Fear not! This is a test!

You got notified that I posted to my blog because you are either family, close to it, or have expressed an interest in keeping up with what's going on during my impending visit to Ladakh, J & K, India.

If you would rather wait and hear it all at once when I get back, or if you are already up to your gills in email and this notification will be a burden, or if you haven't a clue who I am or why I'd be letting you know I've posted to my blog, please email me or comment and I'll get you off the list, no questions asked and no hard feelings.

Ready to go? Not.

I am trying to get ready to go on another trip to Ladakh, and it has just been awful trying to get ready to get out of town. My time is not my own and lovely, well-meaning people tear chunks of it away under the guise of being kind, wanting to talk to me, wanting to see me, wanting my opinion, wanting me to see if I can figure out one last thing for them before I leave. phoo.

I've portioned out little tasks at work for others to do in my absence. Most of my "victims" have been gracious enough, but a couple seem to imagine that the minutiae I leave in their care is a monumental chore and huge imposition. Buck up, y'all!

I sigh for the charmers that want me to "just re-send that report you wrote a couple of months ago," because they didn't keep a copy. I sigh for the customers who want to talk about how unhappy they are that the drawing for SRC prizes will be after all the entries are in (yes, really.) I sigh for the administrator who just wants me to knock together some preliminary statistics on comparative SRC participation (when she has the same numbers I do and is paid over twice as much.) I sigh for visitors who will think I am rude because I am not going to impose any further tasks on my hard working- already overworkedTeen Tech Camp/ IMLS grant folks.

I can't wait to get on the plane(s). For two whole days my only tasks will be flight related- passing through baggage weigh-ins, security check points, gate location, seat location, headphone location, "stuff stowage", and then sitting still until it is time to perform the routine in reverse, wait a bit, and get on another plane. I'll do the routine three times through before I get off the plane in Leh, Ladakh, and take a cab to the Oriental Guesthouse. I'm hopeful that a room will be ready for me, despite not having spoken directly to Phuntsog or Dawa- and even though I'm not nuts about hauling my stuff up three flights of stairs, I hope I'm on the top floor again. Looking south and east to the Himalayas is the most beautiful vista in the world.

I'll bring more useful gifts for Phuntsog, Dawa, and all. Masking tape, tweezers, first aid cream, and waterproof bandages are a priority this time. Books for Nuzum and Nudum- maybe something silly this time instead of educational. Little girls like to giggle everyhwere. I don't know what I'll bring little Leydstone Gyatso yet. Maybe some stacking blocks? I've got one day to decide and shop.

I guess I'll go continue to pack. I thought I might start a new blog, but this one will have to do. We'll see if the fates conspire to allow me to post while I'm in Changspa. I don't think there will be Internet access in Domkhar or Stok, but maybe I'll be fooled.
Later, gators!

Ah! In between!

In between is a little like waiting, but maybe not as bad. In between, you have an idea of what is coming up next, and you might have some assurance that it will be something good. Right now I am in between a couple of things. I'm in between library events, just having completed hosting a short worskshop series for folks from across the state, and coming up to a big staff meeting and then summer reading programming. The workshop presenters were phenomenal women who were full of energy and grace, and who also had mad training skills. All the participants went away happy, and none had an unpleasant experience either in our library or in our city. Miracles do happen!

I'm in between rounds of surgery with a suicidal dog. The last round of surgery for a perforated intestine and the resulting peritonitis went far better than anyone imagined. Brainless Jack- one of the most beautiful and sweet animals I've ever met- seems to veer from relentless will to live and attempts to take his own life by eating tennis ball fragments. Just when he got out of the woods, so to speak, and about to start solid food, he ate another piece of tennis ball that he had apparently put into a pocket and saved for a special occasion. The vet has prescribed prozac- no kidding. We'll see what happens with his digestive system. I'm hoping against hope that he chewed up the ball fragment (it was a small fragment) well enough that it will ease past his stic

I'm in between loving my job and hating it. It could be so good- and once was- with huge opportunities to help this city that is mired in illiteracy and its attendant ills. But it is also so awful as I watch the city gut what was once a premier library system before they outsource the product of their effort. A political climber and a heavy handed thug have taken the place of a library director and deputy director. I'm not supposed to notice. We're not supposed to notice. I'm supposed to bedistracted by flattery. My mom taught me to consider the source of compliments as well as slams, and to take neither seriously. She was a pretty smart cookie.

I'm in between being here and being there. I am here, but need to do a lot of preparation for my summer trip to the Himalaya. I've got lesson plans to clean up and send to a colleague, money to raise via speaking engagements, and plane tickets to buy. I'd rather be there than here. If it weren't for my family (and parrot), I would live there permanently- oh wait!!! There's winter to consider! Winter in the Himalaya is really, really, really cold. Autumn was just "pretty cold" and I damn near froze at night.

If I ACCentuate the positive and ELIMinate the negative, would I have no time for Mr. InBetween?

Of things feline and not

Well, the vet school kid (VSK) managed to get past me on this one, and I am glad that she did. I have always been sort of allergic to cats. It has been the sneezing, eye-itching sort of allergy that makes you want to rub your eyes until you look like a raccoon, and has made me want to stay away from kitties unless forced by circumstance or politeness to be in the same room. (Once upon a time I had various cats as pets, and never knew what was wrong with my eyes. How stupid is that?)

In the intervening decades, I have taken some meds for allergies, and avoided provoking agents with fervor. How stupid have I been about re-introducing allergens to my life? As stupid as I was about the allergic reaction in the first place. VSK has brought her cats to my house for so long that I just take an Alavert any time I know that I will visit her, or that she will be coming home for a visit. Apparently, if you stay away from stuff that makes you sneeze and wheeze, you can get over it- who knew?

Enter the cat. VSK was at work when two morons came in with their two cats. The morons had had the cats for a number of years, and had recently acquired a couple of little yippy dogs. Now they realized that they had too many pets (2 dogs, 2 cats- sounds about right to me) and wanted the Vet to euthanize the cats. They were tired of them, were switching to dogs, and wanted to be nice and tidy about it. Kill the cats, please, sir. Now, if you can explain this kind of thinking to me, I don't want to hear from you because you are obviously also a very damaged person who may be beyond redemption.

The Vet said no, and managed to get the morons to sign a release that they were relinquishing all rights to the cats forever and ever and then he took the cats away from them. One of his regular customers agreed right away to take the Himalayan, but that left the neutered Siamese. That's right- these weren't just some goofy looking cats- these guys are beautiful! The Siamese lived at the clinic for a couple of days, generally being a good little cat- until VSK thought he might be better off wtih me. She snuck him home- "just to give him a break from having to live in a cage at night" for a couple of days. He spent the first few days upstairs, avoiding everyone- especially the dogs. Who could blame him? I'd be bitter about dogs, if they had usurped my life.

Little by little, he came out to visit, and accept pats, and cookies, and ear skritching, and cozy sitting on the couch, and snugging up close on the bedspread. Now he sleeps part time in his new fuzzy bed, and part time on his pillow on my bed.

This little cat is the sweetest, best tempered, prettiest cat anyone could ever hope for. He stays off the counter, uses the litter box correctly, scratches only his scratching post or box, plays with his toys, and enjoys a little catnip now and then. He'll voluntarily sit in your lap while you read or compute, and he avoids the bird. Yes, she calls him. He is too smart to fall for it, so far, but she is hopeful. There is a dangerous glint in her eye when she calls, "Psss, psss, psss- here kitty!" I don't think her intentions are benign.

I hope the morons are happy with their choice, because I sure am. Without their idiocy, I'd never have met this honey of an animal. And I hope that good old fashoined Karma doesn't hit them too hard when they are older and out of fashion- and that they don't get exchanged for the newer, snazzier version.

So now, when I arrive at home after work, I am greeted by a bird that yells, "Hi!" and lets me know if there are any messages on the answering machine, three joyful, bouncing dogs who act as though they would throw confetti if they had any, and a chatty cat. He also runs up to say hi. Not a bad way to live, in my opinion.

Jim Bob the Reproducer

A friend called my attention to a family's website that gave her pause. Now, we both hate to criticize folks' choices of lifestyle- unless of course, they have made them public and exposed details that IMHO are much better off left to the imagination.

The folks in question are Quiverfulls- which was a concept foreign to me- and I'm sorry that it is still not an alien idea. They live in Arkansas, which is really no excuse. It gives me the creeps even thinking that I live in the state nearArkansas- although I'm sure that the rest of the mid-south has their fair share of religious nut jobs. Thank goddess the good people of Arkansas had the collective wit not to re-elect good 'ol Jim Bob. Twice.

And what's with the J names. Did I miss a memo from the big G on that? Maybe you can make any name a j-name by just changing the first letter to J. (Jalice? Jary?) And I wonder if anyone asked the older "buddie" siblings if they would like to have another baby? "Here, your dad and I have no restraint whatsoever and I've shot another one out and it's for you!" I'd have been in juvie by the second l'il buddy. There's a link to the family rules- I'm going there next. Maybe I can pick up a few tips on how to raise kids in a crowd. Although that j-name thing makes a little more sense now that I think about it. Surely they have some trouble recalling their kids' names now and then (goodness knows I did with just 2.) So I guess when they start stuttering around, trying to come out with someone's name, "J-j-j-j-j-j" might get a pretty good response- and maybe even the right kid! I wonder if they have pets, and if their names start with J?

I harbor a secret fascination with the program about the family with some emmbers with dwarfism. Little people, big world? Not because of their configuration, but because of how their dad has done the house and yard. It's humongeous. Their show should be on DIY. He's built a pirate ship or something for the kids on their acreage and a old west-type ghost town. Or maybe I just wish he had. It's pretty surrealistic. I only watch it when I am sure no one is going to be there but me. If I drank like that, I'd worry.

I have two new favorite questions someone has asked me. Well, they aren't actually THE favorites, but they have a good chance of making the pantheon. Has anyone ever said to you, "Who is that man with a Mowhawk- I know for a fact he is a security guard?" If they have, and if you were able to answer, would you please cite your source in your comment? I think the answer might be Mr. T., but I don't have an official source, besides admitting that I have way too much knowledge about Mr. T. The next new, great question is, "What is the Internet source with the answer to how we can fix the failing economy? Please send me the link." Well, shit! Why didn't we think of that before?!!? Quick! To the Bat Cave! Hook up the Interwebs (or do we need Spidey for that?) Wait- first I'll Google, "How to find endless personal wealth so I can endow all the programs I deem worthy." BRB. I'll let you know how that works out. Meantime, get your proposals ready!

zzzzzzzzzzip, part deux

I am not going ot make this very long, but OMG, it has been a year and a half since I posted!
Here;s what went on, not in any particular order:
~ Mit Mitty the burd learned her name and address. It is SO COOL! Now if she blows away outside, she can tell anyone who finds her to bring her home. If she will say it and not just beep, bark, or scream shut up!
~ I made it back to India and managed to navigate Delhi by myself. The Himalayas are fairly chilly in the late fall, so if you go, pack all the down clothing that you own and bring a hat. Delhi is still hot in the late fall, so you have to change clothes in the airport bathroom if you don't want to look like a crazy person or Tibetan refugee,
~ The Vet school kid finished her clinical rotations and has a year to go before she graduates. She survived "food animals" and getting kicked in the head by a horse. We have thick skulls which come in handy sometimes.
~ The other kid got married and it was very nice and we are all very happy.
~ The dogs are all well and the cats are all well, and the vet school kid got a new puppy who is just brilliant and beautiful. He calls me Grandmary, and I like it a lot.
~ The city has really dug into taking over my library and it is plenty strange. My goal is survival while providing a reasonable, peaceful, and interesting place for children and the people who care for them to get their brain on.

That's the short course- Maybe I'll do better, maybe I won't. That's the thrill of this blog.

Going for the record

I guess I could have waited for a whole year to pass before posting again, but I have no desire to really go for any records.
I'm visiting the kid that really did get into vet school (if you read the post about waiting.) The waiting didn't make the rejoicing for her any more intense, but we did rejoice. And now we are in the reality of intense graduate school. I say we, because my stomach gets a knot every time I hear about an impossible upcoming exam, or a quiz, or a clinical lab. Some of them seem so out of the blue, like the surgical lab where they were supposed to know from intuition, I guess, how to fold the surgical instruments into a giant sheet and autoclave it. They were supposed to know the protocol this particular school uses. My kid has worked for years for a vet who went to a different school- one of the other top three in the nation- and he taught her how to do it a little differently- so she got screamed at. I've taught graduate students, and some of them were pretty annoying, but it never ever crossed my mind to scream at anyone. Here's the best part- the instructors apparently realized that they hadn't instructed the first group on what exactly they wanted them to do, so the second group that went through this exercise got not only instruction, but sweetness and apologetic behavior. "Oh oops! I guess we didn't tell you how we want this done, so here, let us show you." blah! I know this is just an aggravation, and I don't think it will put her off completing school, but I don't want her to become bitter, either. bah!Or cocky, or , or, anyway different than she is right now, which is pretty cool.

Anyway, I'm visiting her because she got sick, and I now have vacation days to burn, since my trip to India fell through. I thought I'd be clever and apply for a Fulbright program, so I did, and was accepted. Trouble is, since the Fulbright program is part of the US Department of State, and the US is perceived as an ass right now around the world, being part of the Fulbright program isn't necessarily a help in obtaining the appropriate visa to teach. I asked about it when I went to DC to speak at a conference in June, and was told by a State Department representative that India is giving them fits right now and that I'd be better off lying about my intent- and maybe doing my own paperwork. That just didn't seem like a viable option to me. I think I'd suck at being a model prisoner in J & K- or anywhere. If someone were to ask me what my life's goal is, I could honestly answer, "Avoiding prison of any kind." I've got other goals, but staying out of jail is up there in the top 10. Unless it is for civil disobedience in a country who's laws I understand- or where I can call a lawyer right away. Wonder what that country went? Anyway, here I am, not in India, but maybe helping someone I love.

I've been cooking and freezing healthy meals for her. I don't think she's putting anything on for me- and she doesn't seem to have time to cook. Her house is, however spotless, and I'm not having any allergy trouble with the cats. That could be because I'm allergy drugged to within an inch of my liver collapsing, but whatever combo I'm taking is working great.

Mit Mitty The Bird has accompanied me on this trip. She now enjoys riding in the car, as long as she is in her travel cage. She hoots at other cars and sings random la-la-la's with the radio. She doesn't enjoy riding at night (worrying about owls, maybe) or over bumpy roads, which sometimes can't be helped, but other than that- and insisting that she drink out of a "real" water bottle instead of her birdie water bottle, she's good company on the road. We stopped for a burger (yes, I know) and Gracie (the dog) ate the meat and Mitty and I ate the cheese and some of the bun. She was not allowed to have any of my coke. (I drink Coke Zero, and I can't imagine that Splenda is good for birds. It probably isn't good for me, but I can't stand real sugar when I'm here and not moving around frenetically. My insulin gets all out of whack and my body thinks I need to pack on fat for the coming famine.

She has the nice travel cage, and a bigger collapsible one to live in when we arrive at our destination, and her favorite toys have come along, so she's pretty set and happy. I am, too, I guess. I have made the mistake of checking my work email- just so I wouldn't have to get back and find 500 waiting. Maybe things seem worse when you are not on the scene to help out. But no one else seems to have a problem taking vacation, so I will get over it and enjoy my time away.

I think I might enjoy being a housekeeper. A long as I got some respect. And had a big budget for food and cleaning supplies. And got left alone during the day! I took a nap today, and it was great! There was nothing pressing that I had to do, and I was tired, so I went to bed from 2:30 to 4:00pm. Now it's 1:00am and I'm wide awake. Poor Kiddo is studying for an equine pathology test tomorrow, and says it'll be an all nighter. ugh.

So, generally speaking, it's been a decent year. Or ten months. I continue to be amused by people I encounter, and I have a soft spot for the earnest. And the kind. Everyone else can go jump in the lake.

Be kind. Work hard. Take a nap on your vacation and try not to feel guilty about it. heh.

wasting time?

There is a program that we developed at my library that lets little kids read to senior citizen volunteers. (There are a TON of details, including the partnership with a local agency/ national program that I won't go into here. It's a simple idea, but of course, there is administrative baggage. Trust me- we dotted all the i's and crossed all the t's. Seriously.) If the kids read for 15 minutes, $2.00 in fines are forgiven. It serves a couple of purposes- the seniors have stipendiary employment during the summer when their regular school gigs are in recess, the kids get to wipe off the fines that prevent them from using their library cards, and they practice their reading with charming people who are lovely and affirmative. Additional bonuses are the intergenerational aspect and the good example that it sets to other adults. The seniors also are incredible public relations representatives., not to mention the calm that pervades the whole children's room when they are present.

That this program is nice goes without saying. That it is necessary is indicated by a comment made by one of the young participants in the program. She wrote a thank-you note (this is the South, after all) to the senior with whom she read most often during the summer. "Thank you for wasting your time with me." Wasting your time. As if it is a given that to spend some time with a child- reading- is a waste of time. Of course this was an unconscious statement, which is what makes it all the more powerful in my eyes. It makes me sigh.

I've got a week off work, ostensibly to use up vacation time so I don't lose it (or go nuts from overwork!) I haven't gone on a vacation this year, and my preferred way to spend leisure time is to not leave the house. Is this a waste of time?

My husband asks my plans every day. "What are you going to do today?" Too perky and full of expectations. I finally answered, "Not a damn thing." But of course, I did plenty- of nothing.
I sat, I thought, I attended to pets that crave attention, I ate, drank, and stayed up late. I walked, did a couple of repairs, and learned several new pieces of music. Still, to many, it looks like nothing. A waste of time. If I'm in the company of those senior "time wasters" what more is there to aspire?

zzzzzzzzzzip.

zzzzzip! That was time flying past.

As quickly as the time has passed, not much has really changed in my life. It has been a wonderful year. I took a cruise to Alaska with some excellent friends and laughed the entire time. I had no idea that whales are really sort of blowing their noses when they blow, and that you can see a residue of whale snot on the water! What a hoot! Sitka was my favorite place on land, although it really was fun to be the oldest hostellers the good old Moby Dick (in Seward) had ever seen. Glacier Bay and the rest of the Inside Passage bear further exploration. It would be so cool to tour by kayak and get up close to everything (except bears- and sea lions)! A bunch of stuff up there can bite you.

My trip to the Himalayas was outstanding, and the people I met have a permanent place in my heart. I am making plans to return and work more on a literacy project in a couple of remote villages. We need to find more grant money, but I'm sure that all things will happen as they are meant to. We got to see the Dalai Lama, and tried yak butter tea- which is much better than you'd imagine.

Mithu did very well in my absence. She was so surprised to see me when I came home that she fell off her perch.

She has taken an interest in singing, which pleases me. She knows some words to a few songs, and fills in the spots where she doesn't remember them with, "la, la, la"- just like a person. "Do You Know the Muffin Man" is one of her favorites (I never claimed that she has sophisticated taste in music) and so is Papageno's aria from The Magic Flute (well, maybe a little sophisticated!) She has started to call our dog Sam by a nickname- Sammich (as in, "Can I have a bite of your tuna sammich?") It is oddly appropos.

Our photo was in a big regional magazine (singing gig), and I am buying extra copies to send to my mother-in-law and sister. They like that kind of thing. No one recognizes me at work though, and that is fun. I veer from being almost someone to being no one at all. It is good for keeping perspective. I am usually more aligned with the Dickinson thought on being a public person- "How awful to be somebody- how public like a frog. To shout your name the live long day to an admiring bog."

Ribbit!

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!"