I kind of liked this list over at Schmutzie's. And I felt sort of compelled to write my own. It was scary and hard, but here's to airing everything in public.

I took a puppy home from this lady with a free sign, and a sad look in her eyes, which I took as foreboding, without asking my mother. I grabbed a metal toaster with both hands before I understood that it would burn me badly. I watched a pit bull destroy an entire hutch of rabbits. I stood feet away from a rabid red fox that stumbled close to the farmhouse while my mother screamed my name. I took out my aggression by joining in a group of bullies that terrorized one poor kid. We gave him wedgies and hung him on the fence by his underwear. At age 11, when my nana was dying, I whispered to the stars that it was okay for her to let go now, so she could stop hurting. I wasn't surprised that she died later that night. I never went to her funeral.  I swam in the wrong part of the river that ran through my grandma's farm and came out covered in leeches. I went on a stealing jag, and only stopped after I stole a picture book from a church, and too afraid to give it back, I threw it in the trash. I disappeared down this overgrown trail and stepped on a colony of red ants that stung my sandaled feet and legs so that I could barely walk. I caught a huge snapping turtle out of our river and watched my uncle cut it's head off, it's mouth continuing to open and shut long after it had been decapitated. I walked down a highway with my brother and stepbrother cracking jokes, while we waited for the cops to come and arrest his mother on Christmas Eve. I held my grandma's dog as she suffered her first grand mal seizure when she was 16. I was in a convoy of cars going to a cast party after a succesful drama production, young teens driving way too fast hyped on adrenaline. I watched the car in front of me completely miss the turn, drive straight into the ditch and flip end to end 4 times. Miraculously no one died, but I will never forget the blood that streamed down one's face, while his older brother who'd been driving wept openly. Or the hundreds of stitches it took to close all of the gashes. Or the terribly blank stare of another who sat pale and confused, and the three weeks he then suffered amnesia. Giving in to peer pressure I jumped off a cliff to impress co-workers, landed horribly wrong in the water and nearly drowned. I pithed a frog.  I bashed in the head of a grey squirrel that was dying and in terrible agony. I finished my college valedictorian speech 5 minutes before delivering it, and felt like a fraud the whole time. I held my dog and stroked him and felt his life drain quickly from him, in my arms. I vaccinated a coyote against rabies, and took pictures when I released it. When it turned and stopped to meet my eyes, I held my breath and listened to it howl. I euthanized skunks for a scienific study. I got sprayed directly in the face and eyes while doing so. I fell down the Niagara Escarpment and almost rolled onto the highway. I accidently helped spread canine distemper through a huge population of raccoons. I sobbed relentlessly and almost quit my job when I released staggering raccoon babies that I knew would die. I chased an opposum mother through the woods to re-attach a baby she had dropped. I made my best friend say she loved me, when she first discovered her bi-sexuality, knowing that I was the first person she was coming out to, instead of helping her say it, even though I already knew. I crashed my car into not one but two barricades on a stretch of the Trans Canada at 4 am on a patch of black ice. Somehow, the metal that sliced through the driver's door, did not slice me in half.  I packed up and moved across Canada 3 times. I didn't stay in touch with so many friends along the way on purpose, hoping they would forget me. I gave my heart and soul to two wonderful beautiful children. I never asked the first guy that I truly loved whether he felt the same way, and have always regretted it. I never attended his wedding, though he desperately wanted me to be there. I bought a car so my dad would feel as though he'd done something to help my depression. I gave in and listened to the graphic images playing in my head and injured myself. I sat in a sand box and screamed at the sky. I threw rocks into the ocean until I fell into an exhausted heap. I worked with severely mentally and physically handicapped adults and felt unconditional love, and acceptance.  I broke down in a panic attack after being unable to comply with the moons demands that I fly there (manic). I got a tattoo and several piercings while manic. I had the tattoo redone by the same guy after I came down and realized he'd been high at the time he did it. I never told anyone what was going on when we were kids. I bought a puppy to replace the baby I miscarried. I didn't tell my mom or dad that I was locked up in the psyche ward for 2 months. I swallowed a bottle of pills and refused to tell paramedics what they were. When I woke to find I was still alive, I only felt regret that I was. 

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Just Be 1

I yearn for silence. I spend my minutes, hours, days, constantly searching for a stillness that I don't possess. If I listen closely enough, I can capture it for a moment. When I watch the trees sway, at a drum circle, where my head naturally cocks to one side and I pick out the different rhythms, the tones, the pitches being played. It stills me. But in the interim, I am like a hummingbird, wings beating so fast it appears as if I am standing still. I am this contrast; a turbulent tranquility.

I watched this film called The Blue Butterfly. It's based on a true story. A terminally ill 10 year old boy convinces his hero (an entomologist) to take him into the rainforest in search of the elusive Blue Morpho. He is convinced that if he catches this magnificent specimen, that it will hold all the answers, and it will be his miracle. He searches desperately, and more than once, is thwarted by it. In the end, his epic journey to capture it fails. Instead, a young girl, sitting quietly, silently, still, discovers one for him.

I have been on an epic quest in search of my own miracle, my stillnes, a sense of understanding. And when I approach it softly, positive it is within reach, it flies swiftly away, only this time thwarting me by flying farther, higher; over more dangers. It is a treacherous path, this journey. And I haven't yet begun to comprehend that what I am in search of, I may never grasp. I am not naive in thinking that I am the only person who is in search of something they simply cannot, and will not ever capture. I think perhaps, that we are all stumbling along in search of something, although our somethings vary. It makes me wonder about actors. When they play pretend and lose themselves in a character, do they find what they are seeking? And in having found it, does it change them? How do they return to the person they are...how do they even know who they are, if they have been so many people.

I have been missing out on the vital parts of me. The ones that are, the bad and the good. I have not been taking the time to just be. Who I am, as I am, here and now. I am a turbulent tranquility, I am contrast. This is what I know, have known, and will always know. This is who I am.

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Suggested by JM:

“Life is too short to read bad books.” I’d always heard that, but I still read books through until the end no matter how bad they were because I had this sense of obligation.  That is, until this week when I tried (really tried) to read a book that is utterly boring and unrealistic. I had to stop reading.

Do you read everything all the way through or do you feel life really is too short to read bad books?

I've almost always completed books that I've started.  Maybe because I usually read books that have been well-reviewed or maybe because I'm generally an optimist and that even after a slow start I hope that it might get better, or maybe I have a stick-to-it-iveness that says if you're going to start something you might as well finish it.

It

Stephen King

Speaking of of finishing it, that does remind me of one of the few books I didn't finish -- "IT" from Stephen King.  Clocking in at over a thousand pages and at the apex of his drug-addled, no-one-will-edit-him 80s long windedness (Steve: more isn't always better) -- I plodded along in this for about 400 pages and then said, "No mas!"

Oddly, I know several people for whom this book was one of their favorites, but I couldn't stand IT.

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At the age of eight I was a freakish bookworm. I spent long hours immersed in other places, magical lands, other times. It brought with it surges of emotion, sometimes longing, sometimes disgust. And then one day I stumbled across a book about the holocaust. I read accounts of horror and terror and destruction that i couldn't comprehend. I became obsessed with World War II. I read tales of survivors from the camps, work camps, and extermination camps. Dachau, Auschwitz-Birkenau, Buchenwald, Bergen-Belsen...the list is endless. I read of mothers being ripped away from their children. People dying of starvation. Women, men and children of all ages being massacred. I read of the "scientific" experiments carried out; children and twins in particular. How Josef Mengele took a set of 4 year old twins at Auschwitz, and proceeded to turn them into Siamese twins, sewing them back to back, until the pain of it drove them mad and they were destroyed. How handicapped and mentally challenged people were castrated. I tried to comprehend the workings behind such madness. I needed to understand how one man could convince so many people to commit such atrocity. I read Mein Kampf to try and understand the workings of a mind that could do something like that. And I came up with nothing.

I read of the men, women and children who were destroyed by bombing, gunfire, gas. Long nights and days spent in bomb shelters. Thousands upon thousands of displaced persons, displaced families. Evacuee's: children sent into the country or abroad to complete strangers, some who were kind and willing, some, who would ultimately abuse their charges. Many of these children would never see their families again. And I didn't understand.

I would learn later that my grandfather had flown POW's back to their native lands. He was haunted by the images of sunken gaunt human beings. Many sick, some, mad from it all. He never spoke much about it, but I know he never forgot. And he couldn't understand.

And then I immersed myself in World War 1. The war to end all wars. I learned of the battles fought, the thousands killed. I visited the monument at Vimy Ridge. Walked through the trenches. Saw the chaos and destruction that has been preserved. And none of it made any sense. So many deaths, so much destruction, and pain and hatred. I was overcome, and still, I couldn't understand.

And it still goes on. Today, wars are fought everywhere, conflict, pain, terrible, horrible things. And there will never be a war to end all wars. We strive too much on conflict, power, dominance.

But today, I remember, I remember all of it. And though I will never be able to understand it, I will never forget. I will pass on the message to as many people as I can along the way. And I will hope, that enough people remember so that it never happens again.  

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It was a big day for Penny yesterday as she completed and graduated from her Family Dog I class.  For the past month and a half or so, we’ve been working on sitting and staying and heeling and coming when called – all the things that are needed to be a good dog citizen.
 

Good Down

Good Heel

Proud Pack

BFFs in the surf

Chase me!

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Xkcd is usually pretty good -- but this is genius.

Orbitals

Happy Friday!

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So, one of the things I’ve gotten to spend some more time with during my – err – sabbatical from gainful employment – is my piano.

For those who’ve been around here a while, you might recall that a couple of years ago, I was stressing about and then actually enjoying learning a little music theory in the last piano class I had before I started taking private lessons.

So, last year, after I’d settled in and developed a bit of rapport with my teacher, I’d described the things I’d liked and not-liked about the classes I had taken.  One thing I’d said I’d appreciated (and that maybe it was my analytical-science side coming out) was the introduction to music theory that I’d had – how it helped shaped the way I heard and learned new pieces.  She suggested that I start a series of workbooks on music theory for the piano.

Fundamentals of Piano Theory (K Snell Series, Primer-Level 10)

I think this series is pretty good, and after a year or so I’m right in the middle of the set.  I’ve really enjoyed learning the hows and whys of how a musical composition is put together.  We’ve covered meter, scales, keys, intervals, chords, ornaments, motifs and have begun to analyze different compositions for melodic phrase structure.  There are also sections for ear training and sight-reading.  Altogether, I think they’ve really helped me be a better (and I use this word very generously) musician.

So, of course, reading and dissecting music naturally began to make me curious about how it gets created.  Do you start from a motif and build?  Do you start with a feeling and go?  What are the “rules” that make something sound “good”?  And so on…

Pretty Famous Motif

And so, last month, I started another series: “The Craft of Music Composition”.  This also has several levels and naturally I’m starting at the entry level, since I’ve never written music in my life.  The first book has a sort of a lead-you-by-the-hand way that takes some of the intimidation out of the idea of putting notes to paper (or notes into Finale’ as the 21st century equivalent might be…) – while learning some of the common techniques used by composers.

Get Started

I’ve never really considered myself a “creative” person.  Insightful, maybe.  Analytical, for sure.  So composition is way out of my comfort zone – and maybe that’s good.  I don’t know that there will be any critical successes coming from my brain, but it sure is fun to sit and plink-plunk-plink at the keys and decide what you think sounds good.

Wish me luck!

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I’m still bummed, so I’ll keep this short.  Great season.  Good playoff run and lost to a very good team that got more clutch pitching and better clutch pitching in this Series.

Hideki Matsui (who had SIX RBIs tonight – holy crap -- and who hit the cover off the ball all Series) and Andy Pettitte were great examples of both of those tonight as the Yankees closed out the World Series at home, winning 7-3.  Pedro Martinez was fair but really it was the Durbin-Happ tagteam that couldn’t stop the bloodletting.

Feels Like This

Anyway – good job from the Yankees, they got it done when they had to.  And at least as a silver lining, Noelle still owes me lunch for the NLCS…

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Today, the NIH announced that they are spending $27MM of your Recovery money on creating a social network for scientists in the biomedical research community.  You can read about it here.

The goal is summed up as follows:

These Web-based initiatives will bring the power of Internet-based tools, as exemplified by social networking, to biomedical research. Modern technologies for communication and collaboration have the potential to enhance interdisciplinary research, enabling individuals to connect with each other and with resources — irrespective of location — to address challenges in new ways.

Because I’ll tell you, the first thing that popped into my mind when I heard about this was two little letters: “I” and “P” as in Intellectual Property.  The who “owns” what question is always a contentious issue that plagues researchers from the --- whose name gets to go on a paper, or whose name gets to go first on the paper questions on the academic side – to the industry ones of who had an intellectual contribution worthy to be on a patent to which organization owns the rights to this new discovery and can license it out to the highest bidder(s)?  Can you imagine “Hey peeps, I’m looking to cure Parkinson’s Disease with this new compound I made, anyone got a validated preclinical animal model in da house?”  Somehow I don’t think so.

Work Social Networks

I think this also raises the question of how many social networking sites do you really need?  I have three that I can think of – Facebook, Vox and LinkedIn – which seem to adequately cover the personal and professional sides of life.  I’ve eschewed Twitter because I think it only enforces America’s short-attention span problem.  Though I did just get a GoogleWave test-account (thanks, DeWitte!) – and I’m not really sure how to classify that.  So – is this new endeavor supposed to be a less “career networking” and more a "work networking" site than LinkedIn?  Perhaps.

I’m sure being supported by the government, they’ll come up with some terrible name out of committee – NerdNet, Science Communication And Networking Tool (SCANT), Fritter?   Maybe the social network itself should organize and name itself.  

What do you guys think?  Good idea, bad idea, I'm not a scientist so who the heck cares and I want my $27 mil back?

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Go forth and fill your libraries with media.

Seriously, thanks to everyone for being so amazing and patient. You are the reason I love Vox.

~daisy

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