My Favorite Song is None of Your Business

Yes, I had to go out of town recently for a work thing. No, I'm not going to complain about that. Well, at least not too much. But I will say that sometimes people just try too hard at events and group activities. And I'd like to add that ice breaker questions are lame, very lame indeed. Yeah, I hate them. Don't you?

In case you are an extremely lucky soul and have never had to endure an ice breaker question, here are a few examples:

• Where would you retire to if you could retire today?
• What would you say is your proudest moment?
• What is something no one here knows about you?
• If they made a movie of your life, what would it be about and which actor would you want to play you? 

When asked one of these I usually shudder, sigh, and get ready to, well, just make something up. The answers aren't all that important because no one is really listening, no one will remember what I say, and, hey, no one actually cares.

But at that recent out of town work thing I was asked the most intrusive ice breaker question ever. The presenter said, "Tell us what your favorite song is. What song would you say defines you as a person?" 

What?!? Seriously? Whoa,  I did not see that one coming. My first thought was "No. I won't tell you that." Why? Because that is way too personal and too intimate a question to be asked by a complete stranger under fluorescent lights in a meeting room before lunch.  That's information I would only be willing to share on my own terms and after much reflection. Around a campfire perhaps. Or maybe at a close friend's house by candlelight. While out in a canoe at twilight perchance. At any rate I'm sure that no matter the setting there would be adult beverages involved.

The moments passed. I half listened until it was my turn and then true to form I made something up. I tried to be clever and funny and I just made something up. Who cares anyway? Well, actually I care. I thought and thought about that question and I'm thinking about it still. Do I even have a favorite song? Is there a song that defines me? Gosh, I really love music and I have been listening and humming and singing along for more than half a century. What are my favorites?

Well, there's a Bob Dylan song entitled "Make You Feel My Love" from his 1997 Time Out of Mind album. You probably know it better as a popular Garth Brooks tune but you haven't lived until you hear Dylan rasp it.  Billy Joel covered it. Adele sang it at the Royal Albert Hall in September of 2011 as a tribute to the late Amy Winehouse.  I absolutely love the lyrics. Take a look at the first two verses:

When the rain is blowin' in your face
And the whole world is on your case
I could offer you a warm embrace
To make you feel my love.

When the evening shadows and the stars appear
And there is no one there to dry your tears
I could hold you for a million years
To make you feel my love.

It just gets better from there. I  love the melody as well and sometimes I play the song over and over when I'm driving in my car. This song has beauty and power and, yes, it's a favorite of mine.  I do not own the rights or I would link you to the YouTube performances. Of course, you can Google them and play them on your own. Listen if you've never heard the song. Listen again if you have and tell me how I could have possibly conveyed the magic of "Make You Feel My Love" in my short, awkward ice breaker response. Yeah, that's why I didn't.

Well, that certainly is enough of a say for today but another contender for favorite song is Judy Collins' version of "Who Knows Where the Time Goes" by Sandy Denny. A possible song that defines the youthful me in a goofy way is "Kind of A Drag by The Buckinghams from 1966. I'll be adding posts about those gems another day, so please subscribe to my blog and thanks for listening.

I Used to Like Working

No, this isn't a rant about everything that is and has ever been wrong with my current position. I have an okay job that has its pluses and minuses. And, yes, I know that I'm fortunate to have a job when so many others who want to work can't find one. Still lately too often I find myself frustrated and unhappy on the job and I've been wondering why. Perhaps it's simply my age.
The younger me loved working because every day there was something new. Learning. Making a difference. Facing challenges. Solving problems. Meeting new people. Oh, yeah, I know I can still do all of those things where I am now but I'm a bit tired of it. Been there and done that. I really want to retire.
What would that be like? Sitting on beach sipping tasty beverages? Attending church suppers and playing bingo? Golfing? Shuffleboard? Nah! I still want to learn, to face new challenges and do all those things that energized me in the past. I just want to do it on my own terms and in my own way. My goals. My vision. My timeframe. Ah, imagine the possibilities. But wait. Not now. I really must get back to work.

Gym Playlists Are Fun

Do other people obsess over their iPod workout playlists? I've spent hours on mine and am constantly trying to improve and update it. I purchased "Gangnam Syle" from the iTunes store way before Psy was even asked to make that Super Bowl dancing pistachio commercial. I want a mix of songs that will make me happy as well as get me going. Tempo and lyrics matter a lot and ranging through the decades keeps things interesting. So I work that playlist almost as much as I actually work out.

                                         

Sometimes I wonder if I'm alone in this, but I really need my tunes to get me through that early morning hour at the gym. It baffles me to see folks just watching TV or reading while on the machines. How can they step it up without "Cat Scratch Fever" or "Pump It" blasting through their ear buds? Is CNN that motivating? How about that New York Times magazine? I like to read as much as the next guy, but printed words generally don't make me move any faster.

Today happened to be my first day back at the gym after a two week hiatus.When I plugged that iPod in, I was eager to get back at it and make up for the time I lost. Of course, you have to love the Shuffle feature. Some of the songs that came up this morning really hit home. Remember "Hurt So Good" by John Cougar? Oh, wait, I mean John Cougar Mellencamp. Or was it just John Mellencamp? Well, no matter which name our singer-songwriter used then, it's from 1982. It has a great beat and it's easy to move to. But, it wasn't the best choice for me today because the chorus goes like this:

Hurt so good.

Come on, Baby, make it hurt so good.

Sometimes love don't feel like it should.

You make it hurt so good.

You lie, John. You lie. Yes, it hurts, but there's nothing good about that at the moment. Maybe I can't do this. Maybe Couch to 5K won't work for me. Oh, and maybe I ought not listen to a guy who smokes as much as I used to.

Should I mention that later on we got to "I Want Candy"? Probably not since that's one of the reasons I got so out of shape in the first place. But then during my cool down from right out of the 70's the Bee Gees sang "Stayin' Alive" to me.  Oh yeah, I am but just barely at the moment. 

Whether you're a brother or whether you're a mother,

you're stayin' alive, stayin' alive.

Feel the city breakin' and everybody shakin',

and we're stayin' alive, stayin' alive.

Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin' alive, stayin' alive.

Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin' alive.

Life's goin' nowhere. Somebody help me.

Somebody help me, yeah.

Life's goin' nowhere. Somebody help me.

Somebody help me yeah. Stayin' alive.

Let's not go into detail about the shakin' part. I'm going somewhere because the gauge says 3.10 miles.  Stayin' alive is definitely hard work. Somebody help me get this playlist in order because I have to do this all over again tomorrow morning. 

Mom Should Wear Her Sweater

Last week was cold. Here in Southern Maine we experienced our lowest recorded temperatures in six years. When I met my parents at a local diner for lunch last Thursday it was windy and bone chillingly cold. Dad had his sweater on but under her coat my Mom was wearing only a short-sleeved shirt.  As I took her arm to help out of the car and into the restaurant, I asked where her gloves were. She told me they were in her coat pocket but she didn’t need them. She said she was fine.
Fine is, of course, a relative term. It was chillier then usual inside as we sat in the booth. The rest of us removed our coats and hung them up on hooks. Mom slipped her arms out of hers but pulled it loosely around her shoulders.

“Are you cold, Mom?”

 “No, I’m fine.”

And, you know, she was.  She was fine. We had a nice lunch and no harm whatsoever resulted from the lapse.  It just made me incredibly sad to realize that she is no longer aware enough to take note of and plan for the weather.   I spoke to my father about how Mom should wear her sweater when it’s so cold. Of course, he knows and he tries. He does remind her to dress more appropriately, to wear her sweater, to wear a warmer coat, but she just won’t. She says she’s fine.

 My mother’s memory began to fail several years ago now. Damn, but even as I type those words I feel like a liar. A user of euphemisms. An avoider of harsh truths.  What has been happening to my mother goes far beyond a little forgetfulness.  It’s insidious. It’s relentless. And it’s getting worse. Yet, through it all she’s been fine. She’s fairly happy and she constantly reminds us all how lucky we are.

It’s funny but the more my Mom slips away from me, the more I remember the things she always told me, those little life lessons she taught me. One thing she held strongly to and tried to instill in me was what I like to call suburban stoicism. No matter what life throws at you, keep your head held high and don’t complain. It was her own  version of “Never let them see you sweat” and it was imperative. It was the right thing to do. I guess, it still is.
 So, please understand I’m not complaining. We’re all fine here. I just wish it would warm up or that Mom would wear her sweater.

So What Does Barb Say?

Welcome to my new blog, So Barb Says. The name says it all. I really do have  lot to say and I want to say it here. My first blog, You Need a Helmet, has a specific point of view and that is to complain about the idiotic things that baffle and frustrate us as we go along. The description spells that out with "Think of me as your cranky aunt." But, hey, even though this may surprise some of you, I'm not always cranky.

There are many things that interest me now. I teach. I take pictures. I research the family tree. Should I blog about my work? Most days probably not. The boss may be reading. Should I create a photography blog? Well, I'm not behind my camera often enough. Besides I don't have the time for hours of editing and a lot of my pictures suck. Okay so, how about a genealogy blog? Nah, that's too narrow a topic and some days trying to clear up the mysteries of my family's distant past just gives me a headache. I need more flexibility but I can't commit to multiple accounts.

I also really enjoy posting on Facebook and Twitter. Most days I can muster up a status and/or a tweet or two. Some of them are even entertaining if I do say so myself. Should I try my hand at microblogging? That sounds like fun. Quick. To the point. Spit it out and you're done. But some things require more attention. Not everything can be so wittily or simply expressed. Again I need more flexibility and I hope to find it here..

This is my spot , my blogspot, where I can do any and all of the above. There's no specific point of view or focus. Like the rest of you, I just want to have my say. So what does Barb say today? Life is short, complicated and full of wonder. At 61 I am at a place where I feel I can look back and look ahead with what I view as a healthy perspective. Of course, I hope you'll subscribe so you can disagree with that very bold statement. I hope you'll  become a reader so you can comment and keep the conversations going.  I hope you'll stay tuned and I thank you  for listening.

Another Day with the Gov'ner

This one has been in the draft stages since the first week in December  I wanted to calm down a bit before launching into a political  rant, but time hasn't done much to heal this wound. It's also very difficult to write calmly about this guy's antics.



Paul R. LePage is my governor and I couldn't be more embarrassed by that fact. Perhaps you've heard of him. He has brought a lot of publicity to the great State of Maine and most,  if not all, of it has been negative. He campaigned on the promise of telling the president to go to hell. As soon as he "won" the election with a paltry 38% of the total vote, he gave his 22 year old daughter the high-paying job of  assistant chief of staff. Then there was the Martin Luther King Day snub where he said the NAACP could kiss his ass. And who can forget the  the women with little beards statement?  Then, let's see.  Hmm. There was the Department of Labor mural removal debacle. And? I'm sure I must be forgetting a few more gems, but that was just in his first year.

His second year has had it's crazy moments, too, but the point of this post is not to list all of the Gov'ner's failings and flubs as fun, yet incredibly time-consuming, as that might be. Fast forward to December 5, 2012, when I was a guest at the Swearing-In Ceremonies for the 126th Maine Senate.  It was Opening Day for the new legislature, a day typically filled with great anticipation, hope, pride and camaraderie   The program included a notice  of  a quorum to the governor and the house , remarks by the governor, administering of oaths, some ceremonial stoking of the fire (I didn't exactly get that part), and other fun stuff. It's important to note that families and friends were in attendance. It wasn't your typical state house work day and it should have been free of political bile. Someone should have told LePage that.

Oh, did I mention the part about the "stalker"? What stalker you ask. Well, the alleged stalker, spy, paparazzi, what have you that our governor believed was being paid by his opponents (think enemies) to dog  him. Remember this was the first day for the governor to welcome and look ahead to working with the newly constituted senate. Remember that family and friends were present and happy to share in a memorable moment. What did he say? Well, he didn't exactly say congratulations. He basically said call off this guy. You are being disrespectful. That's ironic. Oh, a picture is worth a thousand words. Here's the the video -

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What did you think of that? I hope you could hear him over the crying baby. Remember family and friends were present. It was a ceremonial event. Talk about disrespect. That old pot kettle thing. Man, we the people of this great state are in big trouble and, yes, we all need a helmet.

The Day Surgery Waiting Room

You definitely need a helmet or, at the very least, good ear plugs when you wait around at a hospital. As I sit here for the second time this month while my father has cataract surgery, the television is blasting an episode of Judge Joe Brown. Since I've never seen the program, I may not be qualified to evaluate, but I suspect this may be one of the most annoying shows in TV history. Bear in mind that is a very bold statement from someone who used to watch The Price is Right as a child.

This day surgery waiting room is quite unpleasant, but perhaps no worse than the eye surgeon's office where we spent several hours during the many preoperative visits. There we squeezed into a very large jammed packed area where patients wait to see one of two doctors in an elaborate winding path through multiple stopping points. The goal is to actually make it to the room where a real doctor sees you - for 3 to 4 minutes.  Yes, folks, it's runs like a factory and is just as impersonal.

Now we all know I'm cranky and impatient, but anyone would find this irritating. I also found it sad reflection on a health care system controlled by the insurance industry. The process has to run like a well-oiled machine or it can't run at all. On a positive note, my dad can see great now. Thanks for listening. Oh, and please spare me any more Judge Joe Brown.