Manual Labor!

For five days, I’ve done the most exhausting physical labor of my life, but I anticipate it paying off for years to come. I, with much help from C. have redesigned my entire back yard so that it is a place I want to spend my evenings. Growing up on a farm, there is just something about the outdoors that captures me and calls to me. In a year, my secret garden will be an efficient oasis within my urban landscape.

I work in education and some in the field see our focus as getting students to go to college, in fact, my job exists solely to get students to enroll in some postsecondary institution after high school. The prejudice with educators against those who do not value as much as we do is thinly veiled by many as the platitude that “college is not for everyone.” If everyone wore librarian glasses, the statement would be delivered down the nose and over the glasses.

Educators feel a certain need to persuade every person that if they do not get a four-year degree, at least, they really will not be successful, no matter what they do. Training, apprenticeships, two-year, and technical degrees are viewed as lesser options that will only lead to a lifetime of struggle and misery.

It annoys me when other educators act in such a way because the facts are otherwise – only about 23% of careers being created in the United States require a four-year degree. Sixty-five percent require some training post-high school, specifically not a four-year degree. Still the prejudice continues.

After a week of hard physical labor, I see the joy of it. My call is to be an educator; I’ve tried other jobs and have been miserable in them, but the accomplishment one sees when boards are hammered and dirt is shoveled, is real, visible, and capable of bringing joy over time.

That is my garden.

Every bloom, every tomato, squash, pepper, cucumber, eggplant, watermelon, cantaloupe, and all the herbs will remind me not to begrudge those who choose to do this kind of work on for a living. I have taken pictures of the project along the way. I think I’m going to print out a bunch of wallet sized photos and whip them out whenever I see the education prejudice rear its head.

Flip-Flop Burn

OUCH!

Yes, I really have been doing yard work - in flip-flops.

I wore flip-flops to church today.

I'm attending a fashion event tonight.

At a shoe store.

Yes, I'm wearing flip-flops again.

I'm giving myself a pedicure first.

Thank goodness this is Austin and I can get away with it.

Extreme Makeover #1 : Introduction

Aches.

Burning.

Pain.

It's not the flu.

It's extreme makeover, backyard edition.

Pictures have been taken and will be posted to document the days of backbreaking labor C. and I have put into my back yard.

It is nice to have a friend who loves doing yardwork and helps me out for free - well, I do pay for his Friday night drinks and dinner year-round, but it is worth it for the level of physical labor he's put in the last few days.

Brett Favre: Somtimes They are Heroes

Saturday Sportscast

Sometimes They Are Heroes

This week Brett Favre announced his retirement after seventeen seasons as quarterback of the Green Bay Packers. For years there have been calls for his retirement, but after one of the best seasons of his career, there were mostly tears. There is little if anything to be added to the obituary of Favre’s career. His records, some of which are viewed as unbreakable in the physical modern game have all been recited repeatedly. His personality and personal courage have been well documented. His every-man nature endeared him to even those for whom the Packers were life-long rivals. Some of these characteristics are what made me a fan. I remember the night he played just hours following his father’s death in an auto accident. It was one of the most exciting games and a game when he showed what a masterful quarterback he was. As I watched him play that night, I cried – overcome by the sheer grace and willpower and courage he displayed. Favre made enough mistakes to be real and always entertaining. Sometimes, the miracle comeback came because of an errantly thrown ball earlier in the game. Whenever the Packers played – even in seasons when they were not particularly successful – they were always fun to watch. The next season is still months away, but I’m already anticipating it with a mix of anxiety and excitement. It will be a challenge to see the green and yellow without automatically rooting for Favre, but I am looking forward to rooting for the next generation in Young and Romo. With luck, one of them will resolve to take up Favre’s mantle and become the next foundation for the team and community. Favre was more than a player – he was a hero for to many and those are rare to find in sports today. The last generation of players seems to be dominated by players going for the biggest payday who fly from team to team as the dollar signs grow. Many of those same players also took advantage of “advances” in medicine – some of which were not illegal at the time. The only real difference between illegal and not legal at the time is a matter of ethics and character. Athletes who used performance enhancing drugs before each new one was banned knew they were doing wrong, but did it anyway because they could get away with it. Brett Favre stayed with one team and has never been accused of using any performance enhancing drugs, but was very open about his addiction to pain killers following a series of injuries. He shared his struggle and became even more human for it. So now I sit back and wait for the next great player who is both Clark Kent and Superman. Sometimes they are heroes.

Drunk Texting

Over the years, I’ve received my share of drunk calls in the middle of the night. As far as I know, I’ve never made any, but then again, I would have been drunk so how am I to know? Friends would have told me, but strangers probably would not have recorded my number to call back and let me know.

Last week I bought a new phone – a lovely Blackberry Curve and I’m still in the process of playing with it. While waiting for some friends to join me at our usual Friday night spot for dinner, I texted a person I’m getting to know – well, after one margarita, I thought it was someone I’m getting to know.

The Curve has a great track-ball that functions like a mouse and lets one rapidly zip through the names in the address book and from function to function. It is very easy to get to where one wants on the phone, if not just past it.

My brother has the same first name as the person I’m getting to know.

The friends arrive and we’re having a great time having a few margaritas and eating dinner. I receive a texted response from the person I’m getting to know: polite and just right for the message I sent him (merely hoped he had a good week, so nothing salacious) and a promise to call over the weekend.

Monday rolled around and I had still not heard from this person I’m getting to know, but I’d had an unexpectedly hectic weekend, so I didn’t’ think much of it.

Mid-day Monday I received an email from my brother letting me know he had received my text.

I questioned him as to the content of the text message.

It was the message I “sent” the person I’m getting to know.

From now on, tricks and potential dates are getting a “phone” nickname from the first conversation on. The last thing I want to do is send my brother a text telling him just what I planned to do to him next time I see him!

Hot Stuff!

Beware “Reply All.”

Because my job sometimes requires me to send out email reminders to some 600 people at a time, I learned the value of “bcc” after just the first experience when some people responded to the entire group with a hostile response. Since that time, the large group has all been under “bcc” so any response will be minimal. I “cc” a few key people, so they will know what has been sent and anyone who needs to, can respond to the key persons.

Yesterday was one of the days I got to send out the mass email.

Today the replies started coming in.

Thank goodness for the “bcc.” The only “reply all” said:

Hey there! Whaz up hot stuff? When are we doing happy hour?

In a way, I wanted all 600 to know that I was “hot stuff,” but I’m glad only three people saw it. Those three are going to give me enough hell for a long time.

My Latex Boyfriend

As Valentine’s Day was kicking off and everyone on the radio was going on about it, I started adding up my Valentine’s Days. This year marks my forty-second trip through the holiday, though I doubt the first few years really mattered. In the 42 experiences, 40 of them have been while celebrating Singlehood Awareness Day rather than any type of romantic event. For a tightwad date like me, that’s a good thing.

The media have been filled with all the romantic (read EXPENSIVE) things to do for your loved one on this most romantic of days. I wear a Winnie the Pooh tie on which he is hanging from big red-heart balloons. I bought the tie years ago at Target for about $5 and it has given me years of service. I don’t think any of my $40 ties will ever pay off as well no matter how many times I get to wear them.

The really good news today was that the sale and promotion of sex toys was no longer banned in Texas. The Federal Court in New Orleans overturned the law banning them. Until the court action, one could not call a sex toy a sex toy, they had to be referred to as some other name, like vibrator (or for those that don’t vibrate – rubber hammer). They could be displayed as pieces of latex art, but not legally explained to cause any sexual stimulation.

But if one owned more than six pieces of latex art, one was a criminal for promoting sex toys.

Alas, now I can come clean.

My relationship no longer has to be a secret.

My latex boyfriend no longer has to be hidden – or framed.

I can now proudly parade my latex boyfriend publically without shame.

Latex boyfriends really are quite easy and effective to have:

1) He doesn’t require expensive gifts.
2) He won’t cheat – and if he does it will be as part of a three-some.
3) I can ignore him for weeks and he won’t complain.
4) He’s ready to go again after just a quick shower.
5) He lets me do all the talking!

Really – can it be any better? And now that I think of it, I have not been single on Valentine’s Day that many years after all.

Murderer

I must confess.

I’m a murderer.

Actually, it was more involuntary pescacide.

I planted some new bulbs in my aquarium a few weeks ago only to have the aquarium infested with algae within a week. I’ve done the treatments, but just could not get ahead of it, so as a last resort, I emptied most of the water and then netted the fish and placed them in an alternate, pre-prepared container. I even had the aerator going, and because it was a shallower dish, I had a rag over the top to keep any from accidentally jumping out.

After making sure I had caught all the quick little fish in the murky water, I drained the rest of the water out, washed all the accessories, and filled the tank again with water.

After letting the tank process for a while and the water reach an acceptable temperature, I took the cloth off to discover a bowl of dead fish. Only the mollies were alive.

I did everything I was supposed to do to make sure the water was ready, the right temperature, with an aerator. Everything.

I even double checked the chemicals I used in the water.

I was mortified to discover I had used the wrong water conditioner. I used the one that added healthy bacteria and such to the water, but not the one to remove chlorine.

I was mortified that I had poisoned my fish.

So until I get to the pet store and purchase some more fish, the 5 mollies have 55 gallons of playroom.

Ash Wednesday

Overheard during Ash Wednesday service following Communion:

"So much for Christ's body. I just got his fingernail!"

God is truly amazing. In that instant, he gave me and everyone around me the willpower not to bust a gut laughing.

Music for 18 Musicians

Last Sunday while preparing for church, I listened to NPR’s Weekend Edition Sunday as is my habit. Each week, just about the time I walk out the door, there is a final extended piece about an artist or a performance. This time it featured a generally unknown university music group, Grand Valley State University’s New Music Ensemble. Shortly after being formed the director announced they would be tackling Steve Reich’s Music for 18 Musicians.

Before I sound too scholarly on modern classical music, I have to admit I’d never heard of Reich or the piece Music for 18 Musicians until that story on NPR. On the whole, I know more than many about 18th, 19th, and 20th century composers up until the 1950’s, but I’m certainly not a scholar in the genre. I know very little and listen to very little music from the latter half of the 20th century.

Nevertheless, there was something that transfixed me about the music clips from the feature. It was certainly not Beethoven or even Saint Saens. This is Donnie Darko on speed. I could run to this music.

Tonight I downloaded it from iTunes and am sitting here listening to it. Modern composition generally does not move me. I find so much of it to be an academic experiment in tonal collision or atonality. Precisely for those reasons, I’m not largely a fan.

I’m writing this review as I listen to the music for the very first time. Normally I memorize a song or CD before I write about it. I could not wait that long. Ten minutes into the piece, I found that tears were streaming down my face and yet I had a pleasant, joyful smile across that same face. I was happy to overflowing and was totally enthralled by the piece.

My mind at this moment is focused on every percussive note in the forefront while stringed melodies slide in from the background.

I paused the music almost immediately after I started listening to it because my computer speakers clearly could not handle it, so I grabbed my favorite headphones so I could listen closely. One reason I like headphones for the best music is that when I’m listening, both ears are occupied, but the bulk of the tune fills my head. I can sit here with my eyes closed and “watch” the musicians play. Throughout Music, there are many instances when two of the same instrument are playing slightly different music and those occupy the ear while the other sixteen instruments/voices are crammed into my skull.

Sometimes I’m really glad Miss Davis didn’t let us look at our fingers when we learned to type. I can be absorbed in this piece and not worry about what is going on to my laptop screen.

Reich created a tune in which instrumental voices rise and fall throughout the piece and different instruments take the lead at various times. Sometimes the new instruments rush the stage and other times they are skulking about behind the scenes for a bit before one realizes they are even there. These melodies range from lullaby to frenzied metal. Something about the xylophone keeps even the most frenzied piece from inspiring anxiety in the listener. The cello contrasting violins in the background almost forces a sense of calm over the hammering xylophone.

I guess what strikes me most about it is the actual chant-like repetition of music. The repeated bars create a meditative, spiritual quality that rises above the sometimes chaotic sound. While in some cases the chaos comes from the two percussive, stringed, or woodwind instruments building into the same piece, the bars are the same and are repeated equally. Much like religious chant, the music draws one in a bit deeper with every repetition but does not allow one to sleep.

The first impression that I could run to this music has been replaced by the depth of meditation I feel with it. It has the tempo for running, but with the spirituality, I would become so engrossed I would fall off the trail. Music does not allow for quiet meditation, rather it inspires a meditative workout.

The piece just ended and I found myself letting out an extended sigh as though I had held my breath for entire hour of the performance. I want more but am resisting the urge to start over again. Honestly, I don’t know if I can take it.

You may be surprised at the idea that I have not decided if I like it or not. I do not have the frame of reference to really judge if it is a good piece or not so the decision will be purely emotional rather than scholarly. Since I mentioned earlier that the piece moved me to joyful tears as I sat enthralled, I guess I’ll have to go with an “I love it” on the emotional scale. Seriously – it is not often I can sit for an hour completely transfixed by anything, much less a classical piece I could be listening to through the stereo.