Some people just have a gift for saying things with the fewest possible words. This was the case in an email my MIL sent yesterday. It said,
Thanks John McCain!!!!!!!!!!!
Saturday, August 30
Friday, August 29
ZZ394A
LO and I were riding to school, listening to snippets of last night's Speech on NPR. I shared with her that he had said,
"We'd run out of letters, Nana."
Seconds of silence.
"Well, I guess we could add on, as in A1, A2, and so on. Up to ZZ394A."
Another witty rejoinder.
LO's Science teacher sent home a mini-biography of herself along with her classroom rules and philosophy. It was really quite nice. Reading it, I remarked to LO that her science teacher has a Bachelor's in Zoology and a Master's in Public Health.
"So why isn't she working in a zoo?" she mused.
Pause.
Pause.
"Oh, I guess she is."
I had to smile.
But the record's clear: John McCain has voted with George Bush 90 percent of the time. Sen. McCain likes to talk about judgment, but really, what does it say about your judgment when you think George Bush has been right more than 90 percent of the time? I don't know about you, but I'm not ready to take a 10 percent chance on change.LO replied that she couldn't make a list of all the things W has done wrong. I replied, "Would you like it in chronological order, or alphabetical?"
"We'd run out of letters, Nana."
Seconds of silence.
"Well, I guess we could add on, as in A1, A2, and so on. Up to ZZ394A."
Another witty rejoinder.
LO's Science teacher sent home a mini-biography of herself along with her classroom rules and philosophy. It was really quite nice. Reading it, I remarked to LO that her science teacher has a Bachelor's in Zoology and a Master's in Public Health.
"So why isn't she working in a zoo?" she mused.
Pause.
Pause.
"Oh, I guess she is."
I had to smile.
Wednesday, August 27
Bloggin'
Hard to believe I have been blogging for almost 3 years. I started at the END of 2005, near my 50th birthday.
One of my resolutions this year was to blog more consistently, and I am pleased to see that I have done it. For the most part I've averaged a blog about every 2 days, although sometimes I go longer and then blog several times in one day (as I have done today.)
I've blogged about things big and small. The dog. The cats. The family. Politics. Ennui. Angst. Rain, sun. Snow. Birds. Squirrels. Nature walks. My iPod. Collecting garbage. (Actually. Collecting. Garbage. October, 2006.)
When I began blogging, I made an internal resolve not to blog about being angry. Angry at the system, yes. Angry with Idiot W, yes. Angry with Little One, no. Angry with DH, no. Angry with petty people who hold grudges and shorten their lives, no.
In the old days of actually sending letters with a stamp, I realized someone would send me a letter about being sad or mad and that was how I imagined them until I actually got another letter indicating they were feeling better.
These blog posts hang around a long time -- they're all still available, there to your right, no your other right. Yeah, and down a little. I did not want anger or animosity there for the world to see long after the emotion had passed. Anger with systems, yes. Anger with Idiot W, yes. Anger with real, live, people whom I love, no.
It's all there: the good, the bad, the boring. It shows how many posts I've made each year. This year, to date, almost 3/4 through the year, I've already made 126 posts or so. I believe this is #127. Is it a waste of time? I think not.
I loathe talking on the phone. I get itchy. I think of a zillion things I'd rather be doing. I can manage short, sharing-vital-information calls. Want to carpool? Yes. I'll pick you up at 5:15. Those I can handle. The chats, the this-and-that, they are agony for me. If I chat with you on the phone, it's a real gift of love, for it is not my thing at all.
But writing on the blog, that's easy for me. I can type. Some days I can write. I sometimes figure things out as I post them. When I'm in my element, loving the day, happy with the walk in nature, the birds on the bird feeder, the cats hugging and kissing each other (they really do, you know), it's such a natural expression for me to plop down in Bob Dole's chair and write about it while my heart is overflowing. It lets those close to me see what I really think about, despite the fact that I am not a good communicator at all, otherwise.
Both my DIL's blog. One of my sons does. Several of my friends do. It's a way to keep up with each other, tune into each other's blog and check out their heads.
Blogging. I did not even know there was such a thing, 10 years ago. --- Was there? And, now it's an integral part of my life.
One of my resolutions this year was to blog more consistently, and I am pleased to see that I have done it. For the most part I've averaged a blog about every 2 days, although sometimes I go longer and then blog several times in one day (as I have done today.)
I've blogged about things big and small. The dog. The cats. The family. Politics. Ennui. Angst. Rain, sun. Snow. Birds. Squirrels. Nature walks. My iPod. Collecting garbage. (Actually. Collecting. Garbage. October, 2006.)
When I began blogging, I made an internal resolve not to blog about being angry. Angry at the system, yes. Angry with Idiot W, yes. Angry with Little One, no. Angry with DH, no. Angry with petty people who hold grudges and shorten their lives, no.
In the old days of actually sending letters with a stamp, I realized someone would send me a letter about being sad or mad and that was how I imagined them until I actually got another letter indicating they were feeling better.
These blog posts hang around a long time -- they're all still available, there to your right, no your other right. Yeah, and down a little. I did not want anger or animosity there for the world to see long after the emotion had passed. Anger with systems, yes. Anger with Idiot W, yes. Anger with real, live, people whom I love, no.
It's all there: the good, the bad, the boring. It shows how many posts I've made each year. This year, to date, almost 3/4 through the year, I've already made 126 posts or so. I believe this is #127. Is it a waste of time? I think not.
I loathe talking on the phone. I get itchy. I think of a zillion things I'd rather be doing. I can manage short, sharing-vital-information calls. Want to carpool? Yes. I'll pick you up at 5:15. Those I can handle. The chats, the this-and-that, they are agony for me. If I chat with you on the phone, it's a real gift of love, for it is not my thing at all.
But writing on the blog, that's easy for me. I can type. Some days I can write. I sometimes figure things out as I post them. When I'm in my element, loving the day, happy with the walk in nature, the birds on the bird feeder, the cats hugging and kissing each other (they really do, you know), it's such a natural expression for me to plop down in Bob Dole's chair and write about it while my heart is overflowing. It lets those close to me see what I really think about, despite the fact that I am not a good communicator at all, otherwise.
Both my DIL's blog. One of my sons does. Several of my friends do. It's a way to keep up with each other, tune into each other's blog and check out their heads.
Blogging. I did not even know there was such a thing, 10 years ago. --- Was there? And, now it's an integral part of my life.
Drought > Flash Flood > Drought > Flash Flood > Drought...
After months of extended drought, our area is once again experiencing extended, heavy rains.
I long for balance.
The ground is wet. The porch is wet. The basement is wet. Poor, poor little dog hasn't had a good walk in 2 or 3 days. It's been raining so hard we have just let her out for a quickie or run her to the corner and back. She looks at me with accusing eyes.
I pulled up today's hour-to-hour forecast for today on weather.com. Here is the image:
I recently wrote a story for the local paper. I don't think I'm supposed to tell exactly what it will be about, but it involves shots of people walking or biking to work. I worked hard with the photography dept to organize times and days so that they can catch the people actually commuting by foot. (Did you know papers don't stage shots? It's part of the photographers' ethics. They can take a formal portrait of the highly-esteemed banker in town, and if he has a doggone Diet Coke can in the middle of that expansive mahogany desk, they don't ask him to toss it. They shoot it as it lays.)
So of course this is the week when we scheduled to shoot the green commuters. Fortunately, after arranging all the dates and times, I forwarded the home phone numbers of the subjects to the photographer, in case of rain. Sigh.
I long for balance.
The ground is wet. The porch is wet. The basement is wet. Poor, poor little dog hasn't had a good walk in 2 or 3 days. It's been raining so hard we have just let her out for a quickie or run her to the corner and back. She looks at me with accusing eyes.
I pulled up today's hour-to-hour forecast for today on weather.com. Here is the image:
I recently wrote a story for the local paper. I don't think I'm supposed to tell exactly what it will be about, but it involves shots of people walking or biking to work. I worked hard with the photography dept to organize times and days so that they can catch the people actually commuting by foot. (Did you know papers don't stage shots? It's part of the photographers' ethics. They can take a formal portrait of the highly-esteemed banker in town, and if he has a doggone Diet Coke can in the middle of that expansive mahogany desk, they don't ask him to toss it. They shoot it as it lays.)
So of course this is the week when we scheduled to shoot the green commuters. Fortunately, after arranging all the dates and times, I forwarded the home phone numbers of the subjects to the photographer, in case of rain. Sigh.
The Heart of It
Unfortunately we had a weather-related power outage last night, and somewhere, something happened to our cable TV system. We were unable to see the remainder of Hillary's speech at the DNC last night.
So of course we pulled up the transcript this morning. It was a grand speech; you can read it here.
The best line, IMHO, is:
So of course we pulled up the transcript this morning. It was a grand speech; you can read it here.
The best line, IMHO, is:
But we don't need four more years . . . of the last eight years.
Monday, August 25
Have You Seen It?
... the commercial for Hanes No-Ride panties. No, I don't mean the one where ladies try to oh-so-subtly get their wedgies out. A shaken leg here, a shimmy there. It's all pretty innocent.
No, I mean the one where two gfs are approaching each other on the sidewalk. Unaware that she's in the field of vision of her gf, the one reaches behind and !plucks! the wedgie from the crevasse. As they meet, the other girlfriend says, "Did you just...?" "Oh, no," says the offender. "Well, yes," she admits. They laugh and the wiser gf pulls a pkg of Hanes No-Ride panties from her bag to promote them as the cure-all.
The rumbling sound you hear is my mother rolling in her grave. What's next? she asks. Picking noses? Toe jam? Naval excavation? Is nothing sacred anymore?
Watch for it. It is sort of unbelievable.
No, I mean the one where two gfs are approaching each other on the sidewalk. Unaware that she's in the field of vision of her gf, the one reaches behind and !plucks! the wedgie from the crevasse. As they meet, the other girlfriend says, "Did you just...?" "Oh, no," says the offender. "Well, yes," she admits. They laugh and the wiser gf pulls a pkg of Hanes No-Ride panties from her bag to promote them as the cure-all.
The rumbling sound you hear is my mother rolling in her grave. What's next? she asks. Picking noses? Toe jam? Naval excavation? Is nothing sacred anymore?
Watch for it. It is sort of unbelievable.
Sunday, August 24
The New Principal
The New Principal moved out of the office into a small room on the 8th grade hall. He also had the assistant principals (there are 2 of 'em) move into rooms on the 6th and 7th grade halls. Now, if there is a disturbance, an administrator can be on the spot pronto. S/He can just walk out into the hall and there will be a quieter change-of-classes, just because s/he is there.
He turned his old office, the one in the school office, into a conference room. It was a large office, and makes quite a nice conference room. The teachers did not have one before now.
The New Principal had the Guidance Counselors move out of their office suite into rooms on the respective halls, as well. Now a girl doesn't have to walk across campus if she needs Supplies. It was like a walking billboard: Look, she must have Started. She's headed to Guidance. Now students who need guidance can have it right there, on their hall.
The New Principal has required the teachers to assign homework every night. Just a little. Every night. And, agendas? The calendar to help the students organize? The one teachers were supposed to initial every day, to show they checked to see if the student had written in his assignments? Now The New Principal requires the teachers to sign them every day.
The New Principal requires athletes to dress up on game day: boys wear white shirt and tie. Girls wear white button-up shirt.
It's all the Buzz. LO just spent a half hour on the phone with gf's. Are you taking your bookbag?? We usually don't have homework on the first night, but now, with The New Principal... Wait, I have a beep. Yeah, are you taking your bookbag?
The consensus was, they are all taking their bookbags.
The kids think TNP is too rigid. The parents, so far, are lovin' him. :)
He turned his old office, the one in the school office, into a conference room. It was a large office, and makes quite a nice conference room. The teachers did not have one before now.
The New Principal had the Guidance Counselors move out of their office suite into rooms on the respective halls, as well. Now a girl doesn't have to walk across campus if she needs Supplies. It was like a walking billboard: Look, she must have Started. She's headed to Guidance. Now students who need guidance can have it right there, on their hall.
The New Principal has required the teachers to assign homework every night. Just a little. Every night. And, agendas? The calendar to help the students organize? The one teachers were supposed to initial every day, to show they checked to see if the student had written in his assignments? Now The New Principal requires the teachers to sign them every day.
The New Principal requires athletes to dress up on game day: boys wear white shirt and tie. Girls wear white button-up shirt.
It's all the Buzz. LO just spent a half hour on the phone with gf's. Are you taking your bookbag?? We usually don't have homework on the first night, but now, with The New Principal... Wait, I have a beep. Yeah, are you taking your bookbag?
The consensus was, they are all taking their bookbags.
The kids think TNP is too rigid. The parents, so far, are lovin' him. :)
Thank You God...
We saw our dear friend Fred today at church. Fred plays in the band with DH. DH plays guitar and occasional violin, and a rare harmonica. Fred plays guitar, banjo and (dh's) mandolin.
I was extra pleased to see him as he has been away on vacation He's one of those fellows who is, just, a ray of light. His face beams with happiness. He's the guy in whom you confide when times are tough, because he really will pray. He's the guy who, despite his own travails, knows for certain that it will turn out okay.
I asked about his 2-year old son. He brightened as he shared. "He's learned to pray," he started. "He loves to pray. His prayers are short and to the point. 'Thank you for eats,' he says."
Fred shared that when his 8-year-old daughter prays, she goes on for about 10 minutes, listing all the things for which she is grateful. But son is more brief.
"We've been trying to encourage him to thank the Lord for more," he said. "We've been saying, 'You could say thank you for family, for friends, for Jesus.' "
So last week, he opened up and prayed about the things he loves. "Thank you for outside. Thank you for backhoes and tracktoes. Thank you for eats. Amen."
I was extra pleased to see him as he has been away on vacation He's one of those fellows who is, just, a ray of light. His face beams with happiness. He's the guy in whom you confide when times are tough, because he really will pray. He's the guy who, despite his own travails, knows for certain that it will turn out okay.
I asked about his 2-year old son. He brightened as he shared. "He's learned to pray," he started. "He loves to pray. His prayers are short and to the point. 'Thank you for eats,' he says."
Fred shared that when his 8-year-old daughter prays, she goes on for about 10 minutes, listing all the things for which she is grateful. But son is more brief.
"We've been trying to encourage him to thank the Lord for more," he said. "We've been saying, 'You could say thank you for family, for friends, for Jesus.' "
So last week, he opened up and prayed about the things he loves. "Thank you for outside. Thank you for backhoes and tracktoes. Thank you for eats. Amen."
End of Summer
DH, LO and I took a family trip to the neighborhood pool yesterday. School starts tomorrow and I was craving some family together-time before our schedules exponentiate. (Is that a word?)
We swam together, played "find the submarine," and generally spent 2.5 hours in the cool Carolina sun and water.
Our pool has a snack shed that offers gooey, sweet, sour, and cold snacks for 'way below retail. The pool is a co-op and a couple of the moms put in their hours by visiting the price club for snacks. They buy a case of this and a case of that and charge only what it cost to purchase it. The kids can take a dollar to the pool and fill up on all the junk they want. Yesterday LO had a pack of those oh-so-sweet sugar wafers, a frozen tube of koolaid-like syrup, and a bag of Skittles. DH had a bag of Combos, those high-fat pretzels filled with sweetened peanut butter. I had a ziplock of Craisins and pecans I had brought from home.
As we wandered up the sidewalk to the car, tired, wet, and lazy, the following conversation ensued.
LO: Y'know what every little kid outgrows?
DH: Shoes, clothes, toys?
Me: Hugs and kisses?
LO: No! They outgrow "Nanny, nanny, boo, boo, you can't get me." It's just so annoying. But every kid says it and every kid outgrows it. It's sort of sad."
Sigh. End of summer. I wish every day could be like yesterday.
We swam together, played "find the submarine," and generally spent 2.5 hours in the cool Carolina sun and water.
Our pool has a snack shed that offers gooey, sweet, sour, and cold snacks for 'way below retail. The pool is a co-op and a couple of the moms put in their hours by visiting the price club for snacks. They buy a case of this and a case of that and charge only what it cost to purchase it. The kids can take a dollar to the pool and fill up on all the junk they want. Yesterday LO had a pack of those oh-so-sweet sugar wafers, a frozen tube of koolaid-like syrup, and a bag of Skittles. DH had a bag of Combos, those high-fat pretzels filled with sweetened peanut butter. I had a ziplock of Craisins and pecans I had brought from home.
As we wandered up the sidewalk to the car, tired, wet, and lazy, the following conversation ensued.
LO: Y'know what every little kid outgrows?
DH: Shoes, clothes, toys?
Me: Hugs and kisses?
LO: No! They outgrow "Nanny, nanny, boo, boo, you can't get me." It's just so annoying. But every kid says it and every kid outgrows it. It's sort of sad."
Sigh. End of summer. I wish every day could be like yesterday.
Saturday, August 23
This & That
LO has been practicing her piano, hard, for the past 1 hour and a half. At some point in the past couple of years, we stopped having to ask her to practice. She generally finds her way to the piano at some point in the day and plays for an hour or so.
She started with a very expensive piano teacher who thought she was the best in town. We thought so, too, at the time. Now we think "best" depends on the personality match between student and teacher, coupled with the teacher's credentials. Alas, that first teacher had an illness and we did not have lessons for about a year. At some point, an older lady in our church called otu of the blue and asked if she might give LO lessons. She had just moved to town, was bored, and needed some scheduled times to give her days purpose. She wanted to teach LO for free but after a few weeks, we felt uncomfortable with the arrangement and began giving her monthly checks.
She was a dear, but the relationship did not click. DH, being a musician himself, saw it and rose to the task. He called a fellow who owns the local music school. He is young, hip, and an excellent musician. Plays professionally around the state. It was left to me to call our sweet church lady and say that LO was "taking a break."
Finally, a teacher with whom she totally clicked. She looks forward to piano lessons and laughs and talks with Piano Teacher throughout the lesson. He is personable and oh, so knowledgeable. She works hard on the piano, partly b/c she enjoys it so much, and partly, I suspect, b/c she wants to please PT. Which is fine.
Her piano playing has progressed from here to here (picture lowered hands then higher hands) in the span of just a couple of years. She loves her scales, plays songs she learned on her flute for band, pretty much plays what is on her mind. She often composes and her music is beautiful.
She and I have discovered a website that offers sheet music downloads for just a few dollars, with instant gratification. I got her a binder at the office supply store that has lovely designs on the cover. Once a month or so we study the offerings on the website and download 2 or 3 new songs. We print them off and insert them into page protectors (got a big box of them) and put them in her binder. We typically download a recent pop song, a broadway tune, a Disney song, hip hop, or country. She loves all kinds of music and I encourage her to keep discovering. My heart twinges every time she says she "hates" classical but I figure with her interest level, it's just a matter of time until that changes. After we download new songs, it takes her just a day or two to get them going, and masters them within a week or two. Her reportoire is constantly growing.
Oh, now, she is improvising on her "Pink Panther" and DH has picked up his violin and is playing harmony. Or descant. Geez, I don't know anything. But they are jamming and it fills my heart.
She plays flute in the concert band at school and last year played keyboard for jazz band. She shared keyboard with another girl. When it was the other girl's turn to play a song, LO was relegated to her flute, in jazz band. She hated this. 'Flutes don't belong in jazz band, and besides, no one can hear it.'
She came home from band camp this summer in love with the baritone sax. She begged me to call the Band Director and ask if she could learn "bari sax" for jazz band this year to get out of the flute-in-jazz-band issue.
I did. The Band Director demurred, saying he had to look at his players and "play chess with it a little." I reminded him when we cleaned the band room, and again when we painted the mural. (Heck, all this parent involvement has got to be good for something.) This week on Open House day, we stopped into the band room and asked once more. Geez, school starts day-after-tomorrow; LO needs to know what she is going to play. This BD had good news: she could choose between tenor sax and bari sax. He cautioned her that bari sax does not play in every selection, and never has a solo. He likes her to solo. He shared that he would much rather see her in tenor sax, but they could talk later.
As we left, she was walking on air. Sax. She was really going to learn sax.
She got up this morning and began organizing her school supplies. Did her homework for the tutoring school she attends, then practiced the piano. At this point she is closing in on 2 hours.
When I think of the many ways she could be spending her time, I am very grateful.
She started with a very expensive piano teacher who thought she was the best in town. We thought so, too, at the time. Now we think "best" depends on the personality match between student and teacher, coupled with the teacher's credentials. Alas, that first teacher had an illness and we did not have lessons for about a year. At some point, an older lady in our church called otu of the blue and asked if she might give LO lessons. She had just moved to town, was bored, and needed some scheduled times to give her days purpose. She wanted to teach LO for free but after a few weeks, we felt uncomfortable with the arrangement and began giving her monthly checks.
She was a dear, but the relationship did not click. DH, being a musician himself, saw it and rose to the task. He called a fellow who owns the local music school. He is young, hip, and an excellent musician. Plays professionally around the state. It was left to me to call our sweet church lady and say that LO was "taking a break."
Finally, a teacher with whom she totally clicked. She looks forward to piano lessons and laughs and talks with Piano Teacher throughout the lesson. He is personable and oh, so knowledgeable. She works hard on the piano, partly b/c she enjoys it so much, and partly, I suspect, b/c she wants to please PT. Which is fine.
Her piano playing has progressed from here to here (picture lowered hands then higher hands) in the span of just a couple of years. She loves her scales, plays songs she learned on her flute for band, pretty much plays what is on her mind. She often composes and her music is beautiful.
She and I have discovered a website that offers sheet music downloads for just a few dollars, with instant gratification. I got her a binder at the office supply store that has lovely designs on the cover. Once a month or so we study the offerings on the website and download 2 or 3 new songs. We print them off and insert them into page protectors (got a big box of them) and put them in her binder. We typically download a recent pop song, a broadway tune, a Disney song, hip hop, or country. She loves all kinds of music and I encourage her to keep discovering. My heart twinges every time she says she "hates" classical but I figure with her interest level, it's just a matter of time until that changes. After we download new songs, it takes her just a day or two to get them going, and masters them within a week or two. Her reportoire is constantly growing.
Oh, now, she is improvising on her "Pink Panther" and DH has picked up his violin and is playing harmony. Or descant. Geez, I don't know anything. But they are jamming and it fills my heart.
She plays flute in the concert band at school and last year played keyboard for jazz band. She shared keyboard with another girl. When it was the other girl's turn to play a song, LO was relegated to her flute, in jazz band. She hated this. 'Flutes don't belong in jazz band, and besides, no one can hear it.'
She came home from band camp this summer in love with the baritone sax. She begged me to call the Band Director and ask if she could learn "bari sax" for jazz band this year to get out of the flute-in-jazz-band issue.
I did. The Band Director demurred, saying he had to look at his players and "play chess with it a little." I reminded him when we cleaned the band room, and again when we painted the mural. (Heck, all this parent involvement has got to be good for something.) This week on Open House day, we stopped into the band room and asked once more. Geez, school starts day-after-tomorrow; LO needs to know what she is going to play. This BD had good news: she could choose between tenor sax and bari sax. He cautioned her that bari sax does not play in every selection, and never has a solo. He likes her to solo. He shared that he would much rather see her in tenor sax, but they could talk later.
As we left, she was walking on air. Sax. She was really going to learn sax.
She got up this morning and began organizing her school supplies. Did her homework for the tutoring school she attends, then practiced the piano. At this point she is closing in on 2 hours.
When I think of the many ways she could be spending her time, I am very grateful.
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