Cinzia, Lady in Weighting

2009-04-13T12:39:00.003-05:00

If Looks Could Kill . . .

I went to jail on Good Friday.

No, seriously, I went to jail. The Frau and I hauled my cello over to the Women's Correctional Facility and played for two Good Friday services - one in the medium/maximum section, and one in the minimum security section. As the Frau (who used to be a police sergeant) always reminds me, criminals rarely look like they are someone who would kill you. And while there were a few "rough" looking folks there (especially in the medium/maximum section), most were just nice, friendly ladies that made you think - what in the world did they do to end up here?

During the second service in the minimum security area, I actually had an accompanist. One of the inmates was a very accomplished pianist - a young Asian girl who was clearly very intelligent and friendly, in addition to her musical talent. Again, I wondered, what did she do? And memories of a rather tragic story kept tugging at me. But I'm in the MINIMUM security area. The chaplain introduced us and told me she had gone to a high school in a neighboring affluent district. We quickly established some folks that we knew in common. And that nagging memory resurfaced. Could there be two Asian girls from the same high school, the same age, who were talented pianists in the same prison? And if so, how could a sweet young girl like this, who didn't look like she would hurt a fly, have stabbed her mother to death? And if it was, indeed, her - how did she end up in the minimum security area? This girl did not have the look or the attitude of a killer.

But it was the same girl.

Playing for a Good Friday service - where we read scripture reminding us that Jesus was crucified in between two thieves. Poignant doesn't begin to describe the setting.

I found out a few more details later. There had apparently been a lot of abuse in her family, and while she was tried as an adult, and I don't mean to excuse the crime, even the prosecutor who fought to try her as an adult apparently had some compassion regarding her family situation. The final sentence and plea agreement attest to this. And she did start out in the maximum security section and "worked" her way into the minimum area. I can only imagine what those first months or years were like for her as a 17 year old.

I could have sworn she told me she was 23. But I have been so drawn to this girl's story that I googled what information I could find on her trial, and I don't see how she could be older than 20. In fact, based on her sentence, she will probably be released when she is around 23. So I either misunderstood (likely), or she is so focused on her release time that she finds herself thinking she is 23 . . .

I can't stop thinking about her.

2009-04-09T21:56:00.002-05:00

Passover with a Christian Twist

We had a Seder at church tonight - the BAPTIST church. Since this is one of those unusual years when the Christian Maundy Thursday service and Passover coincide (sort of - Passover began at sundown LAST night, but who's counting), we decided to have a traditional seder meal (sort of - I don't think the spaghetti has a long history for those "get-the-heck-out-of-Egypt-and-through-the-Red-Sea" Jews of the Exodus) with "bitter herbs" and sweet apples/dates and roasted eggs (sort of - rather than roasting them brown, we boiled brown ones) and Matzo ball soup and matzah bread and "fruit of the vine" (sort of - grape juice - but then again, we were to be leaving the leavening - yeast - so that might have been fairly accurate - if very Baptist) and a passover cake. The passover cake (I assume it is reasonably authentic, but who's to know?) was very good - made with coffee, and chocolate and crushed almonds. We joked that what with the "mad Exodus" there was no time to make coffee, so it was just cooked right into the cake. And although we may not have been completely true to every aspect of the meal, the seder (or "order") was pretty close and gave a neat perspective on our Christian tradition of Easter. It was nice to be reminded that Jesus wasn't a Christian - he was a Jew. And so much of our Christian communion comes right from the Passover tradition. In fact, I had always thought of eggs at Easter as a pagan tradition that got "thrown in" as a "teaser" for pagans. It would appear that it has legitimate roots in the Seder as a reflection of new life to come. Go figure. The third (of four) cups of "fruit of the vine" is the cup of redemption and the one attributed to Elijah who is to usher in the Messiah. It is believed that it is this cup that Jesus used for his symbolic statement during his last seder with his disciples. It was truly a fresh and refreshing look at the moments leading up to the crucifixion and resurrection. One I hope to repeat.

2009-03-14T22:47:00.004-05:00

Insights into Blindness

The Frau and I decided to kick off our spring break today by attending the exhibit, "Dialog in the Dark." We spent an hour in complete darkness with seven other people and our guide - who was blind. I was excited and anxious going in, insecure and off balance during, and filled with all kinds of conflicting feelings coming out. It was an interesting exercise in trust - of our guide, our instincts, our other senses.

We were guided through a series of "familiar" settings (a park, a boat, a market, a city street), but nothing could break the darkness. Interestingly, though, as I reflect on the experience, I have some visual memory of these places as I experienced them through touch and smell and sound. At the time, however, everything just seemed so dark, and I kept reaching for something to hold on to to get my bearings. We all were given a cane, and this grounded me in some respect, but I felt quite out of control and totally reliant upon the guide. I have a blind student in one of my choirs, and I have a newfound understanding of what he must go through. I thought I was being sensitive to his needs, but I think I've quite missed the boat. One of the most frustrating things about the experience was the response of our "group." We were always moved from one "setting" to another via a transition area that usually had us lined up against a wall - regular markers of certainty for me. Then the guide would say, "Ok, now move single file toward the sound of my voice." It seemed logical to me that we would continue to walk in the line we were in against the wall, but invariably, almost everyone would start moving toward the guide at the same time, running into each other and each other's canes. And we didn't seem to learn from this as we went along. I kept thinking, why don't these people just wait - and move together as one body? - we could then retain our bearings by our juxtaposition to one another. It didn't happen, but everyone at least tried to help each other. In spite of that, I felt myself drawing more and more inward, and feeling more and more alone. As a group, we did seem to get braver as we went along, perhaps a bit more comfortable in the darkness. We ended in a cafe setting where we had a short debriefing session - everything was still completely black, however. Then we were instructed to walk toward the guide one last time, turn to our right, and "walk toward the light." I felt a brief moment of Stockholm Syndrome - having been held hostage by my blindness, I was just beginning to give in to my captor, and suddenly the very dim light up ahead seemed almost an intrusion.

2009-03-11T22:22:00.003-05:00

Walk Away from the Woodshed

I've been thinking a lot lately about the blogging craze, the willingness for folks to bare themselves on the world wide web, and the stories we tell ourselves and others. Folks flock to bookstore self-help sections to find some sort of absolution and solution for conflicts and problems with which they are dealing. The books tell them to avoid those situations in the first place, leaving them feeling more oppressed and alone with their burden, and plodding off to "the woodshed" to punish themselves for being "so stupid" in the first place.

In another of those intersecting moments, I've found myself reading blogs by one friend who is Buddhist, who comments on the stories we tell ourselves. She says we tell ourselves many stories of "who we are" in various moments, and Buddhist practice would say that if we don't like who we are in those moments, we should "change the story" - much like we change the channel on the tv or radio. Granted, this is my interpretation of HER interpretation of a book that she read, but I think this is the gist, and I like what it implies. One of the "stories" she tells herself is that she is not a very good writer. I got all caught up in that comment, because I LOVE her writing, and I couldn't believe she said that about herself. Then I realized, she wasn't saying it was a fact - it is just the "story" that she tells herself. And, I suspect, she'd like to change the channel from that story. That "story" allows her to make excuses when her writing isn't received as she had hoped. I had to admit that one of the stories I tell myself is that weight is a big "issue" for me - and I use that story to "excuse" my lack of will power at controlling how I treat my body. I decided that rather than find my next excuse for a bag of M&Ms or a creme filled chocolate donut, I would simply start telling myself to "change the channel." Old story - I am a person who will always struggle with her weight. New story - I am a person who can make healthy and happy choices about her eating and exercise. It's Wednesday night, and that method has been effective, and somewhat satisfying, for the past three days. In refusing to live in the story that weight is problematic for me, I'm finding, moment by moment, that I can tell myself a healthier story of a stronger C.

Another friend has been telling her personal story of recent pain and self-discovery on her blog. Not only has it been cathartic for her, but she is discovering that the sharing of her story and her willingness to be vulnerable in new ways is providing a start of healing for others who have heard her story and realized they have lived a similar story - and they are not alone. And in finding out she is not alone, her own healing is beginning.

At my church, we have been talking about the importance in the Christian community of sharing our stories in order to build community. As one retired pastor tried to explain, we all have a story, and all our stories are important, and it is important to share those stories with each other. I am finding this more true with each passing day.

So often, we keep our stories to ourselves, like some precious possession (or curse) that no one else could ever understand. The hoarding of our personal story deprives us of the ability to help someone else deal with their story, and also puts us in the position of potentially poisoning ourselves with a story that really needs to be retold (change the channel!). Sharing enables others to help us sort through the falsity or veracity of the stories we tell ourselves.

I know I take myself "to the woodshed" far too often, punishing myself for not "doing it right" - "it" being life, in general. Punishment without rehab just isn't all that effective. Self-flagellation may give me a momentary feeling of finding some sort of justification for my failings, but it is in my willingness to make myself vulnerable to someone else, accountable to people that I know genuinely care about me, that I begin the necessary healing of rehabilitation, thereby gaining the strength to change the channel to a more positive story. Change the channel, and walk away from the woodshed into a community of friends ready to listen.

2009-03-04T23:15:00.002-06:00

Intriguing Intersects

I find it curious how the various areas of my life often intersect in the strangest ways, and without any attempt at intentionality on my part. Perhaps it is some strange "law of attraction" - some big "secret" I've yet to discover. But for the moment, I'll just accept it as an intriguing intersect.

Here follows a "for instance . . ."

A couple of weeks ago, my church book club decided that our next book to read would be "The Faith Club" - a book about 3 women, one Christian, one Jewish, and one Muslim, who seek to learn more about each other's faiths and subsequently, each other. This is path number one.

The Frau and I have been totally immersed in the West Wing series since we bought the entire 7 season compilation as a Christmas gift to ourselves. The common phrase around our house when we have an evening at home is, "Well, shall we go to Washington?" Last night, we found ourselves at the beginning of season six, wherein President Bartlett is on a quixotic mission to negotiate peace between Israel and the Palestinians. Everyone thinks he is on a fool's errand, but he is resolved that he must try to do this thing, regardless of whether his closest staffers vehemently disagree. This path number two.

My school choir is singing a Sephardic (Spanish Jewish) folksong, and in doing a little background reading today to share with the kids, I not only was reminded of the ethnic origins of the Sephardic sect, but marveled that when they were unceremoniously expelled from the Iberian peninsula (Spain/Portugal), that it was the CHRISTIANS that ran them out. There was quite a lot of Muslim influence (from northern Africa) in Spain during the medieval period, and ironically, while their differences were duly noted, the Jewish community actually thrived under Muslim rule. It was only after the Christians assumed the political power position that the Jews found themselves persecuted. So, while "Columbus sailed the ocean blue," Spain and Portugal were great places to live unless you were a Jew. Oddly enough, many of these Jews left the Iberian peninsula for the Baltic peninsula, and in recent years are experiencing the same turmoil there that they did in 1492. These poor people need to find their "happy peninsula." Path number three.

This evening, the Frau and I attended a lecture at a nearby liberal arts university given by guest theologian and writer, Dr. Charles Kimball. The title of the lecture (the same as his book) was "When Religion Becomes Evil." Dr. Kimball specializes in comparative religions, Islam in particular. He is an ordained Baptist minister, whose grandfather was Jewish. So when he says that our experience often shapes our views of God and theology, I believe him. He also encouraged us not to let our experience limit our view of God. He said, and I think this is a fairly accurate quote, "God may be at work in the world in ways that transcend my experience." He went on to say that all of the major religions that have withstood the test of time have one fundamental premise in common - they all start with the belief that "something is wrong" with the human predicament. For the Jew and Christian, that "something" is sinfulness. For the Buddhist, it is ignorance (if you weren't ignorant, you wouldn't need the Buddha to enlighten you). And for the Muslim, it is forgetfulness (it is because you forget who God is, that you fail to live in the way God wants you to live). Much of his discourse revolved around our misunderstandings of these other faith groups, and how we confuse, especially the vast majority of Muslims, with extremist Islamic terrorists. As he said, "a few clever people, bent on a purpose, can wreak great havoc." He also reminded us that "terrorism is the weapon of the weak," used by people who have no power base, so they manipulate to create their "weapon." He closed with a beautiful quote about diversity from the 5th chapter of the Koran, but I wasn't able to jot it down accurately. I'm going to try to find it and post it at a later time. Thus ends path number four.

Now maybe these four "paths," as I've chosen to label them, and my perceived intersections of these paths are significant only to me. But I feel like all roads are intersecting, and I'm on a crash course to a heightened understanding of what these three faith groups have in common. I actually think I'll be including a fourth group along the way and exploring Buddhist/Hindu traditions (I've found myself on at least one side-road of late on a friend's blog exploring fundamental truths from the Bhagavad Gita - and I'm quite sure I've misspelled that, but I digress). I'd truly like to have a better knowledge of the commonalities (as opposed to, but not to preclude, differences) so that I can perhaps glimpse a bit of God's workings in the world that transcend my experience.

2009-03-04T11:23:00.002-06:00

Lost

I feel this enormous need to write something - anything - just to feel the endorphins of creative juices flowing. And I can't seem to start.

2009-02-11T12:19:00.003-06:00

Blogatory

This is where I'm drifting these days. I have much I want to write about, but none of it am I able to really share at this moment - even for the few readers who follow this bit of self-indulgence. Suffice it to say, I'm not being "Blothful" (Slothy Blogger), but I'm dealing with a couple of very different issues that are simulataneously draining (if you only knew!) and evigorating me - both emotionally and physically. I'm also feeling "old" for the first time in my life, and I'm having to come to grips with that. I think it's an ok thing - for the most part. I'll get back to you on that as I have more time to process. (So keep checking, Greta! It's nice to have someone keep me accountable.)

2009-01-22T10:18:00.004-06:00

What I Miss About College Teaching . . .

I love high school kids, but not ONCE while I was teaching college do I recall having to say, "PUT the PARASOL away!"

2008-12-22T16:29:00.004-06:00

Strengths & Weaknesses

The last day of school I got home early enough to catch a few minutes of Oprah. I think I may be glad I missed most of the show, but just caught the first few minutes. It has given me several days to have some original thoughts about the topic, and possibly saved me from being disappointed at the direction actually taken on the show. Regardless, it served as a thought provoking trigger.

As I remember it, the show first featured several women who seem overcome with their lives as they are - largely due to family, jobs, and the combination thereof. The guest was going to guide them to some place of sanity, I think, but here is the part that got me before I left to go to the store . . . He said that most people misinterpret their strengths and weaknesses because they are defining "strength" and "weakness" incorrectly. We tend to think that our strengths are those things we do well, and weaknesses are those things at which we basically suck. Wrong! says our guest. A strength is something that actually strengthens you, and a weakness is something that - you guessed it - weakens you. You may be good at it, but doing it weakens you. It reminds me of the Myers-Briggs introvert vs. extrovert. Introverts aren't necessarily shy, and can appear to others to be very extroverted (I'm one of those introverts incognito), but it is in being alone that an introvert is able to "recharge" and become energized. Whereas the extrovert needs to be in a crowd of people to regain their energy.

So . . . back to our Oprah guest (and I'm sorry I didn't watch it long enough to catch his name or his book that I'm sure he has written, but check out her webiste, and I'm sure we can discover that easily enough). His recommendation was that people track their activities for a period of time, carrying green cards and red cards with them. Anytime you completed an activity that left you feeling weaker, you were to write it on the red card; stronger, and you wrote it on the green card. Theoretically, at the end of this period of time, you would be able to identify more clearly those things which strengthened and weakened you (and make appropriate changes if possible).

It has prompted a lot of thought for me. A year or so ago I determined that "just because I can, doesn't mean that I should." And that has proven to be a wise avenue. I think it ties in with this new concept. So often we take on (or are asked to take on) things because folks know we can do it - and do it well. And we feel we should because it must be a strength if we can do it so well, right? Then why do these things tap our energy and deprive us of the real joy and energy we feel in completing something that truly strengthens us?

The Frau and I usually have breakfast out on Saturday mornings, and it is often a good time for philosophical discussion. This was our focus this week and I think we are both trying to dig deeper to identify what really strengthens us at this point in our lives. She even suggested taking it a step further and identifying what you would do if you only had a year left to live. Clearly, we would want to choose those things that would strengthen us most in that year. We both really like our jobs. We're both good at our jobs. Neither of us would continue in our jobs if we had a year left to live. Interesting . . .

2008-12-18T22:55:00.005-06:00

Tryptich

2008-12-18T22:23:00.005-06:00

Getting Away . . .

Just a few pictures of how I enjoyed my birthday back in November - escaping to a cabin in Branson. The fall colors and turtles were my favorite gifts.

2008-12-18T09:57:00.003-06:00

Talk About Diversity

The politicos are all in an uproar today over Obama's selection of Rick Warren (The Purpose Driven Life and pastor of Saddleback Community Church) to lead the invocation at his inauguration. It would appear that folks think Warren shouldn't receive this "honor" because his socially conservative views on abortion, same-sex marriage, et.al. are DIFFERENT than those of the President-Elect. Apparently, I and other gays & lesbians are supposed to feel "spritually assualted" by this selection. If you've read this blog at all, you know how I feel about same-sex marriage, and I think abortion is a very difficult and complex issue. But I've also read some of Rick Warren's book, and he does have some good things to say - our differences on some issues notwithstanding.

Paint me red and call me a barn (I don't know that this quirky saying fits, but I think it's cute and wish to use it anyway), but in my younger days it was OK to be friends and have discussions with folks and agree to disagree. In fact, when I look back on any growth I have experienced in my life - intellectually or spiritually - it was from an outgrowth of wrestling with conflicting/DIFFERENT ideas. Rarely did I experience any growth or gain any sort of empathy with an opposing viewpoint by sitting around and listening only to those folks who agree with me.

Perhaps the selection of Warren is a political move on Obama's part to garner some support from the conservative right, but looking at his cabinet picks thus far, I don't think so. I think he understands that in order to make the best decisions for this country, he needs to surround himself with competent, experienced people, many of whom will not be afraid to disagree with him. I'm glad he isn't surrounding himself with "yes" men and women, but with those who are capable of standing up to the leader of the free world and saying "no, here's another perspective." And I think he plans to listen to them. At the end of the day, he may not agree with them, but he will hear them out.

I have some dear friends and family who don't agree with me on every subject, and they won't be surprised to learn that I don't always agree with them. That doesn't stop debate, and intellectual/spiritual discourse. Our failure to agree does not lessen my respect and/or love for them. Our discussions keep me grounded, my perspectives balanced, and my sensitivity to other perspectives open and thoughtful.

I don't agree with Rick Warren on a lot of issues. In fact, there are some that we downright would never come to agreement on. But I respect his convictions, I think he offers much good in what he says, and backs that up with a great deal of integrity (my understanding is he takes no profits from the sale of his book). I think God is big enough to love us both in spite of our differences. And I don't feel "spiritually assaulted" by his offering a prayer on behalf of our country at this momentous occasion. And maybe, just maybe, that is why the President-Elect selected him - as a lesson to us all that part of the "Change" he hopes to bring us is a renewed commitment to allow everyone in this country to be different without being damned.

2008-12-09T13:06:00.004-06:00

The Power of One

My alma mater has nicknamed their annual fundraising drive The Power of One. It's catchy, and has stuck with me, though not so much for the reason they intended.

A choral colleague shared with me over the weekend her great consternation that one of her students in her top choir was quitting on Friday. He told her he thought she was too tough, her expectations were too high, and she didn't encourage them enough. She tried to talk with him about it, acknowledged that she had no plans to lower her expectations, but that perhaps she could be a bit more positive in affirming the group. She attempted a genuine dialogue, and he cut her off saying that his mind was made up. This normally strong, assertive friend spent most of Friday evening crying about it - wondering what she could have said or done differently to change his mind. I reminded her that she has over 200 students in her program who are staying in the program, and to not neglect appreciating them because of one disgruntled young man who probably just doesn't "get it" - or want it. Then I commented, "Isn't it ironic that most of our students have no idea that we will spend hours investing our emotional energies worrying about the one kid who thinks we are too heartless and callous to care whether they are there or not? Often to the neglect of all our other students who value our efforts?"

Ah, yes. The Power of One.

2008-12-09T12:47:00.003-06:00

Greeting Cards You Wish You Could Find

Ever have those occasions when you need/have to buy a card for someone, but the real sentiment you want to express just doesn't exist? Take mothers for instance. The Frau was out to buy a birthday card for her mom, knew she would appreciate one of the more "mushy" variety, yet didn't want to express a sentiment she didn't feel. She was sharing her quandary ("I don't want to buy one that says You've always been there for me . . .), and I commented that what she needed was one that said:

Mom . . .
You've always been there . . .
For my sister,
For the grandkids,
For the dog,
For the Soroptomists,
For your church,
For the neighbors,
And I'm sure you love me, too.
Happy Birthday.

Then we found ourselves chuckling that she always "bonds" with my 90 year old grandmother as they discuss the types of "protection" they use for their occasional bladder instability. I said, "There's another card we need":

I love those special times we share . . .
We can count on incontinence to bring us together.

Feel free to add your own.

2008-12-05T16:25:00.003-06:00

Neat

Here I sit, preparing to go to the annual city tree lighting ceremony where the choir kids will sing their cold little hearts out for 15 minutes or so in the requisite parade of city choirs. As often happens, there is a new custodian cleaning the choir room today. She's a nice older lady of Hispanic descent. She just came back to my office to ask me what the word "involvement" meant and how to pronounce it correctly. She showed me that she had seen the word on a poster in the classroom that connects different words to the various letters in the word "CHOIR". I explained what involvement meant as best I could - equating it to participation in the classroom activities. She seemed happy to understand, then asked me to make sure she was pronouncing the other words correctly - Cooperation, Harmony, Opportunity, Involvement, Responsibility. She even wrote the word - "involvement" - on a piece of paper that was destined for the trash. I wanted to say to her, "Lady, you 'get it.' You aren't just mechanically doing your job. You are truly involved in your environment and in taking responsible advantage of the opportunity to broaden the knowledge of your surroundings." That poster has been hanging in the choir room for two or three years now. She's the first person to acknowledge she has really seen it. We never know who we are teaching - or who is teaching us. I think that's kind of neat.

2008-12-05T14:40:00.004-06:00

Glass Castle - the Lecture

In some far earlier blog, I raved about my "find" of Jeannette Walls' memoir, The Glass Castle. Last month I discovered, somewhat by accident, that she would be giving a free lecture as a part of the Humanities Lecture Series at KU. As luck would have it, my evening was free and I got a prime seat - middle center. I was as enamored by Walls in person, as I was by her book, and managed to scratch out a few of the more quotable quotes. I can't guarantee that I recall her words exactly, but I think they are close. I pass them on for anyone who needs an extra "pearl" for the day.

"In protecting children from obstacles, we may deprive them of the gift of learning to navigate those obstacles."

In reaction to her observation of a friend she envied for his food and heat, whose father hit him on the head for drawing, she commented:
"We might not have had food, and we might not have had heat, but my parents would never have made fun of my dreams."

Regarding her shame growing up and her need to write the memoir . . .
"Secrets are like vampires. They can suck the life out of you, but they only exist in the dark."

"Don't be ashamed of your scars. Scars are a sign that you survived."

Her mom's comment when Jeannette questioned how she could have had a "good day" because she fell off a horse. . .
"Anyone can ride a horse. It's knowing how to fall off that's the real talent."

Throughout, she reaffirmed that she learned how to dream from her dad, and learned to be optimistic from her mom.

My favorite - After she got her first big journalism job, she was constantly afraid people would find out about her past and did her best to hide it. One of her co-workers, who had grown up quite privileged and went to private schools, asked if she would like to join her on an Outward Bound experience. She said she didn't know what it was, and asked the girl about it. The girl replied, well you spend several weeks roughing it in the wild, no plumbing, no electricity, foraging for your own food . . . She looked at her and thought, "The first 17 years of my life were an Outward Bound experience." She could hardly wait to call her brother and tell him, "You won't believe this, but rich people actually PAY to suffer!"

2008-06-27T14:01:00.004-05:00

The Puppinator - aka "Snuff Doggy Dog"

The birds went absolutely crazy outside the office window this morning. A whole bunch of them. I thought it must be some sort of bizarre mating ritual, or a fight among the blue jays. Arnie was outside, but his involvement didn't even cross my mind as the area of the yard by the office is blocked off to his roaming at the moment. Or so I thought.

Awhile later, I realized I'd left the kid outside and should probably bring him in. I noticed that the temporary "blockade" to the aforementioned area of the backyard was ajar and he was way too quiet. As I peered around the corner, I saw the little assassin with a bird (dead) in his mouth. He put it down as soon as he saw me (unlike his deceased brother, Max, would have done) and came trotting into the main yard. He looked entirely too smug, however, with a tiny feather attached to his lower lip (reminded me of the old Sylvester the Cat cartoons, just after he's chomped down on Tweety Bird). I don't know if the kid actually managed to catch and kill the bird, or if the bird was a young'un on a training mission and had an unfortunate encounter with the fence. Regardless, the other birds were not happy with Arnie.

I brought him in - he appeared entirely too proud of himself - and went to the store. When I got back, he went outside again, and the birds started their angry chatter. Without thinking, I yelled out the back door, "Arnie! Inside! The birds don't like you. You're a murderer."

The things we say to our kids. He appears to be completely unscarred by the comment . . .

2008-06-26T16:48:00.003-05:00

Hide and Seek

I hereby confess a guilty pleasure (and semi-aerobic activity). I frequently find myself playing hide and seek with the dog. For those of you who remember Max, this was his favorite game, and was MUCH more aerobic than playing with the Puppinator (aka Arnie). Arnie is still a novice, and seems to be not quite sure whether he should be having fun or be scared. When he's scared, he piddles, so I try not to press the issue. He's only 3-1/2, and Max romped with me well into his 15th year, so there's still hope for a bit more fun in our frolic. Dear God above, I hope I'm not the only fool who does this with their 4-legged child . . . Natey?!

2008-06-24T16:25:00.005-05:00

More Class, But No Grass

We have been undergoing a rather massive landscaping project in our back yard. The end result is/will be worth waiting for, but it has seriously impeded my normal summer routine. Normalcy when school ends doubles as post traumatic school therapy and involves much planting and yard work. Not everyone enjoys this, but I do. Well . . . we've had rather an overabundance of rain here in the midwest, and this not only delayed the start of this project, but also the completion of same. While the landscapers began the Tuesday after Memorial Day,

they only completed the project this past Wednesday. I feel better now that it's done, and perhaps overcompensated with some rather back-breaking labor in the back yard for the past four days, but I will say that I FINALLY, on June 23, feel like summer has actually begun (even though it's actually almost half over for me). And please don't give me the summer solstice crap. I start back to school on August 11, so that just doesn't fly with me. In my few remaining days, I shall water and pray for the little blades of grass to emerge, so I can truly reclaim my yard, and the Puppinator can stop receiving almost daily baths and hose-downs.

2008-06-24T16:13:00.002-05:00

Call Me Sucker . . .

I started a Facebook page. My Space never did a thing for me, and ostensibly, I only did this so I could better communicate with my choir students (even the tiki torch ruffians) and choir officers. I'm finding it scarily addictive. There are actually other ADULTS on it. It's really easy to catch up with folks you haven't seen in ages - you know, the ones you are interested in how they are doing, but you probably won't develop some deep reconnection with, but you can see they are alive, have kids of the 2 or 4 legged variety, developed a sense of humor (or lost it) since last you saw them, etc. And it really is easier for me to stay in touch with my students. This is the practical reason that is supposed to make me feel better about neglecting my blog for the more superficial Face Book (or My Face, as the Frau tends to call it).

2008-06-24T16:05:00.002-05:00

Out of Control?

I had a stupid dream a week or so ago. Can't seem to shake it, so I'll share it here in hopes of purging it from my pea brain. The gist of it is . . . and this is really stupid, so be forewarned . . . I was in class with a bunch of my choir guys. They would not cooperate - had to ask them each individually to stand up to rehearse, etc. The next thing I know they are in a back room (instead of in rehearsal) playing lacrosse with my tiki torches. I do not know WHY the tiki torches were at school, so do not ask. I asked them to stop. They said, "Oh Doc, why not - we won't hurt anything." At which point I proceeded to cry, sob actually, and picked up the phone to call the principal and tell him I was totally incapable of controlling my class. Sobbing to the point that I was making whimpering noises in my sleep, and the Frau had to (mercifully) wake me from my torture. Any interpreters out there? By the way, I've never played lacrosse in my life, and don't know the first rule about it (except that I think you are NOT supposed to play it with tiki torches).

2008-04-10T11:34:00.004-05:00

Eschatology, "Second Comings," & Goings
I've been thinking a lot about eschatology lately. Largely, as a result of a book study at church on a little tome entitled, 10 Things Your Minister Wants to Tell You: (But Can't, Because He Needs the Job) by Oliver Thomas. The last chapter is "How Does it All End?" and there's much erudite discourse on the very symbolic nature of the writings in Daniel and Revelation - the main sources of most eschatological discussion. [I know this because the very worst class of my seminary career was a course in eschatology. The professor wrote the book, and I'm sure is a very nice person, but I was so mired in boredom that I fervently prayed for the second coming of Christ to occur and take one of us away from it all . . . I didn't even mind if I was the one left behind, for even a premillenialist tribulation would have been preferable to this class. But I digress.] The result of the line of thought in Thomas' book is essentially amillenialist - which is where I find myself these days. It resolves all those silly notions of whether or not Barack is the Anti-Christ, much less the Democratic nominee for President. The church chat caused me to broaden my thought process further regarding the "second coming" of Christ (previous seminary class notwithstanding). I've been letting the thoughts simmer for about a week, and I find I'm liking the sauce better and better.

If the revelatory language is symbolic . . . and Christ is to reign for 1000 years in His second coming . . . and the Bible says that for God, "a day is as a thousand years" . . . and we will know "neither the day nor the hour" when Christ comes again . . ., then is it not possible that:

Christ's second coming is perpetual, constant, daily, and hourly, as Christians live out the Gospel in their lives? And as such, are WE not the second coming of Christ?

Could not the tribulation be when Christians cease to be a part of their world and withdraw into their own cliques to the exclusion of some in the world?

If I'm on the right track, then the second coming should be happening all around us, all the time. And "the temple" is being rebuilt in a lot of "new Jerusalems" - my church, for one - and maybe/hopefully yours. And I'm pretty sure at a little church in Austin, Texas where my almost former pastor is journeying to help them share the second coming of Christ in their community. And while for me, that "going" may feel a little like being "left behind," the truth is that I've experienced multiple "second comings" in the past nine months as a result of his leadership, a good bit of clarity, and gained a new church home. Can't hardly call that a tribulation.

2008-02-01T09:42:00.001-06:00

"Kid Stuff"

The wise guys
tell me
that Christmas
is Kid Stuff...
Maybe they've got
something there --

Two thousand years ago
three wise guys
chased a star
across a continent
to bring
frankincense and myrrh
to a Kid
born in a manger
with an idea in his head...

And as the bombs
crash
all over the world
today
the real wise guys
know
that we've all
got to go chasing stars
again in the hope
that we can get back
some of that
Kid Stuff
born two thousand years ago --

Frank Horne
December, 1942

I know - even Epiphany has past - but this entry was one I was pondering during the Christmas season, and it continues to ring true, even as the bells toll for Christmas past. I have loved this poem since I read it as a freshman in high school. I even memorized it. You would have thought I wouldn't have spent the last 32 years attributing it to e. e. cummings. I wondered why I could never find it in any cummings compilation - for THIRTY-TWO years (the dang poem was MEMORIZED). Sometimes, I am a slow learner. I was just so sure . . . Just as Bush and many Republicans are "sure" that we should remain in Iraq. That kind of certainty can lead down some fairly murky paths.

Now for the political twist. I think Hilary is a truly brilliant woman. I think she can run the country, and if she is the Democratic candidate for president, I will vote for her and feel quite comfortable. However . . . while I haven't finished Obama's "Audacity of Hope," I can't help feeling that this young man is also brilliant - if less experienced. And that perhaps, just perhaps, the greatest strength he brings to the political table is "kid stuff" and the "audacity" to chase some stars. He's my choice, and I hope to have the opportunity to give him my vote.

2008-01-31T15:16:00.001-06:00

Good Reads

I'm hooked on goodreads.com. Who'dve thunk it? A social networking site of sorts that I actually consult on a regular basis. Recommended by friend Nathan, I'm loving this online option of tracking what my friends are reading, letting them in on my favorite books, and reading and writing some reviews. The reviews are more than just recommendations, as they are also often the stimulus for a chat about the book. I can't seem to find time to join a local book club, yet this site offers the luxury of being in a virtual online bookclub with friends who don't live nearby. And it's always neat to get a new twist on a book you liked (or didn't) by reading what one of your friends thought about the same tome. It is also a great way to keep track of books you want to read sometime, but either can't afford or don't have the time at the moment. I can't recall how many books I've spotted in Borders that I "intended" to buy sometime, then forgot all about. This way I can track them, remember them, and maybe even see what friends thought of them, before I forget them! I'm adding the link to my blog - so check it out.

2008-01-17T12:50:00.001-06:00

And the Teacher Becomes the Student . . .

The Frau and I went to an organizational meeting of the Interfaith Hospitality Network at church earlier this week. We almost didn't go, but the Frau is on a related committee at church, and I went along to be supportive (and in hopes it might soften her up a bit in how she feels about the homeless.) As always seems to happen, when I most want someone else to "learn something" (I feel) they need to know, I come away with a few lessons learned myself.

This organization has existed since 1986, and is a simple, yet brilliant, approach to meeting the needs of the homeless - primarily families and children. We gained some definition over our own running conflict when we discuss the homeless. The Frau is usually visualizing the chronically homeless, as I play devil's advocate for those that I visualize - the ones helped by this network - loosely defined as people who have made bad decisions at the worst possible time. I couldn't stop thinking about the book, The Glass Castle (see my earlier blog on this great find), and the kids that get stuck in the middle of all this. The Interfaith Hospitality Network seems to address this very issue, and has been doing it successfully for over 20 years. A day facility is established, providing these people with an address and phone number while they look for more permanent housing and employment, counseling and social work help is available, assistance at saving their earnings (if they do have some kind of employement) toward a downpayment on a new apartment or house is provided, and churches in town provide one week of evening meals, lodging and breakfasts on a rotational schedule. It is volunteer intensive, but the costs are minimal. We were both sold on the program when we left, had signed up to be on the steering committee to begin the process of implementing the program in our city, and I suspect some hefty fodder for blogging to come up as the project (and our involvement) evolves.

2008-01-08T08:47:00.001-06:00

Indulging the Inner Child

Well, the Frau and I bought those iPhones last week. My inner child has been alternately playing and jumping for joy. Thus, the lack of "bloggage." Now the external adult must get back to work . . . :-)

2007-12-31T14:51:00.001-06:00

Inner Child or Unclean Spirit

Out of the mouths of babes comes some sort of crazy sense.

Christmas Eve found the Frau, the Mother-in-Frau, the Puppinator and me at my mother's house (with my sister and her fam) for the annual family exchange of carnal commercialism. I'm sure I sound very righteous expressing our little Christmas get-together thus, but this little entry should vanquish any illusions of righteousness on my part. I guess I just need a few moments of confession and self-absolution before 2008 commences.

At any rate, it was Christmas Eve, and my mother was warning the Frau that I am too much like my father and really just an overgrown kid - especially at this time of year. At which point my 11 year old neice and 12 year old nephew commented that it was just my "inner child trying to get out." We all had a good laugh, but the comment has stuck with me throughout the holidays. In fact, you could say I've been letting the essence of it steep like a good pot of tea for days.

I think I'm starting to identify more closely with the warring parts of myself. The external adult part of me loves to give just the right present at this time of year, whether as an expression of love, friendship or appreciation, with no expectation of anything in return. My inner child, on the other hand, wants to purchase these gifts whether I can afford them or not. This part of the equation I've had worked out for quite some time. A new variable seemed to enter the picture this year, though, and it surprised me. The Frau and I had agreed earlier in the fall that we needed to be conservative this year and try to eradicate some debt we've accumulated. To be fiscally spartan for a few months now could result in many months of financial freedom in the near future. My external adult heartily affirmed that course. My inner child couldn't stand not having a few small surprises under the tree for the Frau. My external adult knew that the Frau's adult side is MUCH more pragmatically established and would probably stick to the agreement to hold off on Christmas presents and was perfectly ok with that. My inner child pouted. And pouted. And shocked my external adult. My external adult took my inner child to the woodshed, and reminded that ungrateful child that she has vacations for life in the time share we recently purchased, and that in another month or so (when those bills have gotten under control) she would probably also be the proud owner of an I-Phone. The petulant child finally got control of herself and came out of her funk, but it took a couple of days.

All of this really shocked me - the adult me, that is. I haven't acted that broodingly childish in quite sometime. Whether the adult me is making excuses for the child, I'm not quite sure, but I don't think it was the lack of presents in number or expense that was at issue. Both the Frau and I got more presents than we deserved from our family and friends. We aren't lacking in that department, and are, in fact, quite blessed. But my "inner child" (as described by my neice and nephew) is that spontaneous, impulsive, and sometimes overly generous side of me - and it's the side that tends to be "the giver" at times like the holidays. And I guess I was disappointed that the Frau didn't get "childish" over me. The truth - and I know this - is that just isn't who she is. She is supremely pragmatic, and she is showing her love in far more practical and adult ways - seeing that we manage our money well so this "child" can ultimately have her travels and books and expensive new techno toys. And if she becomes "childish," that takes us off course.

The even greater truth is - I love her - and her pragmatism. As I know she loves (and sometimes tolerates!) my inner child. And while I don't think I need to banish my inner child, I do think my external adult needs to take over some of the child's responsibilities - principally, that of being "the giver." The adult just handles it better.

Silence, Lord, the unclean spirit,

in our mind and in our heart.

Speak your word that when we hear it

all our demons shall depart.

Clear our thought and calm our feeling,

still the fractured, warring soul.

By the power of your healing

make us faithful, true and whole.

~ Thomas H. Troeger in Borrowed Light

2007-12-31T14:40:00.001-06:00

Krazy Karma

One of my fun Christmas presents from my sister included this nifty deck of Karma Coaching Cards for the Rich & Utterly Immoral. I must admit that I love them. And since everyone who knows me - including my sister - knows I am not Rich, I can only conclude that I am Utterly Immoral. Sad. But the cards aren't, as each suggests "a small activity or insight for those most in need of a karma colonic." For example, today's card said . . . "Today, say 'Thank you' at least six times and really mean it at least once." Yesterday's was equally astute: "Make a financial donation to an unattractive sounding cause and do not ask for a tax receipt." I feel my karma starting to cleanse itself already . . .

2007-11-27T06:31:00.002-06:00

Dog Talk

We include the Puppinator in a lot of our conversations - as if he could take our side, commiserate, support, et. al. Sometimes we even speak on his behalf - guaranteeing he has a part in the conversation. But some of those canine chats are topics for another entry. This morning, he fulfilled his 3rd-wheel-of-support role. I commented to the Frau, "We should invite the girls [our neighbors] over to watch the game on Saturday." To which the Frau responded, "What game?" "What game?!" I exclaimed, "Hello? The Mizzou/OU Big 12 Championship game?!!" To which she nonchalantly said, "Oh . . ." A little while later, the game was mentioned on the morning news, and I looked at the dog and said, "'What game?' she says. Can you believe that? She's just not a big sports person." To which the Frau turned to the dog and said, "I never have been." A pregnant pause. "But I'm still just as gay as she is!" He just rolled his eyes, tuning us both out. Smart dog.

2007-11-27T04:13:00.001-06:00

Tiger Proud

This is an especially good week to claim my roots as a Mizzou Tiger. The football Tigers are currently #1 in the nation - for the first time since 1960 (coincidentally, the year of my birth), and the recent Mizzou alumni magazine featured an article on New Yorker cartoonist (and alum), Michael Shaw. Two of Shaw's cartoons - which are now #1 in my national ranking of cartoons are shown below.

2007-11-19T14:07:00.002-06:00

On Growing Older . . . and Growing Up

Several weeks ago, I had the opportunity to take some of my students to visit my college alma mater on a field trip. It wasn't the first time I've done this, and I always look forward to the trip. Funny enough, this "Music Day" event that the college hosts each year is always very near to my birthday - so my reflections on my student past always coincide with my annual musings on aging. For some reason, they seemed a bit more profound in their collision course this year - I'm not sure why. I can only surmise that as I'm growing older, I'm also growing up.

I'm sure I'm not the first student who dreamed of returning to the hallowed halls of ye old alma mater to teach. As I grew older, I would addend that desire - at least publicly - to say "or some place like it." Privately, I continued to hold to the original plan. At my core, I think I believed that my "journey" would not be complete until I found my way back "home" to teach. I even told myself over the past couple of years that it is no longer the same place - still a very good place - and, yet, not the place I dreamed of returning.

This last visit, though, served as a catalyst of sorts to shake up my thinking. And in a good and resolutely satisfying way, I might add. I followed my students around to various classrooms where I had spent countless hours as a student. They were seeing what the future might hold for them as a music major or minor. I was getting lost in echoes of memories in each room - a Saturday morning practice session with my chamber trio, the excitement of introduction to music literature as a freshman (yes! it was exciting!), Beethoven's Ninth and performances by Marilyn Horne and Janos Starker and countless others in the "chapel." I would wander in and out of these memories, as the current staff was telling prospective students about all that the college had to offer them. And that's when it clicked.

For years, as I tried to create my own little master plan, I was wallowing in those memories and making plans to go BACK - back to the past. There was nothing forward thinking about it. This particular day, I found myself getting caught up in the present and FUTURE of the school. It was a place that I would be excited to attend TODAY as a student. But not because it was the same - but because it had continued to GROW and look ahead. The college is still rooted in a strong heritage - some of which includes my very fond memories - but it hasn't gotten stuck there. It has continued to be a dynamic, growing entity.

The college has grown up, and I think maybe, so have I. Turning 47 (which in my mind is "almost 50") seems a good age to start feeling more like an adult. I'd be lying if I said I had no desire to teach there anymore. I don't think it will ever happen, and I'm really quite comfortable in that knowledge, and I'd certainly explore the opportunity if it should present itself. What I know, though, is that now I would want to teach there because of who the school has and will continue to become, not merely because of who it used to be. That bit of clarity leaves me content to be a proud alumnus of the school, a better potential teacher, and an adult who has found contentment in the life she has been given as opposed to the life she planned.

"Cardinal is her color . . . "

2007-11-19T13:53:00.001-06:00

My Tree - My House

Do I really need to say more? Is this not one of the best representations of fall you have ever seen?

It's leafless now. But for a few days, for those who were taking note, it was beautiful - inside and out.

2007-11-19T13:44:00.001-06:00

Blog Bloat

I'm feeling a bit like I used to in college in those classes where I was supposed to maintain a "journal" of sorts. Invariably, I would go through spells where I would mentally compose all sorts of brilliant observations - which never made it to paper. Then, the night before the journal was to be submitted, I'd be sitting in Perkins with a pot of coffee, trying to "recollect" all those insightful comments. Of course, I'd do my best to make them sound as if they had been written over the designated period of time, and not crafted at one highly caffienated sitting. Cyber-journaling doesn't allow that. Thanks to tattle-tale technology, if I manage to write several entries this afternoon, it will be abundantly clear that they were all written on the same date.

Get over it! And be glad I'm back-on-blog for the moment.

2007-10-01T12:51:00.001-05:00

But Was the FOOD good?
Over lunch yesterday, the Frau and I were continuing a discussion that started in the Pastor's "Inquirer Class" at our new church. The topic of denominational "labeling" has been a prominent theme for the past few weeks, and several in the class have come from different faith backgrounds other than Baptist (American, Southern, or Rebel varieties). That prompted the Frau to float back down her Presbyterian memory lane over her 8 oz. of salad vegetables and 4 oz of protein (the new diet . . . ahem, new "healthy eating lifestyle" continues). When she was married to Herr Husband #2, they were quite active in the Presbyterian church, and she was even made a deacon in their congregation. But Herr Hubby #2 (henceforth known as HH2) was looking for some "looser" clothes between church services, and they started attending mid-week meetings of a what sounded to me like a charismatic non-denominational group. Apparently, HH2 loved these meetings (there was one for couples, men, and women), and the Frau went along to the couples' group with him, and occasionally to the "Women Aglow" luncheons. As only the Frau can state it, "It was crazy. They were slaying people all over the place, and other people were speaking in all kinds of tongues. I didn't get it, but [HH2] loved it. He was even slain once. I would sit up front so I could just sit there and watch it all. I didn't understand it." (pause) "But the food was good."
Of the Women Aglow luncheons, she said, "The ladies weren't quite as strange as the couples group. They even had some good topics to discuss, and they sang a lot and waved their hands. I didn't quite get into that either. AND, I had to wear a DRESS! I was always ruining a pair of pantyhose from all the swaying with the singing." (pause) "But the food was good there, too." Definitely not a Presbyterian group . . .

2007-09-18T11:53:00.001-05:00

Metabolism, Metaphysics, and Mother Teresa

If this seems an odd alliterative strain to you, imagine how I feel with it being an accurate symbol of my life these days. Let's just say that metabolism and metaphysics are intersecting in crucial ways, these days, and recent news of Mother Teresa's doubts during her life have added some definition.

I'll start with the beatified Mother . . . what a relief it was to hear that this selfless and committed woman experienced doubt and desert experiences in her spiritual life. I've had a few of those in recent years - mostly feeling like I'm doing my "40 days" in the desert (with 40 days to be translated as figurative, not inerrantly literal). My metaphysical journey has taken me in search of structure and a more contemplative approach to worship, as well as a broader expression of God's acceptance of ALL of his children, which I found in the Episcopal church. And this was a good place for me, and met a spiritual need at a particular time in my life. But it didn't quench the desert thirst, if you will. I found myself becoming less and less "sure" of everything I thought I knew, and found myself saying - "It doesn't matter if you have all the answers. As long as you are sure of the essential Truth of your faith - the rest becomes 'details.'" And I'm not entirely sure I don't believe that, but it makes for a very shaky foundation on which to build your world view. It seemed like too much contemplation had led to too much uncertainty, and too much avoidance of confrontation and accountability.

On the physical side - I was growing more and more - period. And growing more and more unhappy about it. I seemed to have no will power and an extraordinary number of reasons, "issues" and excuses as to why I wasn't losing weight and maintaining a healthier lifestyle.

Both metaphysically and metabolically, I felt very much a need for re-grounding myself. And the Frau was feeling it, too, I think.

And so we made a trek out of the desert and made a stop at this nice little oasis in our neighborhood at - and I'm not making this up - the American Baptist Church in our town. Our "excuse" was that it would be a nice change of pace for the summer, and our neighbor directs the music there. Imagine our shock as the pastor preached a marvelous sermon on God's welcome inclusivity, and the service was a welcome blend (as much as I hate that word to describe worship) of liturgical structure and contemplation and evangelical freedom of expression. Conversations and e-mails with the pastor and our neighbor (one of the associate pastors) over the weeks that followed seemed to pull me farther and farther away from the desert, and more into a feeling of the true sanctuary of home.

And the more re-grounded I became in my spiritual life, the more I realized it was time to move out of the desert in my physical life as well (although, I had apparently landed in the best-fed desert God ever created). So the Frau and I, with the strong encouragement and support of 2 of our good friends who had recently been through a healthy weight loss program, signed on to learn how to eat right and lose weight. And we have been as faithful to the program as we have to church in the last few months. I had this epiphany in church a week or so ago that it seemed that getting our spiritual life moving in a positive direction had served as a catalyst and support for our physical life, as well.

Now, I don't mean to be premature - we've only been on the weight loss program for 2 weeks, but I've lost 8 pounds and the Frau has lost 10 inches (we are celebrating are successes), and I'm sure we could lose our focus. But I truly don't think that will happen. I've never felt more certain about achieving a goal - my only concern is having the patience to let it happen in the appropriate amount of time.

So . . . metaphysical re-grounding, metabolic retraining, and a symbolic pat on the shoulder from Mother Teresa saying it's ok to go through these kinds of questioning times have all intersected in what I hope is going to be a dynamic re-direction for the last half of my life. And I'll try to keep in mind that the journey is our home. Amen.

2007-08-02T20:53:00.002-05:00

I couldn't agree with him more. I recall playing this for a wedding in college - an outdoor wedding - it had rained for several days prior - my endpin kept sinking in the mud - but those 8 little notes just kept on going . . .

2007-06-23T12:24:00.001-05:00

Downloads & Dinosaurs

A typical Saturday morning conversation with the Frau over coffee . . .

C - I signed us up for a trial membership with Netflix yesterday.
F - Why? What's wrong with going to the video store?
C - It's cheaper, with far more choices, and more current choices. Besides, they have Picket Fences already.
F - Do they pay postage?
C - Yes, and no late fees.
F - I guess.
C - . . . and think of the gas we'll save not driving to the video store.
F - I'm already convinced. My sweetie would rather sit down and do anything at her computer rather than cleaning her desk.
C - Fine. So where are we going for breakfast?
F - Why don't you order it online?

2007-06-22T07:50:00.001-05:00

Bumper Sticker Spirituality (aka BS)

Perhaps I've just gotten too cynical. The Frau suggests that some people are just trying to make things more "real" - "normal" - "everyday" - etc. for the uninitiated - even if it borders on triviality. I don't know - we hu-mans don't always do so well with our real, normal, everyday relationships, so I'm not sure I want to trivialize my spiritual relationship quite to that level. Thus, my abhorrance of what I fondly refer to as "Jesus is my boyfriend" music. I don't mind contemporary Christian music with lyrics that have some depth and integrity - just don't like the sappy, simpleminded stuff. Ok - this is chasing a rabbit I had no intention of chasing at this point. All I wanted to point out is some of the more notable BS I've observed of late.

Nothing will ever quite top the infamous sign, which was placed among a host of other political signs on a street corner in a small central Texas town. Actually, the "sign" was a cross, with a sign on it, that read (among the other "Bill Ted for Sheriff" and "Bobbi Jo for Country Clerk"):

Jesus - For Lord

Then, earlier in the summer, I saw a billboard in northern Oklahoma off of I-35 - yes, a LARGE billboard - and I could shoot myself for not writing it down exactly, but it read something like this (amidst a beautiful sailboat/lake illustration):

Ready to Go Boating?

Set Sail with Jesus!

And yesterday, right here in my (rather liberal) hometown, on the Missionary Outreach Center sign was the following:

This day is brought to you by Jesus.

I'll continue to post, and look forward to hearing from my friends, any particularly spectacular BS you might see in the future.

2007-06-20T11:44:00.001-05:00

Summer Sloth

Ok, sloth is perhaps too harsh, but as my mother always delights in telling me, "if you had real job, you'd have to work in the summer - and holidays - and spring break." I don't know . . . I kind of think that after catching a couple of horny teenagers "practicing" the wrong art form in a practice room, I'm due for a little break.

The Frau and I have invested a good bit of time and money this year in making the new casita "ours," consequently, we have no money to go anywhere this summer. As the more ardent traveler of the two of us, I have surprised myself at my willingness to be more of a homebody this summer. I am loving working in the yard - not exactly slothful. And being able to curl up with a good book on a rainy day - ok, somewhat slothful. I can feel more virtuous when I'm reading about boy soldiers in Sierra Leone in "A Long Way Gone," but I've morphed into finally reading the Harry Potter series. I'm halfway through the second book, and I had to go to the gym to work out this a.m. to assuage my guilt. I'm also doing some schoolwork here and there - on my terms, though.

Staying put is giving me the opportunity to take part in a number of things I don't normally do - like have my carpal tunnel surgery (left wrist healing nicely, right wrist on deck for late July), schedule my overdue mammogram (always a joy), and "play" on the faculty softball team. Since my unfortunate bop-in-the-nose incident and 1st round of wrist surgery, I've been keeping score, but the doctor cleared me to start playing this week. If yet another tragedy strikes on the field, I may just burn my glove and call it a game. I'll keep you posted on that one.

Speaking of mammograms - someone close to me - who shall remain nameless (at her request) (like you won't figure this one out . . .) recently had her mammogram. She forgot and wore deodorant (a no-no for the uninitiated). She wiped that off, got squished, then proceeded to dress. She noticed a spray can in the changing room and thought, "how nice, they keep deodorant in here." She happily sprayed it on, only to realize it wasn't deodorant - but hairspray. Thus began the "de-application" process yet again. Typical mammogram - life saving, perhaps, but one humiliation after another. I'm sorry, gentlemen. While I'm sure the whole "bend over and cough" thing is less than underwhelming - at least you don't have to stick little BB's to it and have it smashed two different directions - with or without a heating pad.

But I digress. And it's my feeding time. And I'd really like to catch up with my friend, Mr. Potter. So I shall slothfully take your leave. For those of you who have "real" jobs, I wish I could say I'm sorry . . . :-)

2007-06-07T10:42:00.001-05:00

Softball Spirituality

Sometimes God speaks to us in a still, small voice, and sometimes he/she slams us in the nose with a softball. I really don't think it's that hard to get my attention, but apparently I needed something a bit more firm than the "still, small voice" this week to grab my focus and slow me down.

I was already sheduled on Tuesday to have my left wrist operated on to relieve my carpal tunnel syndrome (or as a woman in my dad's church called it, "carnal tunnel"). So I was eager to play the first, and possibly only, game of the season with the faculty softball team on the Sunday preceding my "carnal correction." The Frau kept advising me not to play - just go and support - so as not to risk further damage to my wrist. Being the first-born know-it-all that I am, I saw no problem with playing, and vowed that I would take it easy. We got there early, and I started throwing the ball with some other early arrivers. . . .

I have to interject here that I REALLY love playing softball, and yet I haven't played in more years than I can identify. I played a lot as a kid - with the neighborhood kids, on church teams, and then came that fateful time that I tried out for the junior high team. I had been practicing over the weekend with my other friends who were trying out, and I was the power hitter of the bunch - the one everyone moves out into the field for. I was sure I was going to make a real bona fide team. I got to the first day of try-outs, came up to bat, my friends moved back, and I choked. I couldn't make contact with the ball to save my life - not even a foul ball. Needless to say, everyone's memory got very short, and no one recalled that just two or three days before I could really play. I didn't make the team, and I was scared everytime I came to bat in future years. Funny thing was, the first year of high school, we played softball in PE, I got up to bat and smacked a long ball, and the teacher asked me why I hadn't tried out for the high school team. I thought, if she only knew . . .

So back to our present-day game . . . Here I was - 46, and finally ready to face my fear. Indeed, I was ready to spit in the face of fear; to stand in the batter's box and laugh my loud hyena laugh in fear's general direction. But the game hadn't started, yet, and I thought I should make sure I could still throw and catch the ball before I got too brazen in the batter's box. Despite the carpal tunnel, I was making some beautiful throws and very adept catches. My confidence was up. I noticed out of the corner of my eye that the "coach" was ready to call us together for some pre-game instructions. I decided to catch the one last ball heading my direction, and then join the rest of the group. There is a critical point in the reception of a ball - "soft" or otherwise - when one's attention should not be diverted toward one's future actions. This is when God spoke to me. Right in the nose - cut from my sunglasses, bleeding internally and externally, never to hear the coach's first 2 rules: 1) everybody have fun, and 2) nobody gets hurt.

Now my left wrist is wrapped from surgery, my nose is swollen, and my left eye is black. I will be on the bench this week, keeping score, waiting for God to speak to me again (more subtly, I hope) about when I will finally face my fear in the batter's box. In my convalescence this week, I continue to ponder whether God's message to me is:
1) Slow down, and finish one thing before starting another (this is often the Frau's message to me).
2) Keep your eye on ball, but only figuratively.
3) You weren't meant to play softball, stupid!

2007-05-22T09:35:00.001-05:00

Pizza or Soup? ("It's Not What You Think")

It was time for lunch at school on Friday, and I had a can of microwave soup in my office, yet I was toying with heading out to the school cafeteria for a slice of pizza. It seemed such a harmless choice - impacting little other than my caloric intake for the day. But . . . it's not what you think.

I opted for the soup - put the can in my office microwave and proceeded to search for a spoon. I found one on my desk, but it was a touch sticky, so in the interest of good hygiene I decided to head around the corner to the practice room that conveniently has a sink in it, to wash said sticky spoon. Harmless - yes? No . . . it's not what you think.

I unlocked the practice room door and turned on the light, in innocent pursuit of a clean spoon. Suddenly, bodies were flying and scooting about. The young lady (and I use that term quite loosely) grabbed for her shorts to replace them on her body, while the young man jumped up to a chair pulling his shorts up with him. He was, unfortunately (for both of us), unaware that his little johnny jump-up was still up and peeking out of his still unfastened shorts - although "johnny" was wearing a "rain coat." Among the many protestations I heard from the couple as I said, "Let's go" (which apparently, they already had), the most ridiculous was . . . "it's not what you think!"

2007-04-27T15:04:00.001-05:00

For Just Pennies a Day . . .

Remember the "old days" when semi-has-beens like Sally Struthers would do cable commercials reminding us that "for just pennies a day . . ." we could feed a starving child? To show how times have changed, just the other day the Frau and I caught a similar ad. Same format - same tug at the heart strings. We can now donate to save an abandoned animal. For just pennies a day. And it seemed to us a reasonable request. Wonder if we could get a pic and a letter from "our" adopted animal?

2007-03-09T20:42:00.001-06:00

Please Read . . .

. . . my new favorite book by Jeannette Walls entitled, The Glass Castle. It is hardly your standard memoir. It hooks you from the very beginning, and reverberates within long after you finish the written text. I couldn't shake its hold on me for many days, and continue to wonder to what lengths people (especially my students) will go to conceal their true circumstances, or how much people have actually overcome (or denied) in their lives just to find "normal."

I'll do the book an injustice if I try to describe it in more detail. You will do yourself an injustice if you don't read it.

2007-03-09T20:30:00.001-06:00

Frausims, III

The Frau came home from work and a training on enhancing communication in the workplace . . .

C - How was the training?
F - Actually, very interesting, and I swear I felt like I had just been having a conversation with you.
C - Really? How is that?
F - Well, we talked about how you have to communicate differently to people of this generation than ours. These kids don't like to use the phone except to "text" and they'd rather communicate with their friends on "Your Face."
C - You mean "My Space."
F - No. I mean YOUR - FACE.
C - You mean "Face Book."
F - Oh, I guess that's it - whatever they call it.

The woman makes me laugh until my bladder sends out an SOS. Which reminds me of another worthy comment from the Frau: "I hate it. I bump into the wall, and then I pee."

Growing up - growing older - it's all fun.

2007-02-22T08:31:00.001-06:00

To Be, or Not to Be . . . Hmm

The students are talking. I'm not surprised, and in fact, had suspected it would occur at some point (if not already). But knowing it in fact as opposed to speculation gives it a whole new sense of reality. I'm actually surprised it is suddenly occupying so much of my thought time, but it is . . . So, I'll share with my friendly readers, and perhaps gain some insights to give me some equilibrium on the matter.

A few of my more perceptive students noticed a couple of years ago when I started wearing my wedding ring. I know this is true because one of the more "sensitive" ones also studies private voice with one of my oldest, dearest friends, and she mentioned it in a voice lesson. Thank goodness there is no such thing as voice teacher/client privilege! For it is this same student who brought up - with some degree of frustration - at her voice lesson this week that "everyone is talking about Doc." I won't go into a lot of detail at this point, but suffice it to say that she is struggling with the "talk," her loyalty to me, her faith upbringing, and whether or not it should really matter.

Now the noble part of me that stands occasionally on a pedestal proclaims - Great! Let these gentle young minds struggle with what they think might be wrong as it applies to someone they seem to respect and admire. This is great. This is why I've told the Frau that she shouldn't worry about going to things at school with me and being seen more frequently. "Let them wonder," I say.

Well, they are wondering, and the not so noble part of me - the part that enjoys a regular pay check and regular meals - says ever so softly, "I sure hope their wondering doesn't cost me my job." Reality tells me not to worry - I'm not the only gay faculty member in the school, and the school district even has a very high level administrator who is "in the family way." But we all have heard stories of people "moving on" for other reasons at the critical juncture when their orientation was discovered.

Now, dear friends, the previous paragraph is just me acknowledging that I have fears, however minute. I've been claiming to be ready for a test - to "live out" my life, just as I grew up being taught to "live out" my faith. And frankly, I don't think there should be any disparity between the two. It's time for the world - or at least my little microcosm of it - to be exposed to "normal" gay people - yes, and see a wedding ring that says I believe in the sanctity of a monogamous long-term relationship and it is not in conflict with the faith most of the students also know me to have. I'll keep you posted on this one. I'm at a convention for a few days, so I have some time to really reflect on this one. I feel quite sure that the answer is . . . "To Be."

2007-02-16T08:29:00.001-06:00

Frauisms, Part II

The Frau has a few issues with royalty, thus the following clarifications:

"King Kamehameha" - aka the Royal Turtle Sundae at Sheridans Frozen Custard
"King and I" - aka the King and Prince Resort on St. Simons Island, Georgia

2007-02-15T10:55:00.001-06:00

Frauisms . . .

It is not uncommon in our house to hear the Frau say, "Put the thingy-ding in the watch-a-ma-call-it," and, ironically, I often know exactly to what she refers. When I'm unable to translate, however, I ask her to "use her words." While clarity should ensue, this often requires a whole new level of interpretation. So, my small gift to humanity on this day after Valentine's Day is a beginner's lexicon of Frauisms (with her permission, of course).

"In the vasectomy" = in the vicinity
"Ruby Tuesday Morning" = may be used interchangeably to refer to the restaurant - Ruby Tuesday - or the discount store - Tuesday Morning.
"Barnes & Noble" = while used identify the actual bookstore, it can also mean we need Brummel & Brown (the butter substitute)
"Jarlic" = refers to the minced fresh garlic that is sold in a jar
"Cluboard" = refers to a closet that has been converted to a cupboard
"Barocko" = refers to Barak Obama
"Chocolate Viagra" = fudge ganache
"Gestapo" = refers to a favorite Mexican restaurant actually called Ixtapa
"Pork & Barrell" = refers to our favorite liquor store, the CORK & Barrell
"Cork & Barrell" = not to be confused with the liquor store, this refers to the restaurant, the CRACKER Barrell

This in no way concludes our lexicon, but I will close the book for now. Fear not, there will most certainly be more to come.

2006-12-27T09:04:00.001-06:00

Happy Holidays

This has turned out to be one of the most restful Christmas seasons I have experienced in years. All of my musician friends, in particular, understand that we often don't begin our holiday "rest" until after the holidays are over. Fortunately, my school December program was rather late in the month, and conflicted with other obligations I usually have during the same time period (Symphony Chorus "Magic of Christmas" concerts and church choir). So . . . I was "assisted" in my early resolution to quit over extending myself. Add to that, the Frau and I decided not to travel this season, so I've had some very peaceful days in the new home.

Christmas Eve and Christmas Day were almost like "the old days" - in that my sister and her fiance, joined my mother, me and the Frau at my mother's church for Christmas Eve services. Since the "sis" and I both attended that church during college (in our pre-Episcopalian days), it was rather like being "home for the holidays." And I think our mother enjoyed not having to attend services alone. We then had Christmas morning opening presents with the kids altogether the next day - and that hasn't happened in years. Getting together at the holidays has of late been more like a progressive dinner and gift giving operation.
The Puppinator was even invited for the weekend, so everyone was nestled all snug in their beds, so to speak. Here's hoping that you and yours have had, or will have, some semblance of "sabbath" during your holidays. Happy holidays!
Cinzia, the Frau & the Puppinator

2006-11-16T13:08:00.001-06:00

Scars

My friend and former student, Nathan, has always challenged me to think. With my entry into "blogdom," he continues to do that as I now regularly read his "speciallimitededition." Many times he just makes me laugh with such comments as "I'm gonna polka my eyes out" (all we who have worn contacts have been there). But the blog that has been haunting me of late is one he wrote a couple of weeks ago equating his own spiritual struggle with the novel by Alex Gardner entitled The Beach (I heartily recommend a link and a read). He quotes the end of the book where the main character says:

As for me, I’m fine. I have bad dreams…I play video games, I smoke a little dope.
I got my thousand-yard stare. I carry a lot of scars.
I like the way that sounds.
I carry a lot of scars.

I haven't been able to shake those lines . . . or Nathan's analogy to his own life. After ruminating about it for days, I finally realized it is because it struck a rather familiar chord.

I suspect we all carry a lot of scars - the difference is that some people are more willing to examine theirs than others. Nathan questions some of his scarring experiences as moments when he and the community with whom he identified became less than Christlike. What little insight I have to offer is that it is the inability of members in his fellow community to recognize their scars who exhibited less than a Christlike image.

Having been through a few more of those "scarring" and questioning life moments, I have felt the futility that Nathan has felt, but tempering it with age and experience, I have come to view these times (and scars) as passages for growth, rather than evidence of some sort of failure. It is the self-aware internal auditor that begins to view those scars as the heiroglyphics which mark the progress of one's personal journey. Some of these "passages" are longer and more tedious - even depressing - than others. But the caveat is that in ignoring scars, I fear we seek a moral certainty that is far more damaging. At the other end of each passage I have found myself stronger, more accepting, more certain of God's love, and less certain that there is only one way to experience that love. Do I seek to be more Christlike? Absolutely. And I seem to recall that Jesus became frustrated with members of his "community," that he had to spend some time in the "wilderness," and that ultimately, he carried a lot of scars. A lot of scars.
Amen.

2006-11-16T12:05:00.001-06:00

Time, Dollars & Sense

I hit my 46th birthday earlier this month, and assuming I make it to 90 (which might be a stretch), I suppose this means I'm starting down the backside of the proverbial "hill." Perhaps it would be better to say that I'm commencing with the second, and wiser, half of my life. At least, I hope it's a bit wiser.

I visited with my shrink a few weeks ago to talk about my weight, and why, in spite of all the positive strides and benefits in my life in the past few years, I can't seem to curb this one self-destructive streak. As is her custom, she quickly carved out the bigger picture for me, of which weight was just the primary symptom. Money management not being one of my strong suits, imagine how thrilled I was for her to attach monetary value to how I manage my time . . . "You need to evaluate how you are spending your time dollars . . ." Damn her for always making sense.

Actually, I thank her, as that pearl of perspective has cast me on a course of enriching, and perhaps saving, my life. (And no, although I sometimes feel like one, I don't believe she has cast her pearl before a swine!)

I've spent a majority of my time dollars in the first half of my life trying to overachieve and live up to the image I thought everyone expected of me. At times, I think I believed I was trying to please myself, but as the years have gone on, that line between pleasing others and pleasing myself has gotten somewhat blurry. And with that blurred vision, I sought identity in my so-called accomplishments. For my under-40 friends, let me assure you that this does not a happy person make. It is possible that some of my u-40 friends have learned this lesson already, and I'm just a late bloomer, having discovered the joy of a significant other somewhat late in life. The life of a single person does seem to provoke this external search for identity - at least in my case.

Old habits are hard for old folks to break, though. And even after being blessed with a reason to come home, I haven't said "no" as frequently as I should. As I heard a political comedian say a few weeks ago, "just because you CAN, doesn't mean you SHOULD." I have had a bad habit of agreeing to take on responsibilities because I can do them WELL, but not because I ENJOY doing them. And the identity that accepting them has given me is the increasing opportunity to be asked to do MORE things I don't particularly enjoy. Go figure.

Consequently, . . . u-4o friends, listen closely, I have "accomplished" the following:

"opportunities" to be in charge of multiple things that no-one else cares to take on (not even for the extra money involved)
little if any extra time for such productive things as regular physical exercise and nutritious meal planning
chest pains - probably due to stress (see above), unhealthy living (see above), and GERD, but the results of the stress test I took today and the trip to the hospital yesterday should confirm or deny this
less time with the Frau, the garden, and my books - three of my great joys in life (and where I would prefer to spend ALL of my time dollars - and which don't give me chest pain)

So . . . I am reassessing and reinvesting as the second half of my life commences - and I'd like to enjoy ALL of the second half. I'm giving up "opportunities" and the extra income that comes with them. I'm establishing a baseline for my health, and with my new found time dollars I will reinvest in some healthy life habits. I am anticipating spending lavishly on my three great joys, including FINALLY reading a book given to me almost six years ago that, ironically, I have "wanted" to read but haven't had "time" entitled: Sabbath: Restoring the Sacred Rhythm of Rest (by Wayne Muller). It just makes sense.

Amen.

2006-10-24T15:42:00.001-05:00

Lavender Lane

The Frau and I bought a new home a couple of months ago, and Lavender Lane is the moniker one of our friends has given our street. It is a bit ironic - we found a house we loved when we least expected it, sold our house to the first people to look at it, and now we live directly across the street from some dear friends from church - an older female couple who have been together for 24 years. Next door to them is another female couple - about our age - who have been together about as long as we. I think there are another two couples around the corner and down the street, but we don't really know them. Here on Lavender Lane, though, we feel really normal, accepted, not "alternative." It also helps that LL is nestled in the center of the only Democratic stronghold in our state, but I digress.

Lavender Lane represents, for me at least, another milestone in our relationship (there were days during and following the move I could have called it a Hysterical Marker, but that's another story). This isn't a house that belonged to one or the other of us prior to our meeting, but it is the home that we have chosen to build (or at least redecorate and repair) together. It has only memories of our shared relationship, and the promise of what our future holds together in this place. I truly feel like I'm coming "home" to "my family" everytime I drive through the neighborhood and into the driveway.

One of our other great milestones was when we got married in one of the few places where it was actually legal - Vancouver, British Columbia ("O Canada . . ."). It meant a lot to us to have a legal and public acknowledgement of what we are to each other. The road to that milestone had its humor, as well. We had to purchase a marriage license in Chinatown from the Jack Chow insurance agency, which was not far from the Sing-A-Long Salon . . . Our "witnesses" were a concierge and a bellman. But it was legal.

I know my beloved spouse would like to have a ceremony here in the States - so we can celebrate with family and friends. And I know she must marvel at my reticence. I have marveled at my reticence. I counter that maybe we can do that to celebrate our 5th or 10th anniversary - but I think it sounds hollow. I think I might have finally pinpointed my hesitation, though. I don't want a ceremony - another milestone, if you will - to be less real than what I feel for her. I don't want anyone saying we're "pretending" to be a family, or mocking a ceremony as a "pale substitute." I keep hoping the day will come - sooner - that will allow us to publicly acknowledge, in our place of worship, and legally in our country of residence, the commitment we have already pledged to one another. It will be as REAL as our commitment, and it will be legal. And THAT will be the true celebration.
Amen.

2006-10-24T15:18:00.001-05:00

Deep and Wide

Remember that cute little Sunday School song? And its spiritual depth was only enhanced by the subsequent verses where one began to delete words and hum (Hmmm and wide, Hmmm and wide, there's a fountain flowing, Hmm and wide . . . ). Sort of the sacred alternative to B-I-N-G-O. I often wonder if I had grown up Epsicopalian rather than Southern Baptist if I would have tragically missed learning this little tome . . .? But I digress.

The purpose of the title of this post is that it came to mind as the most succinct reason I could conjure up as to why I started this little blog. My Frau and I were discussing this new little adventure, and I was having one heck of a time explaining the attraction.

"What ever happened to picking up the phone, writing a letter, or even e-mail?"
"Well . . . it gives you an opportunity to communicate with friends you don't see every day - share daily or more frequent ponderings or happenings that you might not normally share in a typical phone call."
"But why do so many people have to know about everything we do?"
"Well . . . it's not really about everything we do . . ."
And so the conversation continued. Point of Reference - the Frau doesn't enjoy typing or most things about computers, for that matter. And to be honest, I had similar questions before I joined the club, as it were. So it caused me to ponder a bit - and that's when it hit me . . .

Deep and Wide . . .
Writing has always been a source for working through matters of import, emotional turmoil, and occasionally to amuse myself with witticisms only I (and a few demented friends) can appreciate. And I tend to write better when I know I'll have an audience (regardless of how small it might be). So it occurred to me that my hope in starting this blog was simply:

To explore becoming more intellectually Deep . . .
And rant about my ever renewable attempts to become less physically Wide . . .

Perhaps one of these days, I can retitle things . . . Deep and Hmmm, Deep and Hmmm . . . .
Amen.

2006-10-20T15:26:00.001-05:00

March . . .

Who would have thought a short novel written as a Civil War diary could be so timely? I'm about halfway through this little gem by Geraldine Brooks which details the cognitive dissonance of "Mr. March" - the father of the "Little Women" in Louisa May Alcott's novel by the same name. An Abolitionist and pacifist, March finds himself at war, both with the South and with himself. One can't help but recall Peter indignantly stating that he could never betray Christ, and finding himself in just such a position only hours later. March is written much like a journal that includes portions of sanitized letters to his wife and girls. I just reached a chapter that begins by debating the difference between courage and cowardice, and his struggle with these two words is illuminated in the following paragraph. I know a President of a large country who needs read this . . . (or have it read to him . . . I'm not sure he reads):

"Who is the brave man-he who feels no fear? If so, then bravery is but a polite term for a mind devoid of rationality and imagination. The brave man, the real hero, quakes with terror, sweats, feels his very bowels betray him, and in spite of this moves forward to do the act he dreads. And yet I do not think it heroic to march into fields of fire, whipped on one's way only by fear of being called craven. Sometimes, true courage requires inaction; that one sit at home while war rages, if by doing so one satisfies the quiet voice of honorable conscience." [March - Geraldine Brooks - Penguin Books - 2005, p. 168]

Forget it (reading it to "W") - the words are way too big for him to understand, and the ideas are even bigger . . . But YOU should read it.

2006-10-06T13:14:00.001-05:00

Story Corp Hits Paydirt

Link and listen to this NPR gem, "Like Being 19." Maybe one day *we* can do it in the "right order." Or maybe we've got the right order - in spite of those who would say otherwise.

2006-10-06T08:24:00.001-05:00

I AM Your Frontal Lobe . . .

"Bless their hearts . . ." (a euphemism for "aren't they stupid?") - you have to love high schoolers - particularly the more right brained ones that participate in the arts. Their frontal lobes may not be developed, causing them to do and say stupidly impulsive things without considering the consequences, but that creative right brain does keep their sense of humor lively. A few of the braver (and smarter) ones even chuckle at my more subtle, albeit caustic, jokes on occasion. I tell them regularly that "I am your frontal lobe . . ." and responsible for keeping them focused on the task at hand so that they won't pay the un-soundly consequences later. [I know - "un-soundly" - so I'm a choral director who admires e. e. cummings' ability to create words to suit one's purpose - do feel free to try this at home.]

I find myself so busy laboring over their lobes, I sometimes forget to let my own frontal lobe communicate with my lips. Following an especially stimulating choral workshop with Simon C. (and my friends know of whom I speak), who scared the hell out of them when he actually expected them to act like choral musicians and not lobeless high schoolers, my students and I shared one of those "special" moments. The workshop was great (from my perspective) and provided some wonderful teaching moments in the Monday debrief that followed the weekend experience. I let the students do most of the talking - some of them expressing greater insight than I often give them credit for possessing. Occasionally, I provided a little "clarity," as it were. Perhaps I was overcome with a pedagogical high from the fact that the students were actually exercising a bit of metagcognition about the experience . . . (insert scarey music here). I opened my mouth, and feeling particularly witty and metaphorical (and completely forgetting the lobeless and lascivious nature of my high school audience) commented, "Mr. C does indeed run a bit of a tighter ship than I do, but I certainly enjoyed riding his ship for awhile." My students are comfortable with me - this was obvious from the tears of laughter streaming down their lascivious little faces.

Like my friend, Jacques, I think I should have a contest to identify the word that best describes when a seemingly innocuous comment manages to annihilate any future "teaching moments."
Amen.

2006-10-04T21:38:00.001-05:00

Arnold the Puppinator

This is my "son" - I share him here as one of the central pleasures of my life - next to my wife - and at great risk that once his cuteness quotient is discovered, we will hear news of an Arnie Alert. He is an only child these days, occasionally trying as he starts his "terrible twos," and beginning to revel in our undivided attention - a trait not uncommon to his dachshund brethren. But he misses the occasional ornery romp with his 15 year old brother. Dear old Max - mutt extraordinaire - may he rest in pastoral peace (1991-2006).

2006-10-04T10:46:00.001-05:00

This is Cinzia . . . weighing in on matters of importance to me . . . and maybe a few of my crazy friends.