Shazbot

For American teenagers living in Saudi Arabia in the 70s, the time spent back in the states during the summer was priceless for keeping up with pop culture. Even the re-runs of popular shows were new to us, and I distinctly remember catching up on Happy Days one humid summer night.

The plot revolved around Richie and a space alien who tried to collect him as a specimen to bring back to his planet Ork. I liked Happy Days, but I loved Mork-- that alien was hilarious in such a hyperkinetic way that we were still giggling about it a few days later.

Imagine my surprise and delight when I returned to the US for college and found that there was a whole show about Mork from Ork. Who could fail to love Robin Williams, so quirky, so manic? When I started teaching, his example helped me to understand the positive, creative side of ADHD.

Later, as his career waned and waxed and waned again, as frequently happens with the brightest performers, I understood that he was probably struggling with much more, and tonight as I began a blog entry about something else all together I heard the breaking news that Robin Williams was dead, and although the family is not disclosing particulars, they are saying he has struggled greatly with depression, especially of late. I wanted a good Mork quote to end this post, and when I searched, I found the following exchange between Mork and his "handler" Orson:

Orson: The report, Mork.
Mork: This week I discovered a terrible disease called loneliness.
Orson: Do many people on Earth suffer from this disease?
Mork: Oh yes sir, and how they suffer. One man I know suffers so much he has to take a medication called bourbon, even that doesn't help very much because then he can hear paint dry.
Orson: Does bed rest help?
Mork: No because I've heard that sleeping alone is part of the problem. You see, Orson, loneliness is a disease of the spirit. People who have it think that no one cares about them.
Orson: Do you have any idea why?
Mork: Yes sir you can count on me. You see, when children are young, they're told not to talk to strangers. When they go to school, they're told not to talk to the person next to them. Finally when they're very old, they're told not to talk to themselves, who's left?
Orson: Are you saying Earthlings make each other lonely?
Mork: No sir I'm saying just the opposite. They make themeslves lonely, they're so busy looking out for number one that there's not enough room for two.
Orson: It's too bad everybody down there can't get together and find a cure.
Mork: Here's the paradox sir because if they did get together, they wouldn't need one. Isn't that zenlack?

Yeah, that's totally zenlack.

Sweet Sorrow

Oy!

The great clean-out continues. Not simply content (or let's be honest, able) to empty the guest room for Josh's impending residence, our purge has expanded to every room in the house including the attic. Last spring I hoped to rid our home of forty bags in forty days, but friends it's going to be more like forty in fourteen, or fifty in ten now that the ball's rolling.

In general, my job has been paper and electronics. I've recycled hundreds of paperback books and filled several boxes to take to shred. It turns out I really don't need my pay stubs from 1999, or much else of the hundred pounds or so of paper that's all set to go. AND, I've finally come to terms with giving up my iBook lap top. Apple is kind enough to contract with a company who will recycle them for free, but first I must wipe the hard drive. With that in mind, I booted it up for one last time this afternoon.

It's only been a few years since our iPad/desktop combo has pretty much made that brushed stainless steel brick obsolete, but I smiled at the desktop photo of the Chesapeake Bay beach in November where Heidi and I stayed ten years ago, and there was a certain reflexive familiarity when my fingers brushed that cool metal touchpad. Scanning through the files to find what I wanted to keep was like opening a time capsule, and when I was distracted for a second, the screen saver started spinning an array of pictures I haven't looked at for years. It was an album of wonderful times in beautiful places with people we love.

Oh, I'll be able to put everything I want on a single flash drive (that's how dated it is), but today I felt a direct connection with the me who used to spend so much screen time staring at that 12 inch display-- the person who wrote every piece for the Northern Virginia Writing Project Summer Institute there, and most of my National Board entries. The online course I use with my students, Write Here Write Now, was largely created with that laptop, and the very first post of this blog was composed on its keyboard.

I know it's only a machine, and one that has been left behind by technological innovation, but I?

I am only human, and parting with this particular object makes me a little sad.

Good Reflexes

I was browsing my Twitter feed this evening when something very unexpected happened. I saw a tweet by Kelly Gallagher that actually made me want to go back to school. It was nothing meant to be inspirational, but simply a practical resolution grounded in a philosophy I happen to share. Whoa! As a result, I read a few articles, pinned a few links, and jotted down several ideas for the upcoming year.

I guess you really can't take the classroom out of the teacher.

Old-fashioned Work Ethic

My friend Mary came by today to borrow the hand sander. Seems as if she has a couple of Adirondack chairs in need of a new paint job, too. "That's fun!" I said cheerily.

"I'm not sure if I would call it 'fun'," she told me, "but it has to be done." She nodded out to the deck. "Yours look pretty good-- do you have any advice?"

I laughed because from that distance, they do look pretty good; the drips and dings and rough patches aren't noticeable at all. "Remember they're 'hand-painted'," I answered. "The imperfections are part of the charm!"

Unexpected Bonus

After painting? The elegant clean-up method of simply peeling the dried paint in a single, rubbery sheet from the paint pans the next day is weirdly satisfying.

Just sayin.

GoogleEDU

News today about a company course offered to Googlers on mindfulness and meditation. It's title? Why,  Search Inside Yourself, of course!

Arnold Palmer on Deck

Last week I received notice that I had to clear all the plants and furniture off our decks so that they could be repainted. While I appreciated the action, it was kind of a pain in the butt to find a temporary place for everything.

When I was 10 my family moved across the highway from our originally pink Levitt colonial to an authentic Victorian house with six bedrooms. Oh the place needed work, which is exactly why my mother wanted it, and she was up to the challenge-- stripping wall paper, knocking plaster off covered up fireplaces, painting, laying flooring, building closets, re-upholstering furniture, you name it, in the three short years that we lived there, that house was vastly improved.

To a child, perhaps it was the porches that were the most different from our tract home. Where once we had poured concrete and brick, now we had wide gracious outdoor spaces with white trim and painted gray floor boards. One of the things I remember most was the side porch. Three feet above street-level, it ran the length of the front room and the dining room, but with no stairs the only way to get out there was through a door in the dining room. I liked to pretend that it was the deck of a ship and I was the captain, and in the summer I spent afternoons out there in the shade reading and drinking ice tea with lemonade.

When the painting was done here, I was a bit dismayed to find that they had whitewashed the formerly stained floor planks. That just seemed like a bad idea, so off I went to my local home improvement store where I purchased a gallon of porch gray. After patching and repainting the Adirondack chairs white, today I turned my attention to the floors, and now I have my own gracious space.

Ice tea and lemonade at the ready-- I'll need them tomorrow.