What is worse than waiting?

Death, maybe, if you subscribe to the belief that death is an ending. I don't, so then what? How about unrelieveable pain that doesn't allow you to think? That seems a little extreme. Waiting doesn't really compare to that- not even in the same ball park. The fact that waiting seems so bad is just a reflection of our wanting to know the future. If I could ask one question about the future per day (and get the correct answer without any seerish tricks) would waiting feel better then? I am waiting to hear if my daughter got into vet school. She thinks they will call today if she got in. Last year, they called as late as 9pm to let her friend know he was accepted. Her name is toward the end of the alphabet, if they call in alphabetical order. Her name might be near the beginning of the list of kids that were accepted, but we don't know when the decision was made, or when the first call was (or will be ) made. This feels very much like when we were waiting for the doctors to read my husdand's PET scan. (That was good news.) Have I used up my quota of good news? When I was with the preschoolers, we used to sing the "Hate to Wait" song. If I sing that the rest of this day, I'll annoy far too many people, but will develop that nice little non-thinking buzz that comes with tedious, repetitive tasks. Maybe I should just try meditation. Same effect, less annoying to those in the vicinity.

Now I also am worried about that whole "watching-what-you-wish-for" scenario. A co-worker accused me once of magical thinking. What's the point of thinking, if it can't sometimes be magical? If we just plod along without considering the potential for magic, I think things would be pretty dull. (You can call it divine intervention if you like.) One man's religion is another's mythology. Melvil Dewey was right about that, at least.

Try it. Try to think of a wish you want to come true. Think of all the wonderful things that will happen if your wish is granted. Now think of all the terrible things that might also happen if your wish is granted. Read "The Monkey's Paw" and see what happens about wishes gone awry. Maybe if she gets into vet school, she'll do zoo work and get eaten by a lion.

It just takes a lot of bravery to live into the next moment. Thank goodness time flits by so quickly! I wouldn't have the nerve to take the next step if time moved more slowly. Maybe that's why time seems to speed up as we age. We become more aware of the terrible possibilities that can happen in the next few seconds, so we need time to furiously pelt on.

I really hate to wait. I should work on that.

pull over to the left

"Hey! Hey! Pull over to the left." This is the latest instruction from Mitt-mitty-mitt, as the bird has begun to call herself. She is not much of a good car rider, especially in cold weather. She is too interested in drilling holes in the interior and trying to undo the door lock knob. It is difficult to drive with a large bird loose in the car, so I avoid it. It is also difficult to drive with a large bird in a carrier in the car, due to the loud protests and violent escape attempts. We avoid going anywhere in the car, except up and down the long driveway- and even that is too thrilling if the dogs are out. There is no place to pull over to the left. The driveway is only one lane, with no shoulder.
"Awww!", said in the same tone as a little kid who watches out the window as you pass the ice cream drive-through without pulling in. I ask her why we need to pull over, but just get mumbling. Don't let the bird drive the car!

where has the past year gone?

Tashi delek! Julley, julley! To Tibet and back (no kidding.)
But seriously now folks, being back is fine, except that I want to be THERE. There is too much oxygen here- too much everything.

And here we are again in the throes of the February homework rush. Teachers seem to think that giving a child a list of obscure inventors and telling them to go to the library to get a book about the people on the list is a good idea for an extended lesson. Well, for all you would be authors out there, we sure could stand some books on the people who invented the electric windshield wiper, the furnace blower, and the hairbrush. If they could be written on a third grade level, with lots of color photographs (of folks that lived in the 19th century), that would be even better. For some of the folks our young customers seek, the only information available is the patent number and their name. Not exactly riveting reading or inspirational! Wow! Patent number 17239894913939!! Gee, Mom, I want to be an inventor, just like her!

It's also hard not to tell the kid that is hell bent on making a volcano for the science fair that he is the 35th one from his school to ask for the directions, and that it's not really an experiment anyway. I wonder what happened to the kid that insisted that his teacher said it would be just fine to bring "a fake bomb" to school for his project. My personal opinion is that she just wanted to get rid of him for the rest of the year, and that he's in juvenile detention somewhere. Or maybe Gitmo.

I have a new favorite reference question! "What about the eel?" slips to number 2. The new question, asked by an actual grown-up who is probably driving in the car next to yours and chatting on the cell phone while she lights a cigarette is: "What is this third dimension that people are talking about?" That's the spot in the reference interview that I'd love to be able to say, "What people are talking about it? Can I hear them, too?" I don't' think it's the folks at her MENSA meeting. Maybe it's the people in her fillings, or the ones in her cell phone. Why don't people I hang around with talk about this so-called third dimension? Maybe it's because everyone I know is FLAT. We just edge around on our paper. At least things are always looking up if you are flat- unless a whim of the wind flips you over. What indeed is this third dimension people are talking about? And why don't they talk about the fourth and fifth dimensions? (Surrey on down!) (geezer reference- sorry, kids) Which reminds me- I saw the old Monty Python skit of the extreme sport of sidewalk climbing. It was filmed so that it appeared as if the sidewalks were vertical surfaces. Very tricky, getting over those curbstones!

Mitty is stringing together longer and longer sentences these days:
"HEY! Come check on the bird!"
"There are chairs in here."
"I'm not busy."
"Oh, isn't Scout a good-good doggie!"
"Do ya think ya could turn on the light?"
"HEY! Let the bird out!"

I wish my friend could travel with me back to the mountains. I wonder what she'd say!

An exercise for all to try

Hooray!! We are now officially in the throes of homework phone season at the library. It is almost better than face to face homework help, because you are free to roll you eyes, mute the phone and sigh, and generally wonder about the calibre of today's students and teachers.

This evening's winning transaction:
S: "Do you have information for me about the marine beem?"
M: "The marine ...um...?"
S: "Marine beemo?"
M: "I'm having trouble hearing that second word. (ref-speak for what ???) Can you spell it, please?"
S: "b-i-o-m-e"
M: "Ah! Biome!" "You need to know something about the marine biome!"
S:"Yes, I have a list of things."
M: "Go ahead and ask." (famous last words- right up there with 'hey, y'all,watch this!')
S: "I need the annual rainfall, the types of soil, the growing season, and the types of seasons."
M:"For the marine biome?"
S: (patiently) "Yes."
M: (supressing a deep sigh)"Well, according to Biomes of the World (handy dandy desk reference set), the marine biome is the oceans all over the world."
S: "And?"
M: "Well it will be hard to generalize and this is more than we can do on the phone. Can you come in to a library branch?"
S: "No, just read it to me."
M: "This is too long to read over the phone."
S:"Well, OK, just name some countries then, and I'll pick one of them."
M:(names about 25)
S: "Ok, I'll take Canada. Ontario Canada."
M: "I don't think it is in the marine biome."
S: "That's OK."

I am still trying to figure out what went on. I didn't mention the times I was asked to hold on so that a screaming conversation with someone in the background could be carried on.

I think that everyone should have the opportunity to sit at a desk with nothing but a counter top between you and the general public (ref-speak for every nut case on the block) and have the priviledge of hearing what they feel free to ask. Everyone should have to try to find an answer in a timely fashion, (not wasting the time of the customer.) It would give a new perspective on our fellow man.

redistribution of wealth

In theory, I think it's a plausible idea. In practice, I think it ought to be voluntary. Maybe if more folks would voluntarily share more of what they have, fewer folks would feel compelled to take what is not theirs, in a feeble attempt to correct the balance. Do I sound like a bitter victim? I hope not, although I ought to at least sound like a non-bitter victim.

Last year, in an attempt at fiscal responsibility, I added up what we had given to charities. It turned out to be close to 20% of the annual household income. Now we're not saints, nor are we stupid. Almost all of this falls into the category "planned giving". We just have a lot of interests, and not many expensive habits. When I think back to when I was on the stewardship committee of a mainstream church, and how much whining I got to hear about the suggestion of a tithe (10% giving), it makes me pretty sure that disassociating myself from that group was a healthy thing to do. The stingies definitely outnumbered the generous. It just makes sense to me to support what you perceive as worthy.

I don't expect recognition or acknowledgement (no wait, I do enjoy seeing my name on a donor list!) What I didn't expect to be was robbed. One of the charming customers of the fine public establishent for which I work felt it was appropriate to liberate my Palm PDA from my reference desk last week. We were busy and distracted with customers and I stupidly left it in view- although not in easy reach. Now I am adrift in time.

That's the true nature of this particular episode. I had entrusted every phone number, every business contact, every appointment, etc. to the device. Now it's gone and I haven't a clue where I am supposed to be or when. Interestingly enough, the thief called my home while I was at work, and offered to return it, but that was Sunday (yes, we are open on Sundays) and this is Tuesday. I'm not holding my breath.

At first it was liberating. A colleague suggested that the thief ought to have to attend every meeting on the calendar, since now they knew when and where to be. I've got a great excuse for not showing up! But now projects are starting to slip, and I can't make the calls I need to make. It's having an impact on my professional life, and I'm bummed! I'm entirely over the seperation from relatively expensive equipment. I am not over the seperation from information that allows me to function usefully.

Rats.

Some situations do not require technology assisted information for full functioning. Ths summer I am taking leave from my day job and going a remote area in the Himalayas to help the women there start a pre-primary school. They want to do this for their children, and I know how, so I am going to get them started. This place is a technology-free zone. I won't need to keep track of phone numbers, email, or multiple appointments. There aren't any there. From what I understand, there isn't much of anything there, except some particularly lovely, joyful people who have a project they'd like assistnace with.

I am in training to make the strenuous trip. It's going pretty well.

busy

Sunday I finished building a cabinet I'd been working on for a month, sang in a concert (Brahms' Deutches Requiem), and went to the airport to pick up our guest speaker for work the next day. She tried not to react to my lovely concert attire (complete with pearls) at the terminal, but seemed to be relieved when I explained that formal dress was not my usual mode. I really dislike making mitered edges on crown molding, but I do like singing in German. The consonant combinations are very satisfying to take your time over and then finally spit out. The measuring, remeasuring, and cutting for crown molding also requires time and exacting care, but the voice is more forgiving than alder. Minute adjustments can be made vocally much more easily than in wood. Plus you don't have to worry about the glue drying too quickly.

Mithu is trying out new words and phrase combinations. This morning when I uncovered her cage to say good morning, she remarked, "Twinkle." She also mimicked throat clearing and sneezing (she doesn't really have a cold), and told herself, "Bless you!" Both of these were firsts, and lead me to believe that she is poised to produce additions to her already extensive repetoire.

I tried to twinkle all day. I think it helped.

What's wrong with any of us?

Bowie the little bird: "Breee-aack, breeeee-aaack!"
Mithu: "Who's that?"
Me: "It's Bowie, the other bird that lives here. You remember her."
Mithu: "What's wrong with her?"
Me: "Nothing, she's just fine, except that she's afraid of you and that's why she
lives in another room."
Mithu: "ooooh."

Now, I'm not wondering about the fact that I've just had what amounts to a conversation with a parrot. I'm wondering if she really has regret that she is the cause of Bowie having to live in another part of the house, and that we have to limit contact between our birds. Bowie reacts to Mithu pretty much the same way she reacts to crows outside- which is with alarm at their dangerous and reckless natures.
Mithu is, perhaps, dangerous and reckless.

(no) picnic, lightning

The guy that is building the porch came by this afternoon, just as it was about to storm. Lightning was flashing all around, and thunder was rumbling so loudly that the windows of the house were rattling in their sashes. As we greeted him and watched, he put up the tall aluminum ladder and started to climb to the porch roof. I tried to talk him out of going up, but he was unhappy with the way some of the shingles had been laid, and came by to make sure they were right so the roof wouldn't leak. He hammered around for a few minutes, I reviewed my CPR training just in case, but he made it down just fine, a couple of minutes ahead of the rain. He grinned and said, "There, now I can sleep tonight!" and left.

We were in the presence of a craftsman.

angry couple at the airport

I had to pick someone up at the airport yesterday. I parked the car, and went in to wait by the baggage claim. I was about 15 minutes early, so I worked on the crossword puzzle from the newspaper to pass the time. At least I worked on it until Angry Man and his entourage came along. He could not find his bag fast enough to suit him, so he proceeded to bluff and bluster and generally act like an ass. He and his wife were a good pair. Their faces had become permanently set in frowns. Their wrinkles were not laugh lines. They had an even older person with them whom they were, perhaps, trying to impress with their importance and ability to GET THINGS DONE. The more they fussed and abused airport staff, the less they got done in the way of getting their bags. During one of the periods when they stormed off, loudly berating everyone within earshot, the elder quietly managed to have a baggage handler find the bags, get a cart, and have a wheelchair sent on the way. When the uglies returned, they were furious that she had accomplished what they couldn't. They tried to tell her that she had gotten the wrong bags, but their names were on them! How bizarre is that?

I wanted to tell them to calm down, that nothing as trivial as slow bags (these weren't even missing, for pete's sake!) was worth the turmoil they were creating. I didn't though, because secretly, I was hoping that his head would blow up. I wanted to see how the charming wife in her casino wear would handle that. I was hoping that the elder would roll quietly away and leave them behind and find a nicer family to live with. I think the Grumpy Woman must have been her daughter, and I wondered if she had been regretting her daughter's marriage to the Angry Man for years and years. Or maybe she didn't like her daughter, and was glad that she was with someone miserable.

Watch out for your face. Apparently, it will freeze like that. Watch out for your soul. If you deal bad, and expect bad, you will get bad. I love the thought of instant karma, but regular old karma will do, too.

kicking; when dancing goes wrong

The other night, Mithu was on the floor playing with the dogs' toys, rather than her own. Sam had a squeaky toy and was nearby. Sam is the calmest of calm dogs. Everyone is a potential friend, even if you are a bird who has mistreated him on occasion. He is always ready to trust- a lesson to us all. Mithu stalked over (if you have even doubted the bird-dinosaur link, just watch a parrot stomp across the floor toward a victim) to Sam with her beak open and her neck outstretched. I warned as she closed in, "Don't you bite Sam! No biting!" So she closed her beak, pulled back one leg, and kicked him. It was the brattiest looking kick imaginable, and might have done some damage, if the dog weren't 50 times larger than the bird. He jumped up anyway, and hid behind the chair. I tried to admonish her, but am afraid that I may have not been too effective, since we were so amazed and we were laughing pretty hard. It was too bizarre, and very funny to see. I'd doubt it myself, if there wasn't a witness present.

How does a bird switch from a natural meanie behavior to an entirely new meanie behavior? We don't kick at our house- all adults, and fairly placid. Did she see kicking on Dora the Explorer? It is her new favorite TV show, second only to Spongebob Squarepants. Maybe the kicking was on Spongebob. Plankton is fairly violent. Mithu calls me Squiddy or Squidward or Squid-squiddy as a nickname. She came up with this on her own, and I am honored. I do not resemble Squidward (physically) at all. really. I resemble a Muppet.

How did she know that kicking was a pesty thing to do? Do birds kick in the wild? It was not a natural looking move- which I think is what made it so damn funny. The only other experience that I know she had with kicking was when the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade was on TV last year. She was watching it on and off (so was everyone while we made preparations for the feast.) The Rockettes came on and did their usual dance routine, and Mithu's attention was riveted to the TV. She began to dance on her perch, deliberately picking up her feet and kicking them out and stamping and bobbing like crazy. She had previoulsy only been observed doing the "toddler bob"- head and shoulders going to the music, but both feet plated firmly in perch or floor. Now she was high stepping around and plainly having a grand time.

Kicking. Dancing versus pestiness. How crazy does it sound to tell a bird, "No kicking!"

birds

I have a companion- a Congo African Grey Parrot- who continually causes me to pause and think about the nature of cognition. Before the advent of Mithu, I had considered the thought process to be something that , if not uniquely human, was at least uniquely mammalian. Fish think? nah. Reptiles think? nah. Amphibians? too squishy. Birds? tiny crania.
Enter Mithu, exit all preconceived notions of cognitive ability.
Although certain elements of operant conditioning affect our relationship, there is no doubt in my mind whatsoever that this bird learns, and puts together her learnings into new ideas that inform her behavior.
Wordy, wordy, wordy...but pay attention- it says what I need to and mean to say. Mithu is a small, feathery, aware being with maniac tendencies. Examples will help, so here are some, and there will be more in future posts.

Levels of relationship and nice behavior
We have been working on acceptable behavior, on becoming a little less selfish, and a little more kind toward the other beings in Mithu's life. She has favorites, certainly. I am a favorite. "Heddur" is a favorite. Bill was a favorite. Favorites get to hold a bird, pat a bird, play with, and walk around with a bird without getting the snot bitten out of them. Non-favorites get bitten quickly and ruthlessly if they try to touch her. Mithu also has a catergory of in-betweens. These are the beings that have entertainment value, or hold her curiosity. She seems to experiment with the in-betweens, to see just what they will do , and how much abuse they will take.
Dogs qualify as in-betweens. She calls them, and laughs when they come. She orders them around ("go lie down!", "come here!", "sit!", and "bad dog!") She feeds them- and they are a willing understory. I rarely have to sweep the crumbs from the floor where she's tossed them treats- peanut bits, bird kibble, toast crust, vegetables, etc. "Here doggie!"

inquiring minds

"What about the eel?"

"Why can't I find your folklore from Antarctica?"

"I need you to tell me a new invention and how to make it."

"Why aren't there any photos of Roger Williams (founder of Rhode Island)? Was he too ugly?"

"Do you have any books I'd like to read?"

"You are the nicest foreigner I've met."

"Can I have 50 cents?"

"Can a domino pigeon beat up a St.Bernard?"

>I'll take 'Things That People Think it is OK to Say to a Librarian', for $100.00, Alex.<

not quite kicking and screaming into the 21st century

Repeating over and over to myself...I am not a Luddite, I am not a Luddite, I enter the blogging world with not a little trepidation. One part vanity, one part chutzpah, one part curiosity, and two parts trying to keep current add up to my reasons for beginning this blog.

I think humor is essential. The un-laughed at life is not worth living. It is a gift, I think, to be able to see the light side of things, and to not take yourself too seriously. I know lots of unintentionally funny people- maybe they are just joyful-whom I love and respect. I work in an entirely humorous environment, where excellent public service is the goal. I live with very funny animals who deserve enormous respect for their individual personalities. I do good work that is often thwarted by politics, money, and circumstance, but that remains interesting and fun. And last, but not least, I am incredibly lucky. Not in the giant lottery winning sense of lucky, but in the little day to day, catching-the-glass-ornament-before-it-hits-the-floor lucky.

I may tell some stories on this blog. Just so you know, I rarely resort to hyperbole. Real life is strange enough.