Oh, my Blog! How I’ve neglected you! Forgive me, kthx.

What I should be doing:

1) Cleaning

2) Practicing

3) Cleaning

4) Grocery shopping

5) Cleaning

6) Creating Lesson Plans

7) Cleaning

8) Researching Server 2008

9) Cleaning

10) Cleaning my car

11) Laundry

What I’m actually doing:

1) _______________ Fill in the blank

Sunday Scribblings gives us the writing prompt:

#174 – Anticipate

What are you looking forward to, for better or worse?

Remember that song by Carly Simon? Anticipation? The ketchup ad?

I found this on YouTube the other day. It’s a wonderful take on the old song. Carly’s children, Ben and Sally, sing and play with her. Listen to the whole tune if you have the time. Come back later and enjoy it again. It’s just that good. I love that James and Carly perform with their children. I love the mix of music and family. It’s one of my core values! I’m blessed to belong to a family of very talented musicians, artists, gardeners and writers. Music is something we all enjoy and appreciate.

I love good music. I love tight harmonies. I love live music and acoustic music. I guess this is why I last weekend was so wonderful. The University of Pennsylvania radio station, WXPN-FM,  hosts a live music event every year. It has become the highlight of my summer. It starts on a Friday night at 5:00 PM and goes until 9:00 PM or so on Sunday evening – more than 25 hours of great, live music. You can bring in coolers with food and non-alcoholic beverages although you can purchase all kinds of food and beverages, as well as craft items and clothing. The cost for this festival – $30, if you’re a member of the radio station. 30 bucks for 3 days of the best live music you’ll ever hear in one weekend! And the best thing about the weekend is that because it’s so affordable, you can go with family and friends and share the experience of hearing old favorites and finding new favorites.

So thinking of live music and Carly Simon got me to thinking of another Simon sister, Lucy Simon, Carly’s older sister who is also a songwriter and composer. In fact, she composed the score of the Broadway musical, The Secret Garden. This is what I’ve been anticipating lately:

Rehearsals began at the end of June. This was the first blocking rehearsal for this scene and the quality isn’t great because I used my Crackberry. I can’t wait until we open in September. It will be fun to go back and compare this scene to the final product!

I am really blessed to be able to do so many things that I enjoy. I’m praying that I never get so old or grumpy that these joys become a burden. Shows are a lot of work and a huge time commitment. The relationships that are formed make the teamwork and creativity that are required easier to handle. Many times over the course of the last few weeks, I’ve regretted having to leave my family and friends to go to a rehearsal. I haven’t been down the shore once this summer. I’m not sure if I’ll have an opportunity to get down there between rehearsal schedules for two shows, a wedding and my full-time job (even though we’re on summer hours right now).

Still, I’m looking forward to the next few months. I’ll post updates as we make progress.

Sunday Scribblings gave us this writing prompt:

#173 – Where in the World?

Have you ever stood still and scratched your head and said, ‘Where in the world?’ Is there somewhere in the world you would love to go? Are you looking for someone or something or a place that makes sense to you? Where in the world are you?

It should be an easy prompt to cover but lately I haven’t had the time or energy to put a coherent sentence together. Usually I’m walking around asking, “Where in the world did I put (fill in the blank).” That’s because I have a serious organization problem. Normally there wouldn’t be an issue with finding something but I’m starting to realize that there isn’t room in my brain to hold anything other than the most important stuff like name, phone number and address.

The first blank to be filled in would have to be apostrophe. Where in the world is the apostrophe on my keyboard because, gosh darn it, I type a semicolon more often than not. I just never seem to make it over far enough to type an apostrophe. I don;t know how to type properly. I type with two or four fingers and a thumb so that might be why I miss the apostrophe. Do you know how many times you use apostrophes in a paragraph?  It’s pretty often. I left the semicolon typo up there in the third sentence of this paragraph so you could see that I’m not making it up. I’ve corrected all the others.

The next blank would be that piece of music. My sister is now busting into hysterical laughter because she’s heard this question more often than any one human should have to hear it.  I’m sure her children have asked this question many times. I’m pretty sure that’s what makes her laugh. I can’t remember the last time she heard me ask the question. She’s probably asked the question herself many times. See – it’s a popular question in this neighborhood.

The next blank would be my mind. Honestly, there’s not much to it. It shouldn;t be hard to keep track of. For heaven’s sake. it’s probably where I left that piece of music because it sure as heck isn;t where it;s supposed to be.

A couple of months ago something happened that caused some hurt and sadness. I was seeing an event for what it was – under par, less than wonderful, possibly adequate. I felt that my involvement in the project justified my opinion. Nevertheless, I was shocked when someone close to me expressed their opinion more bluntly than I was able to accept. It was clearly an example of “It’s ok for me to recognize this failure but don’t you dare say anything about my baby.”

This week I found myself involved in a situation that is even more laughable than the previous situation. With an entirely different set of people and circumstances, I feel like I’m in a remake of The Emperor’s New Clothes. Each time I replay the scene, I have to pinch myself and wonder if I was the only person in the room who saw what I saw.

I shake my head and puzzle over the pain I’ve caused myself. Clearly, I am running into this brick wall because my “Spidey” senses are tingling to their own drummer. I did speak up. I did express my opinion. Perhaps, in an effort to be diplomatic, I neglected to paint the entire picture. My diplomacy has not stopped me from looking at the situation, imagining the potential ridicule and waiting for all of the collective jaws to drop.

There are times in my life when those same “Spidey” senses tell me to run and not look back, but like a person who has just witnessed a horrible accident, I can’t turn away.

I am going to keep my eyes open and see what the future brings. I’m a person who can admit when I’m wrong and I’m hoping the outcome of this situation will give me the opportunity to do so. In the meantime, I’m staying away from blunt objects and rubbing my eyes more often.

I used to work for a company that had surveillance cameras. We all knew they were there and we even understood why they were there. We handled highly sensitive data and printed it for highly sensitive bank mailings.

Most days, those cameras just chugged along, collecting video of unsuspecting employees picking their noses or tripping over skids or hurrying under security garage doors as they slid into the down position, sometimes with drastic, bleeding results.

One night during World Cup soccer, the third shift, third world employees had an impromptu match which resulted in low productivity and raised a flag so big and so red that the day shift supervisors demanded a viewing of the previous night’s tapes. Yep, there they were in black and white, having the time of their lives. Sometimes, I wish those tapes had audio as well!

Did those cameras ever catch anyone doing anything illegal? Hell yes! Let’s see, there was the Peeping Tom who would crouch outside of a Men/Women’s room and peek through the keyhole whenever a woman went in to relieve herself. There was a group of folks who would walk the hundred or so yards across a field to the liquor store, come back and enjoy a six-pack at the picnic tables in the smoke break area before returning to work. There was incredible footage of a woman in a van who backed into a parked car. I never found out if she did it on purpose or if she just forgot she was in reverse and stepped on the gas to get home as quickly as possible.

The cameras caught unsuspecting lovers, deviant urinators and belligerent brawlers. On film, we found lunch burglars, cell phone thieves and downright criminals who stole money from their “best friends. I was gonna pay her back on pay day. I didn’t think she’d miss that $40.”

I loved the cameras because I knew where they were. I’d often smile up at them when passing by. I used to think that my employers would be  relieved to know that I made it to work safely at 2:00 am after I’d been on the phone for an hour trying to solve a technology issue that ended up being something I had to drive 35 miles to fix. I think they forgot to review the tapes the week I worked 48 hours straight and was less than pleasant to a co-worker.  Maybe they saw my head bobbing as I sat in an chair in the server room and felt that qualified as a good night’s sleep.

More often than not, I felt like I was on a covert mission when I arrived at 4 am to straighten out some technology mess.  I used to imagine that I was dressed in black from head to toe as I surreptitiously walked through the halls of my mind, peering around corners and plastering myself to the walls as I inched my way to my office with Belushi-like stealth where I would finally breathe a sigh of relief having avoided those God-forsaken cameras.

Allow me to set the scene: The King questions, as much as states, “Everything going well with us.”  It is precisely that scene, playing through my mind on an endless loop, that prevents me from answering as Anna does: “Everything going well with us.” Maybe it’s because I know that in the next scene, the proverbial shit hits the fan.

I recently attended the funeral liturgy of an old family friend. I found solace in the entire service knowing that this guy was going to enjoy an afterlife of sunny beaches and peace. So just as I settle into believing that everything is going well with us, the undertakers begin their slow walk up the sides of the church toward the altar and, ultimately, the casket.

I try not to worry. I allow myself to be lulled into complacency and even denial. I deep-breathe. I pray.

Worry is what wakes me at 2:30 am. For all of the denial of the day, night brings stark reality. What have I forgotten to do?  How will I accomplish the next big task? Am I doing the right thing? Why do I do this all the time?

Will our cars last another year or more? Will everyone’s health hold? Will those termites we found in the mulch cause any problems?

Am I reaching my students? Am I being too negative? If I go down and drink a glass of water to quench this thirst, will I just wake up in an hour to pee?

I hate that moment in our Roman Catholic funeral liturgy. I want to shout at those guys “Just stay where you are, buddy. Move along. There’s nothing more for you to do here. I think we’re entirely capable of ending this Mass without you sneaking up there to smack us into reality.”

I’ve been awake for an hour now – I think I’ll go drink a big icy glass of water.

I have to thank my parents for insisting that I take Latin as my foreign language  when I was a freshman in high school. I didn’t realize how much it would help me. Honestly, two years of Latin and two years of Spanish  helped my music  skills, crossword skills,and travel skills.

I loved traveling in Italy. Italian is such a beautiful language. We lived with my grandparents in South Philadelphia for a couple of years after I was born. Later my grandparents came to live with us and often spoke Italian to each other. The few words I remember are related to the kitchen, cooking implements, food and counting.

This is not me!

I should also mention that I learned an occasional curse!

When we traveled in Italy with my mom and dad, we were pretty lucky because they could actually ask for directions and know where to go.  We took a crash course in Italian offered by our local adult education school. I found that I read the language much better than I could speak it. I loved the word Uscita. It means exit. I never learned this kind of Italian, thank God!

35 years ago I was waiting expectantly for the birth of our first and, may I add, only child. This was the day set by the doctor when he ciphered out the due date. As it turned out, our son was three days late. It wasn’t a big deal. First children are often late.

Had he been born today, he would have shared a birthday with people like Wilbur Wright, Charlie Chaplin, Peter Ustinov, Henry Mancini, Herbie, Mann, Dusty Springfield Kareem Abdul-Jabbar and Martin Lawrence.

On Saturday, he’ll be 34 which alternately freaks me out and excites me. It seems like just yesterday – oh whatever – you totally get it, right?

So he shares the day with TIm Curry, Paloma Picasso, Jayne Mansfield, Dudley Moore, Al Unser Jr., Ashley Judd, Hayden Christensen and Maria Sharapova.

I have a recurring dream that I’m in school, its the end of the semester and I’m late for an exam – an exam for a class that I’ve never attended. I can’t even find the classroom.

I’m not sure what this means but I’m glad I have a 34 year old son – even though that can’t possibly be the right age?

I’m alive. Just waiting for the sun.