There is no try. There is only do.

(Bonus points if you can guess who the above title is quoted from!)

I am starting to get quite anxious about returning to work next week. I’m not feeling great about the conference that we are putting on or any of the other stuff going on at work. As I may or may not have mentioned, there is a bit of turmoil going on at the Random Non-Profit and at this point it is mostly caused by the head of my department. My colleague just gave notice that she will be moving to another department at the end of the month, and getting a promotion to boot. This is such an awesome opportunity for her and quite necessary because she was very underused in our department, but I am still sad because I’m going to miss working so closely with her . . . she’s such fun and a sweetie and extremely sharp. Meanwhile, my already heavy workload is going to get unbearable, and I’m currently in crisis mode all the time as it is.

Next year is going to be a “make or break” year for me, I can just feel it. I am either going to go one way or another, and I need to make a bunch of decisions very soon which will shape which direction I am going to go. I need to follow through on some of my goals and put other ones on the back burner. The ones that may be put on the back burner are the types of things that cannot be put off too much longer or they just may not happen – in other words, if I want to have kids, I need to start working on that again, but if I do, then I probably will not be able to follow some other opportunities for a very long time. I look at the example of my mother, who was a very talented artist, who put all of that behind her when she had us kids and still has not gone back to it. Now I know that I am not my mother and things could turn out differently, but I still have that example in front of me, and it gives me pause.

Change is scary. Figuring out what you want to do is scary. Getting out of the comfortable, if annoying, rut in which you are sitting is very anxiety producing. But at some point you must get off your butt and make things happen, otherwise you are just scared and anxious all the time, with nothing to show for it. At this point, I have nothing to show for my anxieties – now I want to at least have some spectacular failures that I can point to and laugh at and say “Well, that sure didn’t work, but at least I did something!”

. . . I have to get my freaking passport and at least go to Canada or something.

. . . I have to get a new job, or at least a new position at the same place.

. . . I have to submit my writing somewhere, so at least I can get a rejection letter to show that I am putting myself out there.

. . . I have to go back to school to find my way to becoming a teacher . . . and maybe a better writer in the process.

. . . I have to make peace with who I am, so that I am not so tentative with those that I care about most.

These are not resolutions . . . resolutions are made to be broken. These are more like . . . life goals . . . things that I have to keep working through to make me become whatever I am becoming.

I have to start failing at things . . . I have to start succeeding at things . . .

I have to start doing things.

. . . and tomorrow is as good a time as any to begin.

Not a Creature Was Stirring . . .

The house this week has been so, so quiet . . . even with the two of us here together most of the time. There were so many things I had planned to do during my time off this week – read several books, reorganize the kitchen, do a bit of baking, do some research into several things I’m planning for in 2006 – but in the end, I have taken a lot of naps, played with my new laptop a bit, and just sat quietly, not doing much.

It has been a wonderful week.

What possesses us to want to get so much done in our time off? Why does it seem like such sacrilege to just want to sit and let the mind rest?

Now I always go to bed each night stating that tomorrow is the day I’m going to start on these projects . . . but then the cat wakes me up at an earlier hour than I had hoped, making me groggy and lethargic through the morning. I feed her, read the paper while eating my cereal, do a little exercising and then pop onto the computer to check e-mails. Next thing I know, it is noon. Mr. Random and I have lunch and then I get sleepy and take a nap for an hour or so. Then back on the computer to play with it. The time passes. I do some puzzles, I read the mail, Mr. Random and I talk about random things . . . you get the idea . . .

Next week, after the New Year’s holiday, the hustle and bustle begin again. I am leaving for the Random Non-Profit’s conference on the 7th, where I will be for a week, running around like a maniac. Prior to leaving, there is so much to be done at work, most of the conference materials have not been finalized, so it will be a mad dash to get everything copied and sent. I must pack . . . my goal is to take one large rolling bag, a laptop bag and my purse – nothing more. Since I am traveling solo, I don’t want to be laden down with several extra little bags – let the other folks on the team be the packrats this time!

So this week is a godsend of sorts, a time for me to not be so stressed out and frenzied. I still want to do a bit of reading though, and plan to do so as soon as I pry myself away from this shiny glowing object.

Recharging one’s battery is a good thing. I hope I get to do more of this in 2006.

What one thing would you like to do in 2006? Not a resolution, per se, but just something that you are aware of and would like to make a conscious effort to do more of . . .

Needles Falling from the Tree

Christmas has come and gone. Bummer. The days are speeding by, and I have hardly caught my breath. It is WEDNESDAY already, for goodness sake! My vacation is half over, and I don’t know where the time went . . .

How did my holiday go, you may ask? It went rather well . . . in fact, right this very second, I am typing away on one of the most awesome Christmas gifts I have ever received . . .

A brand new laptop! A shiny, tricked-out laptop, with all sorts of bells and whistles and awesome things that I would never have been able to get on my own. Mr. Random, with much help from his family, engineered this lovely holiday surprise, hiding the box in plain sight in his office at work. I was so stunned and happy and flustered when I opened the box that I just cried and cried . . . it was so awesome! Mr. Random wanted to make sure that I liked it – well, DUH! – because he said that he knew that I would have one of two reactions – either I would love it, or I would yell at him for spending so much money. I said I was incredibly happy and too stunned at the moment to yell . . . we’ll deal with that part later.

It took a while to get all set up . . . yes, all the software was on it out of the box, but I needed an internet connection to get everything activated . . . plus I also want to use the DSL line too when I am working on it at home. So on Monday, we trudged out to Staples and bought a router and extra cables and decided that we were going to set up a home network. Long story short, everything didn’t get connected until this afternoon, so here we are!

I’m hoping that this will push me to do a lot more writing and make life a bit easier if I finally do decide to go back to school in the Fall. I’ll also be able to take it to my conference two weeks and be able to keep in touch with Mr. Random (and you guys) while I am away.

Now I just have to get a new mouse and a good laptop bag. I want one of those bags that don’t look so obviously like laptop bags, but more of a nice leather tote.

What else did I get in my holiday haul?

. . . My parents gave Mr. Random and me a really nice down comforter, with a micro-suede duvet cover. It’s so soft! Yesterday, we went out and got new pillows and sheets . . . because we’ve needed new pillows and sheets for the longest time, but it’s never been a huge priority – you know how that goes . . . so long as what you have works, there’s not really any burning rush. Now our bed feels like a hotel bed, if you know what I mean. You lie on the bed and you just sink into the comforter . . . sweet!

. . . Curb Your Enthusiasm, Season 1, DVD. Mr. Random and I don’t get HBO, but we saw the show once at a friend’s house, and I loved it, so Mr. Ransom got me the DVD. I watched the first 6 episodes and I was cracking up the whole time . . . Larry David is awesome, and you can totally see where George Castanza came from . . .

. . . Two Suduko books. I do the Suduko puzzle in the WashPost every morning, so Mr. Random thought I would like more . . .

. . . A beautiful cashmere wrap . . . it’s soft, and beige and a little sparkly . . .

. . . Rachael Ray’s 30 Minute Meals. My sister, J, is as enamored with the Food Network as I am, so she thought I’d like it. She tried to find me the “365 Meals, No Repeats” book, but they were sold out . . .

. . . A Barnes and Noble gift card. Which I am going to promptly spend when I find the “365 Meals” book . . .

. . . A pair of pajamas. It’s actually a t-shirt and matching pajama pants, but looks quite comfy and will get a lot of use out of me around the house . . .

. . . A jigsaw puzzle. 500 pieces. I love jigsaw puzzles . . .

. . . A DVD set of Tracy/Hepburn movies . . . Pat and Mike, Woman of the Year, and Desk Set. Does anyone NOT love Kate? . . .

I got Mr. Random several games, one computer (Age of Empires 2) and one board (Ticket to Ride – a train-related game), 3 CDs (The White Stripes, The Gorillaz, and a guy whose name escapes me, but he’s a Hassidic Jew who does reggae rap. No, I’m not making that up . . .), Barnes and Noble gift card, some new running togs, and the usual, much needed socks and underwear.

All-in-all, a fabulous holiday has been had by us both, and while we have spent the last few days frustrated in setting up the computers and running around getting new accessories, it has been a pretty restful week so far. I am already dreading going back to work, but I am trying to push those thoughts to the back of my mind.

By the way, thanks so much for the sweet comments about my writing post . . . it came to me that day and just begged to be written - I don’t know why – and I almost just deleted it. I’m hoping the laptop encourages me to type more of these things out and not just delete them, since I will have my own space for them . . . not that I couldn’t have done it before on our home computer, since Mr. Random is always quite encouraging, but I want to take things wherever they may lead, and I am not sure where that may be . . .

A writer is one who writes

What does it mean to write? Are you a writer?

A writer is one who writes.

This you have been told by many, many people. “Stop thinking so much and actually put words to paper!”

But what if you have a lot of emotional baggage associated with writing? What if you are unsure of how to write, what to write, the grammar and punctuation, the organization and all of the other goodies that “good writing” entails.

A writer is one who writes.

What if you want to write well? What if you want to express your thoughts and feelings on paper, but you want it to sound like it sounds in your own head . . . but better? Writing is a lot of hard, hard work . . . work that you do not know if you can do.

A writer is one who writes.

You do want to do the work, though. You have things you want to get down on paper, to share with the rest of the world. You want someone to understand, to empathize, to nod in agreement. You want someone to disagree with you, to offer reasons why your logic is faulty. You want to begin a conversation.

A writer is one who writes.

But what if you do that and people are turned off by your writing . . . the thoughts aren’t developed enough, the grammar deplorable, the vocabulary childish . . .

A writer is one who writes.

What if you are constantly nagged by your own internalized perfectionism, the voice that tells you that what you are doing is not right, not enough? How do you get rid of that horrible, nagging, pervasive voice?

A writer is one who writes.

When you were small, you loved to write. You loved to make up stories. You wanted to be the next Laura Ingalls Wilder, or Charles Dickens, or Louisa May Alcott. You wanted to move others with your plots and prose as much as you were moved. You filled small notebooks with many of your stories, of damsels being left at home by sailing suitors, of orphans looking for a place in life, of girls who had big dreams.

A writer is one who writes.

But as you grew older, and as it seemed that you were getting more serious about your writing, your parents tried to dissuade you from going further. “Most writers don’t make any money! You don’t want to do that. Why don’t you go into something more stable, like business or computer programming?”

A writer is one who writes.

Since your parents made the rules and held the purse strings, you had to listen to them . . . you had to, there was no choice. You were an obedient daughter who wanted to make your parents happy, whether it made you happy or not. So you gave up the writing and focused on other things, other things that you didn’t care as much about, but you tried to care . . .

A writer is one who writes.

You tossed out all of the little notebooks, since they seemed to be useless. You were hurt and angry, but that is just the way things were. You did not know where to put your creativity, so you tried all sorts of different things, just so you could get the feeling of creation out of your system.

A writer is one who writes.

But now, many years later, you have come to know that you can’t do things to make other people happy, even though that is all you have learned and all you have experienced. You try to make baby steps in finding out who you really are. You realize that you need to go back to the beginning and sort out where you got off track.

A writer is one who writes.

To discover who you are, you need to work through your experiences, make sense of them. You need to get the words out and look at them - in cold black and white – and see where they lead. You need to learn to write again. You need to be a writer again.

A writer is one who writes.

So you are back at square one, trying to rediscover what you knew so organically when you were younger, trying not to be scared, trying not to have fear. You want to just let the words flow and enjoy them, the sound of them, how they fit together.

A writer is one who writes.

Here you sit, letting the words pour out of you. The words may not fit. The words may not make sense. But at least the words are there, and you are trying to be heard. You are writing. Not well, but you are writing because . . .

A writer is one who writes.

Festivus . . . for the Rest of Us!

December 23 is Festivus! Happy Festivus to you all!

Since that Seinfeld episode came out, the holiday has just swept the nation. Or rather, it has swept through all of us with really warped senses of humor. Did you know there are all sorts of websites on Festivus now? This is one of the many featuring the holiday: (http://www.religioustolerance.org/festivus.htm). Here’s the wikipedia post about it, even though they have the true origin of the holiday kind of wrong. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Festivus).

I love the whole idea of this. (I can be such a crank sometimes.) The stark aluminum pole, the airing of grievances (gather around the dinner table folks!), the feats of strength (which some people have turned into the playing of board games), . . . it all sounds so simple and so much fun . . . a catharsis of sorts, in which you renounce the consumerism and heavy spiritual baggage of the season and just get into the pure simplicity of getting together and being cranky human beings.

* * * * *

You know, I am just exhausted. I was originally scheduled to take today and tomorrow off, but there is so much left to do that I nixed that idea. I could really use the sleep, though. Mr. Random still has a wicked cough, and last night kept both of us awake with it. It is getting better, but the dry air was just killing him and our humidifier was acting funky. I am so unmotivated to do any of the tasks before me. Most of the Random Non-Profit has gone on vacation already. I just want the week to be over!

* * * * *

There is an amazing amount of candy at the front desk. I am trying to have some willpower here, so I am drinking about a gallon of water an hour. I’m getting plenty of exercise from all of the bathroom breaks . . .

* * * * *

The Counting Crows have a song that I think of a lot this time of year. . .

A Long December

A long December and there’s reason to believe
Maybe this year will be better than the last
I can’t remember the last thing that you said as you were leavin’
Now the days go by so fast
And it’s one more day up in the canyons
And it’s one more night in Hollywood
If you think that I could be forgiven...I wish you would.

The smell of hospitals in winter
And the feeling that it’s all a lot of oysters, but no pearls
All at once you look across a crowded room
To see the way that light attaches to a girl
And it’s one more day up in the canyons
And it’s one more night in Hollywood
If you think you might come to California...I think you should.

Drove up to Hillside Manor sometime after two a.m.
And talked a little while about the year
I guess the winter makes you laugh a little slower,
Makes you talk a little lower about the things you could not show her
And it’s been a long December and there’s reason to believe
Maybe this year will be better than the last
I can’t remember all the times I tried to tell myself
To hold on to these moments as they pass
And it’s one more day up in the canyon
And it’s one more night in Hollywood
It’s been so long since I’ve seen the ocean...I guess I should.

. . . As a side note, which makes this song quite meaningful for me . . .

After Mr. Random and I had been going out for almost a year, he went back home to Southern Cal for Christmas. He was considering whether to ask me to marry him. One night, he was just driving around his hometown when this song came on. Just for the heck of it he drove to the ocean . . . hung out for a while . . . and made his decision . . .

. . . January 4th will be the 9th anniversary of our first date and the 8th anniversary of our engagement.

* * * * *

The next few days are going to get pretty hectic. My sister is coming home tomorrow, much gift-wrapping needs to be done, and I need . . . to take a few naps. Posts may be few and far between next week, since Mr. Random and I are taking a much deserved week off together.

It’s been a long December
And there’s reason to believe
That maybe this year will be better than the last . . .

I want to wish you all a very happy holiday season, no matter what – if anything – you celebrate at this time! May next year be a better one for each and every one of us.

Christmas Potluck Today

(Sing along to "Deck the Halls"!)

‘Tis the season to have potlucks,
Fa la la la la, la la la la
The company’s too cheap to spend some of its bucks
Fa la la la la, la la la la
So all bring in their three bean salads
Fa la la, la la la, la la la
And guess what casserole that one o'er there is
Fa la la la la, la la la la

Then the church has its own party
Fa la la la la, la la la la
I guess that means I should not dress tarty
Fa la la la la, la la la la
Deviled eggs and blue ambrosia
Fa la la, la la la, la la la
If you get sick, I certainly warned ya’
Fa la la la la, la la la la

Are potlucks primarily a Southern thing? After my family moved down here, my mom commented that she never went to so many potlucks all the years she lived in Philly. You have a party, you provide the food – the guests just bring themselves . . . makes total sense to me! Even if you just order a pizza or just have cheese and crackers and beer, people appreciate you trying to entertain and feed them.

Down here, it seems like you always have to bring your own food. My mom would always bring something substantial, like her homemade mac & cheese or fry up some of her yummy chicken – and the next thing you know it was all gone in five minutes, because everyone else brought random salads that even the people who brought them didn’t want to eat. One time, the hosts complained because she didn’t make a large enough batch! So after a while she stopped bringing the good stuff and started bringing simple things like a bag of chips . . . making an effort gets tiring after a while.

I’m starting to get to that point myself, although I haven’t had the lousy experiences my mom has had. For potlucks I usually either make (a) green bean casserole or (b) some sort of cheesecake.

Now my green bean casserole is slightly different from the Campbell’s recipe:
I am a little more sparing with the Fried Onions,
I use cream of chicken and mushroom soup (adds a bit more flavor),
I use FROZEN green beans, rather than canned (EWWWWWW!) – this makes the beans crisper and they usually are a nice healthy green color.
Instead of just black pepper, I also put in a little Mrs. Dash for some more flavor.

. . . So people really like my version, and actually request that I bring it. Yay!

Same deal with the cheesecakes – I always make them from scratch and do the whole long baking process. You know, one and a half hours baking in the hot over (with a pan of water at the bottom, so there is no cracking), one hour in the oven with the oven turned off, then one hour on the counter to cool a little more, then at least 8 hours in the fridge. So it is a bit of a time commitment to make one . . . you just can’t decide to make one at 10 at night, unless you really want to stay up until 4 AM. So they tend to be rather popular . . . which makes me happy, because then it is worth all of the effort.

However, this time of year . . . oy! There’s always two or three potlucks scheduled for the same five day period. There’s the church party, and other friends’ parties and work parties . . . and all the baking gets rather tiring (and expensive!) So I always think I want to hang it up and bring the bag of chips or platter of cookies . . . but then I feel so lame doing so, like I let the universe down somehow . . . I’ve really got to get a grip on that . . .

The holidays are not supposed to stress you out, but something about this time of year makes me want to give Martha a run for her money. Being sick doesn’t help much, it just makes me feel bad that I’m not doing the things that I want to do. I must accept that being sick is the Universe’s way of telling me to slow down . . . get a bit of rest . . . stop trying to do eight million things . . .

I’m trying to be laid back, Universe! I’m trying! Just stop with the darn potlucks already!

[Apprentice note for VG – Randal totally lost my love in the last 60 seconds of the show. What a snot! I was under the impression that Trump was kind of asking Randal if he (Randal) would hire her, as his apprentice. I totally believe that Rebecca would have said yes if the shoe was on the other foot, because Rebecca had so much respect for Randal. Rebecca seems destined for better things anyway. I didn’t know she was only 24? She’s certainly a lot better candidate than either Kendra or Kelly were, ugh!]

Nose Pressed Firmly to the Grindstone

I’m finally back at work today – still not feeling up to snuff, but good enough to start to tackle a few projects.

Mr. Random, on the other hand, is fully sick now and can’t talk at all. No sound comes out of his mouth except a low, guttural rasp. I’m making sure he is drinking plenty of fluids and not letting the cold settle into his chest, as was the case for me.

I am so behind, it is not funny - Funder reports are due again . . . I have to write some articles for a publication that we want to go to print in a few weeks . . . I have another project that I am supposed to be submitting chapters for, and have finished by the beginning of January . . . I have to write something to update/create a Website for my program . . . I have to complete some other documents and assemble things for our conference in January . . . . the list just goes on and on. I have a feeling I’m not going to get any rest between Christmas and New Year’s as I had hoped this year . . .

I forgot that we were supposed to bring in the goods for our “adopted” child today, but luckily the coordinator is going to hold off delivering the toys to the school until tomorrow at lunchtime. Whew! I was so upset when I had realized that I had forgotten all about it! Our Random Non-profit partners with a local elementary school each year to provide Christmas gifts for families at the school who are struggling. For the past 6 years, Mr. Random and I have sponsored a child, and have gone just bonkers buying all sorts of cool clothes, books and toys. Last year, we had a little two year old boy – you should have seen the little jumpers and socks and other teeny clothes that we bought! We also bought a bunch of little books that we hope he and his family enjoyed. This year, we have an eleven year old girl . . . this will be a bit challenging since all 11 years olds are different and it is difficult enough to buy things for people in that age group, even when you’re related to them!

I also have to bake a couple of cheesecakes this weekend – one for a party on Saturday night and one for the office party on Monday. This weekend, I also need to put together the goodie bags that Mr. Random and I usually give out at work instead of gifts. I’m feeling really overwhelmed right now, and I know that we could nix the goodie bags, but I still owe cheesecakes . . . people kind of look forward to them, and I was hoping to make a chocolate chip one that I haven’t made in while . . . they just take so darn long!

At choir practice, we always end by praying for people we think need it badly. I threw out for consideration all of those folks who are stressed and depressed at this time of year . . . I’m starting to fit into this category in a big way. (Also, last night we received a huge stack of music that we are supposed to be performing on Christmas Eve. It is a lot of familiar carols, but of course it can’t be that simple . . . we have to learn all sorts of harmony parts and descants and funky new things to throw in. In less than two weeks. Gee, no added stress there!)

Why does everything have to happen at the end of the year? Good grief!

Enough venting for one day . . . I’ll try to calm down a bit by tomorrow . . .

Turn Your Head and Cough

I have bronchitis . . . I'm getting tired of being sick, but it seems like I can't really rest . . . there is so much to do at work, and every day that I try to rest just piles more stuff for me to do by the end of the year.

I did get some rest on Saturday - didn't leave the house! - and on Sunday I went to lunch with my friend, J, at a very yummy Thai place on Route 7. Yesterday, the Random Non-Profit had the day off, due to our board meetings, so I tried to rest a bit too, but I was quite stressed out and coughing up a lung. When the coughing continued this morning, we went to the Urgent Care, where I found out I have bronchitis. I promptly came home and slept most of the afternoon.

I will miss my last ESL class of the semester, which is quite disappointing, but this was such a funky semester that I'm just glad it is over.

I hope everyone else is keeping healthy . . . hope to have better posts tomorrow!

Nodding off

I am so happy the week is over. I am almost falling asleep at my desk, so I keep shoving popcorn, Christmas candy, and whatever else I can get my hands on into my mouth to try to stay awake. The problem is that my allergies are really acting up, but I couldn’t swallow my usual allergy pill this morning . . . I have a lot of trouble swallowing pills, especially large ones, and sometimes I just cannot get them down. Instead I took a Benedryl, which is a much smaller pill, but makes me really sleepy. It was a trade off – either be miserable and stuffy, or breathe but feel incredibly tired.

Wednesday night for choir practice, my throat was really bothering me. I could barely sing through a whole song – much less have any sort of sound or breath control. This is a bad time to have my voice go all weird . . . Since I’m the only high-ish soprano, I’m often singing my part alone and people can easily tell if I’m way off . . . and a lot of Christmas songs do have these funky high descants . . . I probably sound like someone is mauling a cat somewhere . . . “Fall on your knees . . . and hear the angels’ voices . . .”

Last night, Mr. Random and I finally started doing some Holiday shopping. We bought some things for his mom, sister and uncle that we are going to ship out to them next week. Next I need to order gifts for both Grandmothers to be delivered to them before Christmas, then start shopping for Mr. Random and my family. They are last because they are so close and the stuff doesn’t have to be mailed. I have an uncle who never shops for Christmas presents until December 26 – just to catch all of the clearance sales. Everyone always called him a cheap b******, but in my older age I’m starting to appreciate his wisdom much more . . .

I highly recommend the new Diana Krall CD, Christmas Songs, if you like her music . . . I certainly do.

Apprentice note: I was kind of disappointed last night, because they let Rebecca and Randal pick their own teams. In past seasons, didn’t Trump give them a bunch of the real wackos to pick from? I was SO looking forward to the return of people like Clay, Markus, Melissa, and Toral . . . and maybe the four that got booted off that one show. My dream did come true in a way, in that they picked Mark, Josh, James . . . and Toral. Randal seems really “deer-in-the-headlights” through a lot of this, although I was just as taken aback when at dinner Rebecca said that she had already picked out her three . . . given that in past experience they didn’t really get to pick, I probably wouldn’t have thought about it either, just tried to make do with whoever I got.

I hope we get to put up the Christmas tree this weekend. Yes, we have a fake tree – we bought it last year after moving into our 3rd floor, walk-up condo. I really miss our live trees . . . Every year we would have a “leaning” tree, because we could never get the tree to fit into the stand, so we just put it in a bucket and leaned it against the wall or in the corner. It made it a lot easier to water, too. Having a leaning tree just seemed to fit us so well – kind of quirky and unconventional. It was also easier to hang ornaments and string the lights, since you didn’t have to put them in the back. I yearn for the days when we can get a proper house again (or at least something on a first floor) and load a freshly cut pine into the wagon and drag it into the house.

Have a great weekend, everyone!

Porch
By Rhona McAdam

All day on the front porch of your house
which gives way to a garden of fallen stone,
a black lawn of shale, and the sea,
we have grouped and regrouped
round tables and railings and visitations
of dog with her tennis ball. Her coat is black
and spiked as an otter's; it will dry
to a slick of burnished oak when she's done.
But she drops the drooling ball again and someone hurls it
out into sky and before it has passed
the green blade of land that separates
the horizon's elements, she has flourished
down the slalom path to the point
off which my brother fell when he was two,
and dived for it. My brother's chin
was cut when my mother found him,
beached breathing on the slippery brace
of rocks unsheathed by tide
and after that this balcony was fenced.
The dog comes back and goes again.
Years later the vet tells you she
was injured on a day like this, burst her spleen
when she hit the water. But today
as always she brings the ball back and waits
for the arm's arc to point her down that path
where we ran as children, in towel capes
and swimsuits, our need for the beach
near equal to the dog's need for ball.
In her wake we return with pearls
and arrowheads, with the jawbone of a seal
and all the loam of childhood
pressed this afternoon from hand to hand
into a sphere that by nightfall rises
from the sea.

Brushes with Celebrity

I haven’t received a Secret Santa clue for today. How sad! I’ve come to depend on their vagueness to brighten my day. Hope I get one tomorrow.

My clue to my person today . . . and it was a stretch . . .

Your Secret Santa witnessed the filming of the movie, “Trading Places,” and the TV shows, “Nash Bridges” and “The West Wing.”

The backstory: When I was going to school at Doogie Howser in Philly, they filmed the outdoors of the police station scene in “Trading Places” across the street from us. I only watched for a few minutes, because I had no idea who Jamie Lee Curtis or Eddie Murphy were at that point . . . I wasn’t allowed to stay up real late, so I didn’t know that Eddie Murphy was HUGE in Saturday Night Live then . . .

Fast forward to 1997. Was in San Francisco on business, and Don Johnson and his crew were filming a scene around the corner from my hotel. I even got to take some blurry pictures of Don Johnson, wearing a kind of bright dark orange suit. Dude, the 80’s were so over at that point! . . .

Fast forward a couple of more years, I was working at an association on N Street downtown. They blocked off the whole street one morning to shoot an exterior walking scene with Rob Lowe and the guy who plays Toby (whose name I can never remember.) Rob Lowe stood right in front of us! We got to see him eating his breakfast . . . and ugh, we got to see him eating eggs with his mouth open. Eeewww!

Now I have to think of another clue . . .

It Must Be the Caffeine Making Me Antsy . . .

In the “there is a blog for anything” category, I give you what has to be the most peaceful and lovely blog I have seen: A Good Place for a Cup of Tea and a Think (http://russelldavies.typepad.com/ateaandathink/). It hasn’t been updated in a while, but the intent is lovely. I wish I could be sitting in one of these shops pictured, RIGHT NOW, with a lovely cup of chai and a good book . . . (and Merci (http://aroomsomewhere.blogspot.com/), I thought of you!)

This “War on Christmas” crap is getting on my nerves. No one is keeping anyone from celebrating any holiday any way anyone wants. What’s wrong with “Happy Holidays?” What’s wrong with acknowledging that there are other people in the world that might think differently than you and want to celebrate something else than you . . . good grief! I had actually thought things were getting better about inclusiveness this time of year . . . with everyone acknowledging the whole secular, consumerist aspect of the holiday season, leaving people free to observe or not observe whatever they wished, however they wished. But, noooo . . . people gotta beat you over the head with the religion thing. Complaining about the White House Holiday cards is just sooo stupid to me . . .

OK, I got another annoying e-mail yesterday – I should just not read my e-mails anymore, they give me such fits – this one from the pastor of the church for which I sing in the choir. I love singing in church choirs – depending on how beautiful the songs are, religious music can be most spiritually uplifting and meaningful . . . at lot of times more moving than the actual sermon . . . but that’s another story for another day.

So the pastor sends out this e-mail reminding everyone that there are going to be services on Christmas Day, since it is on a Sunday this year. OK, I knew that, no problem. However, he then goes on to browbeat all those churches that choose not to have services on Sunday – you know, because a lot of folks just like to hang out with their families on that day – and how awful that is and what kind of Christian are you if you don’t come to service that Sunday . . . blah, blah, blah . . .

So this annoyed me, because I don’t think the seriousness of whether you are a Christian or not should hinge on whether you drag yourself to church on Christmas morning. As I get older and my family ages, spending Christmas Day with my mother and father and sisters has become more and more precious to me. My youngest sister moved out of my parents’ house over the summer, so when all three sisters are at home, my parents say that they really appreciate having us all there together. I hate feeling all defensive just because I want to spend Christmas Day with my folks instead of sitting in church . . . I know I’m overreacting horribly, but I’m just getting it out there so I don’t dwell on it for too long . . .

I think I am going to wade into the whole “online shopping” thing this year. I have no idea when I am going to get to the stores, and I want to make sure that I get Mr. Random the things he would like. Part of the problem is that Mr. Random and I work at the Random Non-profit together . . . which means we drive in together, eat lunch together, pop in to each other’s offices occasionally, and drive home together. When I used to work downtown, it was so easy to nip out at lunchtime and hit Borders, Filene’s Basement and various other stores, and then store stuff in my office until I drove it home in the trunk, sneaking stuff in before Mr. Random got home. It’s hard to be sneaky when you practically see each other 24 hours a day . . . I have no idea where I’m going to hide the stuff in my office where he can’t see it, or how to get the stuff home though . . .

We have “secret santa” going on here at work, and I am at a loss for interesting clues that wouldn’t give me away. My creativity is just gone, gone, gone. I guess I could do what whoever the person who has me is doing . . . I’m sure stumped with their clues. Here they are:

Monday Clue: a picture of a lion. - I’m thinking they are either a Leo or are
into the whole Narnia thing . . .

Tuesday Clue: “I know your husband.” - What kind of clue is that? My husband’s worked here for years and years. Everybody here knows who my husband is!

Wednesday Clue: “I know that you are a nice person.” (with a smiley face at the end.) – This is a sweet one . . . I know that I try not to channel pure evil when I deal with people, so this doesn’t tell me anything either . . .

I’ll keep you apprised if I get any more clues . . . the Holiday party is the 19th, so I might get a clue every work day until then . . . Otherwise, if you can think of clues that I could give as hints for my secret person, do let me know . . . I need the help!

Hey, Jealousy . . .

(Brownie points if you can remember the band that did the title song . . . it's stuck in my head right now and I'm too lazy to look it up . . .)

You know, I am usually pretty happy with my life as it is . . . I mean, there other things that I would love to do and learn and places I would love to go to and houses I’d love to live in . . . but for the most part, I’m married to a pretty awesome guy and we aren’t on the street and we are relatively healthy, and my job isn’t that horrible.

However, sometimes there are days when things hit you the wrong way . . . and you start questioning your own choices, and the green monster of envy raises its ugly head, and you start throwing a big pity party for yourself, wailing “why not me?!?!” . . .

So, yesterday was one of those days.

First, I greeted the day with getting an e-mail from a friend of mine, saying that he and his wife just bought a lovely three level townhouse inside the Beltway, and were closing on it that day. Yay, FOK! (Friend of Kath) This was awesome news . . . they had been struggling for quite a while, my friend worked in Telecomm and was laid off, like, 5 times in the past 5 years and his wife does something very service oriented, and quite awesome, but made no money either. They have been trying to save for a house forever, so this was happy, happy news . . .

So why was I so disgruntled at the core?

Well, on Sunday, Mr. Random and I went to an open house of a townhouse development near where we live. We were really curious about what these townhouses look like inside, so we ambled over to see. The price on the thing was way beyond what we could ever realistically afford, but we just wanted to know. So we go and the place is just gorgeous. Three levels, lots of light, 3 nice sized bedrooms, 3.5 baths, a lower level which had a laundry room big enough to be a darkroom. A huge family room space. A newly renovated kitchen. The bathrooms were lovely – and the wallpaper was actually decent looking. Our cat would have had a field day running up and down the stairs. It had great flow for parties. The realtor was the nicest guy and we talked to him for a while, since we had gone through the housing market last year and could swap horror stories. If I had any kind of money, I would have bought the place on the spot.

We walk back home to our little 2 bedroom walk-up condo with the hideous green rug, and ugly kitchen and do a bit more daydreaming, and then, grumpily, go on about the rest of the day. So when we hear that our two friends bought a similar type of townhouse, it’s like . . . darn! Aren’t we losers?

Then later yesterday, I get an e-mail from a friend of mine that I hadn’t seen in a while, letting us know that he and his wife just had a little baby girl, and here are the pictures. After the initial, “What? They were pregnant?” I gushed over the pictures, forwarding them over to Mr. Random, and sent a cheerful note of congratulations to my friends, stating how gorgeous the baby was and I hoped they were doing well, yada, yada, yada.

When I got home, however . . .

My mood dropped like a stone. I was so bummed – Gee, everyone’s life’s changing for the better but ours. What the heck am I doing? We’ll never have a nice house, we don’t make that kind of money. Even if we did have a kid, we’d have to shove them in the fugly guest room with the horrid carpet. This isn’t what I want . . . blah, blah, blah . . .

At least I recognize when I'm being whiny. That's improvement, I think . . .

This is a stressful time of year and you start to reflect on what's happened and the choices you've made. I know I'm not ready to have a child, but I do want one. I know that I'm a lousy housekeeper and that it would be hell for me to maintain a larger place . . . heck, I'm hardly at home half the time, much less being Suzy Homemaker.

But sometimes, sitting in the back of your head are all the things that you aspire to, and sometimes you get impatient when you see other people with those things before you. Sometimes you don't want to go through the slog that you need to get through to get to the place where you are ready to get/have these things - you just want it now!

So you cause yourself huge ulcers coveting your neighbor's things, and stop enjoying the stuff you have. But then you wake up and realize that you aren't your neighbor, and you really don't want their life - there are so many things that go on that others don't see - and then you go back to trying to live your life the best you can with what you have.

Um, so what was the point of this post?

Gee, sometimes even I forget . . . well, I just wanted to share that we all get unhappy with the way things are, and sometimes other people's happiness triggers our own pain . . . but sometimes it takes a while to get our heads back where the need to be . . . we need to live our lives each day for ourselves and no one else.

One of my friends says that we will get what we want when the Universe knows that we are ready to fully receive it . . . stuff happens for a reason, so don't get so discouraged.

Thus ends the "cliche of the day" portion of today's post. Hope to do better tomorrow. For some reason I just had to write this all down . . .

Words Have Failled to Express . . .

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Didn’t finish NaNoWriMo this year, so I’m leaving the icon up as a reminder of my loser-dom. However, someone created a lovely “loser” icon, which Jodi at Jodiferous is featuring on the Dec 1 post on her blog. (http://www.jodiferous.com/)

However, I have resolved to write more in the upcoming year. I actually almost submitted a poem I wrote to The Sun magazine, but chickened out at the last minute. The poem wrote itself, I had very little to do with it . . . I was going through a very sad time, and the poem sat in my head, just wanting to get put on paper. Then once it was there, it felt like a weight had lifted from my soul. It is very rare that writing does that for me, but it does happen . . . and is starting to happen again. It is scary, feeling that much emotion and trying to express it . . . and sometimes I am afraid of how others may interpret it . . . but I know I should do it anyway . . .

My ESL semester is coming to an end . . . the last class is on December 13^th. This was a very interesting semester – it didn’t go quite the way that I had hoped – but I had a core of 5 very engaged, curious students who asked great questions and always wanted to go the extra step. Last week, we did a lot of work on past tense verbs, regular and irregular, and pronunciation. They seemed quite baffled by it all, since you know there really is no rhyme or reason to how English works, so we had a very interesting discussion where I told my students that the most important thing that they could do to improve their English is to listen to as much English being spoken as they can, and for the many words in English that sound the same and have different meanings, what they have to go on is the CONTEXT of what is being said. It will take a while to understand everything, but their patience will be rewarded. There was quite a bit of attendance drop off this semester, and I wasn’t as good about following up with those who disappeared. The semester started so chaotically, I never really got into the comfortable groove that I needed to be in . . . I hope next semester runs much more smoothly.

Apprentice recap: I only saw the second half, but that’s all you really need to see anyway. Am so happy that Randal and Rebecca won, and am so glad that Alla got fired . . . for a second it looked like she might hang on, and I thought that she was getting WAY too hardcore, ruthless to stay in contention. Besides, what was up with those outfits that they were wearing at the Microsoft presentation? They weren’t going to a beach party . . . and their ad was awful - way too many tiny words, and too many screen shots, which always tend to freak people out and keep you from wanting to actually use the software . . .

I am glad the holiday season is here . . . I am one of those annoying folks who actually likes the music of the season, so sue me. Such beautiful songs . . . my favorites are “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel,” and “Gabriel’s Message” – yes, I know they are kind of obscure ones but there is something so haunting and beautiful in them both. Hoping to get the new Diana Krall Christmas album sometime real soon . . . it is really sad that there is such a short shelf life for listening to Holiday music – if I could, I would play my Harry Connick Jr, Ray Charles, and Ella Fitzgerald Christmas albums all year round . . .

I’d love to know – What are your own favorite holiday songs?

Everyone have a lovely weekend . . . I’ll leave you with this:

Sand

By Patty Seyburn

It's not mine

but I should have seen it coming —

the gradual pulverizing — you know,

eventually it will all disappear,

as will you.

I did not mean for everything

to get smaller.

I did not mean for the rich, richer

and the poor, poorer,

nor for everything to be fair

though my translators

bandy about "justice" and "righteousness"

with abandon

as though words were meant to correlate to thoughts.

As though ideas matter.

And things matter.

Do dunes compensate?

I did not invent intent.

You did.

And the way indented footprints disappear

on the ocean's arrival?

That was yours, too.

How eloquent.

Rest for the Weary

Thanksgiving has come and gone. Nothing exciting happened – my sister did arrive and we had a lovely lunch together before I took her down to my parents’ house. Thanksgiving Day was busy, busy, busy since Mr. Random ran in the local Turkey Trot 5 Miler that morning and I helped out with race registration. We came home, took showers, then took ourselves and our baked goods down to my parents’ house where we had a lovely dinner, marred by the fact that I was coming down with something, and so spent the last couple of hours asleep in my sister’s room, sprawled on the bed in a stuffy haze. My dad was eager for the chance to spend quality time in conversation with Mr. Random, since he is the only male in the family now . . . at least until my sisters bring some poor sap home that my dad can also share his manly wisdom with. Mr. Random doesn’t mind my father’s speeches too much, but he’s eagerly awaiting the day when there’s someone else too . . .

I made a mini-Thanksgiving dinner on Friday and invited a couple of friends over to play board games and get a home cooked meal. Much fun was had by us all, and many games of Scrabble were played until 1 in the morning.

Saturday was supposed to be spent with my sisters, going to see “Rent: The Movie,” but before they were going to leave to meet me, my parents sort of disappeared for a few hours, and my sisters didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye to them, especially since my Army sister was going to be staying with me and Mr. Random that night before we took her to the airport the next day. Long story short, we missed the movie and had a quick lunch before they went back down to my parents. We were quite disappointed, but what can ya’ do?

Sunday was a lazy day, but I started having problems with my throat, which carried over into work on Monday, where I could barely manage a croak. Tuesday morning, Doctor’s office, where I found out I had some nasty virus and needed to stay home and rest with lots of liquids. However, I did find out that I had lost 8 pounds since early October. Yay! . . . I guess? . . .

I’m at home again today, still feeling quite poorly, but trying to get some work done.

I hope that everyone had a wonderful Thanksgiving. Stay healthy!

We haven’t had a poem in a while . . . and I liked this one today . . .

Traveling Light

By Dabney Stuart

Moving through still time, its opposite,

it creates no friction. They are both gifts,

one the infinite eye of the needle

the other threads. Occupies.

Emptiness is full of itself,

a never air, the lens for being.

In the long way of this place,

the afterthought of gasses becomes

what we tune in, its tickles

preoccupation and amaze our present.

If such light made a sound

it would be as if the wide spacewind

formed a bell of itself,

and a smaller wind within, and rang.

Calm Before the Storm

Sorry for all of the quiet . . . Things are still quite busy with the Randoms, and I just got some happy news that my sister got her leave from the Army approved at the last moment and so she will be able to spend Thanksgiving week at home with us. Yay! Yay!

As you could probaby tell, I was not looking forward to the holiday - neither my sister or grandmother were going to be there this year, and the resulting family dynamics would have been awkward, to say the least. Now things will be a bit more festive and I will really look forward to spending some quality time with my sister.

It's funny, you know. The 15 years that we shared a room when we were little, we could not stand each other. It took us both moving out of the house, and starting our own independent lives, for us to truly appreciate each other as real, cool people - and now that we are far apart, I truly miss having her around and hanging out with her.

There are so few people in my life who know me . . . I mean, the whole, real ME - and who I've been and who I am now - that I am starting to cling to them ever more tightly.

In the area where I live, so many people come from all over the country and the world to reinvent themselves and become successful. They may have not fit in their old hometowns, for one reason or another, and their ambitions led them here to try to do what they love - be it work in the halls of Congress or work for a cause that is dear to them. In that process, a lot of the past gets tucked away . . . you go back home, and you feel different, apart, yet still very much tied to where you are from. It is hard for me to explain . . . there are others who probably say it much better . . . You can take the girl out of Philly, but much of Philly remains in the girl.

So my sister and I are two of a kind . . . taken away from a place we loved and thrust into a new place with new expectations, and twenty years later we both are still struggling to figure out where we each belong. It is not a happy state to be in, but oh how comforting to have someone else to share it with. Welcome home, my dear! So glad to see you!

Tradition . . . Tradition!

Holidays are always wrapped up in traditions . . . all the things that your particular family does and eats during a particular time of year. Thanksgiving is a great example of this, in that everyone has things that they HAVE TO HAVE for the holiday to seem meaningful for them. Have to have macaroni and cheese. Have to have cranberry sauce from the can. Have to have pumpkin pie. Have to have sweet potatoes. Now, “have to have” may be a slight exaggeration, but if we don’t have these things we get pretty disappointed. Why is that?

Is it because when we are around our families, we sort of want to keep that continuity going . . . the unbroken chain of canned cranberry sauce going through the years?

Every year, Mr. Random and I go to my parents’ house for Thanksgiving dinner. They live less than 30 miles away and they have a big enough house, and there are usually other family members there so they are going to be cooking anyway. However, one year my youngest sister’s marching band got into the Macy’s parade. Mr. Random and I were so excited because that meant that my parents would be going to New York to see her on that day. Thanksgiving by ourselves! We can do whatever we want! We can stay home in our PJ’s! Yay!

But of course, this was in 2001. And then September 11 happened. And then my parents got weird about going, even though my sister still was going to do it. So my parents didn’t go, and they had Thanksgiving at their house, and Mr. Random and I went, like the dutiful folks we are. I was ultimately quite bummed, but pulled through.

Thanksgiving dinner holds no joy for me . . . the whole ritual seems rather forced. When I was little, our family would go to my father’s parents’ house, where because he was one of more than 10 siblings, there were lots and lots of uncles and aunts and cousins there. I always hated the crowds and the noise and the paper plate that always ended up falling into my lap . . . I always wanted to just sit quietly in a corner with a book and be left alone. When my family moved down here, we started having Thanksgiving at home, which always seemed random and odd, because instead of eating in the kitchen, like we did every other day of the year, we moved into the dining room with the good plates. The dynamic changed . . . usually we would eat dinner watching TV and making random funny comments about the news or Jeopardy or Wheel of Fortune, or whatever random TV show was on. But now we were suck in this oddly formal room, in the stiff chairs and dressed up . . . and it just felt wrong . . . feels wrong . . .

I guess I am an informal person at heart – I hate stuffy ceremony, just for ceremony’s sake. I am afraid that if I had Thanksgiving at our condo, there would be all of these expectations . . . we must sit around our cramped little dining table and have turkey and stuffing and blah, blah, blah . . . and I would be freaked out and hate it, and everyone else would be uncomfortable and hate it.

However, if I just did my usual easy, breezy entertaining style – buffet on the table, random yummy side dishes that may or may not have anything to do with Thanksgiving, no turkey, everyone sit wherever with your plate and just hang out – people would be like, “What the . . .?”

Or they might really like it. I don’t know . . .

But holidays are so fraught with the baggage of tradition . . . it’s so hard to let those expectations go . . . but sometimes you want to make up your own traditions, but feel stifled, like you are going to let the universe down in some way . . .

I guess, part of growing up is eventually making that break - ultimately YOU will be happier forging your own path and doing things that will be meaningful to you. And once you do that, you actually will be carrying on the tradition of the true reason for the holiday, whatever the holiday may be . . .

Because holidays are ultimately about spending time with the people you care about the most and enjoying each other’s presence for the short time we all have on this earth. Not freaking out about turkeys and pies and the good china and centerpieces . . . just loving each other and being happy just being together . . .

That’s one tradition I’ll happily pass down to future generations . . .

Out to Lunch

I didn't realize that it has been DAYS since I wrote on the blog . . . it's been quite busy at both the Random household and at work, so I haven't had much time to catch my breath and write. My NaNoWriMo output has been just dreadful too, unless I spend Thanksgiving weekend writing down just any random thoughts and phrases.

Re: The Apprentice - Was so bummed that Marshawn was fired, but she totally deserved it. I spent the second half of the show going, "what the . . . what's wrong with you? Suck it up and do it! . . . oh, you are going to be so fired!" and I was really sad, because I had imagined her in the final four. Brian needed to be fired for being an idiot . . . yeah, you can go 10 blocks in NYC in 15 minutes, uh-huh. My new final four: Randal, Alla, Rebecca and Adam . . . unless someone else does something really stupid this week too . . . oh, I hope it isn't Randal!

Last night, I tried out a recipe from Bon Appetit that I am going to bring to my parents' house for Thanksgiving - Parmesian cheese and green onion popovers. They are real easy to make and taste heavenly right out of the oven . . . they aren't health food, though . . . you have to use 8 large eggs and almost 3 cups of whole milk. I am also going to bring my favorite Cooking Light recipe - sweet potato cheesecake, made with fat free cream cheese - along with the usual green bean casserole, since my sister can't be there.

By the way, I am not a fan of turkey meat . . . horrible, I know, but there are so many other foods I would much rather eat before I stuff down some turkey voluntarily. If I ever get to have Thanksgiving my way, I'll definitely have a ham . . . or make it all side dishes . . .

Are there any usual Thanksgiving dishes that you absolutely HATE? Any that you absolutely MUST HAVE? I've already started . . . I hate turkey and I must have my mom's homemade macaroni and cheese . . . it is not a holiday, unless I have her macaroni and cheese. I tried to reproduce it, and it just wasn't the same . . .

"Old School" Autumn Poem

Have lots to do today, so I'll share this Keats poem with you all . . .

To Autumn
by John Keats

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep,
Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cider-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours.

Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,--
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft,
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

. . . florid and bright and magnificent . . .

Election Day in Virginia and New Jersey! If you live in either place, get off your duffs and go vote!

I have to teach tonight, and I am pretty excited about it. We are starting our unit on Citizenship and Laws. It’s always awesome to discuss how our government is set up and what Election Day means . . . and how it relates to how things are done in people’s home countries. It always makes for such interesting, thoughtful discussions . . . a lot of times more thoughtful than many of my native speaker friends can muster . . .

I only have a thousand words done so far for NaNoWriMo. I hope to do some more this week. I am not daunted . . . yet. I have the ideas in my head. I just have to type them . . . I am just going to write what I am thinking, things that have happened, and then worry about making them fiction later. Otherwise, I won’t write a word. I am excited! One thousand words are more than 340, so that is a good start . . .

Problem is that I most want to write during the day while at work, since that’s when I feel most inspired, and that’s not good . . . I need to feel the same urge to procrastinate at home, I guess . . .

Today’s poem is from Poetry Daily . . . and fits in with the autumn theme. Hope everyone is doing well . . .

Autumn Passage
By Elizabeth Alexander


On suffering, which is real.
On the mouth that never closes,
the air that dries the mouth.

On the miraculous dying body,
its greens and purples.
On the beauty of hair itself.

On the dazzling toddler:
"Like eggplant," he says,
when you say "Vegetable,"

"Chrysanthemum" to "Flower."
On his grandmother's suffering, larger
than vanished skyscrapers,

September zucchini,
other things too big. For her glory
that goes along with it,

glory of grown children's vigil,
communal fealty, glory
of the body that operates

even as it falls apart, the body
that can no longer even make fever
but nonetheless burns

florid and bright and magnificent
as it dims, as it shrinks,
as it turns to something else.

Ready for Our Close-Up, Mr. DeMille

Mr. Random may be on TV sometime soon! One of the players on his soccer team has an artificial leg, and on Saturday, the Discovery Health Channel was filming her, while the team was playing, for a show they are going to do on people with disabilities who are still active. Everyone on the team had to sign release forms and everything. They are going to let us know when the show goes on the air . . . so when we hear, I’ll let you guys know too, so you can try to figure out who he is. I’ll give you a hint . . . he’ll be wearing an orange shirt . . .

That’s one of the things I love about the DC area . . . all of the random cool stuff that can happen. Of course, there’s all of the random BAD stuff that can happen too . . .

Spent the weekend with a horrid headache, and I stayed home today, despite the mounds of work I have to do . . . sometimes, I just need a day to just sit and rest . . . I’ve been getting very stressed out lately, and this may be my body telling me to take a break . . .

I only noticed today that the blog looks different depending on where I am accessing it. Yes, I can be pretty clueless sometimes . . . When I read it during the day, it looks all jumbled and clunky. If I read it on the weekend, the layout is much cleaner and the words are not running together. I guess it has to do with the resolution on both computers . . . I must think about the redesign a bit more . . .

Mr. Random and I actually watched the live West Wing debate last night . . . and it actually was pretty good. Like all the critics are saying, a “real” presidential debate would never be set up like that, but it would be quite awesome if it ever was . . .

This poem was featured on Jodiferous’ (http://www.jodiferous.com/) site today – (http://transit.metrokc.gov/prog/poetry/2005/41_pagh.html) . . . and I like it! Also check out her November 6 entry, with the competing versions of Wonderwall . . . I think I like the Cat Power version best, too . . .

Today’s poem is a great Fall-like poem, even though it doesn’t mention the season at all:

First Breath Last Breath

By Antler

When a baby boy is born

and the midwife

holds him up

as he takes

his first breath,

Place him over

the mother's face

so when the baby exhales

his first breath on Earth

the mother breathes it.

And when the mother dies

her middle-aged son

the baby grew up to be,

by her side

his head next to her head,

Follows her breathing with his breath

as it becomes shorter

and as the dying mother

exhales her last breath

her son inhales it.

Because It Pours Color in Its Path . . .

Thanks for the comments on my Blog readability . . . I probably am going to change the format soon, just need to find a format I like enough to change it to . . .

Last night, Mr. Random and I went to “Brat Night” at That Custard Place. The owners of the custard shop are from Wisconsin, and once a month they pay homage to all things Wisconsin by serving bratwurst sandwiches, German potato salad and sauerkraut, along with a Wisconsin brand of bottled root beers, orange sodas and cream sodas. The place was packed, and they had an accordion player playing polka music all evening . . . or rather, what sounded like polka music because all the accordion music seemed the same to me. We went with a friend of ours who was born and raised in Milwaukee, and a good time was had by all . . . and the bratwurst was really delicious – we may do this again next month.

Of course since we were out, we missed watching Trump’s Apprentice this week, although we caught the last bit where Markus was nattering on and on in the cab. I read the quick recap in Television Without Pity today, and it sounds like this week's episode was as good as last week's so I’ll have to watch the rerun this weekend. I’m sure all those people fired last week breathed a sigh of relief when they saw that Markus was finally fired . . . he so lucked out by being on winning teams all of the time . . .

I haven’t written any more on my NaNoWriMo project this week. [Hangs head in shame] But I will work on it this weekend, promise!

Today’s poem is by Rebecca Aronson. I hope you all have a wonderful autumn weekend!

The Question of Fire

Because it pours color in its path.
Because all things in it come down to the bones of bones, some particles
more fundamental that dirt.
Because its roar reminds us of nothing.
Imagine a basket of flame: always emptying, always full.
Because it was begun from one word (tree) held too close
to another (lightning).
Because of the embers, those handfuls of history, and the potential of matches—
a future that any careless carrying might ignite.
Because there is no net, no cure, no promise.
Because we have been captured.

Rapture: the first curl of smoke quickening into blue and how it grows up
the way a kiss surprises (only lips on lips yet
the body suffused with tickling)
so that suddenly it’s a real engine-red.

The fingers of grass along the alley know it
but lean in anyway and are consumed.
Because it calls to be fed and feeding will never surfeit.
Because to live is to hunger and nothing is more alien
and more familiar than the hunger of another.

Question for My Faithful Readers

I have a question for you guys . . . do you like the template of this blog? Is it hard for you to read? Would you mind a change?

The layout and font are driving me bats . . . I barely like to look at it, and I'm the one writing it!

I was thinking of trying to exchange it for another Blogger template this weekend . . . a cleaner layout and a text font that is easier to read.

However, I do like the white background, the width of the text column on the page, and the image of the lighthouse. Otherwise, everything else can change . . .

I would try to learn some HTML and fix it myself, but I'm not sure I have either the time or patience to do so right now.

What do you all think? Inquiring minds want to know . . .

Only 49,660 More Words to Go!

Wouldn’t you know that yesterday, for the blog, I wrote 923 words. For NaNoWriMo, I wrote about 340 words.

What is wrong with this picture?

Yes, I know, it is still early. But can the blog count towards my output? Please? Pretty please? Oh, well . . . I’ll try to do better tonight . . .

I‘ve been seeing some pretty stylish blog redesigns this week. Now I want one! Whine! Whine! For an awesome one, go check out Jo(e)’s blog at (http://writingasjoe.blogspot.com/). I am in LOVE with both the picture and the blue . . .

Did I already tell you how much I hate funder reports? . . . Actually, I really don’t mind doing them, except my boss then tends to sit on them forever and not turn them in on time, and then I quickly have to do another one updating the old one when the funder ends up wondering where it is. If not for any other reason, this screwed-up-ed-ness (Hey, I made up a word!)
is why I need to leave the Random Non-Profit . . .

My concentration is still shot to heck today. However, I haven’t had insomnia in a while and I’ve actually been able to plow through a few books, so my outlook is improving somewhat . . .

Election Day in Virginia is less than a week away. This is the first year that I haven’t done anything with any campaign, and the view from here looks pretty bleak. The candidates have been lousy at putting out any sort of positive messages or giving me any sort of reason to want to vote for them. However, as a Democrat in the Old Dominion, beggars can’t be choosers. So . . . Kaine for Governor, Bryne for Lt. Governor, Deeds for Attorney General.

Hope everyone’s weeks are going well.

Return
Sara Michas Martin

I walk to make certain I was ever there.
To find the car I once discovered

buried in the pines. As if it were left
for the mushrooms to affix. For crows

to pull batting from its seats. Small
when I see it. Body rubbed free of paint,

roof caved like a chocolate egg left in the rain.
And the myths are gone: the witch

I thought placed it here, the silver horses
that drag cars from many roads.

Now I imagine, before trees filled in,
someone drove it just this far

and parked. Up here the water
driving against the northern shore

is just one layer of silence
spread thin inside another.

Random Book Report

Last night I finished the book, The Day I Became an Autodidact, by Kendall Hailey. You can tell it was written by someone who was still in her teen years. – I was alternately impressed by it and incredibly annoyed by it. I mean, it is an amazing luxury to have two parents who will allow you to finish high school a year early, and then let you spend several years just reading whatever books you want . . . after week 3 of being at home, my Dad would have ordered me to get off my lazy butt and get a job if I wasn’t going to school. It also is incredibly uncommon to have a well-to-do playwright and a famous author as parents who can indulge said autodidact-ism. Ms. Hailey’s voice sounded like someone very well-educated, extremely privileged, and quite naïve. She had a lot of good to say, and I think it would be great reading for a teen or anyone who doesn’t quite know what to do with themselves.

A friend of mine recommended it and said the book changed his life. I need to ask him how old he was when he started it . . . and it what way did it change him? It does make a compelling case to read all of the classics and anything else you can get your hands on – that to truly educate yourself you don’t need to sit in a classroom – but at the same time, I was taken aback at how Ms. Hailey basically made herself a hermit – disconnected a great deal from the outside world, except for interacting with her family and her dad’s playwriting group. Her old school friends write her letters and share a lot of what is going on in their lives at college and elsewhere, and it seems that she feels above the fray – like she’s glad not to be sullied by getting these tacky life experiences. People are actually out interacting with life and she is only still sitting in her room observing it, living through others’ writings.

You can’t educate yourself by just sitting and reading and observing, you have to actually go out and get your hands dirty and heart broken . . . You need to walk down different paths and see which one fits you best . . . Ms. Hailey may have learned a lot intellectually, but did she ever learn what it means to be an individual in the world, making her own way, figuring out her place in it? That is the story I’d really like to read – how did she find real life, once she left her parents’ house?

I also notice that some homeschooling organizations love the book and recommend it (love that Google) . . . to me, this book doesn't quite fit that model. Ms. Hailey actual went to school up through 11th grade, and her lack of meaningful interactions with the outside world once she stopped going to school is not something that I personally would recommend.

Here is the Amazon review for it: (http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0440550130/102-7834869-9985742?v=glance&n=283155&v=glance). It seems to have a number of admirers . . . the jury is still out for me . . .

Did you ever e-mail some old friends that you haven’t talked to in a while, and then wait for them to answer and get really anxious as days pass by without a response? That’s where I am right now. I always feel like it is my fault if we don’t stay in touch with someone, although, you know, they can send an e-mail once in a while, too. Then you think, “am I not cool enough anymore? Do they not want to talk to me?” . . . Boy, am I neurotic . . .

I’ve been in a cranky, horrible mood today – getting irritated at, well, irritating things – but more so than usual. It is autumn. I am antsy. I am ready for change. I want to work on my NaNoWriMo stuff and not do funder reports and conference planning, which I hate. I am ready for a rest, to be a homebody and drink cocoa and look out on the changing leaves. I want to bake some cookies. I want to not have to worry about irritating details which only a small subset of a small subset of humanity would even care about. I want . . . a nap . . .

I have to teach tonight, so I need to suspend the horrible mood and give my all. My students work all day, too. They are also tired and cranky. They drag themselves to class because they want to improve their English, want to expand their opportunities. The least I can do is make the experience pleasant for them and be engaged in what’s going on . . . I can fume more when I get home . . .

Today, I leave you with another poem from The New Yorker . . . very powerful imagery . . .

A Choice

by Ryszard Kapuscinski

(Translated, from the Polish, by Diana Kuprel and Marek Kusiba.)

To walk away

to slam behind the lid of silence

or yet again

to take up the effort anew

to free the throat from the strangle

to fight to breathe

to pronounce a word

to utter a whole sentence

to speak up

in haste

before they once again apply the gag

I know you’re waiting

you

who listen intently

who put your ear

to a deaf wall

To Those About To Write . . .

This post is for those who are about to embark on this year's National Novel Writing Month. I salute all of you and wish you luck. This poem by Rumi I hope will suitably inspire us . . .

Fifty thousand words by November 30th? No problem!

Story Water

By Rumi (translated by Coleman Barks)

A story is like water

that you heat for your bath.

It takes messages between the fire

and your skin. It lets them meet,

and it cleans you!

Very few can sit down

in the middle of the fire itself

like a salamander or Abraham.

we need intermediaries.

A feeling of fullness comes,

but it usually takes some bread

to bring it.

Beauty surrounds us,

but usually we need to be walking

in a garden to know it.

The body itself is a screen

to shield and partly reveal

the light that’s blazing

inside your presence.

Water, stories, the body,

all the things we do, are mediums

that hide and show what’s hidden.

Study them,

and enjoy this being washed

with a secret we sometimes know,

and then not.