The fine art of distraction...

I'm telling myself that I'm just letting some thoughts germinate as I let my mind and efforts drift to everything except the work I need to be doing. I have three writing projects that I keep dancing around the edges of ("just a little more research, just a few more notes, then I'll get it all written up"), a book I need to finish reviewing, and a presentation coming up in two and half weeks which I haven't even started. Then there are the overflowing email "inboxes" - the personal one with reminders about all the family activities and welcome notes from friends; and the professional one with reminders of webinars I could attend, and new ideas that I can quickly link to and convince myself I'm learning things that will help with my projects, even if half the time I'm just distracting myself. And all the while I have the Giro d'Italia streaming on two live feeds (Gazetta TV has the best video, but Eurosport has an English language feed. Sheesh! Think about it - I can stream two video feeds at once and my laptop is not even flinching!)

Thanks to the ever-growing efficiency of high speed internet, I have built the skill of Continuous Partial Attention to a highly evolved art form.

Actually, I could blame parenting for my distractibility as much as I do the internet. One evening last week, I tried to keep track of everything I did. I couldn't manage it.

A partial listing of an evening with the kids: altered daughter's graduation dress and did practice hair and make up, discussed Chinese characters, bounced around thoughts about national politics and the soccer World Cup, removed a splinter from a child, removed a tick from a dog, explained where some biblical events lined up with the political history of the time, illustrated details of the periodic table and subatomic particles, built with lego, made up another episode of a continuing story about nocturnal creatures in the rainforest in Borneo, talked about the origins of the Cultural Revolution, and made some popsicles. Oh, and got people to and from track, ballet and baseball practices.

Ten years ago, I was still a perfectionist and the constant stream of tasks partially, or imperfectly done, would have driven me mad (in both senses of the word); now I usually just roll with it. This whirlwind is a short-lived one, and I love every bit of it (well, except maybe removing ticks from dogs - I could give that a pass). At some point along the way, you realize that a lot of the "distractions" in life, actually are Life; the things that matter go by in a blink of an eye; the most important conversations in a day might happen in that fifteen second time-slot between teaching someone how to put on eye makeup and how to factor an equation.

Distraction is a fine art - you need to know when the distraction is really the main thing.

Self Employment Has Its Privileges

I was getting into a bit of a home office funk. Same old space every day, laundry and kitchen work vying for my attention as much as my desk work, and no one to bounce ideas around with. That last one is the worst; whether it be someone to share a great discovery with, or someone to challenge some of my less-than-bright ideas, the lack of colleagues can get a bit lonely.

But then spring showed up and I remembered the other side of the home office. It’s a lot like “home school” - “home” is a nominal term, and if you do it right, home is where you spend the least amount of your time. So I’m enjoying working at outside tables at coffee shops, planning weekly jaunts to the Willard Library, and best of all, making time to run down to my alternate office:

It gets windy by the river, but the view rocks, and I’m starting to remember why I like this home office gig.

Are You a Good Witch or a Bad Witch?

I’m feeling forced to doubt a recent article which indicated that my silver locks are a leading edge fashion statement,

I was over at the grade school today, and a little girl, about 5 or 6 years old, all blond hair and dimples, looked up at me and beamed, “You look like witch.” She seemed absolutely delighted with her observation.

I started laughing, “Thank you!”

She looked at me, still radiating infinite cheer, “It's because you have grey hair and it's long.” (and admittedly a little windblown after my drive with the car windows down). Out of the mouths of babes.

I guess the only thing left to debate is: am I “a good witch or a bad witch?” I guess that depends on whether we go with L Frank Baum’s Wizard of Oz, in which case I’m Glinda, for sure - just hand me my scepter and my throne. If we’re going with the post modern “Wicked” version of events, well, cue up “Defying Gravity” because I’m more likely to be singing that than I am Glinda’s “Popular” (we’ll save the latter for the little blond fashion consultant I met today).

I think that was a compliment...

I was waiting to check out from youngest daughter's recent Physical Therapy session, when the woman behind me spoke up with a tone of great enthusiasm. "Oh, what beautiful hair!" I turned around and to my surprise, realized she meant me, and not my daughter (whose thick, black hair runs down to her waist - gorgeous!).

She beamed at me, "If I ever let my hair go grey, I hope it is a beautiful silver like yours!" I thanked her, and it was pretty flattering to have someone so sincerely admiring my hair, but my brain was still stumbling over the words "grey" and "silver". What?

It brought back memories of a day a couple of years ago when we were in NYC at the Museum of Natural History, and a woman came up to me and asked if she could take my picture. Turns out she had a website of women who let their hair go grey and "it's rare you see a woman so young with grey hair".

As a matter of fact, I've been receiving lots of similar remarks lately - maybe because in most social situations, I'm probably the only woman in the room under the age of 80 who does not color her hair. Whenever I get those kinds compliments, it's both pleasing and disconcerting. It still doesn't register in my mind that I'm out of my 20s, let alone old enough to have grey (ahem, sorry, 'silver') hair. At any rate, one hopes they are compliments and not a gentle way of saying "get a clue, dear, and color your hair." If I ever do, I think I'll try being a red head; it would be quite a change, but my theory is it is still likely to get less of a reaction than going grey!

Signs of the Season(s), Part 2...

I can tell it's winter... Life has maintained some familiar patterns for the past several (many?) years and we're playing those scenes once again despite our change of venue....

Per usual, winter found our youngest daughter visiting the orthopedist:

Yep, that's a boot she's wearing. Something to do with taking a football game with her brothers and sisters just a little too seriously. Just a sprain this time, and some irritated tendons. But it is definitely a winter tradition for her to hurt her leg, specifically her left leg. I can only assume that now that protocol has been satisfied we're good for the next year.

And as part of this annual tradition, injuries always coincide with two things - significant snow and Daddy being out of the country (always someplace warm and sunny). This protocol was also satisfied as Michael was off to Mexico City and we did have six inches of snow (which for this part of the country counts as "significant").

Fortunately we have great orthopedists and physical therapy very close to home, and YP is a quick healer and takes it all with good humor.

We were also luck to get in a bit of winter fun earlier on - a visit to our favorite place to skate: the PanAm Plaza in Indianapolis.

We used to go there every Monday for lessons, and Michael used to walk down to skate during his lunch hours. The rink will be closing soon, so we were glad to have a farewell visit and to build a few more good memories there. We were met by our friend Mark, who we've know for more than 20 years - we've shared lot's of meals, bike rides, memorable conversations, and pink flamingo decorated lawns with him. It was great for all the kids to have some fun with Uncle Mark, and fun for the grown ups to be able to keep up with the kids on the rink.

And for the record, yes I did skate. Can't do turns and jumps like I did 10 years ago (and even ten years ago, they were only little "baby" jumps), but it felt good to be on the ice.

Thinking back over these winter days, its not just the seasons of the year, but the seasons of life that are very evident. Our oldest is a lot closer to the age we were when we first met Mark than we are now.

Then there is our oldest daughter - she's at that age where what's really critical is how you look and how you dress. So she's now very keen on flat ironing her hair. Now I get hair styles - I spent large chunks of time with a curling iron in my early teens - but those who know oldest daughter know that her hair naturally looks like its been flat ironed. No, that's not quite right; it looks like what people who flat iron their hair wish they could achieve but never quite can - perfect, straight, glossy hair. But her classmates flat iron, so she must too. I understand: it is the season.

Part of me misses the season when my oldest son was small enough for me to be helping him on those first struggling steps the ice - much easier to navigate than the steps into adulthood. And I miss when the biggest fashion concerns for the girls were whether to wear sneakers or sparkly Mary Janes. And I'm grateful that youngest daughter is nursing a sprained ankle rather than a broken heart or struggling career.

But part of me is very excited for all of them as they start making their way towards whatever amazing experiences are ahead of them as the approach adulthood at warp speed (at least it seems like "warp speed" to me). And in truth, I'm pretty excited about what's around the next bend for me too. Each season has its blend of the expected and the surprising, and I can't wait to see what the next seasons will hold. But for now, I'm enjoying where I am; enjoying every single minute of it.

Signs of the Season...

Long time, no blog... And instead of looking for just the right words, today, I'm going to let the pictures speak for themselves.

No matter where we are, there are definitely some things that stay the same this time of year...

Nutcracker always fills some busy weekends in early December... And is always a joy to watch.

K likes to be sure that the house is well lit...

And the annual Nativity Play at Church, this year K was St. Joseph, and SP was a sheep. (K was also Joseph 10 years ago, when we last lived in Indiana)

Then we have the endless string of December birthdays - mmm, more sugar!

And today, we got the tree up...

All is calm, all is bright....

Wishing you the Merriest of Christmases and a joy filled 2010!

A parting gift.

At our old house, there was a Japanese Maple which draped over our front entry. I had a love-hate relationship with that tree. Mainly love, but just a little hate every October.

After it's final blaze of autumnal glory, it would drop its leaves on the front walk, and they would be tracked in by kids and dogs at a rate which outpaced the ability of any broom or rake to keep in check. Leaves in the front hall, leaves on the stairs, leaves working their way into the kitchen. It was mostly worth the annoyance though. It was a beautiful tree, arching perfectly over the front walk, right at the edge of the front porch. It shaded the west facing front door in summer, it provided glorious color in the fall, a perfect arc for hanging lights at Christmas, a frame for photos of little ones getting ready to trick or treat, or high school graduates in their new suits, a place where oldest and youngest sons would stretch out on their backs and look up at the leaves together.

And it was a perfect access point to the garage roof for #2 son's climbing exploits. Sometimes for virtuous errands, like voluntary trips up to clean the gutters or to rescue a frisbee. Sometimes more questionable ones, like the day he climbed up there during a snow/ice storm (for a better vantage point in a snowball fight), then, at his older brother's prompting slid down from the peak of the roof. And spent the next couple of weeks on crutches.* There was a horizontal branch with the perfect balance of stiffness and spring that even I could not resist swinging on it occasionally.

A lot of life happened on and around that tree.

When we were unpacking, I was moving the beautiful oak cradle my dad had made for us prior

to the birth of our oldest. resting in the cradle was a small cluster of leaves from that tree. Still green - they had dropped a bit early, as the movers hauled the cradle out. Perhaps a parting gift from the tree, since the kids couldn't track it's leaves into the new house, it sent a few along to say "goodbye" once more.

*proper sized crutches were luckily available because older brother had needed them a year or so earlier after the vine he was swinging on broke. But that's another story.