Satan must've left the door to Hell open, it's hot in Phoenix!

I'm breaking my number one summer rule, complaining about the weather.  I don't feel it's very helpful to complain about it, because it just is.  It's ok to "talk" about the weather, but not to ruminate.  With that said, I'll say this: Satan must have left the door to Hell open, because it's hot in Phoenix.  It feels hair dryer hot--like those old fashioned ones you sit under until your head feels like it will catch fire and then maybe your hair is done.  Your mind was done long before your hair is, which is kind of like summer in Phoenix.  Summer cruises along well past the point of being summer, until it becomes more of a form of secret government torture, only nature is inflicting the pain and not the government (pick a government, any government).  So, that's my one summer rant (I hope).  When it's 117 degrees before the high point of the day, I think allowing one little comment is ok.  There you have it.

ParaNorma or Norma

I've decided that I officially have an alter ego, her name is ParaNorma or Norma for short.  This name stems from my paranoid nature the feeling that I'm constantly doing something wrong or that someone is mad/hates/out to get me.  I don't feel like this constantly, and for the most part I'm not really paranoid, but when I get into a lather it's generally a doozy.  My mind goes on some endless loop of how I'm so wrong.  Lately, I've been able to feel Norma creeping up on me and I try to keep her at bay but that hasn't always been the case.

My tendency is blame me first, ask questions later.  I carry around this guilt that would give even the strongest man an hunchback from the weight of it.  I often am asked if I'm Catholic or am told I "sound" Jewish--you the old joke about the _____ guilt.  Mine is an asian guilt for not conforming/being wrong and a being a tremendous bother of some sort or another.  At least that's what my asian mother always implied--sometimes said outright--about me and to me.  I didn't realize how much I was doing this until I started teaching and fretting about my students.  "I don't understand why..."  or "How come they don't get...?"  immediately followed by "What am I doing wrong?  How can I fix this?"  One of my colleagues finally had enough of my fretting and anxiety and very kindly said to me, "It's not you, it's the students.  You've done all you could and they just have to..."  Whatever the situation at the time might be.  Her words had an impact and forced me to shift my thinking.  I didn't believe what she said to be true all the time but it did knock me off my usual self-deprecating and self-blaming tracks enough that I could see what she was saying.  What she was saying is that I don't need to take responsibility for everything that happens or doesn't happen in the classroom.  The students really needed to step it up and I needed to step it down, facilitate but not hand hold as much as I do.

Old habits die hard and so when I went back to teaching there was a whole different set of things to fret about, mostly corporate and colleague issues, less the students, oddly enough.  When my friend, who also works there but knew me from before, texted me one day (yes, I was carrying on about wishing I didn't speak my Truth to a certain person one day), "By the way, you are the most paranoid person I know:)" ParaNorma was "born" and I decided that I needed to get some control over her.  You know, that backseat driver who is in the moment mildly abrasive yet completely corrosive over time.  Someone you put up with because they are never "that" bad until you can't stand them anymore.  We joke about Norma and I try to manage her.  It's going to take some doing.  I felt her lingering while I was trying to put a lesson plan together for tomorrow's class.  What she needs is a real Fight Club kind of ass-kicking.  Right now, I'll go back to the lesson plan and kindly ignore her.  I really do have better things to deal with and more pressing items, for that matter.  For example, the 7th ring of Hell: dealing with my children's homework.  Never a dull moment what with my boys and Norma lurking about.

Asterisk

My father didn't like his middle name.  He often made fun of it, turning into something "Italian," much to his mother's dismay.  Because of this extreme dislike, he also didn't do things by halves, he refused to give my brother & me middle names.  He said we didn't need them, kids always tease you about your middle name, etc.  My mom always looked forward to giving us middle names because that's something different than traditional Japanese.  Here's the thing: we were still teased, only it wasn't because of our middle names but our lack of middle names that caused it.  Ironic, no?  Additionally, my dad was retired Coast Guard, so having no middle names was a real issue.  There are so many government forms to fill out for everything and every box and line needs to be addressed or there'll be issues.  Our lack of middle names became one of those issues.  For many years we just had an asterisk added in the box--yes, we see you box but this is all we have for you; it's not even an actual letter.  *.

It's interesting because dictionary.com's first entry for asterisk is this:

"a small starlike symbol (*), used in writing and printing as a reference mark or to indicate omission, doubtful matter, etc."

Do you like the "doubtful matter"?  I do.  It seems to sum up the issue as a whole.  We doubt that you have a middle name?  We doubt you are telling the truth?  We're not sure where this will lead?  We are undecided or hesitant about this issue?  All these questions refer back to "doubtful."  This is ambiguous to us.

Whatever the case may be what eventually happened was something like a game of telephone:  that asterisk turned into an actual letter.  For a short while my middle initial was the letter "A."  That really is no big surprise, I can see how that happened.  The thing of it is--and to add another layer of doubt--how many "factual" or "real" documents, situations, etc. go the way of my asterisk?

On a side note, anyone care to come up with a middle name for me--especially one beginning with the letter "A"?

Male Plumage

We were out riding bikes yesterday when I spotted what looked like a pile of garbage down the side of the canal bank.  I realized that it was a female duck sitting on her nest.  It made me think about how people carry on about how beautiful male birds are & how the females are plain, drab or ugly.  Here's what I have to say to that: smoke & mirrors.  Essentially, the females have the difficult job, which precludes beautiful plumage.  It's a detriment & could get them killed.  Not that I state something that's new or not obvious.  But, that's all the male birds have to offer--besides sperm and maybe some protection, but not always.  The females have to pick a location, make a nest, warm the egg & see the whole thing through.  Maybe the male sticks around, maybe not.  In most cases, he's a glorified sperm donor.  In the best case scenarios, protector, partner and mate.  So if that's the case with male plumage and birds, what about the sassy female numbers of the homo sapiens who augment, primp and preen?  What, exactly, is their role?  (Can you tell that I made a trip out to Scottsdale yesterday, in addition to the bike ride along the canal?--a night jaunt, no less.)

The Wanamaker Factor

Yesterday, Jon got a taste of synchronicity in action & perhaps a little of the supernatural (who knows?).  He was reading his hand held & chuckling, so I asked him what was so funny.  He told me a very roundabout story, but the bare bones is this: someone who manages all of the offices mentioned to a friend's mother (she has to be very old) that Jon's family is from Whidby Island.  It's a small place, so when Jon asks people who say they're from Whidby, "Do you know Wanamaker Road?"  there's always a spark in their eye & a resounding yes.  He then tells them that was named after his mom's family.

Apparently, this woman (the friend's mother) had missed the school bus as a little girl and one of the Wanamakers had given her a ride home on his horse.  Can you imagine?!  Clearly, that was a while back.  At any rate, it's crazy that someone from AZ can know someone from a remote island in WA and know the connecting person to that story (however distant Jon is to the actual story).  The craziest part?  It was Jon's mother's birthday yesterday.  It seemed to give him a little pause.  I told him his mom was "talking" to him.  What do you think?

Early Black Market Lessons

Stuart was so excited about his new guitar & lessons, initially.  I tried to get him to keep his music book, pics & tuner in one place so things wouldn't get lost or separated.  The guitar hangs on his wall, but there are times when it doesn't make it to its home, either.  When we bought the guitar the salesman gave us a whole handful of pics, which Stuart either lost or left about so Flanders got a hold of them.  Flanders loves to chew everything up.  The tuner was an early goner, too.

In order to preserve a small sliver of my sanity & try to teach a lesson in responsibility, I started charging money for replacement pics.  I had to do this after Stuart blew through the whole lot after just a couple of lessons.  Ben, the music teacher, told me to buy nylon pics because they are more sturdy.  They are also more expensive.  Not tremendously so, but when we use a pic & immediately lose it, yes--expensive.  They are $0.25 (and by the way, where in the hell is the cent sign on computers these days?!).  I buy a couple of dollars worth & dole them out now.  Stuart loses one, he has to fork over $1 per pic.  The music teacher thought that was genius (I've been needing a ticker tape parade, so I decided  to add that--but it is true.).  This capitalistic exchange did slow the pic bleed--Stuart kept much better track of them.

When Max decided he wanted to take lessons, I took them both to the guitar store & bought them a couple of dollars worth of pics.  I reminded them that was it, for now; they lose them it's back to $1 per pic.  Stuart's reaction was so funny when he realized they were only $0.25 & he was being charged a whole dollar.  So, I tell him: "I'm trying to teach you that everything has a home and that everything costs something.  You weren't learning the lesson, hence the inflated cost."  He didn't have much in the way of a response, but I could tell he was mulling that one over for future reference.  That child has a big file, I can tell.

The other day I was thinking about the pic situation (it's now time to replenish) & realized that they may take this lesson all the wrong way.  In my mind it became less a lesson of "responsibility" and more of a darker lesson in the seedier side of "finance."  All I could think about was the Russian mafia doling out supplies and selling old military equipment to those who are fortunate to have money.  I suppose it doesn't help that I give them grief about it every time they have to "buy" another pic--I tell that if they keep this up I'll be able to retire on the pic money...fuel to the fire, fuel to the fire.

Driving Dogs & Mini

This video totally made my day.  I love Mini.  I love dogs, especially rescue dogs.  Enjoy!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BWAK0J8Uhzk&list=PLr8Ol3z5fRqoCemaCS2-sFm6c87mAAV05