Spock Haiku

Spock Haiku

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You're mind not illogical
In our hearts always

Cabin & Spring Fever

Spring is entering my woods, with the owls nightly call, and my classroom with more kids fighting in the halls. We are human animals and once there is light before we start school and a few precious hours after school, the rutting season has begun for the teenage animal.

Not only do they know that they're half way through the 3rd quarter of the school year, but they've been subjected to a snowy couple months that have made them buggy with cabin fever. The normal course of action for them in the winter habitat is to ski, sled, skate and mess around in the winter wonderland. But this winter has been bitterly cold and drained them of the energies necessary for such frolicking. So now that we've had a few days of nearly freezing weather, it feels practically balmy and sure as the maples will be tapped for their running sap soon, the blood in the students is increasing in temperature.

Yesterday there was a fight in the hall between two girls. It went on long enough for big crowd to gather. A few of us dispersed the crowd while the Deans arrived to take stories and create consequences. In the spring, at LHS, it is mostly girls who fight now. Is this a new step in evolution?

However, a period later, in my classroom, a situation jumped from zero to sixty between two boys. I have several of the basketball team members in that class. While waiting for the passing bell they like to "dunk" over the door. It's a way of letting off steam just as class ends.

Only this time, one of the boys was narrating while the other boys were dunking. He said that "so and so" dunked on another kid. The "dunkee" spun around and started strong arm pushing the "dunker" through the group of 25 kids and had nearly strong armed him into the cement wall before I broke it up. I removed the dunkee from my classroom and  into the hall for a talk before the bell rang. For the life of him, you could tell he was upset by his own reaction, but couldn't explain why or how it happened. If it had been bucks with horns it couldn't have been any more textbook; spring has sprung.

Spring fever meets cabin fever meets young buck impulsiveness. 'Tis the season where the students get the fever and they get it badly. Combine that with March being the month of no three day weekends, or other breaks. Usually it's also Mud Season, which is want to keep the cabin fever brewing, and this year it will probably also be Flood Season. So I'm adjusting my reaction time for Spring Fever mode (rapid response) in the classroom, hallways and parking lots (oh, yeah, it can lead to rage in the lots, too)!

It's strange when you see the shift begin. It's not just the owl's hooting at night or the birds and deer stripping the bushes, it's the teenagers starting to preen and posture without even realizing what or why they are doing it.

So on one hand we New Englanders, lovers of the four seasons, are feeling done with winter. We haven't been able to enjoy the snow and master nature ~ nature dominated us this season. We're all chanting "think spring". On the other hand, spring means a new set of potential negative hurdles; mud? flood? blood in the hall way? However, the positive view is more commonly held: cleaning, gardening, chirping, and sniffing out each young plant and animal as it presents its self anew.

Here's to winter nearing an end. Here is to thinking spring. Here is to hope rising eternal and irrational in the life cycle of all living things, young and old, come spring!

Good Night, Cabin and Spring Fever Folk, G'night!

Survival Sisters

This afternoon I communicated with two sisters, each of whom I taught when they were in High School. Now one of them is a nurse and the other is in dire need of a heart transplant. They are both at a hospital in Boston tonight and they are much on my mind. Two larger than life sisters; creative, sociable, thoughtful, kind and smart who have been there for each other since I first met them years ago.

You see, many of my students have had life threatening diseases; Chron's Disease, Leukemia and a bevy of other Cancers, Diabetes, Hemophilia, Asthma and other chronic respiratory illnesses. Each year I have at least 5 students hospitalized. This does not include elective surgeries or mending torn ligaments or broken bones. I mean organ dissections, cancer removal, blood transfusions, and testing with no definitive diagnosis. One student went from MA hospital all the way to DC a few years ago  to be studied, as no one could figure out why he was chronically ill. I'm also not including mental illness and the hospitalizations that have resulted from that.

Leominster was the birthplace of Plastics. It had been a Super Fund site and it was supposedly dealt with years ago, but there is still a disproportionate number of young people fighting diseases that you'd normally find in people much older. Among the older population, there also seems to be a disproportionate number of cancers (wide varieties) and failing hearts. By "older" I mean 30-60, not old-old (nod and a wink to those above 70).

Each year I teach students that regularly miss large swatches of school due to being ill, doctors visits or, as I stated above, being hospitalized. For some of them it's so chronic and continuous that early in the year the student will confess to me that they are out of school often. I've learned to listen to those kids and get there email and cellphone numbers early (to virtually teach them or tag team them if an out-of-school tutor enters the plan). Some kids are frequently sick or having doctors visits and I never  fully get to the bottom of their illnesses. Sometimes it's seemingly embarrassing (glands, organ and hormone irregularities) and sometimes it's stigmatized illness, like blood diseases, that people don't trust sharing the complete details.

With the two sisters, only one was direly ill. They both had the usual teenage demons and obstacles to over come, but the one sister was strong in spirit but weak in her body. She has been in hospitals more than out of them over the past two years. I touch base with both of them via Facebook, cell calls and when the ill one was working, at Michael's, I'd shop on days I knew she'd be there. The mother is present and active in their lives.

When I first started teaching in Leominster, a nurse-neighbor in Acton told me not to drink the water in Leominster. She said it was the only common denominator for the kind of crazy, inexplicable and profoundly common life-threatening diseases that came from Leominster to the UMass Medical Center where she works in Worcester. I've not had a drink of it, nor have I bought lunch at the cafeteria in the almost decade I've worked in the city.

Tonight two sisters are in a hospital in Boston. Tomorrow one of them will not be receiving the heart transplant she needs, but rather a bridge procedure which involves open-heart surgery. It's called a bivald procedure. It puts two machines on both valves of the heart and is fed electricity by a chord through one's belly button to a battery. If her heart stabilizes, then her youth will be on the side of a possible transplant in 6+- months. Then she could, perhaps, be able to go from surviving to thriving.

 The devices, however, makes a routine life difficult. One has to be close to a charging option at all times. This is a young woman and she's been fighting for a normal life since before I met her (I can't remember how many years ago now 6-7?). The other sister is her rock and helps her focus on the positive, distracts her from her fears and, I believe, became a nurse to be of use to people like her sister.

Now my wish for them both, is that they will be healthy and strong. That they, who are creative, social, smart, generous young woman will be able to one day fulfill their potential and thrive.

Right now, as Master Angelou wrote; "Surviving is Important. Thriving is Elegant."
My wish for them is an elegant future and for the surgery tomorrow to be the first step on that path!

Good Night, Survivors and Thrivers, G'night!

Comfort Food

Comfort food is imperative during these starkly cold days and nights.

Nothing beats a meal from the oven that warms you from the inside out.

Tonight I made one of my potato crust quiches and both kids ate heartily.

There is something to the basics; eggs, cheese, potatoes, garlic, broccoli and milk.

I'm so tired; mentally and physically from the relentless cold combined with the snow and ice.

However, it gives me pleasure to shop, slice, dice, sauté, whisk, pour and bake for my kids.

Making food for those you love is an act of love. They too are tired of the short hours of light, long dark nights, interrupted routines and staycation brought about by the weather that has insinuated itself into our schedules and breaks. Yet, if I put potatoes and cheese into a mixture and bake it ~ ta-da ~ we're transported to a warmer emotional climate instantly.

Pierogies and homemade Lo Mien are on the menu fro the next two nights. Starches, veggies, and plant proteins or cheese seem to be the most soothing.

My mind is tired and my fingers chafed from handling too much salt and sand in recent weeks. Not of the lovely beach and ocean variety, but rather the roof and driveway kind. So drawing on old family favorites in the kitchen allows us to snuggle under a blanket, sit by a fire and just relax our shoulders.

Now it's time to go to sleep...I think it's begun to snow, again. But the aroma of garlic and quiche still hover in the air above my bed, lulling me to sleep.

Good night, family and friends, G'night.

Stoic Yankee Stock

(Spring Countdown Clock: http://days.to/spring/2015 )

This is going to be short as I'm exhausted from the first day back at school and from having stayed up too late watching the Oscars.

I'm tired of winter. I love to sled, ski, skate and all those fun, free and outdoor activities. However this winter has been one bloody outdoor obstacle course, not a playground. I'm hoping to ski in the woods at least once before it melts....

Melting. The next big threat. May have to shovel the multiple feet of snow away from the house on the upward side of the hill so that it doesn't all run into my basement during the thaw. None immanent, mind you, but the threat is tapping on the back of my brain.

The cold. Yesterday was the first day above freezing in a month. It was so cold that my students didn't even go down hill skiing over the break. And there was fresh powder, in huge quantities, in New England ~ which never happens, but it was too cold. One friend of mine reported two frostbitten toes in his tales of skiing over the vacation. Tonight, through midday tomorrow, we have our 5-6 windchill alert within the last two weeks. Supposed to go down to -20 - -30.

Today I didn't go on the roof (one of two days in the last three weeks). Yet I came home to a leak running into my pans in the kitchen, again. People at school were reporting many accidents involving ladders and roofs over the break. One 21 year old woman in a neighboring city was killed by a plow.

More and more of my flowering bushes are being chewed up by the roaming deer and rodents. The birds are tugging at the not yet formed buds on my trees, as I can't get to the feeders ( several are buried under snow on their stands ). It might be time to string cranberries for the critters and birds.

It's left everyone exhausted and disoriented. We haven't had a routine, other then battle the elements, for almost a month now. Work, vacation, and regular schedules have all been interrupted. Some town and school committees are meeting to discuss taking away part or all of April Break or Good Friday to make up for all the snow days lost (so we're not administering finals in schools while it's 100 degrees outside).

24 Days until Spring. I'm hoping to be able to enjoy a little bit of winter before it's behind us. Yet,  I'm looking forward to Mud Season (with out floods). Who'd a thunk it!?!

Good Night, Stoic New Englanders, G'night!

Becoming Breezy

Each night I write a blog entry in an effort to learn how to successfully get naked in words.
I'm trying to develop a style that is not too confessional, journal-like, or self conscious.
Yet it's become a daily message to the universe about the last thing on my mind before I go to sleep. Mostly, as you may have noted, they are affirmations of the salient part of my day, and attempting to be mindful. Last night it was a bit more vulnerable. When I said I had to let the irrational thought's go, I meant just that. Surf the process...be breezy (as a friend suggested today ala a Friends Episode, see scene clip below).

I love stories: movies, books, music, and dance. Love stories are a weakness. Cinema Paradiso comes to mind. Yes, I'm a romantic and it's in my DNA. I have two romantic parents. I've been in love, and only felt really loved back by one person (and I've thanked him for that last year ~ you know who you are).

Now I feel like a 16 year old girl who is learning how to date, how to read others and how to convey myself clearly. I'm happy with who I am and developing a more crystalline idea of my future self. I'm unpracticed at how to date casually. I was never good at it. I was an all-in or one & done girl. As I've written recently, I'm not just dating alone, my children and future self are present in my choices and decisions, too.

So now I have to learn how to be a graceful, easy and breezy dating woman. Be in the moment and not let my mind run endlessly on a hamster wheel. Not that it does, really. It's just that I've not been in a relationship, a functioning one, for a LONG time. So when I allow myself the indulgence of imagining a relationship with a nice, warm, sweet and sincere guy, I become wanton. Not desperate, not needy, not clingy or not pining, but curiously hopeful. The luxury of having some one with whom to share the ups and downs of life. Some one to be intimate with on all levels would be nice. Not necessary, but boy does it feel appealing.

It's not reasonable to put too many chips on the table too early. Nor is it acceptable to just walk away until the game has been played. It's a process, I know. It takes time, I know. It's a gamble, I know. It is chance, I know. It is luck, I know. It's organic, I know. I'm all those things, an organic gambler who believes in luck and many chances. It's timing that's tough for me.

These are early days in my dating life, at this current stage of life, and I'm just learning how to be successful at it, too. How to channel the easy, breezy covergirl while being true to my inner-future self. I imagine that one day my future boyfriend may read these missives to the universe, my self imposed lessons towards a new self, new love and new art. Breezily becoming a better writer and modern girlfriend material.....

Good Night, friends and future boyfriends, G'night!


( Friends Breezy Scene: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nEwfSZfz7pw)

(Enigmatic) Mystery Man #4

Middle-aged dating is not for the light hearted. After our dinner we discussed that he was going out of town, would be back the beginning of March and that we'd talk on Saturday night.

So he sent a text around 6PM that he had just arrived home from work (he often works on Saturdays), and I thought he wanted to talk. I read the text around 7PM and called. He was affable. We discussed his upcoming trip to CA for a convention, my shoveling the roof (for 4 hours), with him telling me "don't go on the roof", his daughter's birthday, my daughter's college tour and other such mundane things.

I guess, I was just hoping for more. I know it's been one date. I know he works many hours, days and it's been a long week. I know that it's my vacation and a kidless weekend. I guess I just wanted to feel more adored and less emotionally ignored.

Timing is everything. I don't just mean the antiqued three day rule or the who calls/texts/emails when etiquette of modern dating. I mean the timing in the process of where people are emotionally in their dating lives. We've both been apart from our spouse for three years. He is still in the process of divorcing (paperwork progressing ~ within this year), where as I was divorced within a year of asking for one. Emotionally that puts us in very different places. Then there is the timing of having our busy and fully adult life schedules dovetail or not. I guess I hoped with both of us free tonight and tomorrow there might be a moment in time to meet. Intellectually, I know that he's been working and tomorrow he has lots to do on many fronts. However, emotionally, I'd like to have a sliver of his attention in order to feel wanted (and I'm writing this after having talked on the phone for a half an hour).

I'm at the stage where I have felt alone for years, even before the separation and divorce, and now want to feel desired and adored. He seems to have been lonely and alone, too, but still has tethers to untie. Or perhaps, he's interested in me, but just not that into me?!

These are the slippery slopes of middle aged dating. How does one respect the process of getting to know each other, learning about where the other one is emotionally, how really available they are, and let the other person know where you stand with out being off putting or rushed or too patient?

I like to hope for the best, believe that he wouldn't arrange for times to talk if he didn't want to plan times to meet. Am I strange to want a next date to look forward to? Is it strange he isn't asking for one, but wanting to talk along the way.....

So I find myself sending him a text picture of myself shoveling the roof with a note saying to have a great trip (which I mean sincerely). The picture is a bit a of tease, as he doesn't want "me on the roof", but it's also to remind him that I'm alone and doing my own thing. So I have to let go, and see if the next time he texts and we talk if he invites me out again.

If any of you are middle-aged men or women who have recently or are currently dating; I'd love to hear your two cents on the subject.

Good Night, to navel and star gazers, G'night!

Millennial Mindset

Today I took my daughter on her first College tour. It was -10 degrees with the wind while we walked between the 12' snow banks on the streets of Boston, but she was smiling, while her brother dutifully followed along. You see, we were visiting a University that is old, has a many progressive programs, demands you be of use in Boston and sets you up to apply what you're learning in the classroom to co-ops around the Commonwealth and the Globe. Both of my children fall into the last two years of what has been coined the "millennials" generation. They are technologically savvy, globally sophisticated and want to be of use. So this tour was a home run, it even had my 8th grader forecasting possible futures for himself!

How different from my approach to college eons ago. I felt the world was going too fast, that I wanted to step back in time and under duress agreed to apply to college via a deferred acceptance plan. In 1980 (the year I graduated from High School and the supposed starting point of the birth of the Millennials), I was graduating from prep-school with an alternative educational structure. Eight modules instead of four terms. In your Senior year you could take a Module to do an independent project. This lead me to carpentry which lead to cabinetmaking which lead to boat building and most of you know the rest. The deferred acceptance plan, was also an alternative strategy, not one commonly used, even then. I guess now, it would be considered a Gap Year plan; where one works, travels, volunteers and then starts college after a year "off". For me, I knew I wasn't ready, and I didn't know what exactly I wanted to do. My deferred acceptance expired, as one year turned into three and I didn't start college until I was 20.

Now, with these Millennials, their group is the largest ever to attend college. Not only are they the largest generation, EVER, but they are also the largest to apply to college, EVER.

You see, with the advent of technology effecting every aspect of our lives, and still clinging to the Utopian idea that it will make life for humanity easier and more equitable, the Millennials are wanting to harness technology and knowledge for doing good. I've taught High School for almost 12 years now. So I've exclusively taught Millennials.

The Millennial mindset is a sharp double-sided coin. They are on one hand capable of being snarky, stealthy and sophisticated with their acquired knowledge, while on the other, being extremely honest, humble and very generous with their time and wisdom. They accumulate community service hours for their college resumes, which cynically can be perceived as future brown-nosing, yet I find some of the more rewarding stories or sources of content for their college essays come from the time they spent doing community service or helping others. They feel impotent with the prospect of becoming voters, and yet they desire to be in positions of leadership. They want to travel and learn about the rest of the world, yet are often working hard (as are their parents) just to keep themselves afloat. They are the generation that has grown up not only with ever increasing advancements in technology, but also during almost continuous war. Many of them are seduced into the armed services to satisfy their high expectations for travel, education and a steady vocation or career.

Confidence and stress are also two sides of the same generational coin. They know they must go to college, much like previous generations knew they must finish High School. Only now, they have to go to college to be eligible for the kind of careers they have always imagined for themselves. The days of apprenticeships, and organically growing and shifting directions like I did before, during and after college, are harder to sustain. This is why colleges are building in apprenticeships (Co-ops or Create your own majors) with experiential learning opportunities either as internships, paid positions or some combination of the two. Northeastern and Syracuse are both highly sought after by Millennials for this reason. The stress comes with the fact that they ALL must go to college. Not everyone went to college in my generation. Now they are a HUGE generation and all competing with each other for the same number of historical seats that have functioned in the colleges and universities. The pressure of getting each slice of your application pie just right is tremendous: SAT's, ACT's, recommendation letters, extracurriculars, special talents, GPA, achievements, community service- volunteering, internships, a unique-authentic essay and so on. They know all this from a much earlier place than I remember be aware of it. It gets heavy on the heads as the grades draw closer to almighty Junior Year. So one day they may be firing on all pistons and sure-footed. The next day, burnt out and defeatist. It can be a confidence see-saw!

Two other shifts: For the first time EVER more women than men are entering college. Combining that with the most ethnically and racially diverse student body EVER in America.  It will be interesting to see how that effects the powers that be in the future!

Being the bouncy-Tigger optimist that I am, I think it's an exciting time to be going to college. My daughter vacillates between the pressure and the promise of getting into the college of her choice. Our job now is to map out a strategy for the next 9 months, much like the book I read prior to her birth, "What to Expect when You're Expecting". We'll take it one month at a time, put thought, effort, nurturing, and our best advice into each move and hope for an academically appropriate acceptance when it's all done!

I'm sure with her Millennial Mindset and my Baby Boomer Bravado, she'll land on her feet!
(Did I mention we were both born in the year of the Tiger?)

Good night, strivers and students, G'night!

Happy Year of the Kri-Kri!

When I think about it, I celebrated New Year's Eve with Mystery Man! Ha ~ after so many New Year's without a man or with one who wished he wasn't with me. And tonight I had a wonderful family New Year's dinner by candlelight...

I was transported tonight back to another time that my stepfather made a Chinese feast, only it was when I was a child and he wasn't my stepfather then. You see David and his wife had 6 children and my mother and her second husband had 6 children. We rented their barn on an island in Maine in the summer and visited each other in either Providence or Lincoln during the winter.

On the particular night I'm recalling, David had made many fillings for egg rolls to be cooked in pork fat. I believe there were  vegetarian, fish, chicken and pork fillings. I'm guessing with four fillings and 12 children that the assembly lines consisted of  three kids per filling. I remember music, lively conversations and hours of stuffing, folding and sealing egg rolls. The parents drank and conversed and made dipping sauces (per David's directions. He was born in China and knew how things should taste).

I can remember the smell of the hot oil, seeing the smoke over the wok (a first for me at age 10 or so) and being told we were going to eat with our fingers or chopsticks. This was all wildly exotic and oddly familiar; as both families loved cooking and experimenting. I remember being really hungry by the time all food was cooked, and the crunch of the fried wrapper and spices in each filling.

Tonight's Chinese dinner was just as delicious, but no assembly line was required. Just David and Mom in the kitchen, with our minimal help with prep. Chicken with ginger and garlic. Shrimp with pea pods, and cilantro. Green beans with garlic. Fancy Thai jasmine rice. Sesame oil and soy sauce on the side. We all had seconds. Dessert was very New England; Indian pudding, brownies, turtles (from me to Mom for Valentines), Vanilla and Coffee-heathbar crunch for ala mode options.

Long conversations about college (my daughter is a Junior), middle school kids (son in Jr. High, daughter coaching Jr. High Speech & Debate team), our weekly events, winter weather and it's terrible grip on our vacation/houses/state of mind, Valentines/President's Day/Mardi Gras/Ash Wednesday and finally Chinese New Year! My mother is the queen of holiday installations. Minimalistic and yet always natural and beautiful.

The Goat above is actually from Crete, the island in Greece. My mother bought it there after seeing the Cretan goats in the wild, the Kri-kri. David taught classical Chinese at Brown University for decades...his father, Owen Lattimore, introduce Mongolia to the Western World; so the knowledge that the word for this year's animal can mean Goat, Sheep and Ram was well known at the table.

So a simple meal, with an elegant and simple centerpiece, shared slowly together was the perfect way to bring in the New Year, especially on the heels of a night out with Mystery Man on New Year's Eve.

Good Night, HaPpY NeW YeAr, G'night!

(No Longer a) Mystery Date #3

This is the fire at the restaurant where I had dinner with my mystery man this evening.

We'd planned to have him pick me up at 6PM, and he arrived a half hour early. Fortunately I'd just switched out of my shoveling clothes and into some newly washed duds, but I hadn't fully decided if I liked what I was wearing, was trying on some earrings, hadn't even put on any Chapstick, when Cora started barking, the doorbell rang and I heard the kids saying, "she's still getting ready".

Hadn't expected both of my kids to see him before I did! They'd introduced themselves and retreated before I could even make it to a common room. When I did, we looked at each other and smiled. A nice and relaxed smile.

Cora, however, was not sure that proper protocol had been followed, so I had to assure her that this mystery man was welcome in our home. No sooner was that accomplished, then we left.

It was snowing. It wasn't supposed to be snowing, but this is now the land of permanent snow and temperatures well below freezing. If the temps hover near 20, with no wind and a touch of sun, it feels like a heat wave.

We drove in his luxury sedan through the snowy back roads, to the restaurant three towns over. We talked nonstop on the drive and even laughed. Found a parking space a couple short blocks from our destination. For people outside of New England, this is a darn near impossible feat of good luck. The snowbanks in most towns are higher than I am tall, and many streets are still not fully plowed out.  (And, yes, we're expecting another storm this weekend, thank you very much). We discussed the snow, as we have both spent more of our lives in New England. We agreed that it's at the point where all you can do is laugh and try to enjoy it, not matter how much it taxes your body and nerves.

30-40 wait. Fine for me, but he was hungry, yet gracious. We stood at the bar and drank some drinks. Hard Cider for him, Cranberry with lime for me. We revealed a bit more about ourselves with each stage of the evening; standing, being seated, ordering, sharing our orders (he's a sharer, which I find attractive), deciding not to do dessert we were both sated and he had an early morning. Laughing, smiling, minimal discussion of former partners, tad more about our kids and mostly about ourselves (past and future perfect). Couldn't have scripted it more organically.

A short walk through the continued shake up world snow showers back to his car. Talking nonstop about all kinds of things....sailing, business, teaching, families, travel, and more. Took a completely different route back home and enjoyed it.

We discussed our schedules and when we'd talk next.....and yes there will be a "next time".

That's all I'm revealing at this time, but I'll say this; I found myself smiling after I got home while I sat with my daughter and spoke with my son. A nice and relaxed smile, full of residual warmth from the fire and the mystery man's company.

Good night, daters and mischief makers, G'night!

Sonnet 15

Sonnet 15

Feast of Lupercalia 'til now,
Pagans and Priests alike celebrated
the end of winter with a Bacchus bow
while eating until inebriated.
Mardi Gras is a time to make merry,
before one surely repents and reflects.
Would one ever desire to date, remarry?
Is there more to a mate than having sex?
Spring, still the time the human animal's
clock is set to chiming the heart and loins.
Our evolution, arrested channels,
where daily science and medicine adjoins.
So a tall pile of pancakes for supper,
 could plot twist to an Ides of March upper!

Good night, Pagans and People of Promise, G'night!

Read & Reread

For some reason I'm thinking of this book tonight and I'm not sure why. You see it was the only object I collected from my Nana's house after she died. When I chose it, I had no idea it had to do with British Child Labor laws or that it was a parable; a modern day fairytale. I just loved the illustrations (by Alice Stringer), the title and the inscription:

"To Gerald with love & best wishes from Auntie Eva  Christmas 1909".

I haven't had any luck finding an image of the British Children's Bookcase edition that I possess. I now wonder if it's rare, as it's a bound abridged edition. I found this image on the Amazon UK site.

Usually when I have books come and tap me on the back of the brain like this, it means it's time to read them again and understand them at a deeper or new level.

I remember listing it as one of my 20 favorite books when I was 24, an exercise that was requested of me after I'd been accepted to the Radcliffe Publishing Course for an 8 week intensive seminar. I believe some of the other books on the list were as follows: The World According to Garp (helped me through a Hurricane and later I thanked John Irving when I served him coffee at Curtis Brown Ltd.), Les Miserable (again, read it on the boat shortly before I decided to leave and was equally heart broken after both), Anna Karenina (first book that made me cry), Dove (a book about a teenager sailing alone around the world; ironically the title name ship was wrecked in the same hurricane that wrecked Pinion; Hurricane Hugo), Mind How the Sun Goes: A Folktale of the Maine Islands (which is a habit that has always served me well with situating myself in any new city or country), Trek (about a young woman traveling with two camels and a dog across Australia alone), The Color Purple (as I loved the structure and narratives in it), East of Eden (again a retelling of the Cain and Abel story in Depression Era California, only I had no clue at the time), and quite a few more.

The list may be in my file of Radcliffe stuff tucked away somewhere. We also had to submit, before arriving at the Course, three book ideas and five magazine ideas (or something close to that). I remember being very nervous about the Who's Who of NYC publishing critiquing my proposals. What a relief it was to have Alice Meyhew (who I would later learned, when considering taking a job with her, "would eat her assistants for lunch") liked one of my book ideas. It was based off of Old Man Jacque's Maine Writer's class in college and I expanded it to New England. Also a big wig magazine publisher, Daniel Okrent  then at Texas Monthly, liked my "New England Outdoors" idea, to compete against "Outside" regionally.

There are only so many books I reread and old proposals I review. But I think it's time to take stock of some of them again, as I know we are our ideas that inform our choices. Ultimately, we are our choices.

So, I'm almost done with I Am Scout, the YA version of Mockingbird by Charles Shield (which I read in 2006-7), that I'm using to refresh myself before Harper Lee's novel comes out this summer. Once I'm done with it, I'll see why my brain is summoning forward The Water Babies  by Charles Kingsley and reread it. Usually there is something to my inner knocking of the noggin and I learning to listen!

Good Night, Readers and Re-readers, G'night!

Matchmaker or Mystery Date #2

Well tonight I agreed to go on a blind date. A mutual friend set us up, we've spoken on the phone several times and now we've arranged a meeting. I'll admit to doing the Google and Facebook searches, so I'm not sure how "blind" the date is technically; I've already seen three photos of him. I did not confess this satiating of my curiosity to him, however.

This is the state of my life. I'm lucky to have one friend who has dared to try this and found us both willing. I've had no luck with online dating ( 4 dates since the official divorce, nearly 2 years ago) or meeting someone on my own. Honestly, I haven't made it a priority. Dating just doesn't rank high on my list. Health. My kids. Work. Friends. Family. I'm lucky to have time to address all of them if I balance my energies.

So far this person seems smart, kind, warm, funny, similar age and stage of life. Many common locations (St. Croix, Maine, MA), interests (food, diving, sailing, being outdoors, skiing), backgrounds (suburban Boston, Prep School, entrepreneurial families) and choices (marriage, children, divorce).

Yet it's odd to be dating as a single middle-aged mom. You're no longer the single young person with potential you were before your marriage and kids. There are no places to go that are known as single, educated, with kids, in your 50's hangouts. Meet Ups, Match Events and other social and commercial online avenues don't have the soul or the pulse of hanging out with your peers in your 20's and 30's.

Then there is the mental space that needs to be navigated. If I sense it's just a one and done on the Romantic gauge, but feel a friend in the making, how do I broach the subject? If I feel an affinity, there is much more at risk at this age then when you're younger, too. On the one hand, I'm comfortable and content to be alone right now On the other hand, it would be nice to grow old with someone, but I'm in no rush.

So it becomes a game of moments. He comes to pick me up. First impressions are catalogued. We drive to our destination, and I believe we'll have much to talk about. Then the question of how much to say on a first date. We've both been without a partner for nearly three years. How much or little does one discuss that on a first date? As a younger woman, you assumed previous partners, but they weren't that parent to the person's child. It's a whole other kettle of fish in this sea of seduction.

Now I'm tending to think about individual history before the marriage and individual desires for the future are the way to not instantly become entangled in each other's baggage. Because that's another issue; divorce and children (unless they are independent adults, and even then it's iffy) are baggage. In your 20's & 30's there may have been hurdles to jump, but not responsibilities to carry.

I'm a romantic and I've been known to jump fast and hard when I feel excited. It would be nice to be able to act on a positive impulse, but I know I can't and won't. Too much riding on it. You see it's not just me going on this date. It's also my children and my future self going on any date. The future self that has just started to enjoy the idea's of a variety of options I really have. My children, who have  at least 5 more years under my roof. It's not about trying some one on for size...it's about if they can organically be combined with the garden I'm already growing. Will they be a fruitful and nourishing addition to my children's lives and mine or not. It's that simple.

So a dinner date with a mystery man is something to look forward to and even be excited about! However, it's just one moment in a series of the many moments it takes to navigate modern middle-aged dating.

Good Night, To matchmaking friends and fruitful moments, G'night!

"If she can stand it, I can. Play it!"

Casablanca. In college I could talk along with all the characters. I already had a love of all things Bogey and had been watching noir and Thin Man movies since I was a kid. But Casablanca was, and remains, the holy grail of righteous romanticism with a moral compass; self-sacrificing Rick.

One of the things I've always admired about the parts Bogey played was they were morally complex characters. In Casablanca Rick is called unscrupulous, sentimental, diplomatic, loyalist, patriot, outlaw, impressive and neutral. When Ilsa (Bergman) asks Rick to think for both of them and then "all of us", it is a modern moment, given this was released in 1942, during WWII, and won best picture in 1943. The line near to the end, before the famous scene I quote below, something to the affect of three people not amounting to a hill of beans in the course of world history, and yet, the desperate sense that these three people did exactly that, changed a fictional world history as they represented many resistance fighters and people who risked their lives to save many more lives during that era.

Politically the characters were all self-sacrificing, but it is the love triangle that isn't fully exposed until 2/3rds  of the way through he film that gives the emotional weight to the parts. The fact that both the actor, Henreid, and character, Victor,  risked internment as enemy aliens was also not lost on the audience.  "If we stop breathing we die. If we stop fighting our enemies the world dies," had extra weight as his character said them.  When Rick is being interrogated about alliances by the Germans: "What is your nationality?" Rick replies, "...I'm a drunkard." Expatriate, freedom fighting, and pleading amnesia. Ilsa is experiencing the dual identity of loving two men at once. They were never meant to meet or share the same time in one place. But they did. Much like the German couple who are escaping to America. One can only imagine they are Jewish, and from this distance we know that they'll have a tough go of it with their new country; being Jewish, new to English, and America. Ilsa turns it over to Rick, to decide and is willing to sacrifice herself, like all the wives do to the French police while seeking political favors.

The romance is multi-layered and that is why it works so well. Everyone is losing some one or something. A business, a lover, a life....Families are being torn apart and concentration camps are mentioned, but miraculously Victor escaped. Morocco was the wild west, were as Vienna, the former crossroads has become rigid and fixed. Victor is the hope for the true love with Ilsa, and justice for the world. Rick is the American who fortifies, facilitates and supports Ilsa, so that Victor can bring about the justice.

Bogey was my first American male actor crush. Robert Mitchum was a close second...In this film as Rick, he says he's no business man, and yet he runs multiple businesses. He is a capitalist who is an idealist who tries to stay neutral for business, but ultimately makes choices based on sentiment and things bigger than himself. This is true in his noir films, especially The Maltese Falcon,  and even later, the African Queen. Rick just does the right thing when he thinks for all of them. 

Casablanca, the final romantic farewell between Rick and Ilsa (before the beginning of another beautiful relationship):

*******************
(Standing in front of the plane in the fog.) 

Rick: “I’m saying this because it’s true. Inside of us, we both know you belong with Victor. You’re part of his work, the thing that keeps him going. If that plane leaves the ground and you’re not with him, you’ll regret it. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow, but soon and for the rest of your life.”

Ilsa: “…But what about us?”

Rick: “We’ll always have Paris. We didn’t have, we, we lost it until you came to Casablanca. We got it back last night.”

Ilsa: “…When I said I would never leave you…”

Rick: “And you never will. But I’ve got a job to do, too. Where I’m going, you can’t follow. What I’ve got to do, you can’t be any part of. Ilsa, I’m no good at being noble, but it doesn’t take much to see that the problems of three little people don’t amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world. Someday you’ll understand that.”

(Ilsa lowers her head and begins to cry.)

Rick: “Now, now…"

(Rick gently places his hand under her chin and raises it so their eyes meet, and he repeats–)

Rick: “Here’s looking at you, kid.” 

***************************
As time goes by, this film just resonates more deeply with me. 
Good night, Keep your chins up and fight for love not glory, G'night.

‘AS TIME GOES BY’

This day and age we’re living in

Gives cause for apprehension

With speed and new invention

And things like fourth dimension

Yet we get a trifle weary

With Mr. Einstein’s theory

So we must get down to earth at times

Relax, relieve the tension

And no matter what the progress

Or what may yet be proved

The simple facts of life are such

They cannot be removed…

You must remember this

A kiss is still a kiss, a sigh is just a sigh

The fundamental things apply

As time goes by

And when two lovers woo

They still say, “I love you”

On that you can rely

No matter what the future brings

As time goes by

Moonlight and love songs

Never out of date

Hearts full of passion

Jealousy and hate

Woman needs man

And man must have his mate

That no one can deny

Well, it’s still the same old story

A fight for love and glory

A case of do or die

The world will always welcome lovers

As time goes by

Oh yes, the world will always welcome lovers

“AS TIME GOES BY”:

Lyrics and Music by Herman Hupfeld; © 1931 Warner Bros. Music Corp., ASCAP

Robin Redbreast & Snow Globe Sun

These days we folks in New England feels as if we're living in a snow globe that is being continuously shaken with an every increasing number of flakes that are making our world feel just a whole lot smaller.  So yesterday, while looking out my classroom window to gauge the latest falling snow, I noticed a bird on the wire on the roof across the courtyard. It wasn't one of the usual sparrows, ravens or red-tailed hawks , but rather a robin redbreast.

Now the bird not only sat there, but did so for a solid 7 minutes. It should be much farther south, as it's been so cold that lakes, ponds and even salt water harbors are freezing over, yet there it sat.

I was worried that maybe it was hoping for some of the berries that the sparrows had picked clean off the courtyard trees months ago. That maybe it was starving. As if to assuage my fears, it pooped not once, but twice on the roof across the way. It just kept looking at me, while I was looking at it and sitting there.

So I wondered why...why sit in the middle of snow showers on an exposed roof, with known hungry owls and hawks about and stare at a human through a window full of Valentines (I usually draw seasonal pictures on my windows. Until 10 days ago, there where evergreen trees and snow flakes, but I felt they were summoning the snow, so it was time for a new theme. One student had asked me if he could draw the next picture on my window, so I let him and thus the hearts, and proudly his signature). Hmmmm.

I remember reading various legends and myths about Robins when I was younger. How they not only bring about positive energy with their song, but being the bird associated with Spring, they have been considered spirit guides towards change and renewal. 

I've also heard that if there is an abundant source of food, Robins can live year-round anywhere. When they come to us in Winter it's supposed to be a lesson. That when our hearts and souls feel gloomy and cold, we are able endure by filling our hearts and souls with a can-do attitude and love.

Also if a Robin is your spirit guide it's supposed to represent the red of fire or a life force. If you're open to it, it can lead you through long testing periods towards an enlightenment.

So I sat and looked at the bird and it looked at me. The winter is testing my moxie. The Valentines are spotlighting the stagnation of my heart. The promise of Spring is inciting me to move forward creatively and spiritually.  I'll find my moxie, open my heart and create new path with words.

When I next looked up, the Robin had flown away and in it's place.....the Sun. Trying to show me the way forward.....through more feet of snow, through a Hallmark Holiday that tugs at my romantic nature, and towards the rewards of the daily practice of being creative. 

Good night, Robin Redbreast and Snow Globe Sun, G'night! 

Ode to Lonesome George & Darwin

I first remember hearing about Lonesome George during a talk being given by Jacques Cousteau at Hynes Auditorium in Boston when I was 12 years old. My brother Mike and I had taken the train in from Concord to hear him speak. We watched his TV specials religiously. It was also in 1974 the Cousteau Society was founded, as Mr. Cousteau wanted a platform to set up a foundation for saving the planet and its oceans.

During his speech that day he said many things that were prophetic; rising sea levels and acidity in the water would lead to massive die-offs of various species and to shrinking populations of sea life ~ from plants to animals, corals to plankton. He equated it to the Galapagos Island having their distinct creatures on land, as Darwin proved with the finches and tortoises, and that when humans started to go there in large numbers it upset the balance for the animals, both on land and in the sea. He discussed Lonesome George in detail (with special care, knowing many of us young ones might not know the difference between a sea turtle and a land tortoise). Cousteau said that Lonesome George been discovered 2 years earlier, they believed he was 60 years old, and that he was the last of his kind, since they previously had believed that his kind of tortoise (Chelonoidis abingdoni ~ from Isla Pinta) was thought to have been extinct. They'd last been seen them alive in 1906. I remember making a note to myself that I wanted to see Lonesome George before he died. 

As you've read in previous posts, I lived on a boat like Cousteau. While living on it, I learned to be a solid free diver (where I could dive deep,  and stay under water with a snorkel for many minutes at a time), as well as an accomplished Open Water Scuba diver. I've gone diving and snorkeling from Maine to Maui and, of course, in the crystal waters of the Caribbean. The only land tortoise I had the pleasure of meeting up close, where some on a tortoise rescue ranch in Sonoma, California. My friend, Susan McCarthy, was asked to come to the ranch to be interviewed for a book she co-wrote entitled, "When Elephants Weep", a wonderful book of deeply researched accounts of the emotional live  animals. I fondly remember feeding strawberries to a century old tortoise while Susan and Jeffery Masson were being interviewed by a major weekly network magazine. 

But it wasn't until the April of my 49th year that I had the privilege making my pilgrimage to the Galapagos. By that time Lonesome George was 102 years old. I was there on an educational tour with some colleagues and our students from LHS, plus one of my oldest friends, Jennie. To arrive on Isla Santa Cruz by plane, take a boat to a  bus and then, after checking into our hotel, be only a short walk from the Darwin Center was beyond bliss. To see a tortoise nursery, with samples of the tortoise from each of the islands, with each of their adapted traits particular to the foliage and food sources of each of those islands, was also thrilling. Our naturalist guide, Frank, was a wealth of knowledge about each of the individuals in the Darwin Center. 

As our tour wound farther up the path, I knew that soon I'd be seeing, with my own eyes, the Elder Statesmen himself: Lonesome George. Now you probably know that I'm a romantic with a vivid imagination. So since the age of 12, I'd planned out what I was going to do if and when I met LG. My plan crystalized in 1989 with the advent of the film, Field of Dreams. In it many magic and mystical events take place while exploring the themes of father-son relationships, baseball as a metaphor for life and taking chances vs having regrets. One of the vignettes is about a boy who gets called up to the big leagues, but then never gets to bat. Although he goes onto become a beloved rural family practice Doctor, he regrets never having the chance to get up to bat, setting his hands and feet, and then winking at the pitcher, like he knows something the pitcher doesn't. It's that scene that I told myself I'll live out with Lonesome George should I ever make it to the Galapagos Islands. And here I was years later and just yards away from achieving my dream. 

When we arrived at the pen where George was being held, he was anything but Lonesome. In fact, the Darwin Center had just given one last ditch effort of mating George to two different females with no luck. Just as he had with previous attempts years earlier, he rebuffed any and all female attention. He was however in good appetite and eating his meals every Monday, Wednesday and Friday like clock work. My students knew my plan and one of them, Dan Williams (aka Danimal) offered to snap a picture of me winking at George. That is the picture you see at the head of todays post. I remember the smell of the vegetation, the threat of tropical rain, the rapid beating of my heart, while experiencing a blissful contentment and calm simultaneously. A very fulfilling moment in my life. 

Lonesome George died 2 months later, June 2012. I was profoundly saddened by his death, but celebrant to have breathed the same air with him while he was still living. 

This year I was invited to a special grand opening of the exhibit of Lonesome George, taxidermied, by the Natural History museum in NYC. The mere idea of it broke my heart all over again. I want to remember him as I knew him in above. Not in stuffed, in a museum, in a glass box. 

I could go on and on about the other islands, critters above and below the sea (especially the young sea lion with whom I played "Simon Says" in 40 feet of water for a good 5 minutes), but again I must sleep. Today, on Darwin's 206 Birthday, I thought it'd be nice to pay tribute to the man who introduced Evolution to realm of man by studying the creatures of these glorious Islands, including the finches and tortoises.

So Good Night, Darwinists and Darwinistas, G'night!

Octophants, Audubon and Ganesh, oh my!

http://www.thisiscolossal.com/2013/07/an-elephant-octopus-mural-on-the-streets-of-london-by-alexis-diaz/

All of you know of my love of all things Octopus. Many of you know of my passion for Elephants. However, most of you may not know that I have a small brass dancing Ganesh. It sits beside my revolving Buddha w/temple  and my black wooden Crow-Bear (mother-father) totem.

I've always had an affinity for animals and spirits. I've always felt I could talk to both. Ask my family and friends, they'll tell you.

When I was young, shy and sad, I spent a great amount of time in nature alone or with my dog. Also as a child, I'd play with the local farm animals. As a teenager, Mrs. Avery, my mother's neighbor, would go for long treks with the Sierra and Appalachian clubs. She had a menagerie of reptiles, birds, dogs, and cats. I learned how to feed them all (with living, frozen and processed food) and care for them all while she was away. My first paid job (age 10) was working at Mrs. Donaldson's chicken farm. I collected, sorted, weighed and boxed the eggs. Fed and watered the chickens. Cleaned the coop and made any simple repairs; while reporting major breaches or health issues with the hens.

The National Audubon Society had a presence in my town. It is called Drumlin Farm and it is a Wildlife Sanctuary. Wild animals are brought there when they can no longer survive in the wild. They are then used as natural science ambassadors.  Naturalists then teach, the old and young alike, about the animals specific place on the planet and the natural order of things.

As a teenager, I had a friend who worked their. She helped with the behind the scenes work with the animals and did some work prior to a Wildlife Rehab person coming to take or mend an animal. My friend's name was Carolyn Glass. but then she was a straight A student who worked and played hard. Her parent's had fox hunting horses that we'd barrel race and gallup over trails through out town to let off steam. From work, she'd call me and ask me to ride my bike down to Drumlin to hold a raptor while she fixed a wing, or coddle an abandoned baby raccoon with she took blood or vitals. She would later go on to become a wildlife, jet-set Vet (flying to Alaska with Roger Payne to do Whale research and initiating the Save the Florida Panther campaign), and after succumbing to depression, and her impatience with humanity to wake up environmentally, she put herself to sleep like a big cat. But that is another, complex, layered and still aching story. (Her sister wrote a book about parts of it: I See You Everywhere by Julia Glass ~ although I'll always call her Julie).

When I moved onto the boat, I had all kinds of critters whose lives I followed. In Maine, Hawks, fish, owls, deer, fox and many more. In St. Croix the tropical fish and rainforest animals captured my heart. But none so much as the octopus who lived in the harbor.

I was working building cabinets, nurse stations and basically any wooden furniture you'd see/use in a hospital. There was a new hospital going up in Sunny Isle, the center of the island, and we had the furniture contract. I'd come home from work every day full of sawdust and debris. I'd row out to the boat, tie up the skiff, go below decks, peel off my clothes, but on a suit and go swimming. Some days I got home later than other days. My usual swim route was from the boat to the cay in the center of the harbor and back. It was a good way to work out my tired and tense muscles and catch flashes of fish after work.

I began to want to see more than flashes of fish and started swimming with a mask and snorkel at some point. I knew what everyone's anchor or mooring looked like. Where the Groupers ate, where to find the biggest conch and so on. Someone had abandoned an old engine block that they'd used for a morning and I'd just swim straight over it each day. But I began to notice a very distinct shell pile growing by one end of the block. It was only 17 (channel end) to 7 feet (cay end) deep. So I free dove down on the block. I looked in  cylinder and what did I see? A sleepy eye looking back at me!

Long story short, the octopus and I became friends. Every day I'd stop by, get closer, hover longer and eventually it would climb on me, much to our mutual delight. It also once gave me a very rare shell...

One day I cam home from work and was just about to tie up to the boat when I saw Cary, who worked the Hobie Cats on the beach of the Cay Hotel, shouting and singling to me. I shoved off and rowed over to the beach. A woman with a frame much like mine, with blond hair and a bikini  like mine (I was young and it was the tropics) was having conniptions in chest deep water. Cary had been easing her back into the quardoned off swimming section of the beach so that my pal, the octopus could stay wet. You see, he thought that this snorkeling and curious woman from New York was me. When she approached the shell pile she was only wanting to see dead shells, not be met by a living octopus!

I helped the woman back in the water, put my arm against hers and the octopus quickly climbed onto me. I swam with octopus and skiff back to above it's block and watched it pulse it's way back home. I never saw it again. Octopus are incredibly sensitive and they can die from emotional shock. In my mind's eye, he moved farther out, towards the reef, into the coral grottos that are good for catching lobsters with guitar strings, but that's what I want to believe.

Jumping ahead to elephants, as I must get some sleep (you see I could write books on critters), and I'll skip the Galapagos for now.

The last book I represented was written by Caitlin O'Connell's The Elephant's Secret Sense. I represented her, even though I'd stopped being an agent. I'd transitioned from representing an author to 20-30 editors to presenting one book to 20-30 students at at time. Part of how I chose the High School age to teach was after working at Drumlin Farm as a Naturalist when I first returned to MA , at the age of 40, having left when I was 17. I'd been teaching for 4-5 years when Caitlin approached me. Caitlin's book is magnificent and I hope to one day volunteer my meager services to her in Namibia, Malaysia or Maui. Please read all her books on Elephants or go see her at the Explorers Club in NYC in April. She is also leading some research on the reefs in Hawaii and The British Virgin Islands.

Octopus and Elephants. For those of us who love animals; they are some of the most adaptive and easy to reason with  as a human. Yes, REASON, but that's another story.

Which brings me Ganesh...the remover of obstacles. I gathered him up after a 4 day Seminar with Deepak Chopra the summer I asked for my divorce. The lessons and the mediation skills I learned at that retreat have sustained me through a tough time and now are feeding this new discipline of writing each night.


So Good Night, Octophants and Ganesh lovers around the globe, G'night!

Mid-Winter Blues

I've got 'em bad.

Woke up to another flood in my house. Spend my "two hour delay" chipping away the ice in my window casings.

Put a heavy bag of sand and a shovel in my car to drive over sub-par roads to work. Forgot that I took my computer-work bag out of the car when I loaded the tools for winter. Saw two accidents within a car's length of me while drive on a hilly secondary road on the way to work. Arrived at work in once piece but with no computer or grade book.

Work. Students nice and cloudy, as we are all creatures of routine and haven't had one in weeks. Plus our classes were short and choppy to accommodate the condensed school day. Teachers in a similar fog.

After work visit to Home Depot. They're sold out of loose ice melt for the nylon sausage dam treatments. Drive to Acton and Ace has more pellets. Unsure whether to make ice-melt sausages or just chip ice. Debate it while I activate my new bank card. Old one had been hacked. I noticed it, my bank did not. Groceries for kids and myself. Lenora with special requests as she's home with a fever.

Home again. Lenora less flushed and able to eat. Frank rakes the front and side roofs, while I shovel, chip and rake the sun and upper back roofs. Nice way to visit on two different levels together outside.

Make dinner after I've cleared the entire roof and most of the ice. The wonders of the right tools: hammer, rake, and shovel. Exhausted.

Check work email, as I was without during work (1st time in 12 years I've forgotten my laptop). Usual lists, alerts, queries and reminds. Then I see one of a parent. I know I should wait to read it until tomorrow but read it anyway. Saccharine sweet and very aggressive all tied up in a 4 paragraph letter. How will this student manage in college without the parent advocating on their behalf, I sit and wonder. Then I realize, they don't have to. The umbilical cord stays attached via texting and FaceTime.

As I write this, I think I hear the sardonic drips collecting in my kitchen again. Perhaps, I'll just go to sleep...but we all know I won't. I just keep on plugging along to the sound of the Mid-Winter Blues!

Good night, fellow winter weary folks, G'night.

Mystery Date

I met a man in the woods last February. We were the same height, and if he'd had eyes, ours would have been at the same level. The man first caught my attention as Cora was well ahead of me on the trail and she started to bark. She was a full two switch backs ahead of me, so I didn't know the source of her concern. Could it be snowshoers? She hates sports with poles or sticks! A man with dark glasses and a hat? I wondered what it must be like to be a dog, coming upon a human sized man who refused to move or make an expressions.

She was terrified, yet wanted to protect me, so she circled it and barked with her tail between her legs. I came up behind her, walked past her and around it. She then started to lunge at the gigantic base and seemed stunned to find it cold and inanimate. This man made of snow was an enigma to my curly-tailed barkerella.

I put my hand on the middle, medium sized ball, it's belly while she watched. I kept it there and with my other hand invited her to touch it too. She slowly skittered over and sniffed like a plunger popping out of a basin.

I found some branches of white pine that had broken off in a recent heavy snow storm. I picked off two needle clusters for eye brows, and broke on twig in to five pieces: eyes, nostrils and a mouth. I then found two more, longer, wind blown branches and made them arms.

This set Cora to barking all over again. The face, as you can see above was ambiguous; friend or foe?

Then I decided to hug the snow man and hum a little song (probably something from Guys and Dolls, as I had been a Hot Box Girl in a High School production at at times like this those choruses tend to rise up). I kept hugging with my eyes shut to see what Cora would do. Much to my amazement, she decided to join the hugfest and jumped up on her hind legs, paws at the base of the snowman's neck and licked my face while sniffing his. Then, as is want with Cora the Explorah, she heard a squirrel, mole, vole or shrew and went bounding off the packed path into some under brush.

I was alone on a date with a man made of snow. That was the second to last date I've been on within a year. The last was this fall, a one and done meal at a near by cafe.

Four dates in almost three years, five if you count my five-of-a-kind (equals white pine) eyebrow friend above.  Recently one friend suggested I meet a friend of hers. So maybe it will be six dates in three years.....we'll see; play it as it lays ~ to go all Didion on it.

For now, I'm embracing the relentless snow, the magic of each moment and the optimism of never knowing what might be just around the next corner, while thinking fondly of a man made of snow who I met in the woods last February.

Good night, winter weary and dateless romantics, G'night!

Artists and Activists

http://vimeo.com/74409401

Tonight I fitfully flipped between my two British indulgences (British Baking and Downton Abbey) and the Grammy's. I've been a lover of British dramas and Music Award Shows since I was a child. So the scales were in a dead heat and my thumb was thumping between PBS and CBS.

Watching the moral growing pains of post WWI in England and listening to short slices of music with various morals attached to them, I thought about the intersection of what I love most; a universal communication: Art-Technology-Writing-Music-Theatrical Performances. Most of us agree that music is a universal language. After I turned off the TV, and began to think about tonight's missive, I found my mind traveling back to a school field trip to the MFA that we took on 29 January. None of my students had been to the museum in Boston before, and they live just over an hour away in Leominster.

The day after the field trip, I asked each of the World Studies students to share their favorite piece of art, or exhibit, or section of the museum. Some said the bust of Dante and Virgil (I think to curry favor with me), others the modern landscapes hall, and some others the Chihuly green glass tree. But then one group of kids was murmuring quietly and I asked them to share. They looked embarrassed and then said, "the electric guitar made from guns".

At one point, my group of 12 had divided. The docent (on his second tour ever) had taken them to one area in the last 15 minutes of our tour, while I had taken some band boys to the Instrument Room.  It was during that separation that they'd seen the electric guitar gun. One of the boys had written down the artist's name as he noticed a youtube url on the placard beside the guitar. All the kids were curious, as was I, by that point. So I found it, loaded it and we watched it (it's the vimeo url above).

Pedro Reyes is the Mexican sculptor who made this piece. It morphed out of a project he'd first done in 2007. The government had confiscated a large cache of weapons, dismantled them and given them to the arts council to do as they pleased. It became Reyes' "Shovels to Guns" exhibit. They'd melted down the metal to make shovels (and plant trees with them) and then exhibited the shovels.

He was trying to take something created for destruction and turn it into something created for construction.

Next there was a confiscation of 1500 weapons that had been broken down to be unusable as weapons. Reyes claimed the pieces and decided to make instruments out them, including the guitar above, which you can hear being played by a famous Mexican musician in the video. At first he asked musicians to play music that he would then set digitally  to the instruments. Later he realized the instruments would have to play the music the musicians wrote in order for it to be authentic and giving the objects a true new usefulness.

If/when you listen to the video and hear his creative process and the consequential collaborative process, I hope you find it as inspiring as my students found it to be. We even clicked on the bonus video at the bottom of the link to learn about a project they did that went on to London. (video above is roughly 8 minus, bonus video another 6 or so).

You see, most of my students don't speak fluent Spanish (the language of the video). Most of them have never listened to the process of what it means to produce a sculpture. Although they do come from the city, Leominster, that is the birthplace of Plastics (one of Reyes' fundamental mediums). They do love technology and music, but they'd never realized that a person could combine those to great a music machine made from old weapons.

The students don't want war, although many of their family members have served or are serving in one of the armed forces. The students do want to recycle and repurpose materials to not be wasteful and slow down the destruction of the planet. The students don't want random acts of violence to invade their lives; although we had lock down this fall, with the city and state police storming our corridors with automatic weapons.

We all want to be peaceful. We all want to be of use. We all want to find that sweet spot of passion, technology, and universal connectivity. Their eyes and ears were opened to a broader world; with a instant memory and new understanding of how the world can work. One that I think will be indelibly etched in their heads far longer than a schmaltzy duet or singular speech at the Grammys.

Good night, aspiring universal artists and activists, G'night!