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?
Monday, February 18, 2002
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!
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!
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/.
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/.
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.
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.
Saturday, February 16, 2002
Saturday Night Ramblings
I sat with my mom tonight and we watched "Dying Young" on tv. My mom is sure not young; she'll be 86 on Monday. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see her nestled into my couch, this tiny woman who daily is sort of compressing toward her middle. I have to keep taking the hems up on her slacks and finding ways to let out the waist bands. I think to myself -- she is dying. She's not sick, but she is old. She is just waiting for it to happen. And I am here waiting with her.
We are all dying. From the moment we're born we begin to die. Tonight I think about that, the wake I went to the other night, my life as an undertaker's daughter, living above the funeral chapels as a kid. Our lives are bound to cycles, circadian, seasonal, menstrual....and all of the minor and major violences that go along with the process of everything always dying.
l remember a time in my life -- actually not that long ago -- when not having a date on Saturday night and admitting that one didn't have a date on a Saturday night -- was DEATH! I obviously have embarked upon another life's cycle.
When I turned 50, I threw myself a big party and invited lots of friends. At one point I made them each stand up and say something nice about me because I'd rather them do it then when I could enjoy the compliments rather than have them do it at my wake. I loved hearing the funny and nice and irreverent and kind and outrageous things they said. And then I had a friend who's into shamanic stuff do a ritual for me to symbolize my entrance into a more "wise" time of my life. Well, nice try. I'm still waiting for that time to come.
I live surrounded by people who are waiting to die. Oh they're not just sitting and waiting -- they play pinochle and bridge and billiards; they go for walks and sit and chat and complain a lot; some even still drive -- although most of them shouldn't. The apartments are upscale and there's a new town park being built right next door. Maybe if I were 80 I wouldn't mind living here. There are even small community garden "plots." I wrote a poem about the one I had last summer. It began "They gave me a garden the size of a grave..." Actually, it wasn't as depressing as it sounds. I went on to write that "I filled it with raucous reminders of sense.............."
And I guess tonight I sit here trying to make some sense out of all of this. And all of this blogging over the past few days in connection with Marek, Gary, and Mike about what this is all about. There's energy being created here, energy to power new cycles, maybe new poems. And there is no violence. There is a lot of heart.
I sat with my mom tonight and we watched "Dying Young" on tv. My mom is sure not young; she'll be 86 on Monday. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see her nestled into my couch, this tiny woman who daily is sort of compressing toward her middle. I have to keep taking the hems up on her slacks and finding ways to let out the waist bands. I think to myself -- she is dying. She's not sick, but she is old. She is just waiting for it to happen. And I am here waiting with her.
We are all dying. From the moment we're born we begin to die. Tonight I think about that, the wake I went to the other night, my life as an undertaker's daughter, living above the funeral chapels as a kid. Our lives are bound to cycles, circadian, seasonal, menstrual....and all of the minor and major violences that go along with the process of everything always dying.
l remember a time in my life -- actually not that long ago -- when not having a date on Saturday night and admitting that one didn't have a date on a Saturday night -- was DEATH! I obviously have embarked upon another life's cycle.
When I turned 50, I threw myself a big party and invited lots of friends. At one point I made them each stand up and say something nice about me because I'd rather them do it then when I could enjoy the compliments rather than have them do it at my wake. I loved hearing the funny and nice and irreverent and kind and outrageous things they said. And then I had a friend who's into shamanic stuff do a ritual for me to symbolize my entrance into a more "wise" time of my life. Well, nice try. I'm still waiting for that time to come.
I live surrounded by people who are waiting to die. Oh they're not just sitting and waiting -- they play pinochle and bridge and billiards; they go for walks and sit and chat and complain a lot; some even still drive -- although most of them shouldn't. The apartments are upscale and there's a new town park being built right next door. Maybe if I were 80 I wouldn't mind living here. There are even small community garden "plots." I wrote a poem about the one I had last summer. It began "They gave me a garden the size of a grave..." Actually, it wasn't as depressing as it sounds. I went on to write that "I filled it with raucous reminders of sense.............."
And I guess tonight I sit here trying to make some sense out of all of this. And all of this blogging over the past few days in connection with Marek, Gary, and Mike about what this is all about. There's energy being created here, energy to power new cycles, maybe new poems. And there is no violence. There is a lot of heart.
Don't Call Me Madame
I had a interesting reaction to Gary Turner addressing me (in a comment) as Madame K. I remember the first time a store clerk called me "Ma'am," and I turned around to see if there was some other lady he might be addressing. There wasn't. I know that I make a point of my age (I'm on a quest for "elders" among bloggers), but, in truth I prefer to be thought of as just one of the blogger gang. Aunt Owwee did put me on to someone older than I am -- Ava at From The Edge, and I'm adding her to my blogroll.
OK. So now I'll start making my incredible chicken soup. Yes Sir!
I had a interesting reaction to Gary Turner addressing me (in a comment) as Madame K. I remember the first time a store clerk called me "Ma'am," and I turned around to see if there was some other lady he might be addressing. There wasn't. I know that I make a point of my age (I'm on a quest for "elders" among bloggers), but, in truth I prefer to be thought of as just one of the blogger gang. Aunt Owwee did put me on to someone older than I am -- Ava at From The Edge, and I'm adding her to my blogroll.
OK. So now I'll start making my incredible chicken soup. Yes Sir!
Time to Link to This
Every other blogger I know has linked to this great "Blogger Manifesto" that Chris Pirillo posted a while ago and has recently edited a little. But I'll bet some of my non-blogger friends who check my site every once in while might find it interesting as well, so here it is in kalilily time. Actually, I don't egosurf (#10) because I don't know how, and I would have other names in #12. But otherwise, yeah.
1. Life is uncensored.
2. My blog does not capture the full me.
3. Judge my thoughts, but not me.
4. If you don't like what you see, look elsewhere.
5. I love talking about my life.
6. I love writing about other people's lives.
7. I will post whenever I feel like posting.
8. I don't have to blog every meme.
9. You don't have to agree with everything I say.
10. I egosurf Daypop, Google, and Blogdex nightly.
11. I share what I want to share.
12. I like linking to Dave, Doc, Evan, and Cam.
13. Blogging is theraputic.
14. Pictures of myself are not obligatory.
15. I visit every site in my blogroller regularly.
16. I won't post for the sake of posting.
17. I have a life outside of blogging.
18. I have registered my blogging tool(s).
19. I may criticize other bloggers, not harass them.
20. I have the right to revise a post.
21. When blogging becomes a chore, I'll quit doing it.
22. I've given something back to the blogging community.
23. If I want to complain about something, I will.
24. If I want to praise something, I will.
25. I am not the best blogger on the planet.
26. I don't have to explain myself to you.
Every other blogger I know has linked to this great "Blogger Manifesto" that Chris Pirillo posted a while ago and has recently edited a little. But I'll bet some of my non-blogger friends who check my site every once in while might find it interesting as well, so here it is in kalilily time. Actually, I don't egosurf (#10) because I don't know how, and I would have other names in #12. But otherwise, yeah.
1. Life is uncensored.
2. My blog does not capture the full me.
3. Judge my thoughts, but not me.
4. If you don't like what you see, look elsewhere.
5. I love talking about my life.
6. I love writing about other people's lives.
7. I will post whenever I feel like posting.
8. I don't have to blog every meme.
9. You don't have to agree with everything I say.
10. I egosurf Daypop, Google, and Blogdex nightly.
11. I share what I want to share.
12. I like linking to Dave, Doc, Evan, and Cam.
13. Blogging is theraputic.
14. Pictures of myself are not obligatory.
15. I visit every site in my blogroller regularly.
16. I won't post for the sake of posting.
17. I have a life outside of blogging.
18. I have registered my blogging tool(s).
19. I may criticize other bloggers, not harass them.
20. I have the right to revise a post.
21. When blogging becomes a chore, I'll quit doing it.
22. I've given something back to the blogging community.
23. If I want to complain about something, I will.
24. If I want to praise something, I will.
25. I am not the best blogger on the planet.
26. I don't have to explain myself to you.
My Morning Cup-a Blog
When I get up in the morning, the first thing I do is turn on my computer and check my email and blog comments. I guess that's a pattern leftover from my former office job, where I also used to spend some time in the a.m. checking in with everyone and starting topical discussions that we would continue throughout the day. That's another activity that blogging has replaced. It was very frustrated this morning when Blogger wouldn't accept my posts -- threw my whole day off. I actually got some dusting done, which I had to do because my allergies are giving me terrible sinusitis. (Are there people out there who actually dust regularly? I don't even vacuum regularly!)
When I get up in the morning, the first thing I do is turn on my computer and check my email and blog comments. I guess that's a pattern leftover from my former office job, where I also used to spend some time in the a.m. checking in with everyone and starting topical discussions that we would continue throughout the day. That's another activity that blogging has replaced. It was very frustrated this morning when Blogger wouldn't accept my posts -- threw my whole day off. I actually got some dusting done, which I had to do because my allergies are giving me terrible sinusitis. (Are there people out there who actually dust regularly? I don't even vacuum regularly!)
Friday, February 15, 2002
It's Gotta Be A "Guy" Thing
Violence is what comes to Gary Turner's mind when he thinks about the web. Guys just seem to like pissing contests. Set 'em up; knock 'em down. I don't seem to see much affinity for violent metaphors from Meg Hourihan, or Anita Bora or Jeneane Sessum or any number of other female bloggers' sites that I discover in my energetic linkings. Back in the 80s there were all kinds of studies being done about the difference between the way the two genders communicate and work. Guys tend to compete; gals tend to cooperate. Guys prefer to line up the pieces; gals want to see the configurations, the relationship of one piece to the others. So for many of those of my gender, the web is this immense cooperative venture, this mother of all networks, this amazing set of sticky threads worthy of Arachne herself. So piss away, you guys. We'll just keep spinning.
Actually, I'm knitting -- this amazing sherbet-colored striped bunting for my soon-to-be grandson. No violence there.
Violence is what comes to Gary Turner's mind when he thinks about the web. Guys just seem to like pissing contests. Set 'em up; knock 'em down. I don't seem to see much affinity for violent metaphors from Meg Hourihan, or Anita Bora or Jeneane Sessum or any number of other female bloggers' sites that I discover in my energetic linkings. Back in the 80s there were all kinds of studies being done about the difference between the way the two genders communicate and work. Guys tend to compete; gals tend to cooperate. Guys prefer to line up the pieces; gals want to see the configurations, the relationship of one piece to the others. So for many of those of my gender, the web is this immense cooperative venture, this mother of all networks, this amazing set of sticky threads worthy of Arachne herself. So piss away, you guys. We'll just keep spinning.
Actually, I'm knitting -- this amazing sherbet-colored striped bunting for my soon-to-be grandson. No violence there.
Fear of Blogging
I’ve mentioned several times that I keep looking for bloggers in the more senior generation, and I’m not finding any/many. Earlier this evening I was telling one of my friends about the joys of blogging, and she expressed great concern that I am letting my name get out onto the web. She won’t even order anything online for fear of having her credit card – and her identity – stolen. She believes that everyone online out there is lying about who they are and that I am putting myself at great risk. I couldn’t convince her otherwise. So now I’m wondering if older folk tend to believe all of the negative hype and are convinced that it’s all porno-freaks and potential rapists and that’s why they’re not blogging. (Actually, it’s probably because they just aren’t geeky enough.) So, my goal is to become the oldest living blogger in bloggerland. That is unless there is no such person as Mike Golby and he's not really across the globe somewhere, and whoever he is is outside my building right now preparing to take my credit cards and sell me into white slavery.
I’ve mentioned several times that I keep looking for bloggers in the more senior generation, and I’m not finding any/many. Earlier this evening I was telling one of my friends about the joys of blogging, and she expressed great concern that I am letting my name get out onto the web. She won’t even order anything online for fear of having her credit card – and her identity – stolen. She believes that everyone online out there is lying about who they are and that I am putting myself at great risk. I couldn’t convince her otherwise. So now I’m wondering if older folk tend to believe all of the negative hype and are convinced that it’s all porno-freaks and potential rapists and that’s why they’re not blogging. (Actually, it’s probably because they just aren’t geeky enough.) So, my goal is to become the oldest living blogger in bloggerland. That is unless there is no such person as Mike Golby and he's not really across the globe somewhere, and whoever he is is outside my building right now preparing to take my credit cards and sell me into white slavery.
It's a Bird! It's a Butterfly! It's CYBERMOM!
Hee hee. My fantasy come true!
(Except that I feel that I've ridden out of obscurity on my son's coat-tails. He's the real blog-king in this family! Ya' know when someone gets an award, they thank their Mom etc.? Well, I owe it all to b!X, bless his too-often-broken heart!)
Hee hee. My fantasy come true!
(Except that I feel that I've ridden out of obscurity on my son's coat-tails. He's the real blog-king in this family! Ya' know when someone gets an award, they thank their Mom etc.? Well, I owe it all to b!X, bless his too-often-broken heart!)
Here Kitty, Kitty, Kitty, Kitty.....
So now we're cloning kittens. (b!X beat me to posting this story)
Whaddya think of that, Anita?
So now we're cloning kittens. (b!X beat me to posting this story)
Whaddya think of that, Anita?
From Enron to Piper
As far as I'm concerned, the story in Piper Kansas about student plagiarism just shows how far we've come in this country from having any sense of ethics, any concern for what's fair and right.
Now, what would have happened if the kids in Piper had the tools to be able to do their projects on a weblog. They would have understood how to hyperlink and easily give credit to the source of their information. While it's easy to steal others' ideas and text via the Internet, it's also easy to hyperlink/credit the source. Every kid should be schoolblogging and learning the ethics of information sharing.
As far as I'm concerned, the story in Piper Kansas about student plagiarism just shows how far we've come in this country from having any sense of ethics, any concern for what's fair and right.
Now, what would have happened if the kids in Piper had the tools to be able to do their projects on a weblog. They would have understood how to hyperlink and easily give credit to the source of their information. While it's easy to steal others' ideas and text via the Internet, it's also easy to hyperlink/credit the source. Every kid should be schoolblogging and learning the ethics of information sharing.
Thursday, February 14, 2002
Wow! Words As Lethal Weapons
Hmm. Here I was, innocently slobbering verbally over Leonard Cohen's lyrics and the next thing I know, my ramblings drift out into cyberspace and spark a hot disagreement between Mike Golby and Marek J. -- both of whom I have a great deal of respect for. When our words are the only indication of what we really mean (there's no obviously sly wink of an eye, no friendly punch in the arm, to communicate other intention), as they are in online communication, we'd better be careful how we load up our sentences if we really don't intend any harm. Hmm. So this is what happens when butterflies hyperlink?
Hmm. Here I was, innocently slobbering verbally over Leonard Cohen's lyrics and the next thing I know, my ramblings drift out into cyberspace and spark a hot disagreement between Mike Golby and Marek J. -- both of whom I have a great deal of respect for. When our words are the only indication of what we really mean (there's no obviously sly wink of an eye, no friendly punch in the arm, to communicate other intention), as they are in online communication, we'd better be careful how we load up our sentences if we really don't intend any harm. Hmm. So this is what happens when butterflies hyperlink?
The Naming of Things
I finally figured out how to change the name that come up after my posts -- from kali lily (which really should have been kalilily, which has been my email name since I've had email) to my actual name, Elaine. By now, I'm scattered over various blogrolls under names ranging from "bix's mom" to kalilily to kali lily to Elaine Frankonis, which is my whole name. What's in a name, anyway?
b!X was not born b!X. He had a given name and a nickname. Somewhere along the line he became Slowdog. Then, Baby-X, which got contracted somehow into bix, or as he prefers it, b!X. Or else theonetruebix.
My daughter and son-in-law have chosen Alexander William as their son's name. They'll call him Zander (as in Buffy's sidekick) or maybe Lex. And someday he'll choose what he wants to be called. Maybe I'll call him Zanderbill.
And what will he call me, as my first grandchild. His other grandmother already has some grandkids and they all call her Grandma. My mom has been Nanny to my kids. Maybe I'll go for GranElaine, which, no doubt, he will shorten to Granny. Or maybe not. There are some very funny stories about how kids distort the names their grandparents want to be called, and those weird names stick.
There are all kinds of sites about naming and names. This one's interesting: http://www.namenerds.com/. And there are 525,000 names listed on http://www.kabalarians.com/ and you can get a free brief analysis of your name. This is what it says about my name:
The name of Elaine creates a friendly, sociable, charming nature, but causes you to be too easily influenced by others. While you find it easy to meet and mix, and can appear agreeable and compromising in conversation, you can become dogmatic and forceful if pressed too far. Others learn that you cannot be told what to do and you seldom change your mind once it is made up. You prefer situations that allow a degree of independence, but are reluctant to take on a demanding work-load or responsibility. In a position dealing with the public, you could do well because of your friendly personality, interest in people, and desire to please. When asked, you are able to give others good advice that you would probably not follow yourself, but must guard against being too opinionated in controversial matters. The physical weaknesses due to this name centre in the fluids of the body and the senses of the head, causing headaches, eye, teeth, or severe sinus conditions; also, kidney or bladder weaknesses.
Actually, that's pretty on target, including "severe sinus conditions."
I finally figured out how to change the name that come up after my posts -- from kali lily (which really should have been kalilily, which has been my email name since I've had email) to my actual name, Elaine. By now, I'm scattered over various blogrolls under names ranging from "bix's mom" to kalilily to kali lily to Elaine Frankonis, which is my whole name. What's in a name, anyway?
b!X was not born b!X. He had a given name and a nickname. Somewhere along the line he became Slowdog. Then, Baby-X, which got contracted somehow into bix, or as he prefers it, b!X. Or else theonetruebix.
My daughter and son-in-law have chosen Alexander William as their son's name. They'll call him Zander (as in Buffy's sidekick) or maybe Lex. And someday he'll choose what he wants to be called. Maybe I'll call him Zanderbill.
And what will he call me, as my first grandchild. His other grandmother already has some grandkids and they all call her Grandma. My mom has been Nanny to my kids. Maybe I'll go for GranElaine, which, no doubt, he will shorten to Granny. Or maybe not. There are some very funny stories about how kids distort the names their grandparents want to be called, and those weird names stick.
There are all kinds of sites about naming and names. This one's interesting: http://www.namenerds.com/. And there are 525,000 names listed on http://www.kabalarians.com/ and you can get a free brief analysis of your name. This is what it says about my name:
The name of Elaine creates a friendly, sociable, charming nature, but causes you to be too easily influenced by others. While you find it easy to meet and mix, and can appear agreeable and compromising in conversation, you can become dogmatic and forceful if pressed too far. Others learn that you cannot be told what to do and you seldom change your mind once it is made up. You prefer situations that allow a degree of independence, but are reluctant to take on a demanding work-load or responsibility. In a position dealing with the public, you could do well because of your friendly personality, interest in people, and desire to please. When asked, you are able to give others good advice that you would probably not follow yourself, but must guard against being too opinionated in controversial matters. The physical weaknesses due to this name centre in the fluids of the body and the senses of the head, causing headaches, eye, teeth, or severe sinus conditions; also, kidney or bladder weaknesses.
Actually, that's pretty on target, including "severe sinus conditions."
Tuesday, February 12, 2002
Yes. Yes. Yes.
Marek's blog sometimes reads like a lyrical prose-poem. And I just love what he wrote to Mike Golby:
I am guilty of idealism.
The sun has not set on my aspirations.
The poets and artists of this planet will not be quiet.
"Democracy is Coming to the USA." It's coming from unlikely places: South Africa, Ghana, Poland, Chile or any other forgotten nation on this planet.
The new mythology is being born.
Small pieces loosely joined may not be so loosely hyperlinked. The butterflies of the world are hyperlinking to each other's voices and writing themsevels into existence. That existence persists because it's being indexed and cached and linked to on thousands of servers. I wonder what the tipping point will look like.
Marek's blog sometimes reads like a lyrical prose-poem. And I just love what he wrote to Mike Golby:
I am guilty of idealism.
The sun has not set on my aspirations.
The poets and artists of this planet will not be quiet.
"Democracy is Coming to the USA." It's coming from unlikely places: South Africa, Ghana, Poland, Chile or any other forgotten nation on this planet.
The new mythology is being born.
Small pieces loosely joined may not be so loosely hyperlinked. The butterflies of the world are hyperlinking to each other's voices and writing themsevels into existence. That existence persists because it's being indexed and cached and linked to on thousands of servers. I wonder what the tipping point will look like.
Monday, February 11, 2002
More Benefits of Blogging
There are several women on the Wild Wolf Women of the Web listserv who write poetry. So we have started a private blog to share and critique our stuff. How else would we, who have much in common but are based all over the planet, be able to get together and help each other pursue our love of words and creative writing. That's why I'm so intrigued with the idea of having kids in school use weblogs as one of their learning tools.
I'm still thinking about how to use weblogs to link "senior citizens," who often feel too isolated -- but that will have to wait until the poetry one gets rolling.
There are several women on the Wild Wolf Women of the Web listserv who write poetry. So we have started a private blog to share and critique our stuff. How else would we, who have much in common but are based all over the planet, be able to get together and help each other pursue our love of words and creative writing. That's why I'm so intrigued with the idea of having kids in school use weblogs as one of their learning tools.
I'm still thinking about how to use weblogs to link "senior citizens," who often feel too isolated -- but that will have to wait until the poetry one gets rolling.
Sunday, February 10, 2002
Famous Blue Raincoat
That has to be my favorite album of all times. And my favorite line (from the title song) is "I see you there with a rose in your teeth --just one more thin gypsy thief.." And it's how it's sung by Jennifer Warnes that makes it sound so great!
It was such a warm feeling to see my first born carrying her not-yet-born first. Left her and her husband with bags of frozen home-made pierogi (three different kinds) and all kinds of other comfort foods from her childhood. They are having a boy. Alexander William. My grandson. Who would've ever thunk it.
That has to be my favorite album of all times. And my favorite line (from the title song) is "I see you there with a rose in your teeth --just one more thin gypsy thief.." And it's how it's sung by Jennifer Warnes that makes it sound so great!
It was such a warm feeling to see my first born carrying her not-yet-born first. Left her and her husband with bags of frozen home-made pierogi (three different kinds) and all kinds of other comfort foods from her childhood. They are having a boy. Alexander William. My grandson. Who would've ever thunk it.
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