So it's Leap Day. It only comes once every four years. An extra day to balance out the calendar.
But what if we didn't have leap day? How long would it take before spring slid backwards into winter and winter slid into the season we traditionally know as summer?
I'm no mathemetician, but wouldn't it take just 120 years (30 days multiplied by a 4 year interval) before our whole calendar backed up a full month? Of course, that means that the difference within the average person's lifetime would hardly be noticeable. Two, maybe three, weeks over the course of seventy-some years. But after three and a half centuries, school would start as winter moved in, and Washington DC's famous cherry blossoms would bloom closer to July 4th than April Fool's Day. Trick or Treaters would have plenty of daylight for making their rounds, and they wouldn't have to bundle up to keep out the fall chill.
It would take more like 700 years before people would start to associate Christmas with heat and humidity rather than frost and snow. (Would Santa have to trade in his red coat and hat for a summer suit? Could the reindeer handle the heat?) And how would fireworks look bursting in vibrant color over a snowy white landscape? People wouldn't give a second thought to trees shedding their leaves in April, and spring flowers blooming in October. Confused yet?
Such a shift would certainly do a lot for the public image of the dreary, cold winter months, not to mention the hot, steamy months at the peak of summer. Imagine a balmy, sun-filled day, perfect for spending an afternoon by the pool...in January! Or a blizzard that brought two feet of snow and freezing temperatures...in August. That might shut down the airports, but children (and teachers) would have to kiss their beloved snow days good-bye.
Letting time slide one day every four years might just do us all a bit of good. Shake us out of our daily routines, the false sense of security we get from the illusion of controlling time.
But until then, Happy Leap Day!
29 February 2008
28 February 2008
Seller, Beware
My husband and I find ourselves having frequent conversations about real estate these days, being that we are in the market for a new house. We have been looking for several months now, so we have seen quite a few houses firsthand, and even more on the web, thanks to daily updates of new or reduced-price listings.
A typical conversation goes somewhat like this:
"I really liked that one we saw last weekend."
"Which one? The one the daughter was showing for her parents?"
"No, the one across from the yard with the big goats."
"Oh, you mean circle drive."
(It has a circular driveway, one of P's favorite features.)
OR as we look through listsings...
"Isn't this the one with the awful wallpaper?"
"Oh no, this is the smelly house."
"I thought cat-pee house was in a different neighborhood."
"It is. I mean the other smelly house."
At times, it's like we are speaking a language of our own. I often wish sellers could listen in on our conversations, so they could get a quick picture of the impression their house left.
Here is an annotated sampling of the houses we have seen, as identified by their most memorable characteristics:
A typical conversation goes somewhat like this:
"I really liked that one we saw last weekend."
"Which one? The one the daughter was showing for her parents?"
"No, the one across from the yard with the big goats."
"Oh, you mean circle drive."
(It has a circular driveway, one of P's favorite features.)
OR as we look through listsings...
"Isn't this the one with the awful wallpaper?"
"Oh no, this is the smelly house."
"I thought cat-pee house was in a different neighborhood."
"It is. I mean the other smelly house."
At times, it's like we are speaking a language of our own. I often wish sellers could listen in on our conversations, so they could get a quick picture of the impression their house left.
Here is an annotated sampling of the houses we have seen, as identified by their most memorable characteristics:
- The manor house -- French provincial style, it had all the elegance of a little castle; it was love at first sight for us despite the very purple toilet...too bad the house needed so much work, including a new roof.
- Alarm house -- our realtor had the wrong code; the alarm went off the entire time we were there, bringing a cop to the front door. (At least we know the system works.)
- Tall house -- built at the bottom of a hill, it's three stories in the front and two in the back, which translated into two flights of steps up to the front door.
- Dripping drainpipes -- had at least three downspouts that didn't connect to the pipe leading it away from the house; we know because we could see the icicles hanging between sections.
- Sloping yard houses (there have been several) -- we've both had experience with this double whammy: water issues and hard-to-mow.
- Subdivided lot house (several of these too) -- one of our pet peeves; we prefer not to live in someone's backyard or have someone else living in ours.
- Bowling alley basement -- not literally, but the dimensions would have been perfect, and the other rooms in the house were built to a similar grand scale.
- Monster shower -- in the basement we found a full 90-degree shower with dual shower heads, 10 jets down the sides, and a computerized control panel that flashed "Welcome." Ironically the master bath had a plain old tub.
- Party in the master bathroom house -- seriously, enough room to move in a couple of overstuffed armchairs or to do a little ballroom dancing on the tile floor.
- And our personal favorite: Daughter-with-guest-not-expecting-us house -- Friday night, two cars in the driveway, a voice from upstairs saying "Um, it's not a good time."
With my own house on the market, it wasn't long before it dawned on me that prospective buyers might be walking away labelling it in a similar fashion. I particularly feared that they might dub it the red-wall house due to the rather brightly colored accent wall in the smallest bedroom. (In my own defense, it seemed like a good idea at the time, and I didn't think it would look quite as bright as it did.) I decided to paint it the neutral linen color of the other walls in the room, and while I was at it, bought enough paint to de-green the master bedroom as well.
Note to sellers: the house sold two weeks later. Some might say it was because we lowered the price and hit the magic "price point," but I still maintain the investment in a couple of gallons of paint was well worth it.
27 February 2008
Keys
I am down to two keys.
The key to the my husband's house -- he owned it long before I came along -- which since our wedding has become the key to our house. Small and silver, with a rounded head and pointy teeth. And the key to my trusty, green Beetle. A black plastic rectangle with a VW logo and a silver button that releases a narrow grooved bar that slides into the ignition.
Two keys. My keychain feels so empty. And so light.
I feel naked.
I sold the first and only house I've ever owned a few weeks ago. It became official somewhere between 5 and 6:00 p.m. on February 7, as I signed my name -- the married version -- on multiple sheets of paper. When all was said and done, I removed the keys to the house from my keychain, two for the front door and one for the back, and handed them across the table. But it wasn't until I went to leave the house the next morning that I noticed the emptiness.
I used to have a second keychain on its own lanyard for my school keys. The one that opened the English office, the ones to my various classrooms, the one to the faculty bathrooms. The lanyard hung around my neck while I was at work and hung around the stick shift of my Beetle at night. I turned those keys in last June when I decided to hang up my teacher hat and try my hand at writing. I don't need any keys for that, except the ones that I use to type.
So here I am. Stripped down to the bare necessities. And perhaps that's cause for celebration. No more drives down the interstate just to water the plants and check on the house. No more worries about the mess in the neighbor's backyard or the two defunct cars in front of her house or the rain overflowing from her mulberry-clogged gutters down the hill to my basement windows.
Instead, my husband and I get to search for new keys. The ones to the house that we will buy together when the right place comes along.
But for now, I'll just enjoy travelling light.
Note: Neither spellcheck nor Dictionary.com recognize the word "keychain" as one word, despite the gaggle of advertisers who do. I decided I liked it better as one word myself...
The key to the my husband's house -- he owned it long before I came along -- which since our wedding has become the key to our house. Small and silver, with a rounded head and pointy teeth. And the key to my trusty, green Beetle. A black plastic rectangle with a VW logo and a silver button that releases a narrow grooved bar that slides into the ignition.
Two keys. My keychain feels so empty. And so light.
I feel naked.
I sold the first and only house I've ever owned a few weeks ago. It became official somewhere between 5 and 6:00 p.m. on February 7, as I signed my name -- the married version -- on multiple sheets of paper. When all was said and done, I removed the keys to the house from my keychain, two for the front door and one for the back, and handed them across the table. But it wasn't until I went to leave the house the next morning that I noticed the emptiness.
I used to have a second keychain on its own lanyard for my school keys. The one that opened the English office, the ones to my various classrooms, the one to the faculty bathrooms. The lanyard hung around my neck while I was at work and hung around the stick shift of my Beetle at night. I turned those keys in last June when I decided to hang up my teacher hat and try my hand at writing. I don't need any keys for that, except the ones that I use to type.
So here I am. Stripped down to the bare necessities. And perhaps that's cause for celebration. No more drives down the interstate just to water the plants and check on the house. No more worries about the mess in the neighbor's backyard or the two defunct cars in front of her house or the rain overflowing from her mulberry-clogged gutters down the hill to my basement windows.
Instead, my husband and I get to search for new keys. The ones to the house that we will buy together when the right place comes along.
But for now, I'll just enjoy travelling light.
Note: Neither spellcheck nor Dictionary.com recognize the word "keychain" as one word, despite the gaggle of advertisers who do. I decided I liked it better as one word myself...
26 February 2008
What's in a Name?
When I set out to create a blog, I didn't realize that the hardest part would be coming up with a name. Actually, I needed three names to get started: my username for signing my posts, my url by which others would be able to find me on the web, and the title of the blog itself.
The first came fairly easily. I just shortened my first and last name, put them together, took a little poetic license with the last syllable, and voila! Valhellah, deliciously close to Valhalla. Not that I'm a fan of Norse mythology or of Richard Wagner (though the ride of the Valkyries as they escort the slain warriors into Valhalla is, to say the least, a catchy tune)...I just liked the way it sounded. Despite my past as an English teacher -- and all high school students will tell you that English teachers live for finding hidden meanings in things -- no symbolism intended.
Finding an unclaimed url proved a bit more challenging. I came up with a whole page of possibilities in my notebook, checking each for availability as I went. Among those already taken: WhatSheSaid, LivingOutLoud, ItsMyVoice, OnPurpose, SottoVoce, Valerieana (sorry, mom), and PenIsMightier (open to misinterpretation when written all lower case anyway). Among the finalists in the available column: OnceMoreWithVoice (just too long), Valerini (what my quartet-mates have dubbed me), ThoughtRamblings (the journal writing we used to do in elementary school), PurposeQueen (a nickname bestowed upon me by co-teachers of a summer workshop), BentPinkies (for those who have seen my hands), and the eventual winner, VIsForVoice (easy and memorable in an acrostic sort of way).
I returned to my list of possible url's as I searched for a name for the blog. In the end, it came down to two choices. The runner-up was It's a Passion, a tribute to my love of writing and the title of a favorite Luka Bloom song. But the winner (at least for now) was Herding Commas. Why? It's what writing feels like some days -- when the words all want to come out at once in a big uncontrolled stream (or spew if you want a more vulgar image), or when they don't want to fall in line in neatly organized sentences, or when they ramble on for half a page taking all sorts of detours and digressions (much like this one) before finally arriving at a point or at least coming to a full stop at a period.
Herding Commas seemed to me more memorable and eye-catching than the other possiblities. It struck me as more original, even though it's a variation on "herding cats" (an expression best illustrated by some company's Super Bowl commercial several years ago), an activity which is acknowledged by most to be a futile pursuit, or at least a highly challenging one, as cats are not, by personality, as agreeable as cows when it comes to doing anything on your schedule. It's a lot like writing that way -- the words don't necessarily come when you're sitting with notebook in lap, pen in hand, or in the case of a blog, with fingers poised over the keyboard and eyes fixed on the monitor. No, words usually come at a more inconvenient moment -- when you're driving down the interstate or in the middle of Sunday's sermon or halfway through a long, relaxing soak in the tub -- bad times for writing, all.
Commas, like cats, are notoriously evasive when it comes to following any sort of fixed rules. They never made sense to the majority of my students, and they only began to make sense to me after some sort of comma epiphany I had sometime during my eleventh grade year, no thanks to my tenth grade English teacher's propensity to read to us from the dreaded light blue Warriner's Grammar book every day.
In the throes of first love (or perhaps just good old teenaged infatuation), Juliet asks, "What's in a name?" (Can't help it...English teacher, remember?) And she goes on to propose that a rose by any other name "would smell as sweet." By her reasoning, I've given entirely too much thought and significance to the task of giving names to things which would exist just the same regardless of what I decided to call them. Maybe so, but at least I had some fun along the way.
The first came fairly easily. I just shortened my first and last name, put them together, took a little poetic license with the last syllable, and voila! Valhellah, deliciously close to Valhalla. Not that I'm a fan of Norse mythology or of Richard Wagner (though the ride of the Valkyries as they escort the slain warriors into Valhalla is, to say the least, a catchy tune)...I just liked the way it sounded. Despite my past as an English teacher -- and all high school students will tell you that English teachers live for finding hidden meanings in things -- no symbolism intended.
Finding an unclaimed url proved a bit more challenging. I came up with a whole page of possibilities in my notebook, checking each for availability as I went. Among those already taken: WhatSheSaid, LivingOutLoud, ItsMyVoice, OnPurpose, SottoVoce, Valerieana (sorry, mom), and PenIsMightier (open to misinterpretation when written all lower case anyway). Among the finalists in the available column: OnceMoreWithVoice (just too long), Valerini (what my quartet-mates have dubbed me), ThoughtRamblings (the journal writing we used to do in elementary school), PurposeQueen (a nickname bestowed upon me by co-teachers of a summer workshop), BentPinkies (for those who have seen my hands), and the eventual winner, VIsForVoice (easy and memorable in an acrostic sort of way).
I returned to my list of possible url's as I searched for a name for the blog. In the end, it came down to two choices. The runner-up was It's a Passion, a tribute to my love of writing and the title of a favorite Luka Bloom song. But the winner (at least for now) was Herding Commas. Why? It's what writing feels like some days -- when the words all want to come out at once in a big uncontrolled stream (or spew if you want a more vulgar image), or when they don't want to fall in line in neatly organized sentences, or when they ramble on for half a page taking all sorts of detours and digressions (much like this one) before finally arriving at a point or at least coming to a full stop at a period.
Herding Commas seemed to me more memorable and eye-catching than the other possiblities. It struck me as more original, even though it's a variation on "herding cats" (an expression best illustrated by some company's Super Bowl commercial several years ago), an activity which is acknowledged by most to be a futile pursuit, or at least a highly challenging one, as cats are not, by personality, as agreeable as cows when it comes to doing anything on your schedule. It's a lot like writing that way -- the words don't necessarily come when you're sitting with notebook in lap, pen in hand, or in the case of a blog, with fingers poised over the keyboard and eyes fixed on the monitor. No, words usually come at a more inconvenient moment -- when you're driving down the interstate or in the middle of Sunday's sermon or halfway through a long, relaxing soak in the tub -- bad times for writing, all.
Commas, like cats, are notoriously evasive when it comes to following any sort of fixed rules. They never made sense to the majority of my students, and they only began to make sense to me after some sort of comma epiphany I had sometime during my eleventh grade year, no thanks to my tenth grade English teacher's propensity to read to us from the dreaded light blue Warriner's Grammar book every day.
In the throes of first love (or perhaps just good old teenaged infatuation), Juliet asks, "What's in a name?" (Can't help it...English teacher, remember?) And she goes on to propose that a rose by any other name "would smell as sweet." By her reasoning, I've given entirely too much thought and significance to the task of giving names to things which would exist just the same regardless of what I decided to call them. Maybe so, but at least I had some fun along the way.
25 February 2008
Blank Pages, Blank Screens
Funny...
It's just like starting a new notebook -- pen in hand, a clean, crisp, white page staring back at you. The fact that it's the glow of a blank screen reflecting on your face doesn't make it any easier to choose the first words.
Actually, it makes it harder. I can go back and erase the words that appear on the screen tens, hundreds, thousands (let's hope it doesn't reach that point) of times before saving them for you, whoever you may be, to read. Whereas in my notebook, once I write the words in pen, they are there for good. Sure, I can cross them out and write over them, or in the case of a real train wreck, I can tear out the entire page, feed it to the shredder, and start fresh on the next blank sheet. But being somewhat of a notebook purist, I could never bring myself to do that.
The nice thing is, I'm pretty sure that I'm not alone. That most bloggers have experienced a similar feeling when composing their first post and preparing to release it into the big, wide blogiverse (more than 110 million strong according to Sunday's Baltimore Sun). I imagine it's the way parents feel when they drop off their child on the first day of kindergarten. I don't know what will happen to my posts -- who will read them, how they will be received, what they will be when they "grow up." But I do know that I want my voice to be heard. That I want my words to venture beyond the bound pages of my writer's notebooks.
Before I end this post, I want to say a special thanks to friends and family who have encouraged me over the years to put my writing out there, to my husband who has given me the gifts of space and time for writing, and especially to my sister-in-law, whose bold leap into the blogiverse last year has inspired my own.
So welcome to my blog, dear reader. I hope you find something here that speaks to you --mind, heart, or soul. Something that inspires you to think, feel, or experience something new. Something that makes you laugh, cry, or just say "aha!" But mostly, something that stays with you, long after you've logged out.
It's just like starting a new notebook -- pen in hand, a clean, crisp, white page staring back at you. The fact that it's the glow of a blank screen reflecting on your face doesn't make it any easier to choose the first words.
Actually, it makes it harder. I can go back and erase the words that appear on the screen tens, hundreds, thousands (let's hope it doesn't reach that point) of times before saving them for you, whoever you may be, to read. Whereas in my notebook, once I write the words in pen, they are there for good. Sure, I can cross them out and write over them, or in the case of a real train wreck, I can tear out the entire page, feed it to the shredder, and start fresh on the next blank sheet. But being somewhat of a notebook purist, I could never bring myself to do that.
The nice thing is, I'm pretty sure that I'm not alone. That most bloggers have experienced a similar feeling when composing their first post and preparing to release it into the big, wide blogiverse (more than 110 million strong according to Sunday's Baltimore Sun). I imagine it's the way parents feel when they drop off their child on the first day of kindergarten. I don't know what will happen to my posts -- who will read them, how they will be received, what they will be when they "grow up." But I do know that I want my voice to be heard. That I want my words to venture beyond the bound pages of my writer's notebooks.
Before I end this post, I want to say a special thanks to friends and family who have encouraged me over the years to put my writing out there, to my husband who has given me the gifts of space and time for writing, and especially to my sister-in-law, whose bold leap into the blogiverse last year has inspired my own.
So welcome to my blog, dear reader. I hope you find something here that speaks to you --mind, heart, or soul. Something that inspires you to think, feel, or experience something new. Something that makes you laugh, cry, or just say "aha!" But mostly, something that stays with you, long after you've logged out.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)