'Tis the season for many things, and for musicians, it is the concert season. I have spent the better part of December rehearsing for, producing, participating in, and attending a variety of Christmas musical concert events. It seems that at each one, I was struck by the utter lack of common decency so many seem to display. There are things that we, as professionals and professionals- in- training, know about concert etiquette that we do not expect everyone to know. These are things such as not applauding between movements of multi-movement works, applauding after jazz solos within a work, applauding after big arias within an opera, etc. We understand that we need to educate our audiences in these matters, and we are happy to do so.
There are things, however, that we should be able to expect any person over the age of twelve to know about attending a public, non-sports event. In case you are one of those that missed out on common sense or just have never been taught proper concert manners, let me help you by giving you a few rules.
1) Please educate your young ones to appreciate good performances and how to behave during one. We want new audience members. We want young people to enjoy what we do. This falls on you, though. If you don't help them know how to behave, they will not learn. If you don't want to encourage proper behavior, please don't bring your young ones. We can't pay attention, YOU can't pay attention, if they are disruptive. Remember, people are not there to hear and see you and your child. We know you want to be there and don't want to miss anything, but if your little one is making a ruckus, please take them out.
2) Is your child performing? Great! Please know that it is NEVER polite or appropriate to wave at them and to expect them to wave back at you. Directors and teachers spend a great deal of time training these young musicians to perform professionally. You demean their work when you boil it down to "I see you!" Tell your child you will be there, supporting them from the audience. They will learn they can do it without you and they will learn to appropriately appreciate your support.
3) It is not appropriate, unless there is a health crisis and 911 needs to be dialed, to speak aloud-- even at a whisper-- during a performance. If your child (or neighbor) is talking to you, please do not talk back.
4) It is never appropriate for you to have your phone on during a concert or movie. Where have you people been who have not yet learned this?? I attended an Alabama Symphony concert at Alys-Stephens Center this year where not only did a woman's cell phone ring, but she ANSWERED IT AND HAD A CONVERSATION! -- Never, never appropriate.
5) It is never appropriate to allow your toddler to crawl around on the stage or in the area in front of the audience. This distracts everyone in the room, and it really is not fair to the performers who have worked hard to prepare the program. It truly does not matter how cute and adorable you think your child is. It does not matter if you believe this is keeping him/her quiet. Please, please, do not allow this.
6) Generally speaking, when attending a concert, unless you are among those performing, you should not strive to draw undue attention to yourself. I attended a standing-room-only concert last night, in an audience of over 3000 people, in which a woman not far from us was wearing a holiday-themed necklace that not only lit-up, but flashed in rhythm. It was not an enhancement to my experience, I assure you.
7) If you are attending a concert in which the performers have worked hard to prepare something wonderful for you, and you don't want to be there, fake it, or stay at home.
8) I would think your parents would have taught you this when you were a toddler, but please visit the restroom before the concert and/or during intermission. If you are among those who have a medical condition that requires you go more often, please sit in the back, near a door. I can't imagine that some of the people I noted going in and out multiple times during the hour-long concert I recently attended actually had good reason to be getting up and down.
9) Remember, people are there for the concert, not to hear or watch you. If you are MAKING NOISE and you are not one of the performers, STOP. Again, I truly do not know why anyone of the age of accountability or above does not know this. If you don't want to be there, please stay home.
10) We really mean it when we say NO FLASH PHOTOGRAPHY. It distracts the performers and the other audience members. Has it ever occurred to you that a camera flash illuminates objects a few feet from the camera. It will not light up the stage that is a football-field's length from you.
11) Finally, (and this is touchy), unless you are publicly invited by someone on stage to sing along, don't sing along. I hate to say this, but sometimes, even when the person on stage says, "~~And if you know the words, sing along," they don't really mean it. :-) Even if you have a lovely singing voice, it is not generally good manners for you to sing from the audience. If you feel the urge, and you haven't been invited by the performers, and especially if NO ONE ELSE seems to be singing, you should probably keep quiet. I hope I'm not offending you, but if you have trouble matching pitch, you should save your solo for the shower. (Bless Your Heart.)
I'm sure this is not an exhaustive list, but at least it gives you a good idea of what one expects from a polite audience member.
Monday, December 19, 2011
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Getting “Busted” at Work
There is a shop in the city in which I work that specializes in women’s lingerie, specifically the foundational type. I am a customer of this establishment, where one can be fitted by experts. The products are not inexpensive, so once a year or so I go in and purchase a couple of basic colors in my size, and I happily make do until time to re-stock. Earlier this week I was beckoned into the office of a friend (I will not use names so as to protect the innocent), who pulled a bag from this shop to which I referred from under her desk and explained that one of the secretaries in the main office had visited the shop recently when there was a big sale going on. This lady had picked up three ‘garments’ that were marked as her size, and without trying them on, purchased them, only to find out later that they were NOT her size after all, and she couldn’t return them because they had been on clearance. She had brought them to work with her for a friend to try on, and by the time they were passed on to me, had been tried by three or four ladies who found they were unable to wear them.
I happily took them home with me,(though I felt I had to conceal the bag as I left the building, since it was clearly marked with the name of the shop and the outline of the --ahem-- female form). I found to my delight, that not only did the ‘garments’ fit me, they were nothing like what I usually purchase. (--Certainly not what Grandmother wore!) They are pretty and patterned and decorative. What fun!
Fast forward to the next morning at about 4:30, when I awoke with a migraine. (Please bear with me, this is important to my tale.) I arose and took my medication as soon as I could, but I knew it would be a few hours before I felt like driving. When I finally did make it into work a little after 9, my head was better, but I still felt sick, and I had to wear sunglasses because the light hurt my eyes. I sat down at my computer and wanted to do the proper, mannerly thing and thank the person responsible for my newfound foundational undergarment wardrobe. --I couldn’t remember exactly who it was, so I set about emailing the friend who had pulled me into her office and given me the bag.
I thought about doing something cute like, “Call me Cinderella--they fit!”, but instead went with the following-- Message Subject: Over the Shoulder Boulder Holders. Message Body: They fit beautifully and are such a nice change from my typical beige and black. Whom do I thank? -- Hit SEND.
Now, here is where you need to know that the first two letters of my friend’s name are the same first two letters of the last name of our, well, I’ll just say top administrator. The lights were dim in my studio, I wasn’t well, and yes, I partially blame my computer’s efforts to make my life easier by filling in the email address it believes I had in mind. I was busy doing other things when I heard the ‘new mail’ tone and went to the computer to see an email from our top administrator that read: Am I missing something?
Oh, yes, dear readers, I had sent that little message to the man who is over the school, who met me for the first time in August, and has since had about four conversations with me.
You know that feeling you get when you’ve done something you would pay good money to reverse or erase, but the trap door isn’t open and the witness protection program is not an option? Well, this is when I knew I just had to be a Steel Magnolia or, as my sister would say, put my big girl panties on and deal with it. (Yes, I realize that is yet another underwear reference, but you must admit it’s appropriate --sadly.) I responded to my administrator that I sent it to the wrong address, that I had awakened with a migraine and still wasn’t myself, and that I apologized. He responded “No problem.”
About that time, the friend who started this whole business by passing along the items in the first place had emailed me back in horror! She then appeared at my door and couldn’t even speak, she was laughing so hard!!
You know that earlier in this year, I was standing in the work room at the college where I teach part-time, talking to my beloved and highly-respected Music History professor, when I felt an odd sensation on my legs. I looked down, and there lay my slip in a puddle around my feet on the floor. This professor, being a consummate Southern gentleman, stepped forward immediately, reflexively, to pick up what I had “dropped.” In my best steel magnolia voice I said, “I declare! I believe I have lost my slip!” to which he replied, “Well, in that case, I guess I’ll let you retrieve it yourself.” (Thank goodness!)
If I had dreamed these incidents, we could analyze what in the world is going on with me and these underwear adventures. Since they happened in real life, I’m at a loss! Meanwhile, I’m happy to have supplied so many with a good laugh. I don’t even know if I’ll be able to wear the things now! My colleagues can’t even look at me without bursting into laughter.
Somebody help me!
We shall never speak of this again.
(My thanks to my friend Kim for the suggestion for the title. She's still laughing, too.)
I happily took them home with me,(though I felt I had to conceal the bag as I left the building, since it was clearly marked with the name of the shop and the outline of the --ahem-- female form). I found to my delight, that not only did the ‘garments’ fit me, they were nothing like what I usually purchase. (--Certainly not what Grandmother wore!) They are pretty and patterned and decorative. What fun!
Fast forward to the next morning at about 4:30, when I awoke with a migraine. (Please bear with me, this is important to my tale.) I arose and took my medication as soon as I could, but I knew it would be a few hours before I felt like driving. When I finally did make it into work a little after 9, my head was better, but I still felt sick, and I had to wear sunglasses because the light hurt my eyes. I sat down at my computer and wanted to do the proper, mannerly thing and thank the person responsible for my newfound foundational undergarment wardrobe. --I couldn’t remember exactly who it was, so I set about emailing the friend who had pulled me into her office and given me the bag.
I thought about doing something cute like, “Call me Cinderella--they fit!”, but instead went with the following-- Message Subject: Over the Shoulder Boulder Holders. Message Body: They fit beautifully and are such a nice change from my typical beige and black. Whom do I thank? -- Hit SEND.
Now, here is where you need to know that the first two letters of my friend’s name are the same first two letters of the last name of our, well, I’ll just say top administrator. The lights were dim in my studio, I wasn’t well, and yes, I partially blame my computer’s efforts to make my life easier by filling in the email address it believes I had in mind. I was busy doing other things when I heard the ‘new mail’ tone and went to the computer to see an email from our top administrator that read: Am I missing something?
Oh, yes, dear readers, I had sent that little message to the man who is over the school, who met me for the first time in August, and has since had about four conversations with me.
You know that feeling you get when you’ve done something you would pay good money to reverse or erase, but the trap door isn’t open and the witness protection program is not an option? Well, this is when I knew I just had to be a Steel Magnolia or, as my sister would say, put my big girl panties on and deal with it. (Yes, I realize that is yet another underwear reference, but you must admit it’s appropriate --sadly.) I responded to my administrator that I sent it to the wrong address, that I had awakened with a migraine and still wasn’t myself, and that I apologized. He responded “No problem.”
About that time, the friend who started this whole business by passing along the items in the first place had emailed me back in horror! She then appeared at my door and couldn’t even speak, she was laughing so hard!!
You know that earlier in this year, I was standing in the work room at the college where I teach part-time, talking to my beloved and highly-respected Music History professor, when I felt an odd sensation on my legs. I looked down, and there lay my slip in a puddle around my feet on the floor. This professor, being a consummate Southern gentleman, stepped forward immediately, reflexively, to pick up what I had “dropped.” In my best steel magnolia voice I said, “I declare! I believe I have lost my slip!” to which he replied, “Well, in that case, I guess I’ll let you retrieve it yourself.” (Thank goodness!)
If I had dreamed these incidents, we could analyze what in the world is going on with me and these underwear adventures. Since they happened in real life, I’m at a loss! Meanwhile, I’m happy to have supplied so many with a good laugh. I don’t even know if I’ll be able to wear the things now! My colleagues can’t even look at me without bursting into laughter.
Somebody help me!
We shall never speak of this again.
(My thanks to my friend Kim for the suggestion for the title. She's still laughing, too.)
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Look Up Here Every Now and Then and Make Sure I'm Alright
As a choral director of a choir of 7th-12th graders, I use many different approaches and techniques to teach music and help the singers perfect it for performance. Because of the great age span, and therefore multiple maturity and musicality levels, in my choir, I vary activities and approaches regularly. We always perform by memory, but use the score as we are learning and perfecting a piece. As with most groups, my choir has a tendency to look down and into the score if they are holding it and referring to it. We use multiple things to 'remind' them to watch, but a lot of times I will light-heartedly say, "Hey, look up here every now and then just to make sure I'm alright!" We have a good laugh, and for at least a time, they hold the score higher and attempt to look over it more often for cues from me.
A few weeks ago, this saying of mine took on a whole new meaning. Our school is in the midst of a major construction project that has many of us meeting our classes in spaces we are not accustomed to, and this semester, the choir is meeting in the theatre. For this particular rehearsal, we were in formation seated on the stage area, which is only about 4" above the floor level. (The seating is elevated.) We perform in this space twice a year, and I always have to remind myself repeatedly not to back off the 4" rise. On this day, the choir was seated and actively engaged in working on a fairly new piece. At this stage in the learning, I move around a great deal, going from part to part and section to section so that I can listen as they begin to put things together. I was moving hurriedly, and skirting the 8-foot Steinway, and on my way from the sopranos around the piano to the altos, my foot hung on the 4" rise and I knew I was going to fall. I felt as if I were in a movie, in slow motion, and even had time to think, "Yes, you're going down, and no, you shouldn't try to grab the piano to stop yourself because you could break your arm." Once I hit the floor with what seemed to me the noise of an atomic explosion, I was able to tell myself not to move for a few seconds so that I could stabilize my equilibrium. By the time I did rise (mere seconds, actually), one of my baritones had vaulted from his seat on the back row to come to my aid. The entire choir had gasped in unison and gone silent. I'm sure they were taken aback by my sudden disappearance, as I went down behind the huge piano that stood between them and me. I was able to be thankful that, especially since I was wearing a skirt that day, I didn't go head-over-heels. That would have traumatized us all!
Once I reassured them all that I was fine (though I had black and blue knees for two weeks!), I reminded them, "I told you all to look up here every now and then and make sure I'm alright. Now you know why!"
A few weeks ago, this saying of mine took on a whole new meaning. Our school is in the midst of a major construction project that has many of us meeting our classes in spaces we are not accustomed to, and this semester, the choir is meeting in the theatre. For this particular rehearsal, we were in formation seated on the stage area, which is only about 4" above the floor level. (The seating is elevated.) We perform in this space twice a year, and I always have to remind myself repeatedly not to back off the 4" rise. On this day, the choir was seated and actively engaged in working on a fairly new piece. At this stage in the learning, I move around a great deal, going from part to part and section to section so that I can listen as they begin to put things together. I was moving hurriedly, and skirting the 8-foot Steinway, and on my way from the sopranos around the piano to the altos, my foot hung on the 4" rise and I knew I was going to fall. I felt as if I were in a movie, in slow motion, and even had time to think, "Yes, you're going down, and no, you shouldn't try to grab the piano to stop yourself because you could break your arm." Once I hit the floor with what seemed to me the noise of an atomic explosion, I was able to tell myself not to move for a few seconds so that I could stabilize my equilibrium. By the time I did rise (mere seconds, actually), one of my baritones had vaulted from his seat on the back row to come to my aid. The entire choir had gasped in unison and gone silent. I'm sure they were taken aback by my sudden disappearance, as I went down behind the huge piano that stood between them and me. I was able to be thankful that, especially since I was wearing a skirt that day, I didn't go head-over-heels. That would have traumatized us all!
Once I reassured them all that I was fine (though I had black and blue knees for two weeks!), I reminded them, "I told you all to look up here every now and then and make sure I'm alright. Now you know why!"
Friday, August 26, 2011
To Everything, Turn, Turn, Turn
I have decided I like the way we now refer to the different times in our lives as ‘seasons.’ I don't remember hearing this used in this way until the last few years. Somehow, the word ‘seasons’ seems softer, gentler, easier to handle perhaps than a 'phase' or a 'stage.' That’s why you go through a season when your children go to school, you struggle with an illness, or you need to deal with aging parents, but your teenagers are going through a STAGE. As a musician, I can easily think of concert or performance seasons when I hear the word, and that is always a positive. Seasons, too, are by definition relatively short periods of time. Of course, also by definition, they are going to come around again.
I have often defined my life as moving from one big event to another, and I’m sure many of you feel the same way. What is this mysterious feeling we get that has us both awaiting the next event with great anticipation and grieving the ending of the last event – or season? Why is it that we are either desperately longing for change or mourning the change upon us?
We wouldn’t want to live in the honeymoon stage of our marriages for a lifetime. Morrow and I would still be eating pan-fried SPAM and Beanie-Weenies, for goodness’ sake! We wouldn’t want our children to remain adorable toddlers. Remember that ‘season’ of several years when you either hired a sitter or you didn’t go out to eat-- or anywhere else much, for that matter? Remember when you worked so hard with your children to teach them to speak clearly and understand directions and write their name? Remember how proud and pleased we were when they said “thank you” and “please”? Why does it hurt so much to see them grow up while it at once thrills us to know they are becoming successful, contributing members of society?
I’ve been pondering this a lot lately. Our older daughter is happily involved already in her sophomore year of college. Our younger daughter is very involved in multiple school, sports and church activities, and a good deal of our time with her involves text messages communication or our cheering her on from the stands. We have a lot of quiet evenings at home now, as we watch our children function positively without us. We still contribute to their lives, of course, and I don’t just mean financially. It is touching when they do have to call on us for help or advice. I think one thing that makes it such an interesting season for me is that, aside from the arthritis and general age-related things that cause my body to feel ancient (and I won’t even mention hot flashes), I really don’t feel any older than my daughters are now. I remember being that age, so how in the world could the babies I carried and bore be this old?
And where does that leave me now? What does a mom do with herself when her children become independent? Well, I’ve said this before, but I remind myself of it regularly: If I believe that God is sovereign (and I do), then I cannot doubt His sovereignty when circumstances seem unclear. I had a confirmation just yesterday that I am where I need to be, doing what I need to be doing, right now in my life—just as something I wished I were doing and dearly want to do is not available to me right now. No doubts. I will proceed with JOY and FAITH in His sovereignty and His guidance in the lives of my family and in my life and in every SEASON.
I have often defined my life as moving from one big event to another, and I’m sure many of you feel the same way. What is this mysterious feeling we get that has us both awaiting the next event with great anticipation and grieving the ending of the last event – or season? Why is it that we are either desperately longing for change or mourning the change upon us?
We wouldn’t want to live in the honeymoon stage of our marriages for a lifetime. Morrow and I would still be eating pan-fried SPAM and Beanie-Weenies, for goodness’ sake! We wouldn’t want our children to remain adorable toddlers. Remember that ‘season’ of several years when you either hired a sitter or you didn’t go out to eat-- or anywhere else much, for that matter? Remember when you worked so hard with your children to teach them to speak clearly and understand directions and write their name? Remember how proud and pleased we were when they said “thank you” and “please”? Why does it hurt so much to see them grow up while it at once thrills us to know they are becoming successful, contributing members of society?
I’ve been pondering this a lot lately. Our older daughter is happily involved already in her sophomore year of college. Our younger daughter is very involved in multiple school, sports and church activities, and a good deal of our time with her involves text messages communication or our cheering her on from the stands. We have a lot of quiet evenings at home now, as we watch our children function positively without us. We still contribute to their lives, of course, and I don’t just mean financially. It is touching when they do have to call on us for help or advice. I think one thing that makes it such an interesting season for me is that, aside from the arthritis and general age-related things that cause my body to feel ancient (and I won’t even mention hot flashes), I really don’t feel any older than my daughters are now. I remember being that age, so how in the world could the babies I carried and bore be this old?
And where does that leave me now? What does a mom do with herself when her children become independent? Well, I’ve said this before, but I remind myself of it regularly: If I believe that God is sovereign (and I do), then I cannot doubt His sovereignty when circumstances seem unclear. I had a confirmation just yesterday that I am where I need to be, doing what I need to be doing, right now in my life—just as something I wished I were doing and dearly want to do is not available to me right now. No doubts. I will proceed with JOY and FAITH in His sovereignty and His guidance in the lives of my family and in my life and in every SEASON.
Friday, August 19, 2011
Follow-up to "The Child Wants What the Child Wants"
Imagine my surprise when I found this story when msn.com came up on my computer this morning. I don't even regularly visit msn.com, but here you go--- a story that backs-up my most recent post.
http://lifestyle.msn.com/your-life/family-parenting/article.aspx?cp-documentid=29737154>1=32050
http://lifestyle.msn.com/your-life/family-parenting/article.aspx?cp-documentid=29737154>1=32050
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
The Child Wants What the Child Wants
I know I have borrowed and altered a quote by Woody Allen. It seems appropriate, though, since his statement, "The heart wants what the heart wants" was spoken in defense of his relationship with Mia Farrow's adopted daughter. Using the "I want" defense is childish and selfish. Have you caught any of the TLC reality show "Toddlers and Tiaras"? As horrible as I find it, I have to admit that it will draw me in if I happen to click by when I have time to pause. I love the idea of children finding areas in life in which they are successful and have a group of identity that helps them develop social skills, but toddler beauty pageants are a long way from T-Ball, Little League and youth orchestra. I'm struck by two aspects of the show: the fact that the parents (mostly mothers) keep saying the children WANT to do this, and the way the parents allow these children to treat them. Let's assume the 2-7 year-old has a genuine desire to do these pageants. Do we always permit or make it possible for our children to do what they WANT to do? Wouldn't most of them choose to eat chocolate candy or chips for every meal? Would we let them run into traffic to pick up something shiny in the street? Would we let them pet a strange dog? Do we give in when they pitch a tantrum because we won't or cannot afford to buy them what they believe is their heart's desire? Of course we don't, so don't try to convince me that because they may say they want to do pageants, it is a good thing for them to do.
I'm concerned about the adults these horrible little people will become. Based on what I've seen of the TLC show, these terrible toddlers sass, boss, and speak disrespectfully to their parents and elders. They are regularly bribed with all sorts of "gifts" to "perform" for the judges, and are allowed to cry and pout or have a tantrum if they don't win the ultimate crown - not to be at all confused with the crown they did win or the crown they receive for showing up.
At least when watching this show, I can say a prayer of thanks that we were able to do the hard work and say no to our children when what "the child wanted" was not something they needed - at least some of the time.
While I'm at it, let's all give a big cheer for "Kate Plus Eight"'s termination. Speaking of selfish.....
I'm concerned about the adults these horrible little people will become. Based on what I've seen of the TLC show, these terrible toddlers sass, boss, and speak disrespectfully to their parents and elders. They are regularly bribed with all sorts of "gifts" to "perform" for the judges, and are allowed to cry and pout or have a tantrum if they don't win the ultimate crown - not to be at all confused with the crown they did win or the crown they receive for showing up.
At least when watching this show, I can say a prayer of thanks that we were able to do the hard work and say no to our children when what "the child wanted" was not something they needed - at least some of the time.
While I'm at it, let's all give a big cheer for "Kate Plus Eight"'s termination. Speaking of selfish.....
Saturday, August 6, 2011
I See London, I See France, I Shouldn't See Your Underpants
Call me a prude, old-fashioned, ultra-conservative, or merely classy, but I don't believe underwear is appropriate visible attire in public. I don't care if your bra is cute, color-coordinated, or making a statement, it isn't attractive or respectable to have your bra straps showing. If you want to wear that strapless dress or halter top, or if your tank cuts in past where the straps go, get a strapless bra. Similarly, if you insist on wearing those very low-cut jeans, keep in mind that when you even THINK about bending forward, your bottom- at least a portion of it- is exposed. It is an unfortunate happenstance in the world of fashion that thong panties became popular just as jeans became 'low-rise,' and we've all had to endure dinner out while trying to ignore the tops of thongs peeking out above someone's jeans. Again, we do not want to see your underwear!
I have a firm rule when I'm advising students as to appropriate attire: We should not wonder if you're wearing underwear, we should not have to wonder if you're wearing underwear, and we should not be forced to look at your underwear. I don't know what's worse- seeing someone's thong when they bend over, or seeing their exposed buttocks and having to wonder WHERE the underwear is! These rules apply to men as well, as far as respectable folks are concerned. Please, people, keep your foundational clothing where it belongs- UNDER your clothing, in a supportive role.
I have a firm rule when I'm advising students as to appropriate attire: We should not wonder if you're wearing underwear, we should not have to wonder if you're wearing underwear, and we should not be forced to look at your underwear. I don't know what's worse- seeing someone's thong when they bend over, or seeing their exposed buttocks and having to wonder WHERE the underwear is! These rules apply to men as well, as far as respectable folks are concerned. Please, people, keep your foundational clothing where it belongs- UNDER your clothing, in a supportive role.
Friday, August 5, 2011
Technology is our friend
I love technology. I love the look of it, the feel of it, and the cool things it can do. I love having technology even if I don't use it. I own a MacBook Pro, an iPad, and an iPod. I not a technology geek, however, and until last winter, would have put myself in the nominally proficient category. Last winter is when my husband went from full-time work on a Tennessee Walking Horse farm to a job with a company that required him to use a computer. When he graduated from college with a business degree, his computer work had been done in one class, on MS Dos. He had worked at companies in sales but only used their business programs. He had been out of the regular business world for almost ten years! He could surf the internet on my laptop, and spent many an hour going through gun sites and watching clips of old westerns on YouTube, but he did not know how to check email, create a document, create a folder, search for anything stored on the computer, etc. I never realized how much I knew about computers until I began to show him how to use Word and Excel and Outlook. In the beginning, he would get confused very easily. If it didn't look exactly the same, he couldn't figure out what to do. I would show him, and he would say, "How did you know how to do that?"
Nothing is so frustrating as having wonderful technology and it not work for you. My siblings and I went together to get my mom a Nook for Mother's Day this year. She and my dad were about to take a trip to Germany and a cruise down the Rein, and we thought mom, an avid reader, would enjoy having several books at her fingertips without having to pack actual volumes. Unfortunately, the experience turned into an awkward and frustrating event. Mom, unlike me, does not love technology. She retired from teaching after 30 years but before computers were a staple of the classroom. She does not surf the web. She does not check or send email. She was frustrated by what seemed to us very simple and obvious and user-friendly technology.
After I spent an afternoon setting it up for her, she was able to download some books and ended up rather enjoying the experience. Dad told me today that he has read a couple of books on the Nook. Tonight, we spent another frustrating 10 or so minutes trying to peruse the ebook website via the Nook. Finally, I gave up and went to the laptop, where we could view the entire screen. This worked wonderfully, but I left them with the task of waiting for the downloads to complete and then transferring the new purchases to the Nook via the USB cord. This is a new thing, and I'm not sure how it will go. I promised to return tomorrow if need be.
For now, we'll have to be satisfied that she enjoys it when it is set up for her. So when is technology NOT a helpful tool? When you can't work it, that's when!
Nothing is so frustrating as having wonderful technology and it not work for you. My siblings and I went together to get my mom a Nook for Mother's Day this year. She and my dad were about to take a trip to Germany and a cruise down the Rein, and we thought mom, an avid reader, would enjoy having several books at her fingertips without having to pack actual volumes. Unfortunately, the experience turned into an awkward and frustrating event. Mom, unlike me, does not love technology. She retired from teaching after 30 years but before computers were a staple of the classroom. She does not surf the web. She does not check or send email. She was frustrated by what seemed to us very simple and obvious and user-friendly technology.
After I spent an afternoon setting it up for her, she was able to download some books and ended up rather enjoying the experience. Dad told me today that he has read a couple of books on the Nook. Tonight, we spent another frustrating 10 or so minutes trying to peruse the ebook website via the Nook. Finally, I gave up and went to the laptop, where we could view the entire screen. This worked wonderfully, but I left them with the task of waiting for the downloads to complete and then transferring the new purchases to the Nook via the USB cord. This is a new thing, and I'm not sure how it will go. I promised to return tomorrow if need be.
For now, we'll have to be satisfied that she enjoys it when it is set up for her. So when is technology NOT a helpful tool? When you can't work it, that's when!
Monday, August 1, 2011
Getting Started
I set up my first blog when I accompanied Alabama music students to Europe on the Alabama Ambassadors of Music Tour in the summer of 2009. The idea was to keep parents and friends informed of our activities and adventures while away for almost three weeks. I abandoned the project when we found access to WiFi in Europe to be difficult to obtain and expensive. I will say, however, that I did rather enjoy the few postings I was able to make before we left, and I think the parents enjoyed reading them.
Lately, I have found myself becoming more interested in returning (beginning, really) to the blog process. It will likely be only for my own edification and clarification, as I am one of those personality types who solves problems and reasons through situations by "talking" it out.
This week finds me enjoying my last three days of summer vacation before returning to ASFA on Thursday for professional development. It promises to be an interesting year. We have a new executive director of the school, and the music department has a new full-time faculty member. We will have more music students than we have since my first two years at ASFA, and though we are short on space, I am looking forward to it.
It really feels as if I am entering what some would call a new 'season' in my life. The girls are both quite independent, and the house is often quiet. I miss them sometimes, but I am glad they are happy and busy and accomplishing things. Morrow's new job is still offering challenges and new opportunities, and he is enjoying it very much. I am involved in a ladies' Bible study that I enjoy, and I am continuing to grow and enjoy teaching our Sunday School class. If I had the extra money, I think this would be the time for me to pursue that doctorate. Hmmmm..
Lately, I have found myself becoming more interested in returning (beginning, really) to the blog process. It will likely be only for my own edification and clarification, as I am one of those personality types who solves problems and reasons through situations by "talking" it out.
This week finds me enjoying my last three days of summer vacation before returning to ASFA on Thursday for professional development. It promises to be an interesting year. We have a new executive director of the school, and the music department has a new full-time faculty member. We will have more music students than we have since my first two years at ASFA, and though we are short on space, I am looking forward to it.
It really feels as if I am entering what some would call a new 'season' in my life. The girls are both quite independent, and the house is often quiet. I miss them sometimes, but I am glad they are happy and busy and accomplishing things. Morrow's new job is still offering challenges and new opportunities, and he is enjoying it very much. I am involved in a ladies' Bible study that I enjoy, and I am continuing to grow and enjoy teaching our Sunday School class. If I had the extra money, I think this would be the time for me to pursue that doctorate. Hmmmm..
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