Saturday, February 23, 2002
The Company of Women (Most Pisces)
Anita's blogroll includes a sub-section of Piscean bloggers (all of which at the moment are women), and that section includes me. So, it's no surprise that she just beat me to blogging a piece that took the words right out of my head. The only thing I want to add is that, having been a 8th grade English teacher who taught grammar and related stuff, I like Dennis Mahoney's Write a Better Weblog. I still remember the concerned discussions we (policy staff of the New York State Education Department) had about the deterioriation of language as reflected in IRC, emails etc. From what I have experienced, I think that blogging is taking the use of language in a wonderful new -- and upward -- direction.
But back to Piscean women. While I find astrology fascinating and often weirdly accurate, my more logical mind prevents me from letting go of my skepticism. However, it's interesting to note that I am good friends (we have a "group" and meet at least monthly) with five other women whose birthdays fall between February 16th and April 6th, with me somewhere in the middle. Now, that doesn't make us all Pisces, but we're pretty close. The really interesting fact is that the "group" started out -- a decade ago -- much larger, as a "Women's Forum," sponsored by a singles organization to which we all belonged. (I still do.) I facilitated the forum, often at my apartment. The six of us ultimately broke away and formed our own circle, and we didn't realize until afterward how close our birthdays are. We continue to go on vacations together, and we have helped each other weather illnesses, including cancer (not me); relationships that happened and then dissolved (including me); and family tragedies (the recent wake I went to). We've also celebrated together the good things in life -- the births of grandchildren, professional promotions, the highs of new love affairs, and the pleasures of this company of women.
It's too bad that we don't see many men having the benefits of such extended support. (Although many men have been on the other end of our group's rituals to empower one or the other of us to break painful emotional ties to one or another of those men. Hee. Hee. Cackle. Cackle.)
Hey, I love you guys, but as you know, women our age (51 through 61) and education (B.A. through J.D.) are about as likely to find a suitable mate as we are to get shot by a sniper. But blogging is a really good diversion, and menopause is a really good excuse.
Comments
Anita's blogroll includes a sub-section of Piscean bloggers (all of which at the moment are women), and that section includes me. So, it's no surprise that she just beat me to blogging a piece that took the words right out of my head. The only thing I want to add is that, having been a 8th grade English teacher who taught grammar and related stuff, I like Dennis Mahoney's Write a Better Weblog. I still remember the concerned discussions we (policy staff of the New York State Education Department) had about the deterioriation of language as reflected in IRC, emails etc. From what I have experienced, I think that blogging is taking the use of language in a wonderful new -- and upward -- direction.
But back to Piscean women. While I find astrology fascinating and often weirdly accurate, my more logical mind prevents me from letting go of my skepticism. However, it's interesting to note that I am good friends (we have a "group" and meet at least monthly) with five other women whose birthdays fall between February 16th and April 6th, with me somewhere in the middle. Now, that doesn't make us all Pisces, but we're pretty close. The really interesting fact is that the "group" started out -- a decade ago -- much larger, as a "Women's Forum," sponsored by a singles organization to which we all belonged. (I still do.) I facilitated the forum, often at my apartment. The six of us ultimately broke away and formed our own circle, and we didn't realize until afterward how close our birthdays are. We continue to go on vacations together, and we have helped each other weather illnesses, including cancer (not me); relationships that happened and then dissolved (including me); and family tragedies (the recent wake I went to). We've also celebrated together the good things in life -- the births of grandchildren, professional promotions, the highs of new love affairs, and the pleasures of this company of women.
It's too bad that we don't see many men having the benefits of such extended support. (Although many men have been on the other end of our group's rituals to empower one or the other of us to break painful emotional ties to one or another of those men. Hee. Hee. Cackle. Cackle.)
Hey, I love you guys, but as you know, women our age (51 through 61) and education (B.A. through J.D.) are about as likely to find a suitable mate as we are to get shot by a sniper. But blogging is a really good diversion, and menopause is a really good excuse.
Comments
Friday, February 22, 2002
So Glad I Saw Her!
I haven't watched much of the Olympics, but I did have my tv on late enough last night to catch Sarah Hughes' amazing skating performance. That was as close to floating on air as I've ever seen. There's no doubt in my mind that she well deserved the gold medal. And I was equally impressed with her mature ability to express her feelingsverbally and in front of a camera and a global audience. What a remarkable girl!
Comments
I haven't watched much of the Olympics, but I did have my tv on late enough last night to catch Sarah Hughes' amazing skating performance. That was as close to floating on air as I've ever seen. There's no doubt in my mind that she well deserved the gold medal. And I was equally impressed with her mature ability to express her feelingsverbally and in front of a camera and a global audience. What a remarkable girl!
Comments
When we reveal our weaknesses, we show our true strength. That’s the parodox of being human. – I heard that today watching "First Wave" on the Sci Fi channel.
And that seemed to go along with what Geek Icon Andrea Roceal James blogged the other day:
I specialize in not specializing in anything. I've already blogged complaints about having too many things to be interested in. I wonder maybe if I'm too eclectic sometimes. There have been times when I've seen it as a weakness. For now, I consider myself simply an aspiring Renaissance Woman. Besides, Jeneane Sessum's powerful articulateness is hard to equal, no matter what gender you are.
I like this gal, Andrea. She reminds me of a (much younger) me. And I like Anita Bora because she’s “authentic.” She doesn’t try to impress, and in not trying, she does.
I sure do know what it’s like to have so many interests that you don’t really have time to focus on any one. My ex-husband used to call me a “dilettante” – a term he deemed derisive. However, like Andrea, I have always considered myself a Renaissance Woman. Sometimes I know just enough about something to make me dangerous. But mostly, I think I come out a strong B+ in just about everything I get myself into.
I hope that I’m smart enough to defer to minds like Jeneane’s and Mike Sanders' when it comes to articulating the cultural dimensions and implications of this blogging phenomenon. And smart enough not to compete with Marek and Mike Golby when it comes to their ability to “take off” verbally in blogland on just about any subject.
Andrea’s blog reminds me that I need to remember to be ME and to go where my interests lead and not be swept away by the tsunami brains of the Alpha Folks. And I really have to learn how to store images and files on my server so that I can get my stuff out there. Like, did you now that I have a small “craft” business (called Sass&Chic) and make my own designs: the “Spiral Shawl” and the “Adjustable Indestructible Hat.” I recently quilted an amazing jacket for myself, and I get the biggest kick out of taking old clothes and remaking them.
I long ago decided that, when the “revolution” comes (that’s the one that’s going to supress America into a new dark age), my skills are going to be very valuable as our economic system collapses and we are forced back into bartering::
-- I can remake almost any pieces of old clothing into something funky and attention-getting
-- I know how to cut hair
-- I can take whatever’s in the refrigerator and turn it into a really fantastic meal
Of course, that dark age isn't here yet, so I’d better spend some time on this server business. And then maybe I can do what Richard Cody is doing and get a poetry page up for myself.
Comments
And that seemed to go along with what Geek Icon Andrea Roceal James blogged the other day:
I specialize in not specializing in anything. I've already blogged complaints about having too many things to be interested in. I wonder maybe if I'm too eclectic sometimes. There have been times when I've seen it as a weakness. For now, I consider myself simply an aspiring Renaissance Woman. Besides, Jeneane Sessum's powerful articulateness is hard to equal, no matter what gender you are.
I like this gal, Andrea. She reminds me of a (much younger) me. And I like Anita Bora because she’s “authentic.” She doesn’t try to impress, and in not trying, she does.
I sure do know what it’s like to have so many interests that you don’t really have time to focus on any one. My ex-husband used to call me a “dilettante” – a term he deemed derisive. However, like Andrea, I have always considered myself a Renaissance Woman. Sometimes I know just enough about something to make me dangerous. But mostly, I think I come out a strong B+ in just about everything I get myself into.
I hope that I’m smart enough to defer to minds like Jeneane’s and Mike Sanders' when it comes to articulating the cultural dimensions and implications of this blogging phenomenon. And smart enough not to compete with Marek and Mike Golby when it comes to their ability to “take off” verbally in blogland on just about any subject.
Andrea’s blog reminds me that I need to remember to be ME and to go where my interests lead and not be swept away by the tsunami brains of the Alpha Folks. And I really have to learn how to store images and files on my server so that I can get my stuff out there. Like, did you now that I have a small “craft” business (called Sass&Chic) and make my own designs: the “Spiral Shawl” and the “Adjustable Indestructible Hat.” I recently quilted an amazing jacket for myself, and I get the biggest kick out of taking old clothes and remaking them.
I long ago decided that, when the “revolution” comes (that’s the one that’s going to supress America into a new dark age), my skills are going to be very valuable as our economic system collapses and we are forced back into bartering::
-- I can remake almost any pieces of old clothing into something funky and attention-getting
-- I know how to cut hair
-- I can take whatever’s in the refrigerator and turn it into a really fantastic meal
Of course, that dark age isn't here yet, so I’d better spend some time on this server business. And then maybe I can do what Richard Cody is doing and get a poetry page up for myself.
Comments
Thursday, February 21, 2002
A Little History
Thanks to Mike Golby's pointers, I have been reading recent posts and related comments on burningbird’s and wonderchicken’s (and, of course, b!X’s) sites about our current government’s, again, inept handling of relationships with other countries – this time, Korea.
In her post, burningbird asks: I wonder when Ashcroft will decide that weblogging is anti-patriotic?
And in the middle of the ensuing discussion/comments Rogi makes one statement that terrifies me.
But if i'm going to say what I think then I'll do it somewhere else, like, uh, Switzerland or something. Not here on American weblog territory. I'll do something sometime soon and point you to it from my deep bunker.;)
I remember a time when, while it was sometimes dangerous to physically go out and protest and make one’s political stance and opinions known – and known personally and LOUDLY – we did it by the thousands – the hundreds of thousands. Most of you reading this would have been toddlers or maybe pre-teens during those times, or maybe even still, as they used to say, a “gleam in your father’s eye.” (I always hated that phrase; it gives all credit for blatant sexuality to the guy!)
We were in our twenties and thirties, some even older. The Viet Nam War angered us, humiliated us, tore our hearts out. We protested as our situations would allow. My (ex) husband created anti-war theater pieces and supported the protests of the college students on the campus where he taught. I was a stay-at-home mom with a toddler (b!X) and his sister Melissa, who was around 8 or 9, so my protests were limited. One of our favorite family stories was about my sewing up huge a pseudo-flag made of candy-striped material with a big star-studded peace sign appliqued in the corner. I hung it from a tree on our property that faced the main road. All of the other houses in our rural neighborhood had their American flags proudly posted in response to the President’s request for all citizens to put out their flags for the Labor Day weekend.
Within an hour, my neighbor across the street was on the phone yelling at me about that “thing” I had waving in their faces while her husband cursed “those Commies” etc. etc. from the background. I explained what it was and that I had the same right to hang it up on my property as she had to display Old Glory. And then I followed through on my plans to take the kids down to visit my parents, who lived 150 miles away. The next day, we got a phone call from my husband (who didn’t come with us) saying that when he got home that night, he found my peace banner torn into strips, rolled into balls, and tossed all over our yard. While he had thought that my hanging the banner was like waving a red flag into front of a bunch of already-crazed bulls, he was really pissed that someone (probably a neighbor) actually would come up and destroy what was on our property when no one was home. He wrote a letter to the (then) Hearst newspaper defending my right to do what I did. They published it in a box in the center of the Opinion page. And for weeks after we got phone calls telling us that “they were coming to get us.” Nothing happened.
If someone were to do that today, what do you suppose would happen?
Of course, history documents much more vocal, well-attended, and explosive protests during that time. The point is that those in my generation felt obligated – and free enough – to stick their faces out there and open their physical mouths. I’m not saying that there weren’t unfair arrests and trials among the leaders of various movements. But I am saying that even innocuous people like me felt the need to take a public stand.
Now just about all of the stands are virtual. And we are all afraid that even that is going to get us into trouble.
Remember, b!X, when we marched on the Pentagon to protest our government’s involvement in Guatemala? That hot summer day among those thousands and thousands of banners and signs and sweaty chants for justice and peace? You were only about 9 years old and you got a bloody nose just before we got to the Pentagon, and dozens of people appeared with ice and kleenex and advice on how to stop it. And we sat in the shade on a little hill to eat our lunches and wait to see if that other bunch really would “levitate” the Pentagon, as they promised they would.
What are the chances of that happening today? (Not the levitating – the actual marching by the thousands, openly and vocally demanding a change in the decisions and actions of our political leaders.)
And I also remember, b!X, when, during the Gulf War, you bussed down from Albany -- and your sister went from New York City after marching there first -- to protest in Lafayette Park. And she rounded a corner, and there you were, drumming on an upturned plastic pail. I still have the picture she took of you displayed proudly on my wall.
After I heard about my cousins' kids, I wrote:
Desert Storm: A Family Scapbook
Someone’s son huddles
gravely under desert rain.
restless as his heartbeat,
he waits for signs in the sky
to turn the taste of metal
in his mouth to blood.
Someone’s daughter,
leather jacketed, baseball capped,
takes her place in U.N. Square,
lights a candle against the wind, and
joins her voice to the hymn
that pulses like blood
through the streets, through the night,
through the weary dreams of men
reduced to war.
Someone’s daughter runs
from classroom through snow,
stuffs her duffle to bursting
with camouflage and conviction,
prays for the chance
to set the skies ablaze with truth.
At the table of her father’s house,
she waits for orders
and watches the colors of dawn
melt like blood into sand.
Someone’s son
boards a bus at midnight,
sheathed in a confusion of
army surplus and disbelief.
He joins the dawn in Lafayette Park,
seeking solace – if not answers –
in the steady drum,
the solid hands,
the strong songs
of sons and daughters
refusing to bleed
for the dreams of weary men
reduced to war.
Comments
Thanks to Mike Golby's pointers, I have been reading recent posts and related comments on burningbird’s and wonderchicken’s (and, of course, b!X’s) sites about our current government’s, again, inept handling of relationships with other countries – this time, Korea.
In her post, burningbird asks: I wonder when Ashcroft will decide that weblogging is anti-patriotic?
And in the middle of the ensuing discussion/comments Rogi makes one statement that terrifies me.
But if i'm going to say what I think then I'll do it somewhere else, like, uh, Switzerland or something. Not here on American weblog territory. I'll do something sometime soon and point you to it from my deep bunker.;)
I remember a time when, while it was sometimes dangerous to physically go out and protest and make one’s political stance and opinions known – and known personally and LOUDLY – we did it by the thousands – the hundreds of thousands. Most of you reading this would have been toddlers or maybe pre-teens during those times, or maybe even still, as they used to say, a “gleam in your father’s eye.” (I always hated that phrase; it gives all credit for blatant sexuality to the guy!)
We were in our twenties and thirties, some even older. The Viet Nam War angered us, humiliated us, tore our hearts out. We protested as our situations would allow. My (ex) husband created anti-war theater pieces and supported the protests of the college students on the campus where he taught. I was a stay-at-home mom with a toddler (b!X) and his sister Melissa, who was around 8 or 9, so my protests were limited. One of our favorite family stories was about my sewing up huge a pseudo-flag made of candy-striped material with a big star-studded peace sign appliqued in the corner. I hung it from a tree on our property that faced the main road. All of the other houses in our rural neighborhood had their American flags proudly posted in response to the President’s request for all citizens to put out their flags for the Labor Day weekend.
Within an hour, my neighbor across the street was on the phone yelling at me about that “thing” I had waving in their faces while her husband cursed “those Commies” etc. etc. from the background. I explained what it was and that I had the same right to hang it up on my property as she had to display Old Glory. And then I followed through on my plans to take the kids down to visit my parents, who lived 150 miles away. The next day, we got a phone call from my husband (who didn’t come with us) saying that when he got home that night, he found my peace banner torn into strips, rolled into balls, and tossed all over our yard. While he had thought that my hanging the banner was like waving a red flag into front of a bunch of already-crazed bulls, he was really pissed that someone (probably a neighbor) actually would come up and destroy what was on our property when no one was home. He wrote a letter to the (then) Hearst newspaper defending my right to do what I did. They published it in a box in the center of the Opinion page. And for weeks after we got phone calls telling us that “they were coming to get us.” Nothing happened.
If someone were to do that today, what do you suppose would happen?
Of course, history documents much more vocal, well-attended, and explosive protests during that time. The point is that those in my generation felt obligated – and free enough – to stick their faces out there and open their physical mouths. I’m not saying that there weren’t unfair arrests and trials among the leaders of various movements. But I am saying that even innocuous people like me felt the need to take a public stand.
Now just about all of the stands are virtual. And we are all afraid that even that is going to get us into trouble.
Remember, b!X, when we marched on the Pentagon to protest our government’s involvement in Guatemala? That hot summer day among those thousands and thousands of banners and signs and sweaty chants for justice and peace? You were only about 9 years old and you got a bloody nose just before we got to the Pentagon, and dozens of people appeared with ice and kleenex and advice on how to stop it. And we sat in the shade on a little hill to eat our lunches and wait to see if that other bunch really would “levitate” the Pentagon, as they promised they would.
What are the chances of that happening today? (Not the levitating – the actual marching by the thousands, openly and vocally demanding a change in the decisions and actions of our political leaders.)
And I also remember, b!X, when, during the Gulf War, you bussed down from Albany -- and your sister went from New York City after marching there first -- to protest in Lafayette Park. And she rounded a corner, and there you were, drumming on an upturned plastic pail. I still have the picture she took of you displayed proudly on my wall.
After I heard about my cousins' kids, I wrote:
Desert Storm: A Family Scapbook
Someone’s son huddles
gravely under desert rain.
restless as his heartbeat,
he waits for signs in the sky
to turn the taste of metal
in his mouth to blood.
Someone’s daughter,
leather jacketed, baseball capped,
takes her place in U.N. Square,
lights a candle against the wind, and
joins her voice to the hymn
that pulses like blood
through the streets, through the night,
through the weary dreams of men
reduced to war.
Someone’s daughter runs
from classroom through snow,
stuffs her duffle to bursting
with camouflage and conviction,
prays for the chance
to set the skies ablaze with truth.
At the table of her father’s house,
she waits for orders
and watches the colors of dawn
melt like blood into sand.
Someone’s son
boards a bus at midnight,
sheathed in a confusion of
army surplus and disbelief.
He joins the dawn in Lafayette Park,
seeking solace – if not answers –
in the steady drum,
the solid hands,
the strong songs
of sons and daughters
refusing to bleed
for the dreams of weary men
reduced to war.
Comments
Wednesday, February 20, 2002
I was feeling a little bad about myself but I just rolled down my bloglist and now I don’t
All day today I thought about the things (not necessarily such nice things) that I’m having to admit to myself about myself as a result of becoming a blogger:
1. I am more competitive than I thought I was
2. I really DO want to be famous (or at least a little famous)
3. I DO care what people think of me (at least some people)
4. I like to start new things but I’m not used to persevering
5. My ability to organize and keep things straight in my head is even worse than I thought (How the hell does everyone remember where they read what they read so that they can go back and lift the good stuff out for links?)
On the other hand, folks like Andrea whom I hadn’t heard of are finding my blog and liking it. And, from them, I learn all kinds of things I’m glad to know. I found out from his blog that Richard Cody writes truly fine poetry and he has been published on various web sites. I hadn’t thought of doing that with my own stuff. So now I am – at least thinking about it.
Folks of whom I have heard continue to blog perspectives that force me to keep re-examining concepts that I thought I was through examining. Mike Sanders’ blog is one of those that always throws so much at me that I would have to spend all day and night at the keyboard to be able to work through all of the sparks in my own head that his words ignite.
This particular one of Sanders' has been smoldering in the back of my mind: Almost all the reasons given for blogging seem to be pragmatic. It is no big surprise idealism is dying, but with all the individual expression in blogging, I hoped we would see some more burning embers.
Actually, I long ago realized that I wasn’t going to change the world. I also realized, however, that I could change little pieces of it, and I could affect the people with whom I come in contact. Mostly, though, I have all I can do to hold fast to the place in which I want to stand based on my ideals and values. My dream has always been that, if there are enough people of heart and hope, of conscience and compassion, and if there were a way for them to somehow connect with each other, there really might be the possibility of generating a sea change (as in the “hundredth-monkey concept).
And I suspect that, despite all of the “individual expression” we see in blogging, underneath it all is that same ember burning – we all want the world to change for the better. How do we know but that blogging might wind up being the catalyst for such a change. Of course, Marek, bless his convoluted Polish soul, might be able to do that all by himself. But just in case he can’t, what we can do is keep blogging.
Comments
All day today I thought about the things (not necessarily such nice things) that I’m having to admit to myself about myself as a result of becoming a blogger:
1. I am more competitive than I thought I was
2. I really DO want to be famous (or at least a little famous)
3. I DO care what people think of me (at least some people)
4. I like to start new things but I’m not used to persevering
5. My ability to organize and keep things straight in my head is even worse than I thought (How the hell does everyone remember where they read what they read so that they can go back and lift the good stuff out for links?)
On the other hand, folks like Andrea whom I hadn’t heard of are finding my blog and liking it. And, from them, I learn all kinds of things I’m glad to know. I found out from his blog that Richard Cody writes truly fine poetry and he has been published on various web sites. I hadn’t thought of doing that with my own stuff. So now I am – at least thinking about it.
Folks of whom I have heard continue to blog perspectives that force me to keep re-examining concepts that I thought I was through examining. Mike Sanders’ blog is one of those that always throws so much at me that I would have to spend all day and night at the keyboard to be able to work through all of the sparks in my own head that his words ignite.
This particular one of Sanders' has been smoldering in the back of my mind: Almost all the reasons given for blogging seem to be pragmatic. It is no big surprise idealism is dying, but with all the individual expression in blogging, I hoped we would see some more burning embers.
Actually, I long ago realized that I wasn’t going to change the world. I also realized, however, that I could change little pieces of it, and I could affect the people with whom I come in contact. Mostly, though, I have all I can do to hold fast to the place in which I want to stand based on my ideals and values. My dream has always been that, if there are enough people of heart and hope, of conscience and compassion, and if there were a way for them to somehow connect with each other, there really might be the possibility of generating a sea change (as in the “hundredth-monkey concept).
And I suspect that, despite all of the “individual expression” we see in blogging, underneath it all is that same ember burning – we all want the world to change for the better. How do we know but that blogging might wind up being the catalyst for such a change. Of course, Marek, bless his convoluted Polish soul, might be able to do that all by himself. But just in case he can’t, what we can do is keep blogging.
Comments
Tuesday, February 19, 2002
Warning for the Snifflers!
I've lost track of all of the bloggers I've read in the past week who are down with colds, flu, sinus stuff. And that includes, you, Jeneane! Check out the alert regarding products that contain Phenylpropanolamine. These include certain Alka Seltzer, Dimetap and a whole bunch of other stuff that I know that I have sitting in my medicine chest. The danger of phenylpropanolamine was circulated as an Urban Legend, only this time is a true one. Don't take that next pill until you check out the list.
Comments
I've lost track of all of the bloggers I've read in the past week who are down with colds, flu, sinus stuff. And that includes, you, Jeneane! Check out the alert regarding products that contain Phenylpropanolamine. These include certain Alka Seltzer, Dimetap and a whole bunch of other stuff that I know that I have sitting in my medicine chest. The danger of phenylpropanolamine was circulated as an Urban Legend, only this time is a true one. Don't take that next pill until you check out the list.
Comments
The First Casualty of War is the Truth
“Though planting disinformation against hostile nations is a longtime tactic in military information warfare, the new Pentagon office wants to broaden the mission into allied nations in the Middle East, Asia and even Western Europe, ….”
NBC news tonight pretty much reported word for word what The Nando Times had posted online.
“Critics fear a backlash from allies. They also worry that false information released to sway people in foreign countries will be picked up and spread back to America by international news organizations.”
Somebody ought to clue in Brig. Gen. Simon P. Worden, head of Dubbaya’s shadowy new Office of Strategic Influence (read: Ministry of Propaganda). Bloggers would have it spread, analyzed, discussed, refuted, and ridiculed long before international news organizations had time to get the OK to make any kind of statement.
Comments
“Though planting disinformation against hostile nations is a longtime tactic in military information warfare, the new Pentagon office wants to broaden the mission into allied nations in the Middle East, Asia and even Western Europe, ….”
NBC news tonight pretty much reported word for word what The Nando Times had posted online.
“Critics fear a backlash from allies. They also worry that false information released to sway people in foreign countries will be picked up and spread back to America by international news organizations.”
Somebody ought to clue in Brig. Gen. Simon P. Worden, head of Dubbaya’s shadowy new Office of Strategic Influence (read: Ministry of Propaganda). Bloggers would have it spread, analyzed, discussed, refuted, and ridiculed long before international news organizations had time to get the OK to make any kind of statement.
Comments
Oh Well, At Least I Tried
Well, I've been informed by www.cyberseniors.org that they are cancelling their efforts to have a kind of online discussion with volunteers choosing topics and facilitating. I had signed up to do one on "Being the Filler in the Sandwich Generation." But they cancelled that one aspect of their site. They're still based in Portland, Maine, and offer all kinds of on-site programs, including computer literacy. "If I had a million dollars...." I would get up to speed on how to do web sites and really come up with an interactive web site for seniors. Meanwhile, I'll just keep on blogging.
Comments
Well, I've been informed by www.cyberseniors.org that they are cancelling their efforts to have a kind of online discussion with volunteers choosing topics and facilitating. I had signed up to do one on "Being the Filler in the Sandwich Generation." But they cancelled that one aspect of their site. They're still based in Portland, Maine, and offer all kinds of on-site programs, including computer literacy. "If I had a million dollars...." I would get up to speed on how to do web sites and really come up with an interactive web site for seniors. Meanwhile, I'll just keep on blogging.
Comments
Another "This Is Why I Love the Web"
I just picked this up from the Wild Wolf Women of the Web Listserv. Totally irrelevant but fascinating fact:
As the clock ticks over from 8:01PM on Wednesday, February 20th, 2002, time will (for sixty seconds only) read in perfect symmetry. To be more precise: 20:02, 20/02, 2002. It is an event which has only ever happened once before, and is something which will never be repeated. The last occasion that time read in such a symmetrical pattern was long before the days of the digital watch (or the 24-hour clock): 10:01AM, on January 10, 1001. And because the clock only goes up to 23.59, it is something that will never happen again. Neat, huh?
Comments
I just picked this up from the Wild Wolf Women of the Web Listserv. Totally irrelevant but fascinating fact:
As the clock ticks over from 8:01PM on Wednesday, February 20th, 2002, time will (for sixty seconds only) read in perfect symmetry. To be more precise: 20:02, 20/02, 2002. It is an event which has only ever happened once before, and is something which will never be repeated. The last occasion that time read in such a symmetrical pattern was long before the days of the digital watch (or the 24-hour clock): 10:01AM, on January 10, 1001. And because the clock only goes up to 23.59, it is something that will never happen again. Neat, huh?
Comments
Sense Remembering
It's 41 degrees in Albany, New York today, so I took my mom out for a rather slow walk around our building, then left her to sit in the sun while I picked up the pace in an effort to lower my most recent blood pressure, cholestrol, and weight readings. The air is deliciously crisp; meandering breezes play softly across my face; the sky beams bright blue, the sun a winter warm. As I close my eyes in sheer pleasure, I have a clear sense memory of lying in my 1940 baby carriage with that gray oil-cloth cover that went from my feet to my chin snapped in place so that only my face is explosed. I love the way my nose and cheeks feel cold while the rest of me is toasty. I drift in and out of a light sleep, with the faint sounds of children playing, trucks rumbling, mothers chatting. All is right with my tiny world. I hope that it feels like that when I die.
Comments
It's 41 degrees in Albany, New York today, so I took my mom out for a rather slow walk around our building, then left her to sit in the sun while I picked up the pace in an effort to lower my most recent blood pressure, cholestrol, and weight readings. The air is deliciously crisp; meandering breezes play softly across my face; the sky beams bright blue, the sun a winter warm. As I close my eyes in sheer pleasure, I have a clear sense memory of lying in my 1940 baby carriage with that gray oil-cloth cover that went from my feet to my chin snapped in place so that only my face is explosed. I love the way my nose and cheeks feel cold while the rest of me is toasty. I drift in and out of a light sleep, with the faint sounds of children playing, trucks rumbling, mothers chatting. All is right with my tiny world. I hope that it feels like that when I die.
Comments
This is Why I Love the Web!
In addition to all of the misinformation and lies that might be circulating out there, there are people who know the truths and take the time to correct them. For example, a comment from Gary proved to me that Billy Connolly DOES use the web. And now I also know who Billy Connelly is. Because I didn't before.
And people like Anita keep us connected to the things that are REALLY important.
Comments
In addition to all of the misinformation and lies that might be circulating out there, there are people who know the truths and take the time to correct them. For example, a comment from Gary proved to me that Billy Connolly DOES use the web. And now I also know who Billy Connelly is. Because I didn't before.
And people like Anita keep us connected to the things that are REALLY important.
Comments
Monday, February 18, 2002
Oh Hell, Why Not
David Weinberger’s JOHO is a great site that I read but have never linked to. Same goes for Steve Himmer’s, Doc Searls’, and AKMA’s, the last of which includes those guys (and more) in what he calls “The Usual Posse.” I will continue to wonder why, besides Jeneane Sessum, there are not more such powerfully articulate females blogging into the current important verbal excursions into the unknown.
The other day, David blogged something that was emailed to him by Vergil Iliescu:
In Billy Connolly’s biography, written by his wife Pamela Stevenson, she notes that Billy doesn’t use the internet because the people who do are “the kind of people you wouldn’t talk to in a pub anyway” (or something like that, I’m quoting from memory).
In truth, the bloggers I’ve "met" – in addition to those I just mentioned -- are JUST the kind of people I WOULD want to talk to in a pub -- even though, more truthfully, I probably would have only hung around the edges of their conversation, listening and feeling intimidated. Well, I might have moved in a little closer after my first bourbon. I might even have tried to insert a small word of my own into the density of it all, although I don’t think I would have succeeded.
Their kind of meandering and meaningful, complex and creative verbal exercises work on the web because there’s enough empty space and time out there for their larger-than-life personas, their mega-metaphors, and their massive energy surges. They could never be contained in any one pub. And so, without the internet, I would never have had a chance – or the courage -- to insinuate myself into such intricately connected monologues. Keeping up with them, though, is something else entirely. (pant….pant…..wheeze….wheeze)
Comments
David Weinberger’s JOHO is a great site that I read but have never linked to. Same goes for Steve Himmer’s, Doc Searls’, and AKMA’s, the last of which includes those guys (and more) in what he calls “The Usual Posse.” I will continue to wonder why, besides Jeneane Sessum, there are not more such powerfully articulate females blogging into the current important verbal excursions into the unknown.
The other day, David blogged something that was emailed to him by Vergil Iliescu:
In Billy Connolly’s biography, written by his wife Pamela Stevenson, she notes that Billy doesn’t use the internet because the people who do are “the kind of people you wouldn’t talk to in a pub anyway” (or something like that, I’m quoting from memory).
In truth, the bloggers I’ve "met" – in addition to those I just mentioned -- are JUST the kind of people I WOULD want to talk to in a pub -- even though, more truthfully, I probably would have only hung around the edges of their conversation, listening and feeling intimidated. Well, I might have moved in a little closer after my first bourbon. I might even have tried to insert a small word of my own into the density of it all, although I don’t think I would have succeeded.
Their kind of meandering and meaningful, complex and creative verbal exercises work on the web because there’s enough empty space and time out there for their larger-than-life personas, their mega-metaphors, and their massive energy surges. They could never be contained in any one pub. And so, without the internet, I would never have had a chance – or the courage -- to insinuate myself into such intricately connected monologues. Keeping up with them, though, is something else entirely. (pant….pant…..wheeze….wheeze)
Comments
Ooops, I Did It Again
After my ritual morning roll in the blog, I find myself in the shower humming “Ooops, I did it again…”
I did it a few years ago, when on a whim I submitted some of my poetry about the mythic Lilith (Adam’s first wife) to a book on that subject being put together by the Jewish Women’s Resource Center in New York City. It was advertised as a publication written by Jewish women, and I’m not even Jewish. But eventually I find two of my pieces in Which Lilith: Feminist Writers Recreate the World's First Woman, nestled in among some major and intimidating prose and poetry, including an introduction by Naomi Wolfe. I’m the only writer represented who isn’t Jewish.
I seem to have a pattern of signing up for leagues that are way beyond my own.
And so I find myself now in the deepest of uncharted spaces – not swimming with sharks, but rather with mermen, sea sprites, mysterious bloggods big banging out a new universe and sucking me into to wordpools way out of my depths. What have I done in blogrolling so brazenly into this hierarchy of hyperbole, this maelstrom of metaphors, this mad mad mad mad mad mad whirl?
Which Lilith, indeed. Which Jeneane? Which Marek? Which Gary? Which Mike?
Comments
After my ritual morning roll in the blog, I find myself in the shower humming “Ooops, I did it again…”
I did it a few years ago, when on a whim I submitted some of my poetry about the mythic Lilith (Adam’s first wife) to a book on that subject being put together by the Jewish Women’s Resource Center in New York City. It was advertised as a publication written by Jewish women, and I’m not even Jewish. But eventually I find two of my pieces in Which Lilith: Feminist Writers Recreate the World's First Woman, nestled in among some major and intimidating prose and poetry, including an introduction by Naomi Wolfe. I’m the only writer represented who isn’t Jewish.
I seem to have a pattern of signing up for leagues that are way beyond my own.
And so I find myself now in the deepest of uncharted spaces – not swimming with sharks, but rather with mermen, sea sprites, mysterious bloggods big banging out a new universe and sucking me into to wordpools way out of my depths. What have I done in blogrolling so brazenly into this hierarchy of hyperbole, this maelstrom of metaphors, this mad mad mad mad mad mad whirl?
Which Lilith, indeed. Which Jeneane? Which Marek? Which Gary? Which Mike?
Comments
Sunday, February 17, 2002
What I'm Cooking
I like to cook but I don't like to clean up after. (I cook dinner every night and eat it with my mom.) Anyway, my "fear of blogging" friend was supposed to come over and have supper with my mother and me this evening but she had to cancel. So, mom and I are sharing homemade cream of chicken and broccoli soup, honey whole wheat bread from Montana Mills, and a mixed green salad with this great dressing that I just improvised made of (I don't really measure) a healthy tablespoon of frozen orange juice concentrate, a scant tablespoon of apple cider vinegar, some ground up sesame seeds, some ground up walnuts, and less than a half cup walnut oil -- oh and a clove of minced garlic. I put it all in a blender. You sort of have to add the amount of oil to your own taste, but I think this is close. And I think I'll take the few homemade pierogi that we have leftover from Christmas out of the freezer and have those too. Eat your heart out, girlfriend!
Comments
I like to cook but I don't like to clean up after. (I cook dinner every night and eat it with my mom.) Anyway, my "fear of blogging" friend was supposed to come over and have supper with my mother and me this evening but she had to cancel. So, mom and I are sharing homemade cream of chicken and broccoli soup, honey whole wheat bread from Montana Mills, and a mixed green salad with this great dressing that I just improvised made of (I don't really measure) a healthy tablespoon of frozen orange juice concentrate, a scant tablespoon of apple cider vinegar, some ground up sesame seeds, some ground up walnuts, and less than a half cup walnut oil -- oh and a clove of minced garlic. I put it all in a blender. You sort of have to add the amount of oil to your own taste, but I think this is close. And I think I'll take the few homemade pierogi that we have leftover from Christmas out of the freezer and have those too. Eat your heart out, girlfriend!
Comments
The Last About Losses
Gee, I don't want to get everyone too maudlin -- I managed to get Mike going really good -- but his piece motivates me to say this last thing.
There is a poem by Theodore Roethke that I want read at my wake (well, I don't really want a wake; I want a real bash, with music and everything). Do you hear that bix? The poem is the Fourth Meditation from his "Meditations of an Old Woman."
Anyway, I went and dug up the book I have with that poem in it. Bix's dad gave me a Roethke's collection Words for the Wind soon after we met in college. His note to me in the front page says October 31, 1960. It seems like several lifetimes ago. We split when bix was 4 or 5. So much lost.
Here's the beginning of the Roethke's poem:
I was always one for being alone,
Seeking in my own way, eternal purpose;
At the edge of the field waiting for the pure moment;
Standing, silent, on sandy beaches or walking
along green embankments
Knowing the sinuousness of small waters:
and later on
Was it yesterday I stretched out the
thin bones of my innocence?
O the songs we hide, singing only to ourselves!
Once I could touch my shadow and be happy;
In the white kingdoms, I was light as a seed,
Drifting with the blossoms,
A pensive petal.
and it ends with:
Is my body speaking? I breathe what I am:
The first and last of all things.
Near the graves of the great dead,
Even the stones speak.
I love it! I BREATHE WHAT I AM: THE FIRST AND LAST OF ALL THINGS.
If you don't know Roethke, read more of his stuff at http://gawow.com/roethke/poems/.
Comments
Gee, I don't want to get everyone too maudlin -- I managed to get Mike going really good -- but his piece motivates me to say this last thing.
There is a poem by Theodore Roethke that I want read at my wake (well, I don't really want a wake; I want a real bash, with music and everything). Do you hear that bix? The poem is the Fourth Meditation from his "Meditations of an Old Woman."
Anyway, I went and dug up the book I have with that poem in it. Bix's dad gave me a Roethke's collection Words for the Wind soon after we met in college. His note to me in the front page says October 31, 1960. It seems like several lifetimes ago. We split when bix was 4 or 5. So much lost.
Here's the beginning of the Roethke's poem:
I was always one for being alone,
Seeking in my own way, eternal purpose;
At the edge of the field waiting for the pure moment;
Standing, silent, on sandy beaches or walking
along green embankments
Knowing the sinuousness of small waters:
and later on
Was it yesterday I stretched out the
thin bones of my innocence?
O the songs we hide, singing only to ourselves!
Once I could touch my shadow and be happy;
In the white kingdoms, I was light as a seed,
Drifting with the blossoms,
A pensive petal.
and it ends with:
Is my body speaking? I breathe what I am:
The first and last of all things.
Near the graves of the great dead,
Even the stones speak.
I love it! I BREATHE WHAT I AM: THE FIRST AND LAST OF ALL THINGS.
If you don't know Roethke, read more of his stuff at http://gawow.com/roethke/poems/.
Comments
I Like This Local Columnist
Diane Cameron has a column in our Sunday newspaper that I always read. Today's is about propaganda.
She says:
We like to think, of course, that "they'' do propaganda while "we'' do public education, but sometimes there's a very fine line dividing information, public service, propaganda and even the "news.''
Having been a writer doing "public education" on the topic of education for many years, I really like this article.
Comments
Diane Cameron has a column in our Sunday newspaper that I always read. Today's is about propaganda.
She says:
We like to think, of course, that "they'' do propaganda while "we'' do public education, but sometimes there's a very fine line dividing information, public service, propaganda and even the "news.''
Having been a writer doing "public education" on the topic of education for many years, I really like this article.
Comments
