So. I've been out of the loop in politics. I have. On purpose, in fact. I ignored the presidential primaries with the excuse that I was living out of the country. I have ignored recent presidential debates with the excuse that our TV is wrapped in plastic while we wait for the basement to be finished. I finally finally did my patriotic duty this evening and watched the SNL vice-presidential debates over the internet.
Now I know who to vote for for VP.
I registered to vote last week. And I will vote. And I have made some decisions on who to vote for. Two candidates actually knocked on my door in the last couple of weeks. We're talking real candidates here, not just neighbors with agendas. I have never lived in a place where candidates knock on doors before. I kind of liked it.
They have weird weird names, my candidates. Weird names must be a strange consequence of too much mountain inbreeding here in the West. But I am a progressive. I can look beyond the names to the policies. OK, actually I'm not so interested in policies as in making the incumbents sweat a little. They have had closed primaries, no opposition, good ol' boys politics for years in my new town. In this conservative town, all the republicans need to say is that democrats are baby killers and gay lovers and everyone lines up to vote for the Gadianton robbers. I have mocked them from a distance for years. And now this is my life. There is justice in the world.
Bryan and I talked politics over the weekend. We couldn't have a real political conversation because of the sad facts outlined in paragraph number one above. Oh, and I hadn't even watched the SNL debate at that point. However, we could both comment on the fact that our mother is politically active. She has been working for a significant amount of time on a neighborhood project in the neighborhood in which we grew up that would affect schools, zoning, taxes. She has strong opinions on many political issues, and shares them freely. And forwards them in emails. And email forwards. Which I often have to correct.
Anyway, in our political conversation, the idea of Mom running for president came up. Tim and I shared a look, smiled, and both agreed that while we love Mom, and while we know she would do her best, we would never vote for her for president. Bryan looked surprised and said he definitely would.
But Bryan, how could you vote for someone so easily swayed by email forwards?
Sorry Mom, you and Palin and Biden have all lost my vote. I'm voting for Gwen Ifill, the moderator. She was great.
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
A non-goal of mine
My brother Bryan surprised us with a phone call Saturday afternoon. He had flown into our area to run a marathon, remembered when it was all over that we lived here, and wondered if he could come visit and spend the night.
Sure! we said, and meant it. (It wouldn't be family if we had advanced notice. Or at least it wouldn't be my family.)
So around 6:00pm, Bryan hobbled into our house, limped over into the kitchen, and eased himself into a chair. He could barely walk. For some reason, after a 26 mile run -- in the rain, mind you -- his legs were sore sore sore.
I think Bryan ran his first marathon when he was in high school. Since then, two other brothers have run marathons. Back when I was in high school, I thought running a marathon sounded like a really cool thing to be able to tell other people that I had done once. For a while, it was on my list of things I thought I might someday like to do. My goal list, if you will.
I took it off a long long time ago.
The people I know who run marathons have more than sore legs. Most of them also work through pretty serious injuries. My siblings have had knee trouble. My friend had a stress fracture. Plus, after Bryan's second marathon, he crossed the finish line and then puked. Even if I don't get injured, I am still not so keen on doing something that makes me puke. On purpose. For fun. Fun?
However, I am happy to have family come and visit after they have run their marathons. It helps to remind me of why I keep certain items on my non-goal list.
Non-goal #1: No marathons.
Congratulations, Bryan, on finishing again. Thanks for coming to visit.
Sure! we said, and meant it. (It wouldn't be family if we had advanced notice. Or at least it wouldn't be my family.)
So around 6:00pm, Bryan hobbled into our house, limped over into the kitchen, and eased himself into a chair. He could barely walk. For some reason, after a 26 mile run -- in the rain, mind you -- his legs were sore sore sore.
I think Bryan ran his first marathon when he was in high school. Since then, two other brothers have run marathons. Back when I was in high school, I thought running a marathon sounded like a really cool thing to be able to tell other people that I had done once. For a while, it was on my list of things I thought I might someday like to do. My goal list, if you will.
I took it off a long long time ago.
The people I know who run marathons have more than sore legs. Most of them also work through pretty serious injuries. My siblings have had knee trouble. My friend had a stress fracture. Plus, after Bryan's second marathon, he crossed the finish line and then puked. Even if I don't get injured, I am still not so keen on doing something that makes me puke. On purpose. For fun. Fun?
However, I am happy to have family come and visit after they have run their marathons. It helps to remind me of why I keep certain items on my non-goal list.
Non-goal #1: No marathons.
Congratulations, Bryan, on finishing again. Thanks for coming to visit.
Friday, October 3, 2008
Clown and Poker FAQ's
In this post, I answer all your questions about this blog.
1. Um. Has anyone really been asking questions? Frequently?
People ask me questions all the time. Just a minute ago, someone asked me how to do a particular homework problem, for example. Technically, not many people have asked me questions about this blog. Lucky for you, I can anticipate questions people will be asking in the future.
For example, People want to know:
2. What is the meaning of the name? Is it something rude?
The Clown and Poker is the name of the pub I will never own. Nor visit. It was suggested to me as a name for a home by a very attractive man.
Although I have not yet given my physical home the name Clown and Poker, it is now, in some sense, the name of my cyber home. The attractive man is happy.
3. Have I seen that attractive man before?
Yes. Yes you have. He was a prominent character in this post. In fact, he turns up in a lot of my posts. I like to decorate my posts with attractive people.
4. Who writes the blog?
I do.
5. Who are you?
I am a young and attractive teacher/researcher at a university in the western United States. I moved to the western United States this fall from England, where I was a young and attractive researcher in England. I have a young child and an attractive husband. All my relatives and friends are also attractive, as are my three lurkers. I think that pretty much covers everybody reading this post. Who are you?
6. I've noticed that home remodeling seems to be a theme. Is that ever going to end?
No. No. I think it will never end. Alas. That adds a bit of tragedy to this otherwise cheerful blog.
7. Are you going to write 11 posts per month? I only ask because I once knew another blogger who wrote 11 posts per month, and I notice that you wrote 11 in September.
I never intended to write 11 posts in September. I was going to write 12. Or 10. Just to show the world how different I am from that Other blogger you once knew. I was going to spend September breaking through the artificial restrictions that Other blogger put upon herself and her blog by writing 11 posts.
Somehow, September ended up with 11 posts. Weird, eh? I wonder what that means?
8. Don't you have work to do?
Um yes. That's why I am now stopping.
If you would like to send more questions, I will answer them. Frequently.
1. Um. Has anyone really been asking questions? Frequently?
People ask me questions all the time. Just a minute ago, someone asked me how to do a particular homework problem, for example. Technically, not many people have asked me questions about this blog. Lucky for you, I can anticipate questions people will be asking in the future.
For example, People want to know:
2. What is the meaning of the name? Is it something rude?
The Clown and Poker is the name of the pub I will never own. Nor visit. It was suggested to me as a name for a home by a very attractive man.
Although I have not yet given my physical home the name Clown and Poker, it is now, in some sense, the name of my cyber home. The attractive man is happy. 3. Have I seen that attractive man before?
Yes. Yes you have. He was a prominent character in this post. In fact, he turns up in a lot of my posts. I like to decorate my posts with attractive people.
4. Who writes the blog?
I do.
5. Who are you?
I am a young and attractive teacher/researcher at a university in the western United States. I moved to the western United States this fall from England, where I was a young and attractive researcher in England. I have a young child and an attractive husband. All my relatives and friends are also attractive, as are my three lurkers. I think that pretty much covers everybody reading this post. Who are you?
6. I've noticed that home remodeling seems to be a theme. Is that ever going to end?
No. No. I think it will never end. Alas. That adds a bit of tragedy to this otherwise cheerful blog.
7. Are you going to write 11 posts per month? I only ask because I once knew another blogger who wrote 11 posts per month, and I notice that you wrote 11 in September.
I never intended to write 11 posts in September. I was going to write 12. Or 10. Just to show the world how different I am from that Other blogger you once knew. I was going to spend September breaking through the artificial restrictions that Other blogger put upon herself and her blog by writing 11 posts.
Somehow, September ended up with 11 posts. Weird, eh? I wonder what that means?
8. Don't you have work to do?
Um yes. That's why I am now stopping.
If you would like to send more questions, I will answer them. Frequently.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
The porch that Sam built.
This is the porch that Sam built.
These are the grapes that lay on the porch that Sam built.
This is the vine that held the grapes that lay on the porch that Sam built.
This is the man, all shaven and shorn, that cut the vine that held the grapes that lay on the porch that Sam built.
This is the ladder, all wobbly and worn, that supported the man, all shaven and shorn, that cut the vine that held the grapes that lay on the porch that Sam built.
This is the lady, all forlorn, who held the ladder, all wobbly and worn, that supported the man, all shaven and shorn, that cut the vine that held the grapes that lay on the porch that Sam built.
This is the vine, too heavy to be born, that fell on the lady, all forlorn, that dropped the ladder, all wobbly and worn, that dumped the man, all shaven and shorn, who sat on the lady, all forlorn, when he cut the vine that held the grapes that lay on the porch that Sam built.
*********************************************
News summary: New porch finally completed! Grape vine successfully removed from east side of house. Only a few bruises and scratches to prove it -- and a mountain of grapes.
These are the grapes that lay on the porch that Sam built.
This is the vine that held the grapes that lay on the porch that Sam built.
This is the man, all shaven and shorn, that cut the vine that held the grapes that lay on the porch that Sam built.
This is the ladder, all wobbly and worn, that supported the man, all shaven and shorn, that cut the vine that held the grapes that lay on the porch that Sam built.
This is the lady, all forlorn, who held the ladder, all wobbly and worn, that supported the man, all shaven and shorn, that cut the vine that held the grapes that lay on the porch that Sam built.
This is the vine, too heavy to be born, that fell on the lady, all forlorn, that dropped the ladder, all wobbly and worn, that dumped the man, all shaven and shorn, who sat on the lady, all forlorn, when he cut the vine that held the grapes that lay on the porch that Sam built.
*********************************************
News summary: New porch finally completed! Grape vine successfully removed from east side of house. Only a few bruises and scratches to prove it -- and a mountain of grapes.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Last lecture
Suzanne recently read the Last Lecture, by Randy Pauch, and sent me an email.
"Have you read it? It made me think of you," she wrote.
Two weeks ago I found myself in the Chicago O'Hare airport, facing an eight hour flight to Frankfurt on my own. The book was lying on a shelf in an airport bookstore. I checked its price and number of pages, calculated the dollar cost per hour of my time reading, and walked away. Too short, and too expensive.
My flight was delayed by an hour. I went back to the bookstore and bought the book.
I finished reading just as dinner was being served on the plane. I cried a little.
OK, I received dinner with streaming eyes and nose.
Freak, thought the flight attendant, handing over dinner.
Freak, thought the guy sitting next to me, sliding further against the window.
Maybe I am a freak.
Suzanne said the book made her think of me. It made me think of me, as well. I found it a very thought provoking, introspective kind of book. In fact, I'm amazed she thought of anyone else while reading it.
On second thought, I also thought of Tim while reading it. He has some of the same connections as the author.
In case you are not aware, it was written by a relatively young university professor (of computer science) who had terminal cancer. It is his reflection on life -- what he had lived, how he had lived it, and how he intended to live the last months remaining. It was motivated by a lecture he gave at CMU, which you can see on YouTube. Actually, you have probably all seen it.
It made me wonder what I would do differently if I knew I had just six months to live.
I would say a few things publicly.
I would tell important people I loved them a little more carefully and frequently. In particular, I would tell Jonathan what a special guy he is. He is a very silly boy, who loves to make people laugh. My cousins say he reminds them of my grandfather, who was a silly guy -- a clown and an eternal optimist and one of the men I admire most. I want Jonathan to grow up laughing.
He is also a very inquisitive boy, with lots of questions. I hope he also grows up asking questions. And finding his own answers. And then laughing at them.
I would tell Tim again that he is the most perfect man in the world. I think Tim would be very annoyed with me if I died in six months, after moving the family here. Very annoyed.
I would want to finish some unfinished tasks. I would want to finish some papers I'm working on. I would probably want to finish out my teaching this semester.
That's crazy! Six months left to live, and I want to finish my work?
Freak, you think, reading this post.
But on the other hand, finishing work responsibilities would be completely consistent with my life choices so far. I feel some comfort in knowing that I am already lining up my time to match those things that mean the most to me.
Or maybe I'm consistently lining up my time incorrectly.
In any case, I hope I'm still around in six months. And I hope I've finished those papers and that teaching. And I love you, family.
Thanks for the suggestion, Suzanne.
"Have you read it? It made me think of you," she wrote.
Two weeks ago I found myself in the Chicago O'Hare airport, facing an eight hour flight to Frankfurt on my own. The book was lying on a shelf in an airport bookstore. I checked its price and number of pages, calculated the dollar cost per hour of my time reading, and walked away. Too short, and too expensive.
My flight was delayed by an hour. I went back to the bookstore and bought the book.
I finished reading just as dinner was being served on the plane. I cried a little.
OK, I received dinner with streaming eyes and nose.
Freak, thought the flight attendant, handing over dinner.
Freak, thought the guy sitting next to me, sliding further against the window.
Maybe I am a freak.
Suzanne said the book made her think of me. It made me think of me, as well. I found it a very thought provoking, introspective kind of book. In fact, I'm amazed she thought of anyone else while reading it.
On second thought, I also thought of Tim while reading it. He has some of the same connections as the author.
In case you are not aware, it was written by a relatively young university professor (of computer science) who had terminal cancer. It is his reflection on life -- what he had lived, how he had lived it, and how he intended to live the last months remaining. It was motivated by a lecture he gave at CMU, which you can see on YouTube. Actually, you have probably all seen it.
It made me wonder what I would do differently if I knew I had just six months to live.
I would say a few things publicly.
I would tell important people I loved them a little more carefully and frequently. In particular, I would tell Jonathan what a special guy he is. He is a very silly boy, who loves to make people laugh. My cousins say he reminds them of my grandfather, who was a silly guy -- a clown and an eternal optimist and one of the men I admire most. I want Jonathan to grow up laughing.
He is also a very inquisitive boy, with lots of questions. I hope he also grows up asking questions. And finding his own answers. And then laughing at them.
I would tell Tim again that he is the most perfect man in the world. I think Tim would be very annoyed with me if I died in six months, after moving the family here. Very annoyed.
I would want to finish some unfinished tasks. I would want to finish some papers I'm working on. I would probably want to finish out my teaching this semester.
That's crazy! Six months left to live, and I want to finish my work?
Freak, you think, reading this post.
But on the other hand, finishing work responsibilities would be completely consistent with my life choices so far. I feel some comfort in knowing that I am already lining up my time to match those things that mean the most to me.
Or maybe I'm consistently lining up my time incorrectly.
In any case, I hope I'm still around in six months. And I hope I've finished those papers and that teaching. And I love you, family.
Thanks for the suggestion, Suzanne.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Yesterday's post
I wrote a post yesterday which I did not publish. When I write a post, I try to imagine various people in my life reading it over my shoulder. If I regret my choice of words with those friends at my side, then I know I need to edit a bit. I also imagine reading the post out loud to my tenure committee in a few years time. If it makes them shake their heads, I know I probably shouldn't post it.
Basically, I had a bad day yesterday. For those of you who missed that part of the story, I recently moved from England to a town whose name starts with a P, ends with an O, and has an O in the middle. I am working at a university here in the town of P-o-o, which I like to call Good-Ol'-Dudes University.
I am somewhat conflicted about my choice to live in P-o-o. On the one hand, the job seemed ideal for my interests. On the other hand, I am afraid of P-o-o. I am afraid of the people in P-o-o. I am afraid of people who choose to live in P-o-o. People like me, I guess.
Anyway, I had a bad day yesterday, and got depressed about living in P-o-o and working for my university here in P-o-o. There are aspects of my university that are depressing. But really, it was mostly just a bad day.
It started with the dentist. I had an appointment scheduled for me and for my boy. By the end of the appointment, I needed to sign up to get my gums peeled back and my roots scraped, and Jonathan, due to incurable thumb sucking, was slated for orthodontics in a few years. Maybe I want to try a new dentist.
Later, near the end of the day, I recalled that now that we are back in the US, we want to dump my health insurance in favor of Tim's. I called the HR people to get the dumping going, and went over to their office to sign paperwork. The HR lady basically did everything in her power to convince me I was not eligible to dump the insurance until January. Since I was, in fact, eligible, I was steadfast, and did finally sign the paperwork. However, the HR lady got pretty annoyed with me. So I left annoyed with the annoyed HR lady, and annoyed with the fact that this university and their insurance provider would be so difficult in what should be an easy situation.
Next, I got all annoyed again over childcare here in P-o-o. A colleague who lives in a more child-friendly town told me several weeks ago that she always put her son into after school programs and day cares, because nannies are unlicensed. But that doesn't seem to be an option in P-o-o. This town is so completely backwards that they don't seem to have anything like that. Certainly not at Jonathan's current preschool. Good-Ol'-Dudes University, my employer, has nothing to assist faculty with childcare. Grandma, who investigated daycares within reasonable commute distance, reported that they all looked gloomy and depressing. Which is gloomy and depressing.
The attitude of the people in this town seems to be "we live in the shadow of G.O.D. University. Therefore, we are perfection. We do not need to change."
Even the stoplights here in P-o-o are depressing. Traffic for three directions sits parked at red lights for three minutes while nobody moves. Hello! Pressure pads?
This is now my home. These are now my neighbors. I live here. This is a permanent job. I have moved my family here. We have spent our savings on a house we could not sell in the current housing market. There is no turning back.
I ended the day feeling depressed. But things will be fine. It still is a good job. While the university has its... peculiarities... I do intend to be happy here. I just don't know sometimes how to ignore the fact that I live in P-o-o.
Basically, I had a bad day yesterday. For those of you who missed that part of the story, I recently moved from England to a town whose name starts with a P, ends with an O, and has an O in the middle. I am working at a university here in the town of P-o-o, which I like to call Good-Ol'-Dudes University.
I am somewhat conflicted about my choice to live in P-o-o. On the one hand, the job seemed ideal for my interests. On the other hand, I am afraid of P-o-o. I am afraid of the people in P-o-o. I am afraid of people who choose to live in P-o-o. People like me, I guess.
Anyway, I had a bad day yesterday, and got depressed about living in P-o-o and working for my university here in P-o-o. There are aspects of my university that are depressing. But really, it was mostly just a bad day.
It started with the dentist. I had an appointment scheduled for me and for my boy. By the end of the appointment, I needed to sign up to get my gums peeled back and my roots scraped, and Jonathan, due to incurable thumb sucking, was slated for orthodontics in a few years. Maybe I want to try a new dentist.
Later, near the end of the day, I recalled that now that we are back in the US, we want to dump my health insurance in favor of Tim's. I called the HR people to get the dumping going, and went over to their office to sign paperwork. The HR lady basically did everything in her power to convince me I was not eligible to dump the insurance until January. Since I was, in fact, eligible, I was steadfast, and did finally sign the paperwork. However, the HR lady got pretty annoyed with me. So I left annoyed with the annoyed HR lady, and annoyed with the fact that this university and their insurance provider would be so difficult in what should be an easy situation.
Next, I got all annoyed again over childcare here in P-o-o. A colleague who lives in a more child-friendly town told me several weeks ago that she always put her son into after school programs and day cares, because nannies are unlicensed. But that doesn't seem to be an option in P-o-o. This town is so completely backwards that they don't seem to have anything like that. Certainly not at Jonathan's current preschool. Good-Ol'-Dudes University, my employer, has nothing to assist faculty with childcare. Grandma, who investigated daycares within reasonable commute distance, reported that they all looked gloomy and depressing. Which is gloomy and depressing.
The attitude of the people in this town seems to be "we live in the shadow of G.O.D. University. Therefore, we are perfection. We do not need to change."
Even the stoplights here in P-o-o are depressing. Traffic for three directions sits parked at red lights for three minutes while nobody moves. Hello! Pressure pads?
This is now my home. These are now my neighbors. I live here. This is a permanent job. I have moved my family here. We have spent our savings on a house we could not sell in the current housing market. There is no turning back.
I ended the day feeling depressed. But things will be fine. It still is a good job. While the university has its... peculiarities... I do intend to be happy here. I just don't know sometimes how to ignore the fact that I live in P-o-o.
Monday, September 22, 2008
The security level is Orange
I am back in the US again. I finished my tenth transatlantic plane flight in fifteen weeks yesterday. I have been out of the US enough days in a year that the tax people will be happy. Or rather, I will be happy that I don't have to pay as much in taxes. I am hoping hoping hoping not to cross the Atlantic Ocean for at least a year. I know that sounds really lame to some of you who would really like to cross the Atlantic, but I'm just really tired of being really tired. Perhaps if I could fly away to relax or to go sight seeing I would feel better, but 23 hours of travel followed by a serious work week just isn't good for the heart or soul. I feel like I'm going to cry.
So, in the Chicago airport, they interrupt a boring pre-migrainal layover with occasional announcements that "The security level is Orange." This is supposed to inspire you to keep your belongings close and to ratchet up your personal panic level to the appropriate notch.
"Excuse me, Madam, but I don't believe you look quite harried enough. I'd like to remind you that the security level is Orange."
Of course, there is no ensuing announcement about what "Orange" means. My mobile phone in the UK was through Orange, and I was quite pleased with the company. Presumably if the security level had been Green or Blue, then we would envision green valleys and peaceful streams. Orange is supposed to remind us that we are hungry and it is time to eat. Or at least that's what home decorator websites say in the US.
Anyway, speaking of home decorating, here back at home in the US we have some very good news. The solid surface people came and put in the shower surround in the two upstairs bathrooms. So now we have two fully functional bathrooms, and one that is just waiting on shower glass.
All other progress on the house has again cranked to a halt. There is so little to do, I wish these guys would just come and do it! But they don't. This week, we are supposed to get a porch. Actually, that was supposed to happen last week. We have purchased those window wells, but they still have not been installed, although the gutter guy removed serious flooding worries. Just a bit of patching, paint, little things. I just want these guys out of my house so I can finish moving in!
But back to the security level. I think it is safe to assume that security level colors follow the rainbow. If it is red, then things are looking very bad indeed. Orange is bad, but not bad enough to cancel any flights. Yellow should make you nervous. Green more calm. Blue means all is well in the world, and when things finally hit purple, we will be sitting in circles holding hands singing kumbayah.
Anyway, now that I am back in the US, ready to go back to work tomorrow, I start making lists again of all the things to do. Teaching, teaching prep, office hours, prepare students for midterm Friday, make arrangements for project Friday, go over notes for research seminar Tuesday or Thursday. Pediatrician Monday, dentist Tuesday. Lunch meetings Tuesday and Thursday. Teaching seminar Thursday, remote seminar with South Dakota Friday. Schedule the carpet guys. Schedule the glass people to finish the shower. Schedule visiting teaching and visiting teachers -- which is a crazy thing we're supposed to do through church -- visit to make sure everyone feels loved and visited -- it's great in theory, but not this week. Submit a report about my work in England. Submit a report on my conference in Germany. Write a grant proposal. And somewhere in here I really do need to finish writing some papers, although I have only myself to blame for not using my jetlag time last week to do more on those. I mean good grief, I didn't have internet.
Anyway, I realize I am the only one reading this far into the post, that I lost everyone else somewhere in that last paragraph.
But I would like to interrupt this pre-migrainal rant to inform you that the stress level at my house is Orange.
We would like you to show the appropriate level of panic. Thank you.
So, in the Chicago airport, they interrupt a boring pre-migrainal layover with occasional announcements that "The security level is Orange." This is supposed to inspire you to keep your belongings close and to ratchet up your personal panic level to the appropriate notch.
"Excuse me, Madam, but I don't believe you look quite harried enough. I'd like to remind you that the security level is Orange."
Of course, there is no ensuing announcement about what "Orange" means. My mobile phone in the UK was through Orange, and I was quite pleased with the company. Presumably if the security level had been Green or Blue, then we would envision green valleys and peaceful streams. Orange is supposed to remind us that we are hungry and it is time to eat. Or at least that's what home decorator websites say in the US.
Anyway, speaking of home decorating, here back at home in the US we have some very good news. The solid surface people came and put in the shower surround in the two upstairs bathrooms. So now we have two fully functional bathrooms, and one that is just waiting on shower glass.
All other progress on the house has again cranked to a halt. There is so little to do, I wish these guys would just come and do it! But they don't. This week, we are supposed to get a porch. Actually, that was supposed to happen last week. We have purchased those window wells, but they still have not been installed, although the gutter guy removed serious flooding worries. Just a bit of patching, paint, little things. I just want these guys out of my house so I can finish moving in!
But back to the security level. I think it is safe to assume that security level colors follow the rainbow. If it is red, then things are looking very bad indeed. Orange is bad, but not bad enough to cancel any flights. Yellow should make you nervous. Green more calm. Blue means all is well in the world, and when things finally hit purple, we will be sitting in circles holding hands singing kumbayah.
Anyway, now that I am back in the US, ready to go back to work tomorrow, I start making lists again of all the things to do. Teaching, teaching prep, office hours, prepare students for midterm Friday, make arrangements for project Friday, go over notes for research seminar Tuesday or Thursday. Pediatrician Monday, dentist Tuesday. Lunch meetings Tuesday and Thursday. Teaching seminar Thursday, remote seminar with South Dakota Friday. Schedule the carpet guys. Schedule the glass people to finish the shower. Schedule visiting teaching and visiting teachers -- which is a crazy thing we're supposed to do through church -- visit to make sure everyone feels loved and visited -- it's great in theory, but not this week. Submit a report about my work in England. Submit a report on my conference in Germany. Write a grant proposal. And somewhere in here I really do need to finish writing some papers, although I have only myself to blame for not using my jetlag time last week to do more on those. I mean good grief, I didn't have internet.
Anyway, I realize I am the only one reading this far into the post, that I lost everyone else somewhere in that last paragraph.
But I would like to interrupt this pre-migrainal rant to inform you that the stress level at my house is Orange.
We would like you to show the appropriate level of panic. Thank you.
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