Icelandic Folk Tale, the Fisherman and the Hidden Person, 2016Tellabration

Feeling a Little Tired? The Solution Might Be Sleep.

     "It is vain that you rise up early and go late to rest, eating the bread of anxious toil; for he gives to his beloved in sleep." Psalm 127:2.
      We finally got our Barnes and Noble date, and used up my gift cards. I've been wanting to get, The Sleep Revolution. Bill thinks it's funny that I'm reading about sleep,(by Arianna Huffington) because we're usually getting enough sleep these days.

     Reading about it, though, feels reinforcing, and it's important to spread the word, so we don't have too many permanently exhausted people screwing up all over the place.
     Wish I'd taken my parents seriously when they advised against pulling all nighters back in the (college) day.
     On our student trips back to Wisconsin from Iowa in our cars, we'd talk about a lot of things, like being well adjusted, but we'd vowed we'd never be adjusted to society, because society was screwed up.  However, we'd already bought into one of the ways to get ahead by doing the finals week with very little sleep. 
     I can recall looking in at the front glass door of the lounge to the girls' freshman dorm at night and seeing girls in pajamas, having a pillow fight just to keep up.
     Since history was loaded with facts, I'd study my lecture notes on note cards in a separate room from the downstairs dorm lounge, where others were eating popcorn, drinking coffee, and smoking cigarrettes, to keep up.  I'd purchased some NoDoz, and studied all night, to go take the test first thing in the morning.
     This practice contradicted what we'd learned in a psychology class called, the psychology of learning.  To be effective, in the long term, learning and its retention has to take place bits at a time. Cramming didn't have that capability.
     I tried the all nighter ten years later while getting more credits for teaching, and it didn't work, since I was older.  I suspect my psychology test brought my good running grade down, and I know staying up brought my heretofore excellent characterization grade down,  Acting was my forte, and I didn't do well in the finals presentation, because I was tired.  The prof wrote, "Sorry you are tired, not up to your potential".
     That probably affected his decision to let me go home and take a nap when I was playing the main character that evening the following summer.  That nap made a world of difference in my performance.
     Earlier in my acting avocation, I had mentioned to another actress/dancer that I'd managed to get little sleep and was still going.  Her reply was, "Good, you're toughening up."  I wasn't "toughening up"; I was exhausted.  It affected my day job, my health, and sense of well being. It was more like feeling half alive.
     Later, I applied her belief in toughening up to planning my Saturday morning theater classes, after a full week of teaching day and night classes. This was revised when I wasn't teaching regularly full time, because we had to get in our plans a little earlier along with most of our props. But when I retired, the last time I taught theater, the custodian asked me if I had morning classes.  My reply was, "No, I'm retired.  And now, it's on MY terms.
     When it came to theater reviewing, my first in-town assignment required that I attend the performance in another town, then, get the review to the newspaper right away.  At that time, I had a word processor, not a computer.  I kept typing and typing until I was prone over my machine, but I knew time was growing short.  I don't know if I slept 40 winks or not, but when the dawn was breaking, I had to get downtown and shoot it through the mail slot.  I'd heard that someone was getting anxious in the office regarding the whereabouts of my review.  It was my birthday, and I spent the whole celebratory day worried about how the whole county would judge my review.  Fortunately, it was edited beyond recognition.  The second review gave me a day's leeway, which meant there was time to sleep, even sleep on it, and the next one sent in came out nearly unedited.  In fact, my sister-in-law caught the title as a little off, grammatically, but I hadn't written the title. The editor had.
     Arianna Huffington, in the Sleep Revolution, quotes that "the American Academy of Pediatrics recommended that middle and high schools NOT start before 8:30 a.m...When and how we start the day really matters, setting the stage for everything that follows...you can see why so many high schoolers resemble extras from The Walking Dead."
     I tried many times to adjust to the early morning schedules for teaching, particularly substitute teaching, after teaching adult ed the night before.  You get all hyped up in the evening (much like doing evening theater rehearsals) and try to sleep, tossing and turning, because it never was in sync with your body rhythm to get up for the inevitable morning call. I knew to start the day with meditation, in part, to make up the deficit.
     Personally, I thought the change to early morning classes was not only hard on me, but hard on the kids, slumped over their desks in exhaustion. A lot of them had night jobs. In studying the chapter in the book wherefrom this is quoted, it is also detrimental, not just to their health, but learning. 
    Added to the fact I wasn't getting sleep, my husband in broadcasting, was often awarded the "double back", being up at night at the station and being required to return to the station for the early morning shift. 
    I'd talked to a nurse friend, whom I understand, also have crazy hours much like broadcasters, who said many of the mistakes made in hospitals were the result of assigning bad work/sleep schedules.
    Another relative who worked in a restaurant, was often given something like a double back, which he called "clopening".  That was a combination of the words, closing and opening.
    Bill's grandfather, a foreman in the steel mill, joked about the same kind of schedule, where he got to the point where he didn't know if he was coming or going. 
    I don't like to put it this way, but WAKE UP, education, broadcasting, hospitals, restaurants, factories, offices, and society, to the importance of SLEEP.

The Rump in Mi Schoolyard

A chump called, "Rump"
stood in the schoolyard,                                         
sad, that others ceased to dump
on the new, dark kid, toward
where he'd come from.

So the chump began to jeer
once again, an old taunt,
"I bet you're not from here,
not from Mi state; your old haunt
ain't even near!"

Which started Rump's campaign,
though the kid's, "from the U.P."
claim, met with disdain
from a mob formed to see
how they, too, could inflict pain.

After time, they got tired
of bullying the one,
using slogans like, "You're fired!",
they set their sights on
other "different" kids, who'd not retired.

The mob grew large and ugly, while
others scratched their heads.
"How could this verbal bile,
which Rump has deftly led,
become so loud and vile?!!"

Then, a girl, who was smart,
began to push them back
and suggest they check their heart
to consider what they lack,
and they started to depart.

Work at Home? -or- Working in Your Underwear, isn't Enticing

I always was the freelance type, so can't complain.
Bill, my husband who hails from broadcasting, tells me those news people on TV are only exhibiting one hour of a day's work.  They've been gathering and scurrying around for news all day before they do their evening commentary.
Being an adult, community, and theatre teacher automatically put me in the camp of freelancer.
I nearly guffawed, but held my hand over my mouth and snorted through my nose, when an office girl at one of my teaching sites asked me if I found myself taking work home.  That was where my work was...mainly.
I guess this hit home, even today, when I received an email stating our stories should be chosen and the approximate time given, in a couple of days.  It wasn't too hard to work from bed pouring over stories, but this timing bit meant I had to make sure I'd chosen the right one for performance five months from now, paraphrased it, and timed it in front of the mirror while checking the clock. On top of that I'd have to get up and look through my files to find the ones I'd considered unearthing and recycling just to make sure I hadn't overlooked a few oldies but goodies.
Well, at least, I was no longer secretary of the group, a position I'd held for a couple of years.
It's not being lazy, but a virus kind of brings you down.
And that's just what I need to address.
Sick days, as a freelancer, are not sick days. During summer school, if you had to stay home, the papers were still there to correct.  If you set up a sub for a sick day, you'd get the lesson plan ready for the sub, and in my case, (at least, in evening adult ed) not get paid for the prep.  Of course, you'd be delighted if the sub actually followed your plan, as I did as a sub, and left things neat, instead of in disarray.
Retirement, I read somewhere, is refirement. * 
Reinventing one's self tends to draw you back into other forms of... freelancing.
Writing and storytelling require preparation, and of course, you have the added bonus of finding yourself teaching according to these skills.  So, I'll be  in my basement taking puppets and props off the wall and stands and gathering them into daily boxes.

And that's just the tip of the iceberg.

*Interview with Matthew Fox, Unity Magazine.

Organizing & Electronics: Where Does it End?

   I've been on kind of a fun organizational spree, because quite frankly, my electronics were driving me crazy.  I'd read an organizing book on my Nook that instructed me to start in the kitchen and spend about a month on it
  Well, screw that.
  It took much longer.
   So I resolved that I was going to attack the electronics problem head on, no matter where it was sequenced in the book.  The author doesn't live in my house.  I do.
   I do have to commend the author on one point...It's fun to get a label maker and label everything, but a bit of a challenge too. The problem with this is all the instructions, but there are points of triumph where, for example, you figure out how to make symbols like little bunnies and telephones.  The other problem is there doesn't seem to be much tech support when the type size decreases, and you don't know how to get it back.

   There seems to be another overwhelming thing about organizing electronics.  It's true, you don't have to keep disentangling various wires and plugs to who knows what, now that you've organized these into files, but you're suddenly hit with just how much electronic stuff you've accumulated.
   Not only do I have boxes and boxes, but there are cases full of alternatives, laptop, mini-laptop, tablet, Nook reader, Bluetooth, etc.,

but the neighbor lady down the street reminded me that somewhere in my menagerie of electronics is a memory stick I've totally forgotten....until now.
 Just where is that thing, anyway?

Flint Water Hearings or "Sloth"-ing and what I discovered there (another friend face series)

This happened as a matter of course when I got stuck at home, but "they also serve who only stand and wait." (I read that somewhere buried in my English Lit major) ...in my case, lie and wait.  I did accomplish listening to and watching the Flint Water Crisis investigation unfold.

I admit to being an on-the-go lady, but my husband's been taking care of me this last week, to break that pattern, so I don't get a setback. (I've had a cold) So after talking to me about 1/2 hour, he said, why aren't you listening to your favorite radio program? I'd missed 1/2 of Garrison Keillor, which was a repeat, thank goodness. Then, Garrison concluded that he'd been sent to live with a Sanctified Brethren family, who kept watch over their sins. He said one of these sins he was guilty of was "sloth". This did not make me feel good about my lack of activity, but Bill said, it's necessary...to regenerate. Ok. I've been watching courtroom drama taking place from my own state government, being held in D.C. But that's another story. We "sloths", at least, keep informed.

This "sloth"-ing has turned out to be kind of fascinating. I started watching Flint, part 2, last night. Then, I tuned into it tonight, because Bill pointed out the "Perspectives" page of the local paper, identifying all those "guys" I'd been watching. Before, I was somewhat perplexed as to who was who, except for obvious people like Snyder and Cummings. Once those other characters were identified, it made more sense. This brings me to these points:

•  1) We don't just do idle chit chat on "friend face", but we find out stuff. Folks who think you should just read, not watch t.v.,or vice verse, only see part of the picture. In this case, the written (newspaper) word clarified the Utube (i.e., t.v.) viewing.
•  2) Watching government in action grilling other parts of government really clarifies that we need responsible leaders in there who take their jobs seriously as caretakers of our country and its people.
•  3) Vote for responsible leaders, who at least, want to learn their stuff, not showmen (or show women) who throw around glittering generalities and/or make threats to a large portion of the populace, or worse yet, sneak in such things as unacceptable water. Vote for responsible people.

This was actually "sloth"-dayt #3, but I was trying to avoid more "Get Well" wishes:
Winding up Flint, part 2 - This was all very interesting. The one thing that stood out was how Governor Kasich was faced with a similar situation in Toledo, acted on it, and resolved it ASAP. So, why is Kasich in 3rd place under a TV know-nothing bully and another guy who shuts down the government, by reading Dr. Seuss?

I will add the greatest incentive to getting well is, for me to do my own grocery shopping, so I can get real food to cook myself, which entails good water.  

Interestingly, I had touched upon this leadership in my blog entry of January 27, 2012, "Plumber Phobia".

Brokered Convention

 I saw something on friend face that cracked me up.  Since then, I haven't been able to find it.  There was an orange crayon on stage where all-white crayons attended

in the audience.  Of course, due to recent events, we know what that picture personified.

 I've learned that brokered conventions are not all that rare after all. They've even happened in recent history.  Since I couldn't find the picture, I decided I'd create my own snapshot of what I thought a contested convention might look like.

When it Comes to Coffee, We're like Tracy & Hepburn

I started this morning with an "off" cup of coffee, and it was because I had gone through only half the process of cleaning out the coffee maker with vinegar and water the night before.  So, I revisited the directions. The problem was, there was some waiting involved.  During this wait time, I was salivating, anticipating the coffee.  When it was finally brewed, I sighed the relief of an addict and savored it as somehow, transporting me to paradise.

As I experienced this, I started to get philosophical about coffee.  Coming from a Norwegian/Swedish background, I knew I carried the Scandinavian gene of a coffee aficionado.  My dad, during World War II, was not allowed by his employ, the military, to tell my mother in a letter, where he was, but he wrote, "I'm in a country where they really love their coffee." So she figured out he was in Norway.  I realized that these countries are actually dependent upon the growers in the tropics. So, when did their addiction to the brew begin?

My late Swedish neighbor was so addicted to coffee that we would hear his wife, (The house is like a stone's throw distance away) every morning, ask, "How's the coffee?" And he really let her know each morning, if it was to his liking....or not. He also wouldn't obey the lab Drs. regarding not drinking it before a test.  I guess that was okay, as his being my late neighbor had nothing to do with those tests.  Why should he have suffered deprivation?

Back in the day before coffee makers, my niece gave me a large thermos, which kept the coffee warm overnight,  All you needed to do in the morning was turn on a lever akin to a beer barrel spout, and there, you could drink.  My husband complained in the morning in the bedroom, about the "sploosh" sound, and was I going to start frying bacon and eggs in there, too?

We still didn't have many coffee makers around, but I received a percolator for Christmas that made the coffee just right.  On top of that, we visited a couple of friends; the man of the couple told us about his visiting a city in Michigan specializing in specialty coffees, and also told us about how he made his coffee with ice cubes instead of just water.  So, I tried that, too.  My brother, upon hearing this, said the guy was more into the process of coffee making, not the coffee itself.
There was a gap where I thought I had to follow the decaffeinated route for health sake, which turned out to be nonsense.  But I never didn't have coffee. I'd also learned from this guy that they often make decaffeinated with formaldehyde, so you have to find the right formula for that.

I've been the Mr. Coffee route, both in coffee maker and coffee grinder, which did not work out in either case.
So now, I have the above: Hamilton Beach. It can receive either a cup or a thermos, if you remove the bottom pedestal.  It can also be used for ground coffee or a Keurig-type container.  I ended up getting a grinder of the same brand, (i.e. H.B) which also works better.  Now, the process is to grind the coffee the night before, place it in a #1 filter, cut off the top of the filter, so it doesn't curl over, (placed in an old Black&Decker coffee maker I still use for traveling) measure half of it into an almost 8th cup of Hazelnut, ground by me, plus either a teaspoon or tablespoon of Seattle's Best for added flavor.  If I want to warm it up half way through, I can still use my old Mr. Coffee pot and warmer.

Bill thinks this process is nonsense.  He just pours water out of the filtered tap, puts the water on the stove, brings it to a boil, and adds Taster's Choice.  He keeps trying to tell me his way is the best way.
I remain adamant in my process expecting nothing but the best, well, what I believe is my best.

Our Healthier Size Support Group

In order to give credit to where credit is due, I shall prove a point made in a book by Brian Wansink, PH.D. called, Mindless Eating.  The cup at the right, which is an exact cup from Sweden, purchased from the Nordic Nook in Stoughton, Wisconsin, contained the tea presented on the left.  The tea was poured out exactly from the cup, with no cheating.  The author says there are "Hidden Persuaders" (a book by Vance Packard in the 60's, regarding advertising gimmicks) in the way food is presented to us.  So if you want to fool yourself that you're drinking more now and enjoying it more, do this.  If you don't believe me, try this yourself.

The reverse kinds of illusions can be applied to changing large supper dishes to smaller lunch or salad plates, or even kids' plates for adults, large bowls can be changed to smaller bowls, too. The amount of food appears larger on or in smaller containers.

     Marianne Williamson, in her book, Course in Weight Loss, takes the reverse illusions in plates a step further.  She recommends changing your plastic plateware to glass plateware, and using a cloth napkin.  I had already purchased smaller plates and bowls in colorful plastic, but decided to try the glass.  I didn't go so far as the cloth napkin in a holder, but I did have a different kind of feeling of treating myself to something special by regarding myself as a very important person,

who deserves elegance as part of her food plan.  The plastic is pictured on the left as a small bowl and kid's plate.  It's attractive enough.  The setting on the right is Corelle.  I don't want to waste the plastic, but Corelle is a good dinner setting.

The next thing to do is get organized, especially the Kitchen, as recommended in the book, Thin through the Power of Spirit, by Lucia Capodilupo.  The idea, in a nutshell, is that your home is a projection of yourself, your body.  So, with some guidance from a book on organizing, One Year to an Organized Life, by Regina Leeds,  I started organizing the kitchen. Instead of a cupboard, where you have to crawl on your hands and knees to determine what you have available, as well as up to date, you get trays from WalMart or your place of choice, put liner in them, toss the old stuff, and there you have it. Tossing the old stuff cleanses your soul and your formerly overstuffed body.

Most importantly, I recommend the following book.  It will change your perspective, and hopefully, change your life for the better.  The main premise is that your best dieting got you here, and it obviously, hasn't worked.  It's written by two authors, Judith Matz and Ellen Frankel, who specialize in eating disorders, and who tell us to get off the yo-yo dieting and get into "attunement" eating, 

                                         ..........as well as the following companion books.

 

Two Little Girls and Amish Children

I watched as my five-year-old grand daughter, Naia, played happily in the children's dental office waiting room, while at the same time, a little Amish girl her age, sporting a serious demeanor much like her Amish mother, watched Naia intently.

It reminded me of a poem my brother had written about his daughter when she was a small child.



So, I asked him for a copy:

The Amish in the Greyhound Station

by Steven D. Fortney

In the crowded, Greyhound station:

across the aisle the Amish:

two men, three women, a baby, and

a little girl -- who, were she not

gathered in her church's black,

this violet eyed graceful she

in other clothing, woman-later . . . 

I would have touched her limb from limb!

She was Sigrid's age, about seven.

My odd Siggy, in tattered jeans

and yellow sweater, who talks to

the sun; who once dug tiny

bowls in snow-drifts.  "Why are

you doing that?" she was asked.

"They are little crying places,"

she said. "And when these are

filled, I will dig some more."

Crying places!  Sun speaking . . . 

She plays by the benches,

a kitten tapping paper.

I watch the Amish girls watch her.

She will not fly from her flock;

but standing still, eyes shining,

she so intently watches Siggy play.

The buses roar and cough.

We watch the wimpled women

in stiff winter hoods sweep by.

these lean faces are stern, but

the quiet in them is like joy,

the nightfall of their robes

full of grace.  "We are Raven," is

the witness, "flying high, alone!"

They leave the noisy room for

the cold garage; the child

intent now on her parent's way,

is last:  eyes torn away from

my daughter, the sun's, snow's

odd child playing at my feet;

she turns and glances back;

trails the steps of her own:

They, wheeling high near their sun's

cold eye, over these bright rooms

where Sig and theirs might have played,

have cast shunnings, sad and wide . . .

Slue Foot Sue

This is a redo of Tellabration 2015 at Sellabration Talent Show