Layoffs continue

The university just laid off another 15 folks from our division. Lots of unhappy people, a few happy ones who were eligible for retirement and got their act together. No separation remuneration, nothing but a FAQ session with human resources and a tiny tag on your file that says any university hiring org has to consider you IF you meet the job requirements--no job guaranteed. Higher ed pretty much sucks in Texas right now. It will be even worse if our incumbent guv gets re-elected.

I had no idea how much stress I was under until 3-4 weeks out from retirement. All of a sudden I'm overwhelmingly fatigued, sleep a lot. That seems to be pretty much the normal reaction, say my friends who have already retired. No one realizes the toll until you let go of the daily grind. Similar to the phenomenon of busting butt at the end of a semester and coming down with a cold or flu as soon as vacation begins.

We're still ahead on precipitation for the year. Seeing green vegetation was uncanny through the summer, it just doesn't seem natural, somehow. Not that I'm complaining...at the moment. It's unsettled enough that it's nearly impossible to forecast how any given season will play out. We stand to break a record low tonight. There will likely be more records falling in the next year.

I still measure the year from September to August--school time. Probably for the rest of my life, since I'm tied to the university through retirement. Makes it a little awkward when January and tax time rolls around.

Next up: applying for Medicaid (mandatory) and Social Security (trying to hold out til January). Still looking for more freelance editing/writing work, if anyone has any leads.  Just a half time job will do--may even look into seasonal IRS work, however mind-numbing that will likely be. Better than living in a tent.

Do check out the UNICEF clean water banner atop the right nav bar. The world is running out of potable water, especially in drought-stricken countries, and especially children. Consider buying UNICEF holiday cards--they're always beautiful, and the $$ goes toward saving children of the world. I still have some cards my parents obtained from the '60s. They help remind me of my parents' commitment to humanitarianism. We are the lucky ones. It furthers one to lend a hand. It's also good for your personal health. Really.

Getting back to flow

Now that I can access the 'net at lightning speed, I can once again practice visiting other blog by people my age. There are so many sage, funny, educational, inspirational folks who are going through that next big change for boomers--retirement. It can be a real bitch, I can tell you. And I'm a well-educated, professional who worked all her life. Well, except for side excursions here and there...but that's another story or two.

Getting out of the fix that I was in within two months nearly killed me. I think I've mentioned that before, but it still holds. Harder than having a 48 hour labor and delivery at home, with friends and family. Up til now, that was the mammoth-sized labor of record. It's still very much touch and go and will be for the foreseeable future. But lots of folks are contributing in a number of ways, so I'll have a roof over my head. And as good a medical insurance as I currently have available.

So I was checking out the Midlife Crisis Queen, Laura Lee, and she asks "does what we wear really matter," which segued into inviting visitors to describe our most memorable outfit--that get-up that made us feel the most powerful, loved, loving person ever. Brought back some sweet and valuable memories for me. Remembering how to live simply as possible and still be creative, in great part, I think, because I have done this before and survived.

Any way, nice place to leave a memory--go check it out.


http://www.midlifecrisisqueen.com/2010/09/22/does-what-we-wear-really-matter/comment-page-1/

Friday collectibles

"Friday Roundup" is a commonly-seen post on many blogs. I can dig it. While paddling around the 'net, I often come across stuff that interests me, but not necessarily enough to write a whole post about it. It also gives some structure to a blog. This type of format may be a useful solution to pass along sites that I think might interest friends and rellies.

So let's give it a try.

Healthy Aging: Body, Mind & Spirit

Chock full of good health information for baby boomers!

The Wayward Irregular

Web and multimedia designer Matthew D. Jordan's wacky look at the world

Rolling Around in My Head

Power manifesto on how words can hurt by Dave Hingsburger.


Lateral Action creativity + action = success

Creative solutions for creative people by Mark McGuinness

Midlife Crisis Queen

Laura Lee is a hoot! Good info and lots of humor :)

Rehearsal notes - 9.14.10

OK, so I didn't post last week's notes til a few minutes ago. With the wrong date.

Lessons learned from last week:

Never ever attempt to drive in a hurricane again. Ever.

The roads will be flooded out at some point anyway, and it's too easy to get trapped, especially at night. High water is deadly.

Also got a nice note from Sylvia about rehearsal etiquette. Tonight's rehearsal was much more productive, and we sounded better. It makes all the difference in the world when we keep our ears open and our mouths shut, except for questions about the music. Laughing, yes, quietly sharing your marks from last week with a neighbor, letting off steam between pieces because this is demanding music and a real workout. I want us to blow their socks off. Imagine training for an athletic endeavor, like a marathon. I want to keep those pitches and chords and diminished ninths weaving in and out while I'm NOT singing. Which means I'm still listening to stuff in my head while processing Ryan's comments. Chattering drowns out those pitches. Kinda like driving in a hurricane.

Which leads us to tonight's rehearsal. New while I was on hiatus: folks bringing treats, sometimes  home-made. Drop dead gorgeous cake, Amber! The chocolate truffles with dark red velvet icing were insanely divine. And a perfect size for someone watching their sugar intake. I'll save up all week for that!

Other cool stuff from tonight's rehearsal...

•  turning the circle--we set up in a circle, which means that Ryan has his back to one of the four sections. By shifting the circle, each section gets a good seat at least 3 out of 4 rehearsals. 
• everyone using their ears tonight--the sound and pitch is calibrating to strike those overtones. Yay overtones. Yay being satisfied in my soul.
• Ryan's good conducting--he knows his stuff and how to make us sound great

What I need to do for next week...

• go over all markings, be sure they flow
• wood-pile tricky transitions, intervals
• hit the Russian! 
• think about something I could bring for break that's healthy, but not too...
• read through every piece at least once

-- 30 --

Rehearsal notes 8.7.10

What I need to fix or do: 

• finish marking double choir lines
• make sure all phrases over the page are solid
• clean up Russian pronunciation marks 
• NOT use the new sharpie pencil on music, but totally jazzed to write with it. Awesome.
• invite my chorus mates to consider reducing talking each time the conductor stops us. When chatter happens, my flow goes out the window. Rehearsal time is precious. Very. It is deeply healing to produce beautiful sound with other humans. Practice throughout the week and take advantage of the time we have together to create a communal flow within the music. Put all that good energy from talking into absorbing the music. Make an old lady insanely happy.
• marvel at the weather 
• calm down from driving home tonight in Hermine, the Horrible Hurricane. Massive amounts of water. My car nearly drowned. So did I. Scary.
• high five the altos for perfect attendance tonight
• put concert schedule on calendar (thanks MLD)
• load all music/concert-related stuff in Tricia's waterproof croc bag
• locate folder. Which implies keep unpacking.
• stop with the list.

September 1, 2010--the Indian Summer of my life

The Internet is full of "end of summer," "Indian summer," "first of fall," "back to school" posts and musings. Today happens to be significant for me because it is the first day of official retirement from working at an institution of higher education.

Not to be confused with ceasing to work for pay. I am also embarking on a powered-up freelance approach to paying the bills. Said I.H.E. paid 27% lower than comparable positions in the real world, so I have always supplemented my paycheck doing a variety of even lower-paying jobs--tape transcriptions for Ph.D. dissertations, writing/editing projects, blogging as "The Good Musician," guinea pig for various clinical nursing procedures (pap smears by newbie nurses), filling out surveys, and nearly a year in a local department store flogging infant and children's clothing (read: folding and re-folding, termed "refreshing inventory," ad nauseum).

All of which lumped together were exhausting and served only to bump me up another income tax level. I did make some neat friends and useful connections, most of whom will be getting an e-mail from me alerting them to my changed circumstances and probably asking for Linked-In recommendations.

September 1, 1939 is also the date Germany invaded Poland and triggered WWII. Not that I plan to conquer any countries, however. I do expect to become re-acquainted with living by my wits as well as by accumulated skills and knowledge. I'll be better able to focus on health and reducing stress, allotting more time to nutrition and exercise, and rediscovering the world outside academia.

The idea of Indian Summer has always appealed to me, a romance sparked by the Cherokee blood from both parents. I equate the autumnal equinox with nostalgia--the end of carefree summer (at least as a child) and a return to formal education; sadness and elation jumbled up like piles of autumn leaves. The inevitable seasonal changes--colors, textures, flora, fauna, blessedly-cooler temperatures, new school shoes and clothes--frequently new schools, and a return to large group music making. Enduring marching band and Friday night football half-time routines to blissfully tootle in spring concert band/orchestra, with occasional spikes of pure terror when challenging or being challenged for coveted first-chair seats.

I am drunk with possibilities. The freedom to choose among community service endeavors and meaningful personal projects. Meeting new people, traveling, exploring various fullnesses. 

I've always had to live frugally, and as long as the basic survival bits are covered, with a little for travel and entertainment and occasional computer upgrades, I'm satisfied. I've no doubt that hard stuff lies ahead. No stranger to that. The point is that at this moment, things are pleasant and I feel freer than I have for a very long time.

Hamburger? I don't think so...

As if the half a BILLION salmonella-contaminated eggs weren't bad enough, when I think about ground beef all I can see in my mind's eye is

"Pink Slime"

A friend sent this link from Grist, reported first in the New York Times.

Millie Garfield is 85 today! Happy Birthday, Millie

One of the original elderbloggers, Millie entertains and delights all with her down-to-earth, humorous take on life. Drop by her blog, My Mom's Blog, by Thoroughly Modern Millie, to read her Thoroughly Enjoyable Stories and get a glimpse of what life was like when us oldies were growing up.

Mom of Internet video brain Steve Garfield, she posts hilarious videos of things she can't open. And where else could you learn Yiddish online for free, even!

Happy Birthday, Millie. Looking forward to your next post! Thanks for finding the hysterically funny bits in getting older :)

Hugs,
Claudia

"I was eating my bitterness"

Century plant on the Lamar St. bridge

One of my sisters gently suggested that my last post was perhaps a little too harsh. Perhaps. Sometimes a girl just has to let go. Kinda like the flight attendant yesterday who got fed up with a passenger's abuse, cursed him out over the intercom, grabbed a beer, opened the emergency slide exit, and WALKED AWAY. He was later jailed, but I am savoring what he must have felt, the burden he must have shed, the sense of freedom he tasted, if only for a short while.

It didn't help that physical therapy is kicking my ass (in a good way--I'm gaining mobility and strength), my lower back was out like a fault line slipping, and for some reason (probably stress-induced IBS), my lower intestines turned to water.

I still don't like what's happening, but I don't know of a single soul who WOULD enjoy this particular segment of my life. I give myself permission to be a cranky bitch when on overwhelm. I'm way too old for the "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger" line, it all kills you. Period. Not especially learning anything new about myself, at this point it's simply a matter of endurance.

The quote above is from Anna Deveare Smith's one-woman show, "Twilight: Los Angeles." With minimal props/items of clothing taken from a trunk on-stage, she transforms herself into a dozen or so survivors of the Rodney King riots. in the '90's. I saw the production in Princeton and was deeply moved, both by the stories she told, and her exquisite ability to shape-shift.

One of the stories was about an elderly Korean woman, a shop-keeper who had lost her husband, along with other tragic situations. It was such a stark line, so visceral, that it has stuck with me all these years.

I think I must have been channeling this woman and the flight attendant when I wrote the last post. I stand behind what I wrote; however, I will admit that one can get a fairly decent education for less tuition than most US universities at UT. It's the politics and the way staff are treated that stick in my craw. Just had to cough it up, kinda like a hairball...

Looking into the abyss

S

Spineless cactus
 
Yeah. I know. If you're a writer, you're supposed to be writing. Big change of plans. I thought I had everything planned out so nicely. Car, debt management, all at least to ground zero by the time I retired. Since I took out 4 years of state service, I'm not eligible to retire until I reach 65. Five months away. Only five measly months away.

Life, the fickle bitch, stuck out her bony leg and tripped me once again. As of August 31, my job at the university will no longer exist. Due to reorganization, my team and I are considered redundant, as the folks in the UK would say. No incentive, no severance, just a session with HR. No keeping me on for those crucial five months.

OK. So resist panicking. Nope, that causes my blood pressure to skyrocket. Ignore it. Not an option. Find other work. Five months from turning 65? Right. Do you know anyone who would hire someone my age? Would you hire someone my age? Be truthful, now.

Eighteen years of working at UT, 24 years working for institutions of higher ed in Texas. What a waste. Teacher Retirement in Texas is a joke, especially after 15 years of budget cuts, downsizing, reorganization, attrition, all those tiny little cuts (see Frida Kahlo's painting, "A Few Small Nips") that finally bleed you dry.

Am I shocked? More than at anything else in my life. Am I surprised? Not really. UT is not a people institution, or at least not a staff-supporting institution. It's just a reflection of the state of affairs in the US right now. Rich get richer, poor get thrown to the wolves. Pretty soon there will be no one left to support faculty, administration, students, or facilities.

My stomach churns when I see orange. Not to mention the latest brain fart for supposedly raising money for scholarships, et al--the GSDM/UT partnership to manufacture and sell water bottles in the shape of the tower--H2Orange. And no, it's not orange colored or flavored. Just purified Texas river water. Stunning hubris. They proudly tout that they have bought carbon offset fiat, which means they can claim they're environmentally friendly. Totally defies reason and common sense. Texas has the worst air in the country, thanks to Twig grandfathering the oil refinery industry on the Gulf Coast, so all the crap associated with the manufacture and distribution of the tower bottle will still go into Texas air, water and soil. Well, maybe they will help keep the environment cleaner in Podunk, Idaho, but it just adds more garbage here. Does no one see the faulty reasoning there? And to top it off, only 40% of the proceeds go to the scholarships, et al.

I did not set out to post a rant. Nor will this be a "just think positively, everything will be OK." It might not be. I will do my usual I Ching, open myself to universal possibilities, and reaching out to all my networks like crazy. It is imperative to find work, I just don't have any prospects yet.

At least I'll have more time to post to FOP...

Two breaks, four sprains.

Well this is a fine pickle. Stepped in a hole on my patio where a tree root has broken up the stones. Threw me like a horse. Broke two bones, one on the outside of the ankle, the other inside where the tibia meets the ankle. NO weight on it for three weeks, then only up to 20% weight for the next three weeks. Boot stays on 23/7, with one hour to let it breathe and do 1" toe lifts from the ankle.

OUCHEEE!!!

Sprained both knees and both wrists, which makes it particularly difficult to get around. Walker time for Mama--I need the 4 supports rather than just the two of crutches, since the 3 "good" extremities are sprained. Could get no further than the bed to the bathroom for the first week. About as helpless as a person can be. Used my computer chair to roll as far as I could, then the walker to get the rest of the way.

My sister and bil in Wimberley came to the rescue. They have both had many years experience in assisting people with special needs (all kinds!) and fixed up their spare bed/bath so I could navigate. Before she leaves for work each morning, my sis packs a cooler with all kinds of gourmet goodies that I can knosh on throughout the day. Recent specialties: ratatouille, cold boiled shrimp, edamame, Chubani yogurt, avocado, risotto, tabouleh, baby green, red, yellow bell peppers, plus an assortment of drinks--water, V8, diet sodas, grape/blueberry/pomegranate juice, etc.

A house full of books, wireless, HDTV, two loveable well-trained Airedales, and migratory songbirds--I feel like I'm recuperating at a retreat. Oh yeah--it IS a retreat. Tomorrow I attempt to make it to the deck and photograph hummingbirds, the two pairs of painted buntings, and various other sweet tweeties.

I hear that I have a gorgeous bouquet of Mother's Day flowers in town from my wonderful daughter. My bil brought home red and white roses, and an armful of deep red-orange tulips, so there are no lack of flowers.

My biggest worry is my kitty. I'm afraid he thinks I have abandoned him. Friends and relatives are leaving food out for him, but he's a one-woman cat. No one has actually laid eyes on him since I left. He's tough and resourceful (like me!) but I hate that I have to be away for so long.

The photo is backwards--it's actually the right leg. Which means I won't be driving for quite some time.

Nothing like having your life completely jerked around. But it's OK. Flexibility and endurance--got plenty of both...for the time being, at least.

Weddings, New Arrival Shinier Than SXSWi 2010

Austin is full to bursting. Wet, wet winter and 79 degrees today, the whole town has a mossy coat. Primitive. I'm startled by flashes of chrome yellow forsythia. Feels like growing a thick, furry skin, full of twiglets and a few early fruit flies. Can't believe it snowed only a few weeks ago.

Anticipation is as thick as conductive gel for a galactic gathering of events. Two weddings and a baby. Spring has truly sprung. Lots of planets lining up in groovy patterns. That's not even including the SXSWi factor.

This is the first time in 6 years I will not be at SXSWi. The higher ed component has its very own building this year. That building, however, will not see me seated on the periphery of the room, power strip to share, taking notes like a madwoman. Not that I won't miss it, it just so happens there are way more exciting things going on.

Bluebonnets--a special benediction this year, the most abundant in decades. Waiting with thrilling, trilling anticipation a sight for drought-sore eyes. Lady Bird's Wildflower Center has a Bluebonnet Cam. Precious. And they will be a deep, brilliant blue this year. Or purple, or magenta, or white, or whatever species, but the Lupinus texensis will be breathtaking.

What a spectacular welcome for the matrimonials and a new wee person on the planet.

Snow in Austin...really!

Plumpest snow globs I've ever seen this far south. It was rather surreal. A bit like the 3" long rocket-shaped hail last winter. Extreme weather is thrilling. Scary. And it's going to get more extreme. Been through Missouri tornadoes, hurricanes, wildfires and earthquakes, desert floods, Austin floods, blizzards, mudslides, El Nino, La Nina, droughts, and forest fires. There's a wild joy in nature busting loose, even when there is real danger. Somehow the primordial elements seem more in the order of things, rather than say, a car wreck.


(Austin, TX, February 2010)

Notice how green it is, even though it's snowing. Reminds me of a March--gee, 17 years ago--when I flew to Austin from NJ to attend Paul B's last party. We had been through 23 separate snow storms since New Year's Eve, with ice still on all but the major highways. As the plane dropped into the old Mueller airport, something felt off-kilter. Once we dropped below the clouds, it was emerald green as far as the eye could see. There wasn't a sprig of green in Jersey. A lush 18 inch thick carpet of grass stunned my snow-accustomed eyes. Bluebonnets hadn't yet bloomed, but it was obviously going to be a bumper year. Much like this spring will be.

After years of relentless sunshine, heat and cold, withered plants and panting trees, Austin is a different animal this winter, metamorphosed by rain. Only in Texas skies can the color gray be described as vibrant. Light lends a different character to colors under the lowering clouds, intensifying and showcasing the metamorphosed earth. Moss covers live oaks like a coat of paint, contrasting with the wet, velvet black bark. Rainbows shimmer in the humid air. Gray glows argent, like burnished silver jewelry. Neighborhood cats, thick coats sprinkled with fairy dust, perfect muddy footprints trailing up and over my white car. A bird flutes a surprised, subdued query to unaccustomed early morning rain.

Grackle flurries restlessly prowl in the twilight, one eye on the dumpsters outside the eateries close to the river, one leg on trees perilously bending under the weight of tens of thousands of the buggers, moving like black schools of fish, pulled apart and collapsing together again like taffy, yet somehow  averting mid-air collisions and managing not to knock a neighbor off a perch.

New buildings loom over downtown like giant, shiny tinker-toys. Or maybe metallic mushrooms. The currently tallest one looks suspiciously like a flash drive standing on end. Folks coming to SX won't believe how the skyline has changed in just one year. There's something vaguely nauseating about how much building is going on, when news from other towns describes a completely different story. Where is all the money coming from? Who will populate the buildings? Will they fill as quickly as they went up? Will it be a repeat of the 80's, when the original "skyscrapers" went up, only to stand empty and forlorn for who knows how long?

Changes abound. Weddings and births, changes in circumstances. Can't control the weather, really can't control anyone but your own self. Wish life came with seatbelts. I'm gonna enjoy the ride anyway.

Bye, bye, double aughts!

It was a damned tough decade. Trauma Drama Extreme. It was about as unhealthy as you could get. The whole nation was traumatized, and some bullies went for the jugular. Pretty clear connection between abusive behavior and PTSD. America's psyche took a nosedive.

Adele M. Stan writes a smashingly good review of the millennial decade, as she dubs it. Andy Schmookler at None So Blind tackled it mid-decade, inviting comments on how the first Dubya administration really, truly made you feel. Some powerful revelations from Schmookler and others way back in two thousand five.

Does it make any difference how we say it? To the point that we must be clear in our communications. As an agreement on terms to help ensure fairness and justice. As long as we open ourselves to the possibility of peaceful coexistence with every living being.

Quest for Fire

Lost a plant in the last freeze. Striped, green mush. Goes nicely with the red dye that's seeped from a cheap kitchen rug into a stack of old SXSWi and film canvas bags from over the years. Is that sacrilegious?

Making progress on de cluttering. Unearthing warm clothes, shoes. Junky printer, keyboard, lamp, broken heater, piles of paper, waiting their turn at the door for the next empty recycling bin.

Outdated telephony equipment all in one bag. Schlepped 99% of already sorted books to Half Price, eyeing the bookcases for nipping and pruning.

My touchstones are buried under mounds of stuff. Seeing a glint here and there. Won't be long until I can set up a jewelry work area--clean and repair old pieces and make new ones. Maybe even wear some.

December 25--Texas Hill Country. Plenty of freezing nights this winter. Sleet anticipated tomorrow. Linus has taken to spending the night inside. His fur is extra dense, so it's likely to stay cold for a few months, scattered with 70 degree days.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              

So how does Quest for Fire fit in? I saw it when it first came out, and thought it was way cool, but then forgot about it in the frenzy of movies in the decades since. Watched it this afternoon, and learned that the director, Jean-Jacques Annaud, worked with the astounding writer Anthony Burgess (A Clockwork Orange) to create languages for the four tribes, based on his study of Indo European language. Annaud called in Desmond Morris for the most educated guess of how they used their bodies, mannerisms, clan-gathering, technology. Most of all, it was how fire was THE real and only deal. Had to have it, hard to make it.

That, of course, got me thinking about what it might have been like in the Hill Country 80,000 years ago. The springs would probably have been more active, a gazillion more critters. Heck, there are a gazillion fewer critters just in the last 50 years.

Going through old writing, One binder had a recipe for Flaky Pastry Shell. Not bloody likely. Recycle bin. It's a good thing I have another week at home at the rate I'm going. Actually, I'm not falling into that trap. I'm simply doing a triage and also making sure that I keep up with my regular trash, which can put a big hurt on my lower back. There's at least 1 box of trash bags in every room, and as I let go of stuff, I toss it in the trash.

So, Quest for Fire. The single gas heater in my house won't burn more than a puny quarter-inch high. My 2nd story bird's nest can get breezy in the winter, and I am afraid it will snuff it out. My friend gave me a small electric heater that is perfect. Only run it briefly when it gets below freezing. Back to decluttering.

Welcome to Austin, Winter

Boston, winter 2008

Winter is wet this year, which is a wonderful thing. Means a good chance we will have blankets of compact, intensely blue bluebonnets in the spring. Ditto for the companion Indian Paintbrushes.Lady Bird's seeds are not dead, only dormant, patiently waiting for rain. Lady Bird's wildflowers connect me  with my good Texas roots. They make Texas significantly more bearable.

Some winters, if we get moisture and milder temperatures, you'll see lots of greenery in one shape or another--the junipers, liveoaks, yaupons are dark, hard green. Mosses are brilliant, so are various bush plants, sage, cacti and succulents. All vibrant green. Until or if a frost comes along.

Other winters, no rain, hard and long freezes, ice storms, all the flora is pruned by mother nature, dead branches everywhere and vigorous spring growth unless the drought persists. Then it's spindly, faded, sparse, pretty much god-awful pitiful.

But that's not what I've been thinking about all day. I think about weather all the time, actually--I drive/bus/ walk to and from work, and drive/walk to and from rehearsals. So I'm out in it. The truth is, even though looking through my last, scarce posts, seeing how many were about people I've lost in the last year, I feel amazingly, vitally, alive. 

Plus the Capricorn stuff. Winter Solstice. That first spark of light. Winter is the Night of the Anticipated Awakening, summer is the Night of the Long Dance. Winter ignites some drive in me to cover ground. Walking, climbing, hiking. New Years Day is to outdoor adventures as the 4th of July is to fireworks. Summer is mostly just freakin' hot. My brain functions best in the 34-70 degree range. I concur with Robert Frost on the ice thing.

And The Christmas stuff. Not Christmas stuff, The Christmas stuff. This winter I am free of old losses that pretty much took the joy out of Christmas for too many years. This winter I sang Messiah for the 39th or 40th time, after taking a 12 year break. It was deeply healing, especially with David Stevens, in Baroque performance style, with the Austin Symphony. A slimmed-down, agile version that showcased the instrumentalists and singers, energized rather than stupefied the audience. Sitting through the complete Messiah can be like sitting through one night of Wagner's Ring (3-4 hours).

Which reminded me of past winter concerts, some with Concert Royale--all baroque instruments, Baroque tuning (slightly lower pitch), creamy-dreamy to sing with. Another endorphin boost. I heart the Baroque.

Savoring all the liquid runs, insanely grateful that I'd walked up and down that pinche hill to and from the Tower long enough to have the breath to pull off those lacy, long sixteenth note passages. Handel didn't slight his altos. Or his violas, or any of the interior voices, vocal or instrumental.

So that's another sign of how winter vitalizes me. I perform best when it's cool. Doing super-hard music is physically demanding. It's kind of amazing to register the mental/physical balance doing music all my life. As a child, it was mentally challenging, physically insignificant. As I age, it's less mentally challenging, but physically difficult (think standing stock still for 30-45 minutes at a time, holding a folder heavy with music, doing mad deep-breathing and sound production, while consummately focusing on a director's every demand).

Lately, the mental/physical has fused into a transcendental state. By now, I have all the major works memorized (that happens if you perform a lot), and I can dispense with a lot of little things that can distract you--the printed music, for one thing. You can attend to tuning, to how your line weaves above and frequently below the tenor line. How you and a soprano become a pair of birds, sweetly swooping and trilling in parallel major thirds (think the duet from Lakme').

Brings us right back around to Rocky Woo-Woo Land. "Support from your diaphragm" becomes "use your core" in today's vernacular. That's the music lesson for today, folks!

Horns/Huskers game goes burnt orange

As the UT side of the stadium lit up, neighbors ran shrieking from their houses. Guess the kids are bringing home some bling tonight. Defence City. They've marched unbeaten to their championship. Good job. Now let's see all of them graduate.

Leslie Jarmon, Incendiary Educator--In Memoriam

My dear friend and colleague Dr. Leslie Jarmon passed away last week. Leslie transformed everyone who was fortunate enough to know her. Authentic, compassionate, illuminated by inner peace. A powerful, abundant, active peace. Leslie embodied the concept of namaste, recognizing and acknowledging the divine in each of us.

Leslie and I were hired by the Graduate School and the former Center for Teaching Effectiveness (now DIIA) in the summer of 1998 to work with international graduate student instructors, Leslie as a teacher, and I as a conference coordinator, to support a state mandated international teacher certification program. 

Meeting Leslie is like encountering a supernova. Even in the simple, mundane act of nuking a single corn tortilla with a slice of cheese on top, she was preternaturally*  present in everything she did. My first thought was,

"Wow. This is a holy woman."

And she was.

Leslie's formidable intellect and compassionate regard for humanity are reflected in her accomplishments. She was in the vanguard of thinkers and movers in instructional technology throughout her career. Her recent grant that I write about elsewhere (and scooped Linden Labs) is visionary--her ability to spark visions in everyone she met was extraordinary.

And she's been doing this for a long time. She was the first person to submit a digitized doctoral dissertation, of which she was most proud. I knew she was in the Peace Corps, but only recently learned that she was regional director for Latin America. I knew she was a spiritual being, because our first conversation was about Pema Chodron, but I didn't know to what extent until she came back from a multi-week silent Bhuddist retreat in Colorado with a broken elbow.

I knew she was musical, but I didn't know that she was part of a virtual orchestra which I had briefly considered joining. I knew she was courageous, because I met her just after her first illness. That she fearlessly and joyously celebrated the last days of her life humbled and inspired me.

Leslie coined the term homo virtualis, and in doing so, described herself, just as she manifested the first dissertation on DVD by describing the world that she created herself.

Leslie gave her passion and energy to others until the end. Mutual friend and colleague Joe Sanchez, co-founder of the Educators Co-op, asked her what message she had to give to the world. She replied, "Tell them it's been REAL."

Tomorrow night I will celebrate Leslie's life with family and friends far and wide, communities expanding exponentially.

Tonight I give thanks for my friend Leslie, who gave me hope and a kick in the awareness pants.

Namaste, Leslie.

Cool stuff about Leslie.
In world here.   Bluewave Ogee



Friends' tributes, interviews, and articles about Leslie's ground-breaking work

here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, and here.

*snagged that description from another person who wrote about meeting Leslie for the first time

Slouching Toward Retirement

As opposed to working. Which I will always do. Wondering if I should chronicle that long, drawn-out affair known as retiring from the university. It can last for years. But hopefully not. Because I have happier and healthier work to do.

I have two "katas" I perform when I can't see the path ahead. I consult the I Ching, and I run a couple of cognitive behavior thought records in my head. With a reading from the Ching and a reality check on my feelings and how to be thoughtful as well as psychic--that's a mojo power combination.

Thing is, I need to keep reminding myself that Rome was neither built nor torn down in a day, and to apply the gris-gris liberally for best results.

I need me some Dr. John. Got to sit in a recording session with him umpteen decades ago, a lovely gentleman, very professional and kicked everybody's ass around the studio with piano chops with lots of red eye gravy. Just so good. Noodled around with classical stuff in between takes. The man doesn't just have good hands, his voice IS the voice of the bayou.

So what do I want to do when I grow up? Pretty much what I'm doing now. Writing, editing, accessibilifying to the limit of my tech skills and tools, rescue a couple of shepherd-type dogs, continue to work with gifted people, to find more gifted people and play with them.

Havi's personal ads have inspired me to revisit the technique. I've been working on what my most comfortable living accommodations would look like. I've written a personal ad or two over the years, one just because I wanted my wonderful Sabine back, and had to make one last desperate call to her in print.Including aging in place. What would my ideal world be like?

Personal ad v.01

Farmette somewhere within 60 miles of Austin cheap enough for me to manage along with dogs, herbs for women, cats, chickens, maybe a goat or 2, an UP TO DATE RIG and decent connection, veggie/companion flower garden. Good thing marigolds are hardy--cheap bug repellant. Doing something on the Internet, blogging, writing, editing. Natural physical/mental therapy for stress from state job and keeping the joints in shape as long as possible. Close enough to drive in comfortably for rehearsals/concerts/mischief. Gets a little misty after that...

My vision changed drastically in two tiny, short weeks.

Personal ad v.02

See above, except with big honkin' add-ons of COOPERATIVE ENDEAVORS. To be perfectly frank (well, not Frank, but, you know), the best part of my job is working with really, really smart people who are FUN TO WORK WITH. Not to mention the awesome technical and graphic skills. So v.02 is .01 on geek power. How to build a good sandwich. How to design a gorgeous, compliant Web site. Brought to you by super-nice folks who'll be sure to give you a good time with a great design... Even considering cooperative housing (a la hippie commune, NOT retirement facility). Time to percolate and come up with a plan...

Just keep writing.

Walter Miller Rawley. In Memoriam. Big Wheel Keep On Turnin'

AKA O Fortuna. This fall is dense with changes. Lost a dear father-in-law today, watched a daughter follow her instincts and pay her respects and mine and be with him one last time. This after a week of flying down, making wedding plans. I saw the wheels turn in her mind. Truly awesome. Full of grace and love.

Monumental changes. We are steeped in escorial green. We are lush with greenery. For the first time in years, lawns need mowing, chuckling toddlers hold out their hands and look with wonder at the wet. They've never seen rain.

Grandfather. Well-loved and cared for in his later life. I was privileged to spend some time with him in Boston a few winters ago. My nephew posted a photo of himself, his young son, and grandfather, and I've asked for permission to post it. It's a wonderful photo, generational wheels within wheels. [And here it is! Thanks, Jenson, hugs all around.]

Wood carver, sculptor, bronze-caster, artist, sweet man. Loved to carve crosses. Cast crosses. Anywhere. Of any wood. Of any metal. Some of which reside in churches throughout the southwest. His Archangel Michael is stunning. My daughter used to sit in the shop with him and mold puppies that looked just like curled-up, sleeping puppies. I love those puppies.

Standing on the front porch with him, gazing at the mountains across the road. I will lift up mine eyes  unto the hills...of his beloved Ruidoso. Picnics down on the Rio Ruidoso below their house. The molten-hot intensity of a pour. The mold cracking, contents to be lovingly touched, refined to a thing of beauty and devotion.

My last conversation with him. "Walter, what are you carving?"

Slowly, an apologetic look on his face, he raises his open hands, half-puzzled, smiles at me, and says, "I don't do that any more, since June died."

Say hi to June, grandfather. Love you.