Prisstopolis

It is day three of my ukulele adventure. I can now play "Tom Dooley" and can sort of take a stab at "I'm Yours" by Jason Mraz. Also I know how to tune the instrument, a pretty essential component of getting a song to sound recognizable.

PHEAR MY MAD UKE SKILLZ

I'm sitting in the Wayward Coffee House. Just outside is the Greenwood car show. More than a thousand cars parked diagonally along sides of the road, spectators walking among them. Earlier today, Smiley and I caught the last few minutes of a MoveOn.org rally for safer oil drilling. One hundred people rebuking pollution at the beach, thousands a few miles inland celebrating an industry that demands the causes of that pollution. And I love cars too. I was especially drawn to the Jaguars,and a Chrysler similar to the 1956 model I remember that my dad used to have. So many models I remembered, like the station wagons that carpool moms used to drive. Some really strange things too, a car made by Messerschmitt. It was low like a go-cart, with two seats in single file. There were even a few electric cars, and one had a sign explaining about plans to convert it to battery.

A pug beagle mix is the newest adventure in my life. After a few May and June mini-hikes on weekends, I wanted to add more exercise the rest of the week. Tuesday night, Maddy's boyfriend Jiff came over. I fed the two teens hot dogs, and we watched "Notting Hill", a bland romantic comedy. Jiff's mom has a dog that doesn't get to go for walks very often, and suddenly, despite my complete inexperience with canines, I felt an inspiration: I could walk Hilda's dog!

Hilda was surprised that i wanted to, and was happy to have it done, yet irritated that it would involve answering the door early in the morning. I took Jiff along in case I needed a technical consult, and my daughter Maddy accompanied us to make sure that we didn't talk about her. (As if the two people who know her best could have anything more to discover.)

When we arrived, Hilda didn't clip the leash on all of the way, and Sophie-Pup escaped between our legs and out of the front door. Jiff raced after her, but he slipped and skinned his arm on the driveway, allowing her a head start that took three blocks to overcome. Maddy and I met him halfway as he was carrying her back, and he clipped the leash on, then handed her over to me. We walked a scant mile, and it all went well, despite her almost constant muscular pulling and testing. A very short length seemed to work best, with occasional pauses to calm down before continuing. -- Maddy was horrified by the pooper scooping obligation.

Thursday and Friday I tackled it on my own. Walked farther, and faster, and talked to other ladies with pooches in the park. Today I got to see duckings, and a graceful blue heron. Sohie-Pup wanted to swim out to them, but I didn't allow it.

Today I saw a squirrel skip merrily up the trunk of a Western Cedar. The tree had been outfitted with an aluminum collar. A two-foot wide swath of metal, lined with plastic, it had been placed there to prevent the fluffy-tailed rodents from climbing the trees, and then gaining access to the roof. The next counter-offensive may have to be the removal of all trees within squirrel-jumping distance of the building.

As it bounded over the useless defense mechanism, I could almost hear a victorious cry in the squirrel tongue:

I laugh at your anti squirrel technology!
All of your hazelnuts shall be mine.
Ta-ta, until we meet again.

Some virus-infected rawfoodian must have breathed on me last weekend. The sneezing masqueraded as an allergic reaction to the plague of pet cats and dogs, but it was soon followed by a sore throat, and an all-over achiness swiftly ensued. I'm on the mend now. I'm still sniffling like crazy, but the every bone in my body hurts like crazy is diminishing by the hour. If anyone were to give me any trouble, my Kraft-Margerina skills would kick in unbidden, and the assailant would suffer instant flattenization.

I heard a plaintive sound. Something outside, or was it in the lobby? It was intermittent, so I didn't investigate right away. The sound began again with more constancy, so I peeked out to take a look. An orange tabby had been wandering the halls, it was cozying up to one of my neighbors. It wasn't her cat. She pointed out an address tag on its collar, and said that she had to leave for work now.

The furry beast is now ensconced on my deck. There are plants to investigate and a bowl of water. I placed a board at the base of the screen door in an attempt to to shield it from those fearsome claws. But the wily creature worried its body between the door and the board easily removing the barrier. Now it is sitting outside, a few feet from my computer table, making poor little me noises.

A pink post-it is in place on the door of the presumed owners alerting them to the cat's location should they ever return. This superintendence can not become permanent. I'm having slight allergic symptoms already.

I'm now the parent of an 18 year old.

Latest pool annoyance: A nylon rope with plastic floats now bisects the rectangle, not lengthwise creating a lane, but across the width. In pursuit of a segregated shallow area for non-swimmers, I am expected to turn my 30 mini laps into 60 DEMI-MINI laps. This is unacceptable.

My solution: Swim at an early dinner hour when the water is undiluted by juveniles. Untying the floating barrier was a snap. I then replaced it within half an hour. Yes, there were a few witnesses, but they will keep mum.

The homeowner association rules state that while in the pool area one must "bring a nonalcoholic drink in a plastic container." Now usually I flaunt this, preferring to wait until later in my own dining room to attend to re-hydration needs, But the weather was warm today, so I brought an 8 ounce container of eau municipale along with my Liz Claiborne hat, and my goggles. There were a handful of kids in the pool throwing around beach balls, and they politely moved over a bit to accommodate my mini lap swimming. On one corner of the deck some non-aquatic types blabbed away in deck chairs. One of them found the need to chain smoke.

I didn't stick around much after swimming. It wasn't only the smoke, there was this alarming brightness everywhere. My hat and the Aveeno non-oily sunblock on my nose were no match for the ionizing radiation. When I got back, I mentioned the smoker to the PrissKids.

Zbigniew said, "You should have whipped out a one hundred page book and pointed to the rule."

I responded with more theoretics, "Here is my non-alcoholic drink in a plastic container. Where's yours? And put out that cigarette!"

A major milestone for my eldest tonight. Beautiful ceremony, and I only cried a little bit. My daughter was there too, to cheer him on. Now it is midnight. They are sleeping like the babies that they used to be.

Poignant article on the whole mother daughter dynamic. If any of you guys read it, comments here would be great. What it made me think about is that our lives aren't going to be idyllically perfect. Family life is stressful. That's why so many people who are financially able to live alone, end up doing so. (Then some of them bemoan their lack of a partner.)

The Zbigster is graduating from High School today, and Maddy is trying to get out of attending based on her homework and dance rehearsal obligations. Empty nesting is just around the corner here in Prisstopia.

I went to see a modern dance performance today. All I knew beforehand, was that my daughter’s friend was in it. It was an end of the year recital by 7 to 15 year olds. They all participate in the choreography, and the work was quite advanced. I thought about how much communication there is in gesture as they were able to transmit mood. Some of the dance steps were straight out of yoga class, and they used muscle to lift each other. Facial expressions were a big part of the storytelling as well.

It was a mother-daughter day, my son having demurred at the balletic excursion, and we also went to a vegetarian restaurant to hang out with some raw fooders. I traded lists of smoothie ingredients with a few people. One guy said that he feels an energy rush every time he drinks coconut water. Sometimes pineapple does the same thing to me.

On the way home, we stopped for produce at the Jedi market. I bought a cactus leaf, which has now been shredded in the cuisinart, and mixed with cilantro, onion, lime juice, tomato, and mexican spices.

We did quite a bit of walking too. I feel tired, but also, really good.

I told my daughter that I was going to buy some holiday groceries. She asked me what I was going to get. I already had apples, but we still needed the horseradish and more eggs. There was also the matter of the matzah.

"Don't we also need to get an orange?"

"If you say that we need an orange, then I will get an orange."

"But don't we NEED an orange."

"If an orange is part of your minhag, then we should have one."

She tried the phrase "supposed to" on me, but that didn't specifically apply either.

So, about the orange:

The seder plate includes five symbolic foods, although the seder is based around three symbolic foods including the unleavened bread which is not even one of the five on the plate. A Venn diagram might be useful here. Israeli seder plates include a space for a fresh green in addition to the mild parsley and the bitter horseradish. This is usually lettuce, and my haggadah does not mention any symbolism for it. An orange is not among the five.

There is a very modern story, probably originating in our lifetimes, and in my opinion, like an earlier one about George Washington and the cherry tree, quite likely after the fact, about the passover orange. Today there are many female rabbis, but this is a phenomenon of the last half century. Before that, rabbis were all male. Orthodox synagogues still do not have any women in rabbinical roles. Since those guys say that they are doing everything correctly, and all else is inauthentic imitation, adherents would be of the opinion that there STILL are no women rabbis.

We could get into many advantages and disadvantages of an all-male clergy. I like the idea that it gives men something to do. Hanging out with their rabbi and discussing a Jewish equivalent of how many angels can dance on the head of a pin provides camaraderie and defrays boredom. This can contribute to a congenial home life. When women are discouraged from this esoteric knowledge, some of them desire inclusion. For example, if I were more informed, I might understand the significance of the not-so-bitter Israeli lettuce. There is also an increasing trend of clerical authoritarianism, I see that as the real issue in this citrus conversation. When both sexes are involved in a process, that egalitarianism is transmitted to those they serve. That would be the congregations.

Returning to the orange:

Once upon a time, not too long ago, a young woman asked her rabbi if she could also become a rabbi when she grew up. He responded: "When women can be rabbis, there will be an orange on the seder plate." Since that time, oranges have shoe-horned their way onto crowded holiday tables.

The haggadah doesn't say anything directly about why an egg is included either, only that you need one. Tradition has always been an evolving fusion.

(Sing this to the tune of "Somewhere Out There")
Somewhere nearby I hear the buzzing sound
A song of barbershop clippers hummed in four part round
Even closer my favorite seventeen-year old
Soon to undergo shortening of his glorious locks of gold

And though no razor`s touched his hair since last June or July
I`d like to think underneath that mane is still the same sweet guy

To the strip mall a mere mile away
First thing on the agenda of a balmy spring break day
As the strands fall it soon reveals a trace
Of what is becoming a grown-up chiseled face

Floor-length tresses no longer decorate my mature tyke
But by summer they may evolve into a surfer spike

This has been a successful haircut event
I for one am glad that both of us went
And the clippers continue buzzing along
Will your own teenager soon attend a concert of their song?

My new glasses are here! Fun that they arrived on my Birthday. I'm very happy with the appearance and the fit. The directions for measuring made it easy. I'm reserving judgment on the prescription, it will take a few days to see if it needs tweaking.

My little brother Leo (aka the LBL) asked me in a phone call if I had cake. So I explained about the whole raw vegan thing. I did have some amazing longan berries berries today. They look like lychees, and my daughter said that they taste like wine. We put a few of the seeds into a flower pot to see if any of them sprout. The LBL said that limited diets always lead to binges on hamburgers for him, and that he expects the same for me. But I don't crave red meat at all. Chicken soup or sardines are another story. I can see wanting those occasionally. For now, I'm still charged up about how much better my joints feel, and my skin feels smoother too. Plus, unlike with a strictly reducing diet, I haven't felt hungry at all. If this keeps up, there is every indication of wearing very cute low-waisted jeans by summer.

My State caucuses were today. The one I attended was close-packed with people, but not at all a madhouse. I got there early and helped to set up and sign people in. This was Zbig`s first caucus, he isn`t 18 yet, but will turn 18 before the general election. That made him eligible to participate.

Good weather helped with the turnout, as did the neck and neck race between Clinton and Obama, coming out of Super Tuesday. If my precinct is any indication of a trend, the northwest is going heavily toward Obama. I`m torn. I like Clinton too, maybe more. I signed in uncommitted, and advanced as a delegate to the next level. This is new for me, I`ve always decided early in previous years. Being uncommitted means becoming a hot property. Other factions will try to sweet talk me into joining them.

Right now emails from Obama supporters are dropping into my email box at a rate around once a minute. Ping, ping, ping. I admire their passion.

WHEREAS
I found myself in need of new eye wear  so that I can read books and newspapers. (Yes, something other than  your lovely journals.)

AND WHEREAS
I have a history of walking out of LENSCRAFTERS with receipts for five hundred dollar bits of plastic and wire.

AND WHEREAS
Spending less makes sense for me.

AND WHEREAS
http://www.39dollarglasses.com/ and similar sites are just a click away.

AND WHEREAS
Some of them have further discounts if you add a coupon code to your order.

THEREFORE BE IT RESOLVED
That ordering new glasses on line is worth a try.



I will let you know if the resultant product at all allows me to see.
Can you tell that it's caucus season?

I suddenly have the ability to feel full feel full after meals. Not stuffed full, but not focusing on what else looks good. Last night I bought raw almond butter and unsweetened chocolate and a bag of 4 avocados. But when I got home, all I ate was two peaches, and a cut up yellow pepper. The vegan-ness is unsettling my daughter a little bit. But I had already made chicken-vegetable stew for her, because I`m not pushing this at all. As a still growing kid, being an omnivore can be a good thing.
There have been a few news stories lately about nutrition featuring the phrase "food deserts." This refers to urban areas without grocery chain stores or farmers markets. Residents have to rely entirely on convenience stores where most of the foods sold are pre-packaged items with long shelf lives. By contrast, I am able to choose between so many fresh things, even now in February with sleet falling, and another snow storm threatening. I feel so blessed.

My daughter asked me if I knew any words that rhymed with "lost." Other than using a rhyming dictionary, the most obvious method is to go through the alphabet: bossed, cost, dossed. Is dossed a word? I think it is, and an online dictionary says that it means going to bed. Which is perfect for poetry where the subject might want to bunk down, perchance to dream. And what about "dost?" The Internet says it is an archaic form of "does," I do, he dost. OK, yes, that sounds familiar, very "Prince and the Pauper." It turns out that she was writing a sonnet.

The main thing that I remembered about sonnets was that Sylvia Plath had science class anxiety, and she got her counselor to excuse her from having to enroll. But she found the atmosphere in study hall to be something like Mark Twain`s description of a Lacrosse game: two armies beating each other with sticks, with a hard missile occasionally denting someone`s head. So she asked the chemistry teacher if she could audit his class, and spent the sessions looking up to smile sweetly at him while writing sonnets and villanelles.

There are roughly three styles of sonnet, with the Shakespearean form being the favorite of ninth-graders. Maddy showed me a few well-known examples, all of which I recognized. I tried reading one out loud, and she said that I was not following the soft/hard pattern of iambic pentameter. Her English teacher recommends "head banging" to get the rhythm right. This rhythm can also be achieved by channeling Bela Lugosi, or the Sesame Street Count, or any Italian speaker. Also, each line must have ten syllables.

Your teacher said that you should bang your head
But I prefer to wave my arm instead

Yes, incorporating movement really did allow me to get into the sonnet groove. And as I shall be going to a service tomorrow where everyone has been asked to bring a rock or a feather or a quotation
OR A POEM
It seems only fitting to appear with my first ever Sonnetic effort.


today we mark the new year of the trees
wet sap awakens, hidden within bark
in two months the stubborn leaf buds it frees
shall burst knifelike and pallid in the park

soon greenish fronds seek sun to synthesize
added mass of stems, that bloom and set seed
winter shards cover up in springtime guise
avian creatures weave a house of reed

plantlike, sometimes emotion hibernates
when weather harsh restricts love`s easy flow
until hormonal heat initiates
capillary action`s flowery show

red rose hips in a scape barren of sprigs
a lone preserve: fall`s fruit upon stark twigs

So there was no interpretive dancing.

There wasn't even any circle dancing.

But there were cookies and latkes and stories and songs

Including one surprising new song. The lyrics were about flickering candles.

Our song leader played a few bars on the electric keyboard. The tune was strangely familiar. It had a shrill syncopated honky-tonk feel to it. I started to laugh. A few people looked at me oddly. How could notes without words be funny? I looked over at my daughter. She was laughing too.

Maddy said: do you know what this is?

 I replied: Peter Cottontail!

She said: I know!

The vamp bars concluded. As we launched into the words, we both applied that slight southwestern rasp to our vowel sounds best befitting the style of the music.

Happy Holidays from Priss Prisstofferson 21314 to Blogshares and to all of my readers near and far!