Today I am reblogging a great post from another blogger whom I follow: thoughtsandrantsinjoggingpants. For you senior citizens out there, allow me to translate: thoughts and rants in jogging pants. Better? I’m reblogging for the following reasons:
1. It’s really funny and you should check out his blog site
2. I’m lazy
Enjoy The Anti-Bucket List…
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Well, we’re heading into the home-stretch of the school year now and it’s hard to believe my youngest is almost finished with her first year of college. In preparation for the upcoming final exams, I received a message from the University of Iowa that a Care Package filled with healthy snacks (or not so healthy, depending on how much you love your child) can be ordered to help them get through that grueling week of final exams.
Let me just say right here that I have always been a person overflowing with good intentions… Over the course of four children, ten years of college (so far), and a grand total (so far) of twenty-five Final Exam Weeks, I know I sent a Care Package at least once. Maybe twice. Possibly three times, but probably not. So last fall, when I received the same email notification, I thought, “Wouldn’t that be a nice little surprise for Mary Kate?” But of course, time got the best of me and I suddenly realized that the deadline to order had arrived. In my haste, I hurriedly filled out the online form from my cell phone and clicked, “Submit.” YES!!! I did it! I have to say, I was quite proud of myself and smiled thinking how happy and surprised she’d be to get such a fun, special delivery. I was riding high, but my state of euphoria was soon squelched when I received another email that changed everything. It went something like this. Well, actually, it went EXACTLY like this:
Steven D., Extended Services Director uiowaarhesd@gmail.com
11/21/13
Hello Marilyn,
I am the Extended Services Director for the Associated Residence Halls Board of Directors. I just wanted to let you know that your Care Package order did not go through and the reason was due to the use of an emoji in the order form. Please feel free to try and order again, however, without the use of an emoji. Let me know if you run into any other troubles.
Steven
An emoji??? ARE YOU KIDDING ME??? I admit to, probably, an over-use of emojis in my text messages, but how the heck did an emoji sneak into my order form? And, more importantly, WHICH emoji was sent? I’ll never know. For those of you who may be unfamiliar with emoji, they are those cute little smiley faces which often accompany a text message or Facebook status. Besides the smiley faces, there are a myriad of other little symbols that seem to perfectly punctuate most of my text messages. Upon reading of my failure to successfully order a Care Package, I was so deflated that I decided I couldn’t go through the emotional trauma of attempting another order. So, once again, my kid had to somehow get through finals without healthy snacks to fortify her. I later learned that she only had one final since, as a music major, most of her final grades were based on various performances. But now, as another finals week approaches, I am grappling with the dilemma of Care Package? Or no? Dare I? Mary Kate did ask if I could give it another try,” however, without the use of an emoji.” I’ll let you know how that works out…
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Why would anyone study music? I know these words have been uttered countless times by miserable high schoolers, forced to take a Music Appreciation class or participate in Band. I would venture to say that most kids who make up the various bands in school do so because:
1. Mom and Dad are making them do it.
2. They have an interest in playing an instrument but have no plans to pursue music, because…HELLO… they plan to actually make money.
3. It’s a social outlet. These kids, by the way, are the thorns in the sides of band directors everywhere and the few kids (like my own) who take it seriously, because they NEVER practice. And…
4. They love music and want to live a life in music.
To those who fall into category #4, the following is not only understood, it is fully embraced. But it is to the rest of the school band population, as well as the population at large, who often question the sanity of someone who would choose to study music, that the following is addressed. Hopefully, they will come to appreciate the complexity of music and, perhaps, understand the wonderfully rewarding answer my musician son gives when asked the question he’s heard over and over again: What are you going to do with that degree? Answer? “I’m going to be happy for the rest of my life.”
MUSIC IS A SCIENCE
It is exact, specific; and it demands exact acoustics. A conductor’s full score is a chart, a graph which indicates frequencies, intensities, volume changes, melody, and harmony all at once and with the most exact control of time.
MUSIC IS MATHEMATICAL
It is rhythmically based on the subdivisions of time into fractions which must be done instantaneously, not worked out on paper.
MUSIC IS A FOREIGN LANGUAGE
Most of the terms are in Italian, German, or French; and the notation is certainly not English but a highly developed kind of shorthand that uses symbols to represent ideas. The semantics of music is the most complete and universal language.
MUSIC IS PHYSICAL EDUCATION
It requires fantastic coordination of fingers, hands, arms, lip, cheek, and facial muscles, in addition to extraordinary control of the abdominal, back, stomach, and chest muscles which respond instantly to the sound the ear hears and the mind interprets.
MUSIC IS ALL THESE THINGS, BUT MOST OF ALL, MUSIC IS ART
It allows a human being to take all these dry, technically boring to some (but difficult) techniques and use them to create emotion. That is one thing science cannot duplicate: humanism, feeling, emotion – call it what you will.
THAT IS WHY WE STUDY MUSIC!
Not because we expect you to major in music.
Not because we expect you to play or sing all your life (though you certainly can!)
Not so you can relax.
Not so you can have fun.
But so you will be human; so you will recognize beauty; so you will be sensitive; so you will be closer to an infinite beyond this world; so you will have something to cling to; so you will have more love, more compassion, more gentleness, more good – in short, more life.
Of what value will it be to make a prosperous living, unless you know how to live?
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So, this is how it all started…I was happily enjoying a conversation over breakfast with my BWB partner when we were approached by neighbor who told us that she was forming a book club and asked if we would be interested in joining. It was going to be quite exclusive (as I later learned that our subdivision already had an official book club which we were not invited to join, so ours was going to be sort of underground, which appealed to my dangerous side). Naturally, we were reluctant to commit on the spot, but Linda promised that this book club would be unlike any other we’d heard about. “Would we be required to host meetings in our homes?”, we asked. “Well, yes, but…” “OOOOHHHH, that may not work for us because, well, we don’t want to do that,” we quickly interrupted. “Here’s the thing, though,” she said, trying to win us over (well, in all honesty, I think it was my BWB buddy who was really in demand. I just happened to be there, and so was included by default).”You see, these will be our rules:”
1) Do not clean your house for us. If your house has been freshly scrubbed, painted or re-carpeted, you will be exiled from the club.
2) If you’re dressed in anything better than comfy sweats, you’re overdressed and will be duly scorned.
3) Snacks will absolutely not consist of ridiculously extravagant catered items. Simple chips and dip are perfect.
4) There will be alcohol (which probably should have been Rule #1, but we all understood it as the first rule of book club, so it really didn’t even need to be listed as a rule)
And, finally, 5) You don’t have to read the book”
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Readers, Followers and Admiring Fans of Box Wine Budget: Good news! I am currently in the process of penning my second novel. I know you’ve been awaiting this announcement for some time now. Possibly with bated breath…I’m not sure about that. Our first novel, NUMB (Casey Quinn, Petrina Collins, Amazon, 2013), was…well…our first attempt at such a literary undertaking. It tells the story of a desperate woman trying to balance a professional life, motherhood, marriage and the slow, but sure, loss of her mother into the abyss of dementia. Her coping skills are unconventional, to say the least, as she finds herself reverting to a quite illegal method of stress management. When an old friend confronts her about his suspicions, he learns a deadly lesson in minding his own business. Friend or not, she cannot risk her secret exposed.
NUMB does not harbor any pretensions of being an “important” book nor a classic literary work. It is simply an easy read with some interesting characters (we hope) and begs the question: would or could someone like Dr. Cynthia Howell ever really resort to such extreme measures? Truth??? Maybe not. But, we are all familiar with stories of the perfect neighbor next door whose dark side successfully remains hidden until one day police and news crews dominate the street. It could happen… And, in the course of an investigation into the murder of a prominent surgeon, our readers meet the Chicago detectives who eventually connect the dots, leading them to their unlikely suspect.
This book marks a departure from Box Wine Budget’s first literary publication, Living The Dream On A Box Wine Budget (Casey Quinn & Petrina Collins, Amazon, 2011), which was a collection of short humorous essays about family life. Though NUMB deals with a darker subject, it is sprinkled with humor, mainly because while we, at Box Wine Budget, love a good murder, a chuckle is always welcome, too.
So, “Book Number Two” begins where book one left off, an ending which will not be divulged. And, in writing this blog today, I would ask your indulgence to give NUMB a read. Quite honestly, as a first effort, we are rather proud of it, while recognizing improvements to be made in our current work. If you think you might be interested in checking it out, I would ask if you would also be so kind as to leave a review on Amazon. A promotion of the book is in the works, and having reviews on the Amazon site is very helpful. We already have a handful and would love to see more. The following is a direct link to NUMB: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00ELICULY
Thanks for allowing this brazen plug and we look forward to hearing from you.
PS: NUMB is available for download on Kindle & Kindle apps for iPad, iPhone, iPod Touch, PC, Mac, Blackberry & Android-based devices. You DON’T need a Kindle to read a Kindle book!!! Just download the FREE (yes – FREE!) Kindle app and you’re ready to start reading!! Just click here: http://www.amazon.com/gp/feature.html?ie=UTF8&docId=1000493771
THERE! Box Wine Budget just did all the work for you. Why?? Cuz we really like you…
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Well, I’m back after a very long hiatus. If I’d been blessed with a good imagination, I would spin some great tale about my wild adventures to explain the absence. But, truth be told…I have just been experiencing a bit of a dry spell. Uninspired days, which have folded into weeks, most likely brought on by the arctic winter we’ve been experiencing this year. We, here in Chicago, or Chiberia as it’s since been re-named, have been buried under the evil white stuff for months. As soon as a path is shoveled down the driveway, the local news tells us of yet ANOTHER snowstorm headed our way. Add to that, the sub-zero temperatures and it’s no wonder I’ve been in a funk lately. I know the rest of the country has also been hit by this malevolent polar vortex. This is truly a moment when we as a nation can come together and moan, grumble, gripe, lament and, yes, grouse. (A thesaurus is truly a writer’s best friend)
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“Death comes like a thief in the night.”
Those words have been etched in my brain for twenty-six and a half years, when my mother quietly uttered them following the unexpected death of my dad. And now, the thief has returned. My father-in-law, whom I have written about several times in this blog, passed away during the night. With his recently rapid decline in health, we knew Death would take him any day. No, it did not sneak in through a back door. Rather, it came as a welcome reprieve for a man who suffered much toward the end of his time on this earth. And, no, it is not a tragedy. He lived a long and full life. He grew up without knowing his father, having lost him to the thief at the tender age of two. He was not fatherless, however. He had uncles who lovingly served as father figures. He attended Marmion Military Academy, beginning what would become a seventy year dedication to the Monks of Marmion Abbey. At the terribly young age of nineteen, he experienced, simultaneously, both the brutality and merciful heroics of his fellow man when he suffered a life-threatening and, certainly, life-changing wound during the battle at Iwo Jima. Upon his return home, he attended college, eventually earning his Master’s degree from the University of Chicago. But, without question, among all his achievements, the title he most cherished was simply “Dad.”
He was a humble and faith-filled man who never considered himself a hero for his military service, uncomfortable with the label. He never thought himself above anyone. Ever. He was a man who witnessed good and evil in the world. He was a man who loved his family. And he was a man who loved God and took his faith very seriously. He lived his life in such a way that he never needed to worry about when the thief would come. So, while he will be missed by we who are left behind, his passing is not a tragedy. It is simply his final journey home.
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“I got a lot of support from my parents.That’s the one thing I always appreciated. They didn’t tell me I was being stupid; they told me I was being funny” – Jim Carrey
I love this quote. Speaking as a mother who has enthusiastically supported her children to follow their dreams (a trite expression, I know), I have often been on the receiving end of disapproving looks when asked about my kids’ studies. This is because their dreams are not about engineering, medicine or any other socially acceptable career. And, as much as they recognize the importance of being able to support themselves, as well as the appeal of earning a high income, I think my son, Peter, put it quite well when he said his goals in life are not confined to a paycheck. So, what exactly is it they want to do, you ask? Well….
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Well, I can’t put it off any longer. You know the feeling when there’s something you have to do and you REEEAAALLLYYYY don’t want to do it? Yeah…that’s me…right now. It’s been looming for several days now. And, the clock is running down. In about twenty-five minutes, I have to meet my friend at the gym and…work out. Yes, that’s right. Work out. Ugh… Why do I hate working out so much? Why can’t something that’s SUPPOSEDLY SOOOOO good for you be easier to do? Those italicized, capital letters were meant to convey sarcasm. So, if you didn’t get that, I would ask you to please return and reread that sentence, placing the appropriate amount of whiny derision on those particular words. It’s okay…I’ll wait for you……………………. Okay, I can tell by all those periods that you carried out that assignment swimmingly. So, let’s see…where was…oh right…I hate exercise. I HATE it. I hate every part of it. I hate the beginning part, where you think, “Oh God, I’m just starting and I feel like I’m gonna die.” I also hate the middle part, which involves an enormous amount of sweating (well, if I put any effort into it, that is, which is what exercise enthusiasts say you’re supposed to do and something they seem to LOVE). I super-hate that part. Actually, I DO like the end part, though, where I exit the gym with that superior, “Oh yeah, I’m totally into fitness” look. Side note: I don’t exhibit that look at any time while I’m actually IN the gym, of course. Because those people really ARE totally into fitness. Then, of course, upon returning home, a shower is in order and that’s a rather pleasant because it feels good to wash off all that disgusting sweat and come out smelling all soapy. So, I guess it’s mainly the beginning and the middle part – the actual exercise – that I detest. I can hear you judging me, by the way.
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With Veteran’s Day upon us, I would like to pay homage to two men who bravely fought for our country. My father proudly served in WWII as an Army paratrooper with the Screaming Eagles 101st Airborne Division. He fought in Europe and, years later, regaled the neighborhood kids with stories of jumping out of planes in the pitch black of night, not knowing when he would hit the ground (or get caught in a tree), and never knowing exactly how close to the enemy he would land. My father-in-law served in the Marine Corps and, at the age of nineteen, suffered a life-threatening wound in the line of duty, during the battle at Iwo Jima. Only recently, has he told anyone of his experience during that life-changing moment.
He still isn’t sure what hit him on that fateful day. All he knew was, in a split second, he felt like he was on fire. Drifting in and out of consciousness, he only prayed that the unspeakable pain would end. Unbeknownst to him, his unit had been pushed back as he lay, completely unprotected, in front of his own lines. A medic came to his aid and hastily administered morphine, while attempting to carry him back to safety on a canvas stretcher, only to be dropped several times, whenever a bomb exploded around them. He says he can remember looking at the medic just as a bullet shot right through his rescuer. He remembers seeing the hole. Then, my nineteen year old, wounded father-in-law administered morphine to the very medic who had so bravely come to his aid. That man did not survive the battle. He died saving my husband’s father, but he will never be forgotten.
After the war, my father-in-law went on to receive his Bachelor’s degree at LaSalle College in Philadelphia, continuing at the University of Chicago for his Master’s degree, and, then together with my mother-in-law, raised eight children. Though his injury is a constant reminder of the hell he endured, he remains “Always Faithful” to the Marine Corps. Semper fi, Grandpa.
(Insert shameless plug here) My son, Brian, produced a short documentary, as an undergraduate film student in college, entitled, The Story Of A Generation. Following this post, is a link to the video. In it, he interviewed his grandfather about his experience at Iwo. It is worth eight minutes of your time to watch, as these men are vanishing too quickly and, soon, I fear their stories will be relegated to ancient history.
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