Let It Go!

While Kevin was in California I didn't fret about his professional future. I knew he was having a wonderful experience and told myself that he'd deal with the new academic year when he returned.

Shortly after his return, Kevin took an audition for the New World Symphony in Miami and was a finalist...a wonderful achievement but not the full time job everyone had hoped for. He then had virtually nothing on his professional plate, but I gave myself daily lectures on staying out of his business and letting my worries go. Kevin may have a different opinion on how my "letting go" actually played out, but I really didn't let my brain get overwhelmed with details of his career that are completely out of my power to change in any case.

So what has happened? Kevin substituted with the Civic Orchestra in September and he leaves next week to play a concert with the New World Symphony. He is once again in the Civic Orchestra's "Musicorps" which will give school and community percussion concerts throughout the year. He is the percussion coach for the Chicago Youth Concert Orchestra, the second tier orchestra of the Chicago Youth Symphony Orchestra he belonged to in high school. Yesterday he was hired by a local high school to give weekly private lessons to a group of students and he continues to get shifts as stage manager at the Music Institute. Whew!

Obviously, my "letting go" didn't make these things happen. My "letting go" won't eventually get him a permanent orchestra position. My "letting go", however, has freed me to rejoice in each professional step Kevin takes and to be much more relaxed when he has disappointments. I'm not in charge, but God is....and, as the sappy hymn line reads, He always provides us with "yet one more surprise."

Am I still in 8th grade?

I GOT A DETENTION!

Not really, but our choir director reacted to the low attention at rehearsal last week by instituting a second rehearsal each Sunday at 8:00.

I considered being passive-aggressive and just not showing up for this extra rehearsal. I also considered "suggesting" (read: send a nasty e-mail) to the director that perhaps the music and schedule he has chosen are just too difficult for this choir with an average age of 68 or so. Instead, I acted like an adult, was pleasant, and went to the rehearsal.

And an unexpected nice thing happened. My throat didn't tighten up and I didn't make croaking sounds every time I had to sing a "G" or an "A".

A word of explanation. As a teacher I had an annual case of laryngitis. Over the years, it has taken longer to recover from each bout. Following our trip to France in June, I had some sort of airplane induced virus and again lost my voice. Talking quickly returned, but I couldn't sing at all for many weeks. Eventually I could sing low notes and high notes, but not the notes in the middle of my range. The multi-verse hymns particularly taxed my vocal chords. Yesterday I sang sans croaking!

Was yesterday some sort of divine "retribution"? Go to the rehearsal like a good girl and you will be rewarded with a healed voice? Hmmmmm.

THE WHOLE CLASS GOT YELLED AT WHEN ONLY A FEW MISBEHAVED

The water aerobics teacher read a "memo" from the exercises program director reminding us of several rules...particularly the one about not talking during the exercise classes. The vast majority of the group was really glad the issue was finally addressed.

The funny thing is that the offenders were not there today. The "good students", of course, looked abashed and were afraid to even say "excuse me" if they bumped into someone.

Things haven't changed from when the "bad kids" snickered and the "good kids" were ashamed while the entire class got a lecture back in 8th grade.

I WATCH TOO MUCH TV

This is an embarrassing confession.

While in the pool I looked out the wall of windows and saw a beautiful blue sky with white fluffy clouds. I said to myself, "Why does this view look so familiar."

Then it hit me. The REAL sky and clouds looked exactly like the opening scene of every Simpsons episode.

Get a life, Alice!

Top 10 Reasons We Own a Mini-Van

This week I received a solicitation to buy our Christmas wreath from the Music Parents Club, the Boy Scouts were selling popcorn outside the grocery store and we received the bill for our extra "umbrella" liability insurance. All are reminders of why our "Pedros" (our blue and later our red mini-vans) were such an important part of our lives.

10. The liability insurance was purchased when I was regularly transporting Cub Scouts in Pedro #1. Can't say that I miss corralling ten hyper-active nine-year-olds in the nature center. (One of the nine, a blood relative, was perfect...but those others....)

9. Later that evolved into carrying boys and instruments. Pedro #2 often carried Kevin and his marimba downtown. This was not a simple activity! The Chicago Youth Symphony's space is in a building on south Michigan Avenue. There is NO parking on Michigan Avenue. The building had a small elevator which was actually manned by a human and, naturally, all of the marimba pieces would not fit in one elevator car. So this operation required four people. I would drive and pull up in front of the building. Kevin and Ken would jump out and remove all the marimba pieces from "Pedro" and place them on the sidewalk. My mom would also get out and stand guard of the remaining Marimba pieces on the sidewalk while Ken and Kevin took other pieces upstairs in elevator sized groupings. I would, meanwhile, either drive around until this operation was complete or go and park. At the end of the audition or concert, this process would be reversed.

8. Just after Thanksgiving, and ALWAYS on a snowy, windy, cold day, I would stop after school and pick up the twenty or so wreaths that our friends had been cajoled into buying from the Music Parents Club. The car would be piled with aromatic pine wreaths until whichever boy was currently in junior high was available to help me drive around to deliver all this Christmas cheer.

7. Soon after the wreath delivery came citrus delivery. So now Pedro and I would drive to the high school and pick up carton after carton of oranges and grapefruit. Pedro, now smelling like someone spilled orange juice on a pine tree, the current high school "bandie" and I would spend a Saturday morning hauling fruit all over town.

6. Pedro often carried the entire family: the four of us, my mom, and Ken's parents. Of course, I was elected to sit in the "way back" with David and Kevin. That got harder as they grew....but I do miss having those times with everyone together.

5. Pedro also often carried Club 62. The person with the big car (me) was usually elected to drive when we went on "Shop til You Drop" excursions at the Outlet Mall in Indiana or when we went to "El Escape" at Bonnie's house in Michigan. Pedro always returned from those events filled with either shopping bags or bushel baskets of Michigan fruit!

4. Pedro is an excellent "yak" carrier. When the kayaks were purchased about 15 years ago, it was also necessary to purchase VERY expensive molded styrofoam supports that secure the kayaks to the roof rack. A very complex series of ropes and bungee cords completed the routine. Nothing like driving 55 miles an hour on the inter-state and seeing either the red or yellow kayak beginning to slide!

3. Pedro liked school. He liked school so much that he drove both boys and all their instruments and other "stuff" to multiple summer music programs in Illinois and Michigan. He drove both of them and all their stuff to multiple dorms and apartments at Northwestern. He drove to Kevin's more advanced summer music experiences in Massachusetts and New York. He drove Kevin to many auditions in nearby states. He drove to the New England Conservatory twice. He soaked up a lot of knowledge while sitting near dorms and classrooms! He became pretty musical also.

2. Pedro liked to camp and so did we when the kids were school aged. Pedro didn't seem to mind carrying wet tents and soggy sleeping bags when we got rained out. He also didn't mind serving as a motel when the lightning and thunder were scary. He even supplied the power for the air pump!

1. Pedro loved exploring the country. He knew highway 90 well---from Albert Lea, Minnesota to Wyoming and also from Chicago to Boston. Most importantly he provided a place for us all to be "trapped" together for our vacation weeks and those were probably the best family times we've had.

About a year ago, Pedro #2 was bequeathed to Kevin upon his return from graduate school. Pedro spent last year carrying even more percussion equipment all over Chicagoland and to nearby states for auditions. In May, however, we received the sad news that Pedro was no longer safe to drive.

Pedro was replaced by another used Caravan...but Kevin refuses to call the new mini-van Pedro. He says it is a car, not a person. Maybe so, but when thinking of all that happened in our 20 years of mini-van owning, HE was part of the family!

Three Totally Unrelated Topics

Topic #1: Happy Punctuation Day! ¡Feliz Día de la Punctuación! What is punctuation day? Well, it's a day to honor all sorts of wonderful things: ampersands, commas, umlauts and diéreses (which are actually the same thing...just in different languages), tildes, colons, semi-colons, dashes, and those wonderful accent marks. When you see a punctuation mark today, please thank it for all it does for the written word!

Note that I put a comma after "dashes" and before "and". That was hard to do. I was taught that there was never a comma before the "and" in a list. In recent years, however, an English teacher colleague informed me that the sacred rule had been changed. It hurts, but I now insert that comma!

Topic #2: I Can't Zumba! Zumba is a somewhat new form of exercise involving relatively simple dance/exercise set to Latin Music. There is even a "Zumba Gold" for seniors or people desiring an easier workout. For the obvious reason---I don't have a dance bone in my body--I've never attended a Zumba class. So now, in their great wisdom, the exercise gurus have come up with a Zumba-Aqua class. I love the day and time of the class, but I simply cannot dance...not on land and especially not in the water! She has us "shimmy" our shoulders. We're supposed to stick out our hips with a push. She expects us to do one rhythm with our hands and another with our feet.

I feel like a complete idiot and have completely given up. While she has the group shimmying and shaking, I just do my jumping jacks and cross-country skiing and hope that no one notices. Unfortunately, I know they DO notice.

Topic #3: Mort died yesterday. Mort was one of the people that I have gotten to know at Rosewood. He was one of the few ambulatory residents and moved quickly just using the walker for balance. He looked a bit like the old guy who did the fast dance commercial for Six Flags. My mom called him "the penguin" because he wore a white cap with a black jacket and sweat pants that bunched up around his ankles. One of the first memories I have of Mort was watching him dance with another ambulatory resident at a Halloween party last year. The joy on both their faces was palpable, as were the expressions on all those unable to dance but remembering their dancing days.

Watching Mort dance was his "girlfriend" Frances who used a wheelchair. Mort and Frances were always together, deep in conversation. Mort was very solicitous of Frances. Then Frances developed dementia of some sort and very rapidly lost her conversational and social ability. Soon she was moved to the "assisted" dining room. Mort often sat with her there as she became less and less able to communicate with him. Frances died about a month ago. Even a casual glance showed that Mort was desolate. It was sad to see him wandering the halls alone. Mort had a heart attack yesterday morning and died quickly.

Today's death notice mentions his dear wife to whom he was married for "56 wonderful years." Just as Supreme Court Justice Sandra Day O'Connor has publicly supported her Alzheimer's stricken husband's romantic relationship at his nursing home, I hope that Mort's wife was able to support her husband's need for an important friendship with a woman at his nursing home. Confusing morality here....but I just can't see this as a simple black or white morality issue.

In spite of living in a group situation, life is so lonely for nursing home residents and there is so little affectionate touch. How lovely that Mort and Frances could benefit from a warm, caring relationship while living in the nursing home.

Sealed by the Holy Spirit

I often cry at baptisms. The promises that parents and sponsors make, the promises that God makes through baptism and the promises of the long life ahead for the baby all push my sentimental "buttons".

Today we had an adult baptism. I cried. The tears today weren't sentimental, however. They were a new realization of what baptism truly means.

A fifty-ish couple began attending our church during the summer. I sat next to them a couple of times and they were quite friendly and that the man tenderly doted on his wife. I noticed that the man took communion but his wife did not. I also noticed that the woman's physical condition was obviously changing from week to week: from somewhat unsteady on her feet, to firmly holding on to her husband, to today using a wheelchair.

Today the woman was baptized and her husband affirmed his baptism. Three pews were filled with proud relatives and friends. Grandchildren watched their Grandma receive the sacrament. Photographs were taken. Two members of the congregation served as her sponsors. Following the baptism the woman was wheeled to the center aisle where she positively beamed and said, "Thank you" over and over again. Later in the service she communed for the first time.

I do not know any details of the woman's health situation, but her spirit was aglow today. She has been "sealed by the Holy Spirit and marked with the cross of Christ forever" and she knows and understands that. She smiled, we smiled, and I know God smiled, too!

Just Had to Get It Off My Chest

Seen in the last twenty-four hours.

Street Sign in Glenview: Schools Open
What did the schools open? Maybe now that SCHOOL'S open, someone will be able to write the rest of the sentence on the sign.

Local Newspaper Article: The talented young musicians visited their maternal family in Columbia. While in Columbia they..... When they left Columbia.....
Where is Columbia? Never heard of such a country. There is, however, a country called Colombia in NW South America. Maybe these talented musicians from the fictional Columbia should visit COLOMBIA some day. Wonder if schools open there?

Message on a listserv I read: X is so much better then Y.
Then is Y better also? Other THAN being a grammatically incorrect sentence, I'm actually of the opinion that Y is better THAN X.

So this afternoon, maybe I'll go to Glenview where schools open and sit in on a Spanish class where I'll learn that Columbia is farther north then Argentina.

Or maybe the Spanish class will actually be conducted in Spanish and I'll hear "Las escuelas ESTÁN abiertas y COLOMBIA está más al norte QUE la Argentina." Maybe then some of the above grammatical pain will go away. Ouch, ouch, ouch!

I Need to Laugh!

A snippet from my niece Nancy's blog today is the following, "I was getting dressed, while both boys were playing in the adjoining bathroom. I hear Owen say, "Joel! Enough with the tampons! Put them away." I read it and, alone at my kitchen table, I laughed aloud.

Nancy is the mom of two boys, ages three and one. Most everything she writes about the boys touches me because I've been there. While she gets understandably frustrated with their shenanigans, I have the luxury of idealized memory of those exhausting mothering years and often find myself laughing aloud at her story while remembering a similar event from 25 years ago. Nancy probably gets tired of my "Yeah, I remember when David or Kevin did the same thing." comments!

What I realized today, is that, aside from Nancy's blog, "House", and good times with girlfriends, I don't have too many opportunities to laugh aloud on a typical day. What I do have is a lot of absurdity. For example:

1. My mother's table mates, Molly and Sally, have been feuding. Yesterday Sally accidentally hit Molly's leg with the leg support of her wheelchair. Molly, who has the sweetest disposition in the world, yelled "Don't do that." Sally was so angry at being rebuked that she literally took her plate and sat at a different table. My mother was distressed that she was dragged into this spat because each woman wanted Mom on her side of the dispute. So today I asked Mom if Sally and Molly were still angry. Mom replied that she had asked Molly this morning if things were OK with Sally and was asked, "Why do you ask. Was there a problem?"

8th grade boys and toddler boys have the same reaction: yell and scream about an issue and then completely forget it occurred. Not a bad way to live!

2. Mom mentioned that they had french toast for breakfast today. I retorted with the classic family line, "Did you have toast with your french toast?" and she looked at me like I was crazy. Many, many years ago on a family trip to Florida we had an incredibly incompetent waitress who messed up an entire simple breakfast order but is most remembered for asking, "Do you want toast with your french toast?" I can't believe Mom forgot a classic family story! I wonder if she also forgot that, on that same trip, I bopped my brother on the head with "Blup Blup", a turquoise and yellow stuffed dog with a very hard music box buried inside the "fur", and Ed proceeded to vomit for several hours? That was probably the same trip during which we collected some pretty shells, put them in a bag on the back shelf of the car, and then had to live with the odor of baked dead snails all the way home. Ah, the absurdities of youth that we remember and cherish!

3. I gave blood today. Actually I gave platelets, a process that takes close to three hours. While my left arm was tied down, I attempted to read an actual serious book in my right hand. Unfortunately, there was a TV right in my line of sight. Although I couldn't hear it, my eyes kept being drawn to.......yes!.....the Maury Povich show. It was a "Back to School" show that featured attractive women gyrating in cheerleader outfits. The premise was, "Is the cheerleader really male or female?" I AM NOT MAKING THIS UP! Each woman came out, did her little dance, then Maury asked audience members what gender each "woman" was, then the sex was revealed......over and over again! The updated "score" flashed before every commercial break.

I've been fussing over the (in my opinion) stupidity of people who objected to the president telling kids to work hard in school or who think that Obama was born in Kenya or who think that the proposed health plan is going to have death squads to kill off Grandma. Maybe I'm wrong to brand those folks as "wrong". Based on my daytime TV watching today, I may have to change my view. Having an opinion--even a wrong one :-)-- about a political issue is way, way superior to predicting a cheerleader's sex.

So, I don't have many "laugh-out-louds" but I sure have lots of "If it weren't so sad, it would be funnys".

Possessions

This has been a week of "stuff". "Stuff" as in possessions.

On Monday Kevin and I went to the storage locker and brought home all the remaining boxes of my mother's smaller possessions. We piled the boxes on the family room floor and tripped over them for a couple of days until I had time to find out what lurked inside---a job I thought would take several hours. It took less than one hour! Most of the boxes were marked "possible garage sale" or "decorative" and that's exactly what they were: perfectly decent decorative items that no one in the family would ever want.

Lest you think my mother has no taste, these decorative items were the leftovers---good leftovers, but leftovers nonetheless. When the whole family was gathered for Mom's 80th birthday seven years ago, Mom made everyone identify items that they would eventually want. After some hemming and hawing about this somewhat macabre activity, everyone did, in fact, choose items that were meaningful to them. It was touching and surprising to see what everyone chose.

Then almost two years ago my brother and I had only two days to completely empty Mom's apartment after she moved to the nursing home. Although we both married people who like to hold on to stuff, neither Ed or I got that gene. Our spouses would have choked to see us tossing ten items for every one that we kept...but they weren't there, so the genetically programmed tossers prevailed. The items that were kept either went to a refugee family that just happened to be arriving the next day or into a "temporary" storage locker. A few more stored items later went to another refugee family, but mostly the locker remained full, unvisited, and costly.

So, after pulling out a few items that will be useful to Kevin in a future apartment, I loaded my car and drove everything else to a resale shop which benefits a charity we support. I expected to go through the boxes yet once again with the resale shop staff, but, no, we just piled the boxes in their storeroom and that was that.

Meanwhile, Ken's brother Rick and his friend Raúl have put a new roof on our house and garage. Raúl and Rick graciously followed me to the storage unit today and loaded Raúl's truck with the bed, couch, desk, and bookshelf that remained in storage. Then Rick said, "Sure, I'll take the desk and couch!" The bed, by the way, is going to yet another refugee family.

As we were going down in the elevator at the storage place, Raúl asked me how much the storage unit cost. His mouth fell open when I told him. I could see him doing the mental math and figuring out the yearly cost. More has been spent for the storage locker that he made in four days of sweating on our roof! Something is wrong there...especially when you consider the hundreds of lockers in each of the thousands of storage faciities around the country!

We really had no alternative at the time we rented the storage unit, but I'm sure glad that it's now empty. I'm thrilled that three refugee families have furniture, lamps, dishes and cutlery. I'm glad Kevin will someday have a microwave and that Rick will use the couch. I'm glad that resale store shoppers will find inexpensive decorative items that they will enjoy and I'm glad that the charity will benefit too. And I'm glad I have the few mementos from Mom's things that give me warm feelings. Unbeknown to her, Mom has done a great job of recycling!

And, dear readers, anyone who EVER communicates with my mother is SWORN to secrecy on this recycling venture! It's still super important to her that her stuff is still HER stuff.

When Were Magic Markers Introduced?

Research to "prove" my allegation in my post about "The Help" that Magic Markers weren't around in 1962. Here's more than you ever wanted to know.

In 1989, Binney & Smith, best known for its Crayola products, and the leading children's marker manufacturer, enters into a licensing agreement for exclusive rights to the Magic Marker brand name... In 1991, after three years of product development, Binney & Smith introduces a revamped, redesigned and improved Magic Marker line that includes highlighters and permanent markers [magic markers become thinner]... !n 1996, fine point Magic Marker II DryErase markers are introduced for detailed writing and drawing on white boards, dry erase boards and glass surfaces."

Highlighters and fine-line markers were first seen in the 1970's. Permanent markers also became available around this time. Superfine-points and dry erase markers gained popularity in the 1990's.

Rant

I have been just sick reading posts on the foreign language listserv to which I subscribe. The vast majority are reporting that their school districts are forbidding or greatly restricting their students from watching President Obama's speech to schoolchildren tomorrow. Yes, I am an Obama supporter, but I would be having the same feelings if Rush Lumbaugh were in office.

How on earth did this country arrive at a spot where parents and/or school administrators think it is bad for children to hear a possibly different point of view? Isn't learning about different ideas and then making an educated decision on one's own viewpoint the basis of education?

I am reminded of an 8th grade girl who was a representative when my friend Barb and I were student council sponsors back in the early 70's. Barb and I were trying to get the kids to tell us their opinions on some societal issue and were getting nowhere with the conversation. Finally an articulate young woman said, "Well, you know that at our ages we just believe what our parents believe." That was a powerful and very true statement.

What a wonderful opportunity listening to the President can provide to parents of both liberal and conservative persuasions! Dinner time conversation after the speech provides parents with the opportunity to declare if they agree or disagree with what was said...and why. Children are presented with an opportunity to hear their parents clearly articulate their beliefs and, being young, they are most likely "going to believe what our parents believe." because they love and respect what their parents stand for. Parents also have the huge opportunity to show respect for the office of president even if they don't agree with his stand on certain issues.

Unfortunately, we seem to be at a place where letting our children possibly hear a controversial point of view is frightening. (And how controversial is talking about working hard in school?) How sad for those children. How sad for all of us.


And this, dear folks, is what the controversy is all about! Unbelievable!
http://www.whitehouse.gov/MediaResources/PreparedSchoolRemarks/

1962

I just finished a wonderful book, "The Help" by Kathryn Stockett. A member of our book group said we simply HAD to read this book. I was a little irritated when I found out it was only available in hardcover...against our group's "rules"....but now I completely agree with her. We HAD to read this book!

"The Help" is set in Jackson, Mississippi in 1962-3 and tells the story of a white woman and two "colored" maids who did a very daring thing and changed their town forever. I'm not going to do a book review, but do have three very different commentaries to make: one serious reflection, one re-emergence of the red pencil wielding teacher, and a commentary on hair.

THE SERIOUS REFLECTION
In 1962-3 I was a senior in high school and began my first year of college. I grew up in segregated Chicago: on the very segregated south side until age 11, then in a lily white part of the north side. My parents had probably never had any personal contact with black people and had grown up living with the "lines" that separated white and black neighborhoods on the south side. My father always reminded us to lock our car doors when we drove through black neighborhoods on the way to visit my grandmother. Although I didn't hear hateful or racist things at home, there was fear and anxiety over "those people" moving into previously white areas. A bit later in the 60's my grandmother's neighborhood changed and, while she had a nice black family next door, the "change" was accompanied by some frightening violence by both whites and blacks. Our family was mighty relieved when my grandmother moved to a retirement home far from south side troubles.

As bad as Chicago was in those years, it was much worse in the Mississippi described so well in "The Help". I remember being astounded as a child when we witnessed "black" and "white" public drinking fountains while driving through the south on a vacation---something I hadn't ever seen in the north. In a thousand different ways, the author brings home how black maids were daily faced with black and white everything: not just water fountains or bathrooms but also not being allowed in the "white" grocery unless they were in uniform and not even being allowed in the public library. Unbelievably hateful and humiliating comments were made by white families to their maids, the very women whom they entrusted with raising their children. Powerful whites were able to maim or imprison a black person without any proof of wrong doing.

What blows my mind is how all this was going on when I was seventeen years old and I just went on living my teen-age life in my safe cocoon. I was vaguely aware of Martin Luther King, vaguely aware of some of the atrocities of bombed churches and murdered children, vaguely aware of the death of Medgar Evers, vaguely aware of peace marches. My real concerns, however, were buying prom dresses and passing physics.

I think my own children were much more aware of the world around them because they were exposed to more real current issues in their social studies and English classes. They also grew up surrounded by friends of many different cultures, so I don't think their world was every quite as cocoonish as mine was. I hope it wasn't, but do wonder if merely being a teenager prevents us from really seeing the world.

Fortunately, I grew up..

RED PENCIL WIELDING TEACHER
About page fifty of the book, the author mentioned panty hose and my ears pricked up! Panty hose had not yet been invented in 1962. I remember that very specifically because in 1967 I was in Mexico for a teacher program, ran out of nylons (which we HAD to wear daily because we "represented the US"), and had to make do with stockings for the average short statured Mexican woman. Not a pleasant experience!

The author also talked about frosted hair. Too early for that too!

Twice her characters greeted each other with "Hey". No one said "hey" in greeting until a few years ago!

One of the maids said something to a child about using markers in school. I'll have to google markers....but I know they weren't around in 1962.

Tsk Tsk

HAIR
White women spending hours under their hairdryers was mentioned several times in the book. I had forgotten those lovely items. You would "set" your wet hair using those awful metal brush rollers that felt like needles were pricking your scalp. Then you would put this big plastic hood over your head, click the thick plastic hose into the hood and the dryer mechanism, and sit somewhere unable to do anything but read for the hour or so it took to dry your hair.

Then, if your hair was anything like mine, it would do exactly what it wanted to do anyway!

I plan to say a special thank you to my blow dryer tomorrow morning when I spend approximately three minutes drying my hair....and letting it do exactly what it wants to do anyway.

Can't Leave Well Enough Alone

I've spent the last few days rewriting my Art of Spain presentations. I added pictures of Picasso and Dalí' paintings and sculptures that we saw in various museums in Paris. That meant that I had to do research on these artworks. That meant I had to rewrite my notes and the student notes.

I had a ball!

During July and August I rewrote the handbooks for my BER seminars. Then I had to rewrite the "script" and re-do much of the Power Point for the Differentiation seminar. After presenting the seminar in El Paso in August, I realize I have to do yet more adjusting because I ran out of time for some things.

It's really satisfying!

The next project is to rewrite the script and re-do the Power Point for the Active Conversation seminar.

I'm looking forward to it!

Then I'll be done....unless I decide to mess with them yet again!

Now, all three of these presentations and materials were really quite OK before I began fiddling with them. But,just as I rarely used material in exactly the same way from year to year in my teaching, I still have that need to make things a little better.

So, why do I "waste" time doing this?

1. I really do feel a need to fix whatever bothers me about a presentation.
2. I really do enjoy having adequate time to devote to such a project. Yeah,
retirement! Whatever I'm doing doesn't have to be done during my preparation
period between 9:37 and 10:22!
3. It really is fun to find all that cool information now available on the Internet!
4. (TRUE CONFESSION) If I'm doing this, I don't have to deal with all the house
tasks!

What will it take to give me the same intrinsic need to make things a little better in my house? Why can't I find the same satisfaction from cleaning out a file cabinet?
Or organizing recipes? Or, yikes!, clearing out my mother's storage locker?

I need a brain make-over. Wonder if there is a TV show "What Not to Do?" that can help me find joy in house tasks?