Science Saturday

 www.bugguide.net

This website is the best!

I don't know why it makes me so happy to find out

the names of the bugs in my yard, but it does.

Valley Carpenter Bee

Xylocopa varipuncta

And she's a female!

I love that there is someone in the world who knows that.

 I bet you thought this was a Flame Skimmer.

You're wrong.

It is a Neon Skimmer - Libellula croceipennis. 

Duh!

(Do the kids still say that these days?)

Green Lynx Spider

Peucetia viridans

or

Peucetia longipalpis

It is still being hotly debated.

I'm hoping for longipalpis because that is much more fun to say.

Silver Garden Spider

Argiope argentata

(I still see a monkey giving us the finger.)

Scudder's Bush Katydid

Scudderia furcata

(sounds like an Italian curse word)

or

Scudderia mexicana

He's a male.

Okay kids.  Class dismissed.

The question is not what you look at, but what you see. 

Henry David Thoreau

I Wait

The photo is called "I wait" by the photographer Julia Margaret Cameron (1815-1879).

And that is what I am doing.  I wait.  I can't make a decision right now.   I don't know why and I don't have to know why.  I just wait. 

I do believe in my own intuitive sense.  There have been times when something feels right and I have followed that leaning and it brought me to the place I was supposed to be.  I can wait for that again.

Dog Love

Duke and Satchmo.  Boxer mixes.  Brothers.  Adopted them when they were 10 years old.  Duke made it to 12.  Satchmo to 13.  Both died of cancer.  One of the vets told us that Boxers tend to be "tumor factories."  They had severe separation anxiety.  Duke was extremely dog aggressive (not with Satchmo.)  They were a huge pain in the ass.  But I loved those dogs.  They gave me so much joy.  I still get teary-eyed when I think about sitting with Satchmo when the vet put him down.

Haven't had a dog since.  It's been almost 7 years.  Didn't deliberately decide not to get another dog.  Just moved and couldn't have them and then acquired a cat.  Decided recently to get another dog.  Thought to myself, "I know they make me happy.  What am I waiting for?"

They do make me happy.  Always have.  I was the kid who would bring the stray dogs home and beg to keep them even though I knew we never could.  It is a simple, buoyant heart-happiness.  Gives me joy like nothing else in the world.

Met a bonded pair of dogs at the Human Society.  A Golden Retriever and a Chihuahua.  They tried to separate them because it is always easier to adopt single dogs.  But the Golden can't live without her little friend.  They didn't make my heart sing, but their story touched me.  Lived in the cement backyard of a family for all four years of their life.  Both have health problems that were left untreated, including callouses that form after years and years of a dog never having a soft place to sit or lie down.  Both will have treatable, but not curable, health conditions for the rest of their lives.

The woman at the shelter seemed to say that if we decide to get them, we have to take them right away.  Even though it would be better if we could take them home on a Friday and spend a couple of days bonding with them before we have to leave them alone during the work day.  If we had to take them, we could work that out, but it wouldn't be ideal.  But there's nothing ideal about them sitting around the shelter, right?  Even though it is the Humane Society and they have their own doggie condo, with furniture, dog beds and TV.  But the woman was pushy.  It somehow bent me the wrong way.  I left there feeling sad and doubting if this was the right thing to do at all.

And now I've spun into all sorts of doubts and uncertainties.  Am I really ready for this commitment?  Should I only get one dog instead, even though the landlord said it was okay to get two and wouldn't it be great to rescue two dogs?  Should I wait for that love that shoots you through the heart?  And I just feel bad and guilty about the whole thing.  Maybe I really don't want to have a dog that needs eye drops 4-10 times a day.  And I've just wasted everyone's time.  I feel bad for these dogs, but do I really want to take them into my home because I feel bad?

It is a sad, dreary day.  Clouds covering everything.  I hate when something small pushes you in a bad direction and all of the gloomy things you think about yourself come creeping out.  I have been through this enough to recognize what it is.  Just on the downswing in the mood playground and the up will come again.  So I know it is not simply about the dogs.  I just won't make any decisions while I'm feeling this way.  And I'll do what I can to get that swing headed back up again.

Photo by Angie from Sawara, Chiba-ken, Japan

This file is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 License.
 

Yea, I know.  The logic of this is messed up.  Dogs make me happy.  But I'm feeling bad so I won't get the dogs.  It's not logical.  It just is.

Black Bee

It has been a while since I've taken any pictures of bugs.  This is from May of 2009.  I never got around to posting it.  If you click on the pictures, you can really see the details.

Two things I found out while searching for the identity of this creature:

1.  There's a website where you can post pictures of bugs and people will try to identify them for you.  I am so excited by this!!!!  www.bugguide.net

2.  Black Bee is a position in the Karma Sutra.  I'll leave it to you to find out more about that if you are interested.

winter fires

Sat in my backyard this morning and watched the hummingbirds and bees have a little pollen rave on this flowering bush.  I don't know what this is called but it blooms like crazy this time of year.

 

Just spent 20 minutes trying to find out what it is.  It might be a Hummingbird Trumpet.

I feel very fortunate that I can still see blooming flowers and hear the birds sing while the rest of the country is either buried in snow or just plain freezing.  I really have to remember to appreciate it and take more walks.

I know that there is a natural rhythm to the seasons.  Winter is a time of going inside, letting the earth rest, slowing down and being quiet.  But I remember that winters for me were just dark.  Dark for a very long time.

Nocturne:Grey and Gold - Snow in Chelsea (1876) by James McNeill Whistler

I think that I might be able to handle it better now.  (Easy to say, here in my sunny, 72 degree day.)  I know that I would have to face winter differently.  Instead of burying myself deeper, trying to hide from the darkness, I would have to embrace winter's brighter moments.  Take walks on brisk, sunny days.  Find ways to play in the snow like we did as kids.  Spend those dark nights in a circle of warmth and laughter with family and friends.

Light fires.  That's it.  I would have to keep remembering to light fires in my life.  It is easy for me to stop.  To hide.  To let darkness surround me.  If I keep lighting fires, I might be able to confine the darkness to a smaller corner of my world.  I couldn't banish it entirely.  It will always be there, I know.  It is because I have known the dark that I am now more able to greet the light with such joy and gratitude. 

For those of you who are in the midst of your dark and cold winter - keep trying to light fires.  Spring always comes.  Really.  It does.

Photo by Ryan Mahle from Sherman Oaks, CA, USA

This file is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 License.

Don't just do something, sit there!

Believe it or not, I have another airport shuttle ride story.  Yes, the same shuttle ride home from the airport with Mr. Who's on First.  It was a long, strange trip, my friends.

We were taking an exit to get from one main freeway to another.  The exit is one lane that curves around to the right.  Suddenly up ahead there was a pickup truck with its front end smashed in, halfway into our lane and facing the wrong way.  I noticed it first, so I  pointed it out to the driver from the backseat to make sure he could avoid hitting it.  It was a dark color and that exit speed is very fast.  He swerved around and kept driving.  Which was absolutely the right thing for him to do.  I would never in a million years have trusted him to stop safely on that curved road with one lane and high speed traffic.  It would have been dangerous for anyone to try that.

Three other passengers in the van said, "Hmmm. Weird." They all craned their necks to stare at the smashed truck as we passed it.  Then they settled back in their seats and did nothing.  I was the only one frantically searching in my bag for my cell phone so I could call 911.

What is that about?!  Did it not occur to them that the smashed truck might have a person in it?  Or that it was almost inevitable that some other car would fly around that curve too fast and hit it since the truck was jutting out halfway into the only lane?   Did they really think they didn't have to do anything?

Is there something about being a passenger, being driven and not in control of the vehicle that makes people more passive?  Or maybe they were all just tired after a long day of traveling.  We were actually all on the same plane that arrived late because of an aborted landing.

I don't know.  I almost didn't write about this because I feel like I am being very judgmental.  I just found it unsettling that not one of the four seemingly capable adults in that van seemed to think anything should be done.  After we passed the smashed truck, they were all quiet and acted as if nothing had happened.  I was in the last row of seats in the back, so only the man sitting next to me could see what I was doing.  When I finally found my phone (it took me a minute) and dialed 911, he casually asked, "Are you calling 911?"

I nodded yes.  I thought of shouting loudly, "I AM A WOMAN OF ACTION!"  But I didn't have my cape or bracelets with me, so I just would have sounded crazy.  (Airport security is suspicious of such things, so I try not to carry them when traveling.  Have you ever tried to get a magic Lasso of Truth past an X-ray machine...not easy, my friends.) 

There is no real resolution to this story.  I called 911 and told them about the smashed truck and where it was located.  We drove on and all made it home safely (eventually.)  The next day I looked in the news to see if there were any stories about an accident, but did not find any.  It was just one of the things that made the shuttle ride one of the strangest I have ever taken.

Super Shuttle Muddle

I was going to try to write a long, funny description of my shuttle ride home from the airport.  But I think I've lost interest in trying to convey the weirdness of it.  I do, however, have a question.

Part of what made the trip interesting was that the shuttle driver was astoundingly inept.  Really, it was almost a comedy routine - you'd say left, he'd go right.  You tell him Jones Street, he says, "Okay, Smith Street!"  He brought the first passengers to the wrong hotel.  They said Holiday Inn.  He drove to the Hyatt.  I had the feeling that we could make up our own "Who's on First" routine with him:

Left, right?
Right.
[He turns right.]
No, left!
You said right!
Right is correct, not right.  Just take a left up here.
Right!
No, left!
No lefts?  There's no sign for that.
There's no sign at all.
Right.
No, left!

The whole time he seemed to be cheerfully unaware of his own incompetence.  He didn't acknowledge or try to apologize when he made a mistake.  He didn't have any kind of attitude about it.  He simply would take our repeated corrections and change course. 

So my question is this:

Would you complain about him to the shuttle company?   He wasn't necessarily unsafe and definitely not unpleasant.  He was just ridiculously inept.  It wasn't a language issue and it didn't seem to be about intelligence.  He pointed out a local high school that he recognized because he had kids who played there in the past.  So I think he was a local.

The guy is 65 years old (I looked at his ID badge.)  He should be bouncing grandchildren on his lap, not driving an airport shuttle at 11 PM on a Wednesday night.  So he must need this job, right?  It is obviously NOT a job that plays to his strengths, but who am I to screw with his life?  And I was actually laughing most of the time and marveling at his fascinating level of ineptitude.  So I didn't have much of a reason to complain.   But do I owe it to future passengers and/or the shuttle company to give them honest feedback when there is a problem?

I know what my answer is.  I am wondering what others think.

I was the last one to be dropped off at home and I asked him, "Does that GPS work?"  (There was a little GPS unit mounted to the dash.) He answered with a chuckle, "It does when I turn it on!"

All Hail Kale

Last night's dinner: Frozen Grocery Store Pizza

Tonight's dinner: Roasted vegetables (beets, parsnips, turnips, carrots, onions, garlic, brussel sprouts - roasted with parsley, rosemary and thyme from my back yard) and store-bought sesame baked tofu.

Which dinner should I have more often?  Hmmmmm? 

 

The star of my night, though, was the Roasted Kale.  I have never eaten Kale before.  Got the recipe from Persephone's awesome blog.  It was SO INCREDIBLY GOOD it deserves those capital letters.  I can't tell you how EXCITED I am about how DELICIOUS it was.   Mmmmmmm...kale.  I am going to cook it every week.  It is a beautiful dark green color so you know it has to be good for you. 

I did not get a picture of it cooked because I ate it all up immediately.  But there it is raw, sitting next to what I think is a turnip.

I also got the roasted vegetable idea from Persephone's blog.  Cooked it for my sister's family while I was home for the holidays and they all loved it.  I wouldn't look twice at turnips, brussel sprouts or beets (yuck!) before, but everything tastes great when you roast it with olive oil, salt and pepper, and fresh herbs.  Really.  I promise.  (Even the beets.)

Thank you Persephone!

Happy New Year

If the day and night are such that you greet them with joy and life emits a fragrance like flowers and sweet scented herbs - that is your success.

Henry David Thoreau

Wishing everyone abundant joy and "success" in the New Year.

Be thankful and stop complaining

This evening my flight home was a bit delayed.

We were heading in for a landing and flying through a thick blanket of clouds.  Suddenly, the plane pulls up and climbs again.  That is an odd feeling when you have been descending for so long and you are expecting a landing any minute.  Ten minutes later the Captain tells us we are going to a nearby airport instead.  He says that they couldn't see the runway and so could not complete the landing.

People are such whiners.  Many of the passengers were bent out of shape about the situation.

Were any of you just listening?!  When the Captain can't see the runway, I think I'm going to side with him on the Not Landing decision.

One young man, not more than twenty and a new recruit in the military, was traveling with some of his buddies (they were not in uniform.) We'll call him PFC Grouchy Pants.  He was complaining that the Captain must be an idiot.  He couldn't believe we did not land.  He couldn't believe how stupid that guy must be.  He didn't have an aggressive edge to his complaining.  He just seemed like one of those people who likes to complain and wants others to join in.  He started to say how he had not had a cigarette since the morning.  I smiled at him and said, "Is that why you are so bitchy?"  I really did say this.  It didn't phase him.  He enthusiastically agreed.  "Yea!  That is why I am so bitchy!" 

I can understand having some negative feelings about the inconvenience of it all.  We were going to be two hours later than expected and many people had rides waiting for them.  PFC Grouchy Pants had to check back in from leave by midnight or he would be AWOL.  But c'mon people!  There is a really good reason for this to be happening and you should THANKING that pilot for not acting like some reckless, Top Gun maniac.

At the nearby airport, we are told that they will refuel and head back to our airport to give it another try.  There is a stink of discontentment in the air.  People are still grumbling even though we will eventually get to where we are going.  The stressed out flight crew is doing the best they can to manage the crowd.

We finish refueling.  We land safely.  I tell PFC Grouchy Pants to smile because we made it.  He says he'll smile as soon as he has a cigarette in his mouth.  Pissy passengers unload. 

So when I got off the plane, I wrote the crew a note.  My note said:

Dear Captain, First Officer and Crew,
Thank you for making our safety a priority over our convenience.  We all get to go home to our loved ones tonight and that is what really matters.  Don't listen to the complainers.  They don't appreciate what is really important in life.  Thank you and Happy New Year!

As I was writing it, one of the crew came to the counter at the gate to use the computer there.  He saw me writing my note.  When I finished writing, I asked him how I can get the note to the Captain.  He said that he was the co-pilot and could give it to him, but he didn't look very excited about the prospect.  He probably thought I was writing a nasty letter of complaint.  I handed it to him and told him that I just wanted to say thank you for keeping us safe.  He looked at the note and then smiled.

(Later I will write about the completely bizarre shuttle ride that I took from the airport.  But it is late and now I should sleep.)

Cell phone update

Update on this post.

The Zombies did not eat my brains.  The T-Mobile store in my neighborhood is still standing.  The Boots of Thunder were not used.  (Too bad.)  The boring update is that I ended up staying with Verizon with a lower cost plan that is month to month.  And I DID keep my old phone!  That's a victory, right?

The fun part of this update is that I found the first cell phone that I ever used.  It isn't quite Gordon Gekko size, but it is pretty darn big.  The pictures show my current two year old cell phone on the left and the one from 2001 on the right.

I love how huge it is.  But the best part is below:

I bet you WISH your phone had its own pull-out antenna.  Admit it.  You are jealous.

And somehow this makes me think of Dr. Horrible's Sing Along Blog.  If you haven't seen it, you should watch it.  The first part is below:

It looks like it is no longer available to view through Hulu or on the Dr. Horrible website - the Zombies want you to buy the DVD now.  But you can find all parts of it on this YouTube channel.  Watch it.  Neil Patrick Harris is hilarious.

Schmawkward is mine

I bought him.

I couldn't resist.

Part of the description from the seller explained that it is old and some paint is flaking off.  

It said "...expect imperfections."  

I should put that on my name tag.

Schmawkward

Update on Operation Enthusiastic Cupcake.

The operation is still in effect.  However, the execution of the plan has been lacking.  I had a stretch in September when I managed not to volunteer at all.  I was having trouble getting motivated to do much of anything.  But I have since started up again.

I now know just a handful of the staff names and they recognize me when I come.  I know Miss J, Miss L, Miss J and tonight I met Miss P.  I would bet they don't know my name. (If only a certain someone would send me my fabulous name tag - hint, hint!) 

It's funny that I seem to have the ability to learn and remember the names of the children very quickly.  By the end of each night I usually know 5-10 new names.  I do try to pay attention whenever I hear one of the staff use a child's name.  It is extremely helpful in getting the attention of a 2 to 6-year-old when you know their name.  "Hey, kid!" doesn't work so well.  Tonight there was L, L, A, I, P, and A.   I didn't get the names of three others.  But I'm not Rainman.  It is all short term memory.  I might remember one or two names if they still happen to be there the following week.  But more often than not, I need to be reminded.

I admit I have to work a little harder to remember the staff names.   And clearly, I need to ask more often.  I had a nice conversation a week ago with one of the women about how much I regret not taking Spanish in high school. (Stupid, useless French classes.  Monsieur Lawrence, je regrette tout!)   One of the young boys didn't understand anything I said, but this woman was bilingual and could communicate with him.  She encouraged me to learn. Said it's not too late. She's right.  We had a good chat.  But I didn't ask her name! 

Besides the four staff names that I do know, there are two women and one man who have been there frequently.  I should know their names by now, but I don't.  We are at that odd point where we have seen each other many times and we recognize each other, so it now seems awkward to ask them what their names are.  But awkward schmawkward - I just need to do it.  That will be my next mission.  Learn the names of any staff member who is working while I am there and introduce myself to them.

I also need to work on my friendly chatting skills. I am just not very talkative normally and it is not my natural inclination to start conversations with people.  I can do it and I am genuinely a pleasant person.  But it doesn't come naturally to me. So each time I go I have to remind myself to be more gregarious than my comfort level usually allows. I sometimes try to pump myself up by smiling maniacally while driving there from work. You should try it sometime. Force your face into an exaggerated grin showing as many teeth as possible and hold it there for a while. I probably look crazy but it helps me to feel goofy and loosens me up a little.

Schmawkward.  I just liked that word after I wrote it, so I used it as the title of this post.  It sounds like it should be the name of a German chicken in a children's book.  Schmawkward von Cluckenstuffer.  He gets into all sorts of mischief because he has a touch of Asperger's and has trouble relating to the other barnyard animals.

Poor Schmawkward.

This is actually a "Vintage 70s RIDICULOUS EGG HEAD Plastic Necklace Pack of 3" on sale at Etsy. 

It could be Schmawkward, though.

Blessing

Beannacht

On the day when

the weight deadens

on your shoulders

and you stumble,

may the clay dance

to balance you.

And when your eyes

freeze behind

the gray window

and the ghost of loss

gets in to you,

may a flock of colours,

indigo, red, green,

and azure blue

come to awaken in you

a meadow of delight.

When the canvas frays

in the currach of thought

and a stain of ocean

blackens beneath you,

may there come across the waters

a path of yellow moonlight

to bring you safely home.

May the nourishment of the earth be yours,

may the clarity of light be yours,

may the fluency of the ocean be yours,

may the protection of the ancestors be yours.

And so may a slow

wind work these words

of love around you,

an invisible cloak

to mind your life.

from Anam Cara by John O'Donohue

Moonrise by Stanisław Masłowski, 1884

Today's important life lesson - Knowing the lyrics is always optional

Itchy nose 

+ 

Ukulele skillz 

+ 

natural and complete unselfconsciousness of a child 

= 

makes me smile

We should all be this free and joyful.

He's singing "I'm Yours" by Jason Mraz.  See Jason's take on it at his blog =
Itchy faced kid does amazing rendition of I'm Yours 

And if you are ever in need a 19-letter word,
go ahead and use the one in this post.

Old is the New New (huh?)

I have never understood the attraction of shopping the day after Thanksgiving (Black Friday) or the day after Christmas (does this one have a name?)  I just can't imagine a single appealing aspect to all of that frantic energy and the teeming crowds fueled by lack of sleep and an unsettling sense of entitlement.  People must be infected with some kind of deranged and overgrown case of the Gimmes for another human being to be trampled to death at a Walmart.  No "deal" that you can get could possibly be worth it.  As I have stated before - I would rather disembowel myself with a rusty spork and then set my intestines on fire than participate in that brand of madness.

But I'm not immune to the consumer culture that we live in.  My two-year cell phone plan expires in about eight days.  My phone is probably two years old.  I typically use less than 200 minutes per month.  I'm not a talker.  (I prefer to communicate through interpretive dance.)

But when it's time to renew my cell phone plan, my first thought is "Oooh...I can get a new phone!"  They always offer free phones when you sign up for another two-year contract.  It's fun to get something new.  It will be all shiny.  I'll get to play around with it like a new toy to figure out all of its buttons and gadgets.  I consider that fun.  I'm kind of a geek like that.

But then it will sit in my bag.  Sit on the table at home.  Sit on my desk at work and I will hardly use it.  And my old phone will become just more electronic waste in this world.

Gordon Gekko should have kept this phone.  It could also be used as a barbell.

It is so seductive and insidious.  I don't consider myself a materialistic person, but in this case I was almost blindly sucked into the genius marketing that is all around us, telling us:

"New is better!"

"Just throw it away and get another one!"

"You deserve it!"

Now that I have given it more thought, there is no good reason to stop using my current cell phone.  I plan to walk into a T-Mobile store, show them my old phone and ask them if it can be used with their calling plan.  (They have a cheaper plan than Verizon and no contract.)

I am fully expecting the salesperson to automatically switch into all out Zombie Sales Mode (they try to eat your brains) and offer me some fabulous way to get a shiny! new and improved! fully gadget-ized! phone for free.  Free!!!  He will flash his fancy electronics in front of me and hope that the blinking digital screens and melodious ring tones will lull my brain into a somnolent stupor (mmmmm.....shiny) so he can sign me up for a phone that will make my life finally worth living and turn me into a new and improved, better version of myself.  Come on!  Don't I deserve it?

I will thwart him with the Luddite Laser-Stare that I've been perfecting back at headquarters and I'll use my Power Bracelets to deflect the sparkly trance-rays right back at him.   If that doesn't work, I'll turn to the trusty Lasso of Truth to get him to answer my simple question - "Can I use this 2-year-old phone or not?!"  I may or may not use my Boots of Thunder to cause a seismic disturbance and bring the whole building down in order to spare the other poor saps from falling into their brain-eating clutches.  It depends on my mood.

Zombie Sales Boy had better hope I'm having a pleasant day.

Oh Danny Boy

Friday night when I volunteered, I played with a number of the children.  But a 2-year-old named Danny* stuck out for me.

He was there last week and needed a staff person with him constantly.  He had trouble with hurting other kids for no reason.  Well...I'm sure he sometimes had his reasons.  He would reach out and grab and pinch other children or hit them.  He needed to be watched at every moment and redirected to do "nice touch."  This week he was much better.  He didn't need someone watching him like a hawk.  He still wanted to resolve problems by hitting, but he wasn't indiscriminately trying to hurt others.

He found a small rubber ball (too big to choke on.)  He began to throw it around the playroom and chase after it while it bounced crazily around.  I tried to get him to play a game with me of rolling it along the floor back and forth to each other.  He was hip to the game for about thirty seconds.  Throwing and chasing was much more fun.

At first there were not many other children in the playroom, so his throwing was moderately safe.  As more children came in, it became a bigger problem.  There was a very good chance someone would be hit with it and a few of the other children wanted to chase the ball too.  Danny got very upset if another kid went near his ball.  He's not very verbal so he screeches loudly to show his displeasure and gets close to throwing a tantrum.  We mediated a few spats and asked the older kids to let him play by himself.  But it kept happening.  And Danny was getting more and more ramped up.

I finally knelt down next to him and told him, "Danny, no more throwing the ball.  You can hold on to your ball, but there are too many people in here. So no more throwing, okay?"  He was wiggling and whining as I talked to him and I was aware that at his age, he was not able to fully understand what I told him.  He did stop throwing the ball for about a minute.  I was shocked it worked at all.

So, as is completely understandable for his age, he started throwing the ball again.  I made an executive decision.  I took the ball away from him and told him, "We are done with the ball.  No more ball."  Now that I write it down it sounds mean.  But it wasn't!  I said it as nicely as I could, but also firmly.  I wasn't going to give him a long explanation or try to reason with him.  It needed to stop and he needed it to stop.  He was getting really worked up each time another child tried to get his ball.  I took the ball out of the playroom and put it on a shelf in the kitchen area - in a different room, completely out of sight.

When I came back, he was throwing a small fit.  I tried to get his attention with some new excitement - "Danny, want to go play with CARS?!"  He kept screeching and throwing his fit.  I walked across the room and sat in a chair to give him time to calm down.  Then he surprised me.  He got up and walked over to me.  He sat himself in my lap and snuggled close to me while he cried. "Awwww, it's okay," I told him.

He was crying and snuggling, and he seemed to be agitated by the other kids being nearby and looking at him.  So I took him to a seat in a corner further away from the general chaos.  It hit me then what a shame it was that he had to be there.  At that moment, he really needed to be brought to a quiet room by himself to calm down from all the stimulation.  But it wasn't going to happen.

The center is just not set up that way or staffed for that.  Everything is a group activity.  Volunteers cannot be alone with the children.**  I have to stay where the staff people are.  From what I have seen, the staff rarely take children off  to be by themselves.  They are always together in a group (except when sleeping when there are only 2-4 in the same room.)  Each staff person usually has one to three children who they are mainly responsible for.  But they still do everything together.  It doesn't seem like they have a mechanism in place for one to say to another, "This child needs some quiet time. Can you watch my other two for half an hour?"  Unless a child is having a total meltdown and then he is taken to his room.  It's too bad they can't do it before total meltdown happens.

I could be wrong since I am only there a few hours a week.  But it seems that the overall thinking is geared towards the needs of the group and less towards the individual needs of the child.  And maybe it is impossible for it to be any other way?  (No.  It could be different.  So says know-it-all Kathy.)

So the best that Danny was going to get that night was a slightly calmer corner of a loud and boisterous room.  Poor kid.  He is safe there and will get so many of his basic needs met.  But he is one of many and lots of things will be overlooked.   He deserves to have someone who loves him looking after his individual needs.  I hope that happens for him soon.

*I never use real names.

**We have been given long, thorough background checks before we are able to volunteer.  My fingerprints were run by the state and the FBI.  But I do understand the policy of not letting volunteers be alone with the children.  With that age group, the staff has to constantly keep a count of children and can't have volunteers wandering off with them.  Also, volunteers are given NO training. That's right - NONE.    (I've got a draft post with a whole rant about the volunteer coordinator and what a crappy, half-assed job this person does - but we don't have to get into that.)  So I understand keeping the volunteers supervised.  Just because we can pass a background check, doesn't mean we know anything about children or how to treat them.  And with zero training, the staff should be required to keep an eye on us.  Just because you are not a criminal, doesn't mean you're not a jackass.

I don't follow

I've been messing around with my blogger account today and figuring out how to follow blogs and add them to a reader.  I've been geeking out like this for at least an hour (okay, maybe two hours.)  I tend to investigate all possible settings and gadgets, just to see what they do.

So I have a question.  I used to bookmark blogs that I read.  But now that I follow them, what is the deal?  Is it considered proper Blogger etiquette to follow someone if they are following your blog?  Because I really DO NOT WANT people to follow me just because I follow them.   It is just not necessary.  Please, please and pretty please don't do it.  I beg you.  Only follow me if you are truly interested in what I have to say.  It would feel disingenuous to me and why waste your own precious time?

And so, as I emerge from my two hour techno-trance,  my right brain is tired of being ignored.  Here is my No Follow plea in poetry form:

A limerick:

Please and please don't follow me

If I am not your cup of tea

Life is too brief

So don't be a thief

Stealing time from yourself, what folly!

The old classic:

Roses are red

Violets are blue

Don't follow me

just cuz I follow you.

Haiku:

How much time, really?

Do not waste one waking breath

on scattering words

(Okay, maybe my right brain was just tired.)

Original depiction of fictional anthropomorphic rabbit from 

the first chapter of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, 1865

Later
And another thing- 
Please don't feel obligated to leave a comment on my blog just because I have left a comment on yours.  Again, it is just not necessary.  Comment if you feel like commenting. That's it.  And feel free to read along and never, ever comment. That is perfectly fine too.

So does this go against some sort of blogging community rules?  Am I being an online social misfit?  I guess I don't care if I am.  It takes time and energy to write comments.  I don't want anyone to do it out of a sense of obligation, especially if what they are saying has no real meaning to them and they are just doing it to be nice.  Save your time and energy for things that really matter to you.  Engage in a comment conversation when you really are moved to do it. 

I have this whole sonnet in Middle English about commenting prepared....nah...I'll spare you.