Flattered

I was at a meeting last night and as it was finishing a colleague pulled me into a conversation.
He started with how eloquent I am.
And what a gift for language.
How I say things just so.
And my statements are so powerful in the meeting.
And everyone always listens to me.
And how I should run for city council.

This was deeply flattering. The colleague had run for council several times (and lost) and seemed to think that I had what it takes to be a force for change on council. He went on to stress how we need powerful women running the city, and it takes a lot of effort but my husband can help me and my child can knock on doors.

I entertained this for a moment. I told him I knew nothing about running a campaign and didn't have the deep pocket friends that it seems to require to be successful in politics. He went on for a bit about how you do it, the logistics and campaign managers, filing papers and getting signatures. I have to admit it is a very intriguing idea.

But I don't know if I am cut out for politics. I probably fit better in the gadfly category. Still it was very flattering.

All it takes is watching the ending of the Candidate again to help purge the impulse.

Future Harm

The discussion, debate, screaming and posturing over the Edward Snowden leak   about the NSA Prism program is at a fever pitch. I haven't met anyone yet that doesn't have an opinion on what "trade offs" are acceptable for the ongoing safety and security of the American people.

I don't happen to come down on the side that thinks you should willy-nilly violate civil liberties with laws, policies and presidential powers that will never, ever be undone. If you have read my previous political rants this isn't news. My inherent liberal biases aside, the case against Snowden deserves extra attention for a number of reasons.

First, for some perspective, its important to know that the Germans are accusing the US of Stasi-style surveillance which gives you an idea of the gravity of the choices our government is making right now. These folks know from privacy invasion! They think our government is getting into dangerous territory so perhaps we should take note. When Germany's Chancellor Angela Merkel  scolds Obama later this week, because of political pressure or because of her real concerns, there will be no ambiguity about how folks over in the EU feel about these developments.

The folks who are downplaying the gravity of the NSA trolling through massive amounts of data are doing so by saying Google & Apple are already looking at every key stroke to sell you stuff so whats the big deal? This is a very weak argument that will still manage to reinforce the attitude of millions of average US citizens who just don't give shit about privacy or civil liberties. I think of this as the "Nothing to Hide" crowd. Their letters to the editor invariably conclude with "If you have nothing to hide, it wont matter if [the government swabs your DNA, taps your phone line, puts you on a terrorist watch list etc.]."

Short-sighted thinking like this is best cured by personal experience.

Most disturbing to me is the post 9/11 idea that we cannot have security and civil liberties at the same time. This is a false dilemma. How can we continue to allow the government to continue to make choices to violate our liberties based on the vague fear of "future harm"? The absurd American privilege of being complacent and uninvolved in politics is changing the landscape of who we can be as a nation in the future.

I anticipate a run of political rants on this blog in the next few weeks.

And just between you and me Diane Fienstein calling Snowden's leak "an act of treason" is grandstanding. Because she cannot reveal the information deemed treasonous (we just have to trust her) she should be more circumspect with the name calling. Future harm is speculative at best and does not constitute a reason for hyper vigilance in my book. I'm sure I am not the only one reminded of the "Minority Report" poster.

The Future Can Be Seen. Murder Can be Prevented. The Guilty Punished Before the Crime is Committed. The System is Perfect. It's Never Wrong. Until It Comes After You.

Freefall

I've never understood the point of that trust exercise where you fall backward and let folks catch you. In my mind its a given that the people in the circle will catch you because its a set up - who is going to risk looking like a schmuck in front of everyone standing around to participate in this exercise? Therefore, the real purpose of the exercise is to show whoever paid for the "team building" that you and your co-workers will play by the rules when someone is looking.

Its when no one is looking that is the real test. I find this applies to every group I have participated in - the workplace, the political arena, extended families, theatre, volunteer work - although I am sure I've missed some.  I recently had to do some trust building for a singularly bizarre reason.

In a system of hierarchy so complex as to rival Game of Thrones, I angered someone in a very powerful house. They felt betrayed, lashed out and I lost my place in their court. I felt abused and mistrustful and guarded myself carefully. The whys and wherefores of the incident are less important than the action it took to regain their good graces. In my banishment (not quite Thomas More in the Tower of London but I'm having fun with my analogy), I gathered my advisers, bemoaned my fate and railed against the injustice.

Finally, tired of the unsettled feelings and unproductive brooding,  I sought new council. This advisor was from a house I had never allied with before - The House of HR. There are many and legitimate reasons to avoid the axe wielding assassins in HR, but that does not change the effectiveness of their brand of political skill. The favored weapon of my counselor, high in the ranks and trusted by many houses, was fishing line. This almost invisible, highly portable tool can be used to lure or to garrote. I had found my Grand Master.

The Grand Master's advice was to provide a gift and kind words to curry favor. Initially galled that I as the wounded party would make restitution, it instantly made perfect sense. I've read Tolkien and medieval history I know how this works. I kicked myself for not arriving at the solution sooner.

Flowers and a sympathetic note were delivered, received with surprise and delight, and I am again a trusted member of the House. Lesson learned, trust regained. Sometimes you have to take the free fall knowing no one will catch you just to prove your loyalty.

The next gift I send will be to my HR assassin, Grand Master Tara, an excellent Career Coach.

Transitions

It was my birthday the other day. Normally I'm not one for taking stock on anniversaries, but a number of things swirling around have left me in a pensive mood. In addition to being a year older, my daughter recently attended her first semi-formal dance.

Short dress, high heels, boyfriend at the door, the whole magilla. Nothing too terrible there. She looked very beautiful, sweet and appropriate to an 8th grade dance.

The dress my daughter wore

This part eluded some of the other girls unfortunately. Or maybe it eluded their parents. In any case, the boy, wearing his fathers suit (rolled at the cuff) came in the house so we could indulge in pictures, and then opened the car door for her. Thankfully they were too far away to hear our "Aww" as we watched, as there is only so much parental humiliation two teens can endure.

All in all a lovely ritual that I never personally experienced, but can readily appreciate.

These small transitions to adulthood are what have me thinking I guess. From the outside it can look like children playing at being grown up, but from the inside I'm sure its the continual hard work of growing and changing. And from the other side, children must think the grownups, with their authority, power and experience, have it all figured out. Maybe sometimes we do, but an awful lot of the time we are doing the hard work of growing and changing.

Every once and again I think "Good gravy when do I finally get it all figured out?"  Adulthood is not what I imagined when I was 14 that's for sure. Risk seems so much riskier when you have others to care for beside yourself, and self-care slides down to the bottom of the To-Do list.

The biggest transition I have managed lately is not giving up on my coaching business. Seeing clients before & after work and on the weekends is scads more work that having coaching be my full time profession, but I have decided that it fits firmly into that self-care category. The work of coaching recharges my energy like nothing else. Therefore it is essential, not optional.

Having coaching, professional development and writing be what I do for a living, now that's a transition I look forward to.

Address Book

Once upon a time I had a physical address book.

When someone moved I drew a line through their old address and phone & wrote in the new one. It was a physical history of my friends migrations and permutations. Some names changed, some changed back, some fell away so that last known address would be highly unlikely to connect with the intended recipient.

Now all of my contacts are in my phone which is so smart it occasionally adds extra, unnecessary fields for phone numbers. I think its mad that I sync with multiple computers so it throws a hissy every now and then. The other really useful thing about the electronic contacts is that it allows me to put names with phone numbers so no one can sneak up on me twice when I don't recognize their phone number.

A down side of the electronic contacts is that searches can bring up names of friends and family who have died if you haven't deleted them. I don't delete them.

I've kept my moms phone number, among others, even though I'd never forget the only phone number my parents ever had. When they bought the house in the early 60's they got one of the new phone numbers using the seven numbers, which replaced the MELrose-1 that the rest of the street still had. The neighborhood pizza parlor never updated the Mel-1 of their original sign. Last time I saw it was the early 90's because its near my moms church. I wonder if its still there. 

I'm not sure when I should delete the contact info from my phone when people die. I think part of the problem is that I have to literally press a button that says Delete Contact, and then it asks me "Are you sure? This cannot be undone."

I know it can't be undone. That's why I'm afraid to lose this random little reminder.

This isn't my address book, its my birthday book. A different way of remembering people.

School's Out

School funding in my state is a giant, tangled unconstitutional mess in which our state legislature is currently wading. Their actions will reverberate for many years to come as they have during the previous 30+ years of trying to establish a constitutional state funding plan.

Their nonsense is already felt in my district which is cutting 34 positions to compensate for the reductions, that even the levy that passed during a recession cannot offset. The current funding formula is a somewhat fuzzy (to me) calculation based on local property taxes + a base per student rate that the state awards, plus an increase cap, which boils down to rich districts getting more money per student, and poor districts getting less and less and less as the residents flee because of poor schools.

This is a really tricky topic with strong feelings even if we leave the money out of it. Everyone wants their kids to go to a good school with engaged teachers and extra opportunities. Some people can afford to move to a community where this is guaranteed, some pay for private schools and some try to make their neighborhood school better because that's all there is. In many ways it becomes an issue of privilege.

Studies show that the education level of the parents is a consistent predictor of the child's school performance. Unstated is that the education level of the parent can also predict income level which allows the school district to be chosen rather than dictated by circumstance.

Our district is a mixed socio-economic area which means lots of well-educated wealthy people send their kids to private schools, middle-class folks who make sure their kids take AP & Honors classes, and parents who rent here because it has the best public school they can afford. Then there are the handful of wealthy, well-educated parents who send their kids to public school as a statement. We all do what we think is right no matter what it looks like from the outside.

I am really torn about some of these issues.

On the one hand, if we had the money, I would probably enroll my daughter in one of the nearby private schools because its the kind of opportunity I wished I'd had. On the other hand, I went to inner city schools in a district with the nations 3rd highest drop out rate, during mandatory desegregation and busing, and still managed to get myself over-educated and end up in the suburbs.  Then I think about children in third-world countries so desperate for schooling they share a stick to do sums in the dirt, (dangerously close to my mother's "some people don't have any legs" here), and wonder if what we should be worrying about is motivation.

I have very little faith that our GOP dominated state legislature will find a way to be nurturing, kind or fair in their school funding budget, let alone constitutional, as we are talking about 1) money and, 2) people who think poverty is a character flaw.

Out of sight out of mind is apparently a bona fide political strategy. Schools out next Thursday, so that means we can forget all about school funding until August rolls around and we see the class sizes and lack of extra curriculars. 

iCal

Normally I really like having my calendar as a tool that defines and shapes my time. Lately, filling in dates for activities in October or next January gives me a little sinking feeling.

Its not that I'm over scheduled. On the contrary, I'm down to four clients for my private practice and three volunteer positions (a nonprofit board, a city board and an advisory board), plus the usual family/friend social obligations. My day job remains isolating other than the occasional information dump and task overload meeting with my boss.

So the calendar is not full, and yet adding 2013/14 dates for work obligations is deflating me a bit. My mind is not racing to create backed-out schedules like usual, so the event or deadline just sits there, waiting for me to take notice & get started. My internal motivation has fled. Or its on hiatus.

I think I'm suffering from a case of " lassitudine cum opus" or LCO, commonly known as "job burnout". Everything sounds better in Latin doesn't it?

I must have picked up the symptoms by way of the Anti-Hawthorne treatment I have been receiving since December 2012. I don't think it agrees with me. And my iCal is downright allergic to it. Scintillating thoughts and solutions to be offered when I am done staring at my calendar.

Meanwhile, I have a draft for a chapter due in two days that cant be ignored any longer. I haven't missed a deadline yet. My personal standards are intact despite the LCO, so I better get busy.

Gobo

I have been thinking a lot lately about the lenses we use in daily life. The perspectives we put on and take off like glasses only needed for reading. As I think about this I get tangled in the idea that many people don't actually switch their perspectives at all, they just add filters.

When I worked in theatre budgets were close to the bone so having money for new Gobos to create lighting effects was a big deal. And it always made such a difference. A Gobo is literally a "go between" as in "goes between" the lighting instrument lens and the light. Theatrical lighting, when its not over the top Andrew Lloyd Weber or Disney, is under appreciated as an art form. Filters and colors can paint a picture, direct your focus and set the emotional mood.

So the Gobos we reach for about politics, relationships and even our selves invariably do the same: paint the picture of political actions as posturing or outspoken, direct us to look at the lone "B" in a string of "A" grades, and dictate if we can see the shiny bits in an otherwise dull day.

One gobo that folks sometimes forget about because it often seems part of the lens itself, is fear. I write often about fear because a lot of my writing is about growth, exploration and politics, but that's not whats niggling right now.

I am mulling about pretentiousness. The poseur, the hipster, the names change depending on the generation, but those folks who are about the appearances rather than the substance are always around. Once upon a time being called a poseur in the local punk scene was grounds for a brawl. I was never accused probably because I didn't conform to the punk sensibility in expected ways. Or maybe they just never said it to my face, who knows.

Now the pretentiousness shows up on FaceBook and Instagram and other modern outlets, though it tends to stick to cultural topics like books, music, art and travel. I think being pretentious about politics, science or religion would take too much work. Often written as explaini-brags, the hipsters posturing about their activities, worldliness and sophisticated tastes amuse and dismay me. I have no real basis of knowledge that the person does not, in fact, adore Jazz barry sax and Edith Piaf, except that sneaking feeling and a ping on the bullshit meter. Truly, they may unironically adore 60's house dresses, ratty cardigans and eurotrash glasses, but as someone who was shabby before it was chic, the thrift store fashions on trust fund babies always = hipster bullshit to me.

Just when I think I am being ungenerous about someones life choices, because, hey I like retro housewares and obscure indie movies, one of the local hipsters will do something so ostentatiously affected that it makes me laugh out loud. Exaggerating their own importance and begging for attention and admiration so outrageously that it doesn't even activate my usual self-flagellating introspection for the same offense.

My worry about self-promotion, over stating my skills & experience or appearing braggy is the gobo I struggle to remove, when these folks just cant get enough of themselves. We all struggle with our filters I guess. The hipster filter being "external approval of my fashion, cultural and literary choices". Too much effort when I have a garden to put in and laundry to fold.

During my mulling - which also included research into Bronies which will appear in another post - I came across this article that explains the following:

"people who ostensibly fit the hipster stereotype profusely deny being one: hipster mythology devalues their tastes and interests and thus they have to socially distinguish themselves from this cultural category and defend their tastes from devaluation. To succeed in denying being a hipster, while looking, acting, and consuming like one, these individuals demythologize their existing consumption practices by engaging in rhetoric and practices that symbolically differentiate their actions from the hipster stigma."

Gotta love that academic gobo...

"Demythologizing Consumption Practices: How Consumers Protect Their Field-Dependent
Identity Investments from Devaluing Marketplace Myths". Zeynep Arsel and Craig J. Thompson,  Journal of Consumer Research, Vol. 37, No. 5 (February 2011), pp. 791-806, The University of Chicago Press, http://www.jstor.org/stable/10.1086/656389 .

BRCA

My husband and I were talking about the BRCA gene mutation the other day after a visit from a cousin. She has the gene, got breast cancer and had a double mastectomy. While she only had cancer in the one breast, the odds of developing it in the other are so high with the gene that she prohalactically chose to have the other breast removed as well.

I said I would instantly do the bilateral prophylactic mastectomy and reconstruction. If my insurance covered it. My husband asked if my insurance covered the test and I didn't know.

Genetic testing is a relatively new field, but becoming more common. People are already familiar with paternity tests and prenatal tests and now with Angelina Jolie talking about her surgery, the BRCA test may run a close third.

BRCA was in the news before Jolie because it's the topic of a case the ACLU argued in the US Supreme Court recently. A company (Myriad) has patented the BRCA 1 and BRCA 2 genes. The ACLU says these patents (2 of the 20,000 patented genes!) violate the constitution and prohibit free speech. I was shocked when I read about this case and saw that the gene patents keep scientists other than the owners from studying the gene without permission, controls what mutations they are allowed to study, and most importantly controls the market and the cost for all testing which must be done through the gene owners labs. That cost is $3,000 if your insurance company does not pay for it.

Again I dont know if my insurance company pays for this but you can bet I'll ask my OB/GYN at my next appointment. I do know that ACA is supposed to cover the test when/if it is fully in effect in the US (repeal vote 37 - do I hear 38? Anyone? Anyone? Buehler?)

Gajillions of dollars are at stake in this formerly obscure Supreme Court case because of the potential to bill the federal government for the testing. And since its their gene they prohibit any cheaper labs from competing. Its called a monopoly. Myriad, the company with the BRCA patent saw their stock spike with Jolie's unusually well-timed People Mag cover and NY Times Op-Ed.

If one were inclined to consipracy plots, one might speculate as to the decisions around Jolie's outing herself a month before the SCOTUS decision on the patent case is due. One might even speculate that the Jolie/Pitt portfolio could feature Myriad stock, among a broad spectrum of other health related investments of course.

One might even go so far as to say that Myriad - and a lot of other folks - are very heavily invested in making sure that they continue to control the price of BRCA testing, soon be available through ACA. A PR campaign with a movie star fits the bill nicely.  

I am very happy Jolie was able to get the BRCA test she wanted, choose her treatment, and afford her reconstruction. I would be a lot happier if her "brave narrative" included statements about how no one person (or corporation), should be able to restrict this kind of important research or testing by "owning" a human gene. I might be holding my breath on that one.

The ACLU should put out a call for their own fiesty star to out herself about her bilateral prophylactic mastectomy and reconstruction to make some noise about this patent case. Keeping my fingers crossed for the decision in June.

Mommyblog

In an alternate future-world I will read the New Yorker magazine the day that it arrives in the mail. In present reality-land, they are scattered throughout the house in no real order. Some in the living room, some in the kitchen, a few hidden under piles of books in my daughters room, so I never actually read them in order. Which can be fascinating.

I recently read an analysis of Mitt Romney that ran prior to the November election and it was a great hindsight view of what went wrong in his campaign (thank God!). I do, however,  have a way of filing the magazines I've read so I am at least reaching for new (to me) content when I do grab one.

I just picked up the April 8, 2013 issue and read a Shouts & Murmurs that just slayed me. This regular feature can be hit or miss, but this one was dead on. Paul Rudnick did a scathing parody of the overprivileged Mommy Blogger. While I do write about my family, my daughter and parenting in general, when someone called my Rant a Mommy Blog a while back I was hurt & offended. Rudnick's humorous, not so unrealistic, depiction of blogging is my darkest fear with my writing.

This post is a bit longer than my usual, but the Rudncik is well worth the read. I don't think I am a Mommy Blogger and there is additional proof in the fact that I have not disabled the comments.

"I'm Jyll Cimmaron Stelton, and every morning, even before I crawl out from under my down comforter, I grab my iPad and start to mommyblog. I always begin by composing a prayer of gratitude for my beautiful children: Sonnet, Cascade, Nebula, and the baby, Diaspora. I’m not sure what the word “diaspora” means, but it sounds so pretty, and it was either that or Chipotle.

I believe that childhood is a brief, perfect state of being, and so I’ve tried to enclose my family in a shimmering sphere of enchantment, a realm that I call WonderPlanet, right here in our Park Slope brownstone. On WonderPlanet, anything is possible, as long as everyone loves one another and Goldman Sachs comes through with Daddy’s Easter bonus. I teach my children that money is like fairy dust, because when we sprinkle it around we can dream and sing and fly, usually in business class, and we can bake heart-shaped cookies that we can share with all the other children who aren’t allergic to stone-milled spelt flour, carob chips, whey protein, and smiles.

Some people have criticized me for not going back to work after my children were born, and for hiring a nanny. But I think of nurturing WonderPlanet as a full-time occupation, and someday I do plan on returning to my career as an advocate for women over forty who still want to grow and maintain waist-length hair. In addition, I’ve begun to sell a selection of trademarked WonderPlanet collectibles online, including hand-thrown ceramic mugs inscribed with the mottoes “Wander Into Wonder,” “I’m a Stay-at-Home Dreambuilder,” and “End Bullying Today—Buy a Mug.” I’m also marketing a line of meadow-dried teas, called Peaseblossom Morn, Smoochberries ’n’ Yarn, and Private Tutor. And in just a few weeks I’ll be introducing my WonderPlanet homewares line, in collaboration with Target, which will feature handwoven raffia boxes designed to hold smaller handwoven raffia boxes.

As for our nanny, well, because Tula is really more like a member of our family, we call her our Friendgiver. Sometimes, when I’m on the chaise longue in my home office, editing the audio of the duets where I sing along with Taylor Swift and then mimic Taylor’s voice thanking me, I get a little jealous, because Tula is enjoying the gift of bathing my children and inspecting their scalps for head lice. Once the little ones are all fresh-smelling, with their heads shaved and shining, Tula and I love to create games like Let’s All Be Butterflies and Pretend That Tula Is a Windshield, and Let’s All Change Tula’s Name Again and Ignore Her Until She Answers to Mrs. Melonbutt T. Wiggleburp.

One afternoon last week, I came upon Tula sobbing quietly in a corner, and I didn’t want to upset her by asking why, but I knew: it was because, at the end of each perfect Brooklyn day, she’s forced to return to her own home, in an outlying borough that the children and I call Underplace. I curled my arm so that it hovered about four inches away from her shoulders, and stroked the air above her head, while murmuring, “There, there, don’t cry. Next weekend, I’ll let the children stay with you in Underplace, so I can finish the proposal for my cookbook, called ‘Sparkle Soup and Gummi Flax: Imaginary Recipes for Obese Children in Public Schools.’ ”

Of course, I dread the day when Sonnet, my eldest, will begin her half-days at St. Elizabeth’s, the only preschool in our area where children are required to wear wings, crowns, and non-gender-specific leg warmers. I have refused to confine or label my children in any way, and sometimes I tell Cascade that his penis is called a vagina, just so I can watch him pound his tiny head against the wall with secret joy. And once, after Nebula asked me where babies come from, we had a wonderful afternoon, filling condoms with water and then hurling them at Tula.

Most of our days, however, are spent dressing up in hand-embroidered Swedish linen smocks, tulle tutus, and velvet tunics, and fashioning dance/performance pieces illustrating what I like to call “Ye Enchantable Historye of WonderPlanet.” Yesterday, when some neighboring children came over, Nebula chose to play the Darkling Shrew, a mother who neglects her children by selfishly pursuing a life of social work and city planning. The other children all played positive emanations, including Kindness, Quiet Time, and Really Listening. They surrounded the Darkling Shrew and punched her until she promised to quit her job and devote more time to Instagramming photos of them touching oversized soap bubbles.

The afternoon flew by, and before we knew it Daddy came home, carrying a bunch of daffodils, a loaf of still warm cracked-carraway-seed bread from our local bakery, which is staffed entirely by Dartmouth Ph.D.s, and all of Mommy’s prescriptions, which I immediately sorted into imported French porcelain pillboxes, labelled “Stress,” “Mood,” and “I Wish I Had a Gun.”

The children always leap into Daddy’s loving arms, eager for kisses and cuddles and the marvellous lemon-verbena scent of that twenty-three-year-old whom Daddy insists is simply an eager Wharton grad he’s mentoring. Then, because we’re all finally together on WonderPlanet, Tula distributes the wood blocks, tambourines, and Pan flutes, and we become the WonderPlanet Starcarrier Symphony Sensation, led by me strumming my lute, with Daddy keeping time by tapping his glass against the bottle of Scotch. Together, we all perform old family favorites like “Hooray! It’s Tuesday!,” “Tula Is So Slow!,” and “Daddy Is Just Tired from a Very Long Day, So Please Stop Whining About Montauk.”
After dinner, and while waiting for Tula to get all four children in bed, Daddy and I finally grab some alone time. I show him the children’s new watercolors. We marvel at their vivid imaginations, and we ponder what it means that the stick figures in Nebula’s paintings are all on fire, under the words “While They’re Asleep.”

So ends another exhausting, confounding, and inspiring day here on WonderPlanet. I know that this paradise can’t last forever, and that’s why every day I post an affirmation on our family’s Web site and I add a few bills from Daddy’s wallet to my secret lingerie-drawer bank account. And, as I close my eyes and begin to dream of the next morning’s blog entry, I think, I’m so glad I disabled the comments section." ♦

Something

One of the interesting things I have found about writing a blog is the sense of obligation I feel to unseen readers. I know I have exactly six followers (the little icons show up on the bottom of the page) and a handful of other folks who have told me they read it. So when I don't post three or four times a week I feel it niggling in the back of my mind. 

One thought that has returned repeatedly in the time between the last post and this - which was by no means empty I assure you - is the use of the phrase "A drop in the bucket". This caught my attention a few weeks ago in a story about Syria. The person reporting the International Aid provided had a very disgusted tone and was stressing that it was so little as to be meaningless. Then, as these things do, I started hearing "a drop in the bucket" in all sorts of conversations.

I couldn't help wondering if the people on the receiving end in Syria, as much as they need a great deal more intervention and attention, were not happy to receive something rather than nothing. It is a curious attitude people often have about the worth of effort. "Choose your battles" is another one that implies futility to me. My question, which I'm sure is rich for psychoanalysis, is 'Just because something is futile, does that mean you shouldn't do it?'

I would love to be part of the grand gesture, launch the world-changing movement or earn a place in the history books, but that doesn't mean I turn away from the individual kindness, the small monetary contribution or the tedium of what needs doing. It's not even that I have a "pay it forward" mentality (another phrase that could use some critical analysis as to the self-benefit attached to "public" altruism), I think I am much more utilitarian - do what you can, when you can.

The futility calculation translates too easily into helplessness and it's easily forgotten that drops add up and fill the bucket, that molehills piled on top of each other become a mountain. Sometimes my "something" ends up being simply sending thoughts into the world via my little blog noodlings. Conversation I am having with the world. Or myself. That part is less clear.

But at least its something rather than nothing.

May Day

Working out this morning Crabby Jackie finished early and as she left she said "Goodbye ladies, see you Wednesday, which is May Day, so I will expect my May basket." I had never heard of a May Day basket.

Several of the women started talking about getting them when they were younger. Turns out there was a tradition of filling a small basket with flowers and candy, hanging it on a persons doorknob, ringing the bell and running. An anonymous pretty treat without all the trauma associated with valentines day - brilliant.

I mentioned that I remembered a May Queen ceremony at my church when I was a kid but wasn't sure it had anything to do with the basket tradition. I have a clear memory of this one event because my older sister was the May Queen. My mother and Aunt made her this lovely full length dress from a sheer, gauzy material with an orange blossom print overlay. It was the 1970's so the dress was very flowy and vaguely old-fashioned looking with a high waist and a large bow in the back. My sister wore her long, straight hair parted in the middle and had crown of fake orange blossoms to wear on her head. To my six year-old eyes she was a beauty queen.

The point of the May Day ceremony my sister participated in was to crown the Virgin Mary statue because May was a celebration of Mary, not the pagan holiday it started out as, or the International Workers Day most people think of. Beltane (or Walpurgis Night) was transformed into a benign tradition with a maypole and garlands, rather than appeasing spirits and welcoming spring. May Day was more important than the vernal equinox in pagan rituals because it was when you put the animals out to pasture. How that became a ritual about the Virgin Mary I don't know. Further investigation required.

It was nice to be reminded of my sister being chosen the May Queen even if I didn't know what it meant then, and can't quite figure it out even now. Spring is here and it's time to go outside.

When I figure out how to post a picture from my phone to my blog I will update this post!

Being Good

It is state testing time in my neck of the woods which means the school kids are alternately stressed out and learning nothing.

The kids are stressed because the teachers and principals have to put so much emphasis on the test scores that they are drilled and prepped for the month before, or the whole year in some districts. Budgets, raises and even jobs are on the line with these score. The big day (or three) arrives and the kids are given three hours to take a test that maybe takes the slowest among them an hour to complete, and the rest of the day is given over to watching movies. I remember taking these standardized tests. When finished you weren't allowed to read or write or even lay your head down, you sat with your hands folded, watching the clock. Very instructive and useful lessons for adult life actually.

Most parents and educators dislike the tests, and No Child Left Behind, and its reshaping of public education as a system focused on memorization rather than thinking. One irritated parent proposed a new test in a fb post- A Good Person Assessment - and asked her friends to submit questions. This was interesting for two reasons. First, I am always fascinated by what other people choose to write in these situations, and secondly its a good question. How do you measure a persons goodness?

The replies tell you so much about the people. One person said "How many people have you hugged today?", another said "Do you spend more time in class paying attention to the teacher or being disruptive?" Hmm, could they be a teacher? Of course I couldn't resist and posted an essay question:

"Describe how you contribute to a) your family, b) your school, c) your community, or d) the world. Choose one or more categories and provide examples to support your statements." 

No news there - I think part of being good is defined by action. But the real question - for her pretend exam and in real life - is how do you define being a good person? Without  getting distracted by semantic arguments about words like "good/bad", "right/wrong", I am really curious how people define "being a good person". Can good be defined outside of actions or outcomes? What about intentions? What if you intend a good outcome and something awful results, are you a good person? What if you had no conscious intention of doing good, but there is a good result, does that make you a good person?

I think we are missing an opportunity by not teaching philosophy in public schools. And I guess I miss having the space to read, think and write about these kinds of questions.

How do you define being a good person?

Talk Radio

My husband is traveling for work.

When he is home we wake up to the alarm, her turns it off and goes to get coffee which he brings to me in bed. I know that makes me sound like a spoiled princess and I don't care. It is a monumental kindness for someone who is a slow riser and "not a morning person". When he is not home I lay there and listen to BBC news segue into NPR before I drag myself to the kitchen for the much needed coffee.

The real problem with this is that I then hear things like "House Republicans have vowed to defund as much of the Affordable Care Act as possible and will be addressing preexisting conditions today." I know the GOP doesn't like the ACA and would like to take every penny allocated for health care and convert it into a gun, but hearing the intention at 5:46 am is depressing. One of the supreme injustices of our world is the manner in which insurance is able to reject you just when you need it most.

Sort of like all those Boston store owners who are now finding out about the terrorism exception written into all of their policies. Their loses from that day, and the subsequent days lost revenue, are their losses to swallow.

The mishegas with the preexisting conditions is actually more sinister than it sounds. The Republicans created legislation that will undermine ACA prevention programs (immunization, nutrition, screenings, tobacco cessation) while appearing to help people with preexisting conditions, but then it would expire 12/31/13. Pretty slick and twisted. I'm starting to think that Eric Cantor is the actual Devil. If there is any doubt that this is a ploy and not intended to actually help people, the evidence is found in Grover Norquist's public support of the bill.

So the question is do you spend the money allocated for prevention, now called the "slush fund" by the GOP marketing machine, so that fewer people get seriously ill between now and Jan 1, 2014, or do you divert the prevention money, enroll more people with preexisting conditions (who should've been kept on their insurance in the first damn place) for coverage that will expire 12/31/13?

The answer of course depends on what political points you are trying to score, not which pathetic little lives you are trying to save.

The GOP plan does a good job of making Obama look like a schmuck for not wanting to cover (more) preexisting conditions, and the White House & the Democrats are doing their usual piss poor job of countering the propaganda. Why do liberals suck so bad at the marketing and propaganda? Where's James Carville? Barney Frank? People willing to call the GOP maneuvering what it is are conspicuously missing from the media landscape.

I really need to switch the alarm from the talk radio station to a chime or something when my husband is out of town. I'll stick with the newspaper for my morning coffee. Better for my blood pressure & general outlook on life.

Reply All

This is an amalgam post because I can't settle my mind.

In my usual overanlyzing of my own behavior I have been musing on my usage of Reply All vs Reply. These are all social situations, not business, where of course there is a whole protocol for Reply and Reply All. Maybe that's the problem, we need Miss Manners to weigh in on usage.

The Reply All that I'm fussing over is when it seems like the person wants to be noticed for their reply. That they are clever, or compassionate or properly outraged/impressed. I always feel like it takes away from the message to have others witness it, makes it smaller somehow. But then maybe the "All" think that I don't care if they don't see my reply. Making me "not a nice person". So then I am back to the beginning - who is the message about? Me or the recipient? And am I not using the Reply All so I can feel morally superior? I think I need a massage, which, believe it or not, follows perfectly logically from the previous paragraph.

I feel like I have been extra jumbled what with the bombings in Boston, the ricin letters in DC and now the fertilizer plant explosion, because we are facing death much closer to home right now. A beloved great Aunt, who has a lived a full 93 years, suffered a stroke and is entering hospice.

Processing death, and the fear of death and dying, has moved from the abstract to the concrete and the number of years you have had with the person never seems to matter.

The cause of death is birth is a phrase my husband and I said to our daughter when she was small and her grandfather died. It's not any consolation but it is a means of allowing the truth of death to exist as par of life rather than as something hidden. I don't know if the idea helped explain, or if she even remembers, I'll have to ask her.

The point is that the charming, still beautiful, and beloved Great Aunt will die. We will grieve, we will miss her, but we will not forget her. And people who are anonymous (to us) will be killed by random violence, and we will decide, again, if we will live in fear, or just live.

In the midst of this I will continue to analyze my behavior in excruciating detail. We all have our coping mechanisms. Mine is just a little weirder than yours.

Running

Writing about violence is much like writing about rape.

As a culture we understand the definitions but it gets fuzzy when we move from the general to the specific, or from the specific to the general. However, this post is not intended to be a lesson on the merits or flaws of using deductive versus inductive logic. Rather I am thinking of all the ways "running" is part of the act of terrorism in Boston.

• People targeted while they were running.
• The average runner finishes the Boston Marathon in four hours, the time the bombs exploded.
• People running away, in fear and confusion.
• People running to, to help and save lives.
• Thoughts running to fear for our loved ones, friends and acquaintances who might be in Boston.
• Thoughts running to fear for ourselves and our loved ones at similar large events that might be targeted.
• Thoughts running to understand, blame, accuse, and ultimately - not today of course - leverage for whatever agenda or prejudice it can be attached to.

The word running is losing meaning as I read it now. Which is part of my point as meaning, or sense-making, will be a Swiss cheese affair no matter what evidence is eventually produced. It seems to me that it's always the holes in the cheese, the negative space, that is used to support the "leveraged agenda". The arguments that this proves that "Obama is a bad president", or "we need more guns" or "stronger immigration laws" or "stronger policy on North Korea" (saw this one already) whether it has anything to do with the Boston event or not.

I watched the violence in Chardon and Sandy Hook get tied to agendas outside those stories, so I'm pretty sure it will happen about Boston soon enough. There's a whole category of religious, political and news commentators (and I use that term very loosely) "running their mouths", offering answers that makes national tragedies even worse. For me at least.

The only answer I'm looking for is how to adequately explain to my daughter that we can each decide how world events shape us. We're not clay, we can choose. And the choices for processing and reacting to world events are endlessly complex - fear, courage, love, hate, action, destruction, paralysis, and on and on and on. Deciding rather than hiding is my policy because ultimately we can never run away from ourselves.

My deepest sympathies are extended to those affected by the bombings at the Boston Marathon. Wishing all those injured or responding a speedy reunion with loved ones.

Reality Check

I occasionally read science fiction and sci-fi fantasy books. Less now than I used to just because it takes effort to find good writing and when I pick up a book at the library its invariably the 3rd installment of something that is a splinter world of source material I haven't read. So mostly I stick to Terry Pratchett & Octavia Butler, neither of whom are writing much anymore.

One series I liked once upon a time was about a split world of technology & magic. There were places where you stepped through a curtain and you were with the unicorns and wizards. Split Infinity was the name. The trick was that  you could only cross the curtain if your counterpart in the other world was dead. At least that's how I remember it

I am living in two worlds at the moment. In one world I have a full time job where I perform certain tasks that I get paid for because they are assigned to me. In this world I spend a lot of time with my friends iMac and Pandora. My skill set lacks certain competencies around oral and written communication, team work, cooperation and interpersonal respect. I need to try harder.

In the other world I am paid to perform tasks because they are my greatest competencies. I spend time with other humans who seek me out for these competencies. My skill set includes interpersonal respect, deep and effective communication and positive collaboration. I receive praise and thanks.

It is getting harder and harder to cycle between these two worlds. The magic world seems more real everyday, and the real world more bizarre. Writing is part of the magic world that's crystal clear. Its also part of my reality check.

Little deep for Friday afternoon but its almost quitting time. Yup. Its almost quiting time.

That will be the ultimate reality check.

Flicker

We saw a bad movie last night.

Actually it wasn't "bad" in so much as it was poorly conceived, written and executed. There were however some nice details and the director wasn't completely without skill. We saw this particular film because it's the annual international film festival where we live. The 37th. This film fest gets bigger and better every year, breaks attendance records and is slowly getting recognized for being more than just a "regional" film festival. And its tremendous fun. We have dragged our daughter to inappropriate movies this way for years.

The good thing about a bad movie is that there is so much more to dissect. A good movie sticks in your mind, and a great movie may blow you away, but I often have to see great or innovative movies more than once to appreciate a lot of detail. Please note the switching between the usage of "film" and "movie" is completely arbitrary and not linked to any judgment as to high or low art form.

Last nights film almost sent me into hysterics at one point. It was slow and boring and it kept not ending. You know what I mean.

The director cued the sappy closing music, sentimental statements were made, and then it kept going. More sappy music, more sentimental statements, and it just kept going. Each time this happened I started to giggle until by the sixth time I was shaking so hard with silent laughter tears were leaking out of my eyes. My stomach hurt afterward from laughing so hard.

It was such a self-indulgent mess the three of us talked for hours about what made it so bad. And that is what is good about a bad movie. It helps you hone your criticism skills and clarify your expectations of pace, acting, cinematography and directing. Most especially directing. Its easier (IMHO) in a documentary to separate the choices made by a director, editor and cinematographer, than it is when the water is muddied by acting, sets & costumes.

Watching the bad movie for some reason reminded me of one of the best novels I've read about films & their power. It's called Flicker. Its fiction but if you like movies at all, boy will it grab you. And increase your appreciation for the art form.

Three more movies to see before this festival is over. There are dozens of screenings left, but we can only fit three more into our joint schedules. Usually there is only one bad one a year so I anticipate the rest to be anywhere from good to outstanding, meaning, perhaps, a little less to write about.

Another good thing that came out of the bad movie: we agreed as a family that if we think a movie is bad that we will ask politely if the others are enjoying it or not. Because we all hated it and we could have left half way through if one of us had spoken up. Lesson learned!

Spirograph

A spirograph is my kind of toy.

Pinning the wheel to the cardboard, hearing the pen snick into place in the interior gear, clicking between the four colors of the retractable Bic, all highly addictive and soothing. The result is a lovely and complex geometric shape that, should you so desire, could be retraced until the paper was saturated with ink. All in all an excellent representation of the mathematical precision with which my brain can trace a path from topic to topic.

The teeth of those little plastic gears are grabbing onto so much right now I am having a hard time writing about a single topic so I will give politics a short stab with my multi-colored pen.

The reality of the sequestration cuts are beginning to trickle into daily life. The biggest problem with the sequester is that its like an avalanche - you're not concerned at first because its just a little bit of snow, and its so far away, but once it starts rolling gravity takes over. Folks who should know better are saying things like "See? Planes didnt fall out of the sky, sequester is no big deal." This is not a case of "chicken little", its just a matter of months before the force of the cuts start to snowball. And we are all forced to watch.

Agencies have until Sept 30 to make the cuts. Lay offs will start (if they haven't already) in outer ring industries that sell goods and services to government, and in the little known long-term federal contract positions that are a common hiring work-around. Already the effects are being seen in the way research funding is (not) being allocated in higher education meaning labs are letting go of technicians and turning away student trainees. A generation of researchers will be lost.

Some of the actual fat may be trimmed like airshows that are really giant feel-good military recruitment events. But this has reprecussions too. No patriotic tourists mean empty hotel rooms & restaurants.  Unhappy hot dog vendors and parking lot owners. And those folks will spend less money at the local grocery, but perhaps a little more at the local bar.

Very few are wealthy enough to not feel the ripple from these cuts. And those folks will simply ask for the plain white bag when they shop like they did back in 2008.

Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose.

Zorro

I am currently reading Isabel Allende's Zorro. It has been on my nightstand for roughly a year in the "to be read next pile", but I gave in after a friend's gentle, if loud, hectoring that I need to "do something that's not work!"

I often read fiction but have been swamping myself lately with what my daughter calls my "boring books" whose titles almost always include a colon or subtitle. Two examples next to me on my desk as I type: Predictably Irrational: The Hidden Forces That Shape Our Decisions and Working Identity: Unconventional Strategies for Reinventing your Career.  I read the first one when it came out years ago and wanted to pull some examples, and the other I'm reading because some folks I'm working with are going through big transitions right now.

This post isn't really about my boring reading habits, its more about unmasking. I have been considering putting this blog under my own name - leaving the clever title of course because I like it - but allowing a public profile & my real name to be shown. When I started it years ago the anonymity was partially because I thought it was pretentious to call myself a writer, even of a blog, so I wanted to hide. And partially because I was afraid the writing was just crap anyway and if it was anonymous I could be less embarrassed about my desire to write and my lack of skill.

Now I don't know. Some folks who I admire and trust have said its not half bad. Some say writing an anonymous blog is exaggerating your own importance - that no one will actually care. And that your readers are less connected to you if they don't "know you" through your profile. So I am looking for feedback.

If you read this blog, or have just read this post, what do you think? Anonymous or no?

Argo

We went to see Argo the other night at the dollar movie, except its now the $2 movie, which, while still insanely cheap, doesn't roll off the tongue the way "dollar movie" does.

I thought it would be too violent and scary for my 14 year old daughter. Turns out it was too violent and scary for me. About one minute into the movie I realized that I really didn't want to see it and should leave and go watch "Wreck it Ralph" or something.  The take over of the embassy was very stressful and I was experiencing some very real desire to flee the movie theater. Point for Ben Affleck.

My stomach hurt for the entire two hours. And I already knew how it would turn out. This is history, we know the ending. But it was still very hard to watch.

On the way home in the car we started talking about the earliest historical events we could remember. Mine was watching the Watergate hearings. I specifically remember watching the televised vote to authorize the investigation for impeachment. Of course I didn't remember it that way, I had to look up what the actual vote was that I remembered.  Why it stuck with me was because I remarked to my parents as we watched that the people who were against it were loud, and the people for it were sad.

I remember the Iran hostage crisis from when I was a kid. It was a very big deal and constantly on the news. My husband is five years younger than I am and didn't really know what the crisis was about, it was just always there in the background. The first national event he remembers clearly is John Lennon being shot. That was pretty awful. I heard it on the radio as I was getting ready for school.

My daughter said her earliest memory of a national event is of the Bush/Kerry election in 2004 and how sad everyone was the day after. Her next national memory is the Bush/Obama election. I think I am seeing a trend here.

It's difficult for me to put myself into this kind of historical context as I have discovered over the years as my daughters various school projects demanded answers from parents like "What world changing events have happened in  your lifetime?"

I never thought about the Iran Hostage Crisis or Soviet War in Afghanistan, both of which helped lay the ground work for current problems in the middle east. Or Iran Contra and the spectacle that was Ollie North. Or when someone I knew first died of the new gay disease called A.I.D.S. 

History is complicated, and no less so when its fictionalized. At least ARGO didn't make the CIA or revolution look like any fun. The glory was saving lives not getting the credit or shooting the gun sideways.

Prayer Grid

You may have been subjected to a personality test at some point in your adult life - Meyers-Briggs Type Indicator (MBTI), Strengths Finder -  there are oh so many to choose from. If you have it's likely it was Meyers-Briggs which I have written about before. 

If you have your type memorized (I am either ENTJ or ESTJ depending on the day), you can indulge in the humor of the Prayer Grid below. It is so hard to get out of our boxes. That is one of my goals this year, to at least climb into or try on some new boxes. Recommendations?

Spring

It is spring where I live which means there is snow on the ground and several more inches threatening this week. This time last year it was 80 degrees and sunny. Two weeks ago it was 65 degrees and sunny. Mother Nature is obviously menopausal.

As I drove my daughter to school she and the car pool kids were complaining about the weather because its almost spring break etc, etc, etc. I told them I remembered many an Easter Sunday with snow on the ground when I was a kid. Part of that is the magical liturgical calendar, which I am sure is calculated in a sub-basement of the Vatican using the phases of the moon and cast chicken bones, and part is global warming which causes the lake effect snow by us.

When I was a kid every Easter we would get a new dress, hat, gloves and Patten leather shoes for church. Invariably the dress was made out of some sheer material with cap sleeves guaranteed to leave you with goose bumps the whole day. Even the leg wear was thin - ankle socks with lace rather than tights.

My brothers on the other hand got a pair of dress pants, long sleeve button shirt, jacket and tie. They were warm, we were cold. And so began the lessons of women needing to suffer to look beautiful.

As I was relating the unfairness of the Easter clothing to my captive car pool audience I remembered the purse we would make in Girl Scouts every year. First we would spend several meetings crocheting a square. The square would then be made into a tube by lacing a piece of ribbon along two edges, with another ribbon laced through the top to create a drawstring. We would then cut images out of magazines and decoupage them them to plastic margarine tubs. Once the tub was sufficiently decorated and dry, we would punch holes around the edge and use another ribbon to lace the crocheted tube to the tub.

Found this on Etsy. Mine never looked this good.

Needless to say the kids in the car thought this was hilarious. I tried to explain that it was the 70's and we decoupaged everything, but I guess you had to be there. I just found the instructions for Margarine Tub Purse in the 1972 edition of a "Polly's Pointers" column. I was not the only one subjected to this craftiness!

This endless "craft project" produced what was now called a purse, intended to be used for church on Easter Sunday. A purse just big enough for some folded up Kleenex, some money for the collection plate, and a lip smacker. Bonne Bell Lip Smackers was a home town company and a big craze for a while. Originally they were as big as glue sticks & with a hook and a cord so you could wear it around your neck. Orange Crush, 7-Up and Strawberry were my favorites.

The smell of Spring.

Rape

In some ways it's easy to write about rape because it appears there is so much to say. What it is, what its not, an individuals "opinion" about the context and circumstances, whether it is a discussion about men, without men or for men. Whether we live in a "Rape Culture", or if that is a term made up by the Femi-Nazi's of old.

The term "Rape Culture" is trending on twitter accompanied by just as much backlash as always. Possibly even more given that folks are being subjected to the justice/injustice of the Steubenville verdict while military women are testifying how they are raped by superior officers, not the enemy.

Mainly I think its easy to write about rape because it's treated as a topic without a solid definition. The definition is clear and simple - sexual intercourse that forced or compelled upon a person. The unclear part arrives with the legal definitions of "sexual intercourse", "force" and "compelled". And of course in the US we have state by state legal definitions, as well as federal definitions. We also have a seemingly person-by-person list of criteria determining if the victim was "asking for it". You know, how she was dressed, how she acted, if she engaged in dangerous behaviours like drinking or having a vagina - the usual.

So there is always plenty to say about rape.

One thing we could start saying in this ongoing discussion is "A man raped a woman".  That would at least bring the criminal into the picture. "A woman was raped" is a slightly different story isn't it?

Another thing we could say is that it is never acceptable to have any kind of sex act with anyone unconscious, impaired or intimidated. Someone who can't say "No" actually is saying "No", which means its no longer sex, its rape. Men and boys need to hear this. Women and girls need to hear it too (and not so they can be blamed for not helping the passed out girl in Steubenville like a CNN columnist is doing).

One last thing we could say about rape is that it is never, ever the raped persons fault. Ever.  So maybe they will feel safety rather than shame, and go to someone for help if they are assaulted. We could say this loudly and repeatedly much the way we say don't drink and drive.

There will always be plenty to say about rape because it happens all the time. Its a lousy equation to get anything to change.

• The more it is talked about and accepted, the more it will be reported.
• The more it is reported, the more it will be talked about until people think its an "epidemic!"
• Once it is an "epidemic!" there is a small possibility that education (the three suggestions above) will increase.
• Fewer incidents will be reported because of fewer incidents, rather than more hiding. The process of change takes a long while.

So my advice is get used to hearing about "rape culture". If you are horrified/outraged by the reactions in the media, plan on having calm discussions about how No means No. As long as rape is a topic, there is the possibility of educating someone that rape is not about sex and lust, it is about power and control. Making someone have sex because you can through violence, intimidation or because they are "dead drunk" and can't say No is rape, not an accident.

As it often does, music says it simpler than I do - No means No, A thousand times NO.

Lemon Difficult

Couples and families often have in jokes & catch phrases that turn into short hand too obscure for outsiders even when explained. Lemon difficult is one between me and my husband.

Long ago my friends and I worked to get our hipster cred by slogging through lots of lousy sketches on Saturday Night Live to get the one insider gem that would be all anyone could talk about the following week. Now I pay $7.99 a month for Hulu on Roku so I get the best bits vetted and watch them on my phone over lunch. I digress. Or not.

A while back we saw the most tense, disturbing, political movie I've ever watched called "In The Loop". Beside the fact that it should have been named "Capaldi Live: Cursing as Art Form", I thought I was going to pass out because I kept holding my breath. There was one deeply funny moment however, that made me laugh until I cried. I still have a hard time repeating the words without cracking up. An idiotic politician tells his staffer to do a profoundly impossible thing at a UN meeting in the middle of a situation that is beyond crisis. He blithely says it will be "Easy peasy, lemon squeezy" and the staffer hisses at him "No it wont, it will be difficult, difficult lemon difficult."


Things that are currently "Lemon Difficult":

• Recommitting to the house we live in. Because, in anticipation of a pending move that was subsequently canceled, many hundreds of books are boxed up. Which makes this the perfect time to paint, rearrange, re-purpose rooms, areas, furniture etc., also known as "The Great Cascade of Work".
• Trying to determine the criteria for the project management for "The Great Cascade of Work". Possibilities include: what do I /we need out of boxes, what room is most annoying to have in chaos, what would be the easiest project to accomplish, what would be the fastest project to accomplish.
• Writing my annual performance review and objectives. Just this side of torture, this chore takes an inordinate amount of my time because it is all self-assessment which I absolutely suck at.  Hey maybe I will make that Objective II: Suck less at self-assessment. I wish I could do a Survey Monkey with a 5 point Likert Scale...
• The pending homework for my certification. I am being such a slacker lately what with all the paralyzed staring at walls that I am a bit behind. Where to start.
• The pending paper that I have not been writing for two solid months (see wall staring above)

The law of Amanda writing would indicate that since I am writing about it, Lemon Difficult must be on its way out. Had the impulse here to launch into a discussion on law v. theory but I really do need to read a few more articles today.

I think I will spend some time this weekend making a Meyer Lemon simple syrup for a Lemon Difficult Cocktail. Much more satisfying than lemonade don't you think?