Complaints Choir Complains!

We, the Toronto Complaints Choir, took our show on the road today. First stop, St. Lawrence Market, to entertain the unsuspecting noon hour lunch crowd.  We certainly complained, and, I hope, entertained. It sure looked like it. A look of recognition seemed to resonate through the crowd as we rattled off complaints, one by one (melodically, of course), By the last stanza, spontaneous  sing-alongs were in evidence.

For those of you who may not have read a previous blog I wrote about Complaints Choirs around the world, I’ll give you a brief rundown now.

The concept was developed in Finland by two musicians who thought it would be fun to transform the huge energy people put into complaining and turn it into something fun and creative.

In the Finnish vocabulary there is an expression "Valituskuoro," meaning "Complaints Choir" and it is used to describe situations where a lot of people are complaining simultaneously?

The musicians thought, "Wouldn´t it be fantastic to take this expression literally and organise a real Complaints Choir!" And they did. They solicited complaints (about anything people wanted to complain about), put them to music, solicited choir members, rehearsed and held spontaneous performances in public places throughout the city.

Their success in Helsinki prompted the organizers to encourage other major cities in the world to do the same. This winter, a Complaints Choir was formed in Toronto through the World Stage Theatre at Harbourfront. After receiving more than 1000 complaints from Torontonians, a composer was hired to take The People’s Fodder and turn it into something musical.

Local musician Bryce Kulak rose to the challenge and composed a delightful, fun, and charmingly melodic song, squeezing in as many complaints as he could. People like me (non-professional complainers!) signed up, and after weeks of rehearsals, the first performance was belted out today in front of Future Bakery at St. Lawrence Market.

The audience? Whoever was in the vicinity at the time. Noon-day lunchers, strolling shoppers pushing bundle buggies, peameal-bacon-eating children and wandering souls taking sushi and fried veal sandwiches back to the office.

There were about 50 or so of us in the choir today, our musical accompanists, and our fearless leader, Bryce, directing us from a podium set up in an aisle between coolers of raw meat and bakery shelves filled with plump ryes breads and oozing butter tarts.

Bryce created something akin to a Broadway musical hit song. It was so catchy, that by the end of the seventh (and last) stanza of the song, I saw dozens of people singing along with us. Smart move on the organizers’ part to hand out song sheets to the crowd. It was particularly smart because the cavernous market place seemed to suck up a lot of our sound. In such conditions, it’s hard for people to make out the words. And though the melody we sang is so compelling, it’s the words, aka the complaints, that make the song so special.

So what did we complain about?  You name it.

How I wish you could hear the lines sung, as they should be, rather than read. Well, you can. The video is near-perfect for a singalong. So let me give you some  idea of what Torontonians have to complain about, and did. We’ll be complaining again tomorrow after 6:00 at the Art Gallery of Ontario.

Here are some excerpts.

Nobody signals in their cars

No good 30s singles’ bars

Why do the Maple Leafs always lose?

I hate getting tiny rocks in my shoes.

Stickers on pears pull the skin right off

Please use your sleeve when you sneeze and cough

Please stop hogging that subway pole

I wish I didn’t have this unsightly mole.

The TTC is not o great

Crowded, expensive, and always late

Where are all the bicycle routes?

Upstairs neighbors walk in boots.

Where are the attractive single men?

Bugs are invading my house again

We are people not sardines,

Not everything is about you, teens!

Why don’t my children ever call

They take all my money and spend it at the mall

Why should I cook for you every night

When washing the \dishes is such a fight?

Toronto’s G-20 was a police state

I can’t get laid and I can’t get a date

Why can’t artists make a buck

Standing ovations for shows that such

Double –wide strollers are in my way

Too timid to say what I have to say

Nobody cares about your status updates

Nathan Phillips Square should sharpen their skates.

Each of these stanzas are punctuated with a rousing chorus where we harmonically repeat a decisive and common rant, including Rob Ford (Rob Ford, Rob Ford, Rob Ford),  Litterbugs, etc., Escalator Blockers, Dog Poo and Pee on the Seat.

I’ve greatly enjoyed being part of the choir and watching the creative process take shape. Bryce (and the organizers) did a fabulous job taking 1000 raw complaints and turning them into something fun and so very creative.

In a world filled with so much turmoil, from the earthquake and nuclear breakddown in Japan, the mess in Libya, and, closer to home, yesterday’s murder of a developmentally handicapped 80 year-old, it’s hard to take ourselves too seriously. Fortunately, we don’t. By playing with these complaints, we acknowledge they’re real, universal and deserve mentioning. Complaining feels good some times. It’s a nice outlet. We all need it.

And as the Complaints Choir’s fearless leader, librettist, composer and seemingly all around good-guy has written:

Complaining!

There isn’t anything wrong about it

Should be a complaining song about it

I hope you’ll all sing along about it

It’s time to finally shout about it.

Complain! Complain! Complain! Complain!

But not too much, okay?  It can get pretty boring after awhile.

A Lamentation of Swans: in praise of collective nouns

A Lamentation of Swans: in praise of Collective Nouns (see below)

Thank you for coming to my blog.

Before I write about this blog's main topic, I'd like to tell you some exciting news.

My new memoir, Not Exactly As Planned, is now available for sale from Amazon in both paperback and Kindle. To order please click here

You'll be glad you did!

 Not Exactly as Planned is a captivating, deeply moving account of adoption and the unexpected challenges of raising a child with fetal alcohol syndrome. Rosenbaum writes about family, community and the ability to rise above a tragic diagnosis with insight and clarity, while weaving in the everyday aspects of life: birdwatching, bar mitzvahs, saving the Toronto Islands, the collision of 60s idealism with the real world,and family secrets. With compassion and humour, she tells a story that is achingly unique yet universal to all parents

One reviewer said: "I  loved it. I read it in three sittings. It was so heartfelt and well-written, clearly by an amazing person who shared her life unsparingly, with honesty and zest. Kudos to her family for allowing Linda Rosenblum to lay bare their personal journey."


Now...my blog.... Enjoy!






Over 100,000 Tundra swans arrived at Long Point Bay in Norfolk, Ontario last week, after crossing Lake Erie during their spring migration from North Carolina and Chesapeake Bay in the U.S. After refueling, they’ll slowly make their way to nest in the Arctic Circle.

It’s an awe-inspiring sight to see thousands of these swans in flight overhead. I once had the opportunity to see such mass arrival, over 30 years ago, when I volunteered to band birds at the Long Point Bird Observatory in the area.  I will never forget the swans' majesty (nor deafening honk).

Thinking of  swans “en groupe,”  (or collective mass), my thoughts returned to the subject of yesterday’s blog: the beauty of the English language, and my desire to share it in its many forms. How does a collective mass of swans relate to any of this?  Follow me.

I started wondering what the name of the collective noun was to describe a group of swans. I knew it was a herd of elephants, team of horses,  clutch of chickens and  pod of whales. But what would I call a bunch of swans? 

A little research revealed the answer. A Lamentation (of course)! 

You see, I’ve returned, as promised, to the richness in  our language. What could be more beautiful to say, picture or see than a Lamentation of Swans. Parliament of Owls, perhaps?

One of the craziest oddities of the English language is that there are so many different collective nouns that all mean "group" but which are specific to what particular thing there is a group of: a herd of elephants, a crowd of people, a box of crayons, a pad of paper, etc.

There is great diversity in the collective nouns associated with animals, from a sleuth of bears to a murder of crows. I so enjoy these terms, I couldn’t resist making what I hope will be a very enjoyable list, below, of the correct terms to describe some  animal groups. Some terms you’ll know (swarm of bees, pack of mules), others you’ll simply wonder ‘how and why did anyone come up with a name like ' chine' to describe a  group of them darn crazy polecats?'

I’m not sure who made up the terms, but whoever did deserves a medal. Some are beautiful (exhaltation of larks!), some fun, and all, clever. The choice of group name doesn’t seem to have any rhyme or reason in regards to the animal it describes. There may be a wonderful story behind each, though, so I will do a bit of further research, Should I find anything of interest, I’ll share.

In the meantime, I’ll assume that someone with a real love of English, a bit of mischief in his or her soul, and great vocabulary came up with the idea for a husk of hares, convocation of eagles, clan of hyenas and  murder of crows.

The collective nouns below have been selected. Please excuse my formatting. I'm giving up in my quest for getting the lines straight.

For a full list of the collective nouns, click here  Excuse the poor set-up below!)

colony            of            ants

shrewdness   of            apes

congress        of            baboons

sleuth            of            bears

lodge             of            beavers

hive              of             bees

swarm          of            bees

flock             of            birds

sounder       of            boar

brace            of            bucks

swarm          of            butterflies

wake            of             buzzards

drove           of             cattle

clutch           of            chicks

cartload       of            chimpanzees

bed               of            clams

quiver          of            cobras

cover            of            coots

band            of            coyotes

congregation of        crocodiles

murder        of           crows

herd             of            deer

litter            of            dogs (puppies)

pod              of            dolphins

aerie            of            eagles

herd            of            elk

mob            of            emus

business    of            ferrets

school        of            fish

leash          of            foxes

army          of            frogs

gaggle        of           geese

colony       of            gulls

prickle      of            hedgehogs

brood        of            hens

team         of            horses

cry            of            hounds

charm      of            hummingbirds

scold        of            jays

smack      of           jellyfish

deceit       of           lapwings

exaltation of          larks

leap         of            leopards

pride       of            lions

lounge    of            lizards

plague    of            locusts

sord        of            mallards

company of          moles

pack        of           mules

parliament of       owls

bed         of            oysters

company of          parrots

covey      of            partridges

flock        of            pigeons

string      of            ponies

pod         of            porpoises

pack       of            rats

rhumba of           rattlesnakes

storytelling  of    ravens

crash    of            rhinocerouses

run       of             salmon

harem  of            seals

shiver   of            shark

flock     of           sheep

chine   of            polecats

string  of            ponies

passel  of           possum

warren of          rabbits

nursery of         raccoons

rhumba of        rattlesnakes

crash of             rhinocerouses

murmuration of  starlings

pod       of         whales

pack     of         wolves

zeal       of        zebras

Try dropping a few of these fabulous terms casually into conversation one day, as in:  “I heard that a rumba of rattlesnakes was making it difficult to hike in the Grand Canyon.”  People will beg for more, so it’s probably good to memorize ten of your favourite nouns to keep your audience happy.

My favourites? Passel of possum; storytelling of ravens; exhaltation of larks; lounge of lizards and deceit of lapwings.  

What are yours? 

Speaking Well, Writing Good

I really do care about the English language and its future. This probably comes as a shock to my family and friends, many of whom think I do a particularly expert job of mangling it.

They may be right. I do, in fact, remember falling asleep in my public school grammar glasses and had no idea how to do the parsing thing teachers were so keen on.

That’s probably why I still don’t know, no matter how many times I’m taught, when to use ‘which’ and when to use ‘that.’ I’m forever putting quotation marks before a period. When I write long sentences, my subject and verbs often don’t match (I’m told), and I’ve never been particularlygood knowing whether my friend and me went to the corner store or whether it was I (who picked up the jug of milk).

Of course there are the debatable errors I make, as when asked “How are you today, Linda?” and I respond cheerfully with  “Good!” I think the “Well!” brigade may be losing this battle, but only time will tell.

My pronunciation and American accent don’t bode all that well here in Canada, either. It took a dear friend to point out that I left out the ‘d’s in  the words shouldn’t, wouldn’t and couldn’t, making them only one syllable. Shount, wount and count.  “It makes you sound dumb,” she said. I immediately reinserted the d’s  which automatically added another syllable.

I understood what my friend meant since I too have my own prejudices. When people mix up there, they’re and their, your and your’re, and it’s and its, I think they’re, well…not smart. 

My bungling of the language isn’t anything I’m particularly proud of, though I may have been in the past. But only slightly. Over 25 years ago I was working as a researcher on a current affairs television show. The producer was pleased with my work and thought I might make a good on-air host. She was interested in grooming me for the job. “But you’ve got to get rid of that American accent. And a brush up on your grammar wouldn’t hurt either.”

I took no umbrage about the grammar. She was right. It needed fixing. But I did get my back up about the accent. The issue of ‘accent reduction’ or ‘accent removal’ is a prickly one.

Where a person comes from is often a strong part of their identity (here’s an example of my subject and verb not matching, I’m afraid). Their accent is a reflection of that. Many people want to get rid of both the identity and accent the second they step on foreign soil, They’re seriously committed to leaving the past behind. I’m sure they have good cause.

Other people sport their accents with pride, or at least, acceptance. In my case, even though I had parted ways with my home country on many fronts, particularly political, I knew I was a product of my upbringing. I was American. Why pretend otherwise. I figured time would subdue my accent. It didn’t feel right trying to force it. It wouldn’t be me.

Okay, so I’m not a paragon of grammatical virtue, and accept the fact that my spoken language may be considered a bit unrefined. But that doesn’t mean I don’t know beautiful, expressive language when I see or read it.

I’m generally seeing less and less of the good stuff in day-to-day conversation and writing, unfortunately. And that’s why I say I really do care about the future of the English language. I’m worried that some of the most evocative and dramatic expressions handed down to us, particularly from the Bible and Shakespeare, may be disappearing.

So, in the wake of our growing use of the quick and expedient in our text messages, tweets and People-magazine-style writing, let us remember the many riches from texts past that still grace today’s language and continue to resonate with us.

I will start with words and expressions from the Bible: my brother’s keeper; salt of the earth; give up the ghost; scapegoats, an eye for an eye; casting your pearls before swine;  writing on the wall; the blind leading the blind; a house divided against itself (used by Abraham Lincoln in the Gettysberg Address); dust and ashes; hold your peace; howling wilderness; how are the mighty fallen; out of the mouth of babes; through the skin of my teeth; my cup runneth over; broken heart; stumbling block; from strength to strength; heavy heart; woe is me; lamb to the slaughter; sour grapes; salt of the earth; safe and sound; eat, drink and be merry.

Now on to Shakespeare, who we have to thank for: all that glitters is not gold (Merchant of Venice); strange bedfellows (The Tempest); the naked truth (Love’s Labours Lost); wild-goose chase (Romeo and Juliet); bated breath (The Merchant of Venice); green-eyed monster (Othello); salad days (Antony and Cleopatra); short shrift  (Richard III).

Many of these words and expressions have been so overused that they’ve entered the realm of cliché. But isn’t that remarkable, considering their history and provenance? Talk about universality,  long-lasting at that.

Great orators like Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., understood this concept of universality. King also knew the power of language and how to use language as power.

His memorable speech, “I Have a Dream," was delivered August 28, 1963 before more than 200,000 people in front of the Lincoln Memorial in Washington, D.C. as part of the March on Washington. (Note to readers: if you go to this link to hear King's speech, you'll also hear civil rights protesters sining "We Shall Overcome."  Highly recommended: a real piece of history).

The speech not only helped to galvanize the already growing civil-rights movement across the country at the time, it also became one of the most influential and inspirational pieces of rhetoric in American history.

The speech is littered with stunning allusion and resonances from the Bible. I’ll print some of them here, but highly urge you to read or listen to Dr. King’s actual speech. It may move you to tears. I first heard it when I was 15 years old. I cried then and still do today. The speech’s beauty and power are truly remarkable.

Now for the Biblical phrases:

“No, no, we are not satisfied, and we will not be satisfied until justice rolls down like waters, and righteousness like a mighty stream.”

 “But let judgment run down as waters, and righteousness as a mighty stream.”

“I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, and every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight; and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed and all flesh shall see it together.”

 “Every valley shall be exalted, and very mountain and hill shall be made low: and the crooked shall be made straight, and the rough places plain: and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together: for the mouth of the Lord hath spoken it.”

“It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of their captivity.”

 “… weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.”

There are also other allusions in King’s speech, in addition to the Biblical ones. For example, “five score years ago” invokes the Gettysburg Address, and “sweltering summer of the Negro’s legitimate discontent” refers to Shakespeare, Richard III, act I, scene 1.

King knew how to use strong language from other sources to strengthen his own. I’m going to make a serious effort to do the same. Perhaps it will make up for some of my linguistic missteps. 

I’ll let Shakespeare do my plea bargaining:

“The quality of mercy is not strained; It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven Upon the place beneath. It is twice blessed- It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes.”  

Yeah! Grumpy People Live Longer

“Prom queens live on average five years longer than the rest of the population.” Spoken with authority by Quinn, the blonde cheerleading beauty and Prom Queen wannabe on this week’s episode of Glee, the thought gave me pause. This couldn’t be true, I told myself. If it is, the world is a far crueler place than I already thught it was. It’s just wouldn't be fair.

I have nothing against prom queens (or football captains). I’m sure I’d like both if I knew any. It’s only that there are other people I’d much prefer to have the statistical advantage that Quinn informs us prom queens garnered on the mortality front. Is smiling really that good for you?

I’m making an assumption here, so forgive me. And maybe times have changed, but in 'my day,’prom queens were relentlessly cheerful, and smiled more often than not, even when reason highly suggested otherwise.. It wasn’t a style I was attracted to then or now. Cheerful, good. Relentlessly so?  No. It’s about my nerves. It gets on them.

I tend to like people who have a good sense of irony and healthy respect for life’s absurdities. Curmudgeons, misanthropes and caustic people bug me after awhile, but can be mildly amusing until they do. And then there’s the non-prom-queen rest of us. What did we ever do to earn the early checkout time?

Well, it turns out. Maybe nothing. Because our dear Quinn may have gotten it wrong. Grumpy older people now have a good reason to cheer up - they'll outlive optimists, says a new study.

Researchers in California have found that being cantankerous is the key to reaching old age - this is because happier peopole are likely to take more risks through their lives including eating unhealthy foods, drinking and smoking. The findings, part of a 90-year study, cast doubt on reports that loving marriages, active social lives, raising children or owning a pet help people to live longer, according to results from the Longevity Project..

Researcher Leslie Martin said, "We came to a new understanding about happiness and health. One of the findings that astounded us was that participants who were the most cheerful and had the best sense of humour as children lived shorter lives, on average, than those who were less cheerful. Psychologists found that the most cheerful individuals, with the best sense of humour, die earlier on average than their counterparts with the set jaw and furrowed brow.\

Participants who were the most cheerful and had the best sense of humour as kids lived shorter lives, on average, than those who were less cheerful and joking,’ said DrMartin, of La Sierra University in Riverside, California.

‘It was the most prudent and persistent individuals who stayed healthiest and lived the longest.’
The researchers discovered that the happy souls went on to take more gambles with their health over the years. They were more likely to drink, smoke and eat badly.

Lead author Dr Howard Friedman said optimism could be helpful in a crisis.
But he added: ‘We found that as a general life-orientation, too much of a sense that “everything will be just fine” can be dangerous because it can lead one to be careless about things that are important to health and long life.’

Read more about the Longevity Project, begun in 1921, when researchers began following 1500 children until their deaths.

The results may make all you grumpy people out there smile. It did so for me. But what’s so good about that? According to the study, nothing.

Mt. Fuji in Red

In 1990, the acclaimed Japanese film maker Akira Kurosawa produced a 'magic realism' film called I Saw a Dream Like This, based on his actual dreams during different stages of his life. The film has two nightmare sequences. The second is called:

Mount Fuji in Red (see the youtube video)

In it, a large nuclear power plant near Mount Fuji has begun to melt down, painting the sky a horrendous red and sending  millions of Japanese citizens desperately fleeing into the ocean. Three adults and two children are left behind on land, but they soon realize that the radiation will kill them anyway. 

As you will see, the scene is scarily prescient and poignant. Life and Art criss-crossing. Bigtime..

Japan is so entrenched on my mind at present,  I've  temporarily stopped internally debating whether the UN and/or western nations should intervene against Gadhaffi (and our own oil self-interest) with a no-fly zone (or more). We didn't step in in Rwanda, and look what happened. We did step in in Iraq and Afghanistan and look what's still happening. Stop. I can again worry  about Libyan rebels tomorrow.

It would be presumptuous of me to wax about Japan. What do I know that the rest of the world doesn't? What I can do is encourage us all to help. Prayer and good thoughts won't do it.. My understanding is that the best thing at this stage is to send money. Clothes, blankets and other items are too difficult to ship and distribute appropriately right now. Money.

But beware. The scamsters are already in place, as they were after Hurricane Katrina and the last tsunami. (Who are these people? .Do they look like us, brush their teeth every morning, open doors for people, shop at my Loblaws?). So I'm  recommending we consider the tried and true agencies like the International Red Cross, Care Canada, and an organization I'm involved with and whose work I greatly support, Ve'ahavta.  They're all only one click away.

Once we've made our donations, I suggest we then pray. How nice it would be if the world's collective good energy could anihalate the bad.

If only. 

Trash Talk

I’ve got too much Stuff. Really, it’s s not my fault though. The leopard-patterned silk scarf and hard-boiled-egg slicer just entered the house one day, found places for themselves and never left. They settled in, making perfectly comfortable homes for themselves. They’re so quiet and soft-spoken, I hardly know they’re there.

Yes, I’ve become an enabler. But what am I suppose to do? I don’t have the heart to face the multi-coloured wool shawl I crocheted thirty-five years ago and haven’t worn since. What am I suppose to say? ‘You no longer mean anything to me? I never thought I’d say this, but I can live without you? You’re outa here?. Good-by and good riddance?’

Yep, that’s exactly what I’m suppose to say, but I don’t have the guts. Too much anxiety. I hate confrontations. What if I’m making a mistake and change my mind? Can I get you back? All this angst over a half-embroidered pillow case I was making as a wedding present for a niece who’s been married eight years now and has two kids, the oldest being six?

It’s nuts, I know.  So, I’m going to change. We have a very small house. Spring is coming and there’s something about spring. And, this is no small thing, Both Oprah magazine and Canadian Style and Home devoted their most recent issues to “de-cluttering.”  I’ve always liked to think I‘m on the cutting edge of something, so I’m going to see what I can do about this de-cluttering thing they’re talking about.

I’m feeling pretty confident. I think I can do the reqired purge. it. Damn, I know I can do it! (Dr. Drew says resolve is very important to help enablers break deeply-entrenched patterns). So I’m getting ready by walking around the house, looking at half-filled vials of out-of-date antibiotics, muttering “It’s time.”  But I haven’t made any serious moves yet. Soon, though. I’m inspired.

 One fork is easy

      To clean; Look, A single pair

               of socks – and they match!

                                                –Kristy Davis, renter of a small, single room in Brooklyn       

When I was in my 20s, I read about a guy who wanted to reduce his possessions down to 27. Perhaps he had a particular reason for choosing that number, but for some reason he didn’t explain, it was 27, not 23, 25 or 32. Though the exact number seemed arbitrary to me, the concept was appealing. He never wanted to be tied down to his possessions, and I guessed he figured that with only 27 things to look after, he could pack up and go anywhere, anytime with no fuss or bother.

I liked the non-materialist approach to life and idea of being so free. I actually thought long and hard about how I could do it. Maybe I would have had a chance before I had a family, but I tried reconsidering the thought recently, and by the time I counted my husband, two children, dog, leash, toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant, hair products made especially for frizzy hair, my cell phone, charger, plate and a set of silverware, I was already over my quota.

Since I couldn’t make the magical number 27, I began to wonder how many possessions I actually do have. Which begs another question. In the counting, do I have to include the blackened bananas in the freezer waiting for quick breads I intend to make with them, or the baggie filled with parmesan cheese rinds I intend to pop into simmering cauldroms of minestrone soup I will, of course, be making as soon as the quick breads are out of the way?

Not sure. I'm starting to get confused. Obviously in the name of fair and unbiased journalism, Oprah's editors (who published the above quote), decided to also publish an article by a woman who LOVES being surrounded by STUFF. The mistake I made was reading it during my little pause a minute or two ago to get myself a cup of coffee (and no I didn't spill it into my computer this time. See yesterday's blog). I’m worried about the effect reading this may have on me. The author makes some very good points.

From Mary Randolph Carter, author of a A Perfectly Kept House is the Sign of a Misspent Life (Rizzoli):

…a happiness contained in all the stuff, the stuff that makes up the warmth and lived-in-ness of this 12^th-story apartment, our home, filled with the clutter that is, in my mind, the poetry of our lives, the fingerprints of our experiences, the expression of our humor, the things we can’t live without: toppling-over mountains of books, walls patchworked with paintings, children’s drawings, Polaroid montages, tables embellished with waxy candle drippings, still lifes of wooden bric-a-brac, ripe wax fruit, paper poppies and dried lavender in chipped pottery and tarnished silver pitchers., sofas strewn with squishy pillows, yesterday’s newspapers, opened handwritten letters ­– the things that give shape to who we are, that reveal the moments of our lives to visiting friends, like turning the pages of a handmade scrapbook or a family album that melds past and present, opening the door to the ones we love, and showing them what we call living.

I’m now torn. Is Carter just a writer who could make a case for anything, as she so beautifully did here? Or does she have a point? I shouldn’t let her nicely-crafted spiel ruin my resolve, though. She’s probably talking more about the beauty of a pottery water jug I bought a lifetime ago on a trip to Columbia (and never used), than she is about three near-empty bottles of shampoo or the solid gold earring still sitting in my jewelry box, waiting patiently for over ten years now for its mate to return.

No, I won’t let Carter ruin my resolve, but for better or worse (most likely worse), she’s given me permission to enter  into this whole de-cluttering thing with a minimum of haste. But just to show I’m serious and still committed to chucking Stuff, I’m going to make a pledge right here and now.  I’m going to give away or throw away every non-essential item that came into my mind while writing this blog. The leopard-patterned silk scarf? Out. The granny-squared crocheted shawl?  Out. Earring and shampoo bottles?  Ancient history. Hand-painted Columbian water jug? See you at the Goodwill. Antibiotics? I no longer need you. I’ll be fine without you.

But why is it that I can’t bear to toss the bananas and parmesan? So difficult is it, I’m heading downstairs right now to bake a banana bread and start a pot of minestrone soup for dinner. Like I don’t have other things to do? It can’t just be the cost of these two items that’s throwing me. So what is it? Why is food so hard to throw out, particularly if we think it's still ‘good.’

Guess the baking and soup-making will keep me too busy to do any more decluttering today. Probably a good thing, though, since I just reread the title of Mary Carter’s book. I wouldn’t want anyone to think I had misspent my life because of my perfectly kept house. As if there was a chance.   

And the concept of ‘purging’ has such negative connotations these days, doesn’t it? Best to avoid anything too extreme.

I'll report back.

           

My Computer, A Cup of Coffee and Me

They're not a good mix. As brutally evidenced by my experience yesterday. You may have noticed I was out of computer commission. Here’s why.

I was sitting at my desk writing about the importance of keeping one’s premises neat and decluttered. Household organization as the key to an organized brain. Or something equally earnest along those lines. Unfortunately, I never got to the organized brain part. Clutter, stupidity, multi-tasking and resulting mania got in the way.

It all began rather innocuously. Halfway through writing the piece, I got up, went into the kitchen to make myself a cup of coffee and brought it back to sip. I cleared a little spot amongst all the papers next to my Mac laptop and plopped the old mug down. So far so good.

With my eyes still on the computer screen, I reached blindly for the cup. And missed. Within a nanosecond, I had knocked it over and a mug of steamy, milky coffee spilled onto dozens of papers, including bills, and the right-hand side of my keyboard. Into, as well as onto.

‘You idiot’ was all I could think, but smart enough to momentarily quit with the chastising so I could swing into action. I ran and got a cloth, did the requisite mopping and drying, then sat back, waiting for the results. I shut the computer off, pulled out the battery and waited. After 15 minutes I put it back together, but not much was happening. I tried a hair dryer on a cool setting. 

I had some relatively good news in another 15 minutes.  I could access all my documents. But the keyboard didn’t work. Actually, that’s wrong. A few letters did, but nothing on the right side of the keyboard. Forget the brackets and quotation marks. Try writing anything without access to your Backspace and Delete keys. I have new respect for them.

Then I went into my email inbox. The opened page kept changing back and forth in size from minimal to full page. Then it settled into a page with the two versions of the same inbox line-up  side by each. When I went into Word and brought up my blog text, the letter Z kept printing itself across the page, filling up dozens of empty lines. ZZZZZZZZZZZZZ. That wouldn’t be so bad if I was trying to describe the sleeping sounds made by a howler monkey. But that wasn’t the case. My hand was nowhere near the keyboard.

I was beginning to panic, but not as much as I would have if I couldn’t start-up the damn computer or thought my documents were somehow lost. I made a mental note, right then, telling myself that besides being an absolute idiot, I am also mildly intelligent. I bought the services last year of Carbonite, a company that does computer back-up of all my files. Memo to myself and anyone else reading this. Make sure files are backed-up. Always. Forevermore.

Now a day later, my husband has attached a spare keyboard to my laptop so I can use the computer. It worked. I can pick up and respond to emails, finish my blog and do a few other random things before I take the laptop in to be fixed tomorrow. I’ll undoubtedly be out of commission for a few days again while it’s being serviced (and hopefully fixed).

In case there was opportunity for self-help in this experience, my husband went online looking for entries by other ditzes like me who had spilled their own errant liquids into computers, and yes, there were. Dozens of them. I liked having company, but more importantly, these people were kind. They shared detailed explanations on how to take your keyboard apart, clean every key and get it back in tip-top shape.

Nice, but I wouldn’t dream of trusting myself to the job. Maybe my husband will take it on, but there's only so much I can ask of a person. Since I believe there’s hope elsewhere, I'm keeping in mind the old age. Sometimes it's better to pay.

So what did I learn? Who knows. Most likely nothing other than  it's good I don't take honey or sugar. Will I drink coffee again while on the computer? Yes, I probably will. Will I try to be more careful? Yes, Ma, I’ll be more careful the next time. Does it really work like that? No, I multi-task and do so many things without paying close attention, it’s amazing that I don’t have more mess-ups than I actually do.

Can I change my brain and mildly ADD self at this stage of the game? I've already tried. So, in the name of being a mature person, I take full responsibility for the accident, but I’ve moved on from the ‘You’re an Idiot’ stage, to 'sometimes you're really stupid' stage. Sometimes is the operative word here. Martha Stewart would say that's a good thing.

There are a few things I’ve culled from this experience, though. How extremely difficult it was going through the whole day yesterday (OMG, a whole day!) without being able to use my computer, whether to write, check emails or look up some facts (did I use to look up facts and definitions so often before?).

It once again reminded me of how dependent I am on this thing, and I don’t like it. I also noted how much I'm now using emails instead of calling people (and we know where this is headed . Facebook next, right?).

Case in point. I had an email I needed to respond to about upcoming plans for Wednesday. Two friends and I are suppose to go to a major gardening show here in Toronto. We needed to firm up plans. But since my computer was down, how? Like, duh. Pick up the phone and call the person, dummy.

Actually, I needed to call two people, not one. I called the first friend and explained the situation. Then, instead of hanging up and calling the second person, I asked the first to email and finalize the plans with the third friend.. Like why couldn't I just have called her, too? What would it have taken. A minute?

It's not like I can't stand the sound of her voice or anything. The only reason to explain it is this. It's easier to email people than talk to them.  There's less engagement. Doesn't take so  much energy. Well, that's pretty darn pathetic when it starts applying to people I really care for. I can't blame this completely on my ever-increasing dependency on computers. Old age must be creeping in. Note to self. Change.

The only other lesson learned, or really, lesson underscored. And you should pay me a million bucks for sharing it with you (but I'll take a new Mac in lieu). Back Up Everything. Now.