The Enormity of It All

My Insanity Project has gone from feeling huge to feeling the enormity of what I have at my fingertips, my feet, my desk top.......my entire office.  I am surrounded by antiquity. And, by enormous, I mean I feel so very responsible for the family history I have been keeping all these years.

Just recently, I was back in my hometown and a family member asked me how I came to have all of the family photos.  Mind you, these photos go waaaaaay back to Great-great-greats on both sides of my parents' lineage.  Some of these photos must have been taken when photography was in its infancy.  The reason I ended up with all of the family photos is because their mass took up the entire interior of a rather large cedar chest. One sister lived over a thousand miles away and shipping wasn't an option for her.  The other sister declared she didn't want them and so they went home with Capt. SO and I along with other family treasures in a rented U-Haul trailer. I have dutifully kept them for almost fifteen years now, not realizing what a priceless family treasure I had in my possession until I began the Insanity Project.

My family - siblings, grandchildren, etc. - made rather merciless fun of my mother because she kept everything.  She was not a hoarder.....not by any means.  What she did was keep boxes, folders, large envelopes, photo albums, and scrapbooks filled with what one might call mementos, along with pictures, letters......I can't begin to describe what she kept.......but looking through it all has given me the feeling of really knowing these ancestors of mine in an intimate way that I didn't think was possible, given the chasm of years that have passed since their deaths.

I am now filled with an energy to continue working on this project that is almost like a master's degree in geneology for my family.  The family history present in my office is irreplacable and I can only hope to complete it in a timely and organized way.  I am in awe of the gift my mother and father left, with pictures that actually have people's names and relationships written on the backs of them so that my job is made that much easier.

I feel buried but I am at least buried with the past of my relatives.  I am in good company and I can feel their presence.  It is as if they are cheering me on.

Someone has to.  The enormity has hit me square in the face!

Ancora imparo

Leadership Thoughts

Over the past two-plus years, I've written a fair amount about leadership.  Why?  I guess because, due to the career paths I've taken, I've almost always been in a position where I had to "lead" groups of people.  Some groups have been small - like fifteen to twenty, others have been relatively large, say in the seventy-to-ninety-member size.  Large, at least in my limited frame of reference.  My group-leading experience has been split almost fifty/fifty between adults and students (in the range of fifth grade through college-age).  I have discovered that about the only difference between people twelve through seventy-five-plus years of age is the actual chronology, some height variances, the right to vote and the possession of  a driver's license.  The ability to hear or listen is similar and attention spans are almost identical.

So, why write about "leadership" again?  Two things precipitated this return-to-topic.  First, someone recently asked me if I thought "So and So" was a "good" leader.  I responded that the word "good" was highly subjective and that what was "good" to one person could be unacceptable to another.  That was my "snake-oily" answer - politically correct, safe, inane, and innocuous. Secondly, my outdated-but-cherished, hard-copy Franklin Planner has what is called "Leadership"-themed pages and I always read the quote regarding leading above each day's page.  Tomorrow's page has a quote from Theodore M. Hesburgh, President Emeritus of the University of Notre Dame:  "The very essence of leadership is that you have vision.  You can't blow an uncertain trumpet." 

Dr. Hessburgh is so very correct.  Leading requires the strength to blow the trumpet and the good sense to know when, where, how long, and how much volume is required.  Leading requires persistence, humility, forthrightness, the ability to apologize when warranted, and the good sense when to acquiesce.  Leading can be invigorating at times, almost debilitating at others, but never, never boring.  Leading requires a continual positive demeanor, even when the leader is withering inside.  Leaders can be tired but should never display their tiredness.  Leaders are not always popular but must be respected.  Above all else, leaders must respect those they lead.  Respect is a two-way street. 

Some of think we can lead and others actually can.  Kitchen heat can be unbearable so if those of us who lead can't stand the heat, we all know what should happen.

I'm buying the most accurate thermometer I can afford.

Ancora imparo 

My Inquiring Mind Wants To Know

Can somebody tell me who made the decisions on what the "countrymen" of the world's countries would be called?  My curiosity has the best of me.

For instance, who decided that England's citizens would be referred to as the "English"?  Why not "Englanders"?  Why not Americish instead of Americans?  If Canada's citizens are Canadians why aren't we, here in the U.S., referred to as Americanians?  Italy = Italians = Italish?  Cuba = Cubans = Cubish or Cubanians?

Does "it" have anything to do with geography?  Why is it that most Asian countries have their citizenry ending with "ese"?  Vietnam = Vietnamese.  Why not Vietnamians?  China = Chinese.  Why not Chinaians?  Japan = Japanese.  Why wasn't it Japanicans?  There is the Middle East where there is no rhyme or reason to suffixes. India = Indians.  Iran = Iranians.  Iraq = Iraqis.  Pakistan = Pakistanis.  Napal = Napalese.   

Who made these decisions?  Who decided who would decide?  Is there a book somewhere that designates what the citizenry shall be referred to?  Does anyone else ever wonder about stuff like this?

Germany = Germans.  What was wrong with Germanese?  Or Germanch is to Germany like France is to French.

There must be a key that is kept deep in a room hidden in some ancient monastery.  A key that is ensconced in a small, red velvet box, a box which can only be opened by a matching key worn around the neck of an obscure prelate that spends twenty-three hours a day in meditative contemplation about why the countries of the world have so many differing suffixes.

He, too, wonders just like me.  Do you?

I think I must have too much time on my hands.  Time to greet shoppers at a big box store.

Ancora imparo

Communication Forms

LMFTF. 

If you do not know what that stands for, in today's internet linguistics, then you may be dating yourself.  Or, put another way:  if u do not know what that stands 4 in 2day's internet linguistics, then u may b dating urself. 

"Let's meet face-to-face."  LMFTF

I see the writing on the wall.  We humans are less and less apt to have face-to-face, or even voice-to-voice communications than previous generations.  To be fair about this, other than Morse Code, Western Union telegraphs, the Pony Express, the barefoot runners that were the precursors of the Olympic runners, or the U.S. Postal Service, options of alternative communications did not exist that many decades ago, except, perhaps, deep within ten-foot concrete U.S. military bunkers. 

Today, if some people have interpersonal-relationship issues, they are more apt to "talk" via texting, tweeting, or emails rather than having an actual tete-a-tete or even a conversation "ala voce'"  The relationships that I maintain with teens, twenty and thirty-somethings have taught me that more serious conversations and breakups take place through the "cloud" than ever before. 

I'm practically a dinosaur-yet-not-quite and I do not understand how meaningful communication can occur without either seeing the eyes of the other or hearing the other's voice or, preferably, both.  There is a 1990's rock ballad by the band "Extreme", "More Than Words", that says it all.  Dialogue between people is so much "more than words".  To truly ascertain another's meaning behind the words, either speech or facial expressions are needed for the real litmus test.  Tweets, texts, and emails, however filled with caps and exclamatory punctuation, are not substitutes for interpersonal chats with look-into-my-eyes meanings.  Of course, if the "other" person is a jerque or wacked-out and dangerous, then utilizing "the cloud" is the safest way to go.  Otherwise, "man-up" and say what you have to say with the other person present. 

What is next?  A cell phone with a finger-port where you stick your index finger into a slot and the machine reads emotion, sentiment and passion that is then electronically conveyed to whomever you are talking with? 

George Orwell didn't have a clue.  Or, perhaps a bigger clue than we realize?

Ancora imparo

Not In My Genes

Honestly, I had given up on wearing jeans that had any style to them at all.  I was resigned to the idea that finding blue jeans (Now there is an antiquated term.) that would fit or remotely flatter my body-type was a pipe dream.  I own five or six pair of jeans that have easily recognized names such as Pierre Cardin, Liz Claiborne, Levi's, Lee Jeans, and Ralph Loren but I gave up wearing them several years ago because my old faves had worn out and finding newer models that fit was an exercise in frustration and seeming futility.

First of all, the jean fabir of old was not necessarily comfortable to sit in.  They were great to stand in but to be seated in jeans just never was an experience that bore repeating, as far as I was concerned.  The denim of old is also uncomfortable next to the skin in cold weather.  Give me cotton, flannel, corduroy, polyester......anything but pure denim in very cold weather.

Because I turned my back on "blue jeans" a number of years ago, I have ignored and missed the entry of Spandex and other flexible fabrics into the "blue jean" manufacturing mix.  What a difference!   On a recent Saturday shopping excursion, I was determined to find some jeans that would fit and even flatter.  I held out little hope but, being the intrepid shopper that I am, I promised myself to persevere and peruse the available choices.  At first, I simply chose all of the tried and true styles and, sure enough, the old problems were present.......finding a waist size that didn't have elephant legs accompanying the jeans.......or finding legs that flattered mine but with a waist so small that I couldn't get the waist past my hip bones.  This doesn't even begin to address the inseam issue that so many short people have.

But, lo, a miracle occurred and I found two different labels that actually had jeans that would fit and flatter moi!  Plus, I discovered that denim manufacturers for women have become more savvy to what women want and have followed......FINALLY.....the path that makers of men's jeans have known for years........give women a choice with waist and inseam sizes.  For years, when I was much younger, I bought men's jeans simply because it was the only way to find inseam lengths that would give me leg lengths that did not seriously drag on the ground. 

Thanks to Spandex, I actually have a pair of jeans that I can bend in, sit cross-legged in, not look like a teenager with incredibly baggy pants in , and look as hip in as a short, highly middle-aged female can.  I wore my jeans this weekend and actually felt slightly stylish.  Mind you, I said "slightly".  I wouldn't want to give anyone the impression that I was remotely stylish.  It is simply not in my genes!

I might go purchase one more pair of these miracle jeans, just to have on hand when I wear my current pair out.  You've heard of the miracle bathing suit?  Well, I found miracle jeans.  I wonder if DKNY makes bathing suits?

Guess I shouldn't press my luck.

Ancora imparoinspandexta

Tired Yet Inspired

I'll admit it.  It's late and I'm tired yet I feel the need to write about the sources of my inspiration.

Princess Leia inspires me, as do her brothers, to be a better granny by taking better care of myself so I can live as long as possible to see her (and them) grow way past young adulthood.  I realize how long I stay on this earth is not up to me but I'll do my best to extend my time here. 

Princess Leia's parents inspire me on a regular basis.  They live their Christian faith on a daily basis and are always a source of support to me and countless others, in prayer, the spoken word and deed. 

My new pastors are an inspiration to me and the others in our congregation.  God sent them to our church and, through them, is breathing new life into our midst, which, not too long ago, felt as if we were gasping for each breath, like those with COPD do.  Taking the Biblical story about the one missing sheep, I feel as if we have been a faithful, yet disorganized bunch of livestock, grazing about on many hills, occasionally looking up to see where our fellow sheep were, but having no distinct direction or any instinct that told us we needed a direction.  Now it feels as if we are coming together as a flock of faithful followers and, in our growing unity, may actually have the opportunity to make a difference in ways we never imagined were possible.  I realize that our pastors are human beings, just like the rest of us, but they occupy positions of God-given influence and importance to our tiny sphere of existence and, through them, we might hear God in ways and in places we didn't realize existed.  I now actually hear people dreaming about what "might be" instead of "what was".

The night is over and a new day is truly dawning........... and if I don't get to bed, that is exactly what will be happening before long.     

This sheep is heading for her stable.

Ancora imparo

I'm Ahead!

I find it personally objectionable that, at 3:30 p.m., after one spillage and seven re-heats in the microwave, I just finished the coffee that I made at 11:30 a.m.  This is not my usual modus operandi, or, regular procedure.  Cold coffee doesn't particularly agree with my digestive system, nor does the re-heated variety, but today I was desperate.  It was as if I dared the world to prevent me from making my own brew and consuming it as well.  The world tried but I won.  Moi - one, World - zero.

Now I know that there are those who are employed both outside the home and inside the home that never have time to finish a cup of coffee whilst it still resembles a warm beverage, so I shouldn't feel special.  In fact, there are people who have made a second career out of re-heating the cold coffee in their even-colder coffee cups.  I once knew a woman who, daily, left a trail of coffee cups throughout her home, each containing some amount of unfinished java and the person who dared to dump even one of those scattered cups took his or her life into his or her own hands.

Eating today has been about as routine as my coffee drinking experience.  For some reason, nearly everything I've consumed since awakening has been eaten standing up, while walking from room to room, or while seated before my laptop.  One of these days my luck will run out and I will have some mammoth spill on my keyboard, for that is the first rule of stupidity........eat at your computer.  I have previously blogged about how many crumbs must be residing underneath the keys of my laptop and, by now, the amount must have grown exponentially larger.  Still, I persist.

Now that I have complained about my eating and drinking for the day thus far, there seems little left in my sleep-deprived brain to write about.  I am desperately clinging to my lists of tasks that need to be accomplished in the next twenty-four hours, although I have determined that my main list now needs to be re-written.  It seems that yesterday while I was riding in the car and creating my lists, I kept dozing off. Consequently, some of the entries were written in a less-than-legible manner.  I did catch one break with the new jeans that I bought.  No shortening required as of yet!

Cross one more item off my list!  Moi- two, World - zero.

Ancora imparo

A Real Hail Mary

Local meteorologists were all over this one - predicting that there could be nighttime storms and that those storms could be heavy at times. As we drove over a local river yesterday, right before dusk, we could see that recent rains were pushing the river levels over the banks and that more rain would add to the spill-over. Discussions before choir rehearsal were on the order of, "Yeah, yeah, yeah.  They say lotsa rain and lotsa snow but it never happens."  I went to bed with my computer totally unplugged......just in case.

Capt. SO and I were sleeping peacefully, 'round midnight.  This is not the "'Round Midnight" of jazz history.  Not the "'Round Midnight", 1986 film about the real-life jazz legend, tenor saxophonist Dale Turner.  Not the "'Round Midnight", 1944 jazz standard by pianist Thelonius Monk that is the most-recorded jazz standard written by any jazz musician.  No, not that "'Round Midnight".  The 'round midnight of two regular "joes" who were sleeping soundly....right before the heavens opened up, the rain came down, and hail reigned. (pun intended)

The "Hail-Mary" moment was only two to three minutes in length, but it was fierce while it lasted.  The sound was rather like being pelted by the contents of dozens of those candy machines that sell the outrageously large candies known as "jawbreakers".....and for good reason.  You know, the jawbreakers that every kid begs for,  parents forsee the Heimlich maneuver in their future, then give in and buy them anyway.  Those jawbreakers.   

We were awakened with a start, not quite understanding what we were hearing but knowing that it was not a normal nocturnal noise.  By the time we became aware of what was striking the roof, deck, windows, and brick, Mother Nature had thrown in other tricks from her bag, such as thunder and spectacular lightning, bringing full disclosure to her intent.  Fortunately, the show was short-lived and she ended her temper tantrum with simple rainfall, which lulled our ears, eyes, and brains back to sleep.

Hail, Mary.  We're glad you moved on.

Ancora imparo

List Blitz

This is one of those weeks that is a bit too big for my britches.  I'd like to have alterations done on this week - either shortening it or taking it in, but definitely not lengthening it - although adding two hours to each day, as in a 26-hour day, would work just fine. I am existing by list-blitzing.  You can make fun of me all you want, but list-blitzing is the only way I can keep "it" all in the box without losing my mind, or anything else, for that matter.    

I have noted little "oops" here and there, probably due to this giant sleep deficit I am accumulating.  At least, I am telling myself that my forgetfulness is due to a lack of sleep.  To think of any other plausible reasons for being forgetful is simply too mind-boggling.  No one wants to think of his or herself sitting in a chair, rocking to and fro, mumbling from dawn until dusk.  Fortunately, all of my "forgets" have not resulted in any giant snafus....yet.  I've missed an item or two that was written on grocery lists and last night I neglected to put the baking powder in the brownies I baked for tomorrow evening's gathering of church folk here at our condo, but I do not believe that the absence of baking powder will have affected the taste of the brownies.  The batter did rise and, after I put the condensed, sweetened milk/butter/large-bag-of-chocolate-chips-melted/real vanilla concoction over the batter base, the end result looks normal.  Perhaps I'll have to press Capt. SO into taste-testing service before tomorrow evening.  I think he'll comply with my request!

The hard part of list blitzing is keeping track of all of the different lists.  Perhaps I should devise a handbook for list management that has a table-of-contents page where all of the lists could be listed and, therefore, organized.  It might look something like this:

Pg. 1 .................... List of Lists
Pg. 2 .................... Timetable of List Execution
Pg. 3 .................... List Triage
Pg. 4 .................... List of Plan B's
Pg. 5 .................... List of Alternative Lists
Pg. 6 .................... List of Non-compliance Excuses
Pg. 7 .................... List of Psychiatric Fellows Who Treat List Makers
Pg. 8 .................... List of Commonly Prescribed Pharmaceuticals

I think it is this last page of my List-Management Handbook that would be the most beneficial.  Now that I think of it, should the last page be first? 

Ancora imparo

Stirred, Shaken and Fried

Have you ever felt stirred, shaken and fried......all at once? 

I would usually equate stirring with either cooking or listening to a rousing John Phillip Sousa march.  Shaken would make me conjure up an alcoholic beverage, being frightened, or being in an earthquake.  Fried, well that brings to mind Grandma's chicken, eggs, potatoes, green tomatoes, okra, eggplant, bacon, pork rind or being fried, as in needing to put my head in the nearest ostrich hole and not see the light of day for days. 

Today was one of those rare days where a vortex of people, things, incidents, and choices came together to create a sink hole where I feel stirred, shaken and fried all at once. 

Mind you, this is a circumstance of my own making.  I simply put too many tasks on my personal agenda for the day then, other people added theirs to my list, I nearly got run over twice in the grocery store parking lot (seriously) and, suddenly, voila!, the shaken, stirred and fried curtain descended upon me and I felt powerless to lift the curtain.  So, I did what all good bloggers do.....I decided that the cooking of dinner, the making of a pan of brownies, and hemming my new jeans could wait and I headed for my laptop.  No matter that I made seven errand stops before getting to the grocery store, then coming home to unload the groceries and make a double batch of cookies.  No matter that the newly installed smoke-detector batteries in my office keep beeping loudly and increasing my feeling of being stirred, shaken and fried.  No matter that my phone keeps beeping with text messages from multiple people. 

No matter because tomorrow I get to go see Princess Leia while her parents, brothers TLV and TLV'sLB, and maternal Grandpa Hay are in a foreign country on a mission trip.  Gramps SO and I get to see Princess Leia and the OG (Other Granny) and we are so looking forward to it.  It will make this awful day seem like it was light years ago.

Today - stirred, shaken and fried.  Tomorrow - warm and fuzzy.

Can't wait! 

Ancora imparo

Rhetorical Yet Significant

Allow me to ask a pressing, rhetorical question that I need to find an answer to:

"Why do I own so many socks?"  Or, put another way, "Why would one woman need so many socks?"

Let me declare, at the outset of this posting, that I am, in no way, a hoarder of socks.  I do not own so many socks that they are clogging my hallways, strewn about on stairsteps, littering the floor of every room, etc.  Rather, they are neatly occupying one drawer of a tall dresser that Capt. SO and I share.  But, this morning, when I put away the clean socks from yesterday's laundry, I looked at all of the stockings in that large drawer and thought to myself, "You own too many socks."

Just how many socks does one person need?  Theoretically, boiled down to the least common denominator - only seven pairs.  No more, no less.  OK, maybe eight, if you factor in what to wear on your feet on the seventh day when you are doing the laundry.  If it is cold, you would want a pair of socks on your feet, while the other seven (or fourteen, depending on how you count your socks) socks are being laundered. But, what if you need to change activities during one day?  That would throw off the sock-count, would it not?

To answer my own query, I like to keep a variety of sock-types.  Dress socks, athletic socks, knee-length socks, those funky, short socks that professional tennis players wear, a few pairs of strictly-cotton socks to wear during winter nights when my feed are freezing and I cannot sleep,  mid-calf socks that cannot crawl their way down to my ankles when I wear my winter dress-boots, holiday-themed socks to wear on those holidays that require holiday-themed stockings, fuzzy socks to wear when I'm staying indoors during impossibly cold, winter days, etc. 

As you can see, there are many logical reasons to keep lots of socks and I get that.  It is just that when I open my sock drawer and see all of those socks, I wonder about my ability to think reasonably about how many socks I should own.

Another pressing question then becomes - Does anyone in the world really care how many socks I (or anyone else, for that matter) own?  Does anyone really care if socks were to litter my hallways and stairway or if people could not sit on dining room chairs without having to toss socks off the upholstery?  Would anyone care if socks were all over the kitchen counters and hanging on the bedposts? 

Possibly.

I must sign off and go think about my sock drawer.  Perhaps this posting will cause you, the reader, to think about your sock population as well.

Ancora imparo

Traffic Lights and Parking Lots

Among all of the "givens" in this world, two would have to be: 1. Traffic lights are seldom timed. 2. If you park in the farthest corner of a parking lot, when you return to your vehicle, someone will probably have parked right next to you.....maybe even too close.

These two "givens" were hammered home to me today.  I had to leave home very early this morning to drive into a metropolitan area where I knew the traffic would be light because it was a Saturday and because it was an early hour.  I seldom drive any speed that would catch the attention of a public safety officer and, as a rule, following the speed limit at most hours of the day can help drivers "catch" more green lights than red on the route that I planned to take.....that is.......if the traffic lights are synchronized.  Some municipalities have synchronized lights and others must subscribe to the notion that every intersection's light should be red as often as possible.  This morning, most of the lights turned red on my route, even though no other vehicle or vehicles passed through the intersections on the cross streets.  Why this constant interruption of traffic flow for the major thoroughfare on a quiet, early Saturday morning is beyond my ken.  I guess that higher gas prices encourage the street department , or whatever department controls traffic lights, to help consumers waste as much gas idling as possible.  This is a "go figure".

Another "go figure" is the parking lot conundrum of what compels people to park as close as possible to a car that parked as far away as possible, in an obvious attempt to avoid having other vehicles park near the car.  This is not an infrequent happenstance, at least from my world-view.  It occurred today in the parking lot of a large retail mall.  Perhaps these parking-lot encroachers are really lonely people who feel more of a sense of belonging if they find a remote car and snuggle up close to it with their cars.  I have no answer to this curious phenomenon, other than to state that I find it annoying and unnecessary. 

Just stating the obvious today.

Ancora imparo

A Hopeless Case

Over the years, my computer literacy has grown and, therefore, probably improved, albeit exponentially minimally.  I can say that I have learned to "save" often, saving myself lots of heartache, reduced the number of unprintable words being uttered from my mouth, and protected multiple computers from certain ruination by death of throwing.  I have Capt. SO to thank for this.  It is through his repeated caveats that I have become a "saver" of all things entered into my laptop.

What I still struggle with, and may never get right, is whether something requires one or two mouse clicks.  Oh, this is not for lack of instruction from Capt. SO.  In fact, he has repeatedly told me the difference over the years, but to no avail. Just this morning, I was reminded of my inability to remember this difference when I performed some action in Outlook and happened to use my index finger twice instead of once and ended up with two identical screens open. 

Fortunately, this type of repeated brain glitch will never hurt anyone or anything.  It is just a matter of trial and error.  If one click doesn't get me to where I need to go, then I'll try two.....or vice versa. If two clicks don't work, then I'll go to Plan B, which is one click.  With this simple strategy I can never go wrong, unless the software industry makes changes to protocols and then I'm simply screwed.  I can see it all now.  I'll have to have Post-it notes pasted everywhere with instructional cues scribbled on them.  Or I'll need twice-daily tutorials from Capt. SO, which will not be popular with him.

Actually, I don't understand my brain's inability to grasp this seemingly simply concept.  Although, come to think of it, there does seem to be a theme here.  I've had my "new" cell phone now for almost a year and I still cannot remember some of the paths necessary to accomplish certain actions.  It is as if the phone is a virgin in my hands every time I open it up to either enter a new contact, edit an existing one, find a contact to send a text to, etc.........  I still cannot remember how to move a picture posted on some website to my thumb drive.

How have I ever managed to run a washing machine or a dishwasher?  Well, I can answer that question.  Survival.

I'm also realizing that we've owned one of our vehicles for almost seven years and I still can't remember how to do certain things with the radio, use cruise control, change my seat-control adjustments, or move the steering wheel up or down.

On a positive note, I  use a manual toothbrush and I am a pretty decent baker.  Guess I'll have to settle for those life-successes!

Ancora imparo

Our Footprints Are Too Big

I turned the corner today, just as I've done probably one thousand times before over the past twenty years, and noticed, for the first time, the tiny triangle of corn stalks.  This is in an area of once-fertile farm land that is slowly and inexorably being overtaken by suburban sprawl.  The tip of the triangle borders a busy, four-lane highway-type road and one side borders yet another busy road, this one a four-lane thoroughfare.  Nestled in this maybe one-acre section is what appears to be corn stubble from a corn field.  It looks so out-of-place there, surrounded by other non-farm-type structures and land.  I was surprised that I had never taken note of the micro-field before.  Just as I began to think about the person that cultivated, planted and harvested that little field, I observed yet another reminder of urban sprawl, not more than eighty feet from the tip of the triangle........a tree or scrub brush, dormant for the winter, that had grown between the edge of the corn field and the concrete curb......literally right there.  The tree/bush has grown in an impossibly inconvenient place yet is still thriving, even leaning out into the traffic lane, probably because that is the primary direction from which the sun's rays stream. 

Two reminders of how we humans have overtaken acre after acre of land that was once devoted to farming of some type, whether cash crops or livestock.  We truly are plowing up ground and putting up parking lots, housing tracts, multi-family developments, shopping centers, retail malls.....anything related to accommodating our human tastes for population-dense land use.  True, our preference for development sprawl is fed by the willingness of farm-land owners to sell their properties and so it becomes a vicious cycle, kind of like, "Which came first, the chicken or the egg?"  Developers wouldn't have plenty of family-farm  property from which to chose to buy if there weren't dozens of developers waiting in the weeds to entice willing farm-land owners to sell.

What is the answer?  Where can we find a workable solution?  This reminds me of the song from the musical,
"Oklahoma", that has the line, "the farmers and the cowboys can be friends."  Can we inhabitants of this world find a way to fit everyone into their one little corn field yet curb our insatiable urge to develop, develop, develop?

Our shoes are over-sized and leave footprints on this earth that are way too big for the path on which we've been guided to walk.  If we all went barefoot, as our ancestors did, we'd naturally prefer walking upon lush, green grass, rather than hard, cold concrete. 

No answers here.....only another thought on which to ponder.

Ancora imparo

My Impatience Is A Personal Embarrassment

I just realized, today, how reliant I have become on Google's speediness and when Google is not performing at its usual speed, I become impatient and concerned that my aging laptop has contracted a virus.  I find an internal indignance when I have to wait for a split-second more than normal and, I find this somewhat disconcerting.  What have I become that I require an instant internet response?  Furthermore, my impatience seems trivial, minor, and sophomoric considering what is transpiring a continent away in Japan.  How dare I feel impatience just because Google is slow, when the Japanese are waiting.....for much more than a speedy Google. I am riveted by what I see media reporting from Japan.  But, more than that, I am humbled by the Japanese culture.

Two decades ago, my family received a musical immersion in the Japanese culture when we were introduced to Suzuki Music Education.  As a requirement to participate in the Suzuki program, we all had to read (or be read to, in the case of the kids) a book by Shinichi Suzuki, titled Nurtured By Love.  The book details the approach to education from the world-famous Talent Education School in Japan.  My introduction and education in the Suzuki technique, as is required for the parents of Suzuki-technique-educated children, would be career-changing for me, forever affecting the way I performed in the classroom and forever impacting my approach toward all my students. 

As I watch and listen to the media stories, following a tragedy of epic proportions in Japan, I am struck most by the descriptions of how seemingly calm and polite the Japanese are.  The reports of Japanese residents lining themselves up in orderly fashions to receive food and water......Do I think we could manage this in the U.S. following something catastrophic?  No.  The report that the Japanese government did not have to enact government-enforced rolling blackouts to conserve energy because the citizens had done it themselves......amazing and humbling.  The report that looting was not an issue.....incredible.  Could we Americans police ourselves in such a civil manner following what the Japanese have endured and are enduring?  Never.

If you read the book, Nurtured By Love, you would discover that incivility, rudeness, impatience and thoughtlessness are simply not a part of the Japanese culture.  In Suzuki Music education, the bow is of significant importance and I believe that the small-yet-enormous gesture of the bow paints a wordless picture of the Japanese people and their culture.  The bow reminds me of how far away I have traveled from the gist of the book.  And to think that I was impatient only because Google was slow to load. 

I am embarrassed by my own impatience. 

Ancora imparo

When Is Excellence Not An Option?

Does our society reward excellence,does it encourage mediocrity, or have we created a society in which both traits can survive side-by-side?  Should excellence and mediocrity ever be bedfellows?  Should we, as a society, tolerate and reward mediocrity?

I'll answer my own proverbial question with a resounding, emphatic, and unequivocal NO, NO, A THOUSAND TIMES, NO!!!!!  Mediocrity is the quickest route to failure.  Taking the Mediocre Highway is like taking Chicago's express lanes to nowhere......fast.  Mediocre is the opposite of success. 

True, accepting mediocrity as the highest rung on a success ladder may seem to bring faster results and quicker rewards but those results and rewards will be empty, hollow and temporary.  It may seem that most people want to "cozy" up to the mediocre person, place, thing, action, or outcome because, well, because mediocrity looks like fun.  It is most certainly easier to strive for mediocrity than to hold out for excellence because, deep down inside, we all want to have a good time.  What we do not realize is that it is actually easier, in the long run, to strive for excellence, both for ourselves and any group or organization that we belong to or are affiliated with. 

Is perfection the same thing as excellence?  Again, NO, NO, A THOUSAND TIMES, NO!!  Perfection is simply not attainable.  To be perfect is to be not human.  However, striving for excellence can be both noble and rewarding.  Programs, organizations, and individuals that seek excellence in all they do are often the most successful in terms of retention, loyalty, cameraderie, spirit d'corps, and integrity.  I believe that we humans will naturally gravitate towards excellence if it is offered.  We appreciate excellence and excellence will be rewarded with both our own personal satisfaction and the satisfaction of knowing that we encouraged others to strive for excellence.

I'll answer one last question - the query that I posed in the title of today's posting,  "When is excellence not an option?", with one word that creates a double negative:  NEVER!  Excellence should always be the option of first, second, third, fourth, ad infinatum.......choice.   

Let's remove mediocrity from our vocabularies, here and now!

Ancora imparo

Learn From My Mistake

Well, readers, I'd like to share a little true story that happened today, but had its beginning two weeks ago.

Capt. SO wanted to participate in my church's Daniel Fast, only in a modified form.  "Fine", thought I to myself.  "We generally eat mostly legumes, vegetables and fruit.  This shouldn't be too taxing."  Being the good and thoughtful First (and last) Mate that I am, I set about seeking new recipes in which to use the same old ingredients, just to keep things fresh.  I found a recipe for a cannelloni/cabbage/and other-assorted-vegetables soup.  It turned out to be very tasty.  That was two weeks ago to the day.  We've been eating on the soup regularly and it has been (emphasis now on has) keeping its fresh and delicious flavors intact. 

The last time Capt. SO and I each ate a bowl of said soup was this past Friday, I believe.  I was still good.

This afternoon, I was on my own for lunch and thought I would eat some of the soup for lunch.  Having recently transferred the soup from a large Tupperware container to a smaller one, I grabbed the current container, removed the lid and ladled the contents into my bowl.  Without smelling the soupy mixture, up close at least, I put the lid back on the Tupperware container and returned it to the refrigerator.  I put my bowl into the microwave, looking forward to enjoying soup one more time.  The microwave went ding, I grabbed the bowl and proceeded to sit at our formal dining table, thinking I'd treat myself to a table instead of the breakfast bar we take most of our meals at.  I put a spoonful to my lips, swallowed, and thought, "Gee, I don't remember that taste.", but I was a little slow on the uptake.  I took another bite and thought to myself, "Hmmm, this doesn't taste quite like I think it should."  I got up, retrieved the Tupperware container from the refrigerator, removed the lid, bent down to sniff, and proclaimed (loud enough to even get Capt. SO's attention away from his computer project) "AWWWWWWWKKKKKKK".  The smell was disgusting and I was even more disgusted to think that I had swallowed two spoonfuls of the awful, foul-smelling stuff.  Not surprisingly, I immediately dumped out the contents of my bowl, as well as what remained in the Tupperware container.  Not once did I think twice about the old, time-worn tradition of my married-in-the-Depression parents to NEVER  throw away anything, regardless of the color or the smell.  I let the garbage disposal do its thing.  I  decided to make a fruit smoothie, which by then, didn't appeal very much to me, either. 

I think I've permanently damaged my taste buds and my olfactory system.  Everything smells and tastes like rotten cabbage and cannelloni soup.  Something tells me it may be a while before I make that recipe again....if ever.

Lesson learned:  Smell carefully first!

Ancora imparo

How We Handle Stress

I was part of a mixed-gender conversation, today, about how people handle stress.  One man said he goes to his workshop area and builds something because hammering nails helps him get out whatever emotion he is harboring.  One woman gave the predictable answer about eating chocolate, another man simply said he eats, and a woman said she buries herself in books to relieve stress.  Interestingly, no one said they shop as a stress reducer. As I was driving home, I began thinking (There is that action again.) about how generations before us relieved their stress.

Previous generations had more opportunities to pound out their aggressions than, perhaps, we do now.  Many women were homemakers and homemakers in earlier generations had far fewer appliances than we present-day women. Our grandmothers and great-grandmothers did not have the luxury of the powered appliances that make our lives easier.  Our great-grandmothers and their daughters had to haul carpets and rugs out-of-doors in order to beat out the dust and dirt.  Remember homes with "shaker" porches?  Laundry was done by hand and required hours of scrubbing with hot water, hand-made soap, lye and brushes.  It was then hung to dry, outside if the weather allowed and who-knows-where inside if the weather was unsuitable for line-drying.  All baked goods were beaten by hand, bread was kneaded by brute force and vegetables were cut one slice at a time.  No fancy food processors or electric mixers with bread hooks.

Men had equal opportunities to release tensions with hand saws, hammering by hand, cutting crops, grass and weeds with sickles and scythes and what about the horse-drawn buggies, carriages, and wagons?

The modern grocery store didn't exist and freezers were just a dream in someone's brain.  The "cold chest" was kept cold by huge chunks of ice.....ice that was cut by hand and stored in huge ice lockers that the homeowner could only hope lasted through the summer months.

It wasn't all that long ago that printing was still a type-set process, copy machines didn't exist and all of the men and women who had to use mimeograph machines would attest to the ink stains on their hands and clothing and the smell of the wet ink on the paper probably still remains in their olfactory memories.  Typing also used to be an arduous task on the old manual typewriters, six of which I own, and I can testify to the challenge of typing and correcting mistakes.

I do believe that the physical act of hard work, whether it applied to inside the home, a business, or outdoor labor, afforded the humans who came before us a ready vehicle for releasing stress and pent-up energy.  Although I must say, as I'm wading through all of the old family pictures from three and four generations ago, I do denote a dour and serious look on most of the faces that is not gender related at all.  Everybody looks like they had plenty of stress and little reason to smile, whereas the pictures from my family's years show plenty of smiles.

Maybe having it easier does mean more smiling and less stress.

Hmmm.  Another point on which to ponder. 

Ancora imparo

Thinking About Thinking

Did you know that February 22, 2011 was World Thinking Day?  This day, celebrated day by the Girl Scout Organization, is set aside for the organization to think about other humans globally.  I spend a fair amount of time thinking and pondering (redundant, I realize) but my thoughts and ponderings are not nearly as weighty as those the Girl Scouts are encouraged to think about, nor are some of my thoughts as altruistic as, perhaps, they could or should be. 

However, since this blog topic is about thinking, I immediately thought of the famous thinker, Rene' Descartes and set about investigating him at Wikipedia, the fount of all factual, thought-provoking factoids.  I learned that Monsieur Descartes was born in France in 1596, died in Sweden in 1650, and spent most of his adult life in the Dutch Republic.  A real Renaissance man, he was known as a natural philosopher, a mathematician who is credited with being the father of analytical geometry (He and I would not have gotten along.), and he was one of the key figures in the Scientific Revolution.  Descartes has been immortalized with his saying, "I think, therefore I am."  

Well, I prefer to think of myself in the following manner:  I am, therefore I think.  In fact, as I wrote earlier in this posting, I think quite a bit.  It seems that there is much, in this world, about which to muse or deliberate upon.  Some of my current, significant thinking opportunities include the tragedy unfolding in Japan, the political upheavals happening in Indiana and Wisconsin, and the health of good friends and relatives.  Lesser and trivial-but-elevated-to-important status items that are garnering my attention are my Insanity Project, people who don't think and those who are seemingly incapable of lucid thoughts.  Then there are my mundane-at-best and vapid-at-worst musings such as,  "Should I exercise tomorrow?" or "Should I eat a brownie?" or "What should I do tonight after I blog?"  Questions that I will answer but really do not deserve any mental energy spent on them at all.

I think it is time to stop with this trivial drivel and cease blathering . 

I thought about it and did.

Ancora imparo

She Was Here

This Insanity Project will get the best of me yet, I swear.  I am not even certain which phase I'm in.  I may have described its present state as Phase I but, frankly, it feels more as if I'm in Phase Thirty.  This process has taken me on a journey much like a roller-coaster ride and it has been emotionally exhausting. 


After having gone through what I thought were all of the photo albums, I had given myself a two-day respite, tackling other tasks that need my attention, among them - mending - which I detest.  I had a particular garment that needed to be hand-mended and that type of mending requires me to be wearing my glasses and not my contacts, hence all hand-mending is done predominantly in the evening.  Having finished the little sewing project, I folded the garment and got up to see if there were any other garments that needed needle and thread instead of machine stitching.  Upon rising, my eye suddenly settled on a lower area of the shelves where my Insanity Project is being stored.  "Hmmm", I thought, "what is this dark brown "thing"?" as I bent over to get a closer glimpse.  My hand touched something soft and I immediately sensed the feel of leather as I pulled "it" up to check "it" out.

"It" in hand, I recognized the roughly twelve-by-fourteen inch "thing" as  homemade photo album my mother had made years ago.  She had ready access to leather scraps where she worked and was always creating useful items out of the scraps such as coin purses, purses, eye-glass cases, wallets, the photo album I was holding, smallish cases to hold note pads, etc.  Her old Singer sewing machine hummed frequently through the night into the wee hours of mornings as she sewed this and that creation out of her leather scraps.  Being married during the Great Depression imbued her and my dad with the strongest of urges to NEVER waste anything.....and they did not.  


It was not my intent to open up yet another photo album last night, but I couldn't resist the impulse to delve  into something that was so intimately my mother's.  And, delve, I did, but with company.  My mother joined me and, together, we took a walk down memory lane and beyond, to old photos of ancestors long gone, jalopies long junqued, and good times past.  Happy memories for me and re-created mental images from her handwriting that so carefully chronicled the names, times and places of all the pictures.  I may have removed all of the photos and sorted them into the predictable family categories but the old, homemade leather album cover is a keeper.  Soft and pliable.....just like my mother's body when she would hug me, which was often.

Thanks, Mom.  I needed that.

Ancora imparo 










 

Molecular Gastronomy

Molecular Gastronomy.  Is this just a fancy title that means "I ate my chemistry experiment?" 

I first heard about this cooking phase/craze on one of my favorite Food Network shows, "Chopped".  One of the "Chopped" champions used molecular gastronomic ingredients and the judges kept remarking about them.  I paid little attention to the remarks except to recognize that most of the ingredients they were speaking about I had never heard of.  Fast forward to today's newspaper and one of the daily inserts.  There is an article entitled, "The Science of Food" and the article details molecular cooking techniques and applications. 

The closest I ever came to molecular gastronomy was hearing a conversation from my favorite son about how he made homemade ice cream using liquid nitrogen.  I thought this was particularly appropriate for a physics major to try his hand at so I didn't give it a second thought.  But today's article uses terms such as "cooking chemicals" and "chemical cooking", which sound more like an illegal lab somewhere in the Blue Ridge Mountain area than something I'd want in my own kitchen......or anyone else's for that matter. 

Two recipes are printed and they contain ingredients with names that seem more appropriate for AP Chemistry than Betty Crocker's test kitchen.  Imagine going to the store and asking where you could buy sodium alginate (sound like a product used to clean fish tanks), calcium chloride (sounds like the stuff that collects at the base of my water faucets), or agar-agar which sounds like an utterance from a Biblical stutterer.  To add to the confounding, the recipes are printed using metric measurements, which might as well be printed using hieroglyphics as far as I am concerned.  For us ignorant Americans who gave up on and dissed metric decades ago, trying to follow a recipe that says, "pour into a flat tray so that liquid is 2 millemeters thick" or "Cut the soy gel into 15-by-15-centimeter squares." would simply lead to culinary disaster.  I would have no clue what thickness 2 millimeters was and my soy gel squares wouldn't fit onto even the largest of dinner plates.  I'm more at home with Paula Deen's method of cooking or even my knuckle-dragging ancestors' techniques that required their freshly-caught-still-mooing-game be roasted over an open flame.  I did enough science experiments in high school.

Ancora imparo

Intriging Scheme To Conspire

This week has brought and will bring multiple "firsts' with it.  Many people, including myself, have seen their first robins of the spring and we all know what that means!  My SO and I took our morning perambulation outside - our first since probably early November of last year.  There was no sidewalk or street ice to be found so we had no worries about slip-slidin' away (Thank you, Paul Simon!) and I'm certain that the treadmill appreciated the day of rest. 

Early this coming Sunday morning, the government will pull its annual "tinkering-with-Mother-Nature stunt", otherwise know as Daylight Savings Time.  This event is a now-annual rite of spring that I wish we could do away with.  It simply messes up everyone's internal clock, which is naturally almost messed up anyway. 

As humans, our internal "clock" is known, in scientific circles, as our "circadian" clock, sometimes referred to as circadian rhythm.  For those of us who have difficulty sleeping, we know that circadian rhythm is about as difficult to regulate and keep constant as the Catholic rhythm method of birth control.  Humans' sleep patterns can be disrupted by many influences, light having one of the highest incidences of influence.  The word "circadian" comes from two Latin words - circa, which means about  and dies (pronounced dee-ayse), which means day.  What I did not know is that our naturally occurring circadian clock is set on a roughly twenty-five-hour-a-day clock and that, to keep with the earth's observed twenty-four-hour-a-day clock, our circadian clock must reset itself on a daily basis. It is no wonder that many people suffer from nightly sleep disruption!  So, when our government, with its great wisdom about what is best for the masses, arbitrarily chose to observe a twice-a-year chronological switch, it must have come from a back-room discussion among mad scientists and even more insane social scientists who thought it would be fun to mess up peoples' sleep patterns and then observe the resulting mayhem.    

Consequently, I am posing a not-rhetorical question:  Do you, the reader, know of anyone - I repeat, anyone - who likes the time changes?  I do not believe I've ever heard one single person who has publicly stated that he or she "can't wait for the time change".  We complain about our politicians regarding multiple perceived "offenses", but, I ask, how many greater offenses can there be than messing with Mother Nature and natural biology?  I maintain that we are all part of some giant and subversive scientific experiment, like rats in a laboratory.  Somewhere, people in white coats are watching and laughing and I'll bet they do not observe twice-yearly time changes.

A conspiracy?  Maybe.  Or, maybe I've just seen too many reruns of "Bones". 

Ancora imparo

No Secrets

Have you noticed how good the internet is at tracking who you are, what you are interested in, what you "say", what you blog about, what types of on-line purchases you make?  Personally, I find this "Big-Brother-Is-Watching-Me-From-the-Cloud" concept disconcerting, unsettling and a bit unnerving.

It is not uncommon to receive purchase-type-related junque emails after, for instance, I've purchased, say, thumb tacks, glue sticks, Velcro and a staple gun needed to re-upholster my footstool from childhood.  Now, I do not have a footstool from childhood and I've never purchased said products online, but I'll wager a bet that once I post this email, I will receive advertisement paragraphs on the right side of my blog featuring some of the very items I listed.  Yes, the internet is that scary and that instant.

I am also perturbed and a bit insulted to now be getting junque emails about nursing home insurance, hip replacement surgery, dentures, hair-coloring products to cover gray, and, the latest insufferable affront - denture information.  All true.  Emails about all of the aforementioned have come across my inbox in the last year. 

What can be next?  Ads or emails about facial hair removal, facelift surgery information, liposuction procedures,  plastic surgeon advertisements, drivers license renewal refresher courses, adult diaper coupons, wrinkle reduction creams, rocking chair carpenters?  Is there anything the internet doesn't track?  If I ever get to draw Social Security before the Great Illusionist and his cronies do away with it, I'm certain that a new wave of age-related junque emails will flow my way. 

Yes, there are no secrets from Uncle Sam, his Cloud, and the Keepers of the Cloud.  Perhaps, one day, our computers will become our alarm clocks.  When we don't log on at a certain time that our past practices have established, the Cloud Enforcers will come a-knocking either at our real door or our virtual door. 

I'm changing my locks.

Ancora imparo

Manila Mania

If you were to set foot into my office these days, you would find the following:  One crazed-looking woman surrounded by multiple manila envelopes of varying sizes, piles of photographs laying about on every surface, empty and old photo albums propped up on the floor against every piece of office furniture, scraps of paper strewn about on the floor, and the smallish, under-the-desk waste basket filled to overflowing with discarded pictures.

I'm in the midst of what I refer to as my "Insanity Project" - an undertaking that needed to be undertaken but now that I am undertaking the endeavor I'm seriously questioning whether or not this was a good idea......which is a rhetorical question.  I KNOW this needed to be started and I have done a masterful job of avoiding it for months, but it was time for the "rubber to meet the road". 

Well, the "rubber did meet the road" and, as I wrote in a previous posting a week or so ago, "the truck stops here".  While in Phase I, I have now emptied thirty-six file folders, fifteen photo albums, three scrapbooks, photo envelopes too numerous to mention and thrown away hundreds, maybe thousands, of old pictures. (Phase II will involve going through all of the generational photos, archived in Rubbermaid bins, from my parents and their ancestors.)  I am almost over feeling guilty about all of the people who have been dissed in discarded pictures and I am trying to get over feeling guilty about throwing out all of my children's quarterly grade reports from Kindergarten through high school.  The college years are another matter.  Other than the fact that Capt. SO and I attended college graduations for Offspring A and B, there is no official record that our two children ever set foot on a college or university campus because they were both legal-aged adults when they "went away" and, therefore, no transcripts ever were mailed to the parents.  Funny how that works.

Anyway, I digress.

Tonight, as I made yet another trek down to the storage closet to fetch more photo albums (I think there are ten left), one of the albums I brought up was the album of Capt. SO's and my wedding.  The usual routine, in my Insanity Project, would be to settle into my desk chair, album on my lap, and start the disassembling process, which is exactly what I did.  I opened up the official album and lo, I could not (yet) bring myself to wrench all of the marriage pictures from the safety of each page.  This album just may be the most difficult to tear apart.....as if by removing the pictures from each page it would somehow what???????  Dissolve the marriage??????  Silly, I know, but I will need to chew on this for a few days.  I'll confer with Capt. SO and see what his viewpoint is. 

If you come across me, in a public setting, over the next few weeks and you note a certain wild, disheveled look about me or in my eyes, please cut me a little slack.  A hug would be appreciated due to the wide range of emotions this process is taking me through......sometimes all within a thirty-minute time frame.  I can easily go from oohing and aahing about how cute the kids were, to having tears run down my face because there are no do-overs, to laughing when remembering the circumstances surrounding a particular photograph, to trying to swallow away the huge lump that suddenly grew in my throat.

My manila mania will continue until my Insanity Project is completed.  I suspect this is not the last blog posting on the project.  I hope can tolerate my reflectivity.

Ancora imparo

Change Of Course

As I was typing the title for today's posting, "Change Of Course", I realized that by adding one little comma, the meaning would be somewhat different.....as in "Change, Of Course".  Both titles would, though, reflect the concept of doing something unplanned, which is what happened in the "course" of mapping out my posting content.

Today's subject started with an idea that came in the middle of a recent night.  Don't ask me where the thoughts came from but I began thinking about the words snafu, brouhaha, melee', folderol and how the words had such a  high ratio of vowels versus consonants.  This little idea fascinated me so I got up, wrote down the idea and went back to bed.  Today, as I looked at my nocturnal notes, I began thinking about what the words collectively meant. 

Maybe because my office is in such disarray with my Insanity Project and these words seemed to signify the state that my office and my mind are currently in,  I was motivated to look up just what each word meant.    Here are the definitions I discovered with one little (maybe big) surprise.

Folderol (sometimes spelled falderal):  Foolishness, nonsensical
Melee':  Confusion, turmoil, jumble
Brouhaha:  An episode involving excitement, confusion and turmoil

Here's my surprise. 

Have you ever used the word snafu?   I've heard it many, many times over the course of my lifetime and I've used it many, many times myself.......not understanding what I was saying.  Snafu is actually a term that is believed to have originated in the U.S. Army, circa WWI.  It is considered to be an acromym (S.N.A.F.U.)
for "situation normal:  All #^&* up".  I was shocked to learn that I was actually using a word that contained an expletive.  The laundered version is "situation normal:  All fouled up".  Whichever version you wish to think about when saying "snafu", the meaning is the same:  The normal situation is in a bad state.

And so, I changed course with my blog posting today, or, I could say, it changed, of course, thereby avoiding a snafu. Still I am learning.

Ancora imparo

Enough Is Enough!

The month of March needs to go.  It needs to be deleted from the calendar.  To be sure, March customarily contains two significant dates - the first day of spring and St. Patrick's Day, plus Lent often begins in March.  Other than those dates, March seemingly has no purpose other than make us long for the end of winter. 

Many, many moons ago, when I was a senior in high school, our choir director decided our musical would be Richard Rodger's and Oscar Hammerstein's production "Carousel".  I was cast in the part of Carrie Pipperridge, whose character and personality fit me perfectly.  I can still remember many of the words to the songs from "Carousel" and one of my favorites remains, "June Is Bustin' Out All Over", which is all about getting to the summer and clam bakes. Since I'm all about summer, water and fish fries, this song really speaks to me.  The first stanza of the song goes like this:

March went out like a lion,
A whippin' up the water in the bay.
Then April cried and stepped aside,
And along came pretty little May!


May was full of promises, 
But she didn't keep 'em quick enough for some
And a handful of Doubtin' Thomas's 
Was predictin' that the summer'd never come.


But it's comin' by gum,
You can feel it come.......

We all need a peek into spring, to believe that winter will actually blow itself into non-existence.  I got a glimpse of spring today when I saw my first robins of the season.  There were two of them, briefly perched upon the rooftop of the condo directly across the street from my office window, with their unmistakable rust-colored breasts proudly displayed.  Seeing the robins gave me enough boost to weather through a day of gray skies and rain, with more predicted for tomorrow.

Yesterday Mother Nature teased us with warmer temperatures and a ray of sunshine from time to time.  I even saw a young woman wearing short-shorts in the grocery store.  At least someone has faith that March will eventually go away.

The song says June is a-comin' and that's enough for me!

Ancora imparo

A Third-Grade Level

When did math cease to become math?  When did "old" math become obsolete and "new" math become preferred.  Doesn't two-plus-two still equal four?  Doesn't the sum of A-plus-B still equal C?  When did numbers stop speaking for themselves?

I am not totally familiar with what is taught in third grade these days, but I'll wager a bet that it is more sophisticated than when Dick and Jane were in the third grade, along with Spot, the dog.  Two years ago, I had the opportunity to sub in a third grade classroom for the day and I was surprised with the math, social studies, reading and science curricula.  The higher level of thinking that was required was impressive.  Gone was my day of mimeographed worksheets, where repetition ruled.  Instead, each desk had number lines taped across each top and the students had little, colored "blocks" with which to play, and lessons were presented that encouraged critical thinking.  Obviously, this is a simplistic description but, on the surface, that is exactly how a lay-person could describe what I saw that day.

When well-meaning people throw about the phrase, "keep it at a third-grade level", I think we need to be very careful to not insult third-graders.  Have you seen the reading list for Accelerated Readers that is provided to third graders? Dick and Jane are no longer running up the hill, chasing the ball and throwing it to Spot.  No longer do we "See Dick run." or "See Jane chase Dick."  Yes, illiteracy is a problem in our nation, but there are many of our citizens who are highly capable of reading above a third-grade level and would, in fact, be insulted to be fed reading material that was intentionally "dumbed down".

Before we assume what "a third-grade reading level" is, perhaps we should go to the library and see, for ourselves, just what is considered to be a "third-grade" reading level.  Just  because a person has been awarded a bachelor's degree does not mean that intelligence, wisdom, and common sense were also conferred upon that individual.  Just because "big" words are eliminated from text does not mean that effective communication is present and that the facts have been accurately represented nor explained.  Perhaps the people who write text for us adults who need a third-grade reading level, in order to comprehend, should be actual third-grade students.  

Maybe adult-level reading material could just be written well;  i.e. effectively, correctly, accurately, succinctly and objectively.  I think we can handle it.

Ancora imparo

Our Secret

Depending on the circle of people one is with, it is either very hip to watch American Idol or very uncool.  I haven't been a consistent watcher for a number of years, usually choosing to begin watching somewhere after the top ten have been decided.  If you promise not to tell anyone, I actually watched (DVD recorded) the men's and the women's live performances the past two nights.  I had read that the talent was really strong this year and I wanted to see and hear for myself, if this was the case.

I do realize that there is world strife, huge unrest on American soil and that the pop culture triviality of American Idol is monumental.  However, it was entertaining, albeit painful at times. Some of the contestants are downright talented and others.......well.......

My favorite comic strip, "Get Fuzzy" by Darby Conley, had content today that could be describing less-than-stellar singing.  While Conley's character, Rob, is having a discussion about national anthems with Bucky Katt, the description could very well be about singers, in general.  Let's face it, not all of the contestants on American Idol are created vocally equal.  While I give them all huge credit for pursuing their dreams to become singing sensations, it is obvious that some sound better than others.  Today, Bucky B. Katt has an apt description for bad national anthems or not-so-good singers:  "You keep waiting for the real bit to start but it never does.  It sounds like Chopin drank a bottle of cough syrup and dozed off while writing notes.......and forget melody.  It's like someone plotted the flight of a moth on a music staff.  Aimless."

Harsh?  Maybe but true and quite funny.  Bucky Katt hits the musical nail on the head regarding national anthem and this translates to singers as well.  There are just some singers that make you want to put your fingers in your ears when they begin.....and then there are others that you would pay to listen to.......which I do dearly through my cable provider.

Will I watch A.I. again this season?  Possibly.......just don't tell anyone!

Ancora imparo

Too Many Photos of Two Cute Kids

This look-sort-pitch-save project is not going as easily as I envisioned. (Hereafter referred to as LSPSP.  I might as well leave readers with the impression that I am dealing with some funky fun here.)  I can pin down the problem instantly......my kids' pictures from always and forever are too precious to part with.  When there are obvious duplicates, it only makes it slightly easier to toss the copies.  I still have trouble dropping those in the waste basket.  Similar poses?  Forget about tossing those.  It would seem that my LSPSP is breaking down somewhere and this is really only the beginning.  I've only been through one old photo album and there are many more to go!

It seems disrespectful to pitch pictures of deceased grandparents, great-grandparents, or even my deceased oldest sister and when any of the aforementioned happen to be holding one or both of my children in the pictures it seems even more wrong than ever to part with the pictures.    I'm even struggling to part with any of the photos of our dog, Max.  (It is possible that there may be more pictures of Max than the children, but don't tell them that.  I'll be sure to change up the ratio of dog-to-kid photos on the final disks.)

Even if I am successful in sorting out the exact replicas (thank you Steven Wright, wry and dry comedian extraordinaire) I realize that I still must make some subjective selection decisions about the similar poses otherwise their will be dozens of disks.  Favorite daughter in the lavender dress when she was a three-year old flower girl........precious!  Favorite son in his bear costume holding his Darth Vader sword......priceless.  Yes, there are probably ten pictures of each, and the pictures are all a bit different.......but how can I ask myself to part with any of them? 

I can foresee that this LSPSP will have many phases.  Phase number one will be the discarding of exact replicas.  Phase number two will be to sort the pictures, perhaps first into years.  Phase three will be to sort each year into subject matter and beyond that I have no clue.  Might I have taken a larger bite than I can handle in wading into this LSPSP?  I am confident that, if I owned every season of Seinfeld on DVD, there would still not be enough running time in which to complete the LSPSP. 

Maybe I should take my project north and stake out a spot when I can view the stalemate and work on my project.  That should give me enough time.........

It's A New Month

OK, so a new month is not the same as a new year but it doesn't mean it can't be a new chance to do things differently or change up a routine that may be obsolete or detrimental in some way.  This month has thirty-one days in it, which gives a person one more day than the usual thirty in which to affect a change of some kind.
Should the change be physical?  Behavioral?  Relational?  Spiritual? Geographical? Career-related?  All of the above? 

March is the perfect month to examine and consider new possibilities and to re-examine current and old methodologies, habits, affiliations, associations, and practices.  I'm considering dropping my ages-old daily newspaper delivery for an e-paper subscription.  Note I used the word considering.  The offer is good for the month of March and it will probably take me that long to even consider going without my cherished daily paper.  I'm also considering stopping a few other periodical subscriptions that I've carried for thirty years or more.  It just seems like a good time to divest of the old and embrace the new.

I also realize that change doesn't necessarily mean dropping an activity or an established routine.  It can mean adding a new activity or establishing a new habit.  Who knows?  Maybe I'll finally learn how to tie nautical knots and then still remember what I've learned thirty minutes later.  Maybe I'll tackle sewing a garment with one of those new-fangled patterns put out by Simplicity, Butterick or McCalls.  I've been told that modern patterns look totally different from when I last created a garment from scratch.  I've been meaning to try my hand a quilting, too.  So many possibilities and an entire month in which to ponder said possibilities.

I need March to come like the lion she is so I can concentrate on tackling March like a lioness.  I need the wind to blow sharply against my face and make my body bend forward to counter the wind's energy trying to push me backwards.  I need the remaining frigid air to remind me that I should move faster when I'm out-of-doors.  I need March, April and part of May in which to accomplish my great winter task before warm weather calls Capt. SO and I to the Aqua RV.  I need March to remind me that there is an end to winter and all of the frustrations this past (and current) winter has brought. 

I need March to kick me into gear, realizing that there are only about seventy-five days until bathing-suit season. 

Now there is a depressing thought.  Maybe I'd rather return to February!

Ancora imparo