Goats and Dreams

A couple of weeks ago I was strolling through our local Barnes and Noble bookstore. As I recall, I was not looking for anything in particular. For some reason, I found myself in the nature section. Though I enjoy reading on this topic, it is not one that I frequent when wandering aimlessly through the bookstore.. Not shelved such that only the spine was visible, but facing full front like it was placed there just for me, was a book titled The Year of the Goat by Margaret Hathaway and Karl Schatz. It caught my attention because I have this not so secret fantasy of having a goat or two. I picked it up, read the jacket notes, and was immediately drawn in.

The book chronicles the year-long travels of the authors as they sought to escape the hectic lifestyle of New York City and find meaning in a simpler place where they could live closer to the land. In New York, Margaret worked in an upscale bakery in the city and Karl was a photographer for a major publisher. Both enjoyed fine food, especially cheeses, in particular goat cheese. After serious but not abundant research, they came to the notion that maybe they could find the life that they yearned for by raising goats for cheese making.

They set out to traverse the country visiting goat and cheese conventions, farms across the country, and anyone else who would talk to them about their dream to become goat farmers. Margaret and Karl left New York with a few personal belongings, their dog, Godfrey, and a dream - not a real plan, just a dream. Their travels took them across the country from coast to coast and south to north from Texas to Minnesota. The purpose of this year on the road was to gain practical insight into the life of goat farmers. Margaret and Karl did indeed find these insights, but they also found so much more. It is the "much more" that made this book a great read for me.

I was most struck by the fact that these two people had a dream and set out to make it come true. Though they had some basic ideas of what they would do during their year on the road, Margaret and Karl trusted that they would be lead in the right direction. And, they were. I wish I had this kind of courage - the courage to dream this big and then go for it. For someone who is not a risk taker, it is almost impossible to comprehend such a decision. This book is affirmation that all of us can make our dreams come true if we allow the magic to happen.

Dreams often come true in fiction; it is nice to see them realized also in non-fiction.

Bite Me!

Nothing else need be said.

Ode To The Kitchen Table

Because of new school schedules and rehearsal schedules, it seems that we have not eaten a real meal (i.e. a meal that involves a full place setting of silverware and must be eaten from a plate rather than a paper towel) at home all week. Tonight, the pattern was broken. We had chicken and corn on the cob, both grilled. As we got ready to put the meal on the table, it became obvious to me that we had a little problem. The table was covered with s. . . .stuff. Except for a cookbook and a dirty glass, none of it had anything to do with food or eating. As I began to clear things, I was amazed at the things I removed:

• the new Mac Powerbook belonging to the kid about to leave for school
• a stack of miscellaneous papers from the University of Chicago that are touting the university life
• a French dictionary
• a ball or two of yarn
• knitting needles, which have nothing to do with the yarn on the table
• a stack of mail needing attention
• magazines ranging from Back Home to Yoga Journal
• a couple of books ranging from a CSI novel to What The Best College Teachers Do
• a few writing implements that may or may not actually write
• a cat

We have a 7 foot pine table that was made by Erin's fifth grade teacher's husband; so, there is plenty of room for all of this stuff. For me, the question of how do all of these things fit on the table is not nearly as intriguing as why the heck is all of this stuff here in the first place. We have a huge house - a house in which every one of us has our own space and there is a place, other than the kitchen table, for everything.

The reality is that the table is the center of our family life together. It sits between the kitchen and the family room - i.e. in close proximity to both food and television, the basic staples of any teenager's life. So, this is where we congregate to talk, to play, to watch TV, to do homework and grade papers, and to eat a home cooked meal, though not so much lately. I realized that in the things on the table, there is a piece of every one of us. The table is a monument to all that goes on here. Though the dogs did not have a contribution ON the table, they did have quite a collection of polyfil from gutted toys and plastic pieces from a chewed Frisbee under the table. We all had fair representation. As I continued to move things, I was reminded of a conversation I had with Erin when she about six.

For some reason we were talking about inherited things. Brooke said that all we had was a couple of looms, a spinning wheel, a bunch of yarn, and way too many books. She said she had no interest in the fiber related things (which has since changed) and she would have already read all the books she wanted to read before inheriting them would be an issue so there was nothing that she really wanted. Erin announced that she wanted the kitchen table. (She was not speaking of the table we have now.) When I asked her why she wanted the kitchen table, she told me it was because it was full of stories and memories. She started pointing to the drip of fingernail polish from Christmas Eve, the streak of marker from where she colored a birthday card for a friend, the glitter from various art projects, the globs of hot melt glue from making Halloween costumes, the dings from pounding play-doh with a real hammer.

Tonight, as I look at our table with its mound of "stories and memories", I am thankful for all that our kitchen table represents. Though it would be nice not to have to engage in an archaeological dig every time we sit down for a meal, as long as the table continues to be our favorite gathering spot, I suspect the nightly digs will continue. As long as this is so, stories and memories will continue to be made. And that is what family life is all about.

People Say The Stupidest Things!

It seems that every direction we turn, from our kids to magazines to TV to our friends, people are saying that we, as a culture, do not listen well. If you are having a problem with a partner it is because one or both of you don't listen carefully to what the other says. If your teenager is angst ridden it is because he or she is not understood by his or her parents. The bottom line is that we are losing our ability to communicate effectively by oral and aural means. Life moves at such a fast pace that people no longer eat leisurely meals together, gather around the hearth in the evenings, make an actual phone call. Much communication happens via "a quick email" or a text message. In both cases, vocal inflections and body language, essential elements in human interaction, are absent. No wonder people misunderstand or don't "hear" one another.

Having said all this, there are times when we are better off not listening carefully because quite often, people say really stupid things. Today was the day for "I can't believe s/he just said that" moments.

Thursdays are the day for Spirit of Knitting editorial meetings. We gather at our remote location - the local Borders bookstore. We really do get work done but we also knit, which, as you might imagine, peaks the interest of many who are strolling through the bookstore. Alissa was working on a sock today. A fifty-ish woman struck up a conversation with the three of us. "Oh look. Socks soar on two needles." (A reference to a book by that name. The woman then proceeded to tell us how she hates to sew things together - that she never makes anything that requires sewing seams. After a brief but polite conversation, she then said that she was heading home to finish the front of her sweater. Okay, if you are making a sweater front and you never sew things together, this could be interesting. No back? No sleeves? Or, are the pieces just set in place but not actually connected? Does she not realize how stupid this sounded?

Then, we were looking at a knitting magazine. Alissa came across the following in print: "a cucumber shaped box" Never mind the images that this conjures up. Let's think purely about the geometry of the situation. Angles. No angles. Cucumber-shaped box. Perhaps this is a square peg-round hole issue. No matter how you look at it, this description sounds stupid.

That's not all folks!

BK and I were sitting at a local coffee shop after doing a little set and prop work for Mash.. She was finishing the last few rows of a baby afghan that is nearly 36 inches square and was spilling off her lap to the floor. Her needles were flying in the hope that she could get it bound off before we met Mike and the girls for dinner. Again a woman who was 55-60 struck up a conversation. "Are you knitting or crocheting?" BK replied nicely, "I am knitting." With a burst of energy, the woman exclaimed, "I love to knit!" You love to knit? If you can't tell the difference between knitting and crocheting by the tools someone has in their hand and the look of the yard long fabric, are you sure you love to knit? C'mon. Are you listening to yourself?

Are people so desperate for someone to talk to that they will risk sounding like an absolute idiot just to have a real face-to-face interaction? Perhaps the woman from Borders and the one from the coffee shop could get together. They would have lovely conversations with one another. The two of them could explain to us the cucmber-shaped box. Then those of us who really do listen to what people say would not have to endure stupid moments like the ones that have dominated today. The fact that these three incidents happened all in a day scares me! Maybe the smart people will be out tomorrow. If not, I may have to borrow my daughter's Happy Bunny T-shirt that says, "Make the stupid people shut-up!"

Okay. I know I am sounding like a mean snob, but really . . .

Mixing Work And Play

I have mentioned several times that my older daughter loves to cook - and I must admit she is a fine, vegan, chef. About this time last year, early in the discussion of colleges, she considered applying to the Culinary Institute of America. Though I was confident that if this was the direction she chose to follow all would be well, I did have some reservations. In her case, cooking has always been a way to escape from the pressures of school. Should she make the culinary arts her profession, her place to escape would be gone. The same is true for any of us who make our leisure activities into work.

For me, photography is a place to escape. Most often, the only person I have to please with my pictures is myself. If I am unhappy with a shoot, I have the luxury of deleting the pictures and trying again another day. As a professional photographer, there are no do-overs. Screwing up some one's wedding pictures . . .well, you can imagine.

Tonight I was asked to take some publicity shots for Denton Community Theatre's production of MASH. I take theatre pictures all the time but usually they are for the cast members only. As long as I have at least one good picture of each cast member, people are happy. These are usually candid rather than posed pictures. I am not fond of taking "set-up" pictures, but that is what was needed tonight. I was a little stressed.

To add to the stress, when I got to the theater, I realized that neither of my camera batteries had a full charge. This is the mark of a rank amateur. So, rather than take the photos at the top of rehearsal, we waited until the end which allowed the batteries to charge. Disaster averted.

When I got home, I immediately had to sift through the hundred pictures or so and decide which ten best represented the show. Damn good question! I did get some good shots photographically speaking, but which ones were the best for publicity? I really was not sure.

The show director wanted me to email him the pictures tonight rather than deliver them on a CD tomorrow. We all know high resolution picture files are huge. If they even send, it is usually a very slow process. And, many servers will not allow emails that big to be delivered. That was the case here. The file was undeliverable because it was too big. I had to send several emails with only a few pictures each. So far (keep your fingers crossed) nothing has been returned to me. I am taking that as a good sign.

Even though the photos were staged, I enjoyed talking the pictures. It was a challenge to try to pick the best photos to send . Though editing pictures can be a tedious job, it was not too bad tonight. Primarily because I did not do too much editing - a little cropping and some minor balance corrections. I definitely did not do anything major. Still, the pressure of having to have the perfect picture, from both a technical and an artistic perspective, to send to the publicist TONIGHT, no second chances, was a bit daunting.

Though taking pictures tonight felt more like work than play, no money was exchanged so I suppose technically it was still play. What a relief!

Here are a few of the shots.

Finally, An Answer!

If you are a regular reader here, you may remember my daughter's question from a month ago concerning her appearance and how she was cast in a stage production. Well, she finally has an answer.

Over the weekend, while she was out with a drama buddy from school, I got a phone call from her in which, in a very excited voice, she said, "Mama, I'm a whore! I'm a whore!" I responded like any good mother would with, "I am so proud of you! And, I guess this means you don't look like a boy. " I know I should not be proud of having raised a whore, but . . .Well, maybe this all goes back to that HPV thing.

Really, I am proud of her. Last week she auditioned for two different shows. The first was Dracula. She was happy with her read and felt like she had done the best that she could. The next evening, she auditioned for The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas. Though after she had read for Dracula she was a little more interested in the show, her passion really lies with doing musicals. All of us who call ourselves her family encouraged her to go to both auditions because you can never have too much experience with that part of theater. Two days after the first audition, Erin got a call from the director of Dracula saying that she did not feel comfortable casting her because of her age. This particular script is a bit risque.

She did not put her actual age on her Whorehouse audition form; she put an age range that she thought she could realistically play - 15-22. She is 14.
Erin knew that she had to come across older than she actually is; she also knew that the selection she chose to sing would impact that tremendously. So what did she choose? "Dance Ten, Looks Three" from A Chorus Line. And which 16 measures did she sing? The part that begins with "Tits and ass, got myself a fancy pair . . ." Needless to say, she did not look or sound like she was only 14. And, she got a part in the show.

Once all the casting was complete, she did not end up being a whore. She is in the chorus for the preacher, a towns person, and part of the Texas Aggie drill team, the last requires her to do a tap routine with a )male) doll. But, she really is not a whore!

Despite the whole whore thing, doing this show is a great opportunity for her. She is working with some very talented and experienced older actors. I suppose it goes without saying that she is the youngest cast member. Also, all of her roles are heavy dance parts. In the triple threat, singing, acting, dancing, she feels like her dancing is the weakest. So here is Erin's chance to grow in that area.

The icing on the cake here is that the director who cast her as the gander in Honk is also in Best Little Whorehouse. We'll see if he thinks she looks like a boy in this show!

What Not To Wear

It is rare that I sit down with the intention of watching TV. For some reason, I had nothing that I had to do tonight so I reached for the remote. The first thing that I saw on the Guide was the Miss Teenage USA 2007 pageant. Now I know why I don't watch TV. The choices on the other zipty billion satellite channels we have were no better. I finally settled on What Not To Wear. This is rather ironic because frankly, I never really think about what not to wear. My philosophy is if it is comfortable, wear it.

Tonight's show happened to be a reunion show; eight women, who had previously been on the show, were back to see if they have been able to maintain their new fashion identity. The program began with highlights from each of their previous appearances. The longer I watched, the more amazed I became at the idea that people had come into these women's worlds and completely changed their sense of themselves. I was most surprised at the woman who was told that she could no longer wear her hooded sweatshirt while she was out (in the cold) walking her dogs. Do the dogs really care what she is wearing? Oh wait, we are concerned about what other people have to say about what we wear. Are we really so shallow that if we see a woman out on a Saturday morning walking her dogs in a sweatshirt that we will think no class, uninteresting, unattractive? Or what about the young special education teacher who said that she would rather put her energy into enriching the lives of eight disabled children in her classroom than be exhausted by the time she got to school from going through an extensive ritual of makeup and fashion choice. What is wrong with that? If I were the parent of one of her students, I would be grateful for someone who was more concerned with educating my child than whether or not she was accessorized properly.

Many years ago when I was feeling the effects of lupus but had not yet been diagnosed, I was seeing an internist who walked in to the exam room wearing what we now call business casual. He asked me if I was uncomfortable with a doctor who did not wear a white coat. This particular doctor was much like Dr. House (another show I watch) in his unrelenting search for answers but he was much more personable. I told him that I was much less concerned with what he wore than with what he said and did. I also said that I was not fond of doctors who hide behind their white coats and stethoscopes. Anyone can play dress-up.

It looked to me like all the women who were back on What Not To Wear were playing dress-up. Many of them did not look comfortable at all with the persona they were trying to pull off. What is the point? Why can't we just be who we truly are?

I am a jeans, loose shirt and Birkenstock girl. That translates to an old hippie. The older I get, the less able (or willing) I am to try to pull off the mature adult look as far as fashion is concerned. In fact, last winter when we went back east for my mother's funeral, I had it in my head that I really should wear a dress; needless to say, I did not have an appropriate one. I took my fashion conscious daughter shopping with me. After trying on many dresses, all of which fit in terms of size, Erin finally said to me that I just did not look right in a dress. She was right. I ended up with a navy blue suit - pants and blazer. That was about as grown up as I could handle and it was perfectly fine for the funeral. I must say, however, that I have not worn it since.

I am lucky that I teach in a place where dress is not a big deal. This may be the benefit of teaching in the arts. It is perfectly acceptable to wear jeans and Birkenstocks in our department, at least it always has been. Hopefully that will not change. I think that the students recognize confidence and comfort in their instructors not by how they dress but by how they engage with their students. I don't need the tweed jacket to earn the respect of my students any more than that doctor twenty years ago needed a white coat to earn my respect. If I am worthy of their respect I will get it regardless of what I wear. And if I am not, I will not get it, regardless of how I dress. We are back to that don't judge a book by its cover thing.

So, as I get ready for the first day of school on Monday, I could wear my blue suit. Yeah right. I will make sure that my "good" jeans are clean and that my shirt is not too wrinkled. And, I have new Birkenstocks. I am ready. Hopefully the opinions of me that are formed by my students are based on what I show them of my inside, not the outside.

Having said that, over the summer I overheard one of my former students asking a current student if I still wore all the cool-colored hand knit socks. I can live with being the awesome theory teacher who wears the cool socks.