Finishing What I Started

"The fairies, as is their custom, 

clapped their hands with delight over their cleverness,

and they were so madly in love with the little house 

that they could not bear to think they had finished it."

-- J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens

The End. 12-31-13

"The end of a melody is not its goal:

but nonetheless, had the melody not reached its end

it would not have reached its goal either."

-- Friedrich Nietzsche

Like they say, "All good things must come to an end."

And so I bid you all "adieu."

Thank you to anyone and everyone who stopped by and peeked in on my 365 day journey.

I hope that perhaps I cheered you up, or made you think, or made you feel, or made you laugh.

I hope your 2015 is a happy year overflowing with good things.

Trust me. They're there. 

Don't ever stop looking for them.

xoxoxo

Caviar

"There is more simplicity in the man who eats caviar on impulse

than in the man who eats Grape-Nuts on principle."

-- G.K. Chesterton

Tobiko (flying fish roe) 12-30-14

"Under cover of the clinking water goblets and silverware and bone china,

I paved my plate with chicken slices.

Then I covered the chicken slices with caviar thickly as if

I were spreading peanut butter on a piece of bread.

Then I picked up the chicken slices in my fingers one by one, 

rolled them so the caviar wouldn't ooze off and ate them."

-- Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

My husband gave me bacon jerky and a few jars of caviar for Christmas.

I gave him a few bottles of whiskey and some boxes of shotgun shells.

Tobiko caviar on mother-of-pearl caviar spoon 12-30-14

It wasn't exactly The Gift of the Magi, but in our cockeyed way, it was a touching gift exchange nonetheless.

Anyway, yesterday I cracked open the little jar of red flying fish roe, called Tobiko, for my lunch.

I ate the itty-bitty, glistening, jewel-like eggs all alone by myself on crisp griddled toast spread with a tiny smear of wasabi.

I am neither a caviar expert nor a caviar snob.

I just happen to like it. Not all of it. I have my favorites. I prefer the milder stuff, and the tinier the eggs better. I like them to "pop" when I eat them.

The big fat soft ones? Nope.

Basically I take the same approach with caviar that I do with wine. It's a simple formula:  if it tastes good, I'll eat it. If it doesn't, I won't.

And this happened to taste very good.

Maybe today I'll try it with a tiny bit of jerky and see if it makes good bacon and eggs.

A Common Interest

"Peace is a never ending process ...

It cannot ignore our differences or 

overlook our common interests.

It requires us to work and live together."

-- Oscar Arias Sanchez

Finger puppets and a pop up toy 12-29-14

"So, let us not be blind to our differences --

but let us also direct attention to our common interests

and to the means by which those differences can be resolved."

-- John F. Kennedy, 

Commencement Address at American University, 1963

"The secret of happiness is this:

let your interests be as wide as possible

and let your reactions to the things and persons

that interest you be as far as possible

friendly rather than hostile."

-- Bertrand Russell

It is indeed a rare and precious occurrence around here to find something -- be it an activity, an idea, a philosophy, a movie, or simply what to have for supper -- on which we can all agree. 

We are a household of strong-willed, opinionated individuals who each tend to take a firm stance when it comes to what we like, believe, think, pursue, and choose to do with our time.

I'm pretty sure that just makes us a typical family.

But lately, we have all tripped upon a hallowed space of common ground.

In front of the television.

Don't judge. Hear me out.

I am familiar with and have personally decried the evils of too much television and the havoc it wreaks on family unity and communication.

Fuck that noise.

When a TV show causes all of us -- Dad, Mom, both sons and the girlfriend -- to lay aside our disagreements and come together with a common excitement and anticipation and interest and joy -- I'll take it.

It doesn't really matter what show it is. (Well, to us it totally matters. But to make my point, it doesn't.)

What matters is that we have found a small, kindred place where harmony reigns, where we can come together and share a little bit of time all enjoying the same thing, breathing the same air, reacting to the same turns of event, wondering at the same wicked plot twists, digging into the same bowl of popcorn. 

We're usually pulling in a million different directions, which makes our brief little sojourns to the Island of Common Interests a welcome and peaceful change of scenery.

It's one good thing. And one good show!

Hand-Me-Ups

"Sorry old girl," I said to [my bicycle] Gladys in the gray dishwater light of early morning,

"but I have to leave you at home."

-- Alan Bradley, A Red Herring Without Mustard

Lego Mini Marge Simpson with bicycle 12-28-14

"So if you have a bike that's hanging in the garage  --

one that you have fondness for but rarely ride --

keep an eye and ear out for someone who may benefit from it.

Bikes are built to be ridden."

--Rhys Newman, 

"The Joy of Hand-Me-Down Bikes," adventure-journal.com

hand-me-up

(noun)
"Something, such as an item of electronic equipment,
that is passed from a younger to an older member of a family."

One of the benefits of having kids that are about my size, like Sam, or grown much bigger than me, like Leo, is that I get their hand-me-ups.

My husband and I are repositories for clothes our boys have outgrown, toys they no longer play with, gizmos and gadgets they've replaced with newer, snazzier versions.

My first digital camera was a hand-me-up from Sam. It's where I cut my teeth and cozied up to the idea of digital photography.

I have an old, soft, thick, plaid flannel shirt of Leo's that I wear almost every day. It's keeps me warm when the house is chilly.

My favorite hand-me-up of the moment is a bicycle that Leo bequeathed to me when he got his car.

We bought the bike for him when he outgrew his old one, but before he had a driver's license. He mostly rode it back and forth to football practice when he couldn't bum a ride.

It's a good bike, barely used, and it was just sitting neglected in the garage gathering dust.

So when winter hit and I moved my skinny-wheeled, temperamental road bike to the stationary trainer in the basement, I cleaned up Leo's mountain bike and started putting it to use.

Now, it's my town bike. On mild winter days, I get outside and ride it for exercise. I buzz to the store on it. I have a wire basket that I can put on the handlebars to carry home groceries and stuff. Sometimes I toss my camera in the basket and just go exploring.

It's a substantial, hearty bike with thick nubby tires and pedals that don't require specialized cycling shoes. It's more sure-footed on slippery surfaces, and it gets me out of the basement so I can still enjoy riding in the fresh air and sunshine, even if it gets a little snowy.

Riding a bicycle is one of my all-time favorite "good things." And thanks to Leo's hand-me-up bike and a mild (so far) winter, I am still out there riding one, even though it's nearly January.

A Feeling Of Accomplishment

"Look at a day when you are supremely satisfied at the end.

It's not a day when you lounge around doing nothing;

it's a day you've had everything to do and you've done it."

-- Margaret Thatcher

Mushroom salt and pepper shakers 12-27-14

"I had arrived. I'd done it.

It seemed like such a small thing 

and such a tremendous thing at once ..."

-- Cheryl Strayed, 

Wild: From Lost to Found on the Pacific Crest Trail

For months ... OK maybe years ... I've been telling myself that I should really clean out my kitchen cupboards and get rid of some shit.

And then I look inside at the cluttered mess and the task seems so big, so overwhelming, that I just shut the doors and forget about the problem until the next time the Tupperware cupboard vomits its contents all over the floor. 

And instead of handling the mess, I shove it all back inside and I go take pictures of Barbies instead.

Well, yesterday things got real.

I did the work.

Because I had help. I had someone to kick me in the pants and get the job done.

Sam, my extremely efficient, streamlined son, is home for Winter break. So with his encouragement and a few cups of coffee, the two of us tackled the problem and cleaned out the messiest problem cupboards and drawers.

In the process, a couple of good things happened.

A. I found these funny little mushroom salt and pepper shakers that were my Grandma's.

B. My cupboards are blissfully organized and spacious and clean.

C. We filled the back end of my car with all the stuff I don't want or need anymore, and made a big donation at our local Goodwill collection center.

D. My previous feelings of frustration and anxiety over the messy, disorganized state of my cupboards was replaced by an enormous sense of accomplishment -- the satisfaction of a long-overdue job well done. 

I felt inspired, empowered, tired, yet ready to tackle the next mess and take another load of unnecessaries out of my house.

It was a very good feeling.

And tackling the problem with someone who kept me motivated made the task easier, more enjoyable, and a helluva lot more fun.

That felt good too.

Maybe Sam will help me clean out the closets next.

I hope so. He's a fun-gi.

Something To Remember Her By

"When we think of the past it's the beautiful things we pick out.
We want to believe it was all like that."

-- Margaret Atwood, The Handmaid's Tale

Antique engagement ring 12-26-14

"Remembrance restores possibility to the past,

making what happened incomplete

and completing what never was."

-- Giorgio Agamben, 

Potentialities: Collected Essays in Philosophy

One of my grandmothers lived to be 102 years old.

The other died when she was only 58.

I have copious experiences and objects and photographs by which to remember the one.

I have precious little by which to remember the other -- a wooden crucifix with a plastic Jesus, a single sepia-toned photograph of her and my grandfather with my own father as a newborn, and a scant handful of childhood memories. 

I've always wished for more. In the brief time we had together, I felt a strong connection to my father's mother. Her name was Alice. We hit it off. We did simple things together. She wasn't a fancy lady or a society dame. She was plain and quiet. She had heart trouble, so she kept things pretty low-key. 

She made perfect rhubarb pie and always had Dr. Pepper in the fridge and ribbon candy in a jar. 

The only toys in her house were leftovers she'd saved from when my Dad was a boy, things that seemed exotic and strange -- my favorite was a kaleidoscope. 

We played a lot of Old Maid. 

When we walked to the corner store, she'd buy me an enormous molasses cookie to eat on the way home. She'd hand the grocery bag over to me and ask me to carry "the whole kit and caboodle." 

She kept geraniums in paper bags in back of a dark closet to replant in the spring. 

I remember sitting on her lap waiting for my parents to bring my baby sister home from the hospital.

I was six or seven when she died. She'd pulled the shades and laid down on the sofa for her afternoon nap. A close neighbor noticed the shade was still drawn past the usual time, and went over to check on things. She'd died peacefully in her sleep, of heart failure.

She was buried in a baby blue dress.

While visiting my mother a couple of days ago, she scuttled me up to her bedroom with a clandestine whisper. She had something for me, she said.

She knelt on the floor and pulled out a wooden box from the bottom drawer of the nightstand on my Dad's old side of the bed. In it were a few old bits of jewelry, including my grandmother's engagement ring.

It's a delicate little antique ring from the late '30s, with a tiny speck of a diamond set in filigreed white gold smoothed from 20 years of wear. 

It might fetch a couple of hundred dollars on eBay, but I don't really think it's worth a whole lot, monetarily speaking.

But my breath kind of caught when my mother pressed it into hand.

My mother is at a stage in her life when she is offloading cargo -- giving her daughters particular items of family significance that she thinks we'll appreciate and care for. 

I am honored that my Mom chose to give this particular trinket to me.

I think she knows that I had a special connection with my grandmother. I even look like her. I have her nose and her chin. I have her over-sized hands. I have her rangy angularity. Her bony features.

I make a pretty damn good rhubarb pie myself.

I'm not a sentimental person, and I don't go all smushy-wooshy for family heirlooms. But receiving this particular object definitely tugged at a little something in my heart.

It's good to have a little touchstone. It's good to have something to remember her by.

Homies For The Holidays

"And thank you for a house 

full of people I love.

Amen."

-- Terri Guillemets

Gingerbread family 12-25-14

The best thing about Christmas is waking up in my own house, with my own little family.

Yesterday we traveled to Michigan for the big fat family shindig with my mother and my sisters and their families and all the kids and all the dogs and all the food and all the noise and the mediocre coffee and watching A Christmas Story for the umpteenth time followed by the late-night drive home in sketchy winter weather and being up until two wrapping presents.

Sigh.

It's always fun. But it's also exhausting.

This morning it's just us. The four of us.

It's quiet.

It's calm.

There's no stress.

There's no Christmas music.

Nobody is pestering me about when we can open presents.

Nobody is complaining that the food isn't organic.

There's no barking.

The coffee here is the best around.

I have to thank my mother particularly for being a generous, understanding, unselfish soul who makes it a priority to let her daughters spend Christmas Day in our own homes if we choose to. And even though Christmas Day is also her birthday, my Mom doesn't hassle us or give us any shit about not being there because she understands the importance of making our own family traditions and memories. She intentionally plans her Christmas get-together on a day that isn't Christmas Day.

It's the best gift she could possibly give us.

So, in the spirit of the holidays, I wish you a Happy-Whatever-Doesn't-Offend-You.

I hope you are spending it with people you love.

And I hope it is filled with lots of good things.

Treating Santa To What He REALLY Wants

"When adding liquor to your baking, 

start with a little and work up to your taste level."

-- Jessica Walker, 

"Baking With Booze," BettyCrocker.com

Cookies and bourbon for Santa 12-24-14

"Brown sugar and caramel flavors?

I'm talking about the bourbon of course."

-- Justin Abarca, "12 Whiskey and Food Pairings 

You Need to Know About," BuzzFeed.com

"... and a cup for Mommy so she

won't have to drink straight from her wine box."

-- Unknown

Fuck milk and cookies.

In my house, Santa gets a big boy beverage on Christmas Eve.

Whiskey. Bourbon. Scotch. Whatever he's in the mood for.

Definitely not milk. He's lactose intolerant. I don't want to make him feel gassy and bloated.

Maybe I'll mix him a Manhattan. I have it on pretty certain authority that he likes a good Manhattan, and I make a pretty good Manhattan.

I always make sure to leave him something good so that he knows how much I really love him.

XOXOXO

A Good Shortcut

"If you would really study my pleasure, mother,

you must consider your own comfort and convenience

a little more than you do."

-- Anne Bronte, The Tenant of Wildfell Hall

Candy Land 12-23-14

"Whenever there is a hard job to be done

I assign it to a lazy man;

he is sure to find an easy way of doing it."

-- Walter Chrysler, Life of an American Workman

Shortcuts get a bad rap.

While I can certainly appreciate the character-building benefits of taking the long way, I can equally appreciate a good shortcut if it gets me to the same destination in less time.

For instance, rotisserie chickens.

I am perfectly capable of roasting a juicy, tender, delicious chicken.

But roasting a fresh, raw chicken takes time and effort and oven space. Roasting two takes even more.

Today I am making a big pot of chicken chili to bring to a Christmas party tomorrow. It's for a crowd, so I'm making lots.

Instead of roasting the chickens myself, I bought pre-cooked rotisserie chickens at the grocery store. They'll save me some time, and they'll leave my oven available for some baking that I also have to do.

Good idea, huh?

A Good Luck Sign

"Finding a bird's nest tucked among the branches 

of the Christmas tree is one of the luckiest traditions of Christmas, 

for it predicts good fortune through the coming year."

-- Linda E. Allen, "Nestled in the Christmas Tree"

The bird nest in my Christmas tree 12-22-15

"Oh, Grossmutter, see! St. Nicholas hung 

a little bird's nest for me on the Christmas tree!"

"So he did, so he did, Gretel," said the old woodcutter 

as he took the nest down and put it in Gretel's hands.

-- Carolyn Sherwin Bailey, 

"The Child Abroad," Stories and Rhymes For A Child

"I have last year's nest on my windowsill ... 

and will put this year's next to it as a reminder 

of what it is to receive life's little gifts, especially at Christmas time. 

I like to believe that nature showers love on the people wanting to receive it."

--Laura Munson, 

"A Nest In The Hand," huffingtonpost.com

At our house, the Christmas tree is a guy thing.

The hunt it.

They kill it.

The decorate it.

It's their territory. Their tradition.

I don't touch it.

It's been that way since the boys were little, but big enough to hang ornaments. I just step aside and let them do it the way they want to.

I think my hands-off approach stems from my own bad childhood Christmas tree memories.

My parents had some pretty bitter arguments over the tree. I remember the whole process felt very stressful and made me extremely anxious.

My sisters and I would go along with Dad to the tree lot or wherever, take time picking out what we thought was a really great tree, and then bring it home for Mom's approval. Then we'd listen to a stream of criticism over his poor choice. It was too tall. Too short. The stem wasn't straight. There was a bare spot. Blah, blah, blah.

She'd bite.

He'd bite back.

I'd cower somewhere safe from the flying accusations and insults.

Needless to say, their arguing kind of sucked the magic out of it for me.

And I think that's why now, as a grownup with kids and a husband of my own, I do nothing but praise the efforts of my Christmas tree hunting/gathering/decorating team. They do a good job. I just sit back and enjoy it.

Because the guys always cut a real tree from out in the wild, every once in a while they bring home one with a bird nest hidden inside.

There's some Icelandic or German tradition that says finding a bird nest in your Christmas tree is a symbol of good health and fortune for the coming year.

They found one in this year's tree while they were trimming back the branches and stringing on the lights.  It's a tiny little nest -- delicate and wispy -- no bigger than a small child's fist.

I don't know if the bird nest in Christmas tree legend is true or not, but I like to think it is.

A little good luck is always a good thing.

Plus, how in the world can you argue over a Christmas tree that comes with a gift already inside?

Getting The Shopping Monster Off My Back

"... he would create a special level of hell,

an enormous inescapable shop of 

attractive but useless and overpriced items 

that the damned would wander for eternity

in the cold delusion that this was what they wanted."

-- Heide Goody, Clovenhoof

Pop-up monster toy in a Santa hat 12-21-14

"Pleasantly bustling shoppers streamed past us on Bond Street --

smart-suited men and well-heeled women whose

commitment to luxury goods glazed over their eyes

like a bad case of malaria."

-- Tyne O'Connell, Latest Accessory

"The thing to do," I said ...

"is to get absolutely everything in the summer and lock it in a cupboard.

Then order every scrap of food from a shop the week before Christmas

and sit back and enjoy watching everyone else go mad."

-- Miss Read, Village School

I bought my final Christmas gift yesterday.

Thank you Baby Jesus.

I do not particularly enjoy Christmas shopping, so it feels good to have the shopping monster off my back until it latches on again next year.

I do as little Christmas shopping as possible, and I'm very particular about who I buy for.

At this stage in my life, I will no longer let anyone pressure me into buying gifts for people I do not like -- you know, that forced Secret Santa crap or the fucking bullshit where you have to draw the name of a distant family member who you barely know, never see, and couldn't give two shits about.

Fuck that crap.

But I'm not a total Scrooge.

I don't mind getting gifts for people I love.

I try to give thoughtful things.

Unusual things.

Personal things.

Useful things.

Good things.

Cash (which falls under "useful.")

One of my favorite gifts this year is for our neighbor Vera. I got her a 1.75 liter bottle of Black Velvet whiskey. It's the big guy -- almost a half gallon -- in the plastic bottle. Vera is 86 and has a bum shoulder that makes it hard for her to lift heavy things. So I always buy her the plastic bottle because A.) it's lighter, and B.) if she drops it, there won't be any broken glass to contend with.

See what a good shopper I am?

Good Medicine

"When you got a condition,

it's bad to forget your medicine."

-- Frank Miller, Sin City, Vol 1: The Hard Goodbye

Mouth 12-20-14

"You'll be surprised how infinitely merciful they [these tablets] are.

The prescription number is 96814.

I think of it as the telephone number of God!"

-- Tennessee Williams, Summer and Smoke

My feet hurt all the time.

They've been that way for years.

I have literally given myself frostbite on my feet from icing them to numb the pain.

But I recently started taking this new medicine.

And for the first time in a very long time, my feet don't hurt.

It's my Christmas miracle.

Places That DON'T Play Christmas Music

"Put a cork in it, Zane!"

-- "Derek Zoolander", Zoolander

Santa teapot with a cork in it 12-19-14

The bigger-than-life-sized freaky Santa towering over the Buddha should have been my first clue.

Sam and I went to have lunch and do some shopping yesterday at an "upscale" shopping center.

We stopped for sushi at our favorite Asian restaurant. 

My unagi roll was delicious. But the constant drone of Christmas music being piped through the restaurant's sound system kind of sucked the zen right out of the dining experience.

The two of us had a seriously intense bitch session about why we detest the onslaught of Christmas music that saturates pretty much every environment this time of year.

It's exhausting, and frustrating, and annoying, and maddening, and everywhere. There's no escape.

Except, apparently, Abercrombie & Fitch.

Usually I can't wait to get out of A&F. I hate that store. The high volume, high intensity dance party music and overpowering cologne stench give me intense anxiety, and a contact buzz. But yesterday, instead of making me claustrophobic and anxious, the Christmas music-free zone felt felt like an oasis. An escape.

Albeit brief. Because when we stepped back out onto the street, there it was again, Christmas music permeating the atmosphere like tear gas.

If I hear Gloria Peevey singing "I Want A Hippopotamus for Christmas" one more time, Imma cut a bitch.

Here's the thing.

I know it's Christmas. I get it. Enough already.

I do not need a Christmas music drubbing everywhere I go to remind me.

You know what would be refreshing, and a real gift? Don't play Christmas music in your store, or restaurant, or business. How about giving your customers a little break for the holidays?

My massage therapist, for example, does NOT play ANY Christmas music in her establishment.

She understands that her clients come there to relax, to escape, and to step out of the world for an hour. Allowing Christmas music to intrude rudely on the sanctuary-like environment would be counterproductive, even damaging.

If you go someplace that isn't playing Christmas music, and you like it like that, be sure to acknowledge it and thank the management for having the balls to break ranks and follow their own path.

The Clean Plate Club

"Clean plates don't lie."

-- Chef Dan Barber

Gastrointestinal (G.I.) Joes 12-18-14

"My favorite animal is steak."

-- Fran Lebowitz

"... and after swallowing the liquid 

I crunched the bones 

and sucked the marrow ..."

-- William Henry Hudson, Green Mansions

Leo invited his friend Jose to go weightlifting with him yesterday, and asked if I'd cook dinner for them after their workout.

Fuck yeah, I'll cook. That's a no-brainer.

Whenever one of my guys starts a question with "Mom, will you cook (insert food here)?" the answer is yes. 

The answer is always yes.

I love to cook. But I really love to cook when 1.) someone I care about asks me to, and 2.) I'm cooking for good eaters.

I asked Leo what he wanted me to make and he said "meat."

Other than "no dessert" and "minimal carbs," the boys left the menu up to me.

They're simple creatures with healthy appetites. What mom wouldn't want to cook for a crowd like that? Even if it's only a crowd of two?

So I grilled four big juicy ribeye steaks, roasted three fat caramelized yams and some lovely Roma tomatoes with olive oil and balsamic, steamed some broccoli, cooked a steaming pot of thick, spiced lentils, made a fresh jug of iced tea and, for "dessert," peeled and sectioned a bowl full of refreshing, palate-cleansing clementines.

When they got home from building up their manly muscles at the gym, they ate it.

All of it. 

To put it in their lingo, they "smashed." They smashed everything except for about a cup of broccoli and the half a yam that I ate.

Jose just kept saying "All of this food is so good."

What a sweet boy.

When they were finished, their plates were clean enough to put back in the cupboard. 

The dishes were empty.

The boys were full. 

The cook was happy.

After their meal, the boys sprawled on the couch in the basement for a couple of hours and watched a weightlifting movie while they digested. When they finally came upstairs and Jose had to take off, they both said they were hungry again. 

I was still full on my half a yam.

Jose said goodbye and thanked me again for the meal. Then he said some more magic words.

"You're a really good cook."

Aww.

Can I keep him?

Coloring My Own Hair

"She was what we used to call a suicide blonde --

dyed by her own hand."

-- Saul Bellow

A pretty funky chicken 12-17-14

"All the products I need for my hair

are at the drugstore!"

-- Laura Osnes

"Now I just have mood hair."

-- Julia Roberts

My hair is brown.

Regular, plain old brown. Nothing special.

And I'm OK with that. I like my brown hair. Brown is a perfectly fine color for hair.

But every now and then, when too many rogue, wiry grays start poking through the landscape, I like to color my hair. I don't choose anything exotic. No "raspberry creme" or "ebony mocha" or "Navajo bronze." Just regular, plain old brown.

I prefer my collar and cuffs to match, thankyouverymuch.

I've paid big money for a professional to talk me into and then dye my hair a shade I don't really like. They convince me it's "on trend" or "edgy." It's almost always unnatural looking -- too black, too red, too weird. Still, I fork over the cash, then spend the rest of the day trying to convince myself that it looks OK.

I tried highlights. Once.

After it was over I feigned excitement in front of my stylist, but it was a ruse. I hated it. But I wanted a second opinion.

So immediately upon leaving the salon I drove straight to my husband's office for his take on my new streaky look.

Me: "What do you think?"

Him: (long pause) "It makes you look (searching for the right word) ... older."

Me: (inner monologue) "Fuuuuuuuuuuuuckkkkk!"

I tore out of his office, sped straight to the drug store and bought a $9 box of regular, plain old brown to cover up the $100 damage.

"They" say the most flattering hair color is the one you had, naturally, when you were in kindergarten or thereabouts. For me, regular, plain old brown is what looks good. 

It's not the most exciting color in the spectrum, but it works for me.

  

Music Education

"Some people think music education is a privilege,

but I think it is essential to being human."

-- Jewel

Violin 12-16-14

"Music, of all the liberal arts, has the greatest influence over the passions, 

and it is that to which the legislator ought to give the greatest encouragement."

-- Napoleon Bonaparte

"Music is a way for young people to connect with themselves

as well as a bridge for connecting with others.

Through music, we can introduce children to the

richness and diversity of the human family

and to the myriad rhythms of life."

-- Daniel A. Carp, CEO, Eastman Kodak

"Without music, life would be a mistake."

-- Friedrich Nietzsche

Last night we attended a high school choir and orchestra concert.

It did my heart a great good to see and hear so many young men and women making beautiful music together with their voices and their instruments.

I could totally get on a soapbox about how I feel about the importance of music (and all the arts) in the education of our youth. But I won't. If you want to read about the myriad benefits of music education (and I encourage you to do so), click here.

I simply want to applaud the students and their teachers for making music a priority in their school, and in their education and in their lives.

And I want to encourage anyone who'll listen to support the arts in our schools whenever the opportunity comes up.

Vote yes for the arts and for legislators who support arts education.

Show up at concerts, even if you don't have a kid in the program.

Buy something from the fundraiser or make a donation.

Sign your kid up for lessons.

Buy your nephew a guitar or a harmonica or a ukulele for Christmas.

However you can, please encourage budding musicians to keep it up, keep practicing, keep trying, keep playing, keep singing.

Because music has the capacity and power to make us all better people.

And better people make a better world.

And I, for one, think a better world would be a good thing.

Daydreaming

"Nothing makes time pass or shortens the way

like a thought that absorbs in itself

all the faculties of the one who is thinking."

-- Alexandre Dumas, The Three Musketeers

Daydreaming frog on a porch 12-15-14

"There are certain half-dreaming moods of mind

in which we naturally steal away from noise and glare,

and seek some quiet haunt where we may indulge our reveries

and build our castles undisturbed."

-- Washington Irving,
"The Mutability of Literature"

"Unlike any other form of thought,

daydreaming is its own reward."

-- Michael Pollan, 

A Place of My Own: The Education of an Amateur Builder

To The Lighthouse

"So fine was the morning except for a streak of wind

here and there that the sea and sky looked all one fabric."

-- Virginia Woolf, To The Lighthouse

Huron Lighthouse 12-14-14

"He heard her in his heart -- whispering from the mist."

-- John Geddes, A Familiar Rain

There is a lighthouse in my town.

It's a perfectly fine, serviceable lighthouse situated on the south shore of Lake Erie at the mouth of the Huron River. It is a functioning lighthouse that guides pleasure boaters and fisherman into the local marinas, and giant freight ships to the limestone plant.

Our lighthouse is kind of an icon around here. It shows up in logos. Businesses use it in their advertising. The Chamber of Commerce pimps it out in brochures and shit like that. Tourists take pictures of it. Local artists paint it. Blah, blah, blah.

I used to go running out on the elevated cement walkway that leads to the lighthouse from the shore. But it's been years since I went out there for a look.

No reason, really. I haven't been avoiding the lighthouse. I haven't been shunning it. I just don't think about it.

Some people go all gaga for lighthouses. They paint pictures of lighthouses and photograph lighthouses and embroider lighthouses onto sweatshirts.

I don't know. I guess I'm kind of over it. I'm pretty fucking blasé about lighthouses. If you've see it once, you've seen it a million times, right? Do I really need to see it again?

From an artistic subject matter standpoint, lighthouses seem too predictable, too sentimental, too obvious.

Anyway, yesterday I said "fuck you" to my cynical lighthouse apathy, turned left instead of right, and walked to the damn lighthouse. I even took some pictures.

The cold air and the mist felt good on my skin.

The solitude of being out there where nobody else was felt good in my soul.

The lighthouse looked decidedly lovely through the camera's lens.

It was one of those drizzly, monochromatic days, where everything goes all soft and misty. A day rendered in gray tones. Like England.

There were tons of screaming, squawking seagulls flying around lending dynamic movement to the otherwise static nature of the scene.

There was texture. There was atmosphere.

I don't mind saying I got kind of into it. I was out there shooting photos until my fingers went numb and I had to put my mittens back on.

Walking back towards shore, I realized that even though I've seen the lighthouse and multitudinous images of it, I have never seen it through my own camera's lens.

I've seen other people's images, but never made my own.

It opened my eyes and gave me a fresh perspective on what I thought was a stale, tired old subject.

It's a good thing I made that left turn.

Smart Funny People

"We use 10 percent of our brains.

Imagine how much we could accomplish

if we used the other 60 percent."

-- Ellen DeGeneres

Barbie with a wiffle ball head 12-13-14

"The kind of humor I like is 

the thing that makes me laugh for five seconds 

and think for ten minutes."

-- William Davis

"We have enough youth. 

How about a fountain of smart?"

-- Unknown

It's A Good Thing The McRib Wasn't Available

"Devotees have traveled to find stores offering it."

-- Maureen Morrison, 

"Can the McRib Save Christmas?" adage.com

Golden arches shining in the East 12-12-14

"The heavenly sign around the time of the birth of Jesus Christ

was likely an unusual alignment of planets, the sun and the moon."

-- Tom Coyne, 

"Why Did Wise Men Follow 'the Star in the East?'", nbcnews.com

"The fleeting nature of the sandwich

has generated a cult-like following."

-- "11 Amazing Facts About the McDonald's McRib," 

businessinsider.com

"Not everyone is ecstatic about the return of the McRib."

-- "11 Amazing Facts About the McDonald's McRib," 

businessinsider.com

So here's how my twisted mind works.

Yesterday I took my walk later than usual, so I was chasing the sunset to get home before dark.

As I walked the bicycle path that runs along some woods near my house, I could see the McDonald's sign gleaming like a beacon in the night sky in the far distance.

And I thought myself, "Geez. It sure is a good thing the McRib wasn't available back in the day, or who knows where those three wise men would have ended up. I think we all know who the real star of Bethlehem would have been."

Some things might stay the same.

Like, there'd still be flocks of people.

The lines would still be super long.

King Herod would still get all pissy, because he'd side with the animal rights people protesting the inhumane treatment of pigs or some shit.

Or he'd get pissy because the McDonald's location near his palace didn't have the McRib yet. So instead of sending the Wise Men to kill baby Jesus right away, he'd have sent them on a wild goose chase all over Judea to fetch him a McRib combo.

Parents of male children aged two and under would have to miss out on the limited time availability of the McRib, because taking Jr. to the PlayPlace would've been pretty risky. Obvs.

And there you have it.

It's sick and irreverent, I know. But sometimes I just can't help myself.

Kind of like people who love the McRib.

Amiright?

I'll stop now.

A Strange Facial Expression

"Silence will not betray your thoughts

but the expression on your face will."

-- H.G. Mendleson

Self portrait (collage) 12-11-14

"The face is more honest than the mouth will ever be."

-- Daphne Orebaugh

" ... it took her some moments to recall

what her normal face even looked like,

but after several attempts she was able 

to settle on a reasonable facsimile."

-- Haruki Murakami, IQ84

"I want freedom for the full expression of my personality."

-- Mahatma Gandhi

I have been working away on this particular self-portrait for quite a while.

Cutout hands, glue, adhesive spray, X ACTO knives, razor blades and magazine pages have littered the floor of my workspace since about August.

I tinkered with it a little here. A little there.

In literal bits and pieces, this collage has evolved over the past few months. The good part is, it's finally done.

Yeah, I know, it's a little bit strange.

I won't bore you with inadequate words trying to explain what this self portrait means to me, or what it says about me. 

I'll just let it speak for itself and if it says something to you, that's great. 

If it makes you feel something, that's even better. 

If not, that's fine too.

Jesus Mary & Joseph ... And Homer

"I do like Christmas on the whole ...

In its clumsy way, it does approach Peace and Goodwill.

But it is clumsier every year."

-- E.M. Forster

"A Christmas Story" leg lamp in a window 12-10-14

"The place changes: 

it's not the same as it is in daytime."

-- Haruki Murakami, After Dark

Inflatable Homer Simpson 12-10-14

"Christmas waves a magic wand
 over this world and behold,
everything is softer
and more beautiful."

-- Norman Vincent Peale

Christmas lights 12-10-14

I've been taking walks after dark in the evenings, checking out the neighborhood Christmas decorations.

Oy, veh.

The local Clark Griswolds are out in full force.

There are homages to movies, to television shows, to Disney, to Mr. Potato Head.

One house has an inflatable Noah's Ark with the two-by-two animals in matching Santa hats. Clearly they have their Bible stories a little criss-crossed. Or they're on an acid trip.

But hey. Whatever sells, right?

Light up Magi 12-10-14

Some displays are nice and tasteful, perfectly fine and understated.

There are a lot of light-up nativity scenes and plastic Jesuses.

There are lots of demonic Santa faces.

There's "the glow of electric sex gleaming in the window."

Others?

Well.

Light up snowman 12-10-14

Although I do think I like the super tacky stuff the best.

I mean, nothing quite says "Welcome Baby Jesus" like a light up snowman with a digital "O O HO HO" flashing across his groin.

Anyway, since you can't literally go on a walk with me, I thought I'd give you a virtual tour and share a little bit of what I've been seeing.

So last night, just for you, I took my camera on my walk and creeped around on people's lawns in the dark.

Hey, I'm a giver.

What would Jesus do?

Enjoy!

Nativity figurines 12-10-14

Christmas lights 12-10-14