There once was a time when the simple owning-up-to-donating-sperm-toward-a-life, biological paternity, would have sent me into a frenzy. Now, fatherhood--parenthood--is my passion. Once I worried about my legacy--perhaps in print, prison records, or some heinous artistic expression--and I watched my P's and Q's accordingly (sometimes attending far too much to my pints and quarts, but that's another entry). Now, my legacy is my family, and I often double think what I say, write, and do in relation to how they may be molded by it now or how they may interpret it after I'm gone.
Yesterday, my 3 sons helped us paint interior rooms of our home. "Us" included a guy named Kyle, who was once (8-10 years ago) my little brother from Big Brothers/Sisters...and Kyle's wife. Several times I chided and joked with my boys, even called one a dork now and again, and I've since thought about that...are they going to have a complex, am I belittling them, when we are all joking and playing and one of these less-than-flattering words is bandied about?
On the otherhand, they are getting to paint with us. When my dad remodeled our home, even though I was a teenager for part of it, I was not invited and did not participate in any way in any aspect of the work. My boys have been swinging hammers (sometimes at each other, I admit) since they could heft them. Yesterday, though their work was not "finish work" per se, they did contribute meaningfully and they did have fun.
I think about what my boys have done with me that I have no memory of doing with my father, and the list is very long. It includes, but is not limited to: painting, cooking, computer games, go-cart driving, "big adventures," trips to the hardware store...
I guess I could be doing worse.
Monday, October 08, 2007
Monday, September 10, 2007
Edutainment
"Edutainment (also educational entertainment or entertainment-education) is a form of entertainment designed to educate as well as to amuse....The noun edutainment is a neologistic portmanteau coined by Bob Heyman while producing documentaries for the National Geographic Society" ...so says Wikipedia.
Guilty as charged. I have long known that I had a tendency to hype class up a bit, that it was as much the thrill of entertaining as the product of enlightenment that kept me coming back to the classroom. I did not have a word for it, before now, and even armed with this word, I cannot decide quite how to come to terms with this...issue.
On the one hand, I feel guilty, like an entertainer who will work extra hard for applause--in that respect my instructional delivery might be deemed a self-serving opportunity to perform for a captive audience.
On the other hand, not only is there a word for it, there is an entire pedagogy developing around the thought that learning can be fun. Acknowledging the education field is full of -isms and ideologies, this one more, new stratagem can't be any worse than, say, "brain-based learning."
I wish I could take myself and my subject so seriously that I would deliver content more droll and monotonous than Ben Stein could ever muster--yet it would be so full of truth and be so very valuable that people would knock down my door to enroll in my classes. That would be some content! Instead, realizing that some people have a predisposition against my field, I tend to joke around and make the content as viable, current, and entertaining as possible. The outcome may be that I'm a goofy clown, or it may be that students learn more--I lack the skill to assess that and the ability to distance myself from my delivery. (I do know, however, that I hate watching myself on tape!)
Debate on edutainment branches far beyond the classroom. Recently I took my boys to Exploration Place, a children's museum. There was an exhibit of giant, motorized bugs on display--sure to make an impression. The literature, staff, and signage were excellent at clarifying that the scorpion was 28 times actual size, etc...but I wonder how many little kids really grasp that. Will they live in fear of a praying mantis looming over their bed? Will they grow up with a complex, never able to secure a big-enough fly swatter? I think the sensationalism that museums are now being forced to pump out has to be tempered with fact and clarified repeatedly once the clientele is in the door gawking at the life-sized woolly mammoth, etc.
It is the same, I think, with class. So long as the truth, the facts, the writing styles and models are shared fairly, I am inclined to say that it can be conveyed by someone with a rainbow colored afro and a red bulbous nose. Consider how, say, Patch Adams was able to build better rapport with patients through the use of humor. Consider how we all remember the little "Conjunction Junction" ditty. Yes, I think edutainment has its place, and I admit to being a practitioner of said pedagogy...but I'm still somewhat ashamed of it and always curious as to the effectiveness of it.
It's as old as parables, yet modernization allows one to incorporate online interactivity, YouTube and even SecondLife. I've been scheming up a design for offering a communications course inside SecondLife, and my avatar lives on an Education Island as I write.
One of my best friends, however, suggests I live my life and practice my profession as if there were no technological bells and whistles. He says the day will come when it will be revealed that all this technology was mere smoke and mirrors. He forecasts that this revelation will come all-too-late for those of us in the biz of edutainment. Old school profs, like himself, will carry the torch while folks like me will be dumbstruck with the harsh realities of the fleshworld.
I hope I'm not that consumed with bells and whistles. I hope he's wrong, too, that we can co-exist without bursting anyone's bubble. I guess until his gloomy forecast comes true, I will poke around and do my best.
Guilty as charged. I have long known that I had a tendency to hype class up a bit, that it was as much the thrill of entertaining as the product of enlightenment that kept me coming back to the classroom. I did not have a word for it, before now, and even armed with this word, I cannot decide quite how to come to terms with this...issue.
On the one hand, I feel guilty, like an entertainer who will work extra hard for applause--in that respect my instructional delivery might be deemed a self-serving opportunity to perform for a captive audience.
On the other hand, not only is there a word for it, there is an entire pedagogy developing around the thought that learning can be fun. Acknowledging the education field is full of -isms and ideologies, this one more, new stratagem can't be any worse than, say, "brain-based learning."
I wish I could take myself and my subject so seriously that I would deliver content more droll and monotonous than Ben Stein could ever muster--yet it would be so full of truth and be so very valuable that people would knock down my door to enroll in my classes. That would be some content! Instead, realizing that some people have a predisposition against my field, I tend to joke around and make the content as viable, current, and entertaining as possible. The outcome may be that I'm a goofy clown, or it may be that students learn more--I lack the skill to assess that and the ability to distance myself from my delivery. (I do know, however, that I hate watching myself on tape!)
Debate on edutainment branches far beyond the classroom. Recently I took my boys to Exploration Place, a children's museum. There was an exhibit of giant, motorized bugs on display--sure to make an impression. The literature, staff, and signage were excellent at clarifying that the scorpion was 28 times actual size, etc...but I wonder how many little kids really grasp that. Will they live in fear of a praying mantis looming over their bed? Will they grow up with a complex, never able to secure a big-enough fly swatter? I think the sensationalism that museums are now being forced to pump out has to be tempered with fact and clarified repeatedly once the clientele is in the door gawking at the life-sized woolly mammoth, etc.
It is the same, I think, with class. So long as the truth, the facts, the writing styles and models are shared fairly, I am inclined to say that it can be conveyed by someone with a rainbow colored afro and a red bulbous nose. Consider how, say, Patch Adams was able to build better rapport with patients through the use of humor. Consider how we all remember the little "Conjunction Junction" ditty. Yes, I think edutainment has its place, and I admit to being a practitioner of said pedagogy...but I'm still somewhat ashamed of it and always curious as to the effectiveness of it.
It's as old as parables, yet modernization allows one to incorporate online interactivity, YouTube and even SecondLife. I've been scheming up a design for offering a communications course inside SecondLife, and my avatar lives on an Education Island as I write.
One of my best friends, however, suggests I live my life and practice my profession as if there were no technological bells and whistles. He says the day will come when it will be revealed that all this technology was mere smoke and mirrors. He forecasts that this revelation will come all-too-late for those of us in the biz of edutainment. Old school profs, like himself, will carry the torch while folks like me will be dumbstruck with the harsh realities of the fleshworld.
I hope I'm not that consumed with bells and whistles. I hope he's wrong, too, that we can co-exist without bursting anyone's bubble. I guess until his gloomy forecast comes true, I will poke around and do my best.
Thursday, September 06, 2007
Observed
What with all the hubbub lately over Senator Larry Craig, I may be a bit more aware of bathroom etiquette than usual...but I've sure seen some strange things this week.
Write your name in feces! Why would someone do anything with their waste but flush it? Maybe I'm conservative or old school on this one, maybe repressed in my upbringing or something, but it seems a bit odd to me. Above all else, why would one be so proud as to ascribe their name on the stall wall, and yet do it with poop?
Tall voyeurs lurk. (Women may not be able to relate to this one...) Toilet stalls are in men's rooms for work to be done sitting down. Other acts should be done at the urinal. I know some people have bashful bladder and need the security of a stall to accomplish their tasks; however, it's just creepy when especially tall men choose to urinate in an adjacent stall. All too often there is some uncomfortable exchange, "Hey, how's it goin'" when eye contact is made over the top of the stall. Why are they standing over there, and why are they looking down here? It's just odd.
Mobile Phone madness. Not only have I heard people regularly converse while in a stall doing their business, but I've also heard those conversations punctuated with grunting, panting, and other sounds that accompany the work to be done in the stall. I would not want to be on the phone with someone thus engaged. Why do people insist on talking on their mobile phones while they are otherwise so busy?
....and today, the most peculiar observation of late...
I had to make a visit to the high school "BOYS" restroom, for the one in my building was out of commission. This alone brought back eerie memories of fighting, of pissing contests, and of many unmentionables that ever-haunt a fellow. Anyway, while in the boy's room, I was at the urinal (as anyone should be when executing the function I was involved in). Nearby, some young man was in a stall, sitting there with his pants around his ankles. He was not overly consumed with his biological function therein; however, he was totally consumed with flipping two coins. He would flip the pair, then grumble or comment under his breath, then pick them up and do it again, and again, and again...this continued through my follow-up hand washing, my attention to good grooming, and likely long after I left. He was, at one time, apparently pleased with the outcome of the coin flipping, commenting, "Finally!" (though this could have been something related to his other purpose in the stall, I guess). I am supposing that he was testing statistics, attempting to note (perhaps in human excrement tally marks inside the stall) whenever the two were coming up the same side up--but I will never know.
Keep an eye out, there are always strange things afoot.
Write your name in feces! Why would someone do anything with their waste but flush it? Maybe I'm conservative or old school on this one, maybe repressed in my upbringing or something, but it seems a bit odd to me. Above all else, why would one be so proud as to ascribe their name on the stall wall, and yet do it with poop?
Tall voyeurs lurk. (Women may not be able to relate to this one...) Toilet stalls are in men's rooms for work to be done sitting down. Other acts should be done at the urinal. I know some people have bashful bladder and need the security of a stall to accomplish their tasks; however, it's just creepy when especially tall men choose to urinate in an adjacent stall. All too often there is some uncomfortable exchange, "Hey, how's it goin'" when eye contact is made over the top of the stall. Why are they standing over there, and why are they looking down here? It's just odd.
Mobile Phone madness. Not only have I heard people regularly converse while in a stall doing their business, but I've also heard those conversations punctuated with grunting, panting, and other sounds that accompany the work to be done in the stall. I would not want to be on the phone with someone thus engaged. Why do people insist on talking on their mobile phones while they are otherwise so busy?
....and today, the most peculiar observation of late...
I had to make a visit to the high school "BOYS" restroom, for the one in my building was out of commission. This alone brought back eerie memories of fighting, of pissing contests, and of many unmentionables that ever-haunt a fellow. Anyway, while in the boy's room, I was at the urinal (as anyone should be when executing the function I was involved in). Nearby, some young man was in a stall, sitting there with his pants around his ankles. He was not overly consumed with his biological function therein; however, he was totally consumed with flipping two coins. He would flip the pair, then grumble or comment under his breath, then pick them up and do it again, and again, and again...this continued through my follow-up hand washing, my attention to good grooming, and likely long after I left. He was, at one time, apparently pleased with the outcome of the coin flipping, commenting, "Finally!" (though this could have been something related to his other purpose in the stall, I guess). I am supposing that he was testing statistics, attempting to note (perhaps in human excrement tally marks inside the stall) whenever the two were coming up the same side up--but I will never know.
Keep an eye out, there are always strange things afoot.
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
Total Tonality
Ever hear a high-pitched sound in the background?
Ever just gradually shut out sound after sound to find your own internal tone? This may 'sound' crazy, but it's been a sleeping secret of mine for decades. Whenever I find my mind to be too brain-busy to snooze, I can listen. Somehow, I narrow down and winnow away the ambient noises of life (air conditioner, cars passing, etc). I continue this listening to hear beyond my own breathing and heart beat, and eventually I wind up with a tone, I guess one would call it. It is just a constant beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep sounding out there beyond what one would normally attend to. Finding this pitch has always been a way to find my center and solace. I can almost always put myself to sleep by giving it my exclusive attention.
Or, I can carry on. Sometimes, I've found myself just dipping into my head to see if that sound is still there--and it always is--then continuing about my day.
One time it tends to be obvious is when true hearing is momentarily impaired, like right after a very loud explosion. Then I can hear my tone and nothing else. When I am startled awake, listening hard for what woke me, I have a hard time hearing around the tone.
Another occurrence of the tone, and this is the subject of this post, is when I am so beyond exhausted that I seem to have less control of my attention. I am hearing said tone even now, in spite of hallway traffic, the tip-tapping of my keyboard, etc. At times like this, the tone is annoying, a keen keening that rents my head. I don't have a headache, and I'm not especially distracted, but I do have this noticeable, ever-present pitch making itself known, embedded in every auditory experience of my day, an aural intruder. I can no more shut it out or turn it down than I could unplug my own pulse.
I wonder about the tone. I wonder if, perhaps, everyone has their own frequency...and maybe, do kindred spirits have harmonious tones whether they know it or not? I wonder if one is truly dead when his/her tone dies out, rather than brain waves or vital signs. Maybe The Tone is the ultimate vital sign.
...or maybe I'm just hearing things.
Ever just gradually shut out sound after sound to find your own internal tone? This may 'sound' crazy, but it's been a sleeping secret of mine for decades. Whenever I find my mind to be too brain-busy to snooze, I can listen. Somehow, I narrow down and winnow away the ambient noises of life (air conditioner, cars passing, etc). I continue this listening to hear beyond my own breathing and heart beat, and eventually I wind up with a tone, I guess one would call it. It is just a constant beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep sounding out there beyond what one would normally attend to. Finding this pitch has always been a way to find my center and solace. I can almost always put myself to sleep by giving it my exclusive attention.
Or, I can carry on. Sometimes, I've found myself just dipping into my head to see if that sound is still there--and it always is--then continuing about my day.
One time it tends to be obvious is when true hearing is momentarily impaired, like right after a very loud explosion. Then I can hear my tone and nothing else. When I am startled awake, listening hard for what woke me, I have a hard time hearing around the tone.
Another occurrence of the tone, and this is the subject of this post, is when I am so beyond exhausted that I seem to have less control of my attention. I am hearing said tone even now, in spite of hallway traffic, the tip-tapping of my keyboard, etc. At times like this, the tone is annoying, a keen keening that rents my head. I don't have a headache, and I'm not especially distracted, but I do have this noticeable, ever-present pitch making itself known, embedded in every auditory experience of my day, an aural intruder. I can no more shut it out or turn it down than I could unplug my own pulse.
I wonder about the tone. I wonder if, perhaps, everyone has their own frequency...and maybe, do kindred spirits have harmonious tones whether they know it or not? I wonder if one is truly dead when his/her tone dies out, rather than brain waves or vital signs. Maybe The Tone is the ultimate vital sign.
...or maybe I'm just hearing things.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Highly recommended
We recently took our kids, finding the place to be total pneumatic pandemonium, a good time was had by all.
I initially intended to read a book, sit on the sidelines--but once I got bouncing, there was no turning fuddy-duddy. It's a great workout, too.
Closure
Lately, the words "the end" have been more than I can bear. "Closed" and "Good-bye" are on the list, too. For some reason I've yet to cog, I cannot easily accept closures.
I am now turning the last 50 pages of the Harry Potter saga, and each leaf turned leaves an emptiness in the pit of my stomach.
Just last Friday, I took my boys to the auction of the Prairie Rose enterprise. For those who are unfamiliar, there once was a chuckwagon supper club, complete with true cowboy/wild west sing-alongs, etc...set in the countryside, featuring the Prairie Rose Wranglers (akin to Riders in the Sky). Unfortunately the PR was yet another casualty of the over-extension of one Mr. Thomas Etheridge, who put all his money, faith, credit, etc... into what was (for a month or two) Wild West World. Now, we bought the season pass to WWW, and we talked others into it, thinking it would be good to show our support for the state's premiere and one of the nation's only western themed theme parks. Alas, it went belly up.
Attending the auction only reminded me of one of my deepest scars--my own family farm auction, circa 1981. That event was more sorrowful for me than most funerals I've attended.
The closures don't end! The Palace on the east side of Wichita, the one which played small release, debut, independent films--closed this summer. Cowley College's Southside Center is to close next semester. Half of the food court at the Hutchinson Mall is vacant. I don't know why these things stick with me, but they do, like a burr in my saddle, and they chafe.
I am already anticipating that hollow feel of the end of a semester, and it's only week 2.
I am now turning the last 50 pages of the Harry Potter saga, and each leaf turned leaves an emptiness in the pit of my stomach.
Just last Friday, I took my boys to the auction of the Prairie Rose enterprise. For those who are unfamiliar, there once was a chuckwagon supper club, complete with true cowboy/wild west sing-alongs, etc...set in the countryside, featuring the Prairie Rose Wranglers (akin to Riders in the Sky). Unfortunately the PR was yet another casualty of the over-extension of one Mr. Thomas Etheridge, who put all his money, faith, credit, etc... into what was (for a month or two) Wild West World. Now, we bought the season pass to WWW, and we talked others into it, thinking it would be good to show our support for the state's premiere and one of the nation's only western themed theme parks. Alas, it went belly up.
Attending the auction only reminded me of one of my deepest scars--my own family farm auction, circa 1981. That event was more sorrowful for me than most funerals I've attended.
The closures don't end! The Palace on the east side of Wichita, the one which played small release, debut, independent films--closed this summer. Cowley College's Southside Center is to close next semester. Half of the food court at the Hutchinson Mall is vacant. I don't know why these things stick with me, but they do, like a burr in my saddle, and they chafe.
I am already anticipating that hollow feel of the end of a semester, and it's only week 2.
Friday, August 24, 2007
Weekend's here!
I don't know if I've ever been so relieved. I do say, "Yahoo! and all that." It's only the first week of work, but it's been lengthy, at times agonizing...not the workload or the student interface or even being boxed up in an industrial grade office full of florescent lighting. The hard part has been, as I predicted, being away from my farm and family. I want to go home, sit on the porch, pick ticks off my beagle until the rest of the family wakes up for the day.
*sigh*
On a related note--this weekend I am literally going home, to southwest Kansas. We're to attend a balloon festival in Garden City. I'm even bringing my mom.
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Internet Confession
Recently at an instructor's meeting I confessed (as part of an ice breaking activity) that my secret passion was for the boundless world wide web. While not openly scoffed or scorned, I could feel others' evil eyes upon me. I could almost hear them plotting to have me removed from the room.
Maybe it wasn't the best venue to make such a confession. Others were passionate about Jane Austin or tagging butterflies.
Truly, I do find the Internet to be fascinating. I never tire of it. As it has evolved over the last ten years or so, I've been drawn in further and further, to the point I now feel lost without it. The latest discovery I have made which only enables my addiction is: google bookmarks. I had favorites and bookmarks on four different PC's, plus I'd saved them as a html file from other PC's that had crashed, etc... The bookmark tool allows me to compile them all in one handy spot, right on my igoogle page. (I'm sure this is not a new invention, that there are others on the market that may even be better, but it works very well for me!) Now I have full access to all my favorite sites.
I think one reason I like the web is that it is arranged something like I think. I know we all think by association, that there are linear connections and constructs, but folks claim I have this odd way of riding several tangents at a time. This is, similarly, how I poke around the Internet. Thank goodness for Firefox (and now IE) tabs, too, for I can have two or so browsers going, with several tabs each, and flip back/forth. These explorations of the Internet are beyond surfing, which seems so much like a surface sport; they are more like riding dividing torpedoes in the deep sea. I lose all track of time, and when I do surface, I get the bends.
Maybe it wasn't the best venue to make such a confession. Others were passionate about Jane Austin or tagging butterflies.
Truly, I do find the Internet to be fascinating. I never tire of it. As it has evolved over the last ten years or so, I've been drawn in further and further, to the point I now feel lost without it. The latest discovery I have made which only enables my addiction is: google bookmarks. I had favorites and bookmarks on four different PC's, plus I'd saved them as a html file from other PC's that had crashed, etc... The bookmark tool allows me to compile them all in one handy spot, right on my igoogle page. (I'm sure this is not a new invention, that there are others on the market that may even be better, but it works very well for me!) Now I have full access to all my favorite sites.
I think one reason I like the web is that it is arranged something like I think. I know we all think by association, that there are linear connections and constructs, but folks claim I have this odd way of riding several tangents at a time. This is, similarly, how I poke around the Internet. Thank goodness for Firefox (and now IE) tabs, too, for I can have two or so browsers going, with several tabs each, and flip back/forth. These explorations of the Internet are beyond surfing, which seems so much like a surface sport; they are more like riding dividing torpedoes in the deep sea. I lose all track of time, and when I do surface, I get the bends.
Monday, August 20, 2007
Back in the Saddle Again
'Tis the first day of school for the term for me. To sum up in a word: uncomfortable. I've not worn shoes regularly, and now I'm back to the full-on suit. Classes don't start for me for another hour yet, and I find myself chomping at the bit.
In the past, I would watch inspirational "teacher movies" before the term started. I would wander the school supplies aisle and revel. If possible, I would visit a grade school classroom (under the pretense of supervising a volunteer) just so I could whiff the floor wax, the plastic painting aprons, the crayons...olfactory nostalgia is potent!
I am over all that, but I remain a person who likes to mark an occasion. I like to celebrate the end of one thing, the start of another. This tendency has amplified with children, from cutting teeth to using the toilet, from outgrowing clothes to dispensing with baby-talk....This need to launch fireworks, to dance naked in a ticker-tape parade...it seems it's getting more prominent as I age. Celebrating, or at least noting, the turn of semesters and seasons is likely understandable...but having a ceremony for the end of USA network's summer season, hosting a party to mourn the last Harry Potter book...really!
It's not that events, epochs, turns of every thing are not noted in reflective writings. It's not that they go unnoticed by my wife's scrapbooking camera. Heck, I even voice my huzzahs and laments, constantly. (Ask my wife!)
It's so commonly a part of me now that even my 4yr old models it. He was hanging down his head recently, and when I asked him why, he sighed that he was getting too old for some toy. He was already cognizant of his age and of how he is on a continuum.
So, anyway, smack some champagne on my hull and let's get on with it.
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
Greensburg
The town that always had "A great big well-come for you."
The town was on my route home; it was my rest stop of choice. I spent many-an-hour in Davis Park, resting, smoking, eating, playing on the playground, changing diapers...I wonder if the park is still there?
Unlike ratings-starved media freaks, I'm not going to poke around Greensburg for a while. Someday yet this month, I'll pass through (or around, if it's still an issue) and I'll rubberneck like everyone else. For now, however, I'm going to leave those folk alone. Later, like I did after Andover and Hoisington, I'll rally up some student volunteers and we'll help where needed. For now, people need to find their own way a little.
Sure, the logistics of power, water, and policing are important. I know the government support and the well-meaning (though still rubbernecking, on volunteer vacation, disaster tourism) will be there to pick up and clean up and overall, provide. I know this because a tornado grazed our farmstead when I was a kid. A flood forced me to evacuate (though only for a day or two) when I lived in Arkansas City. Help will come. It is needed and even...well-come.
However, people need their space, too. Grieving over loss of one's home is not that different from grieving the loss of a family member. People appreciate the acquaintances and well-wishers from the community-at-large, but the first need family and friends. They will need to sort among the scattered waste with their own neighbors, sometimes chuckling over the fence that once separated what was once their respective properties. Homeowners will find their lots, and local folk (not national guardsmen with bulldozers) will return the barbecue grill the tornado 'borrowed' and did not return from 'cross town. People need to touch the remains of the foundation of the house their grandpa built. They need space and time to find their own stuff (artifacts, tokens, talismans, touchstones). They need to hold that horseshoe that hung over the back porch door, knock some mud off it, and pocket it for later.
I heard they're taking odds inVegas on whether or not Greensburg will rebuild. Here's an inside scoop for you gamblers: rebuild is a sure bet. The people of Greensburg are KANSANS. Tornado alley is populated with hearty folk.
The town was on my route home; it was my rest stop of choice. I spent many-an-hour in Davis Park, resting, smoking, eating, playing on the playground, changing diapers...I wonder if the park is still there?
Unlike ratings-starved media freaks, I'm not going to poke around Greensburg for a while. Someday yet this month, I'll pass through (or around, if it's still an issue) and I'll rubberneck like everyone else. For now, however, I'm going to leave those folk alone. Later, like I did after Andover and Hoisington, I'll rally up some student volunteers and we'll help where needed. For now, people need to find their own way a little.
Sure, the logistics of power, water, and policing are important. I know the government support and the well-meaning (though still rubbernecking, on volunteer vacation, disaster tourism) will be there to pick up and clean up and overall, provide. I know this because a tornado grazed our farmstead when I was a kid. A flood forced me to evacuate (though only for a day or two) when I lived in Arkansas City. Help will come. It is needed and even...well-come.
However, people need their space, too. Grieving over loss of one's home is not that different from grieving the loss of a family member. People appreciate the acquaintances and well-wishers from the community-at-large, but the first need family and friends. They will need to sort among the scattered waste with their own neighbors, sometimes chuckling over the fence that once separated what was once their respective properties. Homeowners will find their lots, and local folk (not national guardsmen with bulldozers) will return the barbecue grill the tornado 'borrowed' and did not return from 'cross town. People need to touch the remains of the foundation of the house their grandpa built. They need space and time to find their own stuff (artifacts, tokens, talismans, touchstones). They need to hold that horseshoe that hung over the back porch door, knock some mud off it, and pocket it for later.
I heard they're taking odds inVegas on whether or not Greensburg will rebuild. Here's an inside scoop for you gamblers: rebuild is a sure bet. The people of Greensburg are KANSANS. Tornado alley is populated with hearty folk.
Monday, May 07, 2007
Worms and Suds
Maybe it's due to end-of-term grading loads...maybe I'm really losing my mind and just finally starting to notice...but lately the world around me has offered some startling new degree of Presence, if not Insight. It's as if, suddenly, seeing a tree bud up close is somehow bringing me full circle from, "Oh, it's Spring." to the botanical comprehension of it all, then again through some cycle-of-life insight, and back again to just marveling at nature. (Likely this makes no sense to anyone but myself; that's why I'm sharing it.)
Example: this very morning, about 5am...it was STILL raining when I came in to work. Like always, I stopped at the back door of the building, fished out my key, and then--I noticed an earthworm. Yes, they come out when it's raining (something I'm now inspired to really grasp), but this particular worm had 'wormed' its way to the doormat of the college. (It is finals week, remember, and maybe I was lost in thought there about the mental state of worms and students, how this very worm (eager beaver) was waiting at the gates of higher learning, "First one here!"--but that did not last long.) That fleeting thought fled when I noticed something much more interesting...
The doormat is of the variety that features many, many little rubber 'nubbies' or thick hairs. They are about the diameter of a pencil lead, and they are less-than a 1/2 inch tall. The worm was working its way across the doormat, shimmying through these nubbies. Most of its body, then, was in a perfectly straight line; however, sometime prior to my arrival, something had compelled the worm to make a right hand turn, continue an inch or so, then a left turn, and it was in the process of another right. (I had never seen a worm do such a thing, something that seemed strikingly symetrical for a worm. If you can imagine, it created something of a question mark by design.)
Of course, the nubbies had guided the worm in forming such straight lines, but I will always wonder if the worm was raising a question. Was it just making its way through an unnecessarily complicated route? (It could have shot straight across the mat, after all, or just never bothered to go there in the first place!) Was it sending me a sign? Did the nubbies feel good, rubbing along its sides, or did the worm find them laborious and bothersome? Do I sometimes, like this worm, get so confounded by the nubbies that I cannot take my naturally wormy course?
Previously, maybe a week ago, I was driving across Wichita early one morning when I spied a white blob ahead, just over the hill. As I approached, it was becoming clear to me the blob was not simply a trash bag, as I had first assumed. Since I was going 45 or so, I closed on it rapidly. The few other vehicles on this same course had either stopped or swerved or taken some other detour when their drivers realized the blob was as big as a freight car...however, I did not waiver. In the instant I knew it to be suds, bubbles, what-have-you...I forged on through. (I drive a pickup, and thus, my untoward mentality.) It was great fun to plow through the foam, to look in my rear view mirror at how the blob had scattered in my wake. (The source of the blob, I also came to note, was some prankster dumping detergent in the waterfall element outside some swank housing development.)
The blob of bubbles, the wall of suds, gained almost metaphysical proportion to me. I had persisted. I had burst through...when others had been wary, I was bold. Of course, this is silly, but then, charging through an opaque obstruction is also both silly and dangerous...I am just noting that such a thing had never crossed my path before, in nigh 40 years of driving. It still strikes me as something beyond peculiar, something...meaningful...but I've not yet figured it out. Like the lifespan of a bubble, whatever I should have taken with me from that instant just seems to have popped. Thus, I have had an epiphany with no piff. Something happened, but I do not know what it was (?)
These are but two of somewhere near a dozen "twilight zone" observations I've had in the last two weeks. Am I losing my mind? Opening my mind?...or am I just dazed and overworked?
We'll see.
Example: this very morning, about 5am...it was STILL raining when I came in to work. Like always, I stopped at the back door of the building, fished out my key, and then--I noticed an earthworm. Yes, they come out when it's raining (something I'm now inspired to really grasp), but this particular worm had 'wormed' its way to the doormat of the college. (It is finals week, remember, and maybe I was lost in thought there about the mental state of worms and students, how this very worm (eager beaver) was waiting at the gates of higher learning, "First one here!"--but that did not last long.) That fleeting thought fled when I noticed something much more interesting...
The doormat is of the variety that features many, many little rubber 'nubbies' or thick hairs. They are about the diameter of a pencil lead, and they are less-than a 1/2 inch tall. The worm was working its way across the doormat, shimmying through these nubbies. Most of its body, then, was in a perfectly straight line; however, sometime prior to my arrival, something had compelled the worm to make a right hand turn, continue an inch or so, then a left turn, and it was in the process of another right. (I had never seen a worm do such a thing, something that seemed strikingly symetrical for a worm. If you can imagine, it created something of a question mark by design.)
Of course, the nubbies had guided the worm in forming such straight lines, but I will always wonder if the worm was raising a question. Was it just making its way through an unnecessarily complicated route? (It could have shot straight across the mat, after all, or just never bothered to go there in the first place!) Was it sending me a sign? Did the nubbies feel good, rubbing along its sides, or did the worm find them laborious and bothersome? Do I sometimes, like this worm, get so confounded by the nubbies that I cannot take my naturally wormy course?
Previously, maybe a week ago, I was driving across Wichita early one morning when I spied a white blob ahead, just over the hill. As I approached, it was becoming clear to me the blob was not simply a trash bag, as I had first assumed. Since I was going 45 or so, I closed on it rapidly. The few other vehicles on this same course had either stopped or swerved or taken some other detour when their drivers realized the blob was as big as a freight car...however, I did not waiver. In the instant I knew it to be suds, bubbles, what-have-you...I forged on through. (I drive a pickup, and thus, my untoward mentality.) It was great fun to plow through the foam, to look in my rear view mirror at how the blob had scattered in my wake. (The source of the blob, I also came to note, was some prankster dumping detergent in the waterfall element outside some swank housing development.)
The blob of bubbles, the wall of suds, gained almost metaphysical proportion to me. I had persisted. I had burst through...when others had been wary, I was bold. Of course, this is silly, but then, charging through an opaque obstruction is also both silly and dangerous...I am just noting that such a thing had never crossed my path before, in nigh 40 years of driving. It still strikes me as something beyond peculiar, something...meaningful...but I've not yet figured it out. Like the lifespan of a bubble, whatever I should have taken with me from that instant just seems to have popped. Thus, I have had an epiphany with no piff. Something happened, but I do not know what it was (?)
These are but two of somewhere near a dozen "twilight zone" observations I've had in the last two weeks. Am I losing my mind? Opening my mind?...or am I just dazed and overworked?
We'll see.
Sunday, April 29, 2007
Innocence
BILL MOYERS: Have you lost your innocence?
JON STEWART: What? Well, it was in 1981, it was at a frat party. Oh, I'm sorry. You know, I think this is gonna sound incredibly pat, but I think you lose your innocence when you have kids, because the world suddenly becomes a much more dangerous place. And you become much more — there are two things that happen. You recognize how fragile individuals are, and you recognize the strength of the general overall group, but you don't care anymore. You're just fighting for the one thing. See and then, you also recognize that everybody, then, is also somebody's child. It's I'm yeah, I mean it's-- tumultuous.
For the full transcript or video of the initial (brilliant!) episode of Bill Moyers Journal, go here.
JON STEWART: What? Well, it was in 1981, it was at a frat party. Oh, I'm sorry. You know, I think this is gonna sound incredibly pat, but I think you lose your innocence when you have kids, because the world suddenly becomes a much more dangerous place. And you become much more — there are two things that happen. You recognize how fragile individuals are, and you recognize the strength of the general overall group, but you don't care anymore. You're just fighting for the one thing. See and then, you also recognize that everybody, then, is also somebody's child. It's I'm yeah, I mean it's-- tumultuous.
For the full transcript or video of the initial (brilliant!) episode of Bill Moyers Journal, go here.
Friday, April 20, 2007
Harsh Realities
I've written many times how utterly admirable I consider the innocence, humor and honesty of children. I've related my moments of concern, a decade early, for when my boys become teens, etc.
Yesterday, I was musing over how harsh the world is...and how hard it would be to cope with a sudden exposure to all this harshness, all at once. Fortunately (I guess) bliss fades slowly as children become acclimated to reality. I am of the camp that wishes a)there was no reality, b)that acclimation might come as slowly as possible and c)I did not have to be the lead teacher in all-things-harsh-and-real.
Not so long ago, my son learned that adults fall down (when I tripped on a hike with him). He has since learned that we don't always keep our word (I fell asleep once instead of telling him his bedtime story, as promised). He is now learning the value(?) of money, being rewarded by people with change for various little tasks. All-too-soon, he will be exposed to the pains of love.
This all came to me when sitting in the bathroom. I discovered we had no conventional paper product to complete the mission...so I used baby wipes. Ahhhhhhhhhh. Lanolin enriched, smooth, cool baby wipes! That's when I was moved to epiphany: my boys have never felt the roughness of toilet paper, let alone the sandpaper found in public bathrooms or the strange waxpaper squares we had in school bathrooms...so very much harshness ahead.
I have a friend who suffered an aneurysm. She had to learn everything again, from walking and talking to her family and friends. She expressed to me that re-learning the hard, cruel nature of the world was the worst of her recovery.
At times when I've been impatient with my slow learning I long for some microchip implant or epiphany that will lead me to complete enlightenment. I wish I were, you know, smart! Reflecting on my friend's recovery and my boys' gradual exposure...I guess it's probably for the best that our brains are on simmer rather than microwave-enlightenment. I guess I'll just slow cook and bask in it all, day by day...and hopefully I'll be there (and be supportive) when my kids are exposed to some of the more harsh realities they'll face.
Yesterday, I was musing over how harsh the world is...and how hard it would be to cope with a sudden exposure to all this harshness, all at once. Fortunately (I guess) bliss fades slowly as children become acclimated to reality. I am of the camp that wishes a)there was no reality, b)that acclimation might come as slowly as possible and c)I did not have to be the lead teacher in all-things-harsh-and-real.
Not so long ago, my son learned that adults fall down (when I tripped on a hike with him). He has since learned that we don't always keep our word (I fell asleep once instead of telling him his bedtime story, as promised). He is now learning the value(?) of money, being rewarded by people with change for various little tasks. All-too-soon, he will be exposed to the pains of love.
This all came to me when sitting in the bathroom. I discovered we had no conventional paper product to complete the mission...so I used baby wipes. Ahhhhhhhhhh. Lanolin enriched, smooth, cool baby wipes! That's when I was moved to epiphany: my boys have never felt the roughness of toilet paper, let alone the sandpaper found in public bathrooms or the strange waxpaper squares we had in school bathrooms...so very much harshness ahead.
I have a friend who suffered an aneurysm. She had to learn everything again, from walking and talking to her family and friends. She expressed to me that re-learning the hard, cruel nature of the world was the worst of her recovery.
At times when I've been impatient with my slow learning I long for some microchip implant or epiphany that will lead me to complete enlightenment. I wish I were, you know, smart! Reflecting on my friend's recovery and my boys' gradual exposure...I guess it's probably for the best that our brains are on simmer rather than microwave-enlightenment. I guess I'll just slow cook and bask in it all, day by day...and hopefully I'll be there (and be supportive) when my kids are exposed to some of the more harsh realities they'll face.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Inconvenient....Truth(?)
I finally had a chance to see Gore's Inconvenient Truth last week at the 89th Annual Phi Theta Kappa convention. Afterward, a forum (of sorts) aired ideas from the crowd. I was astonished that a bunch of honor students seemed to take Gore's word for everything. The few dissenting voices (including one moderator) were scorned. It could have been a byproduct of Gore's personal appearance and presentation earlier in the day (star power drives the masses). It could have been that the film has a very ominous tone and fair credibility.
Whatever the case, I became only more disconcerted. In my opinion, mass hysteria spawned from the film's screening did not make it beyond the doors of the room in which it was screened. Informal follow-up discussions were even more disconcerting. The students were proud of their recycling, highway clean up projects, and of Phi Theta Kappa's Operation Green--but they did not seem to get the point. Should the flaming prophets of global warming truly be correct, world culture would need much more reform than hybrid cars.
Those idealistic students are to be admired, for at least they are somewhat sensitized and they do at least make a token effort towards cleaning up the environment. Young people are not so jaded; they are more receptive to a message (if not downright gullible at times). Social change can and has at times been driven by youth.
However, to affect change, we must go deeper than band-aid service and pats on the back.
I probed for student opinion on the following, but my queries were considered comical:
- So, what percentage of emissions are individually based versus industrially based?
- Ice core records clock 1/2 million years of C02, what of the millions of years prior to that?
- Would you give up cars, planes, plastic or air conditioning?
- Other than sweat equity service projects, what can you do to address core problems?
I am not much different. I know and own my disparities, so do I think that makes me any better? Nah. At least it allows me to amuse myself. If I ever hop on the environmental bandwagon, I'll make sure it's not propelled by petroleum. I'll be wearing hand-crafted natural fibers, too. I'll be living in an intentional community that's self-sustaining. Above all, and with every issue, I'll be questioning 'authorities' like Al Gore.
If the Honorable (former) vice-president and one time 'next future president' had his heart in the right place, he would not charge for his presentation. True prophets are not interested in profits, after all. Instead, rumor has it he charged our academic honorary an honorarium of $175,000 for his 1/2 hr rap. In the film, he stated that he had given the speech worldwide well-over 1,000 times...what a lucrative sermon!
I've said it before, and I'll say it again: when money's involved, sniff for sincerity.
Thursday, April 05, 2007
Thoughts from the Play Place
I'm not uncomfortable getting on the floor and crawling around with my boys, pretending to be a horse or dragon or 'wrestling king.' I've been on many-a kiddie ride and playground, too, and I can find fun in all of it (with or without the kids, I admit).
Enter the Play Place
Enter the Play Place
From the road, the only intelligent vantage point, a play place seems something like an aquarium. It looks a bit like a new-in-the-box hamster maze, maybe. At this distance, it is only a quiet glass room tacked onto a tacky restaurant. This is the safe and sane distance I kept from such places for forty years. I did not have to go into one to know what was inside, for every time the door would open to the play place, I could hear the chaos, the screaming, the noise, noise, noise! I used to wonder what would lead a parent to subject their child to such a place.
I have since been able to confirm, on all counts, that these places are loud. On top of that, they may not be so sanitary, either. Once I saw a kid with a bulging diaper leave a brown streak down the slide. Another time, our son reported a pool of vomit. Sometimes kids crawl from the tunnels red-faced, panting, bleeding, crying...
...but most always, they emerge laughing. What I mistook for noise is the shrill laughter of crazed kids having a good time. While it might seem demeaning to put a child in this environment, I've witnessed some great play ground ethics and values in practice. Children are not generally just bumbling through the tunnels like rats; they are instead exploring, forming teams, playing hide and seek, racing...in short, they are playing.
Just yesterday (and not for the first time) I kicked off my shoes and followed my son inside. I studied his fascination with every turn and contour. I reveled with him over our ascension to the heights of the maze. I watched his face as he zipped down the slide on this belly, myself right behind him. Though he does not yet say much, he was loving every minute of it, and his laughter said it all.
I also was an intruder. Sure parents (myself included, once in a while) invade the play place to retrieve a child now and then. A rare few, like myself, might be found inside actually playing, but we are so rare that the kids don't quite know what to make of us.
Initially, I feel like Jane Goodall. I'm not sure if it's okay to make eye contact. I don't know their social norms. I cannot fit in, no matter how playful I become, for I am three times their size. Sometimes, due to my bulk, I cannot navigate the tubes as quickly as they do, and so I worry they will become annoyed with me. The squealing and laughter is amplified within the plastic tunnels, and it seems as if it is now an alarm sounding my presence. The constant thundering of knees and feet are now the beat of war drums in my ears.
Here's the interesting part: it's obvious that they are surprised to find me in their world. At first, they don't quite know what to say. It's only a moment, however, and then they are inviting me to chase them, asking me what's up ahead, wallowing past me...in general, accepting me. Like little ambassadors, they show me old french fries and holes in the walls of their den. They tell me all about their experiences at a variety of play places. A boy apologizes for not wearing socks.
Like all my encounters with children, I am again impressed by their civility and acceptance. I suppose someone on the street would see it as a herd of kids crawling over some hapless grownup trapped in the bowels of a hamster maze. From the street, or even in the restaurant proper, or even from the floor below--from any distance--one misses the whole thing. Being accepted and loved by them may involve a little slobber and sweat (and later, some aching muscles) but it is a whole and complete acceptance into their wacky world.
We could learn something from them.
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
We, the sissies...
Okay, time for my conservative side.
Recess without dodge-ball? Red Rover? 'Tis true, some schools have regulations on recess (something of a paradox, governed/regulated free time), prohibiting activities that might be hurtful to a child's self image. If they've not already, I'm sure picking-of-teams is on the list of activities to be cut soon.
Extra-curricular activities reflect this cultural sensitivity, this hyperactive Politically Correct movement...just last week on the news I heard of little league teams which have outlawed all 'chatter' (unless it's positive). No more, "we need a pitcher, not a belly itcher," or anything so damning to the soul and tender self image. This is the same school of thought which brings us a trophy for every kid on the team, regardless of their performance or standing. Everyone is treated the same; no one is a loser.
What forced my hand, however, was the story I heard about rope-less jump rope for Physical Education class. Some students who were challenged by coordination, others who were overly taxed by gravity due to unavoidable girth (read: fat), others who stood out as awkward--complained enough that now even jumping rope is a hurdle too high. Some schools are now having children pretend to jump rope in P.E. I suppose this saves money on gym equipment, too.
This, to say nothing of grade inflation, academic negligence/malpractice suits, etc.
Anyone who regularly reads Musement Park knows I value my children above all, and the last thing I would want (in fact, something that I dread so very much I am considering homeschooling) would be for them to be bruised, beaten, belittled or in any way emotionally injured. Guess what? That's life. That's what I've learned and how I've been working through all my reservations and uber-parenting problems. We have all grown through the school of hard knocks. I was last to be picked for years. I was the target in dodgeball. I was pummeled in Red Rover, field hockey, etc...but I survived.
Boy in a Bubble--the future?
There seems no end to the regulatory, prophylactic measures our current culture deploys. If my child is to ride the bus to school, he may have to stand in a little out-house-like shelter until the bus arrives. On the bus, he may be enveloped in a protective shell around his individual assigned seat--wouldn't want unfavorable audibles to damage his sensitivities (to say nothing of spitballs). At school, he would have to march lockstep with his peers, all in uniform (so no one would feel left out or weird). School work would be play, and everyone would get a gold star every day...no scratch that, for gold stars are emblems of war...better give everyone a Wal-mart smiley face sticker. School is no longer a place for sports, music, forensics, debate or anything else that would distinguish a person as good/poor. After school, it's the same safe, secure transport back to the safe and secure hermetically sealed home.
How does this make sense?
While on the one hand, good-intentioned people are going to extremes to protect the delicate ego of the child. On the other, industry and commerce are working overtime to lure egos of all ages by any medium and by every variation of content (objectionable? maybe a generation ago--get with the times, bub!). Standards of decency, even of respect, are being recoded for our culture. So, it seems quite the quandary: protect children from any harm, but allow them to become omnivorous consumers without conscience.
Going south...
I'm digressing, and thus, I'll shut 'er down. I am just so very amazed at how things change! I don't have any answers, but I am alarmed and aware. I don't want my kids to be hurt, but neither do I want my boys to be a bunch of sissies!
Recess without dodge-ball? Red Rover? 'Tis true, some schools have regulations on recess (something of a paradox, governed/regulated free time), prohibiting activities that might be hurtful to a child's self image. If they've not already, I'm sure picking-of-teams is on the list of activities to be cut soon.
Extra-curricular activities reflect this cultural sensitivity, this hyperactive Politically Correct movement...just last week on the news I heard of little league teams which have outlawed all 'chatter' (unless it's positive). No more, "we need a pitcher, not a belly itcher," or anything so damning to the soul and tender self image. This is the same school of thought which brings us a trophy for every kid on the team, regardless of their performance or standing. Everyone is treated the same; no one is a loser.
What forced my hand, however, was the story I heard about rope-less jump rope for Physical Education class. Some students who were challenged by coordination, others who were overly taxed by gravity due to unavoidable girth (read: fat), others who stood out as awkward--complained enough that now even jumping rope is a hurdle too high. Some schools are now having children pretend to jump rope in P.E. I suppose this saves money on gym equipment, too.
This, to say nothing of grade inflation, academic negligence/malpractice suits, etc.
Anyone who regularly reads Musement Park knows I value my children above all, and the last thing I would want (in fact, something that I dread so very much I am considering homeschooling) would be for them to be bruised, beaten, belittled or in any way emotionally injured. Guess what? That's life. That's what I've learned and how I've been working through all my reservations and uber-parenting problems. We have all grown through the school of hard knocks. I was last to be picked for years. I was the target in dodgeball. I was pummeled in Red Rover, field hockey, etc...but I survived.
Boy in a Bubble--the future?
There seems no end to the regulatory, prophylactic measures our current culture deploys. If my child is to ride the bus to school, he may have to stand in a little out-house-like shelter until the bus arrives. On the bus, he may be enveloped in a protective shell around his individual assigned seat--wouldn't want unfavorable audibles to damage his sensitivities (to say nothing of spitballs). At school, he would have to march lockstep with his peers, all in uniform (so no one would feel left out or weird). School work would be play, and everyone would get a gold star every day...no scratch that, for gold stars are emblems of war...better give everyone a Wal-mart smiley face sticker. School is no longer a place for sports, music, forensics, debate or anything else that would distinguish a person as good/poor. After school, it's the same safe, secure transport back to the safe and secure hermetically sealed home.
How does this make sense?
While on the one hand, good-intentioned people are going to extremes to protect the delicate ego of the child. On the other, industry and commerce are working overtime to lure egos of all ages by any medium and by every variation of content (objectionable? maybe a generation ago--get with the times, bub!). Standards of decency, even of respect, are being recoded for our culture. So, it seems quite the quandary: protect children from any harm, but allow them to become omnivorous consumers without conscience.
Going south...
I'm digressing, and thus, I'll shut 'er down. I am just so very amazed at how things change! I don't have any answers, but I am alarmed and aware. I don't want my kids to be hurt, but neither do I want my boys to be a bunch of sissies!
Thursday, March 29, 2007
Dogpaddling
How do they do it? Those single-parent, two-job, full-time students out there who also keep a clean house and feed their kids decent homecooked meals and still have time for friends, hobbies, and a life--they amaze me.
I am barely (just barely) keeping my head above water, and I can only do that by coming in to work at 5am or earlier. Even so, I cannot manage time well-enough for friends, housework, hobbies, etc... I'm not accomplishing much. I'm not working on my novel, my future plans, my home businesses, etc. I'm about the worst friend one can imagine!
GEEZ!
Great Odin's raven! Son of a bee sting! By the beard of Zeus!
I've done time studies on myself before, cumbersome yet revealing documenting of my every mintue of every day for a week--all in an attempt to find where the time goes and how to get more of the wasted moments. I've read of how many hours we spend over a lifetime opening mail, waiting at stoplights, etc... I know I am burning my clock right now, blogging instead of something others might find more constructive...but I just do not get it! I marvel at you, busy and productive people of the good life. I could learn a great deal from you.
I've written about time many times in this blog, mostly lamenting the inability to capture it, preserve it, rewind it a-la "Click." I've expressed concern that my boys are growing too fast and that mortality is sneaking up on me in cleated hiking boots. None of this has changed much of anything in my favor, however. I guess at the very least, I'm somewhat aware of what's happening, and as with most problems, awareness is a first step toward changing things.
It's not that I'm ambitious. I'd just like to be average.
Other folks have a job, family, clean home, life, friends, hobbies, etc. I want it, too!
I am barely (just barely) keeping my head above water, and I can only do that by coming in to work at 5am or earlier. Even so, I cannot manage time well-enough for friends, housework, hobbies, etc... I'm not accomplishing much. I'm not working on my novel, my future plans, my home businesses, etc. I'm about the worst friend one can imagine!
GEEZ!
Great Odin's raven! Son of a bee sting! By the beard of Zeus!
I've done time studies on myself before, cumbersome yet revealing documenting of my every mintue of every day for a week--all in an attempt to find where the time goes and how to get more of the wasted moments. I've read of how many hours we spend over a lifetime opening mail, waiting at stoplights, etc... I know I am burning my clock right now, blogging instead of something others might find more constructive...but I just do not get it! I marvel at you, busy and productive people of the good life. I could learn a great deal from you.
I've written about time many times in this blog, mostly lamenting the inability to capture it, preserve it, rewind it a-la "Click." I've expressed concern that my boys are growing too fast and that mortality is sneaking up on me in cleated hiking boots. None of this has changed much of anything in my favor, however. I guess at the very least, I'm somewhat aware of what's happening, and as with most problems, awareness is a first step toward changing things.
It's not that I'm ambitious. I'd just like to be average.
Other folks have a job, family, clean home, life, friends, hobbies, etc. I want it, too!
Saturday, March 24, 2007
Trimmed
The entire family visited the barber/hairdressers this week...but that's not the topic of this post. Thanks to two hard-working college laborers and two very-cooperative implements: the entire homestead is trimmed and fit.
By Wednesday, we'd mowed 8 acres, moved 5 pickup loads of downed limbs, and generally just picked up the place some. Thursday, after 7 hours, we were rained out, but only after another 5 pickup loads of limbs and about that many of 'space junk' and general debris left behind by former property owners. Things look pretty spiffy, and I'm ahead of the curve this year!
I know this is not a stimulating entry, but I wanted to document progress somewhere!
By Wednesday, we'd mowed 8 acres, moved 5 pickup loads of downed limbs, and generally just picked up the place some. Thursday, after 7 hours, we were rained out, but only after another 5 pickup loads of limbs and about that many of 'space junk' and general debris left behind by former property owners. Things look pretty spiffy, and I'm ahead of the curve this year!
I know this is not a stimulating entry, but I wanted to document progress somewhere!
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Spring Break Rain
The local weatherman was apologizing to the "kiddies" for the wet spring break. I was shouting to the television, "Why, back when I was young, we had a 1/4 inch of ice in a late winter storm once...they've nothing to whine about." (My grandmother used to do just that, argue aloud with the 'picture set' all the time. She also did not watch television, she would 'look' at TV now and then...but if I follow this one out, I'll be on another rant about television, so %&%$#@)
In all truth, spring rain is rejuvenating to me (and plant life). I grew up in the desert southwest of Kansas, and even after 25 years in this climate, I find it novel that it actually rains now and then. Sometimes I marvel at just how very much it can rain around here. Tuesday we had rain and showers all day, over an inch of rain! Today, it's supposed to fall again after noon.
I most enjoy this all O U T S I D E where I'm wandering around my property finding everything in bloom. In ways I feel like a child first discovering things, and in ways I am. (Where I'm from, there were no crocus, few fruit trees, etc...) It's especially fun, for as I'm learning, I'm also teaching my boys. I think, like a naturalist, I should start a hard copy, offline, illustrated study of 'things growing here.'
I keep looking things up on the Internet and in my gardening books, but I intend to beg the extension agent to visit soon. Maybe the agent will be like Mr. Kimball, of Green Acres...Kimball is the one on the far left, a humble and good natured fellow who couldn't identify anything!
I also have a cadre of acquaintances who know more about the outdoors than I do. Maybe I'll have them out all at once, sort of a field day, to see what mother nature's cookin' out here. I do know that I don't want to spray everything, if I can help it...for one, it just seems wrong, and for another, I've a well here I don't want to contaminate.
We'll see what may come of it all. Today it's to be dry enough I can get out there again, so I'm signing off.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
All is not lost
So, my hard-drive crashed and burned. It was extracted from my work PC and today I held it in my hand...a small brick of a thing not much bigger than a PopTart. I liken it to holding a beating heart or brain in my hand...a metaphysical encounter...and so very sad. "Alas, poor Woolery, I knew him well." (I name all my computers after game show hosts: Wink, Sajak, Vanna, etc...).
...and NO, I did not back things up well. I lost somewhere around 200 bookmarked sites I so loved. I lost all my creative writing (secretly done on company time, so 'serves me right!). I lost virtually every handout, lesson plan, submitted/graded assignment, etc...two years' worth of content/materials I'll be challenged to recreate.
*sigh*
The good news: we can rebuild him. (From the 6 million $ man)
Stronger, faster, more organized...that will be my new PC (at the moment, un-named). Already I've been constructing more logical folder names, improvements on "odd stuff" or "old" or "omniscience found here." I'm reloading the gadgets and gizmos and shortcuts and programs that have been helpful over the years, like Trillian and Impatica, Softchalk and a gradebook tool...I'm clamping down security and uploading (right now) every spyware/adware/virus protection gizmo I've come to trust. I've even figured out a way to automatically tack the file/path name to every document I generate from now on, so I won't waste time poking around in my PC hunting for a file.
Maybe this will even revolutionize my cyberself, altogether. Maybe, since my template for blogger has been lost, I'll revamp even this blog's look, sometime soon.
So, I've cycled through all the stages of grieving now. Yesterday wasn't pretty, but I'm coming around. Yesterday, for just an instant, I was so angry I wanted to destroy my PC, a la "Office Space." I came to depression over just how much I've lost, how many links I may never retrace...that's still resurfacing...I returned from a break in denial, though fleeting--and I'm camping somewhere on acceptance.
Gameshow host names are coveted, if any reader has a recommendation...
...and NO, I did not back things up well. I lost somewhere around 200 bookmarked sites I so loved. I lost all my creative writing (secretly done on company time, so 'serves me right!). I lost virtually every handout, lesson plan, submitted/graded assignment, etc...two years' worth of content/materials I'll be challenged to recreate.
*sigh*
The good news: we can rebuild him. (From the 6 million $ man)
Stronger, faster, more organized...that will be my new PC (at the moment, un-named). Already I've been constructing more logical folder names, improvements on "odd stuff" or "old" or "omniscience found here." I'm reloading the gadgets and gizmos and shortcuts and programs that have been helpful over the years, like Trillian and Impatica, Softchalk and a gradebook tool...I'm clamping down security and uploading (right now) every spyware/adware/virus protection gizmo I've come to trust. I've even figured out a way to automatically tack the file/path name to every document I generate from now on, so I won't waste time poking around in my PC hunting for a file.
Maybe this will even revolutionize my cyberself, altogether. Maybe, since my template for blogger has been lost, I'll revamp even this blog's look, sometime soon.
So, I've cycled through all the stages of grieving now. Yesterday wasn't pretty, but I'm coming around. Yesterday, for just an instant, I was so angry I wanted to destroy my PC, a la "Office Space." I came to depression over just how much I've lost, how many links I may never retrace...that's still resurfacing...I returned from a break in denial, though fleeting--and I'm camping somewhere on acceptance.
Gameshow host names are coveted, if any reader has a recommendation...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
