Merry Christmas to all,
and to all a good night.
Friday, December 25, 2009
Guest Stars
After a long Christmas Day, not to mention Christmas Eve, not to mention month of December, not to mention Autumn, not to mention year, I'm going to let someone else do the entertaining today.
Merry Christmas to all,
and to all a good night.
Merry Christmas to all,
and to all a good night.
Guest Stars
After a long Christmas Day, not to mention Christmas Eve, not to mention month of December, not to mention Autumn, not to mention year, I'm going to let someone else do the entertaining today.
Merry Christmas to all,
and to all a good night.
Merry Christmas to all,
and to all a good night.
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Wrapping it Up. Part One.
I discovered today I was a little low on the small "stocking" presents we give everybody, so I dashed to the store for one last go-round. I found things for my niece pretty quickly and was pleased with my choices. But then I needed something for my nephew, and surprisingly I was stumped. Nothing sounded quite "right" and I walked around the store for a bit, going over lists in my head and muttering in that kind of holiday Rainman kind of way. I kept on trying to come up with something fun, maybe funny and definitely different. As I stood in the aisle pondering, it suddenly hit me. The perfect present.
Like me.
Wrapping it Up. Part One.
I discovered today I was a little low on the small "stocking" presents we give everybody, so I dashed to the store for one last go-round. I found things for my niece pretty quickly and was pleased with my choices. But then I needed something for my nephew, and surprisingly I was stumped. Nothing sounded quite "right" and I walked around the store for a bit, going over lists in my head and muttering in that kind of holiday Rainman kind of way. I kept on trying to come up with something fun, maybe funny and definitely different. As I stood in the aisle pondering, it suddenly hit me. The perfect present.
Like me.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Party Like It's 1999 + 10
Tonight was THE BIG NIGHT.
Tonight was the teenager movie marathon at Casa de Tuna. It might not sound like a big deal to you, but then again you're probably 1) not 15 years old 2) not 15 years old with friends who have already had movie marathons at their houses 3) not 15 years old with friends who have already had movie marathons at their houses and have presents for you because it's two days before Christmas.
Oh, and we've never had a gathering over here. Ever.
The house just wasn't particularly conducive for gatherings. But with the "redo" we endured last summer, the colors on the wall and ceiling are now fresh and crisp and not hideous. The nasty carpet? Gone. And in a tie for "best of all" category, there is a new sectional couch (perfect for several lounging teenagers) and a plasma television. We are now equipped and ready to go.
And I'm here to report that these were some extremely well-behaved teenagers. I had plenty of other things to do, so I wasn't sitting in the room with them like some sort of detention room monitor. But every now and again, I'd mosey by, just so they would know there was a grownup somewhere in the vicinity. I appeared to have fulfilled my duties well: I ordered pizza and paid for it. That was it.
The PARTAYers seemed to have a very good time, TeenTuna is now breathing again (actually she has already crawled into bed and has crashed), and after her guests left (PROMPTLY!) she very wisely helped me clean up and thanked me several times. I guess it was OK. I guess it was even a hit. The Christmas present exchange went very well and the kids left here tired, happy and full of pizza, cookies, chips and salsa, and giggles. I was pleased that the living room wasn't a total disaster area, and I told her that her friends were welcome anytime.
And maybe a little bit surprising to me...I meant it.
Party Like It's 1999 + 10
Tonight was THE BIG NIGHT.
Tonight was the teenager movie marathon at Casa de Tuna. It might not sound like a big deal to you, but then again you're probably 1) not 15 years old 2) not 15 years old with friends who have already had movie marathons at their houses 3) not 15 years old with friends who have already had movie marathons at their houses and have presents for you because it's two days before Christmas.
Oh, and we've never had a gathering over here. Ever.
The house just wasn't particularly conducive for gatherings. But with the "redo" we endured last summer, the colors on the wall and ceiling are now fresh and crisp and not hideous. The nasty carpet? Gone. And in a tie for "best of all" category, there is a new sectional couch (perfect for several lounging teenagers) and a plasma television. We are now equipped and ready to go.
And I'm here to report that these were some extremely well-behaved teenagers. I had plenty of other things to do, so I wasn't sitting in the room with them like some sort of detention room monitor. But every now and again, I'd mosey by, just so they would know there was a grownup somewhere in the vicinity. I appeared to have fulfilled my duties well: I ordered pizza and paid for it. That was it.
The PARTAYers seemed to have a very good time, TeenTuna is now breathing again (actually she has already crawled into bed and has crashed), and after her guests left (PROMPTLY!) she very wisely helped me clean up and thanked me several times. I guess it was OK. I guess it was even a hit. The Christmas present exchange went very well and the kids left here tired, happy and full of pizza, cookies, chips and salsa, and giggles. I was pleased that the living room wasn't a total disaster area, and I told her that her friends were welcome anytime.
And maybe a little bit surprising to me...I meant it.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
The Sound of One Hand Clapping
Practicing alone means you must become the surrogate teacher, which means you must practice with critical eyes and ears, and correct yourself when things go wrong. You have to have the will to make yourself go over a passage again and again and again -- not until you get it right, but until you know you'll never get it wrong. Being both teacher and student is difficult enough, but having to alternate personalities in the blink of an eye (or the clunk of a note) is one of the biggest challenges musicians face.
Interestingly, I'm entirely OK with that entire scenario. Practice is our hard work, and despite the criticism we must both inflict and endure, any professional musician knows it is absolutely necessary.
For better or for worse, in most facets of life, I suspect the majority of people have the self-criticism drill down cold. Praise, however, is a different matter entirely. Self-praise doesn't fix problems, solidify technique or make you a better person just because you say so. The only reward for nonstop personal back-patting is sore arms. So I tend not to do it all that often. Whether it be music or work or parenting or what have you, I prefer to let my actions do the talking, and, it's my full expectation that if all goes well, I'll hear about it.
The problem is, not everybody plays according to my rule book, and there are times when the atta-boys are nowhere to be found. I'm always open to a hearty handshake, a "good job" or a virtual high-five, but sometimes they aren't to be had. And then what? The answer to that isn't so easy. It doesn't matter if you are a professional musician, a diligent worker bee, a student, an employee or a parent. The fact is, in this world, there are many times when you have to be your own marching band, pep rally and cheerleader rolled into one. Nobody is ever going to do for you all that you need precisely when you need it. You must do for yourself, and as long as you can keep it in perspective, it's just fine. But there is always that other side: the side that thrives on pleasing others, the side that wants to make a difference in this world, be it through work, or education or parenting. That side waits like a dog in front of an empty food dish for any sort of scrap of encouragement. You can be the strongest, most self-assured person on the planet, but there is nothing harder, frustrating and demoralizing than spinning 25 plates in the air and looking up to discover half the people have left to get popcorn, and the other half are asking why you aren't doing 26.
As a teacher I know there is more than enough time to criticize and correct. After all, it's how we all learn. But as a person I know there should always be time to praise. Even with the most inexperienced student, there is always something good to say. Remembering to take the time to say "good job" in a personal, sincere manner is just as important and twice as valuable as being another body in the crowd of a standing ovation. It might not seem like much, but just a few kind words makes all those lonely hours totally worth it.
The Sound of One Hand Clapping
Practicing alone means you must become the surrogate teacher, which means you must practice with critical eyes and ears, and correct yourself when things go wrong. You have to have the will to make yourself go over a passage again and again and again -- not until you get it right, but until you know you'll never get it wrong. Being both teacher and student is difficult enough, but having to alternate personalities in the blink of an eye (or the clunk of a note) is one of the biggest challenges musicians face.
Interestingly, I'm entirely OK with that entire scenario. Practice is our hard work, and despite the criticism we must both inflict and endure, any professional musician knows it is absolutely necessary.
For better or for worse, in most facets of life, I suspect the majority of people have the self-criticism drill down cold. Praise, however, is a different matter entirely. Self-praise doesn't fix problems, solidify technique or make you a better person just because you say so. The only reward for nonstop personal back-patting is sore arms. So I tend not to do it all that often. Whether it be music or work or parenting or what have you, I prefer to let my actions do the talking, and, it's my full expectation that if all goes well, I'll hear about it.
The problem is, not everybody plays according to my rule book, and there are times when the atta-boys are nowhere to be found. I'm always open to a hearty handshake, a "good job" or a virtual high-five, but sometimes they aren't to be had. And then what? The answer to that isn't so easy. It doesn't matter if you are a professional musician, a diligent worker bee, a student, an employee or a parent. The fact is, in this world, there are many times when you have to be your own marching band, pep rally and cheerleader rolled into one. Nobody is ever going to do for you all that you need precisely when you need it. You must do for yourself, and as long as you can keep it in perspective, it's just fine. But there is always that other side: the side that thrives on pleasing others, the side that wants to make a difference in this world, be it through work, or education or parenting. That side waits like a dog in front of an empty food dish for any sort of scrap of encouragement. You can be the strongest, most self-assured person on the planet, but there is nothing harder, frustrating and demoralizing than spinning 25 plates in the air and looking up to discover half the people have left to get popcorn, and the other half are asking why you aren't doing 26.
As a teacher I know there is more than enough time to criticize and correct. After all, it's how we all learn. But as a person I know there should always be time to praise. Even with the most inexperienced student, there is always something good to say. Remembering to take the time to say "good job" in a personal, sincere manner is just as important and twice as valuable as being another body in the crowd of a standing ovation. It might not seem like much, but just a few kind words makes all those lonely hours totally worth it.
Monday, December 21, 2009
The Backwards Frontwards House
One of the things I thought was SO COOL about this house was that it was MY house. Their house was a two story white bleeding brick. My house was a two story white bleeding brick. In fact, the entire floor plan was identical, except backwards. In my house, you walked in the front door, and the staircase was on the left. In her house, you walked in the front door and the staircase was on the right. I realize to any slightly busy grownup, these factoids aren't all that exciting. But when you're eight, and your friend's house is YOUR house (only backwards) it's cool in a million inexplicable ways.
Driving out there tonight, it occurred to me that the last time I visited my backwards friend's house (OK, more correctly my friend's backwards house. But I like the other one as well) was probably thirty or thirty five years ago. I had to look up the address, and remind myself how to get there. But as I pulled into the neighborhood I started nodding and saying, "Oh yeah. I remember this...And take the curve...Somewhere on the right. THERE'S MY HOUSE!" What a wonderful flood of memories.
So we visited in the backwards house of my friend, except now we were grownups. We weren't confined to bedrooms or basements (perfectly acceptable back in the day, I might add). We visited in the front room like real live adult type people. It was funny. It was fun. I still felt like I was eight and sitting there was just a little forbidden. And it was cool.
We all put such an attachment on places -- physical structures -- that hold importance to our lives. Although my family moved out of the frontwards house some twenty-five years ago, every now and again I'll drive past it, just to remember. It's still a white bleeding brick house, and when I look at it, I see my bedroom on the second floor, the front yard where we played with floppy-eared not-quite-purebred Scottie puppies, and the driveway where many a game of "Horse" took place, and where a thousand tennis balls were hit against the garage door. My frontwards house was also the place where on many a Sunday afternoon, my friend came over after church, and we played in the basement or the bedroom. And it was cool.
Surprisingly, I don't miss the frontwards backwards house. It functions as the backdrop to my memories and sets the stage for the countless stories I have about my adventures growing up. It's nice to drive by it on occasion and see it again, albeit at 25mph. It was especially nice today, after such a long time, to go once again inside the backwards frontwards house and spend time with the people who were a part of my adventures then (some might say partner in crime... I might plead the fifth) and who are still a part of my life now. It's not the house that's important. It's the people inside it who welcome you in, who invite you to sit down, and who share your memories and help you make new ones.
In this season of hustle and bustle and holiday travel, having that special frontwards backwards family home isn't a requirement; after all, it's just a house. The special part is the people inside that share your stories. Even if none of them live in the backwards frontwards house anymore, when you do see them (and hopefully recognize them), you understand they're still the same family you've always known and loved. And it doesn't matter if you're eight or much, much older than eight...it's still very, very cool.
The Backwards Frontwards House
One of the things I thought was SO COOL about this house was that it was MY house. Their house was a two story white bleeding brick. My house was a two story white bleeding brick. In fact, the entire floor plan was identical, except backwards. In my house, you walked in the front door, and the staircase was on the left. In her house, you walked in the front door and the staircase was on the right. I realize to any slightly busy grownup, these factoids aren't all that exciting. But when you're eight, and your friend's house is YOUR house (only backwards) it's cool in a million inexplicable ways.
Driving out there tonight, it occurred to me that the last time I visited my backwards friend's house (OK, more correctly my friend's backwards house. But I like the other one as well) was probably thirty or thirty five years ago. I had to look up the address, and remind myself how to get there. But as I pulled into the neighborhood I started nodding and saying, "Oh yeah. I remember this...And take the curve...Somewhere on the right. THERE'S MY HOUSE!" What a wonderful flood of memories.
So we visited in the backwards house of my friend, except now we were grownups. We weren't confined to bedrooms or basements (perfectly acceptable back in the day, I might add). We visited in the front room like real live adult type people. It was funny. It was fun. I still felt like I was eight and sitting there was just a little forbidden. And it was cool.
We all put such an attachment on places -- physical structures -- that hold importance to our lives. Although my family moved out of the frontwards house some twenty-five years ago, every now and again I'll drive past it, just to remember. It's still a white bleeding brick house, and when I look at it, I see my bedroom on the second floor, the front yard where we played with floppy-eared not-quite-purebred Scottie puppies, and the driveway where many a game of "Horse" took place, and where a thousand tennis balls were hit against the garage door. My frontwards house was also the place where on many a Sunday afternoon, my friend came over after church, and we played in the basement or the bedroom. And it was cool.
Surprisingly, I don't miss the frontwards backwards house. It functions as the backdrop to my memories and sets the stage for the countless stories I have about my adventures growing up. It's nice to drive by it on occasion and see it again, albeit at 25mph. It was especially nice today, after such a long time, to go once again inside the backwards frontwards house and spend time with the people who were a part of my adventures then (some might say partner in crime... I might plead the fifth) and who are still a part of my life now. It's not the house that's important. It's the people inside it who welcome you in, who invite you to sit down, and who share your memories and help you make new ones.
In this season of hustle and bustle and holiday travel, having that special frontwards backwards family home isn't a requirement; after all, it's just a house. The special part is the people inside that share your stories. Even if none of them live in the backwards frontwards house anymore, when you do see them (and hopefully recognize them), you understand they're still the same family you've always known and loved. And it doesn't matter if you're eight or much, much older than eight...it's still very, very cool.
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Unconscious Mutterings
I say ... And You Think:
1. Interest :: Free
2. Chase :: Morgan
3. Itch :: Scratch
4. Soothe :: Balm
5. Lamp :: Light
6. Tutor :: Teach
7. Nichole :: Ritchie
8. Sloth :: Slow
9. Burn :: Fire
10. Bug :: Bother
It's been a ridiculously long time since I did a Sunday muttering. I will own up for going the easy route tonight. It's late (like every night when I sit down to write), I'm tired (ditto), and it's late and I'm tired (in case you missed it before). Based on the beginning of the list, I was afraid this was going to be a banking-themed affair. Luckily (or unfortunately) thanks to Nicole Ritchie and slow burning soothing embalmers, my problem was solved.
And on that somewhat random note, and considering I'm falling asleep at my desk, I gladly
POST...
More tomorrow, I promise.
Unconscious Mutterings
I say ... And You Think:
1. Interest :: Free
2. Chase :: Morgan
3. Itch :: Scratch
4. Soothe :: Balm
5. Lamp :: Light
6. Tutor :: Teach
7. Nichole :: Ritchie
8. Sloth :: Slow
9. Burn :: Fire
10. Bug :: Bother
It's been a ridiculously long time since I did a Sunday muttering. I will own up for going the easy route tonight. It's late (like every night when I sit down to write), I'm tired (ditto), and it's late and I'm tired (in case you missed it before). Based on the beginning of the list, I was afraid this was going to be a banking-themed affair. Luckily (or unfortunately) thanks to Nicole Ritchie and slow burning soothing embalmers, my problem was solved.
And on that somewhat random note, and considering I'm falling asleep at my desk, I gladly
POST...
More tomorrow, I promise.
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Hot Topics
And it's true. I'm sitting here again, and it's late at night. I don't particularly have a topic at hand, and I'm really too tired to develop any sort of in-depth analysis of the holiday traffic or what I ate for lunch. AKA Grade-A 100% Blogging Material.
Running through my day as if they were miniature flash cards, my choices would be:
Breakfast of Champions
Why I love bacon, and TeenTuna will order ANYTHING breakfasty ... as long as she can include the words "no egg" in the order. Today she had the Mexican Breakfast Burrito. Minus the breakfast. Making it ... a burrito. She was thrilled.
Messy Weather
An inch here...an inch there. Nothing terribly exciting, and thankfully people were driving carefully.
Irony Popsicle.
Speaking of the weather and diabolical activities... HOW FUNNY IS IT that Maryland and Virginia have well over 12 inches of snow, and here in the much MUCH farther north and frozen arctic tundra according to certain relatives, today we might have had maybe 2 inches at best.
Grocery Shopping.
Why the grocery store is the closest thing you'll find to Satan's playground, and HooBOY did that guy in front of me just buy EIGHT prepackaged gift boxes filled with AXE products.
THE TEENAGER'S HAIRCUT
Yes, TeenTuna's hair is cute. Really cute. Really really cute. Really unbelievably cute. Yes it's cute. Cute. Oh so cute. Head light as a feather. SO CUTE. It's cute. Maybe if she asks me a 49th time if it's cute, I'll have a different response.
The Other, Much Less Important Haircut
Seriously. It's hair. Who needs hair drama. Mine is the same but shorter. *Yawn* The best thing I can give you is my pronouncement that "I shall keep the swoop of side-bangs" in my heart, because it sure isn't working any other way.
Comcast, Digital Cable and HD-TV
Otherwise known as three words that will strike fear and trembling into your heart. No, I wasn't able to get it connected. There WILL be phone calls tomorrow, and I'm thinking that Jesus might be coming along for the conversation. Grrrrrrr....
Christmas Shopping
Subtitled: Thank Goodness for Bookstores. What did the Wisemen do without them?
The Saga of the Digital Camera
Behold! See the beautiful cameras on display. Behold! See the beautiful cameras on display that the store actually DOESN'T SELL IN THE STORE. Behold! See me take my money and leave.
The Answer my Friend, Is Horking in the Wind
Sadly, the question is, how many (more) hairballs is my cat going to have tonight? I think she is eating the tree while we're gone during the day. And there isn't even any tinsel on there yet. Heck, there isn't even any anything on there yet, which leads me to my final offering:
Baby Jesus was Naked and So is my Tree
What more can I say? Tomorrow is another day.
And, it's now it's 11:46 pm. I've made it under the wire, yet again.
And.....
POST!
Hot Topics
And it's true. I'm sitting here again, and it's late at night. I don't particularly have a topic at hand, and I'm really too tired to develop any sort of in-depth analysis of the holiday traffic or what I ate for lunch. AKA Grade-A 100% Blogging Material.
Running through my day as if they were miniature flash cards, my choices would be:
Breakfast of Champions
Why I love bacon, and TeenTuna will order ANYTHING breakfasty ... as long as she can include the words "no egg" in the order. Today she had the Mexican Breakfast Burrito. Minus the breakfast. Making it ... a burrito. She was thrilled.
Messy Weather
An inch here...an inch there. Nothing terribly exciting, and thankfully people were driving carefully.
Irony Popsicle.
Speaking of the weather and diabolical activities... HOW FUNNY IS IT that Maryland and Virginia have well over 12 inches of snow, and here in the much MUCH farther north and frozen arctic tundra according to certain relatives, today we might have had maybe 2 inches at best.
Grocery Shopping.
Why the grocery store is the closest thing you'll find to Satan's playground, and HooBOY did that guy in front of me just buy EIGHT prepackaged gift boxes filled with AXE products.
THE TEENAGER'S HAIRCUT
Yes, TeenTuna's hair is cute. Really cute. Really really cute. Really unbelievably cute. Yes it's cute. Cute. Oh so cute. Head light as a feather. SO CUTE. It's cute. Maybe if she asks me a 49th time if it's cute, I'll have a different response.
The Other, Much Less Important Haircut
Seriously. It's hair. Who needs hair drama. Mine is the same but shorter. *Yawn* The best thing I can give you is my pronouncement that "I shall keep the swoop of side-bangs" in my heart, because it sure isn't working any other way.
Comcast, Digital Cable and HD-TV
Otherwise known as three words that will strike fear and trembling into your heart. No, I wasn't able to get it connected. There WILL be phone calls tomorrow, and I'm thinking that Jesus might be coming along for the conversation. Grrrrrrr....
Christmas Shopping
Subtitled: Thank Goodness for Bookstores. What did the Wisemen do without them?
The Saga of the Digital Camera
Behold! See the beautiful cameras on display. Behold! See the beautiful cameras on display that the store actually DOESN'T SELL IN THE STORE. Behold! See me take my money and leave.
The Answer my Friend, Is Horking in the Wind
Sadly, the question is, how many (more) hairballs is my cat going to have tonight? I think she is eating the tree while we're gone during the day. And there isn't even any tinsel on there yet. Heck, there isn't even any anything on there yet, which leads me to my final offering:
Baby Jesus was Naked and So is my Tree
What more can I say? Tomorrow is another day.
And, it's now it's 11:46 pm. I've made it under the wire, yet again.
And.....
POST!
Friday, December 18, 2009
Deep Cleansing Breath
I think I may have clamped by hand over my mouth while simultaneously letting out a horrified gasp.
"Because I said so" was the dreaded saying of my youth, and it signified the irreversible end to the conversation. If you hadn't made your point or gotten your way before the "because I said so" gauntlet was thrown, you were sunk, period. Buster.
"Because I said so" spoke volumes in four succinct words. It meant, "As you can tell, I'm not changing my mind, but I'm tired of your a) begging -- b) whining -- c) poking -- d) prodding -- e) nudging -- f) alternate universe of reality." It also meant, "I'm older than you are, I know what I'm talking about and I make the decisions." As annoying as it was to hear the dreaded "because I said so" when you were on the losing end of the conversation, at least it ended things and you knew where you stood. You might not like it, but it allowed you to move on to some other great injustice of youth.
As an adult dealing with adults, there are times when I wish "because I said so" was a socially acceptable phrase. Of course, it's not, because as adults we are allowed to live, breathe and force our opinions and our personally preferred universe of reality on everybody else. In the adult world, "Because I said so" is swapped out with the ever-popular idea of "like it or lump it," or, "you're not the boss of me." How pleasant.
If we, as adults, all stopped living by the motto of "my way or the highway" perhaps we could take a half-step back from any situation and see it from the other side. How refreshing would it be to check out what's on the other side of the coin? Who knows? It might be interesting. It might be better. At the very least it would be different. But for some (dare I say many?) adults, when it comes to considering an alternative ANYTHING, be it reasoning, viewpoint, philosophy, methodology, religion, or breakfast cereal, it's a Flat Stanley kind of world. There's only one picture, only one way, and there is no such thing as another side.
Here in the great state of the Mitten, we finally, and I mean FINALLY as in SERIOUSLY WHY DID IT TAKE SO RIDICULOUSLY LONG passed a non-smoking workplace law. This means in particular (with a few exceptions for casinos and racetracks) that restaurants and bars will be smoke free. This means I can go have a drink and not come out with burning eyes, sore lungs and stinky clothes. This means I can have dinner in a restaurant and sit anywhere and not worry that I'll be seated at that non-smoking table next to the smoking section that theoretically has a magical invisible barrier that filters out the second-hand smoke. If only that magical invisible barrier worked. Funny, it never does.
Predictably, some are upset about the smoking ban (see: "like it or lump it", and/or "my way or the highway" above). Their argument is the rights of those who inhale carcinogens and force the rest of us to inhale them as well are being impeded. Call me crazy, but I'm really not seeing that as a viable argument. There is also the worry that businesses will suffer because of the smoking ban. Au contraire, I say to that argument as well. In the past I have been much more apt to spend my time and my money in places where I can breathe. I'm betting business with improve, not falter.
In the endless debate of whose rights are more important, I think any reasonable adult would think that the health of the general population is more important than the needs of the individual to pollute the air that all of us breathe. Certainly some will continue to disagree, and that's why we finally have a law. It's the grownup, legal version of "because I said so." It forces some to adopt some manners and change their behavior out of respect and consideration for all.
Mom was pretty darn smart. Sometimes it's the best answer. Sometimes it's the only answer. It's time to move along.
Because I said so.
Deep Cleansing Breath
I think I may have clamped by hand over my mouth while simultaneously letting out a horrified gasp.
"Because I said so" was the dreaded saying of my youth, and it signified the irreversible end to the conversation. If you hadn't made your point or gotten your way before the "because I said so" gauntlet was thrown, you were sunk, period. Buster.
"Because I said so" spoke volumes in four succinct words. It meant, "As you can tell, I'm not changing my mind, but I'm tired of your a) begging -- b) whining -- c) poking -- d) prodding -- e) nudging -- f) alternate universe of reality." It also meant, "I'm older than you are, I know what I'm talking about and I make the decisions." As annoying as it was to hear the dreaded "because I said so" when you were on the losing end of the conversation, at least it ended things and you knew where you stood. You might not like it, but it allowed you to move on to some other great injustice of youth.
As an adult dealing with adults, there are times when I wish "because I said so" was a socially acceptable phrase. Of course, it's not, because as adults we are allowed to live, breathe and force our opinions and our personally preferred universe of reality on everybody else. In the adult world, "Because I said so" is swapped out with the ever-popular idea of "like it or lump it," or, "you're not the boss of me." How pleasant.
If we, as adults, all stopped living by the motto of "my way or the highway" perhaps we could take a half-step back from any situation and see it from the other side. How refreshing would it be to check out what's on the other side of the coin? Who knows? It might be interesting. It might be better. At the very least it would be different. But for some (dare I say many?) adults, when it comes to considering an alternative ANYTHING, be it reasoning, viewpoint, philosophy, methodology, religion, or breakfast cereal, it's a Flat Stanley kind of world. There's only one picture, only one way, and there is no such thing as another side.
Here in the great state of the Mitten, we finally, and I mean FINALLY as in SERIOUSLY WHY DID IT TAKE SO RIDICULOUSLY LONG passed a non-smoking workplace law. This means in particular (with a few exceptions for casinos and racetracks) that restaurants and bars will be smoke free. This means I can go have a drink and not come out with burning eyes, sore lungs and stinky clothes. This means I can have dinner in a restaurant and sit anywhere and not worry that I'll be seated at that non-smoking table next to the smoking section that theoretically has a magical invisible barrier that filters out the second-hand smoke. If only that magical invisible barrier worked. Funny, it never does.
Predictably, some are upset about the smoking ban (see: "like it or lump it", and/or "my way or the highway" above). Their argument is the rights of those who inhale carcinogens and force the rest of us to inhale them as well are being impeded. Call me crazy, but I'm really not seeing that as a viable argument. There is also the worry that businesses will suffer because of the smoking ban. Au contraire, I say to that argument as well. In the past I have been much more apt to spend my time and my money in places where I can breathe. I'm betting business with improve, not falter.
In the endless debate of whose rights are more important, I think any reasonable adult would think that the health of the general population is more important than the needs of the individual to pollute the air that all of us breathe. Certainly some will continue to disagree, and that's why we finally have a law. It's the grownup, legal version of "because I said so." It forces some to adopt some manners and change their behavior out of respect and consideration for all.
Mom was pretty darn smart. Sometimes it's the best answer. Sometimes it's the only answer. It's time to move along.
Because I said so.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Marking Time
When I teach I make it a point to be sure that my students know what every single direction means within a song. Printed instructions in other languages are quite common, and students quickly learn terms like Da Capo (Musically speaking "from the beginning") and Fine (musically speaking, "the end"). Other instructions include musical notation. One of the first a student might run across often looks something like this:
When asked what it is and what it means, I get about 50% correct answers. Sometimes they'll know the answer but not know the exact words, and then I get the equivalent of a collegiate interpretive dance as they explain it to me using every word in their vocabulary, except the five most critical. What it is, is a metronomic marking, which leads me to the next question. What is a metronome?
A traditional metronome is wooden with a long weighted stick. You move the weight up and down the so it matches the number on the page, and it will give you the beat. Nowadays, metronomes come in every conceivable shape and size . Many are electronic and there are even webpages that contain a virtual metronome. This is particularly handy when your traditional metronome (read: OLD) sounds more like the uneven gait of an old horse (CLOP ....clipCLOP .... clipCLOP) than an even click-click-click.
For those that are familiar with what a metronome looks like, we move on to question #3: what does it do? Here is where students tend to stumble. They know what it does, or at least how to correctly operate one . But ask them precisely what a metronome does and it's not uncommon for them to stumble.
What it does (for those of you who want to answer correctly should some deranged music teacher stop you in the street and start to quiz you on random bits of musical knowledge) is keep time. A metronome is in fact, a kind of clock, but it only shows the continual passage of time without a start or a finish. It doesn't divide time into repeated segments, like minutes or hours or days. It's like having a second hand of a watch, that you can adjust. Set a metronome to 60, and you have exactly that -- a second hand. Set it to a higher number, and well, you'd always be early to supper.
This is the time of year that pundits and bloggers and essayists and all sorts of social-literary-scientific-and so on-measurers like to talk about time. I'm already knee-deep in "best of" and "worst of" lists for 2009. What surprised me, though was reading the same sort of lists that encompassed the decade. To talk about time flying is ridiculously cliché, but the more I think about it, the more I don't know how to describe it.
Ten years doesn't sound like that much when you say it, but when you start laying things out, it becomes unreal. The country saw and survived eight years of George W. Bush, a heavily contested Presidential election, the election of the First African-American President and the appointment of a female Latina to the United States Supreme Court. Rights have been bestowed and then yanked away like a tablecloth under a completely set table. We suffered attacks on 9/11, were scared to near panic by the DC Sniper and mourned the loss of life in the Virginia Tech Massacre, the Amish School Shooting Spree and so many other tragedies. Every single season of American Idol happened during this past decade, as has Amazing Race, Big Brother, Iron Chef American and Lost.
There are countless ways to measure the last ten years, and I have found myself (several times) feeling both amazed and stunned that something-or-other happened when it seems like it happened either last week, or forever ago. There is no in-between.
For me, though, the easiest way to measure and the most astonishing of them all is to recognize that in the past decade TeenTuna went from first grade to tenth grade. That fact alone puts everything into focus, and then the list of events, accomplishments, disappointments and losses becomes colossal and yet understandable. If I saw a list of everything that happened in my life and in the life of my family and friends over the past ten years, there would be a lot of head shaking and general disbelief. But I think there would also be waves of contentment, wistfulness, sadness, giggles, joy and pride.
But despite the length of any given decade-long remembrance, I can say that, regardless of content, my overwhelming feeling would be one of thanks. Thanks for all the joy. Thanks for all the stories and pictures and smiles and laughter and tears. Thanks for the opportunities and triumphs. Thanks even for the failures, because I can look back over the last ten years and say because of the all the good stuff and regardless of all the bad stuff, I'm still here. Some are no longer here, but I like to think that I carry their stories with me, and those experiences make my journey so much better. As for the rest of us who continue to mark time, whether it's good, bad, or in-between, it's time to wind up that metronome once again.
Let's not waste any time.
Da Capo
Marking Time
When I teach I make it a point to be sure that my students know what every single direction means within a song. Printed instructions in other languages are quite common, and students quickly learn terms like Da Capo (Musically speaking "from the beginning") and Fine (musically speaking, "the end"). Other instructions include musical notation. One of the first a student might run across often looks something like this:
When asked what it is and what it means, I get about 50% correct answers. Sometimes they'll know the answer but not know the exact words, and then I get the equivalent of a collegiate interpretive dance as they explain it to me using every word in their vocabulary, except the five most critical. What it is, is a metronomic marking, which leads me to the next question. What is a metronome?
A traditional metronome is wooden with a long weighted stick. You move the weight up and down the so it matches the number on the page, and it will give you the beat. Nowadays, metronomes come in every conceivable shape and size . Many are electronic and there are even webpages that contain a virtual metronome. This is particularly handy when your traditional metronome (read: OLD) sounds more like the uneven gait of an old horse (CLOP ....clipCLOP .... clipCLOP) than an even click-click-click.
For those that are familiar with what a metronome looks like, we move on to question #3: what does it do? Here is where students tend to stumble. They know what it does, or at least how to correctly operate one . But ask them precisely what a metronome does and it's not uncommon for them to stumble.
What it does (for those of you who want to answer correctly should some deranged music teacher stop you in the street and start to quiz you on random bits of musical knowledge) is keep time. A metronome is in fact, a kind of clock, but it only shows the continual passage of time without a start or a finish. It doesn't divide time into repeated segments, like minutes or hours or days. It's like having a second hand of a watch, that you can adjust. Set a metronome to 60, and you have exactly that -- a second hand. Set it to a higher number, and well, you'd always be early to supper.
This is the time of year that pundits and bloggers and essayists and all sorts of social-literary-scientific-and so on-measurers like to talk about time. I'm already knee-deep in "best of" and "worst of" lists for 2009. What surprised me, though was reading the same sort of lists that encompassed the decade. To talk about time flying is ridiculously cliché, but the more I think about it, the more I don't know how to describe it.
Ten years doesn't sound like that much when you say it, but when you start laying things out, it becomes unreal. The country saw and survived eight years of George W. Bush, a heavily contested Presidential election, the election of the First African-American President and the appointment of a female Latina to the United States Supreme Court. Rights have been bestowed and then yanked away like a tablecloth under a completely set table. We suffered attacks on 9/11, were scared to near panic by the DC Sniper and mourned the loss of life in the Virginia Tech Massacre, the Amish School Shooting Spree and so many other tragedies. Every single season of American Idol happened during this past decade, as has Amazing Race, Big Brother, Iron Chef American and Lost.
There are countless ways to measure the last ten years, and I have found myself (several times) feeling both amazed and stunned that something-or-other happened when it seems like it happened either last week, or forever ago. There is no in-between.
For me, though, the easiest way to measure and the most astonishing of them all is to recognize that in the past decade TeenTuna went from first grade to tenth grade. That fact alone puts everything into focus, and then the list of events, accomplishments, disappointments and losses becomes colossal and yet understandable. If I saw a list of everything that happened in my life and in the life of my family and friends over the past ten years, there would be a lot of head shaking and general disbelief. But I think there would also be waves of contentment, wistfulness, sadness, giggles, joy and pride.
But despite the length of any given decade-long remembrance, I can say that, regardless of content, my overwhelming feeling would be one of thanks. Thanks for all the joy. Thanks for all the stories and pictures and smiles and laughter and tears. Thanks for the opportunities and triumphs. Thanks even for the failures, because I can look back over the last ten years and say because of the all the good stuff and regardless of all the bad stuff, I'm still here. Some are no longer here, but I like to think that I carry their stories with me, and those experiences make my journey so much better. As for the rest of us who continue to mark time, whether it's good, bad, or in-between, it's time to wind up that metronome once again.
Let's not waste any time.
Da Capo
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
All in a Day's Work
Here's to the parents
Who drive
Who fund
Who support
Who encourage
Who cheer
Who console
Who listen
Who suggest
Who critique
Who assist
Who forgive
Who question
Who confront
Who tend
Who allow
Who refuse
Who educate
Who exemplify
Who edit
Who correct
Who inspire
Who cook
Who clean
Who brag
Who cringe
Who rejoice
Who grieve
Who worry
Who pray
Who lead
Who follow
Who love unconditionally, every single day.
1 hour, 20 minutes until we start all over again.
All in a Day's Work
Here's to the parents
Who drive
Who fund
Who support
Who encourage
Who cheer
Who console
Who listen
Who suggest
Who critique
Who assist
Who forgive
Who question
Who confront
Who tend
Who allow
Who refuse
Who educate
Who exemplify
Who edit
Who correct
Who inspire
Who cook
Who clean
Who brag
Who cringe
Who rejoice
Who grieve
Who worry
Who pray
Who lead
Who follow
Who love unconditionally, every single day.
1 hour, 20 minutes until we start all over again.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Swing and a Miss
Today I think I'm missing things.
To be truthful, I'm missing things all the time. And I miss things all the time too. And I MISS things too. It's a funny word that has very different meanings.
I'm missing my winter things. My very cold hands are telling me just how much I'm missing my mittens. I know they are somewhere. Where somewhere, I don't know. I'm pretty sure I can narrow it down to the basement, which means, it might as well be in the Gobi desert...I'll have an equal chance of stumbling across it.
I'm missing socks. I'm even missing SHOES, and sadly for me, in this case I don't mean I'm missing two of the same shoe. I have lonely shoes like I have lonely socks. HOW DOES THAT HAPPEN? It's a bit ironic because just today as we were walking to lunch, we saw a lonely mitten half-frozen to the sidewalk. A little ways further, we saw a single shoe half-frozen to the sidewalk. I admit to joking for quite awhile about who on earth were incapable of noticing that they were no longer wearing two shoes. If you took inventory of my closet, I'm afraid the answer must be me, because I have a couple of single shoes on my shoe rack. Where did they go??
I miss things too. In this case I mean miss as in don't pay attention to, don't notice in the appointed hour; that sort of things. I think I miss things because I'm constantly tuning out. I'm gut-wrenchingly terrible at remembering names. It seems my brain either never registers bits of information like this or instantly discards it in favor of something else. Sometimes I think it's quite beneficial to relegate tidbits to the circular file of my brain, but by the same token, if I'm asked about something later, all the empty nods I use as a decoy while I try to fill the void with something that makes sense isn't really going to help. In the end it's part balancing act and part extreme filtering all in the name of self-preservation.
And then I miss things. But "things" isn't a very good word, because all these things are important to me in one way or another. I miss people. I miss places. I miss events that only live in my memory. Right now I miss green grass, and warm sunshine and a vanilla chocolate twist on a Saturday night. I miss clams in June, the beach and the ocean, and detailed discussions about Transformers. I miss my students, although I'm entirely OK with continuing to miss them for the next few weeks. I miss things that were only ever meant to exist in the moment: a beautiful concert, a work of art, an impish grin or a warm touch. A note, chord or musical passage that lived in its moment of resonance, only to fade away, leaving its existence to the custody of my memory.
As much as I am missing things, or miss things or MISS things, I'm not actively seeking to overhaul my behavior. Sure, it would be convenient if I had complete sets of socks or shoes that matched and it would be very nice to remember people's names and what they did for a living. But I'll continue to do the best I can with my present tense sieve-like brain, while trying hard to nurture the memories of all those things that are so important to me. And don't get me wrong, I'm grateful for the ability to remember.
But still in all, how I wish I didn't have to miss them.
Swing and a Miss
Today I think I'm missing things.
To be truthful, I'm missing things all the time. And I miss things all the time too. And I MISS things too. It's a funny word that has very different meanings.
I'm missing my winter things. My very cold hands are telling me just how much I'm missing my mittens. I know they are somewhere. Where somewhere, I don't know. I'm pretty sure I can narrow it down to the basement, which means, it might as well be in the Gobi desert...I'll have an equal chance of stumbling across it.
I'm missing socks. I'm even missing SHOES, and sadly for me, in this case I don't mean I'm missing two of the same shoe. I have lonely shoes like I have lonely socks. HOW DOES THAT HAPPEN? It's a bit ironic because just today as we were walking to lunch, we saw a lonely mitten half-frozen to the sidewalk. A little ways further, we saw a single shoe half-frozen to the sidewalk. I admit to joking for quite awhile about who on earth were incapable of noticing that they were no longer wearing two shoes. If you took inventory of my closet, I'm afraid the answer must be me, because I have a couple of single shoes on my shoe rack. Where did they go??
I miss things too. In this case I mean miss as in don't pay attention to, don't notice in the appointed hour; that sort of things. I think I miss things because I'm constantly tuning out. I'm gut-wrenchingly terrible at remembering names. It seems my brain either never registers bits of information like this or instantly discards it in favor of something else. Sometimes I think it's quite beneficial to relegate tidbits to the circular file of my brain, but by the same token, if I'm asked about something later, all the empty nods I use as a decoy while I try to fill the void with something that makes sense isn't really going to help. In the end it's part balancing act and part extreme filtering all in the name of self-preservation.
And then I miss things. But "things" isn't a very good word, because all these things are important to me in one way or another. I miss people. I miss places. I miss events that only live in my memory. Right now I miss green grass, and warm sunshine and a vanilla chocolate twist on a Saturday night. I miss clams in June, the beach and the ocean, and detailed discussions about Transformers. I miss my students, although I'm entirely OK with continuing to miss them for the next few weeks. I miss things that were only ever meant to exist in the moment: a beautiful concert, a work of art, an impish grin or a warm touch. A note, chord or musical passage that lived in its moment of resonance, only to fade away, leaving its existence to the custody of my memory.
As much as I am missing things, or miss things or MISS things, I'm not actively seeking to overhaul my behavior. Sure, it would be convenient if I had complete sets of socks or shoes that matched and it would be very nice to remember people's names and what they did for a living. But I'll continue to do the best I can with my present tense sieve-like brain, while trying hard to nurture the memories of all those things that are so important to me. And don't get me wrong, I'm grateful for the ability to remember.
But still in all, how I wish I didn't have to miss them.
Monday, December 14, 2009
Begets
We often talk about events happening in a circular way, and usually it isn't particularly good news. "What goes around, comes around" is tossed around a lot, as are several sayings referring to Karma not playing nice with others. The idea of "just desserts" or something "coming back to haunt you" can be a pretty satisfying thought, as long as you aren't on the receiving end. Who knows? Maybe it hearkens back to childhood with the old idea that "he knows when you've been bad or good, so be good, for goodness' sake!" It keeps us in line, keeps the balance in check, rewards the good and punishes the bad, in a very tidy scales of justice Even-Steven sort of way.
But increasingly I've learned that rewarding the good and punishing the bad doesn't always happen as neatly as we fool ourselves into thinking it does. Shit happens, sometimes the bad get away with being bad, the good are left holding the bag, and our friend Karma is doing the bump and grind on our sense of balance and fairness.
The good news -- and believe me, this is very good news -- is that "going around and coming around" doesn't always refer to good versus bad. In fact, whether we recognize it or not, "what goes around, comes around" is as true for goodness that begets goodness, kindness that follows kindness, and love that grows into even more love. True enough, punishment may follow misdeed, and revenge may indeed be a delicious dish when served cold. But as satisfying as that can be (and let's be honest here, sometimes it is VERY SATISFYING, Thank You) how much better would it be if we focused on forgiveness, reconciliation and our own healing instead of settling the score and getting revenge. There's more than enough bad in the world right now. We don't need to add to its score.
If we start responding to all our victories and battles with goodness, kindness and love, we may start a chain reaction and beget even more of the same. We may not see justice the way we'd like to, and fairness might be out of the question. But through the actions we choose to take, we will be stronger. And who knows? Maybe someday "just desserts" will be something with chocolate sauce, whipped cream and a cherry. Enough for everybody to share.
Begets
We often talk about events happening in a circular way, and usually it isn't particularly good news. "What goes around, comes around" is tossed around a lot, as are several sayings referring to Karma not playing nice with others. The idea of "just desserts" or something "coming back to haunt you" can be a pretty satisfying thought, as long as you aren't on the receiving end. Who knows? Maybe it hearkens back to childhood with the old idea that "he knows when you've been bad or good, so be good, for goodness' sake!" It keeps us in line, keeps the balance in check, rewards the good and punishes the bad, in a very tidy scales of justice Even-Steven sort of way.
But increasingly I've learned that rewarding the good and punishing the bad doesn't always happen as neatly as we fool ourselves into thinking it does. Shit happens, sometimes the bad get away with being bad, the good are left holding the bag, and our friend Karma is doing the bump and grind on our sense of balance and fairness.
The good news -- and believe me, this is very good news -- is that "going around and coming around" doesn't always refer to good versus bad. In fact, whether we recognize it or not, "what goes around, comes around" is as true for goodness that begets goodness, kindness that follows kindness, and love that grows into even more love. True enough, punishment may follow misdeed, and revenge may indeed be a delicious dish when served cold. But as satisfying as that can be (and let's be honest here, sometimes it is VERY SATISFYING, Thank You) how much better would it be if we focused on forgiveness, reconciliation and our own healing instead of settling the score and getting revenge. There's more than enough bad in the world right now. We don't need to add to its score.
If we start responding to all our victories and battles with goodness, kindness and love, we may start a chain reaction and beget even more of the same. We may not see justice the way we'd like to, and fairness might be out of the question. But through the actions we choose to take, we will be stronger. And who knows? Maybe someday "just desserts" will be something with chocolate sauce, whipped cream and a cherry. Enough for everybody to share.
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