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.

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.

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.

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. 

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.

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.

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.)

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!"

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 . . .

Tryptich

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!"

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 . . .

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?!

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.

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).