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Happy day after yet another way to celebrate and mark the New Year. It's sort of convenient, really, all these chances to reflect and renew. Birthday, birth day (not the same), school year, seasons, calendar year, other people's calendar years....so thanks, Chinese, for yesterday! Bring on the hoppity hop - you don't stop - Year of the Rabbit! And another chance to make resolutions, since that didn't really happen on the ol' January One this year.

I go back and forth on how I feel about the whole idea, how high to make my expectations, how to create resolutions that aren't destined for failure but are still meaningful enough to bother with...you know how it goes. This year I think I'll keep it simple.

Make stuff

Do things

Go places

Dance

Write

Floss

Be

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I like it, but is it art? The age-old debate - one of them, anyway, along with the meaning of life and what's for dinner - of whether or not something is worthy of the title. Art. Full of pretentious weight and a whisper of tweedy elbow patches struggling with black berets, highbrow and lowbrow and a fridge full of kindergarten scrawls. To garfunkel or not to garfunkel, that is the question.

I remember traveling to Florence and seeing Michelangelo's David: on a pedestal in a cupola, alone, lit by a sunbeam from above, much larger than I expected, and oh-so-beautiful. The detail in the hands bringing marble to life and inspiring all sorts of cliched reactions. But - there was a copy out in the piazza, where the original used to live, was meant to live, sculpted as a replacement when David himself was getting too weathered (or something like that, my memory's fuzzy and I haven't bothered checking out the story). Nothing special, really. A little dirty, and just one of a whole row of statues. But put them side by side, cleaned up, and I probably couldn't tell the difference. Or swap them, and the copy in the cupola would seem superior to the original outside.

Context is everything. We see what we expect, and react in ways we're taught. It's really hard to trust ourselves to have a true opinion because of all the baggage. And most art is (or was) meant to be seen in a living setting, a home or a church or the side of a building. Sterilizing it and hanging it in a room full of art changes things. (and hey, all those pristine white Greek temples? were really painted in bright colors) Especially when you're fighting for elbow room with hordes trotting by, video cameras at the ready, recording something they'll never actually watch at home, missing what's right in front of them, and getting right in front of you.

Even so, the chance to see all that is well worth it, and just got better, thanks to Google's Art Project. A video we'll actually watch. It just appeared, but I'm already taking it for granted, planning on using it with students, assuming I can find anything I want online. I like to look at familiar places, and to explore new ones.

It's hard to remember when we didn't have the world at our fingertips. Let's be sure to get the rest of ourselves out there and transform a virtual experience into reality.

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Almost messed up and missed day two - and now it's bedtime and I'm halfway to incoherent with all kinds of things running through the mind. Not sure if I can muster up the juice to be pissed at Palin (we're always a few days late on the news, whether it's from Jon Stewart or the Sunday Times, which usually takes most of the week to get through) or to be fascinated by the idea of brain transplants, which came up in a class discussion today after reading "Flowers for Algernon." And though I'm tired I can hear the sounds of the A-Team in the next room and I'm tempted to stay up and watch, because how can you miss out on that? None of which is leading to a fruitful entry, so here's to writing for the sake of writing, and dreaming sweet dreams, and resisting the lure of Hannibal and Mr. T. Good night.

1 - Start With A Whimper

Well, more like a sigh. I decided at some point that I wanted to see what would happen if I posted every day, and chose February as the time to start. Total coincidence that it's the shortest month! Of course, having decided that, I kept it quiet because if nobody else knows about something it's easier to quit. But I met in circle today with the girls, and stated it out loud as my intention, so here we are. Nothing to say, really, but I had to send something out there into the great unknown. Here's hoping I tap into my inner Hamlet-monkey, or else this will be a month of wasted words words words...

Buddha, Jesus, and George Carlin Walk Into a Bar

(I'm sorry to say I don't actually have a joke to go with that opening; maybe I'll work on a punchline and get back to you) (or maybe Steve Martin will write a play and save me the trouble)

'Tis the season to fret about stuff. It's actually been on my mind a lot lately, as we try to turn our house into more of a space we actually love, a home that is functional and fun. The problem is that no matter how much surface area is available, it gets covered with clutter. Adding more space just invites more piles. We need containment, carefully planned out containment.

But: what I really need is a willingess to let go. Somehow I have developed a sort of modern version of Depression-era stockpiling. Drawers full of old rubber bands and matchboxes with one match and too many glass jars because they might come in handy some day! Clothes I've had since high school but haven't worn since college but still like! Mountains of used padded envelopes in case I need to send lots of fragile things in the mail! Candy canes from three years ago that are finally in season again!

It's the treehugging solar-powered locavore in me: I just can't throw things away. I can reuse and recycle with the best of them, but I hate waste. I still get sad when we let the spinach go bad, but at least it gets composted. I'm getting better about giving things away for someone else to use, but that's where I run into my attachment issues. Having moved a lot and culled a lot, I hit a wall at some point and just want to keep the stuff I still have. Because, you know, I like it. Or I liked it at some point. Or it has meaning, it was a gift, it's an emotional connection to a person, place, or time. I blame Black Friday, instead of Black Tuesday.

But it's time to let it go. Embrace Craigslist, Freecycle, Goodwill. As I'm bombarded with commands to buy, to do it for Jesus (Happy Birthday!), I'm going to listen to the Buddha instead. Or maybe George Carlin, with a twist: "How come your shit is stuff and everybody else's stuff is shit?" Or hell, even the bumper sticker on my car: "The best things in life aren't things."

It's a little sad to admit that when I threw away (recycled!) the wrapping paper from xmas presents yesterday, I felt a small thrill. It was like I was doing something daring and not-quite-kosher. It was wrong, but oh-so-right. Now if only I can bring myself to do the same with the bags full of old wrapping paper in the attic... (but what if there's a birthday, and I need to wrap something?!)

New Year's Resolution: get rid of at least one thing every day. And then stop thinking about it!

On hold, maybe

I've been feeling like taking a social network/blog break lately. People always go on about how the internet connects them and blah blah blah. It's true, sort of. I'm more in touch now with some old friends (and some other random people) and I sure do spend a lot of time online, mostly happily and without too much fallout. But. I think right now I want to put that energy into my actual flesh-and-blood life.

On the other hand, I may well get sucked back in at anytime. So. This may or may not be an announcement that I'm taking a break. See you soon, or in a while, or even later than that.

Suffragette City

Some food for thought on Election Day:

American women have been voting for less than a century. The 19th Amendment was passed in 1920, a hard-won victory that was a long time coming. (Iron Jawed Angels is a great film about it.) That's in the realm of oral history. It still kind of shocks me how recently that happened, and how we take it for granted.

New Zealand is usually mentioned as the first nation to give women suffrage, in 1893, but a handful of places did it in colonial times (New Jersey, Pitcairn Island) and didn't implode or bring the heavens shattering down upon themselves.

Swiss women didn't get the right to vote until 1971. That's almost in my own lifetime. For better or for worse, we expect that in places like Saudi Arabia (still no vote for the ladies), but Switzerland?! I thought they were so civilized.

Of course, I sort of thought we were civilized too, until the recent craziness took over the airwaves. At least we have Jon Stewart.

I almost didn't vote in this election, because I've felt shamefully uninformed lately, but I just couldn't let it go. I waffle between feeling really strongly about what's going on - to head to D.C. for the Rally (no, not Glenn Beck's!), to get out and canvass, to make my voice heard loudly and in possibly offensive rhyme - and feeling sort of apathetic, or maybe hopeless, about the whole shebang. But even though I didn't march, I felt something run through me when I dropped my ballot off.

So thank you, Susan and Lucy and Lydia and Elizabeth and Alice and Inez and Victoria and all the others who made it possible.