Recently in life Category

I'm in New York this week, having come in with several other Penn Staters to attend the Web 2.0 Expo. Since we weren't signed up for workshops today, we took the afternoon to explore the city. Having lived here for a number of years, I felt reasonably certain that, armed with my trusty iPhone and subway apps, I could negotiate finding various points of interest. After a delightful lunch at Burgers & Cupcakes, off we went, Audrey and I focused on knitty city, an upper West Side yarn shop and then Sephora, Joe and George good naturedly tagging along behind us.

Oh, silly me.

Because in a blink of an eye, one moment I was walking down the street to makeup mecca, and the next, I was on the ground, faceplanted into cement. Seriously. Face on cement.

I am nothing if not complicated.

Today is Veterans Day here in the United States, where we pause and thank our veterans and current military personnel for their service to their country. We all know someone who has served our country. I'm married to one. I met my husband while I was a freshman at UT Austin and he was stationed at Fort Hood, Texas, in basic training. He then went on to serve in South Korea, where he spent time on the DMZ at the ripe old age of 20. He enlisted in part to take advantage of the G.I. Bill, but also because he believed it was the right thing to do. I honestly cannot fathom feeling called to serve my country, to protect the freedoms we take for granted every day. I do, however, know what life is like without those freedoms. I've lived overseas. Not just any country, mind you, where some things might be a bit unfamiliar. I lived in Saudi Arabia, the veritable antithesis of American life.

She climbs a tree and scrapes her knee,
Her dress has got a tear.
She waltzes on her way to Mass
And whistles on the stair.
And underneath her wimple
She has curlers in her hair!
I even heard her singing in the abbey!

She's always late for chapel

(but her penitence is real).

She's always late for everything

(except for every meal).

I hate to have to say it,
But I very firmly feel
Maria's not an asset to the abbey.

I'd like to say a word in her behalf:
Maria makes me laugh!

How do you solve a problem like Maria?
How do you catch a cloud and pin it down?
How do you find a word that means Maria?
A flibbertijibbet! A will-o'-the wisp! A clown!

Many a thing you know you'd like to tell her,
Many a thing she ought to understand.
But how do you make her stay
And listen to all you say?
How do you keep a wave upon the sand?
Oh, how do you solve a problem like Maria?
How do you hold a moonbeam in your hand?

When I'm with her I'm confused
Out of focus and bemused
And I never know exactly where I am
Unpredictable as weather
She's as flighty as a feather
     She's a darling!
                                    She's a demon!
                 She's a lamb!

She'd outpester any pest
Drive a hornet from its nest
She could throw a whirling dervish out of whirl
She is gentle! She is wild!
She's a riddle! She's a child!
     She's a headache!
                                    She's an angel!
           ..... She's a girl.

Oh, how do you solve a problem like Maria?
How do you hold a moonbeam in your hand?

I wondered what would be the worth of my words in the world
if i write them and then recite them are they worth being heard
just because i like them does that mean i should mic them
and see what might unfurl

i think of the significance of my opinions here
is it significant to be giving them does anybody care
just because i'm into this does that mean i should live like it
and really do i dare

art, art i want you
art you make it pretty hard not to
and my heart is trying hard here to follow you
but i can't always tell if i ought to

so i pondered the point of my art in this life
if i make it will someone take it and think it's genuine
will they be glad that i did 'cause they got something good out of it
will they leave me and be any more inspired

i question the outcome of the outpouring of myself
if i tell everyone my stories will this keep me healthy and well
will it give me purpose, to this world some sort of service
is it worth it, how can i tell

art, art...

-- Tanya Davis

wa⋅ter⋅shed

  / ˈwɔtərˌʃɛd, ˈwɒtər-/ [waw-ter-shed, wot-er-] 

It's quiet this morning. The weather is turning cooler, encouraging burrowing under the comforter and lounging, with no place to go, nothing to do. Leaves are turning and falling, and the black walnut trees are filling my backyard with their green pods, so that soon I'll have to collect them before the next mowing. I love mornings like this, where I have a fresh pot of coffee, and plenty of space to think.

I was partially adopted. I doubt many people realize that about me. It's not a tragic story; upon discovering I was being given away, the father stepped in and took me to raise on his own. This was highly unusual "back in the day," and probably accounts for a good bit of my skewed outlook on life. We were a pair for several years before he found someone to add to the mix. The woman he ended up marrying grew up in Iowa and vowed to escape at the first opportunity, so it was a compatible match: he procured a replacement mother to raise me while she, in turn, got a golden ticket out of the Midwest to explore the world. Given the situation, I didn't have much in terms of a family tree. My father's family was long gone, himself orphaned at an early age and raised by his sister before joining the merchant marines and the war effort. As for my mother, to this day I know nothing of the woman who was set to give me away, not even her name. The adoption, however, did bring with it a set of half-relatives and foreign family traditions.

This is the week of vacation. I've been looking forward to it all summer, wistfully watching friends and coworkers take off to exotic locales, or visiting family, or just getting away from the daily grind. I've noticed that it's taken me a bit of time to slow down, and I think that's typical--after all, it's usually my job to plan, coordinate, verify, count bodies (not including ones I've buried and we don't talk about) and generally ensure that countdown to--and arrival at--our destination is successful. Until that point, it's really not possible to totally relax and let go. There are a lot of the little things to be done before departing: cleaning up the odds and ends at work, watering houseplants, clearing out the post office box, making sure that house and dog are being cared for and attended to. You tell the neighbors not to panic when they see strange people staying at the house, and to please take advantage of the spoils of the garden, before things actually spoil. Vacation prep is work; and you hope that you've remembered it all. Which of course, you haven't, but once that car pulls away and gets far enough down the road, you hit that point of no return, where you realize you can replace the non-essentials, but the essential--vacation--is in front of you.

It's going on 10pm, and I've just gotten home after an early morning departure, a full day of work, meetings and a great lunch gathering, after work errands, plus trying to create a couple of presentations. Home feels good. And then I realize--I have no blog post for the day. I actually have one for tomorrow, believe it or not. But today? Nope.

Nada.

Nothing. (sigh)

Nuts.

My daughter, The Coed, is in North Dakota this summer, working as a camp counselor at a God camp. It's an awesome opportunity for her, but it's the first time she's been verrrrrrry far away for so long (she left for camp in early May). There is no stopping by to pick up a few things, no showing up at my desk for a surprise hello when she's on campus, no coming home for Sunday, Bloody Sunday (our standing end-of-weekend family dinner of steaks on the grill). Instead, we get an occasional text message or facebook update which is about all she can manage due to the time zones and schedules. On Sunday, however, I managed to grab the early morning phone call and had a wonderful conversation with her before she went off to KP duty. And you know what I got an earful of? Happiness and laughter.

Last night I got home and was immediately hit with "Can I borrow the car?" from the Senior Teenager In Residence (STIR). I really didn't mind, as the only plans I had for the care was to run it through a car wash to get some of the winter grime off now that it is a bit warmer out (I can't seem to get it out of the garage each morning without brushing up against grunge). "Sure, as long as you get it washed before you come home. I'll even give you money." A win-win solution, I thought, as he could drive to his basketball game, and I could stay home and focus on work while still getting the task accomplished.

Fast forward to this morning. I get dressed, grab my stuff, and have a happy mental moment of joy as I walk around my clean car in the garage, all ready for a full day. (Yes, folks, it's the simple things.) On time and ready for work. Right?

Wrong.