Saturday, May 12, 2007

Herding the Rain

or... where the heck I've been

You don't have to believe that I have a list of 10 topics I have been meaning to write about, going back to the passing of Audrey Santo in the middle of March.

You don't have to believe it, but it is true, and what happened was I fell into the wormhole of my addiction and have been unable to get out.

My specific brand of workoholism is, sadly, unrelated to my work in any way. Unrelated to my ego, or self-esteem, or even satisfaction of a job well done. It is the stress of the unfinished tasks, dozens of them, clearing their impatient throats, ticking their little sixty minutes clocks. (that effect took a little effort - here at DrawingIn, we care)

Recently, at dinner with Kit, I found the comparison I was looking for as I tried to explain it to her. If you have ever watched border collies at work, you have some sense of the pressure of things needing to be done. I am certain you could run a herding dog completely to death and he would go with his tongue lolling out of his ridiculous smiling mouth, so pleased to have gotten the ducks, or the sheep, or the tennis balls all in their places. again.

Here is footage of one trying to herd the rain.

I totally get it, dawg. But you're never going to get ahead of that.

They probably make a pill for this, but I don't want to take it.

So it is Saturday morning and here is what you've missed. By the way, this is the blog equivalent of the clip-show, and I acknowledge that lacks some craft. But you'll have to take it, or wait for your letter, or come over here and do some of this laundry. It is 8:19am, Nanci Griffith is on the stereo, and there is a day of housewifery ahead, so enjoy this stream of consciousness while I am still conscious.

April 16 - the passing of Little Audrey Santo.
I got fairly deep into this post, but didn't finish it. It will have to come back later, because the danger of a blog (and a sardonic sense of humor) is that the readership begins to expect that every post is about to be a lark, and sometimes I want to talk about something more serious. Most of the time, I am just trying to figure out what I think about a thing, and I can spin around a topic for 2-300 words without coming to much of a conclusion.
This might be one of those posts.

It is not my intention to make fun of Audrey Santo in any way, because she was someone's child; because one never knows what one would do in these situations; because I spent a lot of energy resolving the ethics of Terry Shiavo and her family; and because one can not actively be a christian without confronting what one really believes (and wants to believe) about miracles.

And because those kids in Yugolsavia have stuck by their story for 25 years. And what do you do with that?

There was to be a post called "Pinky Swear: no blogging!" in which 3 dear friends and sometime bloggers go out together and something awful and embarrassing happens to one of them, and the other 2 lock fingers and declare..."Pinky Swear: No Blogging!" Eventually everyone you know reads your blog -- or at least, you hope they do, but it is hard to tell (hint hint) -- and in one of life's paradoxes, you find you have less to say than before. But I couldn't write about not writing about it without writing about it, and eventually... some meeting minutes had to be typed.

Bridget's Diary homage:
# of meeting minutes on deck = 5 ....going back to May 2..... hope you took your own notes
# of project team members waiting for me to do something that is blocking their tasks = 3

I needed the Readership's input on this. This is no way to teach geography. Unless you are in hell. PS: any 6th grader will notice that looks like "gonads." And laugh milk through their nose.

Also in April, down at the Mill, we had Take your Daughters and Sons to Work Day, and did I ever have a rant and a half about that. Here it is condensed:
1. This is not what the Ms foundation had in mind, you co-opting opportunists, and I am so disappointed in Ms for backing down on the girls-only angle.
2. Seriously? 6 year olds?
3. The Mill planned a full-day program, which didn't actually include the kids' parents, so it was a day off of school with kids you don't know in an office. Dullsville. There was a mutiny at about 2pm. We could have used a border collie.
4. If you want to expose kids to the real world of work,why not ask them to get together in small groups and create a mural of say, the Battle of Gettysburg, in chalk on rolls of black paper, let them work for about 6 of the hours they will be there all day, then after cookies and milk tell them never mind and wad it up in front of them.

oh, sweet Internet, how I love you

There was the night Dodie called and opened with "I have a male homosexual question. 2, in fact." This was hilarious at the time. It doesn't retell well. But it was almost a post. (don't worry, fellas, I represented).

It also led nicely into "The Single Girl's Guide to Flipping a Mattress," which was to contain safety-style drawings and diagrams. But it wasn't as funny as the title, or this drawing, so I bailed.

How about this? I mean, really, what more needs to be said?

A fight broke out between 2 80 yr old women at the yard sale of assets of the Lancaster Current Topics book club. I invite any of you to write the short story inspired by this event and submit it to "you Can't Make this Sh*t up dot com."

I am angry at the entire state of California for taking both Suburbia and the Rockport Girls. I am happy for everyone's success and wish them well. I have decided to fault the state instead of you. Send mail. I was pleased to be able to give Suburbia directions to the San Jose airport by looking it up for her while she drove there. (the collie yips with delight)

Wasn't it Bozo who said, "That ought to hold the little bastards"?
Thanks for reading. And mostly for waiting.

# of laundry loads waiting = 4
# of overdue tasks on the Outlook Task Pad = 20
# of letters waiting to be written = 9
# of cups of coffee left in this house = 1

1 comment:

  1. Border collies definately belong in The Church of Perpetual Responsibility. Our Corgi, Abigail, missed hearding lessons (her mama died chasing a rat into a sewer pipe when Ab was a chile) but she has a genetic need to supress thunder. It normally only takes a few barks to make it go away, but she keeps up the challenge just to be sure. Ab would also love to catch the UPS and the FedEx trucks, which shows that she is not as smart as most herding dogs.

    Pensacola is hot dry, and smoky.


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