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Posts Tagged ‘silliness’

Or … you know … somewhere that put it in the sun’s path.

What were you doing during The Great American Solar Eclipse (and were you as weirded out by the crazy branding of this natural phenomenon as I was)? I don’t live anywhere near the fabulously-named Path of Totality, but we had good viewing all the same.

I was at work yesterday, but I was totally prepared to ditch obligations and get into a position to experience this moon shadow business. (Oh, and that should have been my title, right? “I’m being followed by a moon shadow …” But “Age of Aquarius” seems more fitting for all the brotherly love that was going on during the viewing party yesterday, so I’m sticking with what I’ve got. Also, I couldn’t stop thinking about A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court. Am I the only one?)

So at about 2:10, my coworker and I led the exodus. We took advantage of our privilege-carrying office ID cards and got uncrowded viewing space inside the gated courtyard across the street. I didn’t have glasses, but the team we share space with had some of those Warby Parker viewing boxes, and they were up for sharing. I was alternatively prepared, however. I’d gone online and determined that I could turn my back to the sun and use the selfie mode on my phone and get some pics that way. And that worked … even though I didn’t realize it had worked until I was home last night. But folks in the courtyard were super generous with sharing their glasses, so I got to see plenty, and I took some pics that way, too.

Here are some of my coworkers in their Warby Parker boxes. I think part of the point of these boxes was really just to make folks look as silly as possible! I couldn’t love this picture more, though. 🙂

I took this by putting some borrowed eclipse glasses over my phone’s camera lens and zooming as far in as I could. Good on my Galaxy 7 for getting this shot for me!

And now it’s #eclipseselfie time! I couldn’t see a thing when I put the phone in selfie mode, so I figured my internet research was a fail. I took a handful of pics anyway, just to show how much nothing I could see. Then I got home and took a closer look and saw that, in every one of the selfies, there was an excellent eclipse reflection captured along with the sun’s glare!

This one’s my favorite. First because I love selfies like this where you can’t really see me because the sun blots me out. But also — because of the angle I’m holding the phone, I guess — the eclipse reflection is so low in the picture and comes out so nicely against the building in the background and right at cheekbone level with me!

What was your eclipse day like? Did you get some of those super fun colander and leaf-shadow pics? (I saw a great one of the eclipse through a vegetable steamer — looked like a mandala!) Hope you were able to get out and enjoy it. We’ll be much closer to the Path of Totality in 2024. Can’t wait!



It’s Slice of Life Tuesday! Head on over to Two Writing Teachers to see what the other slicers are up to!

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Ode to My Hair

Every kinky curl,
every twist and bantu knot,
every minute of
co-washing or detangling,
every hour tucked
in heat cap or satin wrap,
every braid-out and up-do,
every afro-puff,
every pack of Marley hair,
every wide-tooth comb,
every faux tortoise shell pin,
every bad hair day
that looked good on the outside,
every long, long night
with a head of curlformers,
every month’s length check,
discovering cleansing clay,
that first successful
twist and curl — HALLELUJAH! —
first henna treatment,
and YouTube tutorial.

My excellent mane,
most glorious crown of curls,
gives me daily strength,
earns smiles, nods, compliments —
wraps tight coils ’round my heart.

(Obviously, I pronounce “every” like “ev’ry” … I don’t know if that’s actually standard or just “Stacie standard,” but there it is. Hmm … and “coil” is a 2-syllable word in my head. Funny the things you notice about how you say things when you have to pay attention to syllable counts!)

Not an “ode” exactly, but maybe “ode-adjacent.” And silly.

Last night’s bad news has already been turned upside down, so I’m glad I didn’t spend over-long fussing and fuming about it. On to the next!

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A chōka is a Japanese form poem with a specific syllable count per line. The shortest form of chōka  is: 5 / 7 / 5 / 7 / 5 / 7 / 5 / 7 / 7. The 5- and 7-syllable lines can repeat as many times as needed. The poem’s end is signaled by the extra 7-syllable line. The final five lines can be used to summarize the body of the poem.



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Yes, of course I’m still watching April. Tell me you’re not. How are you managing to resist?

But I have other things going on, too. Thank heavens for multi-tasking skills.

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There is a random man I see on my way home from time to time. He’s one of my “bus neighbors,” someone I don’t know but recognize because we’re both regulars on the B65.

He seems a nice enough man, but he drives me crazy because he’s always listening to his music and doesn’t use headphones. Last night I learned that he’s bought himself a little bluetooth speaker!

He plays music I like, for the most part, but that’s not entirely the point. If I’m trying to read or write (or sleep), that music is the bane of my existence. If, like tonight, a song gets caught in my head … GAAAAH!!

Till We Just Can’t

Your repetition
driving me out of my mind.
Same nonsense words, looped
over, over … and again.
You keep telling me
to “get up on the floor” —
you’ve been telling me
near a solid forty years —
If I dance, will you fade out?

This, of course, is utter I’m-so-tired foolishness, but it is also a chōka, and I’m going to take these where I find them until I can get some rest and try to find some deeper inspiration.

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A chōka is a Japanese form poem with a specific syllable count per line: 5 / 7 / 5 / 7 / 5 / 7 / 5 / 7 / 7.



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So, we have:

Woman without her man is nothing.

And also:

Come and eat grandma!

And slowly, even the most stubborn souls begin to see the value of punctuation.

Woman: without her, man is nothing.

Come and eat, grandma!

Oh, what a different a few dots and squiggles can make.

These are famous ones, of course. I was trying to remember a really wonderful one that wound up in print a while ago, and finally found it:

And this is all silly and a good reminder that commas are life savers (I know Ray’s family and dog are grateful for them!) … but there was a story the other day that also proved that a well-placed comma can mean the difference between winning and losing a legal battle.

I’ll admit that I’m a latecomer to the Oxford comma. I was forced to use it in grade school. But I was forced to do a lot of things with my writing in grade school, and many of them I heartily disagreed with and despised. Once I had a little more freedom to write how I wanted, I began to jettison those things I didn’t care for, and the Oxford comma fell by the wayside with the other castoffs. People have argued with me about it quite a bit over the years — which maybe says something about the folks I hang with¹ — but I have remained stubbornly against. I taught English for many years, and I taught the Oxford comma … but also made it clear that a) I didn’t use it myself and b) no one’s grade would be damaged by the decision not to use it.

But then I got my current job. I got this job, and one of the first things I had to do was edit the big, serious report we were producing. And before the editing began, I was asked to put together a style guide so that all of the people who were adding writing could try to have the same set of rules in mind as they worked and so that changes I made to text would all follow clear guidelines.

Making that style guide was, I have to admit, fun for me (which most definitely says something about the kind of person I am!). I saw the guide as my chance to lay down the law, list out my writing pet peeves, make our sleek and shiny report conform to my writing style. (Oh yes, a little power is truly a dangerous thing!)

Pretty quickly in my style-guiding I ran smack into the Oxford comma. And somehow, for reasons I couldn’t explain and can’t explain now, that comma suddenly made sense. Made perfect, why-didn’t-I-ever-see-this-before sense. And I’ve been using it ever since. (Somewhere, my 6th grade teacher is pointing, laughing, and saying, “I told you so!”)



It’s the 10th annual Slice of Life Story Challenge!
Head over to Two Writing Teachers to see all of today’s slices

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¹ This wacky-grammarians-on-my-friend-list business did not extend to the guy who came to a party I threw years ago … who smugly diagrammed the sentences of the people who spoke to him. You may think this is a clever party trick. Trust me when I tell you that it really isn’t.

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(While it would be nice to think my Impostor Syndrome was cut down in the Senate chamber today, I’m pretty sure what I’m about to describe is but a temporary leave-taking. Hope your Ides of March passed smoothly!)

I realized in a conversation today that the other person was trying to impress me, was actually a little nervous talking to me. Me. And at first that made me want to laugh … because … well, you know, it’s me.

But then a thing happened.

I realized he was right: he should want to impress me. Because … well … it’s me. And I thought yes, he should be a bit nervous, too. There was no telling how I might respond to what he had to say after all.

That has certainly not happened before, that kind of all shall love me and despair moment. 😉

In truth, I think where I’m aiming is somewhere between the poster child for low self-esteem and the beautiful and terrible queen. But perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to walk around believing I’m stronger than the foundations of the earth. And all that.



It’s the 10th annual Slice of Life Story Challenge!
Head over to Two Writing Teachers to see all of today’s slices

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Unexpected Pi(e)

For the first time in … ever … I made a pie to honor the day. Our storm that turned out not to be a blizzard meant I had to work with what I had in the house, so no apples, no berries, no any of the kinds of pie I might actually have imaged myself making. No. But I did make that pumpkin soup not long ago, and I still had a can of pumpkin, so …

Happy Pi Day, everyone !

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I don’t know if I’ve ever been a particularly spontaneous person. I’ve had moments here and there, but mostly not so much. Not an impulse buyer. Not a pick up and fly to Tahiti in the middle of a quiet Tuesday traveler. Not.

And I started out writing this because I was going to talk about my extremely mild run at spontaneity today — suddenly throwing out a dinner invitation and meeting up with a dear friend instead of heading home — but then I got distracted by “spur of the moment.”

What an odd thing to say: on the spur of the moment. And I went to The Google to find out the origin, and got this:

Spur of the moment is in the OED along with other definitions of the word “spur”. The first recorded usage was in 1801. Spur also means at haste so perhaps spur of the moment – something done impromptu or with out deliberation grew out of spur in that sense, as in a quick decision.

Something in the moment (the brief period of time when a decision is made or an action is begun) acts as a spur-an incentive, an impetus-much as the literal spurs impel a horse to go. What motivates a “spur of the moment” decision arises quickly, as opposed to long forethought.

And that’s all well and good, but Google gave me something much better. “Spur of the Moment” is, it turns out, the name of one of my favorite episodes of The Twilight Zone, an episode I’d only seen once but thought was really clever. In my head, it’s always been the “Face of Fear” episode, but that would have been way too heavy-handed as a title. Good thing Rod and Richard didn’t ask 18-month-old me!

“Spur of the Moment” was Season 5, episode 21, originally aired on February 21, 1964. As soon as I saw it in the search results, I set my slice-writing aside, went to Hulu and watched the episode. It holds up well enough, I guess. It’s not “The Invaders,” or “Eye of the Beholder” or anything, but it works. As was true when I saw it the first time, what really stands out for me is the repetition-with-a-twist of the opening scene. I like that shift in perspective, like using the same image to say something very different.

Ending my unplanned evening with an unplanned re-acquaintance with some classic TV. My variety of spontaneity is pretty seriously boring! But it pleases me.

Are you a “spur of the moment” kind of person? What things have you done spontaneously? Is your history with spontaneity as undramatic as mine? Do tell!



It’s the 10th annual Slice of Life Story Challenge!

Head over to Two Writing Teachers to see all of today’s slices!

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