Musing Interruptus

19. In The Words of E.T.

Musing Interruptus is a podcast for sharing thoughts and stories and enjoying idiomatic phrases and words. You can read along; the transcription is in the description of this episode. The idiomatic expressions are in italics. Try to get the meaning from the context and then look them up to see if you were right. If you like it, share it, but more importantly, continue the conversation. The music is called Kallaloe by Blue Dot. 

Hello, Welcome. I’m Renée Valentina and this is Musing Interruptus. Today, In The Words of E.T.

Ouch. Eliot. ET phone home. Pretty impressive vocabulary for an extraterrestrial stranded on Earth with some kids in California. I think I understood what heartbreak looks like with ET. You don’t need to see it to know when you are feeling it. But sometimes, when it is happening, it helps to have the words to let it flow out and away from your insides. Especially when they have been blown to pieces. Ouch. Onomatopeya at its finest. 

I’ve found myself invoking ET throughout my youth and adult life to make sense of the big feelings when they overwhelm even the comic in me. The moments I’ve been rendered speechless have been saved by the words of a fictitious alien. A word that can connect me back to the life force within to make sense of the information that has seemingly vacuumed the air out of the room, leaving high-pitch tinnitus to drill through my brain and eyes. 

I reckon those times cannot be planned for. The bearer of bad news is not always aware that it is bad news for the receiver. Other times, they know. They do their best to deliver the news like ripping off a bandaid. The faster, the better. I’ve gotten text messages, phone calls, Zoom calls, and in-person deliveries. In the end, you have to face the music on your own. It is nice when someone delivers the news in person. Parents do that, mostly. And your boss when you lose your job. The doctor’s office is a great place to get bad news. I say that because you can associate the bad news with that place, whereas if you are at your favorite restaurant, having a great time, and then get a call from your doctor, with bad news, you might not feel like finishing your desert, even if it is ice cream. 

Once bad news has been delivered, it is time to process it. This is the least bit of fun, next to getting the news. Getting through the different defense mechanisms that try to protect our brains from pain is like solving a puzzle. Sometimes it is easy, other times, you have to really set your mind to connecting with the sadness, pain, and fear. I see it as piercing my chest hard enough to get through the very tough armor (I think my armor is very tough, like chainmail and alien goop), the over-analyzing, and joke-making. ET’s words help cut through the bullshit. Ouch becomes the key to zoning in on what was set aside, quieted, suffocated under pleasantries. The bad news does not generally stop at the bad news, but what the loss represents. There is always more to what is being lost than what meets the eye.

The healing part is a whole other ballgame. When facing the void and a broken heart, paracetamol can take the edge off. I promise. 

As I speak to my father on the phone and listen to his over-analyzing, I can hear the fear and anger in his voice. I’m quick to remind him that he doesn’t need to put on a show for me. We have been talking about life since I was born. I ask him the questions he used to ask me, where does it hurt? How does it hurt? I remind him and myself, it is ok to not explain away the feelings and just feel. Let the angries bubble up and the boo hoos pour down our faces. Being strong doesn’t mean we are stoic. Do as I say, Daddy, not as I do. 

As for me, ouch will do, and I’ll chase it down with a paracetamol. 

Thank you for listening.  Continue reading

Musing Interruptus is a podcast for sharing thoughts and stories and enjoying idiomatic phrases and words. You can read along; the transcription is in the description of this episode. The idiomatic expressions are in italics. Try to get the meaning from the context and then look them up to see if you were right. If you like it, share it, but more importantly, continue the conversation. The music is called Copper Halls by Blue Dot

Hello, Welcome. I’m Renée Valentina and this is Musing Interruptus. Today, Operator!

— Operator.

Hello, operator.

— Yes. How may I direct your call?

I need you to connect me with area code 412 55 38 88 27 74, please. 

— Please hold for just a minute; I’ll connect. 

Hey, operator, could you stay on the line in case I lose my nerve?

— Well, I really shouldn’t. 

No, you don’t understand. I really need to deliver this message, and it won’t be easy.

— Ok, caller, I’m here for you.

How much is this going to cost me?

— 12 dollars for the first 3 minutes and four dollars for each additional minute.

What is this? 1969?! 

—Yes,  I’ll connect you.

I can see the operator now, at her switchboard, with cables, and headset, ready to help create a bridge of communication. You’ve got the message and vehicle; the operator is ready to assist you. That is how we used to place calls. It was a very social and public event. If you didn’t have a phone in your home, you might have to go to a phone booth. This is a special house for a phone. Isn’t that something? Imagine all the calls operators received asking for help, information, and to connect. The closest thing we’ve got today is customer service agents and tech support in the companies that haven’t replaced humans with artificial intelligence. Getting a person on the other end of the line is becoming increasingly difficult. That seems to be the most troublesome aspect of this situation. We are connecting less and less. There are fewer humans on the other end of our need to communicate. Lots of communication is motivated by the urgency to solve a problem or fulfill a need. I want my needs fulfilled by a human, please. There are more automated messages pretending that the problem I have is so unique that there is no message programmed to help me. I get stuck in a loop, moving back and forth between menus. I just really want to talk to a human, please! They will understand I just need to know when to pick up my glasses or when I call the bank, I’d like to know that all those numbers I punched in will pay off and result in actually fixing my issue. Mr. Menu cannot do that, I need a human. I mean, seriously, if I just wanted to know my balance I wouldn’t take all this time out of my life! Hmm The lesser evil to the elimination of humans or humanity from the equation is that the pomp and circumstance have also been removed.

Placing a call required a bit of thought and preparation. It used to cost more, so depending on your budget, you would want that call to count. Long-distance calls could cost you 4 dollars a minute. Imagine that! Today, we can use our internet connection to call anyone with and internet ready device, and we can even connect to a landline. The operator used to announce you, or rather, announce your call. That seems very elegant to me. Nowadays, you are at the mercy of caller ID. The transition between operators connecting calls and the use of personal telephones saw the advent of caller ID- Don’t get me started on caller ID, that has taken all the fun out of prank or crank calls and my adolescent favorite, calling someone to hear in them pick up and say hello? And then hang up! At 13, that lingering hello could last me ages. What a rush. 

Now, if you don’t want to use a phone and you don’t have a metaphysical connection with someone, you need an operator to connect the call. However, if you have a Read My Mind by the  Killers or an I Feel You by Depeche Mode sort of situation, then I guess you just need to be careful with your thoughts ... Continue Reading

Musing Interruptus is a podcast for sharing thoughts and stories and enjoying idiomatic phrases and words. You can read along; the transcription is in the description of this episode. The idiomatic expressions are in italics. Try to get the meaning from the context and then look them up to see if you were right. If you like it, share it, but more importantly, continue the conversation. The music is called Angelino by Blue Dot.

Hello, Welcome. I’m Renée Valentina and this is Musing Interruptus. Today, I Could Be Stella.

Following the adage or saying, when in Rome, has been a guiding principle throughout my life. My mother was the first person to teach me this. This saying has come in handy, especially when I don’t know what to do or how I am expected to act. 

Then again, I frequently think about what is expected of me and take a quick detour if it doesn’t sit right. At least you know. This was the case last week. The waiting room, to my surprise, had more chairs than patients. I was ready for my yearly eye check-up. The clinic was divided into stages, all of which had waiting areas. Some waiting areas were not clearly marked. The waiting areas overlapped. This was confusing, but I had my book with me, so if I made a mistake, I would not have to worry about waiting and staring at my phone or social media. I had someone else’s words to amuse myself. I sat down in the first waiting area, which corresponded to the first stage. No sooner had I opened my book than someone said Stella in my general direction. When I looked up from my book, puzzled, the man repeated the name Stella, convinced I was she. 

I imagined saying yes, I’m Stella. I could be Stella. I wonder what kind of life Stella has. Well, for starters, she was called before me, which is a perk. Stella gets her eyes checked first. Stella has people calling her name. I bet Stella lives up to her name; you know who I am talking about. Stella Kowalski from A Streetcar Named Desire. I bet Stella is married to Stanley. In the play, he is not a great guy to be married to; he has fits of rage, and he is violent. Stella gets away from him just long enough for him to cry out her name, getting her to come back. It seems easy enough. Stella has a sister, Blanche DuBois. Stella believes Stanley over Blanche and agrees to send her to a mental institution. That never sat right with me. 

Stella was absent from the waiting room. After thinking about all these things, I decided I would not and could not be Stella. I might play her one day; I might read a few lines. I might muse about her and about being her, just for one day, maybe just a few hours, while I get my eyes checked before I was meant to. Stella was absent from the waiting room. Where was she? Was there a Stanly in her life keeping her from going to a doctor’s appointment? I hope not. Still no Stella.  No, I could not be Stella. At least, I hope not. What had happened to Stella to become a Stanely appendage? Was she raised that way? Maybe the hardships she had lived throughout her life made her cling to the only thing or person who would not let her go either. This is not a justification, it is just an explanation. 

Still no Stella. No, I won’t become Stella for a moment, not to skip a place in line, not even if I am the next person and,  you know that other saying, no harm, no foul. But I would know. Even if in the eyes of that man in the waiting room, I looked, smelled, and sounded like Stella. I could see it in his eyes; he was certain Stella and I were one and the same. It was hot enough, just like in Street Car. It has been a helluva week. We will remember the heatwave. That must have made that man think I was Stella. Any woman trapped by the same heat could be mistaken for her. Continue Reading

Musing Interruptus is a podcast meant for sharing thoughts and stories and enjoying idiomatic phrases and words in general. You can read along; the transcription is in the description of this episode. The idiomatic expressions are in italics. Try to get the meaning from the context and then look them up to see if you were right. If you like it, share it, but more importantly, continue the conversation. The music is called Town Market by Blue Dot Sessions  
Hello, Welcome. I’m Renée Valentina and this is Musing Interruptus. Today, That's a lot of peanuts.

I would love to have a pet elephant. I wish upon a star! I wish on fallen lashes! I blow dandelion flowers as I wish for my pet elephant. I wish as hard as I can. Every birthday candle, every year of my life, I have wished for an elephant of my own. I would give up working and writing and painting and singing and spend all my time with my pet elephant. 

We would take trips into the city and stomp on the silly people who litter or break the law. We would fight crime, my elephant and I. A super duo fighting crime. We could save people from complicated situations, and embarassment. Just imagine, you might have made a mistake. You might have accidentally called a friend by another name. Or perhaps you inadvertently passed gas and there is not a dog in sight to blame. You could call my pet elephant, and nobody would even notice.

 If you are bored doing office work, you just have to whistle and we’ll be there, standing below your window, so you can jump out and ride along with us on our next adventure. 

Imagine what people would say! Be good or else that elephant will thump you out of existence. My elephant wouldn’t really do that. My elephant wouldn’t actually hurt anyone. A little fear can go a long way to getting people to be on their best behavior. We would go downtown and have a parade, my elephant might shower everyone with water. I’m sure my elephant and I would love to play with water and sprinkle it here and there. 

When my elephant gets hungry, we’ll stop for peanut butter, peanut brittle, and my favorite honey-roasted peanuts. Peanut butter spoonfuls for lunch, peanut butter ice cream for dessert. After lunch, we will get to walking around again, in search of a river to play in until the sun goes down and it is time to sleep.

I don’t much like camping, but if I had an elephant, we would sleep in the forest, under the trees, close to a babbling brook. We would tell each other stories and make promises to travel to all the places we could. We might take a tour of the tallest trees and wettest rivers.  My elephant would carry the peanuts and I would carry our passports and money. 

We would surely, oh, most certainly go to a rock concert. My elephant and I would rock on and hard. I think my pet elephant would let me climb up on him so I could see the stage and the musicians, as I am only a fraction of the size of my pet elephant. You see, most times that I go to a standing-room-only concert, I miss out on actually seeing the band because everyone is taller than me. So there, sitting at the highest I could ever sit upon my friend the elephant, listening to the music and being ever so happy we are together. My pachyderm would surprise me! This very moment would be the moment. The moment when they were playing our favorite U2 song. Yes, we would be at a U2 concert, my elephant and I. My elephant would whisper in my ear his name and say, guess what, we can speak the same language, you and I. Oh my goodness, what a great moment that would be. 

I wish my grandmother would have met my elephant.  We would have gone to church with her and then Sunday morning breakfast. Continue reading

Musing Interruptus is a podcast meant for sharing thoughts and stories and enjoying idiomatic phrases and words in general. You can read along; the transcription is in the description of this episode. The idiomatic expressions are in italics. Try to get the meaning from the context and then look them up to see if you were right. If you like it, share it, but more importantly, continue the conversation. The background music is called  Rainday by Blue Dot Sessions Blue Dot Sessions

Hello, Welcome. I’m Renée Valentina and this is Musing Interruptus.

I can’t wait to close my eyes and go to sleep. It is like living twice. Something similar happens when reading a book or watching a movie. There are stories that play out in spaces and times, other planes of existence, that enrich life as we know it. The first and most obvious for me are my dreams. And more recently, the space of dreams where I feel the presence of loved ones. As if that were the place where I can be with the person or people with whom I am not with in my waking world. It is a place that feels different than a dream. Sometimes I would prefer a dream so at least I could carry out a conversation with that presence. A presence that might accompany me till the moment I wake. When I wake, I only have the memory or recollection of presence. Generally a feeling of comfort and then the reminder that they are not in the waking place. Still feels as true as any given coffee date, party, or stroll down the street. A memory without a face or actions, just presence. I have come to accept this. I wonder if this happens to you too.

I also wonder, how they gained entrance to this place.  Who let them past the gates? Was it the shared laughter, the memories or the stories written? It must have been the laughter. 

In waking life, there are parallel worlds we can experience together. People who join bookclubs are organized in their travels. Sharing the experience from the same pages can be like taking the trip more than once on the same ticket. Each reader becomes a tour guide, pointing to different scenes, alerting the rest to the words and meanings that might have not been evident. I think they are pack hunters, thirsty for blood and guts and experiences borne from imaginations and recollections of others. There are those who read up on the context of the author, searching for clues in their life and surrounding political, social, technological, musical, and cultural contexts. Whethering Hights is not the same after book club, I am not the same after either. There are more voices and dimensions of the same story after a meeting with the story hunters. I love them.

In waking life, there is magic projected onto screens we congregate around in hollow rooms of darkness and overpowering loudness. As if we needed much to fall into a trance. Perhaps only 15% aware of the person in front of us because they laughed a little hard, or cheered the protagonist on. When this happens, the trance is not broken, this becomes a shared experience in which echos of laughter and grunts of indignation, shrieks from being startled, and sighs of relief constitute the stuff of group therapy. We share. And when we don’t share the same reaction, it is also significant. The most personal reactions, primal evicerations of soul happening next to complete strangers. All the while, breathing the same air, sharing the same sound waves and chemical reactions that make image. We are part of the chemistry experiment. The missing elements in the lab. We pay for this shared experience, a temporary voyeristic partnership and lift on the restrictions of the public expression of shame, sadness, pain, fear, angst, seemingly masked by the darnkess. Seemingly anonymous. It is not so dark we cannot see each others faces or hear each other’s voices. We are traveling together, we paid for our visa at the door. Continue reading

Musing Interruptus is a podcast meant for sharing thoughts and stories and enjoying idiomatic phrases and words in general. You can read along; the transcription is in the description of this episode. The idiomatic expressions are in italics. Try to get the meaning from the context and then look them up to see if you were right. If you like it, share it, but more importantly, continue the conversation. The music is called  Tango Rosino by Blue Dot Sessions  Blue Dot Sessions 

Hello and welcome to Musing Interruptus. I’m Renée Valentina. Have you seen the artifacts people use to brew their coffee? If you aren’t into this type of hoopla. You might just think, doesn’t coffee just taste the same? You might as well continue buying the instant stuff. And hey, you won’t get any judgment from me. I promise. From others, well, you might want to pick your crowd before proclaiming that all coffee tastes the same. You might get your head bitten off for saying something like that. Coffee culture has worlds and communities around them. The way people brew and take their coffee not only reflects their taste but also their patience to become impatient. If you know what I mean. Am I right? This vehicle is of course an aromatic gateway into alertness that might set you off for hours. Caffeine can last up to 5 hours or more in your body.  I had my last cup at 6 pm. It is now midnight and I have no intention of going to bed. This is tomorrow me’s problem and I have my eye on my coffee grinder and beans to save the morning. This is the second episode I write tonight. I’m not sure if writing more or writing faster is a good thing, but at least I have the sensation I am productive. The aroma is long gone, but that caffeine is still traveling through my veins. A double espresso at 6 pm is to blame. But it was so good and comforting. What I lack in judgment I make up in kindness.

I am an amateur coffee drinker. I just know what I like, I can’t discuss undertones, how toasted or roasted it is, bitterness, body, sweetness, aftertaste, or acidity (unless it is burning a hole through my stomach, like that battery acid they try to pass for coffee at the soy totalmente place). I can however ask questions. For instance, do you take your coffee strong or weak? What are you looking for in a coffee maker? Some might say, he/she should bring it to my desk, my bedside, or to my lips, on command. Others might be looking for something easy to clean and refill. I like the idea of a chemistry set type of coffee maker, like the Siphone coffee maker. I went to a coffee shop and had a cup brewed this way. It was way too weak for my taste, but the show was spectacular. 

I like the hum and rumble of the 1980s drip coffee maker. I can hear it, and I hear my mother and one of her friends talking in the kitchen. I wonder how many cups they would drink over their cigarettes and conversations. This also reminds me of the steam coming out of the dishwasher. All part of the sounds of that old house, that old home. I have a mind to find a Mr. Coffee drip coffee maker, just for the love of the sound and the comforting aroma. 

Stovetop coffee makers also seem like fun. Although I would worry that I burn the coffee. I think I would need someone to do that for me. I guess if I get one, I would also need to get myself my very own barista. It seems a bit expensive for my budget. Then again, I guess this is the price of getting more serious about this beverage. 

I have an espresso machine and a French Press. I love them both the same. I love the coffee bean grinder even more. That is where the magic begins. 

I am wondering how you brew your coffee but also, how do you take your coffee?

Do you take cream and sugar? How about decaffeinated? I’d like to know your thoughts on this particular way of taking your coffee. Does this not defeat the point? Aren’t you worried you are getting less aroma? Continue reading

Musing Interruptus is a podcast meant for sharing thoughts and stories and enjoying idiomatic phrases and words in general. You can read along; the transcription is in the description of this episode. The idiomatic expressions are in italics. Try to get the meaning from the context and then look them up to see if you were right. If you like it, share it, but more importantly, continue the conversation. The music is called  Contrarian by Blue Dot Sessions 

Hello and welcome to Musing Interruptus. I’m Renée Valentina. What are we really asking when inquiring about a person’s hobbies? What part of their world are we uncovering with that little number? How much are you willing to talk about it with someone you just met? Also, you and I have been in each other’s lives for a while now, so you can tell me. Go ahead. Let’s tell each other these things. 

I’d like to know if you are an avid photography enthusiast or maybe a closeted rock star. I’d like to know what you dedicate your free time to. How many hours have you spent honing your craft? Are you good at what you do? Are you into numismatics? If you are, what kind of questions should I ask you? Should I ask how heavy your collection is? Which is the oldest coin you have? What is it worth today? What do you include in your collection? Why did you start? 

Are you a geocacher? Where I live, there are 198 geocatchers. Correction. 199, I just became one. It is a treasure hunt and we are all invited! Sometimes I wish I had children, I would do this with them on a lazy day, hell, on any given day. I used to hunt for treasure in the forest when I was a child. This is a game straight out of my imagination. I can’t believe I wouldn’t have discovered this if I hadn’t decided to write about hobbies. As of right now, I am an amature geocacher. If I get into it I will tell you more about it. 

Perhaps witchcraft is more your speed. Potions, spells, manifestations. Is it metaphysics? I’d like to know.  Is clairvoyance a part of the deal? What happens when a spell does not work? What if someone casts a magic spell against you? I’ve heard about this. The evil eye. I’ve heard there are rules to these things, so if you wish something bad on to someone, it will be returned in three fold. At least that is said in the movies I’ve watched. The Craft and Practical Magic. 

This leads to another hobby I’d love to know more about if you are a cinephile. If you are well-versed in film or filmmaking, I have a million questions for you. But more importantly, I’d like to sit and watch movies and listen to your running commentary on said films. I really do love what goes on behind the scenes. From scriptwriting to storyboarding, to directing. I want to hear all about it. Being a musicophile is similar. I can barely strum my guitar, but give me a few stories, teach me about the music, and how it was made, and watch me melt. 

Duck herding is a thing. I can’t say I would do it. But the more I read about it, the less I can say I wouldn’t do it. Would you like to learn how to lead ducks? I wonder if you have the stuff to do it in public, in front of a cheering or jeering crowd. If you are into duck herding, do other types of herding interest you? Sheepherders and cow herders do this for a living. Are managers a type of herder? If you have an unruly punk band who needs to get to a concert or to a recording studio, does it count if you find ways and tricks to make sure they show up? Are teachers a type of header? Being in the classroom with 16-year-olds puts this in perspective. Getting them to take their seats, having something to interest them and keep their attention, and developing a seventh sense for instant messaging or ieming, daydreaming, and sleeping. I wonder what makes a good duck herder. Continue reading

12. A Maid of the Sea, Old and New

Musing Interruptus is a podcast meant for sharing thoughts and stories and enjoying idiomatic phrases and words in general. You can read along; the transcription is in the description of this episode. The idiomatic expressions are in italics. Try to get the meaning from the context and then look them up to see if you were right. If you like it, share it, but more importantly, continue the conversation. Music is called  Orejitas by Blue Dot Blue Dot Sessions 

Greetings and welcome to Musing Interruptus. Join me on an exploration, into the depths of the great blue sea and the shallow end of a young, royal, spoiled mermaid, who must get her way. It is a tale of obsession, masquerading as a story of true love, and not taking no for an answer because I assume she is used to getting what she wants when she wants it. We will discuss the original Little Mermaid in contrast to the 1989 version. From dinglehoppers and thingamabobs to a contract that essentially changes Ariel from a mythical sea creature to a human. Today, A Maid of the Sea, Old and New. 

Ariel is the youngest daughter of the Sea King, obsessed with the human world. Mermaids are allowed to swim to shore to see life on land, once they hit 15. As soon as Ariel does, she sees a very handsome young Prince and is in the position to save his life from a shipwreck. So far so good. She then becomes obsessed, I think because nobody knows she saved his life. The Prince ends up believing a neighboring princess did the deed. If only she could show that Prince it was her, she would win his attention or even love. Let’s pause for a second. Doesn’t this sound familiar? I’ve done this for you, you should love me! As if love were a reward for good deeds. I’ve heard men and women complain because the object of their affection did not return these feelings. Their argumentation includes all the things they have done for them. I did this, they owe me love. Tsssss. That surely can’t be the way you want to be loved.

 Ok, getting back to the story. Ariel is becoming obsessed with getting this guy’s attention. Also, she wants to be human, because, in the original story, humans have eternal souls, whereas mermaids live to be 300 and then turn into sea foam. But it was mostly the guy. She claimed to be in love and to love him more than she loved her parents. She exclaimed she trusted him with her life. This is a clear example of why adolescents should not be allowed to get married. This is also a great public service announcement for therapy. Psychoanalysis could help her work through these obsessions, help her accept who she is, her tail, and fate. Realizing what freedom means and truly considering the consequences of her actions. I mean, changing who you are to be loved, nay, be noticed, undergoing mutilation so the guy looks your way for the chance to say: I saved you, you owe me love. This plan does not hold water. Enter the Sea Witch. 

This creature knows the workings of magic and mystical things, the world above the sea, and the way things are below. In the original version of the story, she tells Ariel how idiotic this plan is and that giving up her cushy life below the sea was not worth a little driftwood, a sausage taco, a roll in the hay… you get what I’m saying. In both versions of the story, Ariel loses her voice. In the original one, she loses her tongue and her voice. This is done in exchange for her legs. The transformation in the 1989 version is pretty magical but in the original story, it is really painful. This is all part of the contract she signs. We need to remember this, she signed a contract. Continue reading

Musing Interruptus is a podcast meant for sharing thoughts and stories and enjoying idiomatic phrases and words in general. You can read along; the transcription is in the description of this episode. The idiomatic expressions are in italics. Try to get the meaning from the context and then look them up to see if you were right. If you like it, share it, but more importantly, continue the conversation. 

Today, I’ve got my mind set on negotiation, problem-solving, and the perils of jumping the gun instead of negotiating a solution. More specifically, the trials and errors of learning how to resist the urge to impose a way forward or give up when the going gets tough.

For some, giving up is as impossible a task as giving in. Never give up is a great motto. However, we need to ensure we are holding on to the right objective. Learning to separate ego and expectations not grounded in reality is a feat in itself. It takes some running into walls and conking our heads a few times to learn. I’m sure some people are naturally talented in this sense. This, of course, is not a lesson for you. For the rest of us, this is a struggle. A lesson I’ve had to learn over and over again in the classroom and relationships. Learning how to get out of your head and let curiosity guide the process of understanding the issues standing between everyone and reaching shared goals. Again, that is one of the starting points, identifying the right goal. That takes time, patience, conversations, and listening hard. Everybody needs something and not necessarily the same thing.

This year I started wondering about the questions we ask to get to know people. The treasures we each hold in the most mundane corners. The keys to our humanity, as it turns out,  are also the keys to collaborating. Being patient from a loving place makes a big difference. I wish I were more patient. I wish I had learned these lessons before and better. Investing in having conversations, asking the right questions, and listening with your whole self, can change your life. The next step is figuring out what to do with that information.

Jumping the gun and jumping to conclusions are typical mistakes. We can avoid these with time, space, and curiosity. It is so easy to listen to our inner voice or voices saying what you think is right, specifically when it comes to other people. Mix that with insecurities and you have a recipe for disaster.  You might be right. The question that begs to be asked is; isn’t it better to be sure? I’d rather have certainty before I make a decision. I like when I’m wrong about people. Specifically, about their motivations. Although it is true, the road to hell is paved with good intentions, many a time, it is the intention that counts. It is so important to see past what we believe to be evident and our own biases. It was true when we were children, it is true now. Not when breaking the law, but other things. Creative things, things that have to do with our love languages, building a community, healing a community. Being soft on people is part of that. Recognizing their humanity and our own. Coming to terms with our fallibility. 

Once we have established the problem and objective (or objectives), progress can be made. This is easier said than done, especially when different cosmovisions and interests are at play. Let’s remember to celebrate the small victories. Meeting at the metaphorical or physical table is a great sign. This seems like a small feat, but it needs to be appreciated. That is a building block. 

A note about the title… excuse the double entendre. That was not my conscious intention. I’m sorry if you were expecting something else. If you are having issues, I recommend you see a urologist, and remember, patience is required as we age. So says Dr. Ruth. Also, with that title... continue reading

Musing Interruptus is a podcast meant for sharing thoughts and stories and enjoying idiomatic phrases and words in general. You can read along; the transcription is in the description of this episode. The idiomatic expressions are in italics. Try to get the meaning from the context and then look them up to see if you were right. If you like it, share it, but more importantly, continue the conversation. 

Hey! You! You there! Where are you going? Can I go with you? Let’s go together. I have nothing better to do than to be with you on this journey. I think this is a good opportunity to talk, as most trips prove to be. We need to have this conversation. I don’t mind if you are not sure where you are going right this moment, but, it would put my mind at ease if you were factoring me in. I wouldn’t like to be in the middle of our journey only to find out you no longer want me to tag along. Then again, that is something to be expected. This could happen, you could wish for me not to tag along anymore. If you and I were not on the same page, I or you would have to get used to the idea of not going anywhere together anymore. 

Perhaps it is better if you go your own way, from the start. That way, we never have to part. That saves me a lot of trouble. If I don’t get used to being around you, I will never suffer your loss. I think that would be a great loss. Reality is, I cannot refuse to go along on this trip. We are in it, you and I, I and you who are now a we. We go along together. At first, it was not easy. Getting used to each other’s smells and habits. Silences broken in sacred places. Those alerts that go off when I most want to sink into my pillow and into my parallel worlds where others await me. Those worlds where distance and time do not matter, just presence of mind and Freudian slips and slights of hand. That is for another musing interruptus. 

Tell me now, where are we going? Tell me how long you will stay. I need to know. It is hard for me not to know. Then again, you don’t know how long I will stay either. It’s funny the way we met. It is like our energy simply melted into each other, or was it that we recognized each other from a past life? Do you believe in that? I wish you could tell me. I would love to know. I would so love to have confirmation of everything that I feel in my heart and think about us. Whatever it is we share. Then I see you, and I don’t need it anymore. I feel the instant confirmation of all my hypotheses. You might think I am mad, but you know my heart. I want to say I know yours. But in comes that uncertainty and uneasy feeling that I have made the whole story up in my head. 

What a thing for you to be you, and me to be me, in this world and to find each other. I wonder if you think about that too. You could have picked anyone else or been picked by someone else. We might not be here, crossing intersections and changing lanes, traveling, sleeping, parting temporarily until it is time to part forever. 

Is it all for just now or is there a forever scenario? Does this transcend the plane of the ephemeral? Are we to be carried out over the waves of time and energy and universes?

This is how I know when I meet somebody that is here to stay. There is a pang, a jolt, like an awakening and the certainty that this was supposed to happen. This was meant to be, projected into the future. Some say they felt struck by lightning or some kind of energy when they met a person or pet. I’ve felt that. The certainty that there will be a story beyond this moment. A confirmation that ushers me through the threshold. Keep going, don’t be afraid. There is no point in resisting this. Maddening as it is, maddening as ever. It would be so much easier to have confirmation, proof, and certainty beyond what I think my heart feels or what my heart thinks my brain knows.  Continue reading