Each and All

Well folks, thanks for sticking around during the daily blog posts of NaBloPoMo.  Gropius lives within the design of a new model, so to speak, and I appreciate your attention to my random musings. I'll be around, but if I skip a day every now and then, it's fine with me and I dare say you'll feel the same.

Today I thought I'd share my favorite poem with you, a gift handed to me by my 11th grade English teacher, who was an incredible inspiration in my life. All these years later, I love Emerson's messages that everything is most beautiful at its source and we all have the same source that ties us together.

Each and All
Ralph Waldo Emerson


Little thinks, in the field, yon red-cloaked clown,
Of thee, from the hill-top looking down;
And the heifer, that lows in the upland farm,
Far-heard, lows not thine ear to charm;
The sexton tolling the bell at noon,
Dreams not that great Napoleon
Stops his horse, and lists with delight,
Whilst his files sweep round yon Alpine height;
Nor knowest thou what argument
Thy life to thy neighbor's creed has lent:
All are needed by each one,
Nothing is fair or good alone.
I thought the sparrow's note from heaven,
Singing at dawn on the alder bough;
I brought him home in his nest at even;—
He sings the song, but it pleases not now;
For I did not bring home the river and sky;
He sang to my ear; they sang to my eye.

The delicate shells lay on the shore;
The bubbles of the latest wave
Fresh pearls to their enamel gave;
And the bellowing of the savage sea
Greeted their safe escape to me;
I wiped away the weeds and foam,
And fetched my sea-born treasures home;
But the poor, unsightly, noisome things
Had left their beauty on the shore
With the sun, and the sand, and the wild uproar.

The lover watched his graceful maid
As 'mid the virgin train she strayed,
Nor knew her beauty's best attire
Was woven still by the snow-white quire;
At last she came to his hermitage,
Like the bird from the woodlands to the cage,—
The gay enchantment was undone,
A gentle wife, but fairy none.

Then I said, "I covet Truth;
Beauty is unripe childhood's cheat,—
I leave it behind with the games of youth."
As I spoke, beneath my feet
The ground-pine curled its pretty wreath,
Running over the club-moss burrs;
I inhaled the violet's breath;
Around me stood the oaks and firs;
Pine cones and acorns lay on the ground;
Above me soared the eternal sky,
Full of light and deity;
Again I saw, again I heard,
The rolling river, the morning bird;—
Beauty through my senses stole,
I yielded myself to the perfect whole.

You Really Want a Netbook

D-Man usually gets a "big" gift for Christmas--the one thing he really wants that can be a bit pricey--and a few little things to go with it. There isn't a big gift he's been asking for this year, and I have been struggling to think of something good.

Despite endless pestering, lecturing, punishments, etc., D-Man usually gets away with doing the bare minimum in school. Getting ready to enter high school next year, it's more than time for him to step up his game.

I've heard him say how much he hates computers. This would be a bad thing, especially if you are Gen Y or younger, and increasingly, "computer illiterate" greatly increases the chances that your hopes and dreams of doing more than digging ditches as an adult will get scattered.

So I thought: netbook.

MixedReflection's Mind:  "He will have his very own device to upload his photographs (possibly leading to an interest in capturing that perfect artistic image), to conduct research (for the next science project), to write e-mails (communicating with members of the family), to learn to type well (to make homework more bearable and to increase his skills), to have his own iTune control center (so he won't download all of that doodoo music on mine), to develop spreadsheets and documents in Google Docs, etc., etc.  In any case, he will become extremely computer literate but will be 'tricked' into becoming so!"

D-Man wasn't too into this idea. He was very anti-netbook.

I worked on it with him for a while and was eventually silenced by Husband who said, "If he doesn't want a netbook, why are you trying to convince him he does?"

So I told D-Man I was dropping it. "Okay, just tell me something you would like--OTHER than a remote controlled car. I'm not spending money on that."

Less than 5 minutes later, he said, "Yeah, you know, I really do want a netbook."

D-Man's Mind:  "I will have my very own device to upload [inappropriate] photographs, to conduct research (on girls I like at school), to IM peeps from the bus, to learn to type well (oh screw that!), to have my own iTune control center (so parents won't be able to censor my selections), start my own Facebook page, etc.

Obviously D-Man and I have very different ideas about this gift and what it might be used for.

I guess the funniest thing is that yesterday I suggested to him I was thinking the netbook might not be such a good idea after all.  His reaction?

"No!!! I want a netbook!"

Willie

Early this afternoon, D-Man and I went to Robinson Preserve to enjoy the 3.8 mile loop. It's such a beautiful trail. D-Man rides his bike and I do a power walk.

It's a well-traveled path, and many people bring their dogs. D-Man always pauses to ask if he can pet each dog, and most people are happy to stop for a meet and greet.

We were maybe half a mile from the parking lot on the return loop when we encountered an elderly woman who was walking a small long-haired dog that looked like it was a perfect match for her. Little dogs usually aren't my thing, but something about this guy told me he had quite a story behind him.

D-Man approached with his hand outstretched, inquiring if it was okay to say hello.

"Why yes," she said. "But he's shy."

"Someone who was very mean to him used to own him. I've had Willie for a couple of years now, and he's starting to trust again. "

Willie sniffed D-Man's hand and then ran back behind the woman, darting between her feet.

"I can't understand people who get dogs just to hurt them," she continued.

As we turned to continue down the trail, we heard the woman say, "Willie is my best friend."

Nearly 12 years ago, I found my Flanders on the street. She was living under an abandoned cottage near my office building. A large cut ran down her head, as if she had squeezed underneath a chain link fence trying to get out of a bad situation. I fed her for 3 weeks before she would come anywhere near me.

I hate to imagine how she began her life, but I feel like we were destined to find each other. She's one of the greatest parts of each day, always such a comfort to me.

Of course I thought of this blessing when I met Willie and his owner. They were destined to find each other, and this connection between human and animal is one that only some will understand.

Perfect Gifts for Parents You Don't Like

If you really want to get back at someone you don't really like, there are a few things to add to your Christmas list for their toddlers.

What about Hungry Hippos? Guaranteed to make more noise than you would take in at a heavy metal concert.  The banging plastic parts on marbles is deadly, perfect for parents on your shiter list.

A close second is the good 'ole ant farm. I always wanted one of these, but everyone with any sense knows that a release is in the cards. At some point that baby is busting open and shedding tiny marching bodies everywhere. Before it happens, parents will go to bed knowing there are hundreds of ants in their home every night, wondering if tonight is the night when the great escape will occur.

Fish are good too--just one more thing for the parents to take care of.

Let's move onto just about any musical instrument for toddlers. It's not that music isn't fabulous for youngsters, but when they don't know what they're doing and are just at the pouncing and shaking stage, a nice junior keyboard can drive the parents mad. Along the same lines--karaoke machines for kids. Pretending you're loving that singing adds a terrific dimension to the torture.

A giant soaker water gun is one gift item I'm pretty sure was given to D-Man in his younger years by people who hated me. You see, when it's you, Husband and one little guy...and you have a giant soaker water gun in the equation...there are two people in the line of fire. One of them is yours truly. So yeah, I'd add the giant soaker to the top of your resident evil list.

After experiencing a number of these gifts first hand, I'll tell you that presents for boys and girls can also be nice treats for your senses if you have parental revenge on your mind. If you do like the parents, however, remember that anything you buy for that special kid will have a direct impact on the mental well being of his mom and dad. I'd go with socks, a nice stuffed animal, legos or erasable crayons if you want to preserve the integrity of your adult relationships.

The Cardinals From Hell

Every morning around 9 a.m., the firm tapping sound would begin, surfacing from the living room at my parents' house. They would hear it every 30 seconds or so and would round the corner to see a cardinal (and sometimes its mate) dive bombing the window, hitting it hard as hell, from the adjacent tree. This would continue on and off for about an hour or so every day.

A long-time Audubon person, I was soon on the receiving end of the call as Parents tried to figure out what was going on and what could be done.

It's not unusual for birds to fly into windows, either catching insects on the wing or not realizing the window is an impermeable surface separating the inside from the outside. But these strange cardinals do it over and over again...and then some. And they make it a daily exercise. Odd, to be sure.

Parents tried all the usual stuff like putting up a visual distraction on the window to be sure the birds knew it wasn't an extension of the vegetation. But this hasn't worked. Nothing has worked.

So to put it all into perspective, I'll tell you this started YEARS ago. Just to be sure we're on the same page, that's like 4 years ago.  Now, the birds aren't starting at 9 a.m., they're starting at 7 a.m. And they'll now return for an afternoon encore performance. It's crazy.

We're wondering: are these the same birds, or have they now passed the behavior onto their offspring?  Are the birds insane?  Are they seriously mentally challenged, taking the bird brain to a whole new level of minimalism? Are they trying to remove a parasite or something? Who knows. They're like bird masochists.

It's terrible to think about what they're doing to themselves. And if you're a human inside the house, listening to that sound over and over again is pretty killer too.

In their latest attempt to derail the bizarre avian activity, Parents mixed up a water/ Cayenne pepper concoction and put it all over the window and the tree. We'll see what that does...we'll just see... My hopes aren't too high. I'm betting that the cardinals from hell will prevail in their mystery quest.

Thankful for Dinosaurs

It's been a relaxing Thanksgiving. I've taken today to nap, continued my purging of books and clothes for Goodwill, and of course have thought a lot about what I'm grateful for.  That exercise is something I don't save for Thanksgiving. Every day, I always keeping in mind how fortunate I am for good health, a healthy family, work, a fascination for life, friends, a roof over my head and the satisfaction of knowing there are things I can do--however small--to make a positive difference.

Tonight at my sister-in-law's husband's parents' house (ah yes, a fun one, isn't it?), we went around the table and each talked about what we're thankful for. Friends, family and health were of course commonly spoken, and then we arrived at little Jack, who's three years old.

"Dinosaurs and race cars," Jack said.

Ah, I'm thankful to have a little guy in the mix. Simplicity is a good thing, never overrated.

Presidential Turkey Pardon: I Don't Get It

No this isn't mine. It's owned by Alex Wong/Getty Images.

My inability to understand the Presidential Turkey Pardon each year has nothing to do with the fact that I've been a vegetarian for 17 years--honest.

But really?  It's kind of like the Free Willy syndrome. All those cute little kids and sympathetic adults of all ages feeling sorry for Willy, petitioning to free him and then spending a vacation day at SeaWorld.

I've never seen Obama read a speech, but he was reading that turkey proclamation today. I could just imagine the inner thoughts, "Holy CRAP, do I actually have to do this? There are a few other pressing things, just a few, that I should probably be taking care of."

The close up shots of him stroking the turkey were especially entertaining for me. It's like WTF? Enjoy that turkey dinner.

I'm going to feast on my Tofurkey tomorrow and of course, all of the carb-laden sides. The sides are pretty good.

Meanwhile, just know my deepest feelings about this pardon. It's stupid. I mean, maybe not for the sole turkey who gets to walk.

Sacred

If you stop long enough, you remember why you are here.

You may think of those with an unknown number of days, living in the final stages of cancer.  Thinking of friends who came your way for a time and faded beyond your grasp, you may glimpse the impermanence of relationships. Pieces of memory usher in your elderly grandfather who passed before you really came to understand him.

Years after a life fully lived, you see her faded black and white photograph. She's wearing clothes you have only seen in movies. You don't know what she was thinking when the image was recorded.  And she didn't know how the remaining pages of her life would be filled, or how she would die. Or what relative many decades later would find the captured moment and know only a tiny piece of her years.

All that is lasting is impossible to capture in the finite, touchable things that bring us the most comfort. We're afraid to put too much confidence in what we cannot feel, or see, or have confirmed with consistency of human beliefs. But those very things keep us alive in the truest sense when everything else is failing.

If you stop long enough, you remember for a second why you are here.  Out of necessity, immersed in the details of everyday, you forget the profound reason life has been given to you. You may forget unintentionally about the mark you would like to leave for others. You may forget intentionally how quickly those who have gone fade from your own crowded memory.

But remember to make the most of your time. It's sacred, just as the most quiet part of you is God.

I'm Just Saying...

Have I mentioned these things before? Possibly.

But given the fact that I hear them emerging from lips over and over, and that they annoy me freshly each time (and perhaps more each time), here they are before you--the most ridiculous things to pop out of a mouth in America:

• "Where's it at?" or worse "Where are you at?" PLEASE, someone stop those who end sentences with "at." I am approaching the point of requiring a padded room when I hear it.
• Pronouncing nuclear "noo cue lar."  GW seemed to popularize this like no one's business. Now it flies A-okay, much like "irregardless" somehow made its way into the dictionary because it's spoken
  so frequently when people meant to say "regardless."
• And finally, the case of the mislabeled wildlife. This is a heron, NOT a herring!  Oh come on people!

Yes, I am a dork for blogging about it.

Bags to Nukes: Recent Environmental Let Downs

It's been tough to take the news that the reusable grocery bags from Winn Dixie and Publix (among others) contain amounts of lead that aren't permissible in toys or in paint. What the hell is that all about anyway? Why is it--who is it--which regulatory authority allowed this to happen? You try to quit this mess with plastic bags by purchasing reusable items and find out they're manufactured with stuff that not only isn't green but is hardly healthy.

I'm still getting over the fact that this has happened. I realize that none of us are going to die because a banana or two was transported in one of these bags, but really? Lead in grocery bags?

Remember the excitement about biofuels?  I'm not saying they're all bad, but we've seen what corn based ethanol can do to the price of food staples around the globe. It's not good. And the actual amount of energy they produce is negligible. I wish it was different.

I frankly can't believe nuclear power has come back into the picture again as a source of "clean" energy. It's so totally clean to produce (and safe, of course) but then what happens to the radioactive waste?  Oh that's right.  We'll just keep burying it in New Mexico. That's a brilliant idea. I'm sure our scientific community is 100% sure we'll never have any seismic activity in the millions of years it will take the stuff to become inactive.

Let's go back to the safety issue for just one moment. We're totally trusting the industry and regulatory authorities who tell us that many back up processes are in place to prevent a meltdown. It just couldn't happen with today's technology, right?  I remember hearing the same thing about the oil rigs in the gulf. With all of the required inspections and safety precautions, procedures, etc., there was no way we could have a disaster harming the environment. It was completely clean and safe. Hmmm...how did that work out for us?

We're an innovative bunch here in America. The economy is trying to pick up. Many smart people are unemployed. Seems like the time is ripe for new, better ideas--the kind that actually work, the kind that are environmentally reasonable, healthy for people and the earth and that improve quality of life. I'm tired of hearing endless infomercials for half-ass solutions we're trying to bill as safe and good. Let's change that.

Busted by Hallmark: Inappropriate Language

Wow, Hallmark. Are you serious? You rejected my personalized message on the e-card I wanted to send? Thanks for setting me straight.

Wishes for Miami

This weekend we're going down to Miami to visit Husband's mother. We really should get down there more often and everyone feels guilty that we don't.

My parents have never really been one for adventures either, but Husband's mother isn't game for leaving and exploring. That means we hang out in the house.  This comment isn't meant to be irreverent to her, it's just the way she is. Still, it makes me wish...for a different kind of Miami trip. There are some very cool things in Miami, and I would love the chance to see them.  How nice it would be to go off together to visit the botanical garden there, South Beach (which is full of great restaurants, shops and people watching, naturally), and so many cultural stops.

But I realize there's a fat chance of that happening.

Flanders will be patrolling the house and hopefully keeping a respectful distance from the new couch.

I'm looking forward to the view of the Everglades from US 41 on the way down. It's a beautiful journey across the state.

Sucking Your Fingers? Really?

This morning I took my car in for the dreaded oil change. Something irks me about the fact that you have to do anything but put gas in a car after you've spent all that money. ...Yeah, I know, typical girl.

Anyway, the staff of Honda Cars of Bradenton stocked the waiting room with coffee and doughnuts that actually looked fresh and delish. I didn't dare touch them of course, but noticed that the other three in the room enjoyed them.

How do I know this? Was it because I noticed them standing before the doughnuts, selecting their picks? No. Was it because I could smell the pastries wafting past as they were carried to the chairs behind me? No.

It was because I could hear each person loudly licking and sucking on his fingers as he ate. WTF? Does anyone have manners anymore?  That noise disgusts me. I'm a Southern girl, and I did learn my Southern manners. Sucking on your fingers--especially in public--is pretty gross. True, we weren't at the Ritz, but still... spare me the sound effects.

I know there are much worse things going on in the world. Tell me about it.

Not a Good Sort of Record

It's a fact: in my part of Bradentucky, an item put on the street corner has a shelf life of t-minus 5 minutes. Someone will come along and pick it up for re purposing, drive off, and you'll forget it was ever in your possession. And that's just the way you want it.

No one living on the street wants to be that exception to unspoken the 5 minute rule.

So let's just say I'm not too proud that we're on the verge of breaking a record for our street. Our Flanders-ized couch has been sitting out there for 3 days and it's getting really, really lonely.

If a calculation loving reader is planning to tell me how many times we've surpassed the 5 minute mark in the many 5 minute periods comprising the last 3 days, you're not doing my pride any favors.

Thanks a lot, you worthless trash collecting picker uppers! Now the City is going to have to call what husband refers to as "The Claw." How embarrassing.

"Maturing Like A Fine Wine or Scotch"

D-Man found himself in what my grandmother would have called "a world of trouble" when we learned things about his science project a few weeks ago--things like it was something he was supposed to do this quarter, not next.

While we were on the whole You're-Doing-This-Even-If-It's-Too-Late campaign, we experienced a few other frustrations along the way. After embarking on the required research about basil plants and soils, he managed to assemble some paragraphs from the required 5 sources.

I took one look at the paper and said, "You didn't just cut and paste this, did you? This is all in your own words?"

Maybe I was being unfair, but frankly, it was the phrase describing well-cultivated basil leaves as "maturing like a fine wine or scotch" that caught my eye.

Unusual Butt Calls

You're familiar with butt calls--you know, those unintended calls you make on the cell phone without knowing you've dialed. 

They usually occur when you're reaching for something in your purse and you call the last person you've been on the phone with...or when juggling a laptop, papers, cell phone, etc. while trying to close the car door....or when you're eating in the lunchroom at work and you accidentally called mom for like 7 minutes...

You can tell I speak from experience.

Anywho, I don't have the nerve to tell my sister-in-law that she butt called me throughout her labor on Thursday. Okay, it was only twice, but it was still funny. 

Sister-in-law was having a little baby boy and I received 2 butt calls during the process. Couldn't hear any pushing in agony, or anything you enjoy in all of the dramatic television births, but it was made me laugh nonetheless.

Customer Service Advice to HP From a Soldier

On top of being one of the smartest, most interesting people I know, Ken Brennen sends me good finds for Gro--um, Mixed Reflections.  He found this video from a soldier in Iraq who was asked by HP to pay for one of their techies' advice on how to fix the crappy all-in-one printer he was using.

Since we've all been on the lousy end of the stick with customer service from big companies at one time or another (some more frequently than others), I thought I'd share this with you. It's pretty funny.



Oh how many times I've wanted to do just that with a printer, computer, cell phone, television or other piece of equipment falling short of its promise. Good luck with PR on this, HP!

What Would You Do?

The fam has watched a couple versions of What Would You Do? It's a "candid camera" sort of show with actors in very public, well-traveled places who perform certain things like...

• Very obviously stealing a bike in a park by sawing through the lock/chain.
• Trying to take advantage of (and take home) a very inebriated young woman in a bar.
• Harassing an overweight woman and her daughter with a grocery cart full of unhealthy, sugary foods.

It's interesting to see who intervenes by directly confronting the offenders, who walks on and who stops to consider getting involved but turns away in the end. It's also interesting to see how reactions differ when the race of the actors or the age of the actors is changed.

As a pretty vocal and opinionated woman myself, I don't usually have a problem speaking my mind. People who are unfairly treated or who are at risk for being taken advantage of are naturally compelling.

But I'll admit that in certain situations, I'm more likely to call someone like the police or a store manager. I totally get it that I could end up in a really scary situation myself if I insert myself with a stranger who could easily be nuts or drugged out.

How do you react in these situations? Is it easier for you to speak up if others are there to support you? How far are you willing to go if it looks like your own safety could be in danger?

Things I Don't Want to Run Into

1. People who were unkind and rude before they moved away and then come back to town and want to stop by and chat. I escaped this not long ago.
2. Anything I have attempted to cook--it's either burned, tough, rubbery, tasteless or disgusting in any number of other ways.
   
3. Born Agains who talk your ear off about how perfectly holy they are while having zero respect for anyone else on the planet with a different perspective.
4. A roach scurrying across any room in my house like they own the place. It's been a while, but unfortunately it's a fact of life in Florida. It's the only living thing I hate.
5. Alex Trebek. Thank goodness it's not too likely. (Picture me saying that in a French accent.)
6. Anyone who remembers my name when I can't remember theirs. I feel terrible.
7. The 3rd carpeted stair from the top when I'm carrying a cup of coffee. I tripped on it and nearly busted my ass at work a few days ago. Luckily the coffee didn't stain and I didn't die.
8. A clan of Father, Brother and Husband if they return from a fishing excursion with no fish.
9. Anyone who frequently uses the expression "You're a real rock star." It was cute at first, but come on, really?
   
10. Trees that look like this:

Anyone know what kid of tree that is? I photographed it at Marie Selby Botanical Gardens but can't remember what it is. Remembering not to bump up against it would be important.

My Brother is a Veteran

We don't have a very military family. When Brother decided to join the Marines a couple of years after college, we were all in a state of shock because we knew that a trip to Iraq was imminent. Parents were very proud, I was very worried, and Brother was happy to be serving his country.

He did go to Iraq. Twice. I don't know much about what he did when he was there, but I do know that with the incredible danger he was in everyday on the front lines, he carried an enormous amount of weight with him in the 115 degree desert, he helped to build infrastructure to help the Iraqis, and he witnessed many terrible things happening to his comrades.

Every day it was my prayer that he would be okay, that he wouldn't be scarred for life--mentally or physically--with the terrors of war. He made it home and he's okay.

Thanks for coming back to us.

Colors

This sphere of blue and green we all share is endless in colors, textures, shapes, inspiration. You may have seen a couple of these photos in previous blog posts, but here is an assemblage of colors I've photographed here in Florida:



Dear Metro PCS:

You've been pretty good to me. I mean where else can I get unlimited everything for 2 people for $110 a month with no contract? Although it's no secret that your phones are really crappy and don't really have the features I want, it's been a good trade off. Technically, I don't really need all those features.

I have to admit though, Metro PCS, that I was pretty annoyed about what happened this weekend when one of our mutual friends in India gave me a fax number instead of a phone number when I called directory assistance.

See, I asked for the charge to be removed and I was literally transferred to 5 different people until I was finally disconnected. This was after I spent 10 minutes talking to an auto-mamma trying to reach a real life Indian.

It's not that I totally love spending time shouting at your sweet sounding auto service.  But when I've said the word "CUSTOMER SERVICE" and "REPRESENTATIVE" and "AGENT" 39 times and keep hearing a female RoboCop say "I'm sorry, I'm having trouble understanding you," a plethora of four letter words start coming out of the woodwork. 

It's not very professional of me, I know, but it's just so frustrating to have you purposely make it difficult to contact a living human being. But again, Metro, I'm getting it now. That's what's up with the cheap rates.

So the Number Three person you transferred me to (after all the auto drama) told me that in order for you to help me, I needed to recite some pass code I created 2 years ago when I first signed up for Metro PCS. Sorry, I didn't remember that. Later, after yet another person helped me cut through 98 layers of security to get the pass code, I was transferred again. 

Number Four argued with me about the charge insisting that it was "only fifty cents."   Wait...did I really hear that?  It must have been a joke.  After all, after investing half of my afternoon meeting all of your associates--both real and computer generated--it's clearly the principle of the whole thing. By the time I was finished, I would have gladly paid YOU fifty cents an hour for the time remaining before I get an iPhone if you would just stop passing me around.

I'm ashamed to admit, Metro, that you won. Basically, you totally wore me out. After speaking briefly with Number Five, holding for what seemed like an eternity and then realizing no one was on the other end of the call, I gave up. 

Thanks for clarifying why the service is so cheap. I appreciate knowing the back story. Now, what would I give to have a recording of my dialogue with your auto service.

Am I 10 Days Older Than Water?

Source: Some MTV Image That Popped
Up When I Binged "Justin Bever"..I mean
"Beiber"

How did we get here so fast?  Really, less than a month until Thanksgiving? I must be aging too rapidly because time is flying in a way that it's never seemed to pass before.


In fact, I'm so old that when I attempted to make fun of Justin Beiber for having 4 year old groupies recently, I got my behind handed to me (deservedly) for calling him Justin Bever. What the hell do I know?  Just that I am guessing he'll have a few good years with the 4 year old fans, move on to become a creepy older teenager and will be addicted to drugs or alcohol by the time he's 23. Isn't that terrible of me? Yes, it is. Please, Justin Whatever, prove me wrong. You really do seem like a nice boy.

I hate being so cynical about some things, and I know it's partly a feature of age. It's not a good way to be. I'm less cynical than many, but with all the craziness and creeps out there in the world, sometimes it's hard to come to terms with being as hopeful as I should be.


It drove me nuts as a kid to hear adults tell me that "I'd understand when I got a little experience around my belt," Or "Wouldn't it be nice to feel so trusting again?"

Now, as an evil adult, I catch myself telling those same things to D-Man on occasion.

The truth is, young people are often much more equipped to deal with creative solutions to challenges because they aren't weighted by all the experience of "We tried that before."

Part of what I have to come to terms with is that, in my current state, I've gotten too old in many ways. I'm 10 days older than water, so old I owe Jesus $5.

Hopefully this elderly stance is reversible. I'm still waiting to acquire that perfect mix of having the necessary adult survival skills while holding on to the things that make kids so special in their ability to hope and help. What's the secret to that?

A Romantic Gift from Husband

When you've been married for a while, you take what you can get.

Yesterday, Husband came home with groceries (a gift in itself for him to do the shopping, which he often does--yay, Husband!) and a box.

Neighbor's mother was in the front yard across the street and said,"What's in that box, Larry?"

"It's a gift for my wife--a new Swiffer WetJet."

She replied, "What kind of shit is that, Larry, so she can work?"

Neighbor's mother, how I love thee.

(Husband is a good Husband for the record. We did need a new Swiffer. He's sitting here now testing it in our bedroom..."Boy this one doesn't squirt nearly as far as the old one used to."  ...Comedy: I take that where I can get it too.)

Not on the Cheerleading Team

Tonight at the Girls, Inc. fundraiser we heard the story of a girl in the program who had tried out for the cheerleading team at school but didn't make it.

When asked if she was doing okay with it all, the girl replied, "Yes, I'm just fine. I guess they don't deserve to have me on the team."

At Girls, Inc., she's learned not to let her confidence get shaken or her inner being diminished by any outside circumstance.  That's pretty cool.

And it's something we could all remind ourselves of at times.

MargaritaTime

If I had to rate this week on an annoyingness scale of 1-10, I'd give it an 8. Sure, a score of 8 is nothing approaching a 10+, but it was just enough to put me in that space where I long for complete isolation from reality.

Each day I've started with a plan in mind and not much later, the entire thing is derailed with 75 new things that weren't even invented 15 minutes earlier. But such is life, right? If you can't be flexible, you'll have issues.

Last night after some much needed rain (ahhh, I love that sound), the weather turned and we're experiencing the first real taste of Fall here in Florida. It's that kind of delicious temperature that keeps you nestled in the covers and apparently also keeps your cell phone alarm on "silent" so you don't realize you're late as hell for work. I awoke with a startle this morning but was able to get ready in 20 minutes.

The weekend should provide a lovely reprieve from the insanity of the last 5 days.

We enjoyed a nice stroll in Bradenton's Village of the Arts this evening. Tomorrow morning, I'm meeting a friend going solo at Robinson Preserve for what promises to be a cool and delightful walk through some of the most gorgeous restored habitat in Manatee County.  When friends sleep in, you gotta forgive them.

And tomorrow evening, Husband and I are looking forward to the Girls, Inc. fundraiser on Longboat Key. That organization makes a tremendous difference in the lives of girls. The dedicated organizational leadership, its innovative programs and the stories I hear of girls who have a new sense of confidence are all prime examples of what good nonprofits do.

Margarita, anyone?  I'm in the mood for a nice cocktail.

Random Acts of Culture...A Little Lighter Today

To escape from the depression of the public school system failures and those scary new people who will be taking public office shortly, I enjoyed a video of a Random Act of Culture--a cool initiative funded by the John S. and James L. Knight Foundation to expose people to the arts.

The Opera Company of Philadelphia surprised shoppers at Macy's. Don't you love it?

Waiting for Superman: Failed Public Education in America

It's pretty easy to be a teacher. To be a good teacher, it's really, really hard.

The responsibility of educating the next generation is difficult enough, period. On top of that, teachers have the realities of unacceptable behavior in the classroom, home situations that are less than encouraging of a learning focus, and state testing requirements that have proven to be meaningless roadblocks to the kind of teaching that changes lives for the better.

It's no secret that our education system in America is failing our students. And it's no secret that the problem is extraordinarily complex.

In my community, there are some amazing teachers that are doing their best to succeed (and are succeeding), despite all the odds of the system in which they're forced to operate.

I can also say from experience, that there are some very lousy teachers who are holding onto their years at school doing absolutely nothing to help lives of our kids because they're tenured. They're just sucking up a paycheck and my son's life while they're waiting for retirement. This shouldn't be allowed to happen.

I would highly recommend a trip to the movies this week to see Waiting for Superman, a documentary about the public education system in America.  It was fair in its attack of both failed liberal and conservative attempts to fix education in America. It was hopeful in its coverage of some systems that are working, created by forward-thinking education reformers. And it was bold in its questioning of why the heck we're sitting around playing with a lottery system for students who can fill the very few spaces in decent charter schools.

The film challenges the long-standing belief of many that bad neighborhoods are why "drop out factories" (low-achieving schools) are prevalent and suggests that research points the other way around:  over time, these failing schools have contributed largely to the decline of the neighborhoods around them.

I know it's controversial, but the National Teachers' Union was challenged severely in the film as being a body that treats all teachers as one instead of distinguishing between the high-performing teachers and those who continually fail our students.

I loved the film. I did have two criticisms: one fair and one maybe not so much. The 5 students chronicled as part of the film all had strong parent-advocates. So the notion that not all parents are strong participants in their child's education didn't enter in the picture at all. That wasn't fair. When a teacher is struggling because parents at home could care less, that obviously plays a huge factor. It has to be a partnership. And many parents don't fulfill their part of the bargain.

The other criticism--and yes, there's only so much you can do in 2 hours--is that the issue was oversimplified. Severe lack of funding, the proliferation of non-English speaking students in schools (which isn't a judgment, it's a fact), and societal changes are huge strains on the education system. To fully understand what's going on, you have to take those things into account.

It's so complicated, but if we want to remain the America we think we are, we better do something about public education, and fast. Go see Waiting for Superman.

Voting Day

I like the sound of "Voting Day" better than "Election Day" because to me, the day is less about who's elected in the end and more about the act of participating in the selection of our next elected representatives. We'll have quite a while after that to endure the task of navigating through the complexities of who we've put in the seat.

I'm less than thrilled with this year's choices and can only hope that those who come into power do their part to make our local and national situation less divisive. It's pretty sickening to watch us all behave like lesser life forms instead of finding a way to work things out for the greater good. There are no easy solutions to the crappy and complex situations that have been a long time in the making--way longer than the past 2 years.

I heard someone hypothesizing the other day about the nastiness of the race between Rick Scott and Alex Sink, our two contenders for governor of Florida. I'm hearing that many undecided voters won't go to the polls at all now because they are so repulsed by the ugliness of both campaigns.

It's true: there's such an abundance of disgusting commercials by each of the opposing candidates, you have no idea about their credentials or their real stances on issues. Yeah. Welcome to politics, you say. But don't you think that this year, things are particularly gross?

Choosing between the lesser of two evils (or incompetents) isn't ideal, but at least I have a say in matters with my vote, which counts just as much as anyone else's.  Sometimes we get spoiled and forget that, living in a democracy. I'm doing my best to let the D-Man know you don't get a voice in many other places of the world. Now let's work on better candidates.

The Chalk on Burns Square

Sunday we ventured down to the Chalk Festival in Sarasota.

The streets in Burns Square were blocked off and plots were mapped in duct tape for artists from all over the country to pour their creative sweat into temporary images that will wash away on tires and wind in a short time.

At most of the outdoor art events, I wander about thinking how some pieces are better than others and how it's a nice kind of thing to do, but there's nothing about it that really blows me out of the water.

Not so with the Chalk Festival. I was amazed at the artists' ability to transfer a small piece of art (usually a 8 1/2 X 11" piece of their own, tucked safely in a plastic sleeve) to a huge chalk masterpiece. So impressive. They were all so different--the art and the artists--yet none were inferior.

It was Halloween after all, so some pieces were "friendly" holiday themed:

Others were more classic:

Others were a little creepy, but beautiful still:

Every creator was an artist in every sense of the word--truly masterful in his own right.

It was hardly an easy task, working in the sun on hot asphalt with their pastels spread about the pavement.  Some wore naked hands and knees--decorated with multi-colored bruises from the chalk. Others wore knee pads and gloves as part of their craft and comfort. The mess was a testament to the concentration and hours of plotting and shading.

Seeing so many different kinds of people walking on the sidewalks, looking down at these bold images and their creators in awe, I am reminded of what art does best--it brings people together for a common experience, even if it washes away by tomorrow.