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!