MukMuk

I have been meaning to post about the Olympics for well... since they started two weeks ago. And to thank Jo over at A Majority of Two on my blog. THANKS JO! for picking me as the winner of your plush MukMuk, the almost mascot. (Pictured above, standing on my purple desk).

I really am a sucker for a good back story. I think that's one reason why I love Disney theme parks, and obscure comic book characters so darn much. Anyway, he's a rare Vancouver Island marmot who loves to cheer for his friends, the real mascots. Honestly I think the only reason why he didn't get to be a mascot is he's an actual animal and not a freaky hybrid. We have loved having this little guy around. He has even been on TV! Alex, her school's Olympic correspondent, featured him in a special segment, "Meet the Almost Mascot".

If you are looking for a way to waste a good hour on a mindless on-line game you can play with MukMuk here.

She Just Wants

Two poems by Beverly Rollwagen,
from She Just Wants.

Employed

She just wants to be employed

for eight hours a day. She is not

interested in a career; she wants a job

with a paycheck and free parking. She

does not want to carry a briefcase filled
with important papers to read after

dinner; she does not want to return

phone calls. When she gets home, she

wants to kick off her shoes and waltz

around her kitchen singing, "I am a piece

of work."

Essential

She just wants to keep her essential

sorrow. Everyone wants her to

be happy all the time, but she doesn't

want that for them. There is value in

the thread of sadness in each person.

The sobbing child on an airplane, the

unhappy woman waiting by the phone,

a man staring out the window past his

wife. A violin plays through all of them,

one long note held at the beginning and

the end.

Ordinary Time

Today was just an ordinary day. I got out of bed with plenty of time to shower, brush my teeth and walk the dog. My daughter managed to find shoes that wouldn't alarm her teachers or move strangers to offer to buy her a new pair.

We went to work and school safe in the knowledge that an American had won the men's figure skating competition and the snowboard half pike and the women's down hill ski. Is it just me or does the Olympic medal race mean less and less now that the cold war is over? Earlier this week the Americans beat the Chinese at hockey, 12 to 2. They may own our economy, but we still kicked their ass on the ice.

It was Peanut M&M Friday at the office, and the military has re branded our war. Its no longer Operation Iraqi Freedom. Now its Operation Dawn. In other sports news Tiger Woods reminded us that his life may be falling apart, but he still has a brand to protect. There are a lot of people counting on him for their paycheck. Least we forget, he's human.

At four o'clock Alex is off the bus and eating ice cream with my mother when she calls to ask about dinner. Pizza? No, dinner with my friend and her baby who is almost one. We live five miles apart and haven't seen each other in a month. Babies grow fast, not like kids who seem to just evolve over time. I miss babies. I miss having someone small enough to hold in my arms. But I don't miss the bottles or the dipper bags filled with toys. I much prefer the ten year old who can sit and listen while we talk in code about things she will understand within the year.

Ten is a good age, but tonight I did regret that I have lost the 4 year old that could laugh with me while I danced to Vanilla Ice singing the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle rap. I would trade those rolling eyes for dimpled cheeks any day of the week. Even if she is too cool for me she is not too cool to fall asleep on the couch before the movie ends. Ten thirty is still late to her.

It was an ordinary day for the world, for childhood. So we carried on just like always, too smart for our own good.

Soap Wednesday

Soap in Canada
Epcot, Walt Disney World
Katy 2009

Today is Ash Wednesday. I didn't make it to a service. It seems just as well. When are we not reflecting and mourning?

Today Alex and I decided that we are going to do one nice thing for each other every day of Lent.

Today I find myself reflecting on the story of Jesus the foot washer. Jesus teaching us to be a servant, and teaching us how to be served.

Today I am drawn to soap, not ashes.

Master of the Mansion

Haunted Mansion
Magic Kingdom, Walt Disney World

Katy 2008

Over the years, cast members (and more than a few guests) have mistakenly believed that “Master Gracey” was the master of the Disney Haunted House attraction—thanks to a tombstone in the graveyard written by X Atencio, Imagineer and show writer for the attraction, that declares: “Master Gracey, laid to rest, no mourning please, at his request.” (pictured above)

Its been said that the aging “Dorian Grey” style portrait is a representation of “Master Gracey” or that the hanging man in the stretching gallery is the “master.” None of those assumptions were intended by the original Imagineers, but these legends are so in trenched in Disney lore that Cast Members are known to place a rose on Master Gracey's tomb from time to time. Even the craprrific live-action movie staring Eddie Murphey, and based on the Disney attraction, tried to make the lore officially part of the story. (If you haven't seen this movie, don't).

In truth, X Atencio was using the turn of the century, term “master” (as in a boy too young to be called “mister”) to offer a tribute to His fellow Imagineer, the boyish Yale Gracey.

Gracey was called an “Illusioner” in the days before the term “Imagineer” was coined. But for those who worked with him, Yale’s love of magic and the creation of unusual effects made him a modern Merlin the magician. His work can be seen through out the many classic Disney attractions.

Of course, his most famous work comes from when he was teamed up with Rolly Crump to assist Ken Anderson and later X Atencio, Marc Davis and Claude Coats with telling the story of a haunted New Orleans mansion. Unfortunately, many of the most fantastic (and never re-created) effects that Gracey and Crump developed were never used in the attraction when it was changed from a walk-through event (with more time for guests to see an effect evolve) to a moving vehicle, which meant the animation had to be short cycled because it could not be determined whether a guest would see the beginning, middle or end of the cycle of action.

Imagineer Bob Gurr, who was instrumental in the design of the omnimover system which eventually carried guests through the Haunted Mansion, recalls working with Gracey in an interview with "The E Ticket" magazine: "Yale was always at the studio. He'd literally sit in his room and fiddle with stuff, and occasionally invent something. Walt was totally happy with that... Yale was good at figuring out physical gags. Then somebody working on a project would find a way to weave Yale's gag into their show story. He would often have things on the shelf that we could use later."

It will be Summer-eventually

by Emily Dickinson

It will be Summer-eventually.
Ladies-with parasols-
Sauntering Gentlemen-with Canes-
And little Girls-with Dolls-

Will tint the pallid landscape-
As 'twere a bright Bouquet-
Tho' drifted deep, in Parian-
The Village lies-today-

The Lilacs-bending many a year-
Will sway with purple load-
The Bees-will not despise the tune-
Their Forefathers-have hummed-

The Wild Rose-redden in the Bog-
The Aster-on the Hill
Her everlasting fashion-set-
And Covenant Gentians-frill-

Till Summer folds her miracle-
As Women-do-their Gown-
Or Priests-adjust the Symbols-
When Sacrament-is done-

**************************************
I am so sick of cold wind and wet shoes. Yesterday was so nice I wore a t-shirt while I walked my dog sans umbrella. The sky was so blue I was almost tricked into thinking this whole Winter phase had passed. I was wrong. By the time night fell temperatures had dropped 25 degrees in just under 30 minutes. This morning I awoke to a reading of 34 on the thermometer. Who are these people who love the cold and wet? What terrible events transpired in their childhoods to make them feel joy with the world is inhabitable? It may be fun to listen to the rain while you curl up under a nice warm blanket, reading and sipping tea. It just plan sucks when you have to get out of bed, dress in the cold and wait for the bus in a never ending shower. Seattle, I don't envy you. Mexico City... wish I was there.

Dangerous Song

There are some events that are so unbelievable you have to have been in the attendance to know for sure that they really did happen. As luck would have I was blessed with the opportunity to attend what, turned out to be, one of the most extraordinary elementary school choir events to ever take place.

My daughter's school was honored with an invitation from our state music teachers association to sing at their annual convention. Tuesday night was their "practice performance." In a small local chapel. The voices of young singers filled the beautiful space with that glorious sound only a child can produce. And then, in the middle of the second song a young girl on the top risers began to stir. It looked as if she was going to sit down, but she fainted and fell backwards instead. Parents rushed the stage. A physician and neurologist were in the audience and soon determined that the girl was fine. Nervous, she had locked her knees and lost circulation.

You could read the worry on the faces of the young children. The sight of a fainting child is not old hat to 10 and 11 year olds. They began to bend their knees in earnest. Afraid that they might fall victim to this syndrome. It was in the middle of the third song that a young boy bent his knees, perhaps just a tad too emphatically because he lost his balance and fell into the two girls behind him and busted open his lip. With blood now shed the director instructed all the children to sit down while the young man was taken to safety.

The school counselor was in the audience and took this break in the action to talk with the children. Explain that there was nothing inherently dangerous about standing on risers and singing to their parents and school teachers. They could carry one with no further instances. It would be alright. If they felt nervous though, the children were asked to go and sit with their mom and dad.

I'm not sure if the young girl in the middle of the front row had been feeling ill all night or if the added sight of blood had done something to her stomach. Whatever the case, in the third movement of the fifth and final song the young girl threw up all over the director. At that point it was decided that there was little point in finishing. They were so close to the end and at any rate, the chapel was begging to smell. The mother of the projectile vomiter collected her daughter, the choir was dismissed and the director headed for the nearest restroom while the principle took the microphone to assure the remaining parents their children were in safe hands. This was not typical of elementary school choir events. And she was right. It wasn't typical. You go to these things to be reminded of the simple beauty of innocence that can only be found in the voices of children.

But that night innocence was lost. Our children were reminded of their mortality. They were made aware of the hidden violence in the coral business. When they arrived at the convention on Thursday they were nervous. The ballroom they would be singing in was full. Standing room only. The first group to perform was an honor choir from a northern district. They were dressed in matching uniforms and cheesy smiles were plastered on their faces. Their music was all up beat jazz numbers and spirituals. They were new and shinny and proud to be on stage, wowing the crowd.

When our children climbed onto the rises they looked like sickly hospital patience. A collective gray bundle of nerves they all looked ready to simultaneously collapse and catch anyone who may decided to collapse around them. They sang their slow melodic songs with a new found depth of wisdom that can only come from experience. They finished the last song without incident and breathed a long sigh of relief. It was over. They had survived. They could return to yelling and chasing and jumping and whining like the brats that they are.

My Last Word on Education

Le bateau atelier
Claude Monet

It seems like our public schools are either places where the devil dwells or tombs of learning where angelic teachers jump through molten lava to save the future of our children.

I have a daughter who struggles with school. We can't all be geniuses. We aren't all complete failures either.

I spent the morning with my daughter's teacher and her vice principle. It seems Alex's problem is that she is already getting extra help at school and at home. She isn't doing great, but she isn't failing either. If I were to stop helping her, if she were to fail, a whole host of services would be there to get her the help she needs. But because she hasn't failed yet, there is little else they can do.

Its a frustrating struggle. Being a parent with a child who is falling through the cracks isn't easy. Not having money to pay for private help is maddening.

Really, this whole capitalism thing is great until you find yourself on the bottom trying to get to basic services only open to people at the top. I faced this battle with health care and medical debt. Now I find myself about to go into education debt. I'm taking out a loan so my daughter can be tutored. So my daughter won't have to fail before she can get the help she needs.

Gosh I'm proud to be an American. Best country in the world. Where no rich child is left behind.

Making Progress

Progress reports came home on Friday. For reasons that I don't understand her school has nine week grading periods so these progress reports hold more sway than they did when I was growing up. When you got a report card every six weeks. Like NORMAL people.

School is a touchy subject in our house. Its not Alex's thing. She isn't the kind of kid I was. The kind of kid who could just sit down and do the work. The kid whose homework was done before the teacher had time to write the assignment on the blackboard. No, the work for Alex is hard and challenging. She is soo much like my sister that she shares a birthday with, its almost scary. I often tell Anna that if she wasn't still alive, I would swear that Alex had her soul. Many long nights are spent getting homework done. Studying for tests. Our weekends are spent doing extra drills, visiting tutors. School in our house is a full time job and a four letter word.

I don't expect As. I'm mostly okay with just seeing progress. But when I saw "Needs to do homework" noted in the comments section I flipped.

NEEDS TO DO HOMEWORK???? HOW IS THAT EVEN POSSIBLE!!!! ALL WE DO IS HOMEWORK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Sometimes I just forget to turn it in.

Don't even ask me what that means. I still don't get it. All I know is that Alex is now grounded. No TV. No friends over. No McDonald's. I am just the evil fun sucker how has sucked the last bit of fun out of her life. She wasn't speaking to me.

Until this afternoon she got out a box of sun catchers she had gotten for Christmas. Those medal designs of flowers and bugs. The kind you drop little pieces of plastic into before you milt them in oven. Modern psychiatry would tell us all to talk through our anger. But sometimes talking about our issues only brings out more. Sometimes its enough to just sit and share the same space. Sometimes, to move on from our frustration all we need is some plastic sun catchers to milt in the oven.

The Point of the Whole Thing

I love Alex. With her around I know that I will always have enough inspiration and lunacy in my life. Every night we read. Or rather I read while she lays in her bed and listens. Last night we finished the latest Allie Finkle novel so tonight the story was up in the air. "What do you want to read?" Alex studied the shelves. She pulled out several books of bible stories for young children. Ones we haven't read from since her preschool days. She wanted to hear the story of Jonah and the Whale.

Words can not adequately describe how truly random this event was. We never read bible stories. I consider myself a spiritual person, but I don't pretend to be religious. Before I could suggest something more suitable for bed time, Alex had grabbed an actual bible and opened it to the book of Jonah. "Read this story." And so I did.

I skipped the boring parts, the whole tale is just a handful of chapters long so there wasn't much else to read. Jonah was told to go to Nineveh to tell the people there they were doing bad things and they needed to repent and turn to God. He didn't want to go. He was afraid the people wouldn't listen. That they would make fun of him. He jumped on a boat instead and there he meet the whale. I guess that's just tough love. God's way of forcing Jonah to do what he was told. I never liked the story when I was kid. To me it made God seem like a jerk. So what if Jonah didn't want to go to Nineveh. There had to be thousands of other people God could have picked on. Why did he have to harass Jonah?

As I read the story tonight, Alex laid in her bed and listened. When I was done I closed the bible and gave Alex a hug. Then she looked at me with her beautiful eyes that always remind me of her father and said,

"You know, that's the problem. The point of the whole thing is to listen to your heart and do what God wants, but there are so many other voices going on in my head that sometimes, its just hard to hear."

This from the 10 year old girl who jumped up from the dinner table to dance the shimmy. Who rides her scooter from one room to the next in our tiny 2 bedroom apartment. With such pre-adolescence going on around you its hard to imagine this ball of energy hears anything at all.

Carl, met Oscar...

More about this later... but

I can't believe the Academy has nominated a second animated film for Best Picture. I just wish this has happened last year because Wall-E really deserved this.

While I know it won't win, this is huge. And I am crossing my figures that Pete Doctor will win for best screenplay.

This is Not a Post

It was fun seeing so many comments on my blog this morning. For that I say thank you to all who wondered over from Jo's blog and commented and all of you who wondered over and didn't say anything. And thank you Jo for the wonder complements! And now I feel like I should write something. Really I should update my blog.

But I slept through my alarm this morning (or I have no memory of turning it off).

I got to my regular stop in time to catch the last morning bus downtown, only to find I had left my wallet at home.

I arrived at work 40 minutes late to find that all of my attorneys arrived early for once.

I worked through lunch.

I left the office at 8:30pm.

I picked my daughter up from my parent's house at 9:00pm.

I completed an application for a new job at midnight.

My brain is done.

I'm off to bed.