Talking Shoes

I heard the most hilarious shoes a few mornings ago. I was sitting in the office where I work, reading, because I was waiting to go out and table but I needed a replacement to arrive to answer the phone, although no one was there. (No mom, I wasn't being lazy and a bad employee). Anyway, a person who works in a different department at the end of the hallway came walking by. The shoes this person was wearing weren't making  much of a high-heel tapping sound as you might expect, it was more of a sort of "Clack! Squeak-Schlep" sound. It proceeded down the hallway and I started laughing as the sound receded but then it came back, to my surprise, and I had to straighten out my face in a hurry. All I can say is, what a great idea for starting out your day in a good mood.
I think there's a real market for entertaining shoes, for example shoes that actually talk. Shoes that remind you of important things to do that day, or shoes that chatter positive messages at you first thing in the morning.


"Hey there George, you look great today! I can tell you've been working out. Let's not forget the shower now, remember what happened last time. No, not those socks, try again, atta boy! Don't use that cat food or he'll puke into us again at 3 in the morning. Better get going now or you'll be late and miss the bus and we'll have to walk, and we don't like that at all now, do we?"


You see? It would be worth it simply for the news clips about people going mad and ridding themselves of their shoes in creative ways. What would yours have to say for you, hm?
Shoes that just made sounds or had fun lights would be fun too. They could have little sirens that went off if you caught athlete's foot, or a "check shoe" light that would come on when you were in danger of tearing a seam. Honestly, what am I doing in college? This is a billion dollar idea right here folks, somebody take it and run!


For those of you who take an interest in such things, Finals has been somewhat appeased by a spate of research and presentations and is now in the corner gnawing gently on a Consumer Behavior text book.

Although the view from this window still bears a bit too much snow to be terribly inspiring, down in the valley there is grass growing around the crocuses and daffodils, and all the birds are just that much more manic. A contrast from the occasional fits of song I'm hearing in the woods around home. I did hear a wren on this morning's walk. They always sound a little crazy anyway. But it's all enough to make a one-time morris dancer haul out and polish his bells. Ah, for those heady days when the beard was brown and the shin splints were just a temporary blip on the weekend's tour. I knew I'd recover by Tuesday in time for practice. The important thing was to have lift in the single-step and snap at the corners. And keep smiling. Morris dancers always dance their best for other morris dancers, because they're the only ones who really care. And it's as competitive (for the boys, at least) as any geek sport. We're like those song birds out there, flashing our plumage (hankies and baldricks), leaping and showing like sacrificial ungulates. Of course, everyone knows how that incredible facility with waving hankies and jingling bells is dead-useful for attracting a desirable mate. Even better when the sticks come out. And occasionally there's blood, although more often from black fly bites than from a stick contusion. Actually, on reflection, the beer may be the best part. Dunno...
    Anyhow, that was then. Now, I just have a toe in the morris water, and I have a pretty good idea who's really watching. I like those tunes, too. And morris dancing is one of the few places where an accordian is a respectable instrument. You've probably heard the joke:
    A morris musician goes into a pub and leaves his accordian on the back seat of his car. MUCH later he comes out of the pub and, sure enough, the back window on his car has been smashed, and there on the seat of the car there are now two accordians.
    But I like accordians. I also like banjos and bagpipes. And morris dancing. Yet I still managed to find a mate and father offspring. Spring is in the air and nature is full of surprises.



     

Oh and by the way...

...if you're interested in massage, essential oils, yoga, piping, humor, laundry, or just a good read, my very good friend Jackie has started a blog over here. Share and enjoy.

How I Think

I don't really have much to complain about generally speaking. However I would like to take a moment to comment on the creature in the corner of my room right now.

It's made out of worry and paper and old Styrofoam cups that used to hold coffee. It's held together with hysterical laughter and ridiculous comments that come from being up at three in the morning. It's drooling too, did I mention that? It's the most faithful pet ever. It dogs me everywhere and it smells like ink and sweat. It eats creativity and motivation and it loves to gnaw on organization. It gets more and more frolicsome as the night gets longer. Right now it's starting to romp around and chase its tail. Soon it will decide it has to go out and probably head to the corner pizza place while I trail after it, mumbling orders for it to sit in the corner and be quiet.

It barks at my professors, drawing their attention. They give it a pat on the head and feed it a treat -- a presentation here, a paper there, a written exam for being cute. It's going to become obese if they keep spoiling it like that, but will they listen to me when I point this out? No. It's just a poor little beast after all, and I need to learn to take care of my pets. Really, they say, I should be taking it out and exercising it more, training it. I can't just put it off and put it off and expect it to know what I want it to do and how it ought to behave.

I've name it Finals, and we're going to become very good friends.

So, we sharpened the lights and dimmed our wits and went about the ceilidh thing last night. It may be wildly significant that, while there was no fiddle (Jake was in NYC), there was an accordian and a banjo -- which led to a lot of vocal music. Well, there were four or five guitars, and all the other sundry instruments paled in comparison, sound-wise. So that was natural enough. I love singing, and there were many songs. Also, the lost boys band was there and did a couple of very fine spots. (They always practice in secret and I had never heard them before.) For some reason, the last event of the night was arm wrestling, which offers an excellent arena for gauging the competitive inclination of the younger set. Basic personalities really place their stamp on such events, and it was amusing to see who would take such a competition seriously (despite their verbal assertions of ambivalence) and who could truly not care less. Uh-huh.
   Okay, I finally started the seedlings, and they're steaming up the greenhouse to beat the band. No little green tips showing yet, but from the window here I can superimpose the idea of those blank flats filled with leggy seedlings over top of the garden beds just outside the house there. It's a natural line of ascendancy, and I look forward to eventually turning them out like ruminants to pasture. Nothing like sitting back and watching the free-range broccoli lazily foraging across the yard. Never hurt nobody, and highly resistant to frost. I hope they come up. My neighbor already has many flats full of wavy green things. I know better than to place my competitive bets in the gardening circus, but there is such a thing as being just plain embarrassed by a bad showing. Rah- rah! (Ra -- we could use some decent sunshine, too.)
   I think I'll nip down to the barn and let the goats out. It's not snowing, and that young one keeps bouncing off the walls. There's a bit of wire mesh covering all of the animal-exposed windows, and they've been using their spare time (when not accessing their caprine facebook accounts) working the staples holding the wire loose, so it'll flap around. This also exposes them to the glass in the windows, which is not what I want to happen. When careening doe-ling hits plate glass window with flailing hoof, nobody is happy. Then, as with the chickens, their internet privileges are curtailed. That's just the way it is.

Foods to stock up on (and not stock up on) in the event of an Apocalypse

You’ll want to prevent any extra diseases so a well balanced diet is an important part of surviving The Apocalypse.  Running to the corner store or Wal-Mart won’t be an option. Here’s what to stock up on:

                -Canned Beans (for protein)

                -Jerky (because everyone has jerky in the good adventure stories)

    -Stale bread (Really stale, like make sure you could kill something with it if you had to, because      you might)

                -Freeze dried citrus fruits (to prevent scurvy)

                -*Unlabeled cans of food (Just to keep things interesting)

-Water (Clean water. Eventually you may have to drink your own urine due to the poisonous nature of the water, but it’s best to put that off as long as possible.)

-Spam

-Anything pickled

-TWINKIES, VERY IMPORTANT (For desert, to keep your blood sugar up, and because they never, ever, go bad).

Do NOT stock up on:

                -Frozen meat (because it won’t stay frozen long once the power's knocked out and that merely   attracts unsavory guests)

-Baked goods (baked goods are for the good times, people stuck in the good times don’t survive The Apocalypse ergo, no baked goods)

                -Fresh fruit and veggies(that’s just a sticky mess)

                -Things you have to stay in one place to cook and eat, for obvious reasons. 

*Got the idea for that one from here

Life among the aliens

I was recently delighted to learn that I'm no longer considered to be exclusively human. This will come as no surprise to  people who know me well, but the scientific evidence was lacking before. It turns out that I'm part Neanderthal, and bit of another hominid called Denisovan, and probably multitudes of other extinct species as well. This has been discovered through examining fossil DNA, and comparing it to modern human DNA. I think it's great. For quite some time I have quietly lamented the fact that I would never be able to meet a Neanderthal personally. The thought that another hominid species so similar to my own, and yet different enough to be, well, alien, as much as I to them, at one time walked this very planet -- it's so exciting to find out that they're still here! Because Homo Sapiens, so remarkable for their sexual propensity to mate with just about anybody, managed to bring these other concurrent species into our fold, they are not entirely lost to time and history after all. It gives a whole new meaning to that warm, fuzzy feeling.
      Besides, while many children long to find out that they were adopted, maybe found on a doorstep or spirited from their true parents (the rightful king and queen Whatsit) and placed in foster care for their own safety, only to one day be discovered to be the rightful heir to the ancient kingdom of Whatsit which now, desperate and failing under a decrepit stewardship, awaits their restoration and this sentence is really getting too long, isn't it? So, what I really wanted to happen to me was to one day be informed that I was, in fact, an alien. This would be discovered when I went to the doctor's for a checkup and was found to have two hearts or something. That, and my ability to levitate heavy objects and evaporate the bully boys who always wasted me in dodgeball. And somewhere, somehow my spaceship was waiting to descend into the back yard and set down under the big maple. And my real family would disembark and confer with my adopted parents and congratulate them on a job well done but, alas, it's time for Steve to return to his rightful place amongst his true people and by the way his name's not really Steve, but you probably couldn't pronounce it anyway because it's got this little consonant thingy in it which we write with a little glowing dot sort of thing which is common on our home world. Umm... He'll still visit, of course. Would you like to tour the ship before we go?
      I would have, too. Just because I'm an alien, it doesn't mean I lack empathy. I might be telepathic, too.
      Here's something else:  I think I read somewhere that Neanderthals had bagpipes. Did anybody else hear anything about that? Really bears pondering, doesn't it?

I had a fantastic lucid dream today (in the library). I managed to remember that I wanted to research smelling in my dreams. When I realized I was dreaming I took a deep breath and it smelled like clear air. As soon as I stopped thinking about it the scent stopped existing. So, it seems my brain created the scent for me and took it away after it was no longer needed. The same way it put my cell phone in my pocket later on in the dream when I suddenly had to call 911. (I was no longer lucid by that point).

Imagine the power you would have in dreams if you were always aware you were dreaming. I'd probably never wake up. Normally as soon as I realize I'm dreaming I immediately make myself fly. But then... something happens and I get distracted. It's like my brain is a hummingbird crossed with a fish and it flits from thing to thing and forgets about each one as it happens. If I could control, and perhaps concentrate with a more -- continuting with the animal analogies -- turtlelike attitude I bet I could do great things in my brain. I could probably end hunger and create world peace and deal with the consequences of both those things all in one night. Think about it. What would you do? Nothing would be impossible.

Whiskey on a Sunday

There's a Mourning Dove sitting in the top of a dead spruce in the neighbor's yard. They always look a little taken aback by whatever situation they find themselves in. "Wow, how'd I get up here? Are those my feet? Hey, look how they grip that branch! -- Whoa!~ My wings are flapping! Where am I going now? Ahhhh!" Right up there with their cousin pigeons for total cleverness sometimes, but I like listening to them call.

Yesterday I had lots of fun playing junior engineers with my shovel in the driveway. I was diverting water all over the place, trying to hasten the drying out of the mud pit. I had things fairly nicely dribbling away and somewhat smoothed out, then a friend came to visit and drove her car right into the thick of it. It was a small car which used to be a nice pale blue, and I think the roof will make very colorful paving to park our cars on, once the mud congeals around it. Our friend got out okay before it sank, and I tried the Force levitation thing to lift it out. Couldn't budge it.

We have this lovely new toy here. It's a miniature greenhouse, which is actually four wire mesh shelves, roofed with plastic and standing about five feet tall. It sits in front of the picture window now, sort of blocking half the view, but soaking up lots of sun. The idea is to lay flats of starting seeds in it to grow until they can be taken outdoors. Then the whole unit can go out. Unfortunately, I haven't actually started any seeds yet. And I keep looking at it and thinking that it would be fun to put four cats in it, one for each shelf. And we could watch them yowl and paw at each other through the mesh. I'd have to vent the plastic so they would have air.

Probably not a good idea, on second thought. Maybe if I alternated the shelves with cats and Mourning Doves. Like that (very) old Tull song, I've got "That Sunday Feeling", and that twitchy desperation to put it to good use before, like the Mourning Dove, I find myself standing incredulously in the middle of Monday. I suppose I could plant some seeds and get them into the greenhouse. That would be way useful. Also, there's supposed to be band practice tonight. Time to get cranking on the summer repertoire, which we were supposed to be doing during the winter. Time just gets away so. Stand by for the Fifth Business rendition of 'The Little Gypsy Girl'. We're going to see if we can get Stuart to dance and play the box at the same time. (He doesn't know that yet.)

I think I'll go play in the mud some more.

I no longer exist

Ladies and gentlemen! I have deactivated my facebook account! 

It is not the first time, and who knows if it shall be the last. So far I’ve only suffered mild withdrawal symptoms including a slight twitch in my left eye, uncontrollable shaking when near a computer with internet access, and a sudden tendency to talk to myself. Other than that I’m fine. 

I’m told some more severe reactions to watch out for are walking up to people who are doing something I approve of and saying “Willa likes this,” one should watch out for third person references in normal conversation as well.  Another symptom of withdrawal is standing in the middle of a crowded area and repeating the lyrics of a favorite song that you feel apply to your own life over and over again until someone notices and asks you what’s wrong.  I’m fighting it but I can feel the urge to burst into ‘There is Nothing Like a Dame.’ Does that apply to my life right now you ask? Well no it does not, thank you for asking Willa, but it’s in my head and the facebook beast will take anything right now. It’s desperate and even songs from half-forgotten musicals will give it some emotional fodder.

Snow Robins

It's not the result of climate change, I don't think, but it was a new one for me. There I was, trudging through the latest installment of frozen precipitation, back to the house from the barn, and through the falling snow I heard a robin singing the 'Oh-I'm-so-happy-it's-mating-season' Spring song. Silly bird. Were it not for the angle of the sun and the stars now visible in the night sky, I would have a tough time believing it's April. I should know better, of course. I live in Vermont, and once this snow's gone we're in for some tough sleddin'. Anyhow, NOAA says we're also in for some mild, sunny days. I'll take it.
 
Whilst making supper the other night, I decided I would pop a CD into the old machine and listen to some music. I know this an antiquated technology, but my older and less delicate manipulatives still prefer moving parts. No logic there, but, hey, does anyone remember the old TOS Star Trek show which featured a rotary digital chronometer turning backwards to indicate the Enterprise slipping through a time warp? No? It was state of the art, man. Well, just for the record, I have NEVER thought that digital watches were a pretty neat idea.

But I digress. I put in a CD, and it was Jez Lowe's 'Doolally', and I thought with every song that played, this man has a brilliant sense for melody. That makes all the difference to me. When I diverted my interest back in the eighties from pop to folk, it was because so much of the music being made at the time, although often highly emotive and appealing in other ways (okay, 'Walking On the Moon' is still one of my favorite songs), it had nowhere near the draw for me as listening to Archie Fisher. I quite literally wore out a friend's copy of Clannad's 'Dulaman' (yeah, vinyl). And as time has raced on I've grown more and more fond of the vocal music. After Jez Lowe finished and we needed a soundtrack for the dishes, it was Kitka. Those women produce an incredible sound, which has been known to bring tears to my eyes just from the shear loveliness and power of the music.

Robins have a great sense, for melody, too, even if their repertoire is a bit limited. And I reckon that fellow singing through the snowstorm was charming somebody's heart -- or hormones. All comes down to the same thing, I suppose.

Frankenstein and Grading Mistakes

I imagine you thought I was going to explain how one of my professors turns out to be Doctor Frankenstein, or his monster. Unfortunately that is not the case. If it was I would be the best student in the world for at least one class. Rather I was given an incorrect grade for something and when I found out it was incorrect  my relief knew no bounds. I'm definitely not a straight-A Hermione type, but even I can be mildly surprised by some numbers.

However in relation to Frankenstein... I had a most wonderful weekend. It was a brilliant combination of friendship and art. Listen, go here and check out the trailer for the National Theatre Live production of Frankenstein in London. If it's showing in your area go see it before it ends. They film it as it's performed over there, and you see it here. I know for a fact that it's showing next weekend in Albany. If you're one of those lucky people who lives near London, go see it live. The stars are Benedict Cumberbatch (yup) and Jonny Lee Miller who switch the roles of the doctor and the monster for every performance. Hey, I read the book in high school and did NOT enjoy it, but this has made me see it in a new light. I saw it twice. Plus, not only does Cumberbatch have a lovely name that you can do all sorts of creative things with, he is also absolutely wonderful.

Make sure you go with a good friend with whom you can nod knowingly and appreciatively during key scenes.  Here endeth my shameless plug. No one paid me to say all that, I swear.

Goes to eleven

The goats are definitely feeling boxed in, and I 'll open that back door for them once the sun shines AND the wind dies down AND it's above freezing at the same time. I don't want much. The doeling from last year is wired for sound, and at feeding time she gets so frantic bouncing around the pen that her mother and sister start pasting her every time she momentarily flies into range. Sometimes they hit her and she hits me and it's like dominoes, but less artistic.
   What a day today was! Kind of cool out, but the sky was a rich, clear blue. And the sun melted snow wherever it hit. Reports from neighbors tell me that everyone is having the best sap runs they can ever remember. The weather forecast has this freezing/thawing thing going on for a bit, so sugar makers will be easy to spot by the dark circles under their eyes. For me, alas, it means the band won't be practicing Monday night, because three out of four will be collecting and boiling. I haven't done sugaring in years, but rely on the kindness of friends for syrup. Works pretty well.
   The chickens once again distinguished themselves by laying 11 eggs. This is significant, because there are eleven hens and so they all get a gold star. I've also promised them a trip to Hawaii. This may seem extravagant, seeing as they're only chickens. But it's really not. For one thing, because they're chickens, they have pretty low expectations of life. So for them Hawaii could mean, "Oh, boy! He's going to open the pop hole so we can go outside! Welcome to Hawaii!" Also, they don't seem to understand anything I say. So I can promise them pretty much anything, and they still lay eggs. I think it's a fair arrangement.

Know what’s hard to focus on first thing in the *morning? Inception. I mean the movie (hence the italics) not actual inception. Now that I think about it though, I suppose college is one long attempt at inception if you define it as the planting of ideas. If only we got to learn by traveling through the dreams of the great minds of the past. Then again, the un-great minds could be just as interesting. Actually when it comes down to it I’m pretty curious about what dogs are dreaming of when they start running in their sleep. I mean it can’t always be rabbits. Nobody take that as a diss on the purveyors of higher education (mom) I would simply like to be able to see into the minds of everything, that’s all.

In other news, I think sticky notes are trying to take over my brain and destroy me. They amass in an army all over my desk and set out to confuse me until my mind is dashing around in frantic circles waving its metaphorical arms and bouncing up and down in frustration. I looked up just now and saw a sticky note on my desk that says “Time Capsule,” there’s one next to that which says “City of Ruin.” I’m assuming/hoping it's merely a book title and not some pre-apocalyptic warning to myself about what’s going to happen to this place. There’s also one that has a whole bunch of numbers written frantically on it and I have no idea what they mean anymore. Two others say “Inception” that one’s new and corresponds with real life enough for me to understand,  and “tix,” is no doubt a remnant from my recent ticket purchasing adventure (Icelandic accents are nice).  A note clinging precariously to a trail of other notes is clearly filled with the strings of a guitar. At least that makes sense. Those three are ok, the rest are at their devious work. This is why so many of the world’s leaders have palm pilots and online calendars, not to mention personal secretaries. You can’t run the world when sticky notes are running you. At least I’ve figured out why I’m not in charge, I’m sure if I had a secretary nothing could stop me.

*Morning = 11 a.m.