will be no ELSE.

As I was chip-chip-chipping tonight, I thought it would be really cool if I had some sort of display that would flash my progress. If it would should how much was done and how much more there was to go, I might be more encouraged as the hours passed. I guess my own eyes and judgment don't give me enough positive reinforcement. But I can report tonight's wall went very, very quickly (as wall-chipping goes), and TeenTuna was extraordinarily helpful helping me getting this chore done. Silly kid, she thought it was fun. Too bad I don't have a fence to whitewash.

So, come the end of next weekend, I plan on being the most thankful person in the entire world. To have this room painted marks the end of the 2008 house renovation projects. Sure, there will be more to do in 2009, but I'm going to spend some quality time patting myself on the back and looking at all the progress we made, inside and out.

Change. It CAN be a good thing.

Six-Day Warning

I know that most people I know are dreaming of turkey, stuffing and pumpkin pie. While I look forward to Thanksgiving as much as the next person, what I'm really looking forward to is the next day.

No, I'm not going "Black-Friday" shopping. If I step into any store on Friday, it will be a Home Depot for painting supplies. This coming weekend, God-willing, I will FINALLY get my bedroom painted.

For the 3rd consecutive Saturday night, I spent a few quality hours with a putty knife in hand chipping away at wall number four. And it's done. There may be tiny spots to chip here and there, but I'm done. Four walls that were...well, whatever color you might want to call it...are now chipped down to plaster. This gives me several days to do some repairs to walls and ceilings, fill eighty billion nail holes, sand and wash the walls. I'll take off Thursday to eat, drink and be merry, but then Friday starts three solid days of "Get it done, or ELSE."

Take it from me: there will be no ELSE.

As I was chip-chip-chipping tonight, I thought it would be really cool if I had some sort of display that would flash my progress. If it would should how much was done and how much more there was to go, I might be more encouraged as the hours passed. I guess my own eyes and judgment don't give me enough positive reinforcement. But I can report tonight's wall went very, very quickly (as wall-chipping goes), and TeenTuna was extraordinarily helpful helping me getting this chore done. Silly kid, she thought it was fun. Too bad I don't have a fence to whitewash.

So, come the end of next weekend, I plan on being the most thankful person in the entire world. To have this room painted marks the end of the 2008 house renovation projects. Sure, there will be more to do in 2009, but I'm going to spend some quality time patting myself on the back and looking at all the progress we made, inside and out.

Change. It CAN be a good thing.

I wanna be like you-oo-oo?

I'm too tired and cold and tired (did I mention tired?) to offer up anything of worth tonight. The best thing I have is that Ashlee Simpson and father what's his name-Wentz had their baby and named it Bronx Mowgli Wentz.

Ahem.

I think they really missed the boat here. If they truly wanted to saddle this kid with a dorky name and a lifetime of teasing, while still ensuring the initials spelled out some of importance to someone (in this case BMW), they should have tossed the Bronx and gone either for Bagheera or Baloo.

I wanna be like you-oo-oo?

I'm too tired and cold and tired (did I mention tired?) to offer up anything of worth tonight. The best thing I have is that Ashlee Simpson and father what's his name-Wentz had their baby and named it Bronx Mowgli Wentz.

Ahem.

I think they really missed the boat here. If they truly wanted to saddle this kid with a dorky name and a lifetime of teasing, while still ensuring the initials spelled out some of importance to someone (in this case BMW), they should have tossed the Bronx and gone either for Bagheera or Baloo.

My Day in Haiku

Twilight at midnight?
No living dead for me, thanks.
They live in mirrors.

The weather today?
I think I saw polar bears
in line for "Twilight"

Went to the pie store.
"Sorry, we have no pumpkin."
SERIOUSLY? *sigh*

iPod Name That Tune
Today hit "Neuma Neuma"
Head-bopping ensued.

Gmail now has themes
How geeky am I to think
that this is cool beans?

Head bobbing wakes me
as I fall asleep blogging.
must be time to post.

My Day in Haiku

Twilight at midnight?
No living dead for me, thanks.
They live in mirrors.

The weather today?
I think I saw polar bears
in line for "Twilight"

Went to the pie store.
"Sorry, we have no pumpkin."
SERIOUSLY? *sigh*

iPod Name That Tune
Today hit "Neuma Neuma"
Head-bopping ensued.

Gmail now has themes
How geeky am I to think
that this is cool beans?

Head bobbing wakes me
as I fall asleep blogging.
must be time to post.

Helpful Hints

When taking an exam, it is always important to answer every single question. Even if you don't know the answer, take a guess. You just may know more than you think you know and get it right!

If, in fact, you really don't have any idea, by all means, take a guess anyway. So, for example, if when asked

List 5 different behaviors that can compromise your vocal health

you answer

A freak para-sailing accident

take comfort in knowing that although you may not get any points for the question, you just may endear yourself to a tired and overworked educator more than you could possibly know.




click picture to enlarge.

To see the rest of the test, click HERE.

Helpful Hints

When taking an exam, it is always important to answer every single question. Even if you don't know the answer, take a guess. You just may know more than you think you know and get it right!

If, in fact, you really don't have any idea, by all means, take a guess anyway. So, for example, if when asked

List 5 different behaviors that can compromise your vocal health

you answer

A freak para-sailing accident

take comfort in knowing that although you may not get any points for the question, you just may endear yourself to a tired and overworked educator more than you could possibly know.




click picture to enlarge.

To see the rest of the test, click HERE.

Being Alive

Tonight, after "long teaching Tuesday" I shlumpfed down in front of my computer to check on the latest news before I crawled into bed. According to sources that care, evidently Brittney Spears compares her life to jail and feels "like a prisoner"

In the comments, Spears appeared to criticise her father, who has placed her under strict control since being appointed her conservator earlier in the year.

"I think it's too in control. If I wasn't under the restraints I'm under, I'd feel so liberated. When I tell them the way I feel, it's like they hear but they're really not listening," she said.

"If you do something wrong in your work, you can move on, but I'm having to pay for a long time. I never wanted to become one of those prisoner people. I always wanted to feel free. I think I've learnt my lesson now, and enough is enough."

What I find interesting about this topic isn't the Brittney factor. It's that I ran across several things that put life and life's difficulties in a different perspective. The first was an online comic called "Bellen"



Then, two different songs popped up tonight while I was shuffling the masses on my iPod. The first was a song called "Grateful" by John Bucchino. A portion of the lyrics include:

It's not that I don't want a lot
or hope for more or dream of more
but giving thanks for what I've got
makes me so much happier thank keeping score.
In a world that can bring pain
I can still take each chance.
For I believe that whatever the terrain
our feet can learn to dance.


The other song is by folksinger Carrie Newcomer. Called, "Bare to the Bone" it says

When I rise, I rise in glory.
If I do, I do by grace.
Time will wash away our footprints
and we’ll leave without a trace.
Between here and now and forever
is such precious little time.
What we do in love and kindness
is all we ever leave behind.
I'm not here to bash Brittney because let's face it, it is very easy to appoint yourself the guest of honor at your very own "poor me" pity party. We all do it. We are tired, stressed, and worried. There are unending concerns about the economy, our family, our employers, our friends, our relationships. There is sickness of body and sickness of heart. It's really no wonder we, as a society aren't collectively sucking our thumbs and rocking slowly in the corner waiting for it all to go away. But then look at the comic:

You are alive - This is a powerful thing. When you weigh all the sadness, worry and hurt and against that one tiny sentence, they cannot stand.
You are alive - This is a living thing. It means so very much. It means active. It means functioning. It means potential. It means growth and achievement. It means life.
You are alive - This is a gift. Accept it, remember it, and live it for yourself and others.

But how is it possible to ignore the crushing day-to-day problems that bombard us from the minute we wake up until the minute we fall asleep, and sometimes even manage to creep into our dreams? By giving thanks for what we've got. It sounds so simplistic, but it really is the key. Step outside of the Hell and focus on the Hallelujah. There really is much in everybody's life to be thankful for. And then, no matter what life brings us -- no matter the terrain -- our feet will learn to dance.

In the big game we call the game of life, the point of it all is not to finish with the most or the best. In the time that will outlast each and every one of us, no superlative will matter or even last. What we do in love and kindness is all we ever leave behind. So, my advice to a still very young Ms. Spears is to remember instead of feeling like a prisoner in a jail of our own making, remember you are alive. No matter what the circumstances, we can learn to dance. And then? We can hold up the hurts of others and fill them with music and light and healing and peace.

That is a song -- and a life -- worth singing.

Being Alive

Tonight, after "long teaching Tuesday" I shlumpfed down in front of my computer to check on the latest news before I crawled into bed. According to sources that care, evidently Brittney Spears compares her life to jail and feels "like a prisoner"

In the comments, Spears appeared to criticise her father, who has placed her under strict control since being appointed her conservator earlier in the year.

"I think it's too in control. If I wasn't under the restraints I'm under, I'd feel so liberated. When I tell them the way I feel, it's like they hear but they're really not listening," she said.

"If you do something wrong in your work, you can move on, but I'm having to pay for a long time. I never wanted to become one of those prisoner people. I always wanted to feel free. I think I've learnt my lesson now, and enough is enough."

What I find interesting about this topic isn't the Brittney factor. It's that I ran across several things that put life and life's difficulties in a different perspective. The first was an online comic called "Bellen"



Then, two different songs popped up tonight while I was shuffling the masses on my iPod. The first was a song called "Grateful" by John Bucchino. A portion of the lyrics include:

It's not that I don't want a lot
or hope for more or dream of more
but giving thanks for what I've got
makes me so much happier thank keeping score.
In a world that can bring pain
I can still take each chance.
For I believe that whatever the terrain
our feet can learn to dance.


The other song is by folksinger Carrie Newcomer. Called, "Bare to the Bone" it says

When I rise, I rise in glory.
If I do, I do by grace.
Time will wash away our footprints
and we’ll leave without a trace.
Between here and now and forever
is such precious little time.
What we do in love and kindness
is all we ever leave behind.
I'm not here to bash Brittney because let's face it, it is very easy to appoint yourself the guest of honor at your very own "poor me" pity party. We all do it. We are tired, stressed, and worried. There are unending concerns about the economy, our family, our employers, our friends, our relationships. There is sickness of body and sickness of heart. It's really no wonder we, as a society aren't collectively sucking our thumbs and rocking slowly in the corner waiting for it all to go away. But then look at the comic:

You are alive - This is a powerful thing. When you weigh all the sadness, worry and hurt and against that one tiny sentence, they cannot stand.
You are alive - This is a living thing. It means so very much. It means active. It means functioning. It means potential. It means growth and achievement. It means life.
You are alive - This is a gift. Accept it, remember it, and live it for yourself and others.

But how is it possible to ignore the crushing day-to-day problems that bombard us from the minute we wake up until the minute we fall asleep, and sometimes even manage to creep into our dreams? By giving thanks for what we've got. It sounds so simplistic, but it really is the key. Step outside of the Hell and focus on the Hallelujah. There really is much in everybody's life to be thankful for. And then, no matter what life brings us -- no matter the terrain -- our feet will learn to dance.

In the big game we call the game of life, the point of it all is not to finish with the most or the best. In the time that will outlast each and every one of us, no superlative will matter or even last. What we do in love and kindness is all we ever leave behind. So, my advice to a still very young Ms. Spears is to remember instead of feeling like a prisoner in a jail of our own making, remember you are alive. No matter what the circumstances, we can learn to dance. And then? We can hold up the hurts of others and fill them with music and light and healing and peace.

That is a song -- and a life -- worth singing.

Let's Hear it for the Twirl

The good news is TeenTuna has good taste in clothes and doesn't like "hoochie-wear."
The bad news TeenTuna has good taste in clothes and doesn't like "hoochie-wear."

Hoochie-wear is considerably cheaper, because, I think the fabric consists of NOTHING that comes from nature. You could probably melt down a closet of hoochie-wear and re-fashion an enormous Hello Kitty idol and a complete set of season two Hannah Montana DVDs. Not that Hannah Montana is hoochie. I'm just using her astounding celebrity for illustrative purposes. As it should be.

Nice clothes -- not insanely expensive, just age-appropriate that cover all age-appropriate body parts -- can be difficult to find. It's tough when you're not built like a waif, because body-hugging clothes look awful if you aren't built like a walking stick. So, when we find something (which tends to be not all that often) we tend to pounce.

a walking stick ready to pounce just to help me make a point.

Tonight we pounced.

So the child has several new options for school -- some dressier and some a bit more casual and jeans-worthy. She also scored a new Christmas/Party dress that, with its lower-cut bodice and full twirly skirt manages to appeal both to her grownup and four-year-old sensibilities. Toss in a couple of pairs of earrings and she's ready to have some awesome new clothes for High School tomorrow. I'm told often and in very small words and loud voice that it's important. Funny, I guess I already knew that because 1. I already attended high school, and, 2. I don't live in a cave.

Let's Hear it for the Twirl

The good news is TeenTuna has good taste in clothes and doesn't like "hoochie-wear."
The bad news TeenTuna has good taste in clothes and doesn't like "hoochie-wear."

Hoochie-wear is considerably cheaper, because, I think the fabric consists of NOTHING that comes from nature. You could probably melt down a closet of hoochie-wear and re-fashion an enormous Hello Kitty idol and a complete set of season two Hannah Montana DVDs. Not that Hannah Montana is hoochie. I'm just using her astounding celebrity for illustrative purposes. As it should be.

Nice clothes -- not insanely expensive, just age-appropriate that cover all age-appropriate body parts -- can be difficult to find. It's tough when you're not built like a waif, because body-hugging clothes look awful if you aren't built like a walking stick. So, when we find something (which tends to be not all that often) we tend to pounce.

a walking stick ready to pounce just to help me make a point.

Tonight we pounced.

So the child has several new options for school -- some dressier and some a bit more casual and jeans-worthy. She also scored a new Christmas/Party dress that, with its lower-cut bodice and full twirly skirt manages to appeal both to her grownup and four-year-old sensibilities. Toss in a couple of pairs of earrings and she's ready to have some awesome new clothes for High School tomorrow. I'm told often and in very small words and loud voice that it's important. Funny, I guess I already knew that because 1. I already attended high school, and, 2. I don't live in a cave.

Unconscious Mutterings

I say ... And You Think:

1. Please stop :: Some more

2. Move over :: And make room for Marty

3. Sweet As :: Pie

4. Bet :: Wager

5. Mad About :: The Boy

6. It's Over :: Call it a day

7. Intend to :: Mean to

8. Blame :: Game

9. Jefferson :: Thomas

10. Heartless :: Cruel

Another rather bizarre list, I'd say. "Move over and Make Room for Marty" is an obscure reference I think probably 3 people will get. "Mad about the Boy" is a slightly less obscure jazz standard by Noel Coward made famous by Dinah Washington (no embedding, YouTube link HERE)

Evidently it also now been remade into a pseudo-reggae number by Ava Leigh.


And to make this musical trifecta complete, I leave you with a little taste of the 70s. What it is now? Retro? Oldies? For some of us, it's music we grew up with. Oh Yeah.


And just so Mr. Jefferson doesn't feel slighted...



Oops. Wrong one.

Unconscious Mutterings

I say ... And You Think:

1. Please stop :: Some more

2. Move over :: And make room for Marty

3. Sweet As :: Pie

4. Bet :: Wager

5. Mad About :: The Boy

6. It's Over :: Call it a day

7. Intend to :: Mean to

8. Blame :: Game

9. Jefferson :: Thomas

10. Heartless :: Cruel

Another rather bizarre list, I'd say. "Move over and Make Room for Marty" is an obscure reference I think probably 3 people will get. "Mad about the Boy" is a slightly less obscure jazz standard by Noel Coward made famous by Dinah Washington (no embedding, YouTube link HERE)

Evidently it also now been remade into a pseudo-reggae number by Ava Leigh.


And to make this musical trifecta complete, I leave you with a little taste of the 70s. What it is now? Retro? Oldies? For some of us, it's music we grew up with. Oh Yeah.


And just so Mr. Jefferson doesn't feel slighted...



Oops. Wrong one.

With a Chip Chip Here

Tonight was another exciting evening of chipping paint. It seems like it has been going on forever, and even a friend asked, "STILL?" when I told her my Saturday night plans. Yes, still. As it stands now, it's three walls done with one wall to go.

What continues to surprise me is when you compare the chipped wall to the unchipped wall, it becomes so clear just how ugly and dingy the present wall color is. I'm at a loss to explain the color, except to say it seems to be some sort of off-dingy drab. I don't think it was ever white. And it wasn't beige. Compared to the white plaster beneath it really looks like a dirty gray. Maybe the actual paint color would be something like Mid November Dawn Experiencing A Stalled Low Front with 85% chance of rain and sleet and 100% humidity. It's really just ugh.

I've lived with these walls for a long time and never realized just how bad they were. The more I chip away at the old, the more excited I become for new, fresh and clean color. With my closet already painted this warm very ligth pale yellow, I have a little hint and a promise of what is to come. And on this Mid November Evening Experiencing a Stalled Low Front with 85% chance of rain and sleet and 100% humidity, all I can say is, I cannot wait.

With a Chip Chip Here

Tonight was another exciting evening of chipping paint. It seems like it has been going on forever, and even a friend asked, "STILL?" when I told her my Saturday night plans. Yes, still. As it stands now, it's three walls done with one wall to go.

What continues to surprise me is when you compare the chipped wall to the unchipped wall, it becomes so clear just how ugly and dingy the present wall color is. I'm at a loss to explain the color, except to say it seems to be some sort of off-dingy drab. I don't think it was ever white. And it wasn't beige. Compared to the white plaster beneath it really looks like a dirty gray. Maybe the actual paint color would be something like Mid November Dawn Experiencing A Stalled Low Front with 85% chance of rain and sleet and 100% humidity. It's really just ugh.

I've lived with these walls for a long time and never realized just how bad they were. The more I chip away at the old, the more excited I become for new, fresh and clean color. With my closet already painted this warm very ligth pale yellow, I have a little hint and a promise of what is to come. And on this Mid November Evening Experiencing a Stalled Low Front with 85% chance of rain and sleet and 100% humidity, all I can say is, I cannot wait.

En Garde!

You are a foil fencer. Foil is a weapon of calculation and passion. You glide easily between attack and defense. You can flick to the back or thrust to the chest. What Kind of Fencer Are You?

Well, there you go. A foil fencer? Maybe so. I am pretty lethal with a roll of Reynolds Wrap. Actually I am not a fencer at all, but apparently since 3pm today, my child is. Actually, I think the whole thing is pretty cool. It's part athletics, part theatre, part historical ritual, part French, part dance and part plain-old-living-over-the-top, which sums up TeenTuna quite nicely. She's easily the first one in my extended family who has participated in this particular activity. I have to imagine this will prompt a story or two.

Now to figure out where the fencing supply store is...

En Garde!

You are a foil fencer. Foil is a weapon of calculation and passion. You glide easily between attack and defense. You can flick to the back or thrust to the chest. What Kind of Fencer Are You?

Well, there you go. A foil fencer? Maybe so. I am pretty lethal with a roll of Reynolds Wrap. Actually I am not a fencer at all, but apparently since 3pm today, my child is. Actually, I think the whole thing is pretty cool. It's part athletics, part theatre, part historical ritual, part French, part dance and part plain-old-living-over-the-top, which sums up TeenTuna quite nicely. She's easily the first one in my extended family who has participated in this particular activity. I have to imagine this will prompt a story or two.

Now to figure out where the fencing supply store is...

Letting Go

There are days when teaching is thankless.

I mean to work.
I intend to educate.
I hope to inspire.
I hope to encourage.
I hope to motivate.

But there are no guarantees that everyone will take the bait, or accept the gift.

The hardest thing is to watch people fail.
There is no Schaudenfreude in education.
Because at the end of the day,
After all the teaching and trying,
After the inspiration and encouragement and motivational gymnastics
It's not up to me anymore.
I have to let go and see what happens.

And if they fall, I have to be strong and wait.

They have to choose to pick themselves back up again.
They have to accept responsibility for what went wrong.
They have to make changes so it doesn't happen again.

And if they make that choice...
If they brush themselves off
If they decide to try again
Then I'll be there

To work
To educate
To inspire
To encourage
To motivate

And to breathe deeply, cross my fingers and let go all over again.

Letting Go

There are days when teaching is thankless.

I mean to work.
I intend to educate.
I hope to inspire.
I hope to encourage.
I hope to motivate.

But there are no guarantees that everyone will take the bait, or accept the gift.

The hardest thing is to watch people fail.
There is no Schaudenfreude in education.
Because at the end of the day,
After all the teaching and trying,
After the inspiration and encouragement and motivational gymnastics
It's not up to me anymore.
I have to let go and see what happens.

And if they fall, I have to be strong and wait.

They have to choose to pick themselves back up again.
They have to accept responsibility for what went wrong.
They have to make changes so it doesn't happen again.

And if they make that choice...
If they brush themselves off
If they decide to try again
Then I'll be there

To work
To educate
To inspire
To encourage
To motivate

And to breathe deeply, cross my fingers and let go all over again.

Today

Today I got a second monitor at work. It doesn't matter that my cube is the size of a postage stamp. Now that I have two monitors I'm well on my way to world domination. The fact that I was near-giddy about my latest technological acquisition tells you just how sad and small my blue fabric covered ergonomically correct life has become. But I STILL have two monitors, so let's hear it for techno-joy!

Today I learned that asparagus have congresses and tomatoes have international conferences. I'm tempted to toss in a casual response about celery not being invited and becoming stalkers, but I think that joke is too dopey even for me. Library humor: Live it. Love it. Then deny it's very existence.

Today I received a lovely note from a woman at church thanking TeenTuna and me for singing on Sunday. Even though I've been in the biz for a long time, I'm always extremely touched and humbled when I hear and read things like this. I don't sing for the glory or attention of it all. I sing because that's what and who I am, and I cannot imagine a day going by without living in music. I'm just the vehicle for the composer and the poet, and I'm always happy when others get as much joy out of it as I do.

Today as TeenTuna had rehearsal, I solved all the problems of the world, traded stories from the weekend, shared a little bit of gossip and completed three crossword puzzles. I also learned that catamaran WAS one of the answers we were looking for, and that the "Capital of Poland?" was Pee. Seriously. Crossword puzzle puns just about kill me.

Today I came home and did a Google search of "japanese aboriginal". The answer is Ainu and I'm quite certain whatever it was that I made up at the end of the 2nd crossword puzzle wasn't THAT.

Today I learned about the sinking of the Lusitania, the political theory of isolationism, the Sedition Act of 1918, and The Allies vs. the Central Powers. In other words, I have a test on World War I in two days.

Today I was baffled to discover there were NEW ORANGE CONSTRUCTION BARRELS on the road. My calendar say November, and I thought construction season was supposed to be over. Maybe it is. Except for two major roads they have decided to tear apart not far from my house. I'll give them until the start of hunting season (no, it means nothing...it's just a random date) which means everything better be gone by Saturday.

Today I have managed to procrastinate and now a few critical things which needed to be completed will be done first thing tomorrow morning. After all, why should today be any different?

Today

Today I got a second monitor at work. It doesn't matter that my cube is the size of a postage stamp. Now that I have two monitors I'm well on my way to world domination. The fact that I was near-giddy about my latest technological acquisition tells you just how sad and small my blue fabric covered ergonomically correct life has become. But I STILL have two monitors, so let's hear it for techno-joy!

Today I learned that asparagus have congresses and tomatoes have international conferences. I'm tempted to toss in a casual response about celery not being invited and becoming stalkers, but I think that joke is too dopey even for me. Library humor: Live it. Love it. Then deny it's very existence.

Today I received a lovely note from a woman at church thanking TeenTuna and me for singing on Sunday. Even though I've been in the biz for a long time, I'm always extremely touched and humbled when I hear and read things like this. I don't sing for the glory or attention of it all. I sing because that's what and who I am, and I cannot imagine a day going by without living in music. I'm just the vehicle for the composer and the poet, and I'm always happy when others get as much joy out of it as I do.

Today as TeenTuna had rehearsal, I solved all the problems of the world, traded stories from the weekend, shared a little bit of gossip and completed three crossword puzzles. I also learned that catamaran WAS one of the answers we were looking for, and that the "Capital of Poland?" was Pee. Seriously. Crossword puzzle puns just about kill me.

Today I came home and did a Google search of "japanese aboriginal". The answer is Ainu and I'm quite certain whatever it was that I made up at the end of the 2nd crossword puzzle wasn't THAT.

Today I learned about the sinking of the Lusitania, the political theory of isolationism, the Sedition Act of 1918, and The Allies vs. the Central Powers. In other words, I have a test on World War I in two days.

Today I was baffled to discover there were NEW ORANGE CONSTRUCTION BARRELS on the road. My calendar say November, and I thought construction season was supposed to be over. Maybe it is. Except for two major roads they have decided to tear apart not far from my house. I'll give them until the start of hunting season (no, it means nothing...it's just a random date) which means everything better be gone by Saturday.

Today I have managed to procrastinate and now a few critical things which needed to be completed will be done first thing tomorrow morning. After all, why should today be any different?