The Greater Tragedy

I subscribe to a couple of email news alert sites: CNN, NPR and the New York Times. I'm sure they pretty much overlap each other, but that's alright. At least I'm sure to receive the latest news when extraordinary circumstances warrant it.

The downside to being "in the know" is, frankly, being "in the know." While I'm grateful for the notification, I will admit that every time I see one in my in-box, the very first thing that runs through my head is, "now what?" I've learned that news-bulletin newsworthiness is in the eye of the beholder. Topics range from political stuff on both the international and domestic stage (which frankly are of varying degrees of importance), to national news alerts (which are mostly important) to major sports scores (world series winners, etc.) to miscellanea (generally not terribly important when you get right down to it). Last week was definitely hot in number of emails received focusing on the less than important (Simon Cowell leaving American Idol!), but with each and every email I muttered, "Lord, now what?" read the email and then deleted it, usually without a second thought.

 

Today I got back from lunch and a CNN news alert was waiting for me in my inbox.  After the obligatory mutterings, I opened it up and read that the estimate of lives lost in Haiti was "hundreds of thousands."  For a minute I thought I read that wrong.  HUNDREDS of THOUSANDS.  Not just thousands.  Hundreds of Thousands.  My stomach dropped, my heart broke and I just shook my head.  I couldn't believe it.

It's interesting what people choose to do and say in any given situation, but especially, I think, when trouble or tragedy strike.  I hesitate to call it a "parent thing" or a "woman thing" but to me -- as both a parent and a woman -- my very first inclination is to find out what I can do to help.  The discussion can come later.  The same holds true for any finger-pointing, deconstruction of events, or the ridiculously pious, generally unnecessary, yet often mandatory recitation of lessons learned.  No, I say!  DO first.  DO and DO and DO and DO some more.  TALK about it later.  Much later.

 

 

Today, on the heels of HUNDREDS of THOUSANDS, and in the midst of my gut reaction to wonder what I could DO for people who were hurting and desperate for help,  and reading the many Facebook and Twitter messages about organizations and opportunities to assist came a lone voice.  And this lone voice decided that in the midst of tragedy centered in the heart of a city destroyed, in a country filled with mothers and fathers and children -- all fellow inhabitants of this wonderful, fragile planet earth -- that what they needed was a good religious spanking.  And the horrible feeling in my stomach grew as I wondered what kind of person chooses a rambling, nonsensical half-baked story about the French occupation, Napoleon and compacts with the Devil as a way to chastise an entire country who has lost HUNDREDS of THOUSANDS of people, and whose needs at present are focused on food, water, medical assistance, care and compassion. What kind of person blames first? In the face of any natural disaster, what kind of person blames at all?

If you told me it was a religious man, I'd like tell you that I couldn't believe it.
But the overwhelmingly sad and horrible part is, I can believe it,
which makes it all the worse.

The Greater Tragedy

I subscribe to a couple of email news alert sites: CNN, NPR and the New York Times. I'm sure they pretty much overlap each other, but that's alright. At least I'm sure to receive the latest news when extraordinary circumstances warrant it.

The downside to being "in the know" is, frankly, being "in the know." While I'm grateful for the notification, I will admit that every time I see one in my in-box, the very first thing that runs through my head is, "now what?" I've learned that news-bulletin newsworthiness is in the eye of the beholder. Topics range from political stuff on both the international and domestic stage (which frankly are of varying degrees of importance), to national news alerts (which are mostly important) to major sports scores (world series winners, etc.) to miscellanea (generally not terribly important when you get right down to it). Last week was definitely hot in number of emails received focusing on the less than important (Simon Cowell leaving American Idol!), but with each and every email I muttered, "Lord, now what?" read the email and then deleted it, usually without a second thought.

 

Today I got back from lunch and a CNN news alert was waiting for me in my inbox.  After the obligatory mutterings, I opened it up and read that the estimate of lives lost in Haiti was "hundreds of thousands."  For a minute I thought I read that wrong.  HUNDREDS of THOUSANDS.  Not just thousands.  Hundreds of Thousands.  My stomach dropped, my heart broke and I just shook my head.  I couldn't believe it.

It's interesting what people choose to do and say in any given situation, but especially, I think, when trouble or tragedy strike.  I hesitate to call it a "parent thing" or a "woman thing" but to me -- as both a parent and a woman -- my very first inclination is to find out what I can do to help.  The discussion can come later.  The same holds true for any finger-pointing, deconstruction of events, or the ridiculously pious, generally unnecessary, yet often mandatory recitation of lessons learned.  No, I say!  DO first.  DO and DO and DO and DO some more.  TALK about it later.  Much later.

 

 

Today, on the heels of HUNDREDS of THOUSANDS, and in the midst of my gut reaction to wonder what I could DO for people who were hurting and desperate for help,  and reading the many Facebook and Twitter messages about organizations and opportunities to assist came a lone voice.  And this lone voice decided that in the midst of tragedy centered in the heart of a city destroyed, in a country filled with mothers and fathers and children -- all fellow inhabitants of this wonderful, fragile planet earth -- that what they needed was a good religious spanking.  And the horrible feeling in my stomach grew as I wondered what kind of person chooses a rambling, nonsensical half-baked story about the French occupation, Napoleon and compacts with the Devil as a way to chastise an entire country who has lost HUNDREDS of THOUSANDS of people, and whose needs at present are focused on food, water, medical assistance, care and compassion. What kind of person blames first? In the face of any natural disaster, what kind of person blames at all?

If you told me it was a religious man, I'd like tell you that I couldn't believe it.
But the overwhelmingly sad and horrible part is, I can believe it,
which makes it all the worse.

How Can I Keep From Singing?

Tonight PBS showed an incredible documentary about the Young @ Heart Chorus.  As you can see, they are a senior citizen choir, and then some, with the average age being 81 years old.  This particular choir doesn't just sit around in rocking chairs singing Stephen Foster's "Old Folks at Home."  Their repertoire is contemporary pop, rock, alternative and blues, sung without apology.  The conductor is known to be somewhat of a taskmaster and perfectionist.  But why not?  He wanted correct pitches and rhythms, and there was no reason to coddle his choir.  I think after four scores and several years, they were old enough to hear the truth, and there was no age limit on expectations.

It was amazing to watch this group of people rehearse (and rehearse and rehearse and rehearse) and then perform.  Of course, it wasn't just a matter of old folks getting on stage and wailing out a couple of tunes.  This choir had other issues they had to face.  More than once in this documentary, a choir member was taken to the hospital.  And yet the choir sang on.  Some died.  And yet the choir sang on.  To hear an elderly woman sing Sinead O'Connor's "Nothing Compares 2 U" in memory and tribute to a fellow choir member who had passed the day before, the words suddenly become less about an angry, angsty and hurt breakup, and more about loss and honoring a memory.

It's been seven hours and fifteen days

Since you took your love away

I go out every night and sleep all day

Since you took your love away

Since you been gone I can do whatever I want

I can see whomever I choose

I can eat my dinner in a fancy restaurant

But nothing

I said nothing can take away these blues

`Cause nothing compares

Nothing compares to you

In one of their performances, they crank out a version of  "I Feel Good"made famous by James Brown.  You cannot help but feel the fun, the joy and the celebration of life.

Speaking as one who eats, drinks, and breathes music as both performer and teacher, there is something indescribably wonderful and magical about singing and the human voice.  It's an instrument that exists within us day in and day out.  It is an extension of our physical and emotional selves, and is an integral part of our culture.  It explores and defines emotions, generations and genders.  It sings the stories of history, and provides commentary.  It makes us laugh and cry and think.  It allows us to look back in remembrance, and forward in hope.  It celebrates everything we are and hope to be.  My joy in being a performer has nothing to do with fame, applause, high notes and sparkly gowns.  It's is the opportunity to be the voice and soul of both poet and composer.  The joy of being a teacher is equally great, because through my work I am able to help others find their voice.  It is a wonderful and humbling activity to help others discover that unique love of musical expression.

All you have to do is turn on the television to discover there has been a real resurgence in the vocal arts.  If you look beneath the surface desires of fame on American Idol, if you see past the unpredictability of reality competitions like America's Got Talent, and if you can forgive the out and out silliness of Glee, they share a great and common bond.  It is the simple and profound love of singing, the joy the comes in expressing yourself in song, and the community that comes in sharing music with others. It doesn't matter if you're eight or eighty eight, everyone has a song.

And it's all very, very good.

How Can I Keep From Singing?

Tonight PBS showed an incredible documentary about the Young @ Heart Chorus.  As you can see, they are a senior citizen choir, and then some, with the average age being 81 years old.  This particular choir doesn't just sit around in rocking chairs singing Stephen Foster's "Old Folks at Home."  Their repertoire is contemporary pop, rock, alternative and blues, sung without apology.  The conductor is known to be somewhat of a taskmaster and perfectionist.  But why not?  He wanted correct pitches and rhythms, and there was no reason to coddle his choir.  I think after four scores and several years, they were old enough to hear the truth, and there was no age limit on expectations.

It was amazing to watch this group of people rehearse (and rehearse and rehearse and rehearse) and then perform.  Of course, it wasn't just a matter of old folks getting on stage and wailing out a couple of tunes.  This choir had other issues they had to face.  More than once in this documentary, a choir member was taken to the hospital.  And yet the choir sang on.  Some died.  And yet the choir sang on.  To hear an elderly woman sing Sinead O'Connor's "Nothing Compares 2 U" in memory and tribute to a fellow choir member who had passed the day before, the words suddenly become less about an angry, angsty and hurt breakup, and more about loss and honoring a memory.

It's been seven hours and fifteen days

Since you took your love away

I go out every night and sleep all day

Since you took your love away

Since you been gone I can do whatever I want

I can see whomever I choose

I can eat my dinner in a fancy restaurant

But nothing

I said nothing can take away these blues

`Cause nothing compares

Nothing compares to you

In one of their performances, they crank out a version of  "I Feel Good"made famous by James Brown.  You cannot help but feel the fun, the joy and the celebration of life.

Speaking as one who eats, drinks, and breathes music as both performer and teacher, there is something indescribably wonderful and magical about singing and the human voice.  It's an instrument that exists within us day in and day out.  It is an extension of our physical and emotional selves, and is an integral part of our culture.  It explores and defines emotions, generations and genders.  It sings the stories of history, and provides commentary.  It makes us laugh and cry and think.  It allows us to look back in remembrance, and forward in hope.  It celebrates everything we are and hope to be.  My joy in being a performer has nothing to do with fame, applause, high notes and sparkly gowns.  It's is the opportunity to be the voice and soul of both poet and composer.  The joy of being a teacher is equally great, because through my work I am able to help others find their voice.  It is a wonderful and humbling activity to help others discover that unique love of musical expression.

All you have to do is turn on the television to discover there has been a real resurgence in the vocal arts.  If you look beneath the surface desires of fame on American Idol, if you see past the unpredictability of reality competitions like America's Got Talent, and if you can forgive the out and out silliness of Glee, they share a great and common bond.  It is the simple and profound love of singing, the joy the comes in expressing yourself in song, and the community that comes in sharing music with others. It doesn't matter if you're eight or eighty eight, everyone has a song.

And it's all very, very good.

Go With the Flow

Tonight is officially the end of my teaching break, and tomorrow morning I head back up to begin the Winter semester.  I am so incredibly grateful to the calendar and the Gods of Scheduling to have had this last week.  Public schools started last week, but most colleges didn't start until today. I can't imagine having New Years on a Friday and starting the college-go-round on the following Monday.  These past seven days were golden.

When I say goodbye to my students at the end of the semester, or for spring break, or even the long weekend they get in October, they all come back and ask me "how was your break?"  It's a sweet idea, but my answer (aside from that the break was "good") is that I am really not "on vacation" during that time.  During spring and fall break, my break consists of one job instead of two, and a blessed absence from the twice weekly hour commute.  Christmas break is a bit longer, but unlike my students (whom I tell to go home, have someone do their laundry and make you a PIE), a musicians life (not to mention a parent's life) is pretty insane during the month of December.  The goal is to make it to the 25th in one piece.  Then the goal is to make it to the East Coast to visit family in one piece.  Then the goal is to make it home in one piece.  Ditto New Year's Eve (AKA "Amateur Night") and before you know it, it's time to go back again.

But I'm ready, I think.  I wasn't ready last night, as I woke up at 3:30, and 4:30 and 5:30 with a severe case of monkey mind, worries about teaching in 48 hours, and fears that I was going to oversleep.  Today, although tired, I feel ready to go.  It always takes a week or so for students and schedules to shake out.  Then comes the fun of picking music, preparing students and another 13 fabulous weeks of singing.  This winter and spring I've got a Carmina Burana to sing (I've lost count which performance number this is), and a Beethoven's Ninth, which amazingly, I have never sung before.  (I KNOW!?!!)  TeenTuna has a plenty busy calendar in her own right, and when I'm not teaching my college kids, I'll be coaching her, accompanying her, or listening to her one way or another.  As is always the case in our house, we shan't be lacking for things to do.

Here's to hoping the next four months go as smoothly and as calmly as possible, and if not, I hope and pray that I do a credible job faking it.  It's so much easier when you learn to go with the flow.  Ohmmmmmmmmmmm...........

Ready.....set.....GO!
Well, tomorrow.

Go With the Flow

Tonight is officially the end of my teaching break, and tomorrow morning I head back up to begin the Winter semester.  I am so incredibly grateful to the calendar and the Gods of Scheduling to have had this last week.  Public schools started last week, but most colleges didn't start until today. I can't imagine having New Years on a Friday and starting the college-go-round on the following Monday.  These past seven days were golden.

When I say goodbye to my students at the end of the semester, or for spring break, or even the long weekend they get in October, they all come back and ask me "how was your break?"  It's a sweet idea, but my answer (aside from that the break was "good") is that I am really not "on vacation" during that time.  During spring and fall break, my break consists of one job instead of two, and a blessed absence from the twice weekly hour commute.  Christmas break is a bit longer, but unlike my students (whom I tell to go home, have someone do their laundry and make you a PIE), a musicians life (not to mention a parent's life) is pretty insane during the month of December.  The goal is to make it to the 25th in one piece.  Then the goal is to make it to the East Coast to visit family in one piece.  Then the goal is to make it home in one piece.  Ditto New Year's Eve (AKA "Amateur Night") and before you know it, it's time to go back again.

But I'm ready, I think.  I wasn't ready last night, as I woke up at 3:30, and 4:30 and 5:30 with a severe case of monkey mind, worries about teaching in 48 hours, and fears that I was going to oversleep.  Today, although tired, I feel ready to go.  It always takes a week or so for students and schedules to shake out.  Then comes the fun of picking music, preparing students and another 13 fabulous weeks of singing.  This winter and spring I've got a Carmina Burana to sing (I've lost count which performance number this is), and a Beethoven's Ninth, which amazingly, I have never sung before.  (I KNOW!?!!)  TeenTuna has a plenty busy calendar in her own right, and when I'm not teaching my college kids, I'll be coaching her, accompanying her, or listening to her one way or another.  As is always the case in our house, we shan't be lacking for things to do.

Here's to hoping the next four months go as smoothly and as calmly as possible, and if not, I hope and pray that I do a credible job faking it.  It's so much easier when you learn to go with the flow.  Ohmmmmmmmmmmm...........

Ready.....set.....GO!
Well, tomorrow.

Clean Slate

So, I had a fairly successful weekend of attacking the clutter, primarily in the basement. I say "fairly" because I'm nowhere near close to done. I'm not even halfway. Heck, I'm not even close to halfway.  But I say successful because 1. I can still move (this was somewhat in doubt last night as I collapsed at the ripe hour of 9:15pm), and 2. I am physically and emotionally ready to do more.

I'd tell you I don't know why it's so hard to get a handle on the clutter and the mess, but yesterday as I cleaned and cleaned and cleaned and cleaned, I had quite a bit of time to think about it (while watching yet not-watching crap TV).  This is what I've come up with...positives and negatives.

Negative -- There's a lot of stuff.  A lot a lot.  It's a downside of redoing the entire upstairs.  Things kept getting tossed in the basement.  Now there is no place left to toss.  So, there's either a place for it, or there's not.  Right now, there's a lot of not, and I need to decide what's important to me in my life and what is clutter.

Positive -- When I'm finished, I'll have additional space to function and live and do those things I want to do.  It won't be that room where once upon a time (I kid you not, many years ago, when it was unbelievably MORE junky than it is now) I paid my much younger, smaller and nimbler child to climb on top of stuff to retrieve something in the far corner.  It was mortifying to me, but she was young enough that she thought it was cool.  I know nowadays I could never get away with it.

Negative -- Attitude #1:  I'll need it later.  I have such a hard time getting past this.  Maybe I'll need it.  Maybe I'll want it.  Maybe someone in my family will need it.  Maybe my child will need it.  Maybe my child will want it.  I'll kick myself if I need it later, and I had it once upon a time, and then I threw it out.

Positive -- Reality #1:  If I need it later, will I really  need the 10-15 year old version?  If I lose weight, will I want to wear clothes from the Clinton Administration?  Will my child honestly and truly want the stuff that has been living in the basement this long?  Even if I did need something later (1 year, 5 years, 10 years), what kind of prison am I building for myself NOW while I'm waiting to need it later?

Negative -- Attitude #2:  Throwing out means tossing things in landfills and am I really such a greedy, horrible person that I have no regard for the earth or the environment?  I should hold onto things until such time that I can figure out a proper way to recycle them and protect the planet.

Positive -- Attitude #2:  I recycle a lot.  And we, as a country, recycle much more than we did before.  There are still opportunities to dispose of unwanted items properly.  It might mean a little research or legwork, but it is possible.  This is a tough negative to overcome, but it should only be a negative...not an EXCUSE.

Negative -- It's overwhelming and time consuming.  There really is something to "out of sight, out of mind."

Positive -- Seriously?  Get over yourself and clean up your mess.

Negative -- If I am getting rid of something I should sell it.  How silly to get rid of things and not make a buck, or ten or twenty, or start my own resale business and retire early.

Positive -- Seriously?  Being organized and able to function in your own home is now tied to a successful corporate venture?  Stop being greedy and GIVE it to someone who needs it.  Sure, you could use a buck or two or twenty, but you need the space and the peace of mind much more.

Negative -- But I like these things.  Old children's books.  Games.  Puzzles.  Crifty-crafty things.  Movies.  DVDs.  I might need these, want these, use these, or want to give them to grandchildren (HAH, it's funny to even type that) 20 years down the road.

Positive -- I like lots of things, but right now I can't enjoy anything that is down there because it is buried.  It's a great temptation to hold onto things for future generations, but why hold books and toys and clothes and blankets hostage for the next few decades when someone could be using them and enjoying them now?  Toys were meant to be played with.  Books were meant to be read.  None of that is happening in the basement.

 My goal.  Dog not included.

So, these are my struggles.  But as I went down this afternoon for a brief 2-hour session, and really did more strategic organizing than purging, despite all the stuff -- and oh, there is still A LOT -- I could see opportunities.  I don't know when I'll be done, or even close, or even halfway.  But I'm pretty dedicated to continuing on.  As long as I get rid of more things than I bring in each week, I'll be moving in the right direction.  This is going to be a long haul, but one I really look forward to tackling and putting in the "win" column.  Someday.

Clean Slate

So, I had a fairly successful weekend of attacking the clutter, primarily in the basement. I say "fairly" because I'm nowhere near close to done. I'm not even halfway. Heck, I'm not even close to halfway.  But I say successful because 1. I can still move (this was somewhat in doubt last night as I collapsed at the ripe hour of 9:15pm), and 2. I am physically and emotionally ready to do more.

I'd tell you I don't know why it's so hard to get a handle on the clutter and the mess, but yesterday as I cleaned and cleaned and cleaned and cleaned, I had quite a bit of time to think about it (while watching yet not-watching crap TV).  This is what I've come up with...positives and negatives.

Negative -- There's a lot of stuff.  A lot a lot.  It's a downside of redoing the entire upstairs.  Things kept getting tossed in the basement.  Now there is no place left to toss.  So, there's either a place for it, or there's not.  Right now, there's a lot of not, and I need to decide what's important to me in my life and what is clutter.

Positive -- When I'm finished, I'll have additional space to function and live and do those things I want to do.  It won't be that room where once upon a time (I kid you not, many years ago, when it was unbelievably MORE junky than it is now) I paid my much younger, smaller and nimbler child to climb on top of stuff to retrieve something in the far corner.  It was mortifying to me, but she was young enough that she thought it was cool.  I know nowadays I could never get away with it.

Negative -- Attitude #1:  I'll need it later.  I have such a hard time getting past this.  Maybe I'll need it.  Maybe I'll want it.  Maybe someone in my family will need it.  Maybe my child will need it.  Maybe my child will want it.  I'll kick myself if I need it later, and I had it once upon a time, and then I threw it out.

Positive -- Reality #1:  If I need it later, will I really  need the 10-15 year old version?  If I lose weight, will I want to wear clothes from the Clinton Administration?  Will my child honestly and truly want the stuff that has been living in the basement this long?  Even if I did need something later (1 year, 5 years, 10 years), what kind of prison am I building for myself NOW while I'm waiting to need it later?

Negative -- Attitude #2:  Throwing out means tossing things in landfills and am I really such a greedy, horrible person that I have no regard for the earth or the environment?  I should hold onto things until such time that I can figure out a proper way to recycle them and protect the planet.

Positive -- Attitude #2:  I recycle a lot.  And we, as a country, recycle much more than we did before.  There are still opportunities to dispose of unwanted items properly.  It might mean a little research or legwork, but it is possible.  This is a tough negative to overcome, but it should only be a negative...not an EXCUSE.

Negative -- It's overwhelming and time consuming.  There really is something to "out of sight, out of mind."

Positive -- Seriously?  Get over yourself and clean up your mess.

Negative -- If I am getting rid of something I should sell it.  How silly to get rid of things and not make a buck, or ten or twenty, or start my own resale business and retire early.

Positive -- Seriously?  Being organized and able to function in your own home is now tied to a successful corporate venture?  Stop being greedy and GIVE it to someone who needs it.  Sure, you could use a buck or two or twenty, but you need the space and the peace of mind much more.

Negative -- But I like these things.  Old children's books.  Games.  Puzzles.  Crifty-crafty things.  Movies.  DVDs.  I might need these, want these, use these, or want to give them to grandchildren (HAH, it's funny to even type that) 20 years down the road.

Positive -- I like lots of things, but right now I can't enjoy anything that is down there because it is buried.  It's a great temptation to hold onto things for future generations, but why hold books and toys and clothes and blankets hostage for the next few decades when someone could be using them and enjoying them now?  Toys were meant to be played with.  Books were meant to be read.  None of that is happening in the basement.

 My goal.  Dog not included.

So, these are my struggles.  But as I went down this afternoon for a brief 2-hour session, and really did more strategic organizing than purging, despite all the stuff -- and oh, there is still A LOT -- I could see opportunities.  I don't know when I'll be done, or even close, or even halfway.  But I'm pretty dedicated to continuing on.  As long as I get rid of more things than I bring in each week, I'll be moving in the right direction.  This is going to be a long haul, but one I really look forward to tackling and putting in the "win" column.  Someday.

Unconscious Mutterings

I say ... And YOU Think:


1. Resolutions :: Promises
2. Page :: Opportunity
3. Narrow :: Ruled
4. Refuse :: Deny
5. Fountain :: Of Youth
6. Grunt :: Groan
7. Construct :: Build
8. Nightmare :: Before Christmas
9. Inch :: Mile
10. Instant :: Coffee

Well, that was a bizarre lot.  I scaled down my resolutions answer, which started out being "ridiculous promises made while drunk."  I don't know what it is about resolutions that bother me so much.  I think it is the combination of life-changing vows with the New Years party-on, dude date.  It just seems to me it is a recipe for failure.  Of course, any resolution followed is better than none at all, so if it works for you, I say more power to you.  Resolve to be resolute on New Years Day!

Numbers 2-3 highlight my love of paper products in particular and office supplies in general.  A blank sheet of paper could become all sorts of things in the future.  And yes, yes, yes, it must be narrow (college) ruled.  I cannot tolerate the big wide stuff.  It's like using an unsharpened pencil. Or a even worse...an unsharpened #3 pencil.  AIEEEE!  You might as well ask me to write with a four-inch charcoal briquette.

Numbers 4-7 morphed towards my massive cleaning job yesterday.  This morning I am sure wishing for the fountain of youth, because I'm one sore puppy.  I'm about to embark upon hot shower therapy, and see if that helps.

Number 8 - a great movie
Number 9 - needs a "give them an ... and they take a" thrown in
Number 10 -  don't drink it (instant or otherwise), but remember all those instant coffee commercials?  They used to be everywhere, and now, I think not so much.

Unconscious Mutterings

I say ... And YOU Think:


1. Resolutions :: Promises
2. Page :: Opportunity
3. Narrow :: Ruled
4. Refuse :: Deny
5. Fountain :: Of Youth
6. Grunt :: Groan
7. Construct :: Build
8. Nightmare :: Before Christmas
9. Inch :: Mile
10. Instant :: Coffee

Well, that was a bizarre lot.  I scaled down my resolutions answer, which started out being "ridiculous promises made while drunk."  I don't know what it is about resolutions that bother me so much.  I think it is the combination of life-changing vows with the New Years party-on, dude date.  It just seems to me it is a recipe for failure.  Of course, any resolution followed is better than none at all, so if it works for you, I say more power to you.  Resolve to be resolute on New Years Day!

Numbers 2-3 highlight my love of paper products in particular and office supplies in general.  A blank sheet of paper could become all sorts of things in the future.  And yes, yes, yes, it must be narrow (college) ruled.  I cannot tolerate the big wide stuff.  It's like using an unsharpened pencil. Or a even worse...an unsharpened #3 pencil.  AIEEEE!  You might as well ask me to write with a four-inch charcoal briquette.

Numbers 4-7 morphed towards my massive cleaning job yesterday.  This morning I am sure wishing for the fountain of youth, because I'm one sore puppy.  I'm about to embark upon hot shower therapy, and see if that helps.

Number 8 - a great movie
Number 9 - needs a "give them an ... and they take a" thrown in
Number 10 -  don't drink it (instant or otherwise), but remember all those instant coffee commercials?  They used to be everywhere, and now, I think not so much.

Tonight, Tonight

Earlier this evening it was a a pizza-ordering, chauffeuring the teenagers to the movies kind of night. Then it morphed into the pillow-clutching, cat skritching, dongle-using, documentary watching kind of night. Then it took a turn and became the movie picking up, heater on high while we drive home kind of night. And now it's a head bobbing, hard to stay awakey, minimal blog writing, chilly on the floor, four-sock kind of night. Tomorrow hopefully is going to be a real house-cleaning, clutter busting kind of day.

We'll see how that goes.

Tonight, Tonight

Earlier this evening it was a a pizza-ordering, chauffeuring the teenagers to the movies kind of night. Then it morphed into the pillow-clutching, cat skritching, dongle-using, documentary watching kind of night. Then it took a turn and became the movie picking up, heater on high while we drive home kind of night. And now it's a head bobbing, hard to stay awakey, minimal blog writing, chilly on the floor, four-sock kind of night. Tomorrow hopefully is going to be a real house-cleaning, clutter busting kind of day.

We'll see how that goes.

An Entirely TRUE Story

On New Year's Eve I discovered I was missing something.  I really needed it, and suddenly it seemed I couldn't live without it.  I went to Sears and they looked quite shocked.  They said, "Oh no!  You cannot buy them in a store!"  I was half amazed, half confused and entirely irritated.  "Why not?"  I demanded.  "I can't do it without one!!"  The service guy, who, at this point, was less than serviceable, just shrugged.  "Internet," he said abruptly, as he walked away.

Not to be deterred, and even MORE desperate, I went to Best Buy.  Surely they HAD to have them there.  I walked to the back of the store (near the darkened little room), and when I was asked if I was being helped, I gathered up all my courage and said, "I NEED A DONGLE!"

The blue-shirted Best Buy Boy nodded his head.  "Sure.  We have Dongles."

"REALLY?"  I asked incredulously.  "Because I was at that other store that rhymes with 'Rears' and they didn't have any DONGLES.  In fact they said I couldn't buy a DONGLE in a store.  They told me I had to find one on the Inernet."

The Blue-shirted Best Buy Boy shook his head.  "Nope," he said, matter-of-factly.  "We have Dongles."  And with that, he started typing into his computer.  Suddenly he frowned and looked up.  "But we are out of them."

"NO DONGLES?"  I asked.

"No dongles," he answered.

"But I need a DONGLE!" I practically wailed.  It doesn't work without one.

"I know," he said.  "They are usually over there," he said, pointing at a row of corded wonders.  "Guess there has been a big demand for them."

Knowing I really had no other choice, I decided to order my own DONGLE and have it delivered to the store.  I'd just have to be patient until my DONGLE arrived and I could plug it in.  So we took care of the ordering and the paying, and I walked out of the store, DONGLELESS, but hopeful for the day my DONGLE arrived.

My DONGLE was scheduled to arrive on Tuesday.  But when I called?  No DONGLE.
My DONGLE was scheduled to arrive on Wednesday.  But when I called?  No DONGLE.

Finally, this morning, I got an email (in my SPAM folder, of all things!) telling me my DONGLE was here.  Too excited to wait until after work, I decided to get my DONGLE and eat lunch too.  So, back to Best Buy I drove.

When I arrived (DONGLE papers in hand) I went to the service desk.  "I'm here for a pick up!" I said excitedly.  The Blue-Shirted Best Buy girl started talking into her super-secret microphone to tell someone (I'm guessing her manager) that I was here.

"What are you picking up?"  She asked.

"A DONGLE!" I said loudly.

She started speaking into her microphone again, to tell the manager what I needed.  And then ... she started to laugh.

"What?" I asked.  "MY DONGLE ISN'T HERE AT THE DESK?"

"No," she said, laughing harder.  They have to get it.

"They have to GET MY DONGLE?" I asked.

The girl nodded and laughed harder.

"I can't wait to see it!" I told her.  And then I lowered my voice and explained, "I've been waiting for my DONGLE for the past week!"

The manager came walking up holding my DONGLE.  She was laughing too.

"Does my DONGLE come in a brown paper bag?" I asked.

Everybody laughed.

"No -- it's right here.  You're all set."

"OK," I said.  I hope my DONGLE fits.  I had to special order this DONGLE especially for me.

They all laughed some more and waved goodbye as I put my brand new DONGLE in my purse and walked towards the car.

"You're an embarassement," said GramTuna.

I looked at her and smiled.  "Just think," I said.  "I made their day.  My DONGLE and I."

When I got home I was anxious to put my DONGLE to use.  I had to hunt for the right opening, and do a fair bit of fiddling, but when all was said and done, I was entirely satisfied.

And my Samsung Blu-Ray player picked up the wireless Internet signal and I was set.

All thanks to my DONGLE.

Addendum: I don't know who on earth is responsible for naming things, but I have been running around for the past week saying DONGLE like it is the funniest word on the planet.  I can only hope that DONGLE is the English translation for a Korean word that hopefully means something noble, or technical, or really, really advanced.  Because really?  DONGLE?  Who cannot help but turn into an eight-year old with uncontrollable playground humor when you're in the presence of the word DONGLE?


Yeah.  Probably everybody else but me.  
But at least I was amused. 

An Entirely TRUE Story

On New Year's Eve I discovered I was missing something.  I really needed it, and suddenly it seemed I couldn't live without it.  I went to Sears and they looked quite shocked.  They said, "Oh no!  You cannot buy them in a store!"  I was half amazed, half confused and entirely irritated.  "Why not?"  I demanded.  "I can't do it without one!!"  The service guy, who, at this point, was less than serviceable, just shrugged.  "Internet," he said abruptly, as he walked away.

Not to be deterred, and even MORE desperate, I went to Best Buy.  Surely they HAD to have them there.  I walked to the back of the store (near the darkened little room), and when I was asked if I was being helped, I gathered up all my courage and said, "I NEED A DONGLE!"

The blue-shirted Best Buy Boy nodded his head.  "Sure.  We have Dongles."

"REALLY?"  I asked incredulously.  "Because I was at that other store that rhymes with 'Rears' and they didn't have any DONGLES.  In fact they said I couldn't buy a DONGLE in a store.  They told me I had to find one on the Inernet."

The Blue-shirted Best Buy Boy shook his head.  "Nope," he said, matter-of-factly.  "We have Dongles."  And with that, he started typing into his computer.  Suddenly he frowned and looked up.  "But we are out of them."

"NO DONGLES?"  I asked.

"No dongles," he answered.

"But I need a DONGLE!" I practically wailed.  It doesn't work without one.

"I know," he said.  "They are usually over there," he said, pointing at a row of corded wonders.  "Guess there has been a big demand for them."

Knowing I really had no other choice, I decided to order my own DONGLE and have it delivered to the store.  I'd just have to be patient until my DONGLE arrived and I could plug it in.  So we took care of the ordering and the paying, and I walked out of the store, DONGLELESS, but hopeful for the day my DONGLE arrived.

My DONGLE was scheduled to arrive on Tuesday.  But when I called?  No DONGLE.
My DONGLE was scheduled to arrive on Wednesday.  But when I called?  No DONGLE.

Finally, this morning, I got an email (in my SPAM folder, of all things!) telling me my DONGLE was here.  Too excited to wait until after work, I decided to get my DONGLE and eat lunch too.  So, back to Best Buy I drove.

When I arrived (DONGLE papers in hand) I went to the service desk.  "I'm here for a pick up!" I said excitedly.  The Blue-Shirted Best Buy girl started talking into her super-secret microphone to tell someone (I'm guessing her manager) that I was here.

"What are you picking up?"  She asked.

"A DONGLE!" I said loudly.

She started speaking into her microphone again, to tell the manager what I needed.  And then ... she started to laugh.

"What?" I asked.  "MY DONGLE ISN'T HERE AT THE DESK?"

"No," she said, laughing harder.  They have to get it.

"They have to GET MY DONGLE?" I asked.

The girl nodded and laughed harder.

"I can't wait to see it!" I told her.  And then I lowered my voice and explained, "I've been waiting for my DONGLE for the past week!"

The manager came walking up holding my DONGLE.  She was laughing too.

"Does my DONGLE come in a brown paper bag?" I asked.

Everybody laughed.

"No -- it's right here.  You're all set."

"OK," I said.  I hope my DONGLE fits.  I had to special order this DONGLE especially for me.

They all laughed some more and waved goodbye as I put my brand new DONGLE in my purse and walked towards the car.

"You're an embarassement," said GramTuna.

I looked at her and smiled.  "Just think," I said.  "I made their day.  My DONGLE and I."

When I got home I was anxious to put my DONGLE to use.  I had to hunt for the right opening, and do a fair bit of fiddling, but when all was said and done, I was entirely satisfied.

And my Samsung Blu-Ray player picked up the wireless Internet signal and I was set.

All thanks to my DONGLE.

Addendum: I don't know who on earth is responsible for naming things, but I have been running around for the past week saying DONGLE like it is the funniest word on the planet.  I can only hope that DONGLE is the English translation for a Korean word that hopefully means something noble, or technical, or really, really advanced.  Because really?  DONGLE?  Who cannot help but turn into an eight-year old with uncontrollable playground humor when you're in the presence of the word DONGLE?


Yeah.  Probably everybody else but me.  
But at least I was amused.