tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-192987722024-03-07T12:35:18.087-06:00High-Flying Boomerang Stay or go? I've done both.
I went away. Then I came back. And then I stayed. In rural, backwoods America.
Now what?
EBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18443371099620458924noreply@blogger.comBlogger198125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19298772.post-59638211433961814282015-01-13T21:39:00.002-06:002015-01-13T21:39:24.357-06:00Considering Drastic ActionSo, the one lasting unfortunate mishap from my recent overseas trip was the loss of my iPhone. The silver lining is that I intentionally put off upgrading my phone out of an abundance of caution that something like this might happen. So while I lost a perfectly good phone that I probably would have kept using for some time (or at least passed on to another worthy user), I didn't lose a brand new phone.<br />
<br />
But now I have a dilemma.<br />
<br />
Yes, it was a perfectly good phone. But my 14 days with no very little connectivity (not that it would have been improved by having my iPhone - it probably would have been shut off and left in my suitcase) has made me wonder if I really <i>need</i> that phone.<br />
<br />
Yes, I should have <i>a</i> phone. For safety purposes, at the very least. Yes, and iPhone or other advanced smartphone is nice. iPhone in my case is good because it is compatible with my MacBook.<br />
<br />
But not having it was also somewhat freeing. I had to make an effort and a conscious decision to check my e-mail, and I wasn't able to just Google "The Cremation of Sam McGee" when I forgot a stanza. I had to pick my brain to remember it.<br />
<br />
On the flip side, I was also minus a handy flashlight, a calculator, my reflex-check clock (had to resort to checking the watch I intelligently remembered t pack), and a nifty handheld GPS unit. I also missed having a more incognito camera than my point-and-shoot, and the iPhone camera is a good camera for capturing quick informal moments. And yes, for travel selfies. <br />
<br />
All-in-all, that little phone is <i>convenient</i>.<br />
<br />
But is it necessary?<br />
<br />
I have my MacBook. But now that I've gotten used have something smaller to take with me.<br />
<br />
So I have a tablet. And if I had a tablet with 3G/4G capability, then I would have the internet-anywhere that I've gotten used to having with the phone. And with this tablet I can pick up my text messages and do pretty much everything I used to do on my phone, except make phone calls.<br />
<br />
So, if I had a 3G tablet and a regular dumbphone (with a calculator, flashlight, and maybe even a halfway decent camera?), I could survive pretty well, right?<br />
<br />
So, the choice is:<br />
<ol>
<li>Spend the money to upgrade to a 3G tablet and pitch into a dumphone... </li>
<li>Go, spend the money to replace the cell phone and rejoin the rest of the kitted-up 1st world?</li>
<li>Move back to the land where the internet is near non-existent? </li>
</ol>
EBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18443371099620458924noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19298772.post-31099738354982372372015-01-13T21:12:00.000-06:002015-01-13T21:12:15.904-06:00Timor-Leste, the Reader's Digest Condensed VersionWhen you return from a trip and somebody asks, eyes all lit up and face all aglow, "So, how <i>was</i> it?!??!" All that person really wants to hear you say is, "Great. It was great."<br />
<br />
It makes as much sense as a knock-knock joke:<br />
<br />
Excited Inquirer: "Knock-knock!"<br />
Traveler: "Who's there?"<br />
Excited Inquirer: "How was the trip?"<br />
Traveler: "It was really great!"<br />
Excited Inquirer: "Excellent. Now it's your turn to ask me about my life since you left."<br />
<br />
But like most knock-knock jokes, the formula keeps getting screwed up by the Traveler, and like all knock-knock joke, screwing up the formula just annoys the Excited Inquirer who will just make you try it all over again until they finally give up and walk away.<br />
<br />
[Granted, as a seasoned Traveler, there are times I take deliberate delight in screwing up the formula, just to enjoy watching the annoyed Excited Inquirer decide to leave me happily alone.]<br />
<br />
And so, with that in mind, I will summarize my recent travels to Timor-Leste:<br />
<br />
Where did you go?<br />
<br />
<i>I traveled to Timor-Leste, often known here as East Timor.</i><br />
<br />
Where's that?<br />
<i> </i><br />
<i>It is half of an island that is part of t</i><i>he Indonesian archipelago, but is it's own country. Oops, I see I'm losing your interest. </i><br />
<br />
<i>It's just north of Darwin, Australia. Still not following the formula?</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>It's in the South Pacific. Yes, like the musical.</i><br />
<br />
How long did it take you to get there?<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Nearly 24 hours in the air.</i><br />
<br />
What did you do there?<br />
<br />
<i>Visited a friend/colleague I worked with in Vietnam who is now clinic manager for a local medical clinic in the capital city, Dili.</i><br />
<br />
What stood out most for you?<br />
<br />
<i>Two things, and they're related: first was the enthusiastic, dedicated local medical and support staff, Doctor Dan and the other visiting doctors and medical students, and my friend the clinic manager at the <a href="http://bairopiteclinic.org/" target="_blank">Biaro Pite Clinic</a> as they are determined to provide life-saving care to all who pass through their gate.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Second is the determination of the Timorese people, who fought against all odds and terrible genocidal oppression to become their own nation, and who are now actively engaged in proactive democracy and nation-building. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>...wow...I'm going to have to shorten that up.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Okay, it was the warm weather and palm trees on the beaches.</i><br />
<br />
<i>And the fact that they had the Packer game on in Chicago O'Hare on my way back. </i><br />
<br />
What was your biggest disappointment?<br />
<br />
<i>That I didn't get to see the Southern Cross again.</i><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />EBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18443371099620458924noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19298772.post-27278888780209512022014-12-30T20:03:00.001-06:002014-12-30T20:03:32.450-06:00Up In The Air AgainTrue confession, of which I am much ashamed: shortly after I returned from my stint in Vietnam, it was time to renew my passport. I haven't used it once tho travel overseas since. Until this week.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Now, some 24 hours in the air (including one 15 1/2 hour stint stuck in a single metal tube), three countries, and some 10 hours sitting in airports later, I am merely 3 more hours in an airport and one international flight away from my final destination. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It feels wonderful. Old hat. And I probably won't want to do out again for at least another year.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Still, this trip is teaching me some lessons, new and old, already. Like:</div>
<div>
<ul>
<li>When you get a new passport, sign it before the boarding gate attendant at your third airport finally notices. </li>
<li>Yes, even if your final destination is 95 degrees and humid, do pack a down jacket for that first flight at 6 am and -5 degrees. You can use it as a neck pillow later. </li>
<li>O'Hare sucks to hang out in. </li>
<li>Yoga pants are great for long international flights. </li>
<li>16 hour flight? Go prepared for misery. Plan to read at least two books and watch at least one in-flight movie. Out won't seem as bad when you realize it's just going to be bad. </li>
<li>Asia's version of the TSA is worse than the regular one. You will get screened getting off the plane and transferring to your next flight (no filled water bottles allowed) and you will get screened yet again at your gate before you board your next flight. Again, no half-filled water bottles allowed. And if you forget, you will have tho chug that water while you hold up the ray of that line. </li>
<li>Sleep is highly overrated. You can sleep when you're comfortable, or dead. </li>
<li>If you have as many connections as I do, do NOT expect your checked luggage to make it. It didn't. </li>
<li>Wi-Fi is everywhere now, but don't expect it to be on a plane, and don't expect to actually be able to connect to it. </li>
<li>Do know where you're going. And don't rely on having a cell phone or internet access when you get there. </li>
<li>Even if you're just transiting through Bali, you need to buy a visa. </li>
<li>In the world where online check-in doesn't exist, you will have to wait until the appointed time too check-in for your flight. You can't just waltz in and expect tho spend 4 hours hanging at your gate. </li>
</ul>
<div>
I haven't reached my final destination yet. I hope my next lesson is that this is entirely doable. </div>
</div>
EBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18443371099620458924noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19298772.post-35785649757376083542014-12-24T07:51:00.002-06:002014-12-24T07:51:21.202-06:00My Simple Thoughts on “Christmas” Programs
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There are ever and on-going controversies about the
correctness of public schools offering “Christmas” (rather than “Holiday”)
programs, having “winter” break instead of “Christmas” break, etc., etc.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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I was born, raised, and choose now to live in a part of the
world that is still vast majority Christian of some stripe. To this day our
local school district has annual Christmas concerts and programs with a mixture
of religious and secular selections. (When I was in school the major
controversy was the Jehovah’s Witnesses who didn’t allow their children to
celebrate <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">any</i> holiday, including
birthdays.)</div>
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<br /></div>
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I have lived overseas in two countries and traveled in more
with many different traditions. Never once did I expect the communities I
traveled to or lived in to remove their religious or cultural identities
because it might exclude my beliefs. Schools took holiday breaks around major
religious festivals and sang songs or performed skits with religious words,
messages, or stories. Even if I didn’t agree with it all, I appreciated it. This was a
celebration of their culture. If I were to raise children there, I would think
of it as a great cultural opportunity to experience that way of thinking.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I sometimes wish we had a little more diversity of
celebration and belief in our area. I think it would be great to include more
ways of celebrating. But I do not believe it should be at the expense of
eliminating one or all. I don’t expect others to hide their traditions when I
travel or live among them. I don't expect my own people to hide their traditions when I am home and others are traveling and living among them. </div>
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<br /></div>
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But I do expect us to continue to celebrate while being respectful of outsiders. I hope we always continue celebrating and sharing our unique and festive culture, while adapting and
growing it as change comes and new and blended traditions emerge. </div>
EBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18443371099620458924noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19298772.post-82709609149794017992014-12-24T07:32:00.004-06:002014-12-24T07:32:29.363-06:00God Bless Us, Every One
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God Bless Us, Every One.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This morning I received this e-mail forward, sent with the
good intentions of sending holiday greetings. At first I dumped it directly in
my e-mail trash, but then couldn’t stop thinking about it. To say that this
e-mail is ruining my days off would be overdramatic and to actually let it ruin
my holiday would be “letting the terrorists win.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But this year I can’t ignore the urge to say
something in response (and yes, I will be sending a link to this post back to
the original sender).</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So I rummaged around in the trash and dug it back out.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="yiv9467630589msonormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><b><span style="color: #007434; font-family: Helvetica;">I will be making a conscious effort to wish everyone a</span></b></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"></span></div>
<div align="center" class="yiv9467630589msonormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="yiv9467630589msonormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="color: #00b050; font-family: Helvetica;">M</span></b><b><span style="color: red; font-family: Helvetica;">e</span></b><b><span style="color: #00b050; font-family: Helvetica;">r</span></b><b><span style="color: red; font-family: Helvetica;">r</span></b><b><span style="color: #00b050; font-family: Helvetica;">y<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span></b><b><span style="color: red; font-family: Helvetica;">C</span></b><b><span style="color: #00b050; font-family: Helvetica;">h</span></b><b><span style="color: red; font-family: Helvetica;">r</span></b><b><span style="color: #00b050; font-family: Helvetica;">i</span></b><b><span style="color: red; font-family: Helvetica;">s</span></b><b><span style="color: #00b050; font-family: Helvetica;">t</span></b><b><span style="color: red; font-family: Helvetica;">m</span></b><b><span style="color: #00b050; font-family: Helvetica;">a</span></b><b><span style="color: red; font-family: Helvetica;">s</span></b></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"></span></div>
<div align="center" class="yiv9467630589msonormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="yiv9467630589msonormal" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><b><span style="color: #007434; font-family: Helvetica;">this year</span></b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span><div align="center" class="yiv9467630589msonormal" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span><div align="center" class="yiv9467630589msonormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><b><span style="color: #007434; font-family: Helvetica;">My way of saying that I am celebrating the birth of</span></b></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"></span></div>
<div align="center" class="yiv9467630589msonormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="color: red; font-family: Helvetica;">Jesus Christ</span></b></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"></span></div>
<div align="center" class="yiv9467630589msonormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="yiv9467630589msonormal" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><b><span style="color: #007434; font-family: Helvetica;">So I am asking my email buddies,</span></b><span style="color: #007434; font-family: Helvetica;"> <b>if you agree
with me,</b> </span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span><div align="center" class="yiv9467630589msonormal" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><b><span style="color: #007434; font-family: Helvetica;">to please do the same.</span></b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span><div align="center" class="yiv9467630589msonormal" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span><div align="center" class="yiv9467630589msonormal" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><b><span style="color: #007434; font-family: Helvetica;">And if you'll pass this on to</span></b><span style="color: #007434; font-family: Helvetica;"> <b>your email buddies, and so on...</b></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span><div align="center" class="yiv9467630589msonormal" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span><div align="center" class="yiv9467630589msonormal" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><b><span style="color: #007434; font-family: Helvetica;">maybe we can prevent one more</span></b><span style="color: #007434; font-family: Helvetica;"> <b>tradition from being lost in the sea
of</b></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span><div align="center" class="yiv9467630589msonormal" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% white; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span><div align="center" class="yiv9467630589msonormal" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><b><span style="color: #007434; font-family: Helvetica;">"Political Correctness".</span></b></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This, my dear zealous Christian friends, is why Christians
and non-Christians alike are annoyed and fed up with you. Sadly, some to the
point of hatred. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Because, rather than simply and purely wishing the best of
what true Christianity wants this holiday to stand for: peace, love, hope,
sharing, bringing relief of the physical and mental strain many suffer, etc.,
once again, you make it all about you. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And not even your personal joys and hopes or witness. It’s
all about you and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">your fears</i>. You
take a simple pledge to wish your fellow man a Merry Christmas instead of
handing over the beautiful rose e’re blooming, you turn it into a dagger to
stick into your neighbor’s eye.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Have you ever <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">personally</i>
been attacked for smiling and wishing somebody a simple, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Merry Christmas</i>? Not just heard about it from a
friend/relative/fellow church-goer or pastor/TV evangelist/Internet source?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And if any of you in northern Wisconsin have been attacked
for wishing somebody a merry Christmas, consider that perhaps you – or the
friend that you forwarded this e-mail from – did not wait to turn a cheek.
Rather, somebody threw the first dagger as they approached the holiday with the
idea that the best defense (against what?) is an overly active and paranoid
offense.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
------------</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I can’t end on that note. Regardless of your personal
beliefs, and even whether or not you agree with my thoughts, I truly do want to
wish you all a merry, blessed, joyous, and renewing Christmas. This is my way
of saying that I am celebrating the birth of the one who told us:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The second [greatest
commandment] is, ‘<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Love your neighbor as
yourself</b>.’</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Blessed are you who
are poor, for yours is the kingdom.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Blessed are you who
hunger, for you shall be satisfied.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Blessed are you who
mourn, for you will laugh.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Blessed are you who
are meek, for you shall inherit the earth.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Blessed are you who
are pure of heart, for you shall see God.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Blessed are you, the
peacemakers, for you are the children of God.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Blessed are you who
seek justice, for justice shall be yours. </i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My prayer for you is that you go and share the peace. And
not leave others thinking of you as an asshole. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
EBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18443371099620458924noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19298772.post-37544259172883593662014-03-05T19:53:00.002-06:002014-03-05T20:26:11.471-06:00Ash WednesdayAll religious intentions and pretensions momentarily aside, cultural Catholicism was, is now, and probably always will be the ruler of the blood of my veins. So, I admit, it feels "right" to be back in Wisconsin, the land still ruled by Friday night fish fry, St. Nicholas Day, and Good Friday as a County holiday.<br />
<br />
Yet, this is my 5th Ash Wednesday in my job, and my 5th Ash Wednesday at some large training/conference/event where no meatless meal option was offered. And there was an over-abundance of chocolate, which, in my experience, was the major go-to give-up for Lent.<br />
<br />
Are we, oh citizens of the great frozen tundra, not the reputed masters of making misery attractive, maybe even almost desirable? Aren't we the part of the country that invented Friday night fish fry to give people a way out on Fridays? The original Lenten loophole? You would think that Ash Wednesday here would be our Mardi Gras of denial, our own "Verhungert Mittwoch," Slim-pickins Wednesday. A day to celebrate with all those time-honored, farm table standards of egg salad sandwiches, tuna noodle hotdish, hot German potato salad, and coleslaw proudly representing the vegetable food group.<br />
<br />
Why is this not a thing? This should be the one day everybody in the Midwest goes vegetarian because, thanks to the stoic German Catholics and Norwegian Lutherans that gave us our Old Fashions and fish fry, this is just the thing we do. We expect tomato soup and macaroni and cheese, but hold the jello, I need to deny myself dessert today. <br />
<br />
(Wait - jello is a fruit, you say? Well, okay, but just a little bit.)<br />
<br />
And then, the truly expressive among us can continue the tradition every
Friday during Lent. At least make it a prominent (and guilt-inducing)
option. "Just the grilled cheese for me."<br />
<br />
I feel my cultural roots melting. I feel as though I have witnessed the death of Lake Wobegon.EBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18443371099620458924noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19298772.post-46964799537501639442014-02-01T18:29:00.001-06:002014-02-01T18:32:32.678-06:00These are a few of my most energizing thingsImmediately after writing and posting that last post, I felt an intense urge to respond to myself with all the things that excite me about <a href="http://oneida.uwex.edu/" target="_blank">where I am and what I am doing, and, mostly, who I am working with</a>.<br />
<br />
Because, the reality is, I have a hard time imagining a position that is a better fit for my my intellectual, professional, managerial, and leadership skills, as well as my personal preferences and values in mission and workplace culture. There is so much I love about my job and the interactions it gives me with other professionals (which reminds me even more just how glad I am to work where I do).<br />
<br />
So, these are just a few of my most energizing, work-related things:<br />
<br />
- Independence: the freedom to set my own agenda based on an assessment of community needs balanced with my own interests and skills and ability to respond to them. Also, the freedom to set my own schedule.<br />
<br />
Also, while I appreciate my direct supervisors and managers, I also sort of do appreciate the fact that the nearest one is two hours away. Sometimes distance does make a relationship smoother. <br />
<br />
- Really damn smart and committed and striving colleagues. In our office, and really, organization-wide, some of the smartest people are the people who answer the phones, respond to the public inquiries, and generally keep the ship afloat and on a right heading. Really, when both of them are gone from our office at the same time for whatever reason, I feel as though I've had a lobotomy. Not only do they know the ins-and-outs of daily tasks, but when they get the question of, "Did an falling star just land in my vegetable garden?" on the phone, they don't (just) laugh out loud, but the actually figure out who to call to get an answer.<br />
<br />
And then, there are my fellow educational colleagues, who have the same charge of independent action as I do (see above), and love nothing more than challenging themselves to save the world. As a department head, I hardly have to manage in this office. Instead, I get to practice being a leader in the true sense of the word, while challenging each of them to one-up me in that leadership game. And they oftentimes do it. There is nothing better than working in a collegial, challenging atmosphere made up of a variety of viewpoints, backgrounds, and skills, and a willingness to collaborate out of a sheer love of problem solving. Then step one county over, and one county beyond that, and beyond that, and there is a whole new nest of the same sort of collegial and intellectual skill and ambition.<br />
<br />
Does it get any better than that?<br />
<br />
Then there's the actual work I do. It's a lot like the weather in Colorado: if you don't like it, wait 10 minutes, it will change. Granted this is a personality thing, but I thrive on changes and new challenges. This job is perfect for the life-long learner. Since we're changed with keeping up with and responding to emerging community needs, and my focus area is "families," that mostly means the sky is the limit for creative programming. In my first four years, my programming has included (but not been limited to):<br />
<ul>
<li>Developing a <a href="http://www.facebook.com/RhinelanderAmericabyFoodExhibit" target="_blank">local exhibit </a>to complement a traveling Smithsonian exhibit on the history of food in America, to which I suggested and partnered with our nutrition educators and local food pantry to add an additional theme of "food insecurity" and what happens when people don't have enough food to eat in our community.</li>
<li>Teaching "<a href="http://fyi.uwex.edu/rtcprogram" target="_blank">Raising a Thinking Child</a>" parent education classes and joining a state team and developing ways to improve the delivery of the program around the state, including now beginning to develop an online version of the curriculum.</li>
<li>Collaborating on presenting the <a href="http://www.explorerhinelander.com/chamber-info/leadership-oneida-county/" target="_blank">Leadership Oneida County</a> program for professionals in our county to learn about programs and services offered in the community, to become better connected to professionals outside of their own professionals circles, and to develop leadership skills that could be transformed into greater commitment and contributions to the local community. Through this I developed an improved Community Services Day program which includes a hands-on mini-poverty simulation, lobbied for and got a both a Medical Day program presented in a major community center outside of the county seat, and a Business/Tourism/Culture Day in another community center, thus improving the participants' exposure to smaller communities in the county.</li>
<li>Developing a curriculum for and teaching life skills classes to inmates in both medium and minimum security at our local county jail. This ranks among the most personally rewarding projects I've ever undertaken, though it was unfortunately short-lived as it was also the first program to go after I assumed the additional administrative duties. Hopefully I will return to it someday. </li>
<li>Presenting <a href="http://www.uwex.edu/ces/flp/pace/about.cfm" target="_blank">Poverty Awareness for Community Engagement</a> (PACE) workshops to various audiences, including (so far) one half-day full-fledged poverty simulation in which participants are assigned a role within various households living on a limited income. Over the course of four, 15-minute "weeks" (and 5 minute weekends in between), their households must negotiate and problem solve completing essential household tasks (paying the rent, buying food, going to work or school or applying for jobs, and getting transportation between all of them). This and the mini-simulation I do with smaller groups are among the most powerful and eye-opening educational experiences I have lead.</li>
<li>Applying my own personal skills and love for technology through collaborating on a <a href="http://broadband.uwex.edu/blog/2014/01/digital-leaders-2013/" target="_blank">Digital Leader's grant</a> together with my office colleague to purchase several e-readers/tablets to loan to local librarians who are on the front lines of the digital "tsunami" (err, stream) and providing them with support and <a href="http://fyi.uwex.edu/mobiletech101/" target="_blank">developing a website</a> to teach them how to use mobile devices so they can assist others. </li>
<li>Strategic planning and professional development for public sector and non-profit agencies providing services to families and community members. Currently the largest project I have underway is working with the <a href="http://www.thehumanservicecenter.org/" target="_blank">Tri-County Human Service Center</a> (which provides programs and support to those living with developmental disabilities, mental health or behavioral health, alcohol and other drug abuse challenges in a three-county area) on several levels, including organizational strategic planning, professional leadership development for administrative staff, and advisory support on innovative programming development and implementation. It is an honor to be guiding those surfing on the tidal wave of changes overtaking the Center, and it is both nerve-wracking and thrilling to see what new things each year brings.</li>
<li>And, just because I swore I'd never do anything related to Home Ec (er, Family and Consumer Sciences) in my life, I am now <a href="http://oneida.uwex.edu/family-living/food-preservation/" target="_blank">teaching safe food preservation workshops</a>. Can you believe it - I now can my own food, including pressure canning meat and spaghetti sauce, and dehydrate food, <i>and</i> I teach other people how to do it. That is something I would have never guessed I would ever do, much less enjoy so much!</li>
</ul>
There are tons of reasons to love the job I do and working where I do. Sure, a steady income of a decent sort and good benefits are also big factors, but I would leave any job that provided those things but wasn't worth the time I invested in it. I only hope I can increase my focus on the rewarding aspects of my job.<br />
<br />
<br />EBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18443371099620458924noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19298772.post-62659710812246014572014-01-26T21:07:00.000-06:002014-02-01T16:32:52.101-06:00These are a few of my most exhausting things:I'm exhausted.<br />
<br />
Not tired. I get plenty of sleep, and I make sure of that. Yeah, sometimes I don't exactly bounce out of bed in the morning. But I know what tired is - that was what I was in college during mid-terms and finals and band tours. That was when I could fall asleep standing up in the lunch line and the moment the professor lowered the lights and turned on the overhead projector.<br />
<br />
This is different.<br />
<br />
This is the mental and physical pit of quicksand that sucks me down from the most contented and productive heights with the simple breath of a word. The stuff that turns me into an internal hedgehog at the glimpse of an e-mail subject line. The stuff that makes me wonder if McDonald's is hiring.<br />
<br />
These are the things that let the air out of my balloon and leave me flat for the rest of the day. And most of them have to do with nagging, unresolved/unresolvable administrative issues.<br />
<br />
This, currently, is the topmost among them: <a href="http://www.wjfw.com/stories.html?sku=20140124175215" target="_blank">http://www.wjfw.com/stories.html?sku=20140124175215</a><br />
<br />
Office space has been a persistent migraine for our office since well before I began working in 2010. For years our department has been told they were going to move to a new location, most likely in the county courthouse, once another county department moved out to a new location. So, little by little, our department gave up office space in our current location, consolidating ourselves and preparing for the day we'd start packing boxes, putting up with deteriorating conditions and other "just get by" solutions for the time being. <br />
<br />
Then, in 2012, after the departure of our office leader, I took the administrative leadership role. For two years now I have watched (and fought) as (unsurprisingly) temporary solutions become permanent, productive conversations and decisions are either delayed or, eventually overturned, and decisions forced upon us without collaboration or consultation. I have experienced some of the worst political two-faced dealings I have ever been personally subjected to. In short, I have found myself bitterly accepting all those negative stereotypes about local government as the veil of jaded cynicism for the future of good governance slips over my eyes.<br />
<br />
This all makes me sad. Almost as sad as watching the small progress we'd witnessed in Madagascar be swept away in one quick African coup d'etat. Here we'd hoped that the big island might have grown beyond some of the stereotypes of the African continent. We'd hoped that the transition to openness and reform might be the beginning of a country extracting itself from the bottom of the pile of oppressive statistics that threatened to suffocate it. Instead, it was all washed away in a flash flood of violence and corruption.<br />
<br />
Here, I don't hold the fate of a small African nation in my hands, but I am watching the systems that we (USAID, the US Embassy, etc.) were trying to instill through our Good Governance education programs overseas, fail at exactly the issues we were trying to hold rural African tribal communities accountable for. Through Chemonics, International's USAID-funded project, Kominina Mendrika (Champion Communities), we were charged with working with communities to develop collaborative, open, transparent forms of governance that would bring communities together to meet commonly-held objectives. The models we held up were based on those models we claimed to be so effective in promoting democracy in communities across the United States. By bringing community leaders together in open discourse, better decisions and more appropriate use of scarce funds would benefit the whole.<br />
<br />
Do as I say, not as I do.<br />
<br />
All of those those qualities that lead non-profit organizations to scoff at local officials in both Madagascar and Vietnam - lack of investment in training, lack of access to and capacity to use basic technology (i.e., updated computers, wi-fi networks, mobile technology, etc.), a graveyard pace of decision-making, and Titanic-turning responsiveness to new and emerging issues - are now the anchor and chain that drag on our programs here. True, it's a vast generalization, and <i>nobody</i> is content with the problems, but the problems remain. My youthful and perhaps naive optimism is challenged every day, and make me begin to wonder if these features of the public sector - world wide - are perhaps too deeply embedded to be changed.<br />
<br />
Somebody in Madagascar once remarked that I was lucky to live in the United States, "where there is no corruption." I thought about that and responded that there was indeed corruption in the US, we had just institutionalized in it. How little did I understand the truth of my flippant response.<br />
<br />
And this exhausts me.<br />
<br />
Which leads me to believe that there might be hope for me yet. The day it stops exhausting me, the day I simply accept it, roll over, and curl into that little hedgehog ball - or, worse yet, the day that it energizes and excites me and leaves me itching for more - will be the day I have lost the battle. I may give up, but please, never let me give in.EBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18443371099620458924noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19298772.post-90935835751153132522013-12-28T16:38:00.000-06:002013-12-29T07:45:55.332-06:00I should be writing a holiday letter.<style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">I should be writing a holiday letter.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">But – would you just take a
look outside for a moment? The sun has broken through the clouds and is
streaming in the front room window. The three inches of fresh snow we got
overnight has brightened up the whole world, and now the settling flakes are
sparkling diamonds as they drift off the trees. I actually remembered to fill
the birdfeeders yesterday<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(and am now
just remembering to add sunflower seed to my shopping list) – consider it my
Christmas gift to the wildlife – so now the feeders hanging just inches away
from the picture window are being swarmed by a flock of chickadees and finches
quibbling over who gets the next go.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgOgRBBbBIZN9S2EEcATMqnCMVEQWhjR88ggUNUxZBrqWwk7zDDnyXbWDAho-F3mPbWou6xOBQDVPo8Lbq_yM_3oqIz4-cvqthjZixFJkc4nBsF22r3F40TPzl_6TQUIh0j888/s1600/Christmas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgOgRBBbBIZN9S2EEcATMqnCMVEQWhjR88ggUNUxZBrqWwk7zDDnyXbWDAho-F3mPbWou6xOBQDVPo8Lbq_yM_3oqIz4-cvqthjZixFJkc4nBsF22r3F40TPzl_6TQUIh0j888/s640/Christmas.jpg" width="376" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">Oops, now the teakettle is
screaming for me to make some hot chocolate. With a candy cane dunked in, of
course. And the loaves of Hawaiian bread that has been rising in the warming
drawer are now ready for the oven. Does anybody even remember how or why
Grandma Jean started the tradition of Hawaiian bread and ham for Brewster
Christmas? Who around here eats something as exotic as Hawaiian bread, anyway?</span>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">I’d sit down at the piano and
plunk out a few holiday carols for you, but the dry winter has suddenly wreaked
havoc with the tuning and even I can’t fight my way through that. Probably just
as well – hasn’t been much time for practicing piano, what with the hours I
spend at work or torturing my French horn and alto recorder at various
rehearsals/church services. At least here I can blame all the wrong notes on
badly tuned strings, right?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">The hush of the snow and the
frenetic energy of the birds only make me more grateful for the blessing of a
day to just sit still and watch. It hasn’t been a year for much stillness or
watching, and it always seems that a little doing always leads to more that must
be done. I’m closing in on my second full year as department head and four
years working for the University of Wisconsin Cooperative Extension office in
Oneida County. It’s a small thing in the bigger scope of the world – a tiny
department within a tiny county in a tiny part of rural America – but it is a
huge blessing to have challenging, engaging work that so resembles the mission
and passion of the Peace Corps and other international work right here, so
close that I can live at home (and afford to live here). This year we added a
third new educator to our staff, after hiring the second educator at the end of
2012 – it has been an incredible joy to watch them each grow in their roles
working with youth and community/economic development respectively as I
continue focusing my work with families. I’m looking forward to 2014 as we
begin to bring our common threads together in community education work that
demonstrates the connections between all of these areas and how necessary they
are to creating strong communities as a whole.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">I could go on for hours about
the challenges rural America faces. The demographics here speak it loud and
clear - young people are leaving in droves, seeking education economic, and
social opportunities in places that offer more diverse, and some would argue,
attractive possibilities. I’d certainly be lying if I claimed I hadn’t felt the pull. After
all, I think I have about as much right to miss Vietnamese, Indian and a
multitude of other ethnic food, and the excitement and adventure of new places
and new people as much as anybody.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">But then – would you look at
that! The light has changed again. Funny how the clouds have shifted and
everything is suddenly backlit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
birds are suddenly gone for a moment and everything is silent again. Just take
a breath of that fresh, clean air. They’ve made a fortune in bottling our clean
water. It’s a wonder (and a relief) they haven’t figured out how to bottle and
sell our air.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">Well, if I were going to
write a proper holiday letter, then I suppose I would be obliged (and
thrilled!) to tell you about the major event of the year – 2013, the year I
became a homeowner. But not just any old home; and not just the home that has
this extraordinary southern exposure that soaks up the 8 hours of daylight all
winter long and makes the Christmas cactus bloom on time (no thanks to me, who
routinely forgets to water the poor thing). No, this home, the house my
grandfather built after returning from a POW camp in Germany after WWII, is now
the “Home Place.” I am humbled by the opportunity to place another generation’s
roots in this house and to celebrate our history here in this small corner of
the universe. And so, now with a new roof and a new couch in addition to the
new stove (and the return of the refrigerator), I am slowly making more plans
for making the Home Place my own home for as long as I work to be part of the
solution of rural brain drain.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">And, no holiday letter would
be complete without a few photographs (which probably is all you’ll really pay
attention to, anyway), and of course, my love for you and yours, and my hope
for a very blessed new year in 2014. It saddens me to think of how many are
struggling this year and will be into next: Jean, Terri, Chris, Nadean, Roger,
Linda, Cindy, Nancy, and so many others struggling with diagnoses and life
changes. But I’m also happy to celebrate numerous new beginnings all around me
as well. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">May all be well with you and
those you hold close. May a year from now, on the precipice of 2015, find you with new, exciting stories to tell and
great wisdom to share.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">In peace.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVkDK5wm-CJ7fL0Oo0hjlcKS735RgMAhfu5_E5Xj5c3b_ZUUJQTkxquQ4liRcwo9ok0gtkuyXBk3W2Hyu9JSImbjjMFt4svINeS0SJVWZefmFzamWobq1cZ1gaLLlgToLjXm5J/s1600/Seattle+food.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVkDK5wm-CJ7fL0Oo0hjlcKS735RgMAhfu5_E5Xj5c3b_ZUUJQTkxquQ4liRcwo9ok0gtkuyXBk3W2Hyu9JSImbjjMFt4svINeS0SJVWZefmFzamWobq1cZ1gaLLlgToLjXm5J/s320/Seattle+food.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yes, I really do travel just to eat food. Thank you, Rebekah, for stuffing me silly! </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii_drxCzylDLvH71NXSFDxmOafkEqCGWravt6HznAEfkDFCnXBrKnHpjCAcegrqSbh63rVZ385hmVyNT91rUOQen7hT-wLkbkNP8wodHD4WXSu01Gr4Vho1FiIeldtcNJcTgL2/s1600/Bryce+Canyon.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii_drxCzylDLvH71NXSFDxmOafkEqCGWravt6HznAEfkDFCnXBrKnHpjCAcegrqSbh63rVZ385hmVyNT91rUOQen7hT-wLkbkNP8wodHD4WXSu01Gr4Vho1FiIeldtcNJcTgL2/s1600/Bryce+Canyon.png" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Overlooking Bryce Canyon at the end of a Seattle - Olympic Peninsula - St. George, Utah vacation in February.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikPBR1VM6_1lcyecrBOWMbhfaUYLWqKu0_1qM2hNcrxZ9NBfnJ3BNC-671UMDuxvnlddu0XuuYW0ZtFNpcFnq7N2t8FjTigJQvJXod80HP28TAIasqNc7NZJuXNlpIgNgD_Xzx/s1600/Mark+and+Becky.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="245" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikPBR1VM6_1lcyecrBOWMbhfaUYLWqKu0_1qM2hNcrxZ9NBfnJ3BNC-671UMDuxvnlddu0XuuYW0ZtFNpcFnq7N2t8FjTigJQvJXod80HP28TAIasqNc7NZJuXNlpIgNgD_Xzx/s400/Mark+and+Becky.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Breaking out the Vietnamese dress, "ao dai" to celebrate my cousin Mark's wedding to Becky Nguyen in Beverly Hills.</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibFNy8KVtfEUpOXV5url4sYmkUArFS3iK2OaggkqcPjIuy-s2NMlxKdcqVG7UKhkNHq6qFI-w_BTZDXqH0SQeDWFZzvJBYCWXlr-xQEnBUWGUZ-tpGV8onUaDLA74KBP0t6cDE/s1600/Erica+and+Mark.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibFNy8KVtfEUpOXV5url4sYmkUArFS3iK2OaggkqcPjIuy-s2NMlxKdcqVG7UKhkNHq6qFI-w_BTZDXqH0SQeDWFZzvJBYCWXlr-xQEnBUWGUZ-tpGV8onUaDLA74KBP0t6cDE/s320/Erica+and+Mark.png" width="211" /></a></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDv7Srfdy4JGZiBC4nQ9ucJ6JBgcCDC7MJL_mT36BswwyEtdlSk_vzbA7X6yeMzGvPNDUWI-zqbCPUhbi-HELZxks1YP0KY_1NDLdVS8slCLTHTDAU4MJRwG16aXSj0mUhnGzC/s1600/Redwoods.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDv7Srfdy4JGZiBC4nQ9ucJ6JBgcCDC7MJL_mT36BswwyEtdlSk_vzbA7X6yeMzGvPNDUWI-zqbCPUhbi-HELZxks1YP0KY_1NDLdVS8slCLTHTDAU4MJRwG16aXSj0mUhnGzC/s640/Redwoods.jpg" width="340" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It was an absolute pleasure take my parents on a tour of California (Pacific Coast Highway to the redwoods to San Francisco) following the wedding in L.A.<u><br /></u></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8yWGzvczPx8gChF8SsyQOfWcZBPhBc-kdSlTHLE94339nbADpgKFhP7JEkuNPcZ6c8liBdcG3RcRR8F-rwXpBKQboGUpi0uZ1ZL3ASuF5uvkmlz-LSBZmtL7eLDBjOz4X1gyY/s1600/The+Home+Place-1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="243" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8yWGzvczPx8gChF8SsyQOfWcZBPhBc-kdSlTHLE94339nbADpgKFhP7JEkuNPcZ6c8liBdcG3RcRR8F-rwXpBKQboGUpi0uZ1ZL3ASuF5uvkmlz-LSBZmtL7eLDBjOz4X1gyY/s400/The+Home+Place-1.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Brewster "Home Place," now in my name.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV63DBEc1hzmDS7j6_6pwSUcJfevR-F97QLAHLftErvROoczcz6P7j4WFu8zb8pqemPQYIQGePHATOgDFXphWb7SCmjMVDOHh8s0NcsNVjjsEMHzAfbnXsxSoNqwocRadsh4yZ/s1600/Work.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV63DBEc1hzmDS7j6_6pwSUcJfevR-F97QLAHLftErvROoczcz6P7j4WFu8zb8pqemPQYIQGePHATOgDFXphWb7SCmjMVDOHh8s0NcsNVjjsEMHzAfbnXsxSoNqwocRadsh4yZ/s400/Work.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">The daily slog: “digital” was the word of the year at work. So was “office
space” – or, lack thereof.</span></span></div>
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EBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18443371099620458924noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19298772.post-42122056286959490132013-12-07T16:33:00.001-06:002013-12-07T16:33:50.991-06:00The Boomerang It is 8 1/2 years since the debut of this blog (nearly 11 years since the first of my handwritten missives made its way back over the ocean), and this week marks a full five years since I returned to the states and to my hometown and birthplace.<br />
<br />
Five years ago I was scared to death because, as I told my friends in Thailand, I was sure if I went back home, I would never leave.<br />
<br />
And from the looks of my passport visa stamp pages and my accumulated frequent flyer miles, I was right.<br />
<br />
It was also very nearly the end of my blog because, really, what did I have left to write for? Or who to write for?<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
~~~~~~<i>x</i>~~~~~~</div>
<br />
Then, a few weeks ago, during a discussion about the persistent, painful, and seemingly permanent out-migration of young, working-age adults, a colleague described me as a "boomerang," a young person who went away, studied, worked, traveled, explored, then, while still in productive working prime, brought those skills and experiences back to the place he or she knew best - country home. The best case scenario, as he saw it, for rural America. <br />
<br />
The term "boomerang" grabbed my attention and refocused my thinking. And maybe gave me a reason to revive the long-neglected blog. But, first, why "boomerang?" <br />
<br />
The book, "<a href="http://hollowingoutthemiddle.com/" target="_blank">Hollowing Out the Middle: The Rural Brain Drain and What It Means for America</a>," describes what happens to youth in modern-day rural America: the Achievers, who do well in school and are encouraged go get education and to pursue their fortunes elsewhere, the Seekers, who are only average, but are determined to break away from their small-town roots and often use the military or other means as a "way out," and the Stayers, who settle in to a long-term local life. (Interestingly, the book describes Stayers as overwhelmingly male.)<br />
<br />
This is hardly surprising news to anybody who has lived in a remote or rural area, and Census data will prove that population numbers drop off a cliff after age 18 for many places. And some places never recover from the cliff drop.<br />
<br />
But then there are those that come back. This same book refers to two types of Returners made of the former Achievers and former Seekers. Achievers who have gone and gotten degrees, established careers, and otherwise proven themselves return at High-Flyers, Seekers who return after exploring the outside world are called Boomerangs.<br />
<br />
So, I'm not exactly a Boomerang, since I definitely fit into the Achievers category back in the day. But High-Flyer doesn't say "come back home" to me. But, "Returner" doesn't capture my imagination, and I got chided by a member of the clergy when I described myself as a "Prodigal" since I didn't exactly come back in complete ruins, even if I was welcomed into the safety my parents' basement after my return. I don't really feel like a "Homing Pigeon" either. And I strongly believe that I would have needed to scratch the itch to see the world, regardless of academic skill or outside encouragement.<br />
<br />
I always do better reflecting when I can identify myself as an outside observer. Boomerang status justifies the feeling I've always had of being an insider and an outsider. So, I am rebranding my blog and myself as a High-Flying Boomerang. EBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18443371099620458924noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19298772.post-32935823841294087602013-12-01T18:40:00.001-06:002013-12-01T18:40:36.237-06:00CommuteFor a while, Morning Edition on NPR was running stories about people's commutes during, well, my commute. And each one of these stories reminded me exactly why I both hate and love my commute. In truth, I hate my commute. It's long, tedious, wastes a lot of fuel and robs me of exercise, takes me a long ways from home, and chews up precious time in my day.<br />
<br />
I only "love" it in direct comparison to other people's commutes: no sitting in traffic for long hours while attempting to go half the distance I regularly travel, or being packed into a cattle car with other disgruntled steers. Granted, I wouldn't mind riding a train or subway, but I do appreciate having my own space and ability to haul as much crap with me as I want on a given day. So, in that respect, 40 minutes and 25 miles of mostly 55+ MPH on a relatively scenic open road and only a few annoying stop lights isn't that much to complain about.<br />
<br />
And still, there is one odd little feature on this commute that stands out for me. I don't pass it every day, as I actually have a choice between two routes. One is slightly shorter, but usually heavier with traffic and school buses. This feature is on the slightly longer route that is generally less trafficked and with school buses heading in the opposite direction, so I do travel it most days during the school year. A little less than halfway through the route, I turn off the state highway and onto a county road. Less than a half mile after the turn is a tiny little water hole and a sign post announcing, "Little Duffy Lake."<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGzb5WPlf8IW7Z6mp5Q4S60gfefMg8ewS_ZEHs3jeJiF5bAvVFfIGtZ3bKJsHWlmgQGiBQxNIwFZT3nsZyuA3q58b5kdBtoGHdYiO5wSDw2NVaacojOp2K4VcKSs8ohEt3JEJh/s1600/Little+Duffy+Lake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="231" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGzb5WPlf8IW7Z6mp5Q4S60gfefMg8ewS_ZEHs3jeJiF5bAvVFfIGtZ3bKJsHWlmgQGiBQxNIwFZT3nsZyuA3q58b5kdBtoGHdYiO5wSDw2NVaacojOp2K4VcKSs8ohEt3JEJh/s400/Little+Duffy+Lake.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
This Little Duffy Lake is so tiny that it's likely the average traveler has never even seen it. I have no idea how many times I'd gone by before even noticing it was there. But every since I saw it for the first time, this little pond has become an unwelcome totem that portends the nature of my day ahead.<br />
<br />
Usually the fates are better for me on days when I slip by that little piece of road without seeing the lake there. Those are the days when I suddenly glance over at a little field further on and wonder what happened to that little lake, or how I missed it. Those days fly by effortlessly and full of action and, often, productivity. On days when I do notice the lake, I know that my day ahead is going to be long and full of time for seeing details - boredom, even. If I see the lake, chances are, I'll be seeing the lake all day long.<br />
<br />
And so, as I resume my commute tomorrow after the long holiday weekend, chances are I will be on the lookout for Little Duffy, in all it's now-frozen-over glory. And I hope I appreciate the glimpse, not because I want my day to be long and tedious, but because I should be thankful for the reminder that each moment of the day and each glimpse of a friend is something to be anticipated and savored, not just endured. <br />
<br />
<br />EBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18443371099620458924noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19298772.post-71028961388939256762013-06-27T15:37:00.003-05:002013-06-27T15:37:49.837-05:00Even Though I Live Alone, I'm Going to Make this House My HomeTwo posts in two days after not having two posts to rub together for months. But good reason.<br />
<br />
Today I entered into the sacred realm of fulfilling the American Dream of saddling myself with years of debt and responsibilities for maintenance, repairs and lawn care.<br />
<br />
Today I became the next generation caretaker of a piece of the land homesteaded by my great-grandparents and the house built by my grandfather and where he and my grandmother raised my father and his three siblings. And did this by signing the transfer of deed with my father and uncles in the building that used to be the church my grandmother attended.<br />
<br />
Today I bought a house and don't have to pack a single box of my own things.<br />
<br />
Today I can officially call the house I have been living in for four years my home.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4ZFcSdw9z87Z2NVrCFaiclYgbVt6uXDm9JogzUyRQy0PoMp_N5wHAg991lSzp72QR29XHcvimJDDmKViBeNgMaI4hSsOl_eWeZOEFXVHZLkNXcb-uhtMXzWis-FzuEmH885GV/s1600/P1000709.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4ZFcSdw9z87Z2NVrCFaiclYgbVt6uXDm9JogzUyRQy0PoMp_N5wHAg991lSzp72QR29XHcvimJDDmKViBeNgMaI4hSsOl_eWeZOEFXVHZLkNXcb-uhtMXzWis-FzuEmH885GV/s320/P1000709.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />EBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18443371099620458924noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19298772.post-85756789865498492382013-06-26T00:17:00.003-05:002013-06-26T17:12:10.014-05:00A Look Back at My First Niverenan'ny Fahaleovantenan'i Madagasikara, One Decade Later<i>Ten years ago I celebrated my first Malagasy Independence Day. I had been in Madagascar for just over three months, and alone at my remote Peace Corps site for 54 days. I was recovering from a nasty bought of something that was never confirmed to be malaria, and was still completely overwhelmed with culture shock, language barriers, and the inability to cook anything fit for human consumption.</i><br />
<i><br />On Monday I "rediscovered" my handwritten journal that I painstakingly kept in painful detail for just over my first year at my site. I opened it at random to June 23, 2003, and realized what I was reading was almost exactly 10 years old. I had to laugh at my 10-year-younger self, mostly with relief that I will never have to go through an experience like that again - at least wherever I go now, I know I will be able to cook an edible meal out of raw ingredients, and I will never be quite as freaked out about going to the market to buy food.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>So, in honor of both the 26th of June, and my 10 year anniversary of experiencing my first one, here is the unabridged, unedited account I wrote of that first celebration in Bealanana, Madagascar, beginning the day before and going through the day of [with just a few editorial clarifications and comments]:</i><br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<b>June 25, 2003</b><br />
<br />
Well, once again I am starting this mid-day since I 'm guessing it's going to be a long night tonight. So far the day has been pretty good. I didn't sleep too badly, despite a constant stream of arrivals [at the emergency room at the hospital I lived in] next door. Then I was up at 6 (my radio has stopped working in stand-by mode, and this bothers me so much I wake up when it's supposed to turn on) and started heating milk. I had a hard time choosing clothes, but finally settled in and opened up just in time for Madame Lala to come looking for me. She said I had to come see the games again today.<br />
<br />
Then I drank hot chocolate, ate break, left a pitcher for milk, and headed off early to the hospital [the lower hospital, more of a "clinic," not the upper hospital I lived in]. I made some progress [on my record-keeping project] before the rasazy [nurse] showed up. A whole bunch of women came for Depo[-Provera shots], but only three or four for CPN [prenatal check-up]. I helped fill out cards.<br />
<br />
Then I went to the bazaar. I stopped to look at jeans and finally found a (new) pair I liked, and chatted with the shopkeeper. He's from Montasoa [village where Peace Corps has it's training center, two days by airplane, a week by car away]. I bargained for the jeans - 60,000 FMG for a new pair. Yea, the cut is several years old, but still a new pair for 9.50 USD. Not bad, even if I did get ripped off by Malagasy standards.<br />
<br />
Then I wandered the bazaar for a long time and finally picked up some hair-fixin' supplies. The back home. I picked up my mlk and hung out with the nurses who were waiting for the Sous-Préfet who never showed. Then I made lunch and was still feeling energetic. So I cleaned up, hauled water and tried on the jeans and clothing combos for tonight.<br />
<br />
But I am still feeling nervous about tonight. I know Mosilee (the bush taxi driver) and many other drunk men will be there, and I can't help but it scares me. A lot. I'm really looking forward to this time tomorrow.<br />
<br />
Well, I'm glad I already started writing, because I'm just back from the first part of the celebration and already have a lot to report. The evening started with more "games," like yesterday. Madame Lala had told me to come early and she got me a seat up top of the stage with her and the other judges, so I had a good view, even if I did feel a little awkward. The dancing was fun [to watch], even if sitting with Lala always manages to raise my blood pressure a few notches. But it also gave me the idea that maybe I should do a "game" instead of village theater for my pregnancy education project. [Never did happen.]<br />
<br />
Anyway, the last was a Betsileo [southern Madagascar ethnic] tribute that got all of the displaced Betsileos very excited, and then I escaped to join Vero and Fonja. We stayed to watch the kid's question contest - and learned that Belanana has only had electricity since 1997 or so - I really wonder just how the town has changed in that time.<br />
<br />
Then the kids started lighting their Chinese lanterns and the effect was really awe-inspiring. The whole square was soon filled with bobbing balls of colored light - reminding me a little of Halloween at home without the costumes. The weather reminded me of that season, too - not hot like our Independence Day, but remarkably cool. [Remember, June is winter in Madagascar.] I was actually a little worried about the kids who were definitely not dressed warm enough and soon were shivering. But I thoroughly enjoyed the evening and the walk home with cold, hungry kids.<br />
<br />
But I also had a reminder of what's to come with a drunk guy in the square who insisted on trying to speak French to me. I kept replying in English and he kept trying to rub my hand in that Malagasy way [that indicated he wanted to have sex]. Overall, I was just amused by the incident, but a whole night of it might get a little taxing again. But I'm going to drug myself up on Ibuprofen and try to get through it.<br />
<br />
So Lala stopped by to reconfirm the program and we chatted and now I'm going to eat and get warm and go with a smile on my face.<br />
<br />
Actually, the evening turned out pretty well. There were surprisingly few people there - I had assumed this was <i>the</i> event of the holiday. But we headed there at 10 to give things a chance to get going on Malagasy time - but even so, the place was all but empty when we got there. Lala had arranged a great table in the corner where I could be protected from drunks by the other ladies. I am really touched how they go to so many lengths to defend me. But tonight I was really surprised to find only Lala and Mama'i Miso as my company. I assumed more would join us later on, but as the clock crept closer to midnight I realized we were it. Mama'i Miso sat and shivered and I sipped a Coke, waiting until finally, at 11:30, they started dancing.<br />
<br />
But even then there weren't enough men for me to have a partner for the first several dances. I finally figured that I had turned down at least half of the guys in town, and they had probably told another quarter, so none of them came. I did get accosted by one drunk lycée [high school] student and several terrible dancers, but for the most part I enjoyed myself.<br />
<br />
I also swore I was going to stay until Lala was ready to go - like it or not. I drank a lot of Coke and then somebody produced rum, so I had a couple really good rum and Cokes and then the Sous-Préfet bought me an orange soda, so I had to chug a large part of that, too. My teeth <i>hurt</i> after that. And as the evening wore into morning, Mama'i Miso and Lala's husband got drunk enough to make a scene in a room full of obscenely drunk people.<br />
<br />
So Lala and I started coercing them into going home. That took a lot of cajoling and time. It was after 3:30 AM when we finally left, and it took a bit to get home. As we were walking Mama'i Miso to her house she spent about 10 minutes puking up everything she'd looked at for the last 24 hours. Amazingly she really sobered up after that.<br />
<br />
And I got home and cleaned up and was in bed at 10 minutes after 4 AM.<br />
<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>June 26, 2003</b><br />
<br />
Happy Malagasy Independence Day!<br />
<br />
So at 7 AM I literally <i>dragged</i> myself out of bed when all I wanted was to stay there. But I got myself slowly moving and dressed and ready to have a cultural experience. I also made hot chocolate to take to Vero's [my new Malagasy best friend] for lunch.<br />
<br />
A little before 9 AM I followed the crowds of school children to the town's center square. The bazaar was already busy and there were crowds in the center. I found Mama Kafé [Vero's mother, so called because she and her daughter ran a little coffee shop, and there is no letter "c" in the Malagasy alphabet] and went to chat with her and soon found I was being ushered onto a seat on the raised platform with all the other VIPs. I was a little cowed at first, but I took a rickety chair way in back and I really did want to see what was going to happen and figured this was the only way I might get to see. And I was grateful for the shade and the seat because it did turn out to be a long wait.<br />
<br />
They say time waits for no man, but if you're a Malagasy Sous-Préfet, you don't let that bother you, apparently. Just as a 9 PM ball doesn't get started until 11:30 PM, a ceremonial occasion scheduled for 9 AM can't start until HE arrives, even if that means 10:30 or 11 AM. Or, probably, 3 PM. All I know is, short of the president of the U.S., very few officials could expect that kind of patience and respect back home.<br />
<br />
So we sat. And I tried desperately hard not to fall asleep. It really wasn't easy. I was worn out. But finally the real VIPs showed and we could get underway.<br />
<br />
Now, since the square was surrounded in regiments of school children from all the area schools, organizations, and the women's groups that had danced the two days before were back in costume, I assumed there would be some "playing" going on. So when the VIPs arrived, I sort of half-slept through the speeches. I did wake up when I heard something interesting - they're supposed to start building a new bazaar in July, a new doctor (maybe two) are coming, something about a new English teacher arriving from America in 2004 - I don't know if he meant the new PCV, and something about new money to replace the awful, "mora simba" [easily broken/ripped/mutilated] Aryary Zato and Roan-zato [denominations of Malagasy money]. We'll see.<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>[For the record: there was a new bazaar built, but typical to many things, it wasn't until probably a year later that ground was finally broken; we did get a new doctor, the English teacher he was referring to must've been the new Peace Corps volunteer who came well before 2004, the only thing to happen early or on time; and there was new money in the making that made its appearance to much fanfare a few months later.]</i><br />
<br />
I was fairly impressed with how my language skills have improved - I really did understand a fair amount. Though it would've been nice to have somebody ask, "Did you really hear/understand that?"<br />
<br />
Then, suddenly, everybody marched out of the square. There was a little parade, military style, with all the groups marching for "inspection" in front of the platform. Now, I'm not sure what, but something still rubs me the wrong way about overly military-style celebrations. Maybe it's my fear of the Chinese communism we read about in <u>Wild Swans</u>, or the like, and it's probably no big deal since I'm sure when America was a young republic (in fact, I <i>know</i>) the celebrations were very similar, but I really would like to see more non-political, non-military independent fun.<br />
<br />
<i>[Ironic that four years later I would land myself in Communist Vietnam?]</i><br />
<br />
<u>But</u>, that's what the bazaar was for. It was absolutely brimming with people by the time the pomp and circumstance ended. I meandered around for a bit, taking it all in, and getting "bonjour-ed" more in those 15 minutes than I have for months.<br />
<br />
Finally I gave it up and headed up the hill. I ran into Zo [Vero's younger sister], and we chatted and walked and I began to feel jut how tired I really was and how my ears had been damaged by the disco [the night before]. And how tired I really was. [I guess I was tired, for all I keep repeating myself.] I briefly stopped at home, thanked myself for having the forethought to already make the hot chocolate. I quick changed, and we were off to Vero's. Unfortunately I managed to forget my camera, so I had to run back home - but was back before they were ready to start.<br />
<br />
Very announced lunch and we all filed in. The table was beautiful - and since Mama Kafé was off at the VIP lunch, I was named "lehibe" and put at the head of the table. I think I remembered most of my Malagasy manners. The food was great: composé, duck, ruce, cake for dessert. And think the company was much more enjoyable than up at the Supra-Feit's where they'd all be off drinking again.<br />
<br />
After lunch Very shooed the kids and when Fonza arrived we went mitsangasanga-ing. We went to Bealanana I, down airport road, back to Bealanana II, got "bonjour-ed" by more durnk people - had to tell several of them I spoke Spanish and no, they couldn't take a picture with me, and by the time we got home around 6, I was <i>really</i> tired.<br />
<br />
I was also chilled and dressed in warm clothes - and decided I was too tired to do anything short of go straight to sleep. I was afraid Madame Lala or the others would come looking for me to go to the ball at La Crete, but if they did I didn't hear them because I was asleep by 7 PM and didn't roll over until 2 AM and still didn't want to get up in the morning.</blockquote>
<br />EBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18443371099620458924noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19298772.post-69710326030073072742013-01-01T14:37:00.003-06:002013-01-01T14:37:53.649-06:00I'll have more of this, please.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
Despite the biting cold (and thumbing my frozen nose at my heat bill), I left the thermal curtains of my window open last night so I could enjoy the waning New Year's moon...and woke this morning to my eastern view of the sun rising clear and gold over the trees. A recent fresh dusting of snow, a clear, cold day, a house full of east-and-southern exposure window - and <i>nowhere </i>to go. Books to read, music to listen to and instruments to be played, hot chocolate, a blanket, and the audacity to do nothing more than play the cat and follow the sunny spots on the carpet and chairs.<br />
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If this could possibly be what 2013 is going to be about, I will take more of it. A double order, please.EBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18443371099620458924noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19298772.post-73628811320768709712012-12-30T22:03:00.000-06:002012-12-31T13:03:10.594-06:002012 Was Brought to Me By......the dates 01-10 and 02-01, DATCP, chocolate milk, and smart phones.<br /><br />As I look back on the year that is about to slide away, I feel as though I have scaled Mount Everest. Or, to make a pop culture reference, launched my own Unexpected Journey. It was an unanticipatedly long and trying year, full of surprise challenges that pushed me far outside my comfort zone, many perceived potential traps and pitfalls, long, hard and seemingly endless climbs, fellow trekkers who alternately leaned on me or carried me along the way, numerous encounters and acquaintances along the road, lots of dark, misty clouds obscuring the view, and the occasional parting of the mists to reveal breath-taking vistas of future destinations and summits. Views that push one keep going, despite the blisters and chafing and aches.<br /><br />This journey began with the dates of 01-10, the day my boss walked into my office to tell me he, already once retired, was changing careers yet again, and 02-01, my two year anniversary date and the day I officially took the reins as the new department head of Oneida County University of Wisconsin Cooperative Extension. Many people congratulated me on my promotion and new position, for which I was appreciative. But while it was something of a promotion, it wasn’t exactly a “new” position - I still retained all of the same job duties and responsibilities I had as an Extension faculty in the Department of Family Development and Family Living Educator, but acquired a new administrative hat to wear on top of that one. And it proved to be a heavier hat than I could have ever anticipated.<br /><br />Which brings us to the letters DATCP, which defined the next quarter of 2012 for me. I had a very steep learning curve that began with learning that DATCP stands for the Department for Agriculture, Trade, and Consumer Protection, and that it is the funder for the Land & Water Conservation Departments in Wisconsin counties. Because of a local county budget change that effectively combined the UW-Extension and Land & Water Conservation departments in Oneida County, I was left the de facto department head of another county department, one that I was completely unprepared to manage. So, in very short order, I learned all about DATCP funding policies for Land & Water Conservation departments, developed the funding request that was due by April 15, and then got the ball rolling to un-make me the department head for both departments. Some 13 committee and county board meetings and countless consultations with interested parties later, the process to separate the departments was finally fully approved, and as of December 31, 2012, will be complete. The two departments will remain perfunctorily joined at the hip through our joint supervisory committee and support staff, but each will have separate department heads for management.<br /><br />In the midst of all this, I dropped everything mid-climb to detour up a far more pleasant peak: the celebration of my sister’s wedding. For a week in June, our family combined forces with her new in-laws, the Reillys and thought of nothing but what it would take to get the two of them hitched. It would take quite a lot, apparently, as the whole wedding was built from scratch in our back yard. But the combined forces of family and love for the bride-and-groom-to-be were more than a match for the task list and for the unexpected rain. After all that, the DATCP mountain seemed no more than a foothill. <br /><br />But, by late August, I had moved on to my next life sponsor - chocolate milk. <br /><br />Right at the time I moved away from the DATCP cliff, I encountered my next ascent, beginning with the departure of the second leg of our department’s three-legged stool (originally made of my former boss, 4-H/Youth Development educator, and myself). Our 4-H/Youth Development educator retired, leaving me as the lone peg leg left standing. Other than the nutrition education program, which has its own coordinator and is fully grant-funded as the education arm of the federal food stamps program (and needs little support from department heads), and our loyal support staff, I was left alone in the office. Some congratulated me on stepping up. I said I was the only one not smart enough to get out while the gettin’ was still good.<br /><br />So we launched into a season of recruitment to fill vacant positions (with 6 month mandatory vacancy review periods on all positions at the county), county budget hearings, and - ta-da - a suddenly fast-tracked plan to move our offices from their three-decade home in the lower level of the airport to the courthouse.<br /><br />I turned to chocolate milk for survival.<br /><br />I won’t bore you with the stressful details, other than to say I clung feebly to the edges of the rocks, staring down precipices as budget cuts, internal friction caused by needing to quickly plan for a move, rounds of interviews and a nearly failed search, and my uncle passing away after a 3-year courageous battle with cancer, threatened to push me over the edge. Chocolate milk, a drink I abhorred in my youth, suddenly became my elixir of life. I contemplated dangerous things the Monday morning the milk truck was late in delivering milk to all the gas stations on my route to work.<br /><br />Then, just as suddenly as it all hit, in November the clouds parted and it all went away. The move planning was determined to need further review put on hold until 2013, the budget cuts were restored in full, one of the vacant stool-leg positions was filled, and our family slowly began to adjust to a new-normal with our first Thanksgiving without my uncle. <br /><br />So, I decided that the last quarter of this year required a new challenge and I went out and got myself my first smartphone. I hardly ever used my old dumbphone, and still hardly ever use this as an actual telephone, but I have entered the new millennium and am desperately playing catch-up in all things mobile.<br /><br />In the last few months the climbing has gotten a bit easier, but the clouds are thickening again, so it’s hard to know whether that’s because we’ve reached a plateau at the top of this mountain, or just a gentler slope along the same tough climb. The move will be a hot topic again in 2013, though hopefully not as time-pressured. We still need to replace the third leg of the stool, but that is at least on track to happen now. I have from now until August to not have to worry about the 2014 budget. There will be plenty more challenges with adapting our day-to-day management of the office to new structures, and I still have another family wedding to attend this year - but I don’t have to help plan this one! Perhaps in 2013 I will move forward with my hopes of purchasing a house. There will be many more mountains to climb, but the fleeting views of the road ahead are promising. Everything in 2012 has brought me to an amazing new point along the journey - I look forward to turning around an looking back on the clear view behind me as I move ahead.<br /><br />And I wonder who or what will be sponsoring me in the coming year...EBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18443371099620458924noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19298772.post-66902631328369506962011-12-28T20:56:00.013-06:002012-01-01T18:31:23.819-06:00So This is Christmas......and what have I done? (Besides not update my blog in six months?)<p>I am enjoying reading all of the Christmas missives that come to me from around the globe, and apparently I haven’t done a Christmas update for a while. It seems I’ve set the bar pretty high a few years ago, and now that I’m back in the United States, back in my home state, hometown, and very nearly the home I grew up in, there’s almost a sense of “nothing to report.” All systems are normal.</p><p>Two years ago this coming February I began my new career as what I like to think of as a “paid Peace Corps volunteer” in my hometown. I am a faculty member with the University of Wisconsin Cooperative Extension system, a university “agent” or “Extension educator” in the Department of Family Living. Perhaps best known for the nation-wide 4-H or agricultural agent program, the university extension system has long (100 years in 2012 in Wisconsin) served as the university’s outreach arm from the campuses to the everyman around the State.
<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://oneida.uwex.edu/"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 126px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJAM3xtBkJzY4KOG6Mu6kgLVT8-dqnM2ot-7aVaQCGd_YKTPvaZs9rJ_3ZYWhZee0AR3RiF7slQ2W6211_kapsIW_-5MnfJQ7pjdvQtXWq7p2JmXzM9_6WZHqlIV99ldPTX6Fg/s400/FacesandSpacesLogo.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5692816022098465586" border="0" /></a>
Cooperative Extension has gone through a lot of changes over the last century, not in the least thanks to the emergence of the Internet and Google. My role a few years ago would have been as a “home economist” helping housewives select the best stove for their kitchen or explain the best way to get ring-around-the-collar out of shirts. We don’t do that anymore (and thank goodness, because I wouldn’t have lasted long!). Now my job is almost as difficult to explain as a Peace Corps volunteer’s. So, I won’t even try.</p><p>But, it has given me the opportunity for several firsts in this last year. It began in January with my first time teaching parenting classes. I guess this could be considered a promotion over teaching sex ed and HIV prevention to teenagers in Africa and Asia, but no less ironic. The <a href="http://fyi.uwex.edu/rtcprogram/">Raising a Thinking Child</a> curriculum is very interesting and almost – almost – makes me think it would be fun to have a kid to try some of this stuff out on.</p><p>Another first is live radio. Twice during this last year I had the opportunity to sit on a panel for an hour-long live radio forum…which then got me roped into joining the host of our <a href="http://www.blogger.com/www.wxpr.org">local independent public radio station</a> in pitching for their pledge drives. Now there’s something I never thought I’d ever do. I have yet to pitch for the polka show, however!</p><p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcwTw2iH-6_L-eZaDkm5GK_XiLMsiMZrtpj28bgcuMvn3UV3h5IQUTrhc2hygRSzCq3gOpVoWo5__eDmpK1dnYMvJQiaytRhSXgOUrIo7hucTq4KIaScjTfbiuL4lg9s13V6g4/s1600/P1010061.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 130px; height: 174px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcwTw2iH-6_L-eZaDkm5GK_XiLMsiMZrtpj28bgcuMvn3UV3h5IQUTrhc2hygRSzCq3gOpVoWo5__eDmpK1dnYMvJQiaytRhSXgOUrIo7hucTq4KIaScjTfbiuL4lg9s13V6g4/s200/P1010061.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5692819106508062482" border="0" /></a></p><p>The next first was becoming a <a href="http://www.foodsafety.wisc.edu/preservation.html">Master Food Preserver</a> and exploring the big world of canning and dehydrating. One part of the “home economist” part of my job that does remain – and is gaining interest rapidly – is the art of home canning and food preserving. So, in order to be able to field the questions that come into our office about canned foods, I took the Master Food Preserver training taught by our state food safety specialist. It was a fabulous training, and enough to get a staunch anti-home economist like me to go out and buy a waterbath canner, pressure canner and food dehydrator all of my own (and inspire me to clean out a part of the basement to create a pantry). So, thanks to farmer friends, a good year for blackberries, and the UWEX food preservation publications, I put up tomato sauce, tomatoes, jams, zucchini everything, pickled watermelon rind, random vegetables, and chocolate raspberry ice cream sa<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwtOK8-us3zHyN5mPrSzGlNu7jAxns32d_GRyK0F5YKoQJDPlXa-czcCnzxIe18qnvJyAmvllIqfYemL_HAJZNgPP4rEphb3hWONfuPzUzVBxP6hvu1XLFs9k6iu3jAtWiTY8T/s1600/P1010152.JPG"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 185px; height: 139px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwtOK8-us3zHyN5mPrSzGlNu7jAxns32d_GRyK0F5YKoQJDPlXa-czcCnzxIe18qnvJyAmvllIqfYemL_HAJZNgPP4rEphb3hWONfuPzUzVBxP6hvu1XLFs9k6iu3jAtWiTY8T/s200/P1010152.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5692820230331495458" border="0" /></a>uce that I’m now enjoying all winter long.</p><p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisWDidM2i1e530IUZispvQ7X_nZpTTKmGdtZTU7-Mnu9St3IFfryRXe-BPSbTwC2mYhf8dlYDupZMFJ9LFiDhkG_syJaWIaHkgUdI0ei3wA8ZD2BhVj4HLqnTg-OhT-dflbxTL/s1600/P1010070.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 220px; height: 124px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisWDidM2i1e530IUZispvQ7X_nZpTTKmGdtZTU7-Mnu9St3IFfryRXe-BPSbTwC2mYhf8dlYDupZMFJ9LFiDhkG_syJaWIaHkgUdI0ei3wA8ZD2BhVj4HLqnTg-OhT-dflbxTL/s200/P1010070.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5692819785451825634" border="0" /></a></p> <p>
</p><p>Some of this year’s firsts have nothing at all to do with work. When I’m not working (and I’m still careful to not do too much of that), I’m usually busy making musical noises with various groups. I still play French horn, and now play in two community bands, two brass quintets (one in the winter only), an occasional community big band, and, this last year, a old silver cornet brass band. So my first for this year was learning to play (and transpose for, when necessary) the Eb alto upright horn, also known as a <a href="http://www.makingmusicmag.com/features/07mar04.html">peck horn</a>.</p><p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4DNtEeAvhY2WOA5bT-rY1Tqi203KUQcV0Rh59dIztTM7Mteb84Wx3xkqiHEJsMTBGAtymKQB2k1BlKsGWWhGHpNyXqeV2s3UcQkz44IpfOWB8SUApkj4PaNqCo89QdziwYYUY/s1600/P1030030.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 220px; height: 165px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4DNtEeAvhY2WOA5bT-rY1Tqi203KUQcV0Rh59dIztTM7Mteb84Wx3xkqiHEJsMTBGAtymKQB2k1BlKsGWWhGHpNyXqeV2s3UcQkz44IpfOWB8SUApkj4PaNqCo89QdziwYYUY/s320/P1030030.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5692821895085852434" border="0" /></a></p><p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAPqx0oRyswJ9YStgq1GUMn9oEEqbw82jBksc-UI8Mk2qH4wboBXXoSlBD4JwV-BooA3NfIzIX_BcMboLjfa_htEVLO5xcKZMt6xYBU5XYvnFcXDWg9c4rhCMP5qP6oZejAaZ1/s1600/P1030067_2.JPG"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 144px; height: 166px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAPqx0oRyswJ9YStgq1GUMn9oEEqbw82jBksc-UI8Mk2qH4wboBXXoSlBD4JwV-BooA3NfIzIX_BcMboLjfa_htEVLO5xcKZMt6xYBU5XYvnFcXDWg9c4rhCMP5qP6oZejAaZ1/s320/P1030067_2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5692821085841069378" border="0" /></a></p><p>
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</p><p>But French horn is still my first instrument, and this year I was blessed with the miraculous arrival of two more amazing horn players in our area. Our community band is now up to five (count them, five!) horns. Then, as another first, three of us got together to “ring the bells” for the Salvation Army Kettle, performing Christmas duets in the entry way to Shopko – much to the amusement of a large number of shoppers.</p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7WwYMFSQ4WluUKxUkgkBKzePaeXbB5X472JXkJMYLIR7HzAt5lQ6RUpSLfWxlI1MSSFUTnblHFZPA7KZ6W4NcraPmQdsu1DAus7vt8-yj7Nhd8N7Adz0tSWobcTAGvSP77tIw/s1600/P1400376.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 283px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7WwYMFSQ4WluUKxUkgkBKzePaeXbB5X472JXkJMYLIR7HzAt5lQ6RUpSLfWxlI1MSSFUTnblHFZPA7KZ6W4NcraPmQdsu1DAus7vt8-yj7Nhd8N7Adz0tSWobcTAGvSP77tIw/s320/P1400376.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5692823641498199170" border="0" /></a></p><p>Also in musical firsts this year was my first Luther College reunion, which was also the <a href="http://www.google.com/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=5&ved=0CD8QtwIwBA&url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DThQdmyg0xtg&ei=OPUAT4aINIXgggfezpmOAg&usg=AFQjCNFxVAI-g7AZWi4fpLQXBmSK-Z7dsw&sig2=ETSgvCRgRRl-7LGTeGgvrg">first Luther College Concert Band reunion</a>. Over 250 Concert Band alumni filled the stage to perform once again under the direction of the retired Weston Nobel and retiring Frederick Nyline. It was a sheer thrill to be smack in the middle of a 25 member horn section and to see so many faces from my college days – and to get to almost room with my college roommate of four years – again. (And yes, Callista Gingrich, wife of Newt Gingrich, was there in our horn section, and then, by extremely random chance, I encountered them afterwards coming out of a McDonalds in a town a hundred miles north where I stopped to steal free wi-fi - you can read about her take on the event <a href="http://www.newt.org/callistas-canvas/luther-college-band-alumni-reunion">here</a>.)
</p><p>Another first came when I took time off of work and flew out to San Francisco. Fellow Madagascar RPCV Kelsey Lynd picked me up from the airport and wisked me off deep into the glorious redwoods and took me on the longest HASH I’ve ever experienced – my first official half-marathon, and my first time doing a half marathon covering more than 3500 feet in elevation gain. Yeah, I hurt for the rest of my time in San Fran, but that didn’t stop me from doing a second half-marathon around the city from Golden Gate Park, to the bridge, down the warf, through the financial district and on. Perfect weather, amazing trip.</p><p>Wow, rereading all that amazes me. It seems I haven’t done much simply because I have been “home” all this time, but I am still managing to find firsts around most corners. And 2012 holds promise for even more firsts that I look forward to reflecting on next year.</p><p>In the meantime, I hope 2011 has brought you much to learn from and explore, and you have my best wishes for a 2012 full of happy firsts. May your life in the next year be full and satisfying, and may you find riches in all that comes your way and in all that you do.</p>EBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18443371099620458924noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19298772.post-63587213767776570872011-07-10T20:03:00.007-05:002011-07-10T20:40:41.769-05:00That's disturbing...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOSiC28VOz8EFC3ObivCsRV9uT2QHCriE1j9LbTmtAPWSYfWByQlsUEM_YmJo61R-CDoVfRwjQSh_05deu3IMRRPfHmcujOOWjFbL9TKq-LUt6sxua243K_c6CCdb0_FldMv77/s1600/P1000283.JPG">
</a>
Anybody who has been to the house I currently live in knows about the patch of rather unsightly, well-tracked, mangy gold-colored carpet in the middle of the house. That patch of carpet that, for reasons of asbestos and other things apparently more hazardous than noxious 30-year-old shag, can't be removed at this time. You also know that really, I couldn't care less what happens to it, other than doing what is necessary to prevent it from becoming a complete biohazard.
<p>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj53xreV1-EjpMDVTfo1XUB8puyJH8_LqS9XUzTRwsafq5sFVOES5x9k62sGYkDLKGVQe-BNkJN1Mf8D3fjtBYAmKlYdyYm_1bjUaBQ0EcsXGuiEsID1i7xjLXH_ADXrbMpNUC4/s1600/P1000281.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj53xreV1-EjpMDVTfo1XUB8puyJH8_LqS9XUzTRwsafq5sFVOES5x9k62sGYkDLKGVQe-BNkJN1Mf8D3fjtBYAmKlYdyYm_1bjUaBQ0EcsXGuiEsID1i7xjLXH_ADXrbMpNUC4/s400/P1000281.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5627898151811333778" border="0" /></a>
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So when these tracks appeared on the carpet, I was hardly motivated to race off for the bleach bucket and rags to deal with them.
</p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOSiC28VOz8EFC3ObivCsRV9uT2QHCriE1j9LbTmtAPWSYfWByQlsUEM_YmJo61R-CDoVfRwjQSh_05deu3IMRRPfHmcujOOWjFbL9TKq-LUt6sxua243K_c6CCdb0_FldMv77/s1600/P1000283.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOSiC28VOz8EFC3ObivCsRV9uT2QHCriE1j9LbTmtAPWSYfWByQlsUEM_YmJo61R-CDoVfRwjQSh_05deu3IMRRPfHmcujOOWjFbL9TKq-LUt6sxua243K_c6CCdb0_FldMv77/s400/P1000283.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5627901188891751906" border="0" /></a>A week ago, my parents showed up at my place with an ice cream cake to celebrate the 4th of July. The cake was your standard Dairy Queen variety with chocolate and vanilla ice cream, some chocolate crunchies inside, and decorated with some appropriate red-white-and-blue-yay-for-freedom design. We sat and ate our cake under the watchful eye of our 8-year-old Labradoodle, who was determined he wasn't going to let a plate go without a proper cleaning to ensure complete consumption of all served ice cream.
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He completed his own patriotic duty well enough, but we didn't notice that in the process of getting every last lick, he had placed his paw on one or more plates now covered in melted blue frosting. Then he trekked off across the gold carpet shag.
</p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXBx0UIQhode-8c6RQib0EW1pWBcbrGDQGTilRO8ToiubHB6EhZItpp9gk3rje1XU9cp3rN4dz9e0miRfhWxSw1cNR7Dnf6b2pYDs_NqkNnCzMrwMEEySAtdivLxcSYIY0qNuD/s1600/P1000285.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXBx0UIQhode-8c6RQib0EW1pWBcbrGDQGTilRO8ToiubHB6EhZItpp9gk3rje1XU9cp3rN4dz9e0miRfhWxSw1cNR7Dnf6b2pYDs_NqkNnCzMrwMEEySAtdivLxcSYIY0qNuD/s400/P1000285.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5627899328858308434" border="0" /></a>
As I said, I wasn't disturbed. Frosting, whatever.
</p><p>
But today I made an attempt to decontaminate the carpet, and the blue paw-print stayed. Even after some extra rubbing, they didn't so much as smear. Now, I couldn't care less what happens to this carpet, and no, I did not run off for the toxic cleaning chemicals. The point is: what on earth are they putting in this blue frosting and where is it in my body now? Do I need to drink some bleach in order to get it unstuck from my own insides? If it permanently stains a carpet, do I want to be putting this stuff in my body?
</p><p>
I'm filing this under Things I Don't Want To Think About, except that now every time I walk through the house, I think about it.</p>EBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18443371099620458924noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19298772.post-31682114844984257252011-06-12T14:31:00.000-05:002011-06-12T14:33:33.825-05:00A Silver Screen PeeveLast night I went to see the movie, "Water for Elephants." I had enjoyed the book, and heard that the movie followed it fairly well. I will not be making any sort of movie review other than to say I'm glad I saw it, but it's not going on my "buy to keep" DVD list.
<p>
However, it did again highlight two peeves about movies, especially movies of late.
</p><p>
1. What's up with the mumbling? Either my hearing is going already, the sound system in the theaters I attend sucks/I'm getting spoiled by watching DVDs on my laptop with headphones in, or, more likely, I think, actors and directors seem to think that speaking quickly in an monotone while there's a noisy soundtrack underneath is somehow more dramatic. Instead, I spend my whole time straining to understand half of the more informative conversations, especially those critical to the storyline.
</p><p>
2. Details, folks. <span style="font-style: italic;">Water for Elephants</span> is set in a Depression-era fictional circus that aimed to outdo the infamous <span style="font-style: italic;">Ringling Brothers Greatest Show on Earth</span>. At least two major scenes in the second half of the movie featured the grand entry and spectacular of the <span style="font-style: italic;">Benzini Brothers Most Spectacular Show on Earth</span>, with all the big acts parading into the big top to the accompaniment of the circus band playing the entrance march. The march used in the movie is the immediately recognizable, <span style="font-style: italic;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TUy9mkOd2Us">Barnum and Bailey's Favorit</a>e</span>. Well, except Barnum and Bailey's circus was by that time merged into the Ringling Bros.
</p><p>
The venomous attitude of the owner of the fictional Benzini Bros. would have<span style="font-style: italic;"> never</span> have allowed that march to be played in his circus, even if it was out of fashion with Ringling Brothers at that time. How simple would it have been to create a new fictional circus march instead of stealing one that is so recognizable and so completely and totally wrong? Yes, it's a small thing, but the devil is in the details.
</p><p>
Perhaps that small inattention to such details is an indication of why this movie is not going on my all-time favorites list.</p>EBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18443371099620458924noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19298772.post-66444946749784172022011-04-24T11:27:00.003-05:002011-04-24T11:38:24.088-05:00Easter Sunday with Tom and Jerryscartoons. Not the drinks. (Wrong holiday.)
<p>
We began our Easter Sunday with seven adults watching a classic Tom and Jerry cartoons. Seven adults (and no children) snorting, giggling, chuckling, guffawing, and choking in response to the non-verbal, slap-stick humor that is essential to the mid-20th century cartoons.
</p><p>
When the cartoon ended, we turned our attention to the real-life action of Wrangler and Olivia, the never-ending amusement of our own cat-and-dog chase. Walnut, the flying squirrel (and Bullwinkle) are still safely up in Three Lakes.</p>EBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18443371099620458924noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19298772.post-26256904607252848762011-04-06T19:49:00.002-05:002011-04-06T20:13:04.707-05:00Things I Don't Want to KnowIt seems everybody's after you to make your life better by getting you to quantify your sins: count calories, track spending, measure the distance you walked/ran/biked, etc., etc., etc.
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Well, as of right now there are a few things I just don't want to know.
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<span style="font-weight:bold;">1. How many hours of "screen time" I rack up in a day. </span>
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A "screen" might be anything electronic and glowing that we stare at for work or entertainment, but I know full well that 80% of my "screen time" comes from communing with my trusty MacBook and 15% more comes from the time spent staring at my ancient work desktop PC (though most of that is spent staring at the screen waiting for the machine to DO something already, but still, I'm looking at the screen). And between time spent in productivity, personal and work-related, and time spent in sloth, personal and work-related, adds up to too many hours per day. I just don't want to know how many.
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<span style="font-weight:bold;">2. How many miles driven vs. miles walked in a week (corollary: number of hours spent in a car vs. doing just about anything else, especially walking).</span>
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I commute. And I drive around in general for personal and work reasons. Unlike my past lives overseas where most of my daily locomotion was under the power of my own legs, now I rely on 160 horses to get me where I am going the vast majority of the time. I do not want to know how much of my soul I have traded for this convenience.
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<span style="font-weight:bold;">3. Friendship and relationship hours lost due to my inability to correspond on a regular basis.</span>
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How many times have I put off writing that letter/e-mail/thank you note/invitation/etc., to the point of irrelevance?
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<span style="font-weight:bold;">4. Number of Recommended Daily Servings of fruits and vegetables and Recommended Daily Allowances vitamins and minerals I have not consumed.</span>
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I'm still here, aren't I? But at what price down the road? I don't want to know.
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<span style="font-weight:bold;">5. Hours of brain cell potential lost to unproductive meetings, needless waiting and wading through bureaucracy, technology failures and troubleshooting computer-related incidents, bad movies or books, and my own laziness and procrastination habits.</span>
<p>
Enough said.EBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18443371099620458924noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19298772.post-64544060011332297672011-03-27T22:23:00.005-05:002011-03-27T22:29:41.722-05:00Signs of Our TimesToday, as I drove out of my parents' driveway, I rather unexpectedly encountered a schoolmate's elderly grandmother, out for a stroll in the winter sunshine. As I waved and slowly drove around her, it occurred to me that it had been a long time since I had seen these signs that formerly greeted every person to drive up our block:
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<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKAMFXPIkYF1U9hNQixjUnuCRgrK1nvcwV12aWUk2X6L0UlfWKNs7De3YkH4pZNmpH1hFjRYyGBRuGb8azI5sQ7KXoEF6cyB9upPMwRo1Xv8-g5Gv5VaXtZIIZbPXPYBa3RY6c/s1600/Slow+Children.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKAMFXPIkYF1U9hNQixjUnuCRgrK1nvcwV12aWUk2X6L0UlfWKNs7De3YkH4pZNmpH1hFjRYyGBRuGb8azI5sQ7KXoEF6cyB9upPMwRo1Xv8-g5Gv5VaXtZIIZbPXPYBa3RY6c/s400/Slow+Children.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5588967044353034674" /></a>
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There simply aren't that many young children, slow or otherwise, running wild in the streets anymore. Instead, as our neighborhood increasingly reflects the demographic of our whole county and the northern half of the state, soon it will be time to replace those signs with something more like this:
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<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmlnq6BIeLm6CNnFDcpUppuRrQ6f-iTZ-Sz0jUmJnEtssq53B_-RoQUTF0ZmfEdk86nXwLxb8ivPU6jeflJP38n7AiIU2yfZnkLlM8mRK-oDwE-3V5HYjvWd5iMvQ1VItU9OJi/s1600/Elderly+at+play.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmlnq6BIeLm6CNnFDcpUppuRrQ6f-iTZ-Sz0jUmJnEtssq53B_-RoQUTF0ZmfEdk86nXwLxb8ivPU6jeflJP38n7AiIU2yfZnkLlM8mRK-oDwE-3V5HYjvWd5iMvQ1VItU9OJi/s400/Elderly+at+play.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5588967524809692786" /></a>EBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18443371099620458924noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19298772.post-48363565160662268862011-03-19T21:06:00.002-05:002011-03-19T21:07:31.963-05:00Out of SyncI often feel out of sync with the man-made universe. When I am doing a job that requires some amount of creativity, planning or thinking, I am stifled by the 9-to-5, Monday through Friday routine. My creative energies ebb and flow according to some plan that doesn’t align itself well with what we’ve defined as a “normal” workweek.
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Two things this week have disrupted my work energy: the transition from daylight savings time last weekend and now a mandated furlough day this coming Monday, forcing me to take a three day weekend now.
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I am extremely sensitive to daylight, so when the hour shift in time came this week, I wound up oversleeping. Usually I wake up easily without the help of an alarm (though I keep one set just in case), but this week I never even heard the alarm at 6 AM. I slept soundly and comfortably until 6:45 or, one day 7:10. Oops.
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But once I got up and got going, I discovered I was energized to do my job. This week was a lot of deskwork, but I came back motivated from a three-day conference last week. I had several productive meetings and encounters during the week, and I felt things clicking into place. After several long days at the office, I was accomplishing things.
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And then Friday night arrived and it all came to a screeching halt. Being interrupted by a normal weekend is bad enough, but being interrupted by a three day weekend ending in a day where you’re <span style="font-style:italic;">not allowed to do any work at all</span> is, right now, torture.
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And to think of all those weeks when I so desperately needed a three day break. There are times for all of us when time away from the office would do us more good than time at the office. This isn’t one of them. Sure, I could go in on Saturday or even Sunday, no rules against that, and I did bring work home just in case, but it’s almost too late. The curtain has fallen, and the flow interrupted. Knowing I can’t work on Monday and that I should try to be otherwise productive with my allowed time off has killed my momentum.
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I pray for the wisdom that some day I will have the confidence to follow my energies. That when I need time away doing other things, when I am being energized by life outside of work, that I will allow myself to follow, knowing full well that the energy for work will come again, and I will more than make up for the time off by being fully focused and many times more productive. And, to be able to find a way to do it in a place that doesn’t believe in alarm clocks, but allows me to track my day by the rising and the setting of the sun.EBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18443371099620458924noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19298772.post-12007209995244379752011-03-06T19:41:00.001-06:002011-03-06T19:42:38.063-06:00Tiny Bubbles, in the Ice...On Friday I broke out my flip flops, pinned a flower in my hair, donned a lei, and traded in my cabin fever for island fever. Or, at least that was the plan.
<p>
Not a bad plan really. Winter’s gotten to that long stretch with a few days that hover around freezing and sunlight that tantalizes icicles into dripping, only to return to a fresh dose of snow and icy winds the next. So, a nice break from the cold with a contrived Wisconsin Luau seemed just what the doctor ordered. Getting to go to a luau for free as a member of the band (yes, the phrase, “I’m with the band” is a great door opener), even better.
<p>
The luau was a local performing art center’s first attempt at a late-winter fundraiser, and again, good in theory, though apparently not so great in practice. They contracted with the award-winning barbeque and rib house across the street to smoke up a couple whole pigs (complete with apples in the mouth), so the menu was fine, and they roped in our newly-formed dance band (made up of members of the community band that practices and performs in the center) to play big band music for dancing after. So far, so good.
<p>
But then there was a complete failure to market beyond their audiences, other than a few posters hung around the area. Then, there was the price: $35 per person in advance, $40 at the door. So, for a couple (pretty much a prerequisite for swing dancing), it would be $80 for dinner and a dance. Even that might not be so bad, except for $80, I would expect to be seated at a table filled with fine china and served four full courses by a sexy young thing in a cummerbund and tuxedo, fundraiser or no. Especially since the band was getting paid in food only - heck, I would hope a bottle of wine would be thrown in.
<p>
In the week before the big night, word came down that ticket pre-sales had been dismal and there would, in all likelihood, be leftovers. My ticket in and meal would be free, but as they were desperate to fill seats, I cut a deal to buy one ticket if I could bring along two more people who would do some eating and some dancing.
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And it’s a good thing I did. In all, there were maybe 30 people there, not including the nine of us in the band, the volunteers and the restaurant serving staff. All of them, it seemed, were in some way intimately connected with the center. All probably would’ve just forked over the $40 apiece as a goodwill gesture and saved them the trouble of printing and distributing posters, making too much food and dragging tables into the hall.
<p>
Yet, they gamely put up with an evening of vaguely luau-ish activities and overpriced raffles. They also hung around long enough for us to actually play through our entire program, save for the last set of three songs which accompanied the folding of table cloths and tables. My conscripted dancers did their duty as one third of the couples on the dance floor for most of the evening. At then end they distributed the copious amounts of leftovers - for $30 per doggy bag.
<p>
The food was really good, the band received rave reviews, and the atmosphere was rather festive. I really enjoyed playing and the view from the bandstand, though the downside to that is I didn’t get to do any dancing.
<p>
I really hope that they reconsider their model for the next time (if there is a next time), halve or even quarter their ticket prices, charge for the food, and then advertise the heck out of the thing (ever heard of the free PSAs on the radio? How about the community events calendars? Facebook? Seriously, Facebook, people), get a haul of raffle items and sell cheap tickets, and continue to convince our not-for-profit band to sing for their supper. I know a lot of people who would come then. This really could be good, folks.
<p>
That will help heat up this frozen tundra. And defrost my poor toes.EBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18443371099620458924noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19298772.post-12674320024505082912011-02-26T18:49:00.003-06:002011-02-26T18:58:39.469-06:00PassportFebruary 15, 2011. I’ve written that date so many times it should have felt more real. It was the date my passport, my first “adult” one after renewing my original youth passport to go to Japan with the Luther College Concert Band after college graduation, would expire. (Interestingly, this meant the date on my passport was synchronized to the year of my ten-year college reunion.)
<p>
The date ticked on, ever closer, like a small time bomb. Yet every time I wrote it on an official document, it loomed off in some great distance of time and space and the general unreality of times that would never come.
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But in January it finally hit me. This passport is about to expire. My ten years were up.
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Last week I received my renewed passport in the mail. It arrived in a thin USPS priority mail envelope, completely unassuming except for the tiny “US Passport Center” return address stamped in the corner. It was shiny and stiff. The picture looks remarkably like the me in the old one. Apparently I am still that person.
<p>
But in the excitement of receiving a new license to wander the world, there was a moment of panic and grief. My old passport was not in the envelop. Gone, it seemed, were 10 years of my life as marked by visa stamps to Japan, China, Brazil, Paraguay, Madagascar, Thailand, Vietnam and Laos. Stamp dates that told the tale of multiple entries and years spent negotiating customs lines and proving that I was a citizen of the U.S. of A. Suddenly, it seemed as if those years and miles had not happened at all. It was hard to celebrate the arrival of a new passport when the old one suddenly seemed to mean so very little.
<p>
Much to my relief, a second envelop, even less assuming than the first, arrived several days later. There, tucked safely inside, was my old passport, officially hole punched, but in every way the well-worn, slightly blurred from being soaked in the Iguazu Waterfall, bloated with extra pages companion it had been for the last ten years.
<p>
My new passport bears an even more distant date of February 12, 2021, and has even fewer immediate plans for use than my old passport did when I received it. This passport also comes with a warning that it contains sensitive electronics and I am not to bend, perforate or expose to extreme temperatures. Which makes me wonder if, ten years on, my own sense of adventure is going to become as stiff and sensitive as my new passport. Or if we will both sill wind up bloated with additional pages of visa stamps before our next date of reckoning.EBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18443371099620458924noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19298772.post-77774301270210798592011-02-01T16:24:00.004-06:002011-02-01T16:29:21.252-06:00So close to CLOSED<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiw4E36KYX8URQpD8wswrwBQuhr-iJQyC14bngX0ApCDNilUBy5avnppCRFYeWOxklcgdn4YbPHOmIifqaG4b5PK1gx-FNwr-nRCSM_Dc5iDuXw5Zo7nB9gp6grz0Oave5y0Us/s1600/P1010917.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiw4E36KYX8URQpD8wswrwBQuhr-iJQyC14bngX0ApCDNilUBy5avnppCRFYeWOxklcgdn4YbPHOmIifqaG4b5PK1gx-FNwr-nRCSM_Dc5iDuXw5Zo7nB9gp6grz0Oave5y0Us/s400/P1010917.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5568850789971243506" /></a>
<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiTESxGLlwfQRRA69e7i_THHR2OxvIdZshISvfOm3xFo9HWNKAVuXRiZfnrt6c4hRRzrrPkAY-4acVp6Oeg45jtvoLvDj4Bgj6dhvm0jJXDw-fCFKwSZnKoUL-WYuLrpLm5jcc/s1600/P1010919.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiTESxGLlwfQRRA69e7i_THHR2OxvIdZshISvfOm3xFo9HWNKAVuXRiZfnrt6c4hRRzrrPkAY-4acVp6Oeg45jtvoLvDj4Bgj6dhvm0jJXDw-fCFKwSZnKoUL-WYuLrpLm5jcc/s400/P1010919.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5568850794940400962" /></a>EBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18443371099620458924noreply@blogger.com0