In Praise of Hobbies

"Where the waving wheat
Can sure smell sweet . . . "

Last night, I went to see a community theater production of Rodgers & Hammerstein's Oklahoma!  I have to admit, although there are other musicals I like more, I have a weakness for this show that goes all the way back to my fourteenth birthday when my parents took me to see a dinner theater production - believe it or not, I still have the program tucked in a box of mementos up in the attic.

I left humming snatches of various tunes - as I almost always do when I leave a musical.

It was a good production, too.  Musicals are tough to pull off in any event and Oklahoma! has a few special twists to it.  The show itself is historically important and is often cited as the first American musical to use the songs to actually propel the action forward, as opposed to being dropped in to the show to provide a thin excuse to have pretty chorus girls twirling about.  It's unashamedly optimistic and upbeat, yet has that oddly languid Agnes de Mille "dream ballet" sequence at the end of the first act.  It's loaded with stereotypes and a large part of the plot involves the "buying" of Ado Annie, which bugs me in a way that my 14-year-old self ignored.  Still - I like Oklahoma!  (The show.  The state's got some problems, especially in their legislature, which is fond of personhood and anti-science bills. So far, none have made it into law, but try, try again seems to prevail.)

And here's what I really liked about last night's show - community theater.  Look, it's not put on by professionals, and I likes me some Equity razzle-dazzle.  But - there's something gloriously pure about people cheerfully sacrificing their all-too-precious free time to learn their parts, sew costumes, build sets, shift scenery, hang lights, and the half-million other things that must be done by the time the curtain rises in return for nothing but applause and maybe a rose with a spray of baby's breath given by a family member after the curtain call..

We all need hobbies.  That idea of "all work and no play" making Jack a dullard is a good notion to hold up to the light every now and then.  Think of how much more interesting cocktail party conversations would be if they started with the question, "What do you do for fun?"  Not "What do you do?"  Almost everybody I know needs a paycheck and that, of course, eats up the majority of their time.  Not much choice there, so what someone does for a living might be interesting (and heaven knows that all too often we allow ourselves to be defined by our occupation), but what someone chooses to spend their rare free time on - that will tell you something deep and true about a person.

What do you do for fun?

Two Month Check In!

Also know as "Resolution Hangover."

At the end of last month, I posted an update on my New Year's "non-resolutions," and it seems like a good idea to continue - even though February was not a particularly "yay, team Mockingbird!" sort of month.

Things started off well - routines were starting to emerge and I was committed to making a number of gradual, yet ongoing, changes in my lifestyle.  Then - well, February happened.

I've said for years that February is only the shortest month in terms of actual calendar days.  I've often found February to be dreary and l-o-n-g.  Maybe it's winter hanging on with icy claws; I don't know.  At any rate, the second half of this month was beset by one little trouble after another that provided me with excellent incentives to cast aside my baby good habits.  Here it is at the end of the month and I can report that I need to re-commit and start anew.  I didn't take proper care of myself, allowing outside pressures and deadlines to loom larger than they needed to and I forgot what Meat Loaf tried to tell me:  "Objects in the rear view mirror may appear closer than they are."  I got behind, I had some minor dental work that had miserable complications, I caught the late winter crud (which turned into Gallumphing Bronchitis) which kept me from getting exercise and had me eating comfort food that was loaded with fat, sugar, and sodium, so I felt even less energetic - repeat dreaded cycle.

I got so wound up that I couldn't see straight - which is what it usually takes for me to actually (gulp!) ask for help.  On top of my usual workload, I'm "boots on the ground" for putting together a conference in June and I'm on Day 2 of the 30 Day Push to get the draft of the book project I'm co-writing in to the publisher.  It's too much all at once, even though I'm not solely responsible for either of those HUGE projects.  I'm told sensible people ask for help - it takes me getting my imaginary Supergirl cape caught in the phone booth door to see the truth of that.  But I did it and you know what? No one seemed to think I was a slacker for needing some assistance.

Go figure.

So here I am - blank slate.  Maybe I'll reach my walking goal today and maybe I won't quite get there, but I'm back to recording it.  Maybe I'll eat my "gold star" number of fruit/vegetable servings and maybe I won't, but (yep) I'm back to recording it. And maybe I'll go a little easier on myself and those around me.

That one's a definite.

One, Two, Three . . .

It's been a rough patch here at the Nest and I'm not pleased to admit that I've been engaged in a certain amount of unflattering whining.  I'm now heavily involved in resetting my attitude, so let me explain.

Two weeks ago, I was adopted by a skinny kitten who has since told me his name is Jazz.  We did not need another cat, weren't looking for another cat, but things sometimes sort of happen and I'm a marshmallow when it comes to strays, cold days, and busy roads.  Some random guy at the run-down apartment complex we were walking by offered us a beat-up cat carrier and my walking buddy and I took turns carrying our newfound friend a mile back to the car.  The vet declared him healthy (worm and mite free, no feline leukemia) and lo, the pack is officially censused at three.  It gets wearisome trying to keep the kitten's food for the kitten and Jazz doesn't yet know that we do not eat Mockingbird's hair at night (or any other time, for that matter). The house is hectic as the critters sort things out and I try to keep the peace and remind all the Furred Ones that they are special and pretty.

As a teenager, I had braces and, like many teenagers, I wasn't too diligent about brushing and flossing which ultimately resulted in straight teeth, but also a mouthful of dental work.  One of my back molars was more filling than tooth and when the twenty-year-old filling gave way, a crown was indicated.  Not a particularly pleasant morning, but the temporary crown was fitted to get me through the time while the lab made the permanent one.  Three days later, the temporary popped off and the dentist was closed the next day, so I've been limping along until I can get to the office tomorrow.  I know it's not serious, but it HURTS!

Also, we had an unseasonably pleasant day weather-wise and I rolled down my car windows to take advantage of that fact.  Now my passenger side window is proudly open to the elements which yesterday, included a beautiful couple of hours of fluffy snow.

Because of the tooth issue and the snow, I've thrown aside the good habits I'd been working so hard to develop - I haven't walked enough, haven't eaten the right foods, and didn't want to do much to keep the house tidy - and I felt pretty crummy about all of that.

Safe to say, I have not been a pleasant person to be around the last 36 hours or so.

It's so easy to get caught up in this sort of "poor me" thinking, but the fact is, it really isn't so bad.  Sure, I've been making do on yogurt and protein drinks, but you know what?  I have yogurt and protein drinks - and when I made it up to mac 'n' cheese last night - well, that was a cause for celebration!

Also:

• A kitten with a sweet disposition and a distinct desire to be a cuddle-monkey has deigned to share our Nest.
• The dentist will cluck over my discomfort and take care of me tomorrow.  
• I have a husband who went out this morning and brought back pretty much the entire aisle of "tooth pain" medication from the drugstore.
• I have friends who not only listen to me gripe, but then bring me homemade mac 'n' cheese.
• Maybe I'm developing better habits than I think, if it's bugging me when I'm off-track.  And maybe I ought to ease up a little.  No one (well, no one sane, which probably lets me off the hook) expects someone who's under the weather to walk 3.3 miles and crunch carrots.
• I have a reliable car and a trustworthy mechanic.

Blessings.  They're worth counting.  And there's nothing like a short run of minor misfortune to make me appreciate how lucky and blessed I am in my everyday life.

I just may dance a jig.  Well, probably not, but the idea is there.

One Month Check In

Gold Star Days!

A month ago, I listed mock resolutions and then my real ones.  I thought now was a good time to check in with all of you as a way of keeping myself accountable (a word I use a lot these days!).  After all, the semester has started and is has nearly found its rhythm - let's see if it's one I can dance to.

So about the "eat better" part - I actually seem to be doing pretty well on this one.  Way more water and far less caffeine.  I chucked everything for my birthday weekend, but have still managed to lose 5 pounds this month without all that much effort.  Tracking my food on MyFitnessPal also keeps me accountable and I like that it's synced up with Striiv to keep track of my exercise calories.

Speaking of exercise, I started getting serious with the step count.  I like walking, so I decided to make it my primary exercise - it's cheap, easy, and doesn't require extra equipment (although I carry around the iPad with the Striiv app, since I have an older, "non-smart" phone).  I started the first week of January with a modest goal of 6,000 steps a day and have increased it by 500 steps a week, which means that I'm currently at a daily goal of 8,000 steps (with my stride, that's about 3.3 miles).  I'm sticking at 8,000 for the month of February to solidify the habit, then I hope to increase some more with the idea of eventually hitting 10,000 steps a day as a regular thing.

As to the house - well, it's a funny thing.  I was leafing through books over the holidays and my eye was caught by something called Body Clutter.  As I skimmed through it (and it's on my nightstand now), I discovered a whole organizational system called FlyLady.  What so attracted me to this was the idea that you don't have to get everything done today; in fact, don't try that - you'll scorch out and be in a worse place than you were before.  Just take baby steps and start with shining your sink.  I know - crazy, right?  My house is in chaos and you want me to fuss over the sink?!?  Yep.  I figured it wouldn't work, but that I could at least try so I could SAY it didn't work but - holy cow.  It really does.  Having that one little thing done right makes a spot of clarity in the house and you can work out from there.  While there's still plenty to get done, I have two closets straightened and I've become Goodwill's new best friend as started the de-cluttering process.  And my sink is shined, thankyouverymuch.

Travel - well, not so much just yet.  I haven't even gotten back up to see FryDaddy in Johnson City, although he's faithfully made the trip down here.  Weather's been iffy going over the mountains and his schedule allows for longer weekends than mine.  We're hoping to plan some designated "play time" this year - maybe with some time at the beach, maybe with some non-working time in the mountains.  The important thing is that we're planning it.

I just have to tell you - one thing I'm doing to keep myself motivated during this "Year Of Change" is a habit from kindergarten.  I went to the dollar store and bought a slew of those foil stars.  At the end of every day, if I've made my goals, I get a gold one on the calendar.  If I didn't make all of them, it's green - hey, I tried and that's worth a star in any event!  In January, my "gold star" was earned for accomplishing three things - shining the sink, reaching my step goal with my walking, and drinking my 8 glasses of water a day.  A silly system, maybe, but I only had 2 "green star" days all month!

Not bad at all for Month 1!

Second Terms & Second Chances

Yesterday was the official inauguration of Pres. Obama into his second term - it was set by the 20th Amendment to take place on Jan. 20, so the fact that it was a Sunday didn't matter.  But that was a small, one-minute ceremony - today's the party!  Only it's not really a party - second inaugurals tend to be smaller and a tad more subdued that the first one.

Nevertheless, it provides me with an opportunity to point out a few things that I think are worth noting, mostly because I love trivia about this sort of thing.

The oath of office for President is set out in the Constitution itself in Article 2, Section 1(8).  The oath for other federal offices, including the one Joe Biden takes as vice president, is not.  The oath permits the office holder to "swear (or affirm)."  Franklin Pierce (President from 1853 - 1857) and Herbert Hoover (President from 1929 - 1933) both chose to affirm rather than to swear.

The ending of the oath - "so help me God" - is not an official part of the oath as laid out in the Constitution.  Washington apparently added in the words and it's become usual and traditional to include them.

While most presidents have chosen to swear the oath on a Bible (Obama is using the Bible used by Abraham Lincoln at the public ceremony and used a family Bible at the private ceremony), three presidents have not.  John Quincy Adams - that rebel! - swore his oath of office on a book of law.  He was also the first president to wear trousers instead of knee breeches to the ceremony.  Teddy Roosevelt didn't use a darned thing at his first inauguration in 1901.  (This was Teddy "I kill bears before breakfast" Roosevelt - but the lack of a book had more to do with the circumstances of the inaugural,which followed the assassination of Pres. McKinley.)  Lyndon Johnson was sworn in on Air Force One as he was hastily flown back to Washington following Kennedy's assassination.  He used Kennedy's Catholic prayer book for his unscheduled swearing-in.

Regardless of the trappings of the ceremony, there's a heap of work to get done.  The country is bitterly divided about the future of our nation and the amount of common ground seems to be shrinking by the day.  I still have hope for the future - we've weathered more severe storms and I don't see us throwing in the towel any time soon.

But it'll be nice to watch the pomp and ceremony and think, just for a little while, that we're all pulling in the same direction.

*Also, let's not overlook the nigh-perfect symbolism of Obama's Inauguration Day falling on the holiday set aside to honor Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.  Without a doubt, Dr. King was the face of the American Civil Rights movement and his murder at the hands of a coward had a massive impact on this country.  The New Yorker put together quite a good playlist of songs inspired by Dr. King and his legacies.  Check that out here, won't you?

Real Resolutions

It's the final day of 2012 - seems that translation of the Mayan calendar was off a bit - and 2013 looms ahead of us, bright with promise.  I don't claim to have any clue what this new year will bring, but I can tell you what I'm hoping for and working toward.  (Side note:  lots of folks leave off that second part.  No wonder their plans fall apart quicker than a designer bag bought off a truck tailgate.)  There are a few resolutions that seem to be especially popular, so here are the "Big 5" New Year's Resolutions and my reaction to them.

1.  I want to eat better this year.  I solemnly vow that I will no longer kid myself that green apple Now 'n' Laters, despite having the word "green" in the name, count the same as kale.

2.  I want to lose weight this year.  I solemnly vow that I will only consume organic vegetables, free-range meat, fairy dust and free trade club soda.

3.  I want to exercise more this year.  I solemnly vow that I will begin cross-training in the sports of BASE jumping and tiddlywinks.

4.  I want to keep a tidy house this year.  I solemnly vow that I will stop issuing hunting permits for dust bunnies.

5.  I want to travel to the farthest reaches of the known world this year.  I solemnly vow that I will take steps to get my Cleveland County Corn Maze and Knobby Spotting excursion package put together.

Well, it doesn't seem that I'm going to do too well on the "Big 5" resolutions, so what do I expect to accomplish with the upcoming 365 days?

1.  I hope to remember that the small stuff is actually the Big Stuff.
2.  I hope to remember that I impact more people than I know, often when I don't think I'm doing anything worth noticing.
3.  I hope to remember that we all can use a kind word.  Period.
4.  I hope to remember that, when the choice is between screaming like a vengeful banshee and having a frosted cookie, it's okay to have the cookie.
5.  I hope to remember that I feel better when I eat real food, exercise in the sunshine, and take time to ponder things - and that these are not frivolous activities, but are rather sound investments in myself.

May 2013 be good to us all.

Yes, Virginia . . .

That's my dad, the Piedmont Santa!

Back in 1897, the New York Sun printed an editorial that should have put to rest, once and for all, the question of whether or not there is a Santa Claus.  Eight-year-old Virginia O'Hanlon was quite concerned about some things her friends had been telling her and her father, probably panicking just a little bit, told her to write the newspaper, because "if you see it in The Sun, it's so."  (Would that we had so much faith in the media today!)  Well, she did, and Francis Pharcellus Church took the reindeer by the horns and, in reassuring Virginia that there was indeed a Santa Claus, he created what has become history's most reprinted editorial.

I wasn't around in 1897 and I'm glad Mr. Church was able to answer Virginia's sincere question.  However, I can vouch for Santa's continued and robust existence in today's increasingly suspicious and cynical world.

Pull up a toy box and listen to the tale.

Long ago and far away, my father was a Navy pilot.  After he left the service and married my mother, he grew restless with his secure, yet somewhat dull, job in the insurance business, which led him to come home one day and proclaim, "Honey, I quit my job.  I want to be an airline pilot!"  There is speculation that my mother may have considered packing up my sister [my brother was on the way and I hadn't even been thought of yet] and retreating to her home state of Virginia until he came to his senses.  Then again, fortune indeed favors the brave, and my dad went out the very next day and got a job with Piedmont Airlines, where he stayed until he retired.

Now, in those days, pilots used a seniority system to bid on the flights they wanted to pilot every month, which meant new hires got the lousiest runs as a way of paying their dues.  Of course, everyone wants the holidays off, so throughout my childhood, we got used to a sort of "moveable feast" approach and celebrated whenever Dad was home, usually somewhere between the 23rd and the 27th.

I come from optimistic, "lemonade from lemons" sort of folk, so sometime around my seventh Christmas, Dad got hold of a cheap Santa suit and beard and began wearing it for his Christmas flights.  It was an instant hit, so he added an after-Christmas shopping trip to load up on discounted toys for the next year and began handing out trinkets from a plastic bag emblazoned with the Piedmont symbol, the "Speedbird."  (You'd be shocked to discover how many kids fly alone over the holidays, usually shuttling from one parent to the other and often traveling lonely and a little scared.  Think about the kids, people - your ex might have hurt you deeply, but put it aside for the children, please!)  When Dad had a little boy run up to him in the airport, hug his leg, and say, "Thanks for the bike!" - well, at that point, we were all in.

The suit was replaced by a higher quality one, the beard and wig were upgraded (yes, my father has his hair styled for the holidays!), and we got a nicer sack for the toys.  Mom even made us elf costumes so we could authentically serve as "Santa's helpers."  By now, Dad had accumulated enough seniority that he could have stayed home on Christmas but, after a family meeting, it was agreed that we'd kind of gotten used to it and Christmas in the airports was part of our family tradition.  So Dad took it to the next level and started going up to a newbie pilot with a young family and taking his (they were all "his" back in the day) flight so he could stay home.  Dad even sent the pay for that trip to the pilot.

Captain Baldy

It didn't end when Dad retired.  Dad turns 80 this December and he still plays Santa all through December.  One of his most meaningful trips is arranged through an organization called Pilots for Kids, whose primary purpose is visiting hospitalized kids.  (That's the PFK mascot, Captain Baldy, over there on the left.)  I've accompanied Dad on this trip, which was dreadfully hard as it involved being cheerful and upbeat while visiting a pediatric oncology ward.  Dad was an absolute brick.  FryDaddy went with Dad this year (my Mom went, too) and he said it was a wonderful experience.

Yep.  Santa's real, folks.

But he doesn't use reindeer - he prefers jets.