I am always on the look-out for a good read. When a good friend - a librarian no less - recommended a quick summer read, I jumped at the chance. I'd never heard of the book, because apparently I live in a bubble. Yeah, a work-kids-home-work again kind of bubble. So imagine my surprise when I mentioned it to a coworker and he said, "oh, you're reading that book." Wow...what literary hornet's nest have I uncovered this time?
The book, Fifty Shades of Gray, was one I had never heard of a week ago. As of today, I have heard countless others discuss it, and am baffled by the sheer excitement and whispers of guilty pleasure resounding around campus. Another co-worker practically beat me down to get the book when I was done.
To back up for a moment, I should preface this with the disclaimer from my librarian friend, who says she started skipping the sex scenes after a while. Since reading this book, I think she must have read a total of three pages, as the rest were all sex related. That's OK, I'm not opposed to a well-written sex scene if it furthers the plot. I suppose in this case, it could be said to be furthering the plot, but well written it was not. The entire book was a teenager's pulse racing inner dialogue, coupled with a consenting adult's best kept desires. Did I finish the book? Yes. Despite being put off by the writing style. Despite wondering where the author came up with the idea that a man at ANY age would be capable of those acrobatics. I finished the book . As stereotypical and badly painted as her characters were at times, there was a very real relationship between two people at the heart of the book. The interactions between two or more human beings are the very reasons any of us read any piece of fiction. Their e-mails, within the story, were the most compelling parts of the book. Because they were real, self-doubting, sometimes sexy and sometimes angry. Fifty shades of gray. Are any of us any less?
When I was younger, I used to wonder who I was. Am I the scholar or the clown? Am I adventurous or studious? Which path am I following in life? I spent a lot of time trying to figure that out, and I've spent some time lately reviewing those answers. In short, I am all of those things. I am more than just fifty shades of gray. I am all of those things, and none of those things. The sum of the parts is less than the whole. I've spent a lifetime wondering who I am, and am just now accepting that who I am in the moment is not necessarily who I was yesterday or who I will be tomorrow. I can be serious mom. Or silly best friend. Or efficient employee. Or moody person who just wants to be alone. All still me. More than fifty shades of me.
So, fifty shades of complicated in each of my friends. Our friendships are different from day to day - depending on who each of us is on that particular day and in that particular place. My relationships are mercurial and endlessly changing.
Fifty shades of curious where my path will take me tomorrow, and who I will be in that moment. Fifty shades of irritated that I am spending this long thinking about it.
I suppose I can say that Fifty Shades of Gray wasn't such a bad book, as it made me think. That's what a good novel does. I'll give it points for that.
Now, fifty shades of tired. I'm going to bed.
Monday, June 11, 2012
Sunday, March 11, 2012
Spring Cleaning
So, if nothing hammered home to me how different my life is as I've gotten older, it would be that the meaning of Spring Break has changed. Spring Break, once upon a time, meant I could stay up as late as I wanted and have a few drinks without the worry of getting up early for school or for work. Spring Break was about some adventure and some fun.
I'm in a different place in my life. Not that adventure and fun are behind me, it's just that I let them come more naturally these days. I figure enough opportunities come my way, and I won't turn those away when they knock. However, in the mean time, a break should be a break and I can use the time in myriad different ways. Today I am fluctuating between reading a book and cleaning my house.
It's Spring - and that always means a little bit of Spring cleaning. Time to sweep out the accumulation of winter's debris and make way for new life and new plans. I'm literally cleaning my house, getting rid of things that I don't need, donating items I can't use, and sweeping out the cobwebs and cat hair. At the same time, I'm spring cleaning other parts of my life.
It's been a hard winter for me. In short, I am coming up on the middle of my life, and I have finally accepted that I am not superhuman and cannot solve everyone's problems, be everything to everyone in my life, and say yes to every request. I will, ultimately, fail. I've been failing quietly the last several months - mostly failing myself, but occasionally my children and my work. By taking on too much, and by refusing to accept that there are human limitations, I have become exhausted, irritable, cranky, forgetful and slow. I've allowed relationships to lie half-dead and done nothing to either revive them nor put them out of their misery. And I have forgotten how much joy there can be in some of the smallest parts of the human experience.
Spring cleaning. I've cleaned out my kitchen. The refrigerator is sparkling, the pantry is organized, and the counters are decluttered. Gone are any products full of things not found in nature. My kitchen is a living place now, with food that is still at least partially alive. More than just no dead animals. No more products supporting the death of animals. And I will not apologize for feeling that way, or for feeding my family this way. Anyone who wants to live with me will have to accept that, just as I will accept if they choose to make a different decision when it's not my kitchen doing the cooking. We all have our own conscience...just not in my kitchen.
I will scrub my floors and begin sorting items for a garage sale. We're moving in the next month, and I want to start fresh with less clutter and less baggage. Growing up, we moved a lot. I never got to get comfortable in any one place, which was bad. But I had a lot of fresh starts and I dumped my baggage quite frequently. That was pretty good. I haven't had a chance in a while to reinvent myself or my life. It takes momentum to make change, and staying in the same place, surrounded by my own clutter and that of those who live with me, it's hard to find that momentum. Even the thought of moving makes me groan - it's hard to get out of a groove you've worn in over twelve years. I hate to think I'm stuck in a rut, but I am.
Once, many years ago, I babysat for a little girl. We were watching her dog in the back yard. Every day, he flipped his water dish three or four times, and every day I'd have to slog back out in the wet grass and refill it three or four times. I told him he was stuck in a rut and find something new to do for entertainment. So, when we were getting ready for her nap time and she chose her book, the little girl picked a new book. I was surprised, as she always wanted the same book before nap. She told me she didn't want to "suck a rat anymore." After I figured out that she was breaking out of her own rut, I laughed for a bit and complimented her on her decision to stop sucking that rat.
I need to stop sucking the rats.
So, it's time for some serious spring cleaning. Time to reinvent myself a little bit. Not change, just spiff up a little bit. It's the season of new life, after all.
I'm in a different place in my life. Not that adventure and fun are behind me, it's just that I let them come more naturally these days. I figure enough opportunities come my way, and I won't turn those away when they knock. However, in the mean time, a break should be a break and I can use the time in myriad different ways. Today I am fluctuating between reading a book and cleaning my house.
It's Spring - and that always means a little bit of Spring cleaning. Time to sweep out the accumulation of winter's debris and make way for new life and new plans. I'm literally cleaning my house, getting rid of things that I don't need, donating items I can't use, and sweeping out the cobwebs and cat hair. At the same time, I'm spring cleaning other parts of my life.
It's been a hard winter for me. In short, I am coming up on the middle of my life, and I have finally accepted that I am not superhuman and cannot solve everyone's problems, be everything to everyone in my life, and say yes to every request. I will, ultimately, fail. I've been failing quietly the last several months - mostly failing myself, but occasionally my children and my work. By taking on too much, and by refusing to accept that there are human limitations, I have become exhausted, irritable, cranky, forgetful and slow. I've allowed relationships to lie half-dead and done nothing to either revive them nor put them out of their misery. And I have forgotten how much joy there can be in some of the smallest parts of the human experience.
Spring cleaning. I've cleaned out my kitchen. The refrigerator is sparkling, the pantry is organized, and the counters are decluttered. Gone are any products full of things not found in nature. My kitchen is a living place now, with food that is still at least partially alive. More than just no dead animals. No more products supporting the death of animals. And I will not apologize for feeling that way, or for feeding my family this way. Anyone who wants to live with me will have to accept that, just as I will accept if they choose to make a different decision when it's not my kitchen doing the cooking. We all have our own conscience...just not in my kitchen.
I will scrub my floors and begin sorting items for a garage sale. We're moving in the next month, and I want to start fresh with less clutter and less baggage. Growing up, we moved a lot. I never got to get comfortable in any one place, which was bad. But I had a lot of fresh starts and I dumped my baggage quite frequently. That was pretty good. I haven't had a chance in a while to reinvent myself or my life. It takes momentum to make change, and staying in the same place, surrounded by my own clutter and that of those who live with me, it's hard to find that momentum. Even the thought of moving makes me groan - it's hard to get out of a groove you've worn in over twelve years. I hate to think I'm stuck in a rut, but I am.
Once, many years ago, I babysat for a little girl. We were watching her dog in the back yard. Every day, he flipped his water dish three or four times, and every day I'd have to slog back out in the wet grass and refill it three or four times. I told him he was stuck in a rut and find something new to do for entertainment. So, when we were getting ready for her nap time and she chose her book, the little girl picked a new book. I was surprised, as she always wanted the same book before nap. She told me she didn't want to "suck a rat anymore." After I figured out that she was breaking out of her own rut, I laughed for a bit and complimented her on her decision to stop sucking that rat.
I need to stop sucking the rats.
So, it's time for some serious spring cleaning. Time to reinvent myself a little bit. Not change, just spiff up a little bit. It's the season of new life, after all.
Saturday, February 4, 2012
January: BookFest 2012
It's been a rough start to a new year. All the signs might have been there, if I'd looked a little closer. Plague. Pestilence. I can't understand a single lyric from a Top 40 song. If that's not a signs of Armageddon, it should be. I've been plagued by birds, crazy people, hit by a car, and can't find my bank card. All of that could lead me to have a major hissy fit. Instead, I have chosen to wallow in fiction (and a little bit of non-fiction) instead. And this year, just for fun, I'm tracking what I read. Some are re-reads, some are guilty pleasures, and some will actually challenge me to think. When I'm not too tired for brain function, that is.
So, with January at a close, here were my reads for the first month of 2012, or at least some of them, since I didn't start keeping track until around the 20th of the month....
The Fault in Our Stars by John Green - recommended by a co-worker, and much enjoyed. Katie is reading this one now. I do love a good young adult book. I read most of this one in one evening, realized it was 1:30 a.m., put it down, turned off the light, and couldn't sleep. 2:00 a.m., I had to finish the book, because it was haunting me. It haunted me after I was through as well. I'll reread this one.
Looking for Alaska also by John Green - recommended by me, because I loved the first one I read of his so much. It was well written, and I liked the characters. Not as much as the first, but still a good read.
Paper Towns - yeah, also by John Green. Sue me - my kids were sick, and I was on a roll. I liked this one almost as much as Fault in Our Stars. The characters were quirky, and I love a good road trip story.
This Beautiful Life by Helen Schulman. This one was based on a true story. Not terribly great writing, but a compelling story. Not so much about the well-known case that was in the papers, but about what happened to a family as a result of one bad decision. I have kids - it scared me a little to see how quickly a life could be ruined. Or a whole family and all of their lives. One bad decision. Ouch.
Punished by Vanessa Steel. Disappointing. It was a rushed telling of a story of abuse. Nothing more to say.
Always to Remember by Lorraine Heath. Nome de Plume of a friend of mine; we used to be in the same writer's group many, many years ago. I read this when she first published it in the early 90's, and recently noticed that it was available for Kindle. So, I indulged myself. While basically a romance, it was so much more than that. I love the idea that courage isn't necessarily about a big, loud show of action. Sometimes true courage walks in silence. In the faces of women sending their men to war. In the actions of a man doing what he believes is right, even in the face of violence. Good re-read.
Speaking of good re-reads. I picked up Good Omens by Neil Gaimon and re-read it one day last weekend. Fabulous. Simply a fun, good read. Who would have thought the end of the world could be so entertaining. The Antichrist and his buddies off to saves the world, and they didn't even know it. From chattering nuns to hell hounds named Dog. Awesome clever.
Collapse by Jared Diamond. How Societies Choose to Fail or Succeed is the subtitle. Like with his previous book, Guns, Germs and Steel, Diamond gets to the heart of the matter - human nature doesn't change. We can change locations, times, weather..all manner of details. Essentially, people are still people. None of his ideas were startling or new, but it was well-told, with several well-made points about civilization now and in the past. Took me a while to get through this one.
On Chesil Beach by Ian Mcewan. Like always, his attention to character development and motivation was incredibly detailed. But there was something about this tale that irritated me. I know, the very point of "if only" was integral to the plot. But I wanted to shake both of them. If only they had been born a few years later. If only they had felt free to say what each was thinking. If only he'd followed her sooner. If only. They were immature, and their story ultimately ends in unhappiness, because they couldn't communicate with one another. I did enjoy the attention to the time period's details though. This was the era in which my parents married. Gave me some insights there.
A Midsummer Night's Dream by William Shakespeare. I don't really need to explain this one, right? Katie's reading it for a class assignment. Her comments made me want to re-read a favorite.
Songs for the Missing by Stewart O'Nan. This was also recommended by a co-worker. (Note to self: congratulate self on acquiring a co-worker with good literary taste.) This story was well-told, though perhaps not what I expected when I first began reading. Despite a missing girl and a possibility of foul play, the real story centers on her family. As in This Beautiful Life, the theme is really about how lives affect one another and what happens to those connected to tragedy. The human triumph is in our ability to keep going and keep living. I saw a dance performance this month also based around this theme - the human endurance and capacity for love after loss. Amazing. O'Nan's deceptively simple writing was amazing as well.
Weetzy Bat by Francesca Lia Block. This one looked so promising and the reviews were so nice. It seemed like a quirky coming of age story. I like those. This was quirky. And weird. And poorly written. And full of strange sequences of events, and names that don't make sense. When I was done reading it, I had the realization that reading this book must be a written rendition of what it is like to trip on acid. Now I am even less inclined to drop acid. I wasn't inclined before, but I'm less inclined now.
Jerusalem Maiden by Talia Carner. Recommended by a parent at school. I enjoyed this story thoroughly. I like putting myself outside of my own cultural constructs. It's hard enough for any child to break free of parent expectations and culturally accepted ideas. For the protagonist in this story, living in early 20th century Jerusalem, the idea of choosing a life as a single artist is unheard of. It was a well-told tale of someone living the life they choose, no matter what, and the difficult choices along the way. Good read.
And that brings me to the books queued in my Kindle. The Cobra Event by Richard Preston. The Coming Plague by Laurie Garrett. I figured with the world ending this year and all, I ought to get a leg up on what could happen. Figured I'd start with the plague. I'll look for some good books on earthquakes next.
So, with January at a close, here were my reads for the first month of 2012, or at least some of them, since I didn't start keeping track until around the 20th of the month....
The Fault in Our Stars by John Green - recommended by a co-worker, and much enjoyed. Katie is reading this one now. I do love a good young adult book. I read most of this one in one evening, realized it was 1:30 a.m., put it down, turned off the light, and couldn't sleep. 2:00 a.m., I had to finish the book, because it was haunting me. It haunted me after I was through as well. I'll reread this one.
Looking for Alaska also by John Green - recommended by me, because I loved the first one I read of his so much. It was well written, and I liked the characters. Not as much as the first, but still a good read.
Paper Towns - yeah, also by John Green. Sue me - my kids were sick, and I was on a roll. I liked this one almost as much as Fault in Our Stars. The characters were quirky, and I love a good road trip story.
This Beautiful Life by Helen Schulman. This one was based on a true story. Not terribly great writing, but a compelling story. Not so much about the well-known case that was in the papers, but about what happened to a family as a result of one bad decision. I have kids - it scared me a little to see how quickly a life could be ruined. Or a whole family and all of their lives. One bad decision. Ouch.
Punished by Vanessa Steel. Disappointing. It was a rushed telling of a story of abuse. Nothing more to say.
Always to Remember by Lorraine Heath. Nome de Plume of a friend of mine; we used to be in the same writer's group many, many years ago. I read this when she first published it in the early 90's, and recently noticed that it was available for Kindle. So, I indulged myself. While basically a romance, it was so much more than that. I love the idea that courage isn't necessarily about a big, loud show of action. Sometimes true courage walks in silence. In the faces of women sending their men to war. In the actions of a man doing what he believes is right, even in the face of violence. Good re-read.
Speaking of good re-reads. I picked up Good Omens by Neil Gaimon and re-read it one day last weekend. Fabulous. Simply a fun, good read. Who would have thought the end of the world could be so entertaining. The Antichrist and his buddies off to saves the world, and they didn't even know it. From chattering nuns to hell hounds named Dog. Awesome clever.
Collapse by Jared Diamond. How Societies Choose to Fail or Succeed is the subtitle. Like with his previous book, Guns, Germs and Steel, Diamond gets to the heart of the matter - human nature doesn't change. We can change locations, times, weather..all manner of details. Essentially, people are still people. None of his ideas were startling or new, but it was well-told, with several well-made points about civilization now and in the past. Took me a while to get through this one.
On Chesil Beach by Ian Mcewan. Like always, his attention to character development and motivation was incredibly detailed. But there was something about this tale that irritated me. I know, the very point of "if only" was integral to the plot. But I wanted to shake both of them. If only they had been born a few years later. If only they had felt free to say what each was thinking. If only he'd followed her sooner. If only. They were immature, and their story ultimately ends in unhappiness, because they couldn't communicate with one another. I did enjoy the attention to the time period's details though. This was the era in which my parents married. Gave me some insights there.
A Midsummer Night's Dream by William Shakespeare. I don't really need to explain this one, right? Katie's reading it for a class assignment. Her comments made me want to re-read a favorite.
Songs for the Missing by Stewart O'Nan. This was also recommended by a co-worker. (Note to self: congratulate self on acquiring a co-worker with good literary taste.) This story was well-told, though perhaps not what I expected when I first began reading. Despite a missing girl and a possibility of foul play, the real story centers on her family. As in This Beautiful Life, the theme is really about how lives affect one another and what happens to those connected to tragedy. The human triumph is in our ability to keep going and keep living. I saw a dance performance this month also based around this theme - the human endurance and capacity for love after loss. Amazing. O'Nan's deceptively simple writing was amazing as well.
Weetzy Bat by Francesca Lia Block. This one looked so promising and the reviews were so nice. It seemed like a quirky coming of age story. I like those. This was quirky. And weird. And poorly written. And full of strange sequences of events, and names that don't make sense. When I was done reading it, I had the realization that reading this book must be a written rendition of what it is like to trip on acid. Now I am even less inclined to drop acid. I wasn't inclined before, but I'm less inclined now.
Jerusalem Maiden by Talia Carner. Recommended by a parent at school. I enjoyed this story thoroughly. I like putting myself outside of my own cultural constructs. It's hard enough for any child to break free of parent expectations and culturally accepted ideas. For the protagonist in this story, living in early 20th century Jerusalem, the idea of choosing a life as a single artist is unheard of. It was a well-told tale of someone living the life they choose, no matter what, and the difficult choices along the way. Good read.
And that brings me to the books queued in my Kindle. The Cobra Event by Richard Preston. The Coming Plague by Laurie Garrett. I figured with the world ending this year and all, I ought to get a leg up on what could happen. Figured I'd start with the plague. I'll look for some good books on earthquakes next.
Sunday, January 29, 2012
It's Not the Years, It's the Miles
I was standing in line with my daughter, checking out today. I had given in, possibly foolishly, and bought her a new book. I say foolishly for two reasons, a) I have this book on my kindle, but am disinclined to hand over my ipad after seeing how she treats her own electronics and b) she has a lot of studying to do and I know that book will sing its siren call to her. But, whether it is foolish or not, I bought her the book. She told afterward that a good friend had read the same book recently and an adult was shocked that someone their age would want to read said book, because they couldn't possibly understand it at their age. Katie asked me, knowing I had already read this book, whether or not this was true. I answered as truthfully as I could:
Read this book now, and you'll enjoy it, and you'll get a lot out of it. Read it again in ten years, and you'll get a lot more out of it.
I find this to be true over and over in my own life. Rereading the books of my childhood is a great pleasure, because it's getting to know an old friend all over again, and finding out new and fascinating things they had never revealed to you before. Reading books means bringing in your own life experiences, and the older I get, the more experiences I can bring to the table.
My brother is fond of saying that I was born an old lady, and have learned to embrace childhood as an adult. He's probably right. I was too busy learning Algebra at six to have much time left for making childhood memories. My parents did what they thought was right for me, and they embraced the old lady they'd been given, never realizing the value in the rites of childhood and all the life experiences they bring to the party going on in the brain. But the memories I do have of doing foolish children's activities are some of my best memories ever. Books were my window to the wider world, and inspired some of my best adventures.
After reading Huckleberry Finn, a friend and I once built a raft and floated it down part of the Cahaba River. Wish I'd remembered I couldn't swim before we pushed off from shore. But I lived through it. I started my own Pickwick Portfolio after reading Jo's adventures in Little Women. Encyclopedia Brown taught me that there wasn't a mystery that I couldn't solve with a little ingenuity and some dusting powder. Too bad the powder from my mom's make-up drawer wasn't such a good substitute. I ran away from home once with clothes tied to a stick. Yeah, that was pretty stupid. It might have been related to the dusting powder incident, come to think of it.
Yet, all of those misadventures contributed to the person I am today. So did the less planned adventures: friends who died, my first drinking binge, my first disastrous relationship, moving thirteen times in sixteen years, parties on the lake and smoking in a friend's basement, getting married, falling in love and falling out of love, having children, manning up and fixing my own problems, and a whole lot of sobbing in between.
So, I revisit a favorite childhood book, and all of the baggage, all that messy crap, it comes with me and crawls back into the pages of the story with me. I see more of the characters, and I understand them a little better. Sometimes I think now, "god you're such an idiot, don't be nice, just chop his freaking head off!" Altruistic acts often seem a lot less romantic to me these days, because they seem to come back to bite more than just storybook characters in the butt.
I can't say it's because I'm crawling through the fourth decade of my life that I have these experiences - I learned some pretty difficult lessons pretty early on. And I don't think much of chronological age these days - I can have a great conversation with my teenage daughter, or my septuagenarian friend. Sometimes what we have in common is an experience, and sometimes that's what we admire about one another.
I encourage my kids to read what they can, whenever they can (well, as long as they keep up their school work). Get what they can from the books now, plan to visit again later. But keep their eyes open for the real experiences happening outside the pages of a book as well. It's the miles we put on that really make the stories worthwhile.
Read this book now, and you'll enjoy it, and you'll get a lot out of it. Read it again in ten years, and you'll get a lot more out of it.
I find this to be true over and over in my own life. Rereading the books of my childhood is a great pleasure, because it's getting to know an old friend all over again, and finding out new and fascinating things they had never revealed to you before. Reading books means bringing in your own life experiences, and the older I get, the more experiences I can bring to the table.
My brother is fond of saying that I was born an old lady, and have learned to embrace childhood as an adult. He's probably right. I was too busy learning Algebra at six to have much time left for making childhood memories. My parents did what they thought was right for me, and they embraced the old lady they'd been given, never realizing the value in the rites of childhood and all the life experiences they bring to the party going on in the brain. But the memories I do have of doing foolish children's activities are some of my best memories ever. Books were my window to the wider world, and inspired some of my best adventures.
After reading Huckleberry Finn, a friend and I once built a raft and floated it down part of the Cahaba River. Wish I'd remembered I couldn't swim before we pushed off from shore. But I lived through it. I started my own Pickwick Portfolio after reading Jo's adventures in Little Women. Encyclopedia Brown taught me that there wasn't a mystery that I couldn't solve with a little ingenuity and some dusting powder. Too bad the powder from my mom's make-up drawer wasn't such a good substitute. I ran away from home once with clothes tied to a stick. Yeah, that was pretty stupid. It might have been related to the dusting powder incident, come to think of it.
Yet, all of those misadventures contributed to the person I am today. So did the less planned adventures: friends who died, my first drinking binge, my first disastrous relationship, moving thirteen times in sixteen years, parties on the lake and smoking in a friend's basement, getting married, falling in love and falling out of love, having children, manning up and fixing my own problems, and a whole lot of sobbing in between.
So, I revisit a favorite childhood book, and all of the baggage, all that messy crap, it comes with me and crawls back into the pages of the story with me. I see more of the characters, and I understand them a little better. Sometimes I think now, "god you're such an idiot, don't be nice, just chop his freaking head off!" Altruistic acts often seem a lot less romantic to me these days, because they seem to come back to bite more than just storybook characters in the butt.
I can't say it's because I'm crawling through the fourth decade of my life that I have these experiences - I learned some pretty difficult lessons pretty early on. And I don't think much of chronological age these days - I can have a great conversation with my teenage daughter, or my septuagenarian friend. Sometimes what we have in common is an experience, and sometimes that's what we admire about one another.
I encourage my kids to read what they can, whenever they can (well, as long as they keep up their school work). Get what they can from the books now, plan to visit again later. But keep their eyes open for the real experiences happening outside the pages of a book as well. It's the miles we put on that really make the stories worthwhile.
Sunday, January 1, 2012
2012: Not as Ominous as it Sounds
So, it's a brand-new year. 2012. Foretold by some as the year the world will end. Not going to worry about that, as the world will end when it ends, and nothing I do will change that in one way or another. Yes, I'm all about saving our planet, but I meant by recycling. Giant catastrophe? All I've got to offer is prayer. So, moving on to celebrate a new year, and not to worry about what might or might not happen. Disaster can strike ANY year. And no one can predict what will happen with any degree of certainty. 2011 was full of enough tragedy, thank you very much, all around the world. It was full of moments of loss, and full of moments of joy. Just the way that life is meant to be. Without the one, we can't appreciate the true beauty of the other.
2011, when I lost old friends and said goodbye to some people I loved. The year I reminded myself that sometimes doing the right thing means hurting someone you care about, and then forced myself to do it anyway. The year I started to realize how painful the letting go part of parenting can be - and how badly I suck at that part. The year I reminded myself that I'm not as smart as I think I am, about 99.9% of the time.
It was also the year I realized how right my grandmother was - the older you get, the faster time flies by. When I was younger, I wished time to fly. I wished away hours, days and months. Now I just wish for them to stretch out a little longer, to enjoy just a few more hours every day of having children at home, a job that I generally enjoy, a memory that hasn't failed completely yet, nor eyesight that plays tricks on me.
Time. As the New Year begins, I know some of what lies ahead. Katie will leave St. Francis, where she has spent her entire life, and move on to high school. No longer riding in with me every day, but more independent and growing up, just as is intended. Elizabeth will move into Middle School life - sports, dances, parties and social heartbreak. My work has changed, and I stand on the precipice of creating something new - it's exciting and scary all at the same time. I've spent three years laying the groundwork, and I'm about to watch it all start to unfold. Success or failure - it will all fall on me. Scares the crap out of me sometimes. Time will fly by faster and faster.
I'll watch another 8th grade class graduate, and this year when I cry, it will be all the more for my own child and for the first class I taught full-time. Sixteen of those 84 kids started in my preschool classroom. Sometimes I want to smack some of them, because I've known them their entire lives and they're acting like idiots. Most of the time, I'm so incredibly proud of the people they have become.
As one group exits, I'll watch another group start school for the first time. New faces to learn, new smiles to know and same old problems every year, that all kids have in common. I will apply bandaids, break up fights, chase down crying girls in bathrooms, and at some point will threaten to glue at least one little boy to a chair if he doesn't sit down and leave his neighbor alone. The familiar comfort of knowing that children are the same no matter what else happens and changes in this fast-paced world.
It will be conflicting as I watch my children grow older and wiser, and my parents grow another year older and well...just older and smaller.
What does a year hold? Oh, about 220 days of work. About 330 dinners cooked. 50 dance classes. 100 runs to gymnastics class. Soccer games, volleyball matches, dance recitals, plays, choir performances, parties, sleepovers, and last minute study sessions. Weekly bouts of tears, from both the kids and from me.
I will hire new part-time employees, and watch others move on to better options. It'll irritate me for a moment, because I'm left in the lurch, and then I'm satisfied knowing I helped a young teacher find a promising position or a new graduate find their place in a bigger world. I don't just nurture the students, but also my part-time instructors. It's nice to know I've helped some of them find the right path. I've probably helped a few of them onto the wrong path as well, but they're nice enough not to come back and point that out.
I will clean my house too many times to count, but it'll never be often (or thorough) enough. C'est la vie. I will put 10,000 miles on my car. I will drink over 10,000 ounces of diet coke, and I will say that I should break this addiction, but probably won't. And I'm not too worried about it. I will see at least 20 movies, and will have at least 30 more I never made the time to see. I will TeeVo hours of television I never make time to watch.
I don't make resolutions - the above are just observations based on past history. What I will promise to myself is that I will try harder, laugh more, and really, really, really try to hold my criticism when talking to my irrational adolescent children. I will love with complete abandon, because those I love can be gone from my life for myriad reasons, with no warning. 2011 showed me that. I will try to praise those around me more - the hardest thing of all. I don't like being praised, so it's hard for me to remember that other people DO like it. And I will learn at least three new things this year. They don't have to be big things, just three new things. Because the day I stop learning, is the day I stop living.
Time will continue to march on - what I make of it is my responsibility. Joy or disaster, it's up to me to make the most of what I get.
Happy New Year.
2011, when I lost old friends and said goodbye to some people I loved. The year I reminded myself that sometimes doing the right thing means hurting someone you care about, and then forced myself to do it anyway. The year I started to realize how painful the letting go part of parenting can be - and how badly I suck at that part. The year I reminded myself that I'm not as smart as I think I am, about 99.9% of the time.
It was also the year I realized how right my grandmother was - the older you get, the faster time flies by. When I was younger, I wished time to fly. I wished away hours, days and months. Now I just wish for them to stretch out a little longer, to enjoy just a few more hours every day of having children at home, a job that I generally enjoy, a memory that hasn't failed completely yet, nor eyesight that plays tricks on me.
Time. As the New Year begins, I know some of what lies ahead. Katie will leave St. Francis, where she has spent her entire life, and move on to high school. No longer riding in with me every day, but more independent and growing up, just as is intended. Elizabeth will move into Middle School life - sports, dances, parties and social heartbreak. My work has changed, and I stand on the precipice of creating something new - it's exciting and scary all at the same time. I've spent three years laying the groundwork, and I'm about to watch it all start to unfold. Success or failure - it will all fall on me. Scares the crap out of me sometimes. Time will fly by faster and faster.
I'll watch another 8th grade class graduate, and this year when I cry, it will be all the more for my own child and for the first class I taught full-time. Sixteen of those 84 kids started in my preschool classroom. Sometimes I want to smack some of them, because I've known them their entire lives and they're acting like idiots. Most of the time, I'm so incredibly proud of the people they have become.
As one group exits, I'll watch another group start school for the first time. New faces to learn, new smiles to know and same old problems every year, that all kids have in common. I will apply bandaids, break up fights, chase down crying girls in bathrooms, and at some point will threaten to glue at least one little boy to a chair if he doesn't sit down and leave his neighbor alone. The familiar comfort of knowing that children are the same no matter what else happens and changes in this fast-paced world.
It will be conflicting as I watch my children grow older and wiser, and my parents grow another year older and well...just older and smaller.
What does a year hold? Oh, about 220 days of work. About 330 dinners cooked. 50 dance classes. 100 runs to gymnastics class. Soccer games, volleyball matches, dance recitals, plays, choir performances, parties, sleepovers, and last minute study sessions. Weekly bouts of tears, from both the kids and from me.
I will hire new part-time employees, and watch others move on to better options. It'll irritate me for a moment, because I'm left in the lurch, and then I'm satisfied knowing I helped a young teacher find a promising position or a new graduate find their place in a bigger world. I don't just nurture the students, but also my part-time instructors. It's nice to know I've helped some of them find the right path. I've probably helped a few of them onto the wrong path as well, but they're nice enough not to come back and point that out.
I will clean my house too many times to count, but it'll never be often (or thorough) enough. C'est la vie. I will put 10,000 miles on my car. I will drink over 10,000 ounces of diet coke, and I will say that I should break this addiction, but probably won't. And I'm not too worried about it. I will see at least 20 movies, and will have at least 30 more I never made the time to see. I will TeeVo hours of television I never make time to watch.
I don't make resolutions - the above are just observations based on past history. What I will promise to myself is that I will try harder, laugh more, and really, really, really try to hold my criticism when talking to my irrational adolescent children. I will love with complete abandon, because those I love can be gone from my life for myriad reasons, with no warning. 2011 showed me that. I will try to praise those around me more - the hardest thing of all. I don't like being praised, so it's hard for me to remember that other people DO like it. And I will learn at least three new things this year. They don't have to be big things, just three new things. Because the day I stop learning, is the day I stop living.
Time will continue to march on - what I make of it is my responsibility. Joy or disaster, it's up to me to make the most of what I get.
Happy New Year.
Friday, December 30, 2011
Small Town
I grew up moving a lot, and many of those years were spent in small towns. But I was born in Washington D.C., and I've lived the last twenty years in Houston. Sometimes I forget what small town is like. I reminded myself today.
It started two days ago when Katie came into my room asking - with absolutely no expectation I would say yes - if I would drive her to Cleburne, TX for a theatre workshop being taught by someone from Glee. With the world reduced to everyone being virtual neighbors, I find she is chatting with people all over the world through Twitter and other social networks. It's both frightening and fascinating to me. I spend so much time telling my kids "no" that it felt good to say, "why not." I'm on vacation, and I used to do spur of the moment things all the time. Being a mom who works, I rarely get to have unplanned fun.
So, we hit the road yesterday afternoon, just the three of us. Elizabeth had her copy of The Hunger Games and her itouch - we barely heard from her all four hours of the ride. I had forgotten how nice it can be to drive through the hill country when you're not in a hurry. Night fell as we rolled down a small state highway, and each town had a central square with a big Christmas tree still lit.
We got to Cleburne late last night, and spent the night in a Comfort Inn - much like every other Comfort Inn I've stayed in over the years. The owner was friendly, so friendly my girls wondered why it took me so long to check in. It was a recurrent theme - everywhere we stopped, things seemed to take longer, and everyone wanted to stop and talk. The exception was last night's dinner, in a small Mexican restaurant recommended by the hotel clerk. At 9:05 we were still eating and we were the only patrons left - Katie said that the waitress and host were chatting in Spanish about how long they thought we'd be, and whether or not they would get home by ten. Oops. I forgot about that part of not being in the city as well - things close down earlier.
After dropping Katie off at her workshop, I was even a little more confused. As thrilled as I was for her, that she was - well, not singing on Glee, but singing with a Warbler, from Glee; about as close as she was going to get - well, I was a little confused. This was a theatre academy for a tiny town, and a miniscule theatre. This was a television and Broadway performer and his wife whose latest project was with Brad Pitt. Why in Cleburne for about 18 kids? I found out later the guy's mom was part owner...ah, it begins to make more sense. And he got his start in that theatre. More sense again. And he'd grown up there - even more. I forgot, if you grow up in a small town, you can't wait to get out. But for most, it's still home and there's a sense of loyalty as well. A good thing, especially in the world we inhabit.
So, Elizabeth and I had a good chunk of the day to kill. I didn't want to get involved in the pre-New Year's traffic around Dallas, so we stuck with Cleburne. Drove the length of it...didn't take long. Got out and walked the length...didn't take much longer. I found there was a historical museum in the old library, so we went. First floor of the old library is filled with one man's private collection. He must have had QUITE a life, if that was his personal collection - dinosaur footprint, mammoth tusk, Kachina dolls, Kit Carson's saddle, General Cleburne's gun, turn of the century clothing, Civil War luggage - you name it, it was crammed on this one floor. Now those who know me know that I'm a history geek, and all it takes are a few artifacts and I'm content just reading and looking. I couldn't speak for hours after I left the tower of London, I had walked on so many pieces of history. This was...well...not the Tower of London, but still full of the history of lives. And there were photographs of the lives represented, letters that had been saved. In one case, there was a letter from a woman in World War 1, saying her son was missing in action and asking her cousins to pray, next to it was the notice of his death, his service photo, and a picture from his funeral. See, you can read all about wars, but until you see the lives touched by war, no one really gets it. The most touching piece was a Civil War Confederate uniform - with a picture of the local man who had worn it, as well as a picture of his wife who had spun, woven and sewn that uniform. He wore it home, only to die from his wounds two days later. I could still see the bullet hole in his jacket. Absolutely amazing.
And more amazing were the two older ladies working in the museum. They're volunteers, not paid, and have lived in Cleburne their entire lives. They hold the true history of the museum, and of the town. They were more than happy to talk - about the museum, the Layland family who donated all the items, about Christmas and Cleburne, and how hard it is to keep up with all the grant paperwork that was due by January 1st. They were in no hurry and happy to talk, to have visitors from outside of town.
After the museum, Elizabeth walked with me into a large antique store. We were greeted at the door by a growling and yipping dog the size of a large hamster. He went from growling to begging when he saw Elizabeth - she has this affect on animals. We were greeted by the owner, who asked us to excuse her son - who had just blown past us - as he wasn't much help and who knew where he thought he was going now (her words, not mine). Linda, who I felt I should have called Miss Linda out of respect, was a good deal older than my mother. She told me she had bought this business in 1981, when her husband passed of the cancer, because she needed something to keep her busy. Now she spends her days, one more piece of the past, crammed in among thousands of other items. What I managed to check out brought back many pieces of the past to me - dishes with the same pattern my grandmother had had, a travel case from the 1960's like my cousin, who was a stewardess, used to carry. Hairdryers from the 1960's, glassware like everyone's grandmother has at home, brassware, baby grand pianos, collector Coca Cola glasses, quilts. It was all thrown into the shop together, with no rhyme or reason. Linda came and found me digging through a pile of coasters, to ask me to fasten a chain of a necklace for her, because her fingers couldn't manage anymore. I did so and she told me that she'd meant to put some of her old jewelry out for sale, but decided to keep this fun piece. It was a beautiful necklace, worthy of a debutante, but didn't go so well with her turtleneck. I kept that thought to myself. Linda repeated herself a lot, and by her own admission was having trouble remembering things these days. She also said how tax laws had changed and she didn't understand all of it, but that she was going to lose half her business this coming year, because she owed money she didn't know she owed. I didn't get to look through even half of the interesting items in Linda's store, because - really - she just wanted someone she could talk with.
We crossed the street and looked through a tiny boutique that boasted salon as well, which turned out to be in the back. It was truly a full-service stop - they sell jewelry, do hair and nails, give pedicures, and have a full massage program. Elizabeth got her nails done while she was there - black with blue glitter. Me, I felt somewhat like I had drifted into an upscale version of Truvy's in Steel Magnolias. I was offered a drink, which I turned down the first time, but accepted a diet Dr. Pepper the second time through. They also offered us food, as the owner also owns two of the restaurants in town. As one of the stylists said, "no one leaves us hungry." Their regular customers sat in upscale chairs looking into wrought iron edged mirrors, sipping cokes and gossiping. One older lady was trying to walk one of the stylists through finding a picture in google, so they could style her hair to match. No lie, it was from the cover of 1952 movie. Another customer walked in and asked if the ipad being used was the stylist's Christmas present, and she replied, "oh, heck no, I got a leaf blower." Another one said, "that's better than me." Through it all, the ladies in the salon asked Elizabeth about her school, and asked both of us why we were in town. I felt like a novelty.
No one was in a hurry. Everyone had time to talk, on this day before a holiday. Everyone was still in a Christmas spirit, and there was a pace of life that just felt different. Now, don't think this means I'm ready to throw away where I live and move to small town Texas. Not even close, but it's good to visit, to find things that are out of the way, and remind myself of the parts of other lives I do like. Some qualities I need to nurture in my own life. Leaving the planned path and doing something different is good for all of us. Katie was ecstatic when I picked her up, and Elizabeth and I had an adventure of our own in the small town. Still, it's good to be home in my own bed tonight....
It started two days ago when Katie came into my room asking - with absolutely no expectation I would say yes - if I would drive her to Cleburne, TX for a theatre workshop being taught by someone from Glee. With the world reduced to everyone being virtual neighbors, I find she is chatting with people all over the world through Twitter and other social networks. It's both frightening and fascinating to me. I spend so much time telling my kids "no" that it felt good to say, "why not." I'm on vacation, and I used to do spur of the moment things all the time. Being a mom who works, I rarely get to have unplanned fun.
So, we hit the road yesterday afternoon, just the three of us. Elizabeth had her copy of The Hunger Games and her itouch - we barely heard from her all four hours of the ride. I had forgotten how nice it can be to drive through the hill country when you're not in a hurry. Night fell as we rolled down a small state highway, and each town had a central square with a big Christmas tree still lit.
We got to Cleburne late last night, and spent the night in a Comfort Inn - much like every other Comfort Inn I've stayed in over the years. The owner was friendly, so friendly my girls wondered why it took me so long to check in. It was a recurrent theme - everywhere we stopped, things seemed to take longer, and everyone wanted to stop and talk. The exception was last night's dinner, in a small Mexican restaurant recommended by the hotel clerk. At 9:05 we were still eating and we were the only patrons left - Katie said that the waitress and host were chatting in Spanish about how long they thought we'd be, and whether or not they would get home by ten. Oops. I forgot about that part of not being in the city as well - things close down earlier.
After dropping Katie off at her workshop, I was even a little more confused. As thrilled as I was for her, that she was - well, not singing on Glee, but singing with a Warbler, from Glee; about as close as she was going to get - well, I was a little confused. This was a theatre academy for a tiny town, and a miniscule theatre. This was a television and Broadway performer and his wife whose latest project was with Brad Pitt. Why in Cleburne for about 18 kids? I found out later the guy's mom was part owner...ah, it begins to make more sense. And he got his start in that theatre. More sense again. And he'd grown up there - even more. I forgot, if you grow up in a small town, you can't wait to get out. But for most, it's still home and there's a sense of loyalty as well. A good thing, especially in the world we inhabit.
So, Elizabeth and I had a good chunk of the day to kill. I didn't want to get involved in the pre-New Year's traffic around Dallas, so we stuck with Cleburne. Drove the length of it...didn't take long. Got out and walked the length...didn't take much longer. I found there was a historical museum in the old library, so we went. First floor of the old library is filled with one man's private collection. He must have had QUITE a life, if that was his personal collection - dinosaur footprint, mammoth tusk, Kachina dolls, Kit Carson's saddle, General Cleburne's gun, turn of the century clothing, Civil War luggage - you name it, it was crammed on this one floor. Now those who know me know that I'm a history geek, and all it takes are a few artifacts and I'm content just reading and looking. I couldn't speak for hours after I left the tower of London, I had walked on so many pieces of history. This was...well...not the Tower of London, but still full of the history of lives. And there were photographs of the lives represented, letters that had been saved. In one case, there was a letter from a woman in World War 1, saying her son was missing in action and asking her cousins to pray, next to it was the notice of his death, his service photo, and a picture from his funeral. See, you can read all about wars, but until you see the lives touched by war, no one really gets it. The most touching piece was a Civil War Confederate uniform - with a picture of the local man who had worn it, as well as a picture of his wife who had spun, woven and sewn that uniform. He wore it home, only to die from his wounds two days later. I could still see the bullet hole in his jacket. Absolutely amazing.
And more amazing were the two older ladies working in the museum. They're volunteers, not paid, and have lived in Cleburne their entire lives. They hold the true history of the museum, and of the town. They were more than happy to talk - about the museum, the Layland family who donated all the items, about Christmas and Cleburne, and how hard it is to keep up with all the grant paperwork that was due by January 1st. They were in no hurry and happy to talk, to have visitors from outside of town.
After the museum, Elizabeth walked with me into a large antique store. We were greeted at the door by a growling and yipping dog the size of a large hamster. He went from growling to begging when he saw Elizabeth - she has this affect on animals. We were greeted by the owner, who asked us to excuse her son - who had just blown past us - as he wasn't much help and who knew where he thought he was going now (her words, not mine). Linda, who I felt I should have called Miss Linda out of respect, was a good deal older than my mother. She told me she had bought this business in 1981, when her husband passed of the cancer, because she needed something to keep her busy. Now she spends her days, one more piece of the past, crammed in among thousands of other items. What I managed to check out brought back many pieces of the past to me - dishes with the same pattern my grandmother had had, a travel case from the 1960's like my cousin, who was a stewardess, used to carry. Hairdryers from the 1960's, glassware like everyone's grandmother has at home, brassware, baby grand pianos, collector Coca Cola glasses, quilts. It was all thrown into the shop together, with no rhyme or reason. Linda came and found me digging through a pile of coasters, to ask me to fasten a chain of a necklace for her, because her fingers couldn't manage anymore. I did so and she told me that she'd meant to put some of her old jewelry out for sale, but decided to keep this fun piece. It was a beautiful necklace, worthy of a debutante, but didn't go so well with her turtleneck. I kept that thought to myself. Linda repeated herself a lot, and by her own admission was having trouble remembering things these days. She also said how tax laws had changed and she didn't understand all of it, but that she was going to lose half her business this coming year, because she owed money she didn't know she owed. I didn't get to look through even half of the interesting items in Linda's store, because - really - she just wanted someone she could talk with.
We crossed the street and looked through a tiny boutique that boasted salon as well, which turned out to be in the back. It was truly a full-service stop - they sell jewelry, do hair and nails, give pedicures, and have a full massage program. Elizabeth got her nails done while she was there - black with blue glitter. Me, I felt somewhat like I had drifted into an upscale version of Truvy's in Steel Magnolias. I was offered a drink, which I turned down the first time, but accepted a diet Dr. Pepper the second time through. They also offered us food, as the owner also owns two of the restaurants in town. As one of the stylists said, "no one leaves us hungry." Their regular customers sat in upscale chairs looking into wrought iron edged mirrors, sipping cokes and gossiping. One older lady was trying to walk one of the stylists through finding a picture in google, so they could style her hair to match. No lie, it was from the cover of 1952 movie. Another customer walked in and asked if the ipad being used was the stylist's Christmas present, and she replied, "oh, heck no, I got a leaf blower." Another one said, "that's better than me." Through it all, the ladies in the salon asked Elizabeth about her school, and asked both of us why we were in town. I felt like a novelty.
No one was in a hurry. Everyone had time to talk, on this day before a holiday. Everyone was still in a Christmas spirit, and there was a pace of life that just felt different. Now, don't think this means I'm ready to throw away where I live and move to small town Texas. Not even close, but it's good to visit, to find things that are out of the way, and remind myself of the parts of other lives I do like. Some qualities I need to nurture in my own life. Leaving the planned path and doing something different is good for all of us. Katie was ecstatic when I picked her up, and Elizabeth and I had an adventure of our own in the small town. Still, it's good to be home in my own bed tonight....
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Geekdom and Other Reasons My Kids Need Counseling
Spring Break is drawing to a close, and it's been a nice week. I was overjoyed to start the week celebrating 3.14 - Pi Day to those who don't recognize it. It's a double celebration, because that day also happens to be Albert Einstein's birthday. I feel it is my duty to celebrate all things round and brilliant on that day. My kids humor me, because the torture is just that much worse if they fight the tide. Katie got into the spirit by making a festive "Happy Pi Day" banner for the dining room. Elizabeth drew circles on the driveway and blew bubbles. We had quiche and chocolate pie for dinner - which we didn't eat until the area and volume had been calculated. It was good fun.
So, it was just a couple of days later when they asked me if I had always been this big of a geek. Sadly, the answer is, "no." I was a closet geek in high school. I balanced the A+ test grades by not doing homework. I pretended to be irritated when my boyfriend wanted to watch Star Trek: The Next Generation, instead of making out, and told him I only tolerated it because Wesley Crusher was cute. But, in truth, I enjoyed it. I partied with my friends, and told no one that I liked writing poetry and enjoyed playing Dungeons and Dragons. Serious closet geek. I was much older before I realized the true joy in my geeky friends - they knew what they liked and didn't give a darn how other people felt about it. I married a geek. Every guy I dated before him was a geek. I should have realized when I spent Halloween my 17th year, in a graveyard, taking pictures with infrared film. Cute classmate was just an excuse - the pictures were awesome. Photoshop has nothing on properly handled infrared film.
So, if I have advice to my daughter, who worries sometimes about being on the outs, it would be to let the "geek flag" fly...everyone her age is floundering for who they are. At least embracing your differences frees you up to enjoy the moment. Second word of advice - embrace the inner geek, but dress the outer geek with style and grace. People still form opinions based on what they see in the first few minutes. Third piece of advice, whether you are solving complex equations, writing poetry, beating a high score on xbox, tap dancing, or singing opera - OWN your art...geek and all. Whatever your interest, embrace and and find what makes you passionate. Oh yeah, and back to advice #2 - try to look nice while you do it. Really, there's a fine line between geek at heart and geek with pocket protector. Don't cross the line.
So, my kids are going back to school on Monday. They'll embrace history papers and Shakespeare, and well...maybe they won't embrace Shakespeare, but they'll accept it as a fact of life. Pi Day is behind us for another 360 days, and already I'm planning ahead. The good news - Katie told me that we can celebrate 22/7 day on July 22nd....22/7 is a nome de plume for Pi, you know. And she cared enough to point it out to me.
Embrace your inner geek. And hug the geeks closest to your heart.
So, it was just a couple of days later when they asked me if I had always been this big of a geek. Sadly, the answer is, "no." I was a closet geek in high school. I balanced the A+ test grades by not doing homework. I pretended to be irritated when my boyfriend wanted to watch Star Trek: The Next Generation, instead of making out, and told him I only tolerated it because Wesley Crusher was cute. But, in truth, I enjoyed it. I partied with my friends, and told no one that I liked writing poetry and enjoyed playing Dungeons and Dragons. Serious closet geek. I was much older before I realized the true joy in my geeky friends - they knew what they liked and didn't give a darn how other people felt about it. I married a geek. Every guy I dated before him was a geek. I should have realized when I spent Halloween my 17th year, in a graveyard, taking pictures with infrared film. Cute classmate was just an excuse - the pictures were awesome. Photoshop has nothing on properly handled infrared film.
So, if I have advice to my daughter, who worries sometimes about being on the outs, it would be to let the "geek flag" fly...everyone her age is floundering for who they are. At least embracing your differences frees you up to enjoy the moment. Second word of advice - embrace the inner geek, but dress the outer geek with style and grace. People still form opinions based on what they see in the first few minutes. Third piece of advice, whether you are solving complex equations, writing poetry, beating a high score on xbox, tap dancing, or singing opera - OWN your art...geek and all. Whatever your interest, embrace and and find what makes you passionate. Oh yeah, and back to advice #2 - try to look nice while you do it. Really, there's a fine line between geek at heart and geek with pocket protector. Don't cross the line.
So, my kids are going back to school on Monday. They'll embrace history papers and Shakespeare, and well...maybe they won't embrace Shakespeare, but they'll accept it as a fact of life. Pi Day is behind us for another 360 days, and already I'm planning ahead. The good news - Katie told me that we can celebrate 22/7 day on July 22nd....22/7 is a nome de plume for Pi, you know. And she cared enough to point it out to me.
Embrace your inner geek. And hug the geeks closest to your heart.
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