White elephant

According to Wikipedia:

A white elephant gift exchange is a popular holiday party game found primarily in North America. It has many variations in both the name and the game play. Generally, white elephant parties need a minimum of six participants. With a larger group, game play may be more protracted. White elephant parties have been known to result in intensely vicious and/or playful rivalries between players trying to get sought after gifts. The goal of a white elephant party is usually to entertain rather than to gain. This game is sometimes called a Yankee Swap, Chinese Gift Exchange, Dirty Santa, Thieving Secret Santa, or Parcel Pass.

I hardly ever get invited to gift exchange parties (why that is might be the subject for another post). When I have participated in a gift exchange, it's been during the end of year party season, which is half the calendar away at present. So naturally a few ideas for budget-limited gifts percolated to the top of my thoughts today. Because I am likely to forget these ideas by the time the next white elephant challenge presents itself to me, I thought I'd post them here for reference.

1. THE PURELY SILLY GIFT: USB Pet Rock, $9.99 from ThinkGeek.com. As the retailer name would indicate, this product is targeted at tech geeks, particularly those between the ages of 35 and 45 (aka children of the 1970s). I love that it's compatible with every operating system, past or future, and draws no power.

2. THE ARTFUL FOODIE GIFT: Artisan flowering tea, $9.95 from Stash Tea. For ten bucks you get two tea packets. This specialty product requires an appreciative audience, or else your money is truly wasted. Drop a packet into a glass bowl (or glass tea pot, if you've got one of those lying around) and pour hot water over it. Watch as the packet unfurls into some arty shape. So you get a lovely pot of tea on two counts.

3. THE GENERIC READER GIFT: A copy of a bestseller (look at NYT or Amazon lists). This may seem boring, but chances are someone in the crowd is going to want the book, and you can leave the party feeling your gift won't go to waste. Right now I'd pick comedy writer/actress Tina Fey's memoir Bossypants or the yet-to-be-released parent-sympathy book Go the F**k to Sleep by Adam Mansbach. Depending on the dollar limit, I might throw in a pair of fuzzy socks or other comfort object to round out the "relax for a while" vibe of the gift.

4. THE INDULGENT EATER GIFT: Gourmet marshmallows, such as a 4 ounce bag of vanilla Plush Puffs for $6. Years ago we received a hot cocoa kit as a gift, which came with mugs, hot chocolate mix, some peppermint swizzle sticks and several enormous square marshmallows. I'm not much of a marshmallow fan, but these were delicious, absolutely melt in your mouth smooth puffy deliciousness. I'd happily share such joy with another. Package a bag of Plush Puffs with a container of Ghirardelli hot cocoa mix or some graham crackers and chocolate bars and you've got a delectable present.

4. THE ELUSIVE BOARD GAMER GIFT: Anything within price range from Mayfair games. What I'm sensing in my gift ideas list are an assortment of items I'd like to take home for myself. This particular gift idea, a semi-cerebral board game, would identify for me the person or people in the crowd whom I could later hit up to invite me over for a night of gaming. Maybe it would be such a success that we'd decide to schedule regular game nights. A gift that would keep on giving. :)

PS If you ever receive one of these gifts from me, I hope you like it. If not, you know you can always return it to me. :)

Out of Favor

Not that you asked but...
Thirty years ago this spring my mother traveled around Europe on a lengthy visit while her husband was there on business. She got to experience a grand tour and came home bursting with stories, mementos, and grand memories she continues to recount. My brother and I stayed home with our grandmother, disappointed that we couldn't just take a few months off of school to join her. I was sure a trip to Europe would be far more educational, but my wishes were not fulfilled. Instead I was soothed with fabulous souvenirs--a colorful zippered pencil case with the latest fancy writing tools from Germany, an assortment of original Smurf toys, and photobooks of exotic places like Sussex and Koln. As a girl of 9-nearly-10 I treasured one thing more than most of the others (that pencil case was pretty awesome): a little book about the history and engagement of Lady Diana Spencer to the big-eared Prince of Wales.

Fast forward a few months. One sunny summer day I boarded an airplane to fly across the country. I was an unaccompanied minor who was boarded first and taken off the plane last. I was traveling that day between home and my grandparents' house in the mountains for a summer vacation. Added on to the airport time would have been an additional four hours of travel, to get door to door. Add it all up and you get a full day's travel. This also means I spent a full day away from the television.

Do you see where this is headed?
I missed the wedding of Lady Di and Prince Charles. Since the event occurred in the era before vcrs, dvrs, and the internet, I didn't even have a chance to watch it after I got home. I just never saw it. I recall feeling disappointed but not heartbroken. Nonetheless, this combination of anticipation brought on by a foreign souvenir and the unfulfilled attachment to the associated event has created in me an irrational interest in the upcoming wedding of Prince William.

Since the Will-Kate engagement was announced I've looked forward to getting a dose of pageantry, tradition, and celebrity spotting all in one viewing. Recently I've watched maybe a tad too much of BBC America's pre-wedding specials. I read about the mystery of Kate's wedding dress, looked over the guest list, and pondered all of the uneventful downtime and obnoxious hype that will come with viewing the event "live". But one detail eluded me in all of this: the actual date of the wedding.

Which brings me to my final factoid: I'm driving to Las Vegas this weekend. In order to beat the heat, make good time, and arrive early enough to nap before any evening activities, I plan to leave in the middle of the night. I'm looking forward to this vacation, but--

I think you see where this is headed--
I will miss the wedding of Prince William and Kate Middleton. While the guests are arriving, I will be driving away from my metropolitan area. When the ceremony itself takes place, I will be looking out at crops and cows. While morning media personalities rehash every last detail and editors cut specials for that night's primetime lineup, I will be in the desert.

While I do own a dvr, and have scheduled it to record the wedding, I'm not sure I will end up watching it after I return. I know from experience that I don't enjoy watching events after the fact. Which might be just as well, since I think this is all a sign that I'm not meant to watch royal weddings. I am meant, instead, to have a life, where pageantry is overrated. Oh well. :)

Easy on the Cops

I don't LOOK for these kinds of news stories. They just jump out at me...

I peruse the police blotter section of my local newspaper. Usually out of curiosity about types of crimes being committed, partly out of a sense of wanting to know if there's anything I might be cautious of in my own neighborhood, but mostly in search of amusingly benign reported incidents.

For the past two weeks, Atherton--a wealthy, privacy-guarding, no-sidewalks community 30 miles south of San Francisco--has delivered. Today came news of an early morning incident between a landlord and tenant which involved frozen food. No crime was reported, and no violence actually evidenced. But the police department participates in the crime blotter report, and they were called out for this incident, therefore it gets printed in the paper. The actual food was not specified, so we are left to ponder details. David guesses a leg of lamb was involved. I suppose we'll never know.

Last week's "crime" provides more fodder for the imagination.

12:19 am FRIDAY: A pedestrian was reported not to be doing anything strange other than wearing black pants and a white dress shirt while walking at an odd hour.

Kinda makes me feel bad for the Atherton police that this is what their honored profession works out to. On the other hand, it sure beats being shot at.

Excess Baggage - now updated!

Not that you asked, but...
I am a terrible packrat.

Can anyone think of any earthly reason--and I mean a good, healthy one--why I have held onto a Sanrio notepad containing only two drawings made during my 6 month stint living in Georgia in 1980? Did I mention that the cover is torn off and the pages are falling out? What about a wall map of the world, dated 1955? Or the homecoming football game program from my sophomore year of high school? No? Neither can I.

While some people have the admirable ability to shed belongings, and others don't accumulate them in the first place, I hold onto things, even when reason and practicality dictate letting go. In particular I have kept a tight grip on an assortment of physical manifestations of my childhood. I've held onto things from adulthood too, but these tend to come in the form of books, music, and furniture, which seem more useful, even if more costly to transport.

My formative years are packed away for the most part in a stack of covered plastic tubs. Labeled "Michelle's Mementos", the tubs contain a hodgepodge of meaningful and superfluous objects. There's my Mrs Beasley doll (still in decent shape after nearly 40 years), a trophy for MVP of the 8th grade softball team (my winning was I believe a matter of favoritism rather than talent), a wood penguin coin bank made for me by my friend's sister in 1986, and a delicate ballerina cake topper from my 5th birthday at my grandparents' house in New York.

In some of these tubs I expect I'll find my Girl Scout sash with badges pinned rather than sewn on (mine was not a very domestic household), a finger painted and stuffed fish constructed in pre-school, an assortment of writings (7th grade was a particularly prolific period), toys (Adam has taken a shine to the soft Teletubbies keychains, but I've not let him near Super Nut), and small knick knacks.

The fact that the stuff is in distinctive containers is evidence of progress made a decade ago. As tends to happen with memento purgings, I have no recollection of anything I got rid of back then. (And how the Sanrio notepad survived, I know not. I'll blame it on purge-fatigue.) This is what I remind myself of as I sift through the stuff and make "Keep" and "Get rid of" stacks. Old copies of The Epitaph...gone. Completed get-to-know-you questionnaires from a series of parties I held with friends in the mid 80s...gone. The button for a magazine that no longer exists...gone. The pages of the Sanrio notepad have gone into the scratch paper drawer (they don't make paper like they used to--for good reason). And my drawing of "Amy" from Warner Robins, Georgia--who apparently had long blonde hair, glasses, freckles, and wore blue that day...gone. Bye Amy; I hardly knew ye.

Several hours later
I've now gone through four tubs. One turned out to be missing toiletries, including lots of great shades of lipstick, which was an exciting if counter-productive find. (I did purge a bit upon inspection, throwing away old lotions, my beloved cookie-shaped Avon lip gloss from the late 70s, plus a makeup kit from the 80s--after I shadowed my eyelids turquoise, yellow, and magenta.) I filled one of the emptied tubs back up with garage saleable items, such as a beautiful ceramic mask, some cute gardening magnets, and a life-sized stuffed macaw on a wooden perch (I named him Herbert back around 1988). Now residing in the trash bag are my high school graduation cap, an old red wallet, and a stack of wall calendars from college, among many other items (yea me!). I kept the photos from inside the wallet, a bag of foreign coins, and a letter my brother sent me from basic training which I will transfer to my letters and notes box.

I don't know why I keep this stuff--the photos, the coins, the letters. I don't want to consciously give up on certain memories, certain attachments, even when I know I'd feel better once I did. I know that if it went missing, I wouldn't actually miss any of this (mostly because I've forgotten it exists). But worrying about any of this will not help. I've got the stuff, the baggage, and I will deal with it, a little at a time. In the face of such slow growth, I am soothed by the knowledge that I am at least growing, keeping less stuff than I did in the past, willingly throwing things away. I'm letting go (yea me!).

P.S. I hope Herbert likes his fellow garage sale buddies. They all came from a good home.

UPDATE
I've gone through three more tubs. Barbie and Ken have been found! Also found were their pals Darcy (blonde) and Darcy (brunette), Archie, Skipper, and Cher in all her sequined glory (yes, as in Sonny and Cher). I located more of my Girl Scout badges, a stack of junior high school friend photos, my (very cheesy and very homemade) fifth grade poetry book with sticker from the Young Author's Fair, and an articulated moving snake toy which is as amusing now as it was 30 years ago (in other words, it's a keeper). One more copy of our high school newspaper (The Epitaph) was found, this one from senior year; David was upset that I had tossed the others so he said I should keep this one. I'll remind him of that next time he complains about all the crap we've got stored away.

I feel good that I'm not contributing to landfill with my purgings. It's largely recyclable stuff, or kid stuff I can pass on (such as a set of mini colored pencils--Adam took a shine to them). An oversized Skipper doll went to the trash because she was oozing a sticky substance from her joints. Gone to recycling heaven are a big stack of high school play programs and posters, my customs declaration form and boarding pass from a trip to Mexico in 1984, as well as the name and address of Jose Francisco, who apparently wanted me to write to him in Cozumel. In the give-away box went one giant yellow comb from Great America (I'm guessing it was a statement against the comb-in-back-pocket style of the time).

Disposition still to be determined: dot matrix photo printouts of myself with various friends, certificates of participation in a national academic talent search (yea ME), and the log of my adventures on that Mexico trip (including the unsolicited attention of a 19-year old who told my mother he didn't care that I was "only 13"). I've now got a stack of sheet music, mostly marching band stuff, from my own flautist days as well as music I got from my grandparents' attic. Is there any reason to keep these things?

Put your breast foot forward

I'm full of mammary puns at the moment, as I contemplate team names for my participation in the Susan G. Komen 3-day Walk for the Cure. A friend approached me with the idea of forming a team for the event in Seattle this September, and I signed up that night. That was the easy part. Now I have to train, raise funds, and learn not to hide from hordes of pink-wearing, boob-joking fellow participants.

But first things first. A bit of background as to why I'm participating...

One obvious reason is my grandma Alice. She had cancer when I was very young. I grew up knowing she'd had surgery and that she wore a funny pad in her bra. But it's only been since I was an adult and now a mother that the weight of all that she went through is appreciated. I loved my grandmother dearly, and grew up conscious of the risks of breast cancer because of her, but I will walk for many more reasons than the fact of grandmothers losing a breast to cancer.

Let's see, I like supporting a good cause, defined partially as one whose fundraising supports rigorous basic and applied research. Women's issues are near and dear to my heart, having grown up exposed to all sorts of feminist causes and in a female-heavy household. I have a strong interest in public health and health-promoting practices. I myself could stand to lose a couple (dozen) pounds. I like to walk. I like to travel. I have known various women who've had breast cancer, including a woman who died when her daughters were just 11 and 12 years old.

And so here I am, signed up to walk 60 miles over three days. I attended a 3-Day kick off meeting last weekend, which gave me some ideas for fundraising. The first official training walks are beginning soon, 24 weeks ahead of the start. I've got my fitted shoes, special socks to try out (with toes!), and a schedule for increasing walk distance each week. I hope to find a training group near my home. In the meantime, my husband and 2-year old son have been pressed into duty.

Tomorrow I'm taking my own personal training walk, a nearly 7-mile jaunt to lunch. I'll have to leave home at 9am in order to be sure I make it there in time to meet my family (aka my ride home). I look forward to seeing the neighborhoods from a walker's rather than driver's pace. I am hoping it doesn't rain on me, but by the end I might be wishing for a cool shower. And in the end, if I don't snooze in my burrito I might just smile from ear to ear at my great start.

Parent me

Responsibility for our children’s education and future begins in our homes and communities. What are some of the most effective ways you're taking responsibility at a personal and local level for your child’s education?

I may have taken the assignment too literally, but when asked by the White House to respond to the above prompt, I couldn't help but emphasize that education really does begin at home. Here's what I submitted:

My son is two years old, but I am already planning for his future--as a good student and a happy, healthy man. From personal experience and research, I find all of the following to be effective towards these ends. Learning is the child's “job”, and parents and teachers provide management, leadership, and supervision. My husband and I will be involved with our son's school from day one as we monitor work, volunteer for activities, and communicate with and support his teachers. We're already involved in his schooling; we've enrolled him in a series of parent-child classes since he was six months old, exposing him to music, exercise, water safety, social skills, and developing neural connections all the while. We expect he will continue his education beyond high school, and at home we speak of "when" he goes to college, not "if." We began setting aside funds for our son's college education at birth. Friends worry that our local educational system is suffering under budget cuts, large classes, and test-related strictures in the curriculum. I share their concerns and vote with them in mind, but I also know that school is not the only place where learning occurs. Our home is a place of discovery and fun, and a place where self discipline is practiced and expected (lots of books and reading, limited television, age-appropriate materials in a space set aside for just being a kid, and conscious modeling by both parents). I would love for my son to do well in school, by every measure; but I am most concerned that he be engaged with his learning and encouraged to use what he learns for good. My husband and I work on being honest, attentive, and reflective on our role as parents. We provide unconditional love; we enforce limits but give lots of leeway within them; and we work at being healthy--physically, emotionally, financially--so that we can continue to provide a supportive environment for our child. Like my parents before me, I am involved in my community, and I look forward to involving my son in causes that support vibrant, healthy communities. We get to know our neighbors, and enjoy having friends over to our home. All of these spheres—home, school, community—contribute to a child's education and development as a person. As parents we have the power to influence and strengthen them all, and in so doing increase the chances that our child will be a happy, healthy, productive citizen of tomorrow. That's a great responsibility, and one I take willingly.

It's not that I think schools are so unimportant. I went into the field of education because I view schools as vital parts of society. But I get frustrated by the attention directed at teachers, administrators, and the public school system because it paints a woefully incomplete picture of the education of our children.

No one is going to appoint me Education Czar with unlimited powers over curriculum, staffing, and policies in public education; my powers to affect these things through available means--voting, attending local meetings, running for school board, working as a teacher, etc--provide incremental and indirect change (which is not to be discounted). Yet there is one area where I have rather direct and immediate influence: at home with my own child. And if you're a parent, so do you.

I really do believe that if we, each of us, worked on our own issues a bit more, all of our children would be a lot better off, and then by extension so would the schools. Start with adequate sleep, eat breakfast and get 20 minutes of exercise each day, practice patience and stress management techniques when dealing with family/coworkers/tailgaters, and spend less than earned (which includes knowing how much we spend and earn). If everyone did just those things, schools would already be better off, because it would mean better health and less stress in children's lives. Imagine the possibilities.

Now go work on your issues, and I'll go work on mine. Let's call it our contribution to 21st century education.

Recording history

I'm clearing out some old posts, ones that never got published and have languished with the DRAFT label for no better reason than that I couldn't bring myself to complete the thought that spurred me to write. I edit to make the post at least intelligible (or so I hope), but otherwise leave the core thought as it was. Enjoy.

The following was written in August of 2009.

Ten days ago David's grandfather Verl, aged 96 and a half, passed away peacefully. He was the last of David's and my grandparents, and the only one to have known Adam. My grandma Ginny, the last surviving on my side, died weeks before Adam was born, just seven months ago. We miss them both, and all of our grandparents, each in their own way, dearly. For better or worse, they are our links to the past, part of the mystery of who we are and why.

While we have no regrets about waiting to have a child, we are sad that we did not have Adam sooner, in order to have shared his joy with more of our grandparents. Having a kid with a grandparent in residence was a true blessing. When the baby cried or projectile vomited, I worried that the disruption would bother Verl, but he was unfazed. He would calmly point out that the baby behaved as he did for a reason; it was nothing that getting upset about would help (how very logical). Naturally, as a father, I imagine he a) was not very helpful if even much present during his own child's rearing in the 1950s, and b) when he was aware of concerns involving the child, he wasn't near as patient as when he was 96 and tickled to finally be a great grandpa, ever present with no obligations attached. For this reason, I hope to live to be a grandmother, and I hope to be nearby when I am.

Thinking about life and death lately gets me thinking about my family history pursuits. Genealogy has been a hobby of mine for a long time, and I try to preserve just enough data to provide a rich record of history for my own ancestors. Years before they passed away, I did interviews with both Ginny and Verl. I asked them about their childhood, where they lived, early memories of home, school, and family traditions. These recordings don't bring loved ones back, but their voices and personal perspectives lend irreplaceable pieces of data. Plus it was just nice to sit down and have a conversation about personal history without any judgments or comments (along the lines of "Oh no, not that story again"). During the recorded interview it was for posterity, and I didn't mind repetition one bit.

The idea came to me after I heard a West Virginia woman interviewed on the radio, a woman whose voice sounded exactly like that of my great grandmother and her sisters. I felt a visceral longing for that unique voice. The twangy, distinctive dialect was a world away from the homogenized English I hear and use most days. It made me think about how those dialects are disappearing, and might be preserved as part of my own family history.

But I also happen to believe people's stories are interesting regardless of their utility, a point underscored by a website I've been monitoring recently. Interview Project is just a bunch of interviews. Random folks walking down the street or eating at a restaurant or wherever they were found, were asked to participate; they sat down and told their childhood dreams, how they met their spouses, and things they are most proud of, among various questions posed to them, while being filmed in black and white. Producer David Lynch describes it as a "a road trip where people have been found and interviewed". It's a profoundly simple way to highlight the commonalities we share, and I highly recommend a viewing (you watch each interview individually, which you can choose from a map of locations).

But first, go call a family member and schedule a sit down interview of your own. Make a list of questions (5-10 is sufficient for a 30-45 minute session, when you take into account follow up clarifying questions). Remember, they won't always be here (nor will you).

Cedar Rapids

We left the kid with his grandparents and went out for a grown up dinner and a primetime movie. Impressive, right? More impressive still is that I spent 10 bucks on a movie that made me not care that I'd just spent 10 bucks on it. Okay, part of my joy was based on the fact that I was out on a Saturday night. But mostly it was because we saw a really nice movie.

Cedar Rapids stars Ed Helms as Tim Lippe, a naive insurance agent who, after the untimely demise of his company's star agent, is sent to represent the company at the regional conference, held every year in Cedar Rapids, Iowa. Tim's never been to such a big city, and everything is a marvel to him. His boss tasks Tim with winning a coveted award, and orders him to steer clear of notorious client poacher, Dean Ziegler. Both of these things cause Tim a great deal of stress, as he discovers that the award is not as straight forward as he believed, and Dean is not the antichrist he was represented as either. Cedar Rapids becomes a place of transformation for Tim, as he explores his relationship with his new friends, a lover back home, a comely married colleague at the conference, a young hooker based at the hotel, and his entire future.

Ed Helms does a good job of making absurdly naive Tim sympathetic without seeming pathetic. The other supporting characters are all fitting to their roles, including Anne Heche (in one of her best parts--I kid not), Sigourney Weaver, Arrested Development's Alia Shawkat, and HBO The Wire's Isaiah Whitlock. but the real star of this movie is John C. Reilly as Dean Ziegler. He is as foul mouthed as anyone you'll see in the movies these days, as well as laugh out loud funny. What takes the occasional verbal raunchiness out of the realm of obnoxious is the genuine heart behind everything that occurs. The movie is absurd and funny and sweet and grown up and satisfying. Cedar Rapids is a movie I recommend without reservation (but note that it's not a film for children).

Dreaming

Not that you asked, but...
I lost the Mega Millions lottery recently. The winners up in the Pacific Northwest are as deserving as anyone, I'm sure, and I wish them the best. But I would so very much have liked to have had my numbers called (not that my odds of winning could be considered by any rational person as good). My mother laughed at me ("You didn't seriously expect to win, did you?" she asked, ignoring the fact that she gave me 2 bucks to buy her entry as well), but I received consolation at home. David was similarly disappointed that our delusions of gambling-based grandeur had once more come to naught. I play very rarely (there are ground rules: winnings must be over $100 million, for example), and I gamble a pittance for the chance at the jackpot. Nonetheless, I am guaranteed never to win if I never play. (I am also guaranteed to lose money and contribute to a host of serious problems if I play regularly and/or large amounts, but that is the subject of another blog, which you can get a glimpse of from the Freakonomics guys, or in this guy's blog post.)

I have ideas for how I might spend a mad money portion of any lottery win (I picture a swim spa and built-in storage EVERYWHERE; David has fantasized about a share in a private jet and early retirement funds). But it's not all fun and games. I also have definite plans for using a sizable portion of any windfall for a dream project: starting a fabulous school.

All my life I have been fixated on teaching and education. I played teacher as a child, making up rosters, seating and lesson plans, picking up old textbooks at the flea market to play with, grading pretend homework (this sort of play may have reflected my social weaknesses and control issues, most of which I like to think I've overcome). As I prepared to become a "real" teacher, I started imagining an ideal school (the teacher equivalent of the English major's novel-writing dream). I drew layouts for buildings and grounds, explored subjects outside my field for "best of" ideas, and have accumulated a library of books for students of all ages. Everywhere I go, I am struck by lesson ideas, field trip possibilities, and those basic but all-important teachable moments. I regularly reference "My School" in conversations.

I can apply much of this inspiration on my child, though no doubt he will get sick of Ms. Teacher Mom and the fun will wear off in the adolescent years (for him, not me). It inspired me to go back to school once more for a doctorate in education. I can also go back to classroom teaching, which I love. But I feel like I have a bigger calling. Call it megalomania or egotism, if you will; however, I do think I could create and sustain a kick-ass educational environment.

Lots of educators feel this way. The system of education in the United States has issues, partly because it's a huge, complex universe reflecting the free will imperfections of human nature and society. Ideas for running and/or reforming education are as numerous as the global population. And there exist great schools, teachers, and lessons, already out there, making a difference every single day. I honor all of that. But I still want to start my own school.

There is nothing stopping me from going out and starting a school today, you might point out. Very true. It's my dream that is stopping me, because I want it all. I want hands-on academics. I want mixed ages. I want fresh air and sterile labs. I want heart-pumping activity and I want quiet contemplation. I want a student-run coffee shop. I want proximity to population centers and public transportation. And I want affordability. With that, I will show you interested and involved students and families. With all that, I will show you capable minds, generous hearts, and a skilled, committed citizenry, ready to face the challenges of life. With all that, I would be living a dream.

Many people dream of winning the big prize, and many people dream up big ideas. I wonder sometimes if I have held onto my dreams for too long. Although sleep is restorative, it is when we are awake that things get done. Is it time for me to wake up?

New You

Have I been sucked in to the "new year's resolution" cult? Check back with me in a month.

Oh, and happy 2011!