tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-41148234005627838182024-03-14T02:42:50.406-04:00Free Ideasa blog by Susanna KingSusannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05836224575041085431noreply@blogger.comBlogger219125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4114823400562783818.post-5777230745716020532020-10-28T15:09:00.006-04:002020-10-29T11:02:37.796-04:00Poem: How I Saw What the Gentleman Saw<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rJ7_QJfGZdE/X5nBrrqupmI/AAAAAAAAFrg/x1chrosaoko9_3hWhkNOMTYP9zbGFWc_gCLcBGAsYHQ/s1100/how-i-saw.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="698" data-original-width="1100" height="406" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rJ7_QJfGZdE/X5nBrrqupmI/AAAAAAAAFrg/x1chrosaoko9_3hWhkNOMTYP9zbGFWc_gCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h406/how-i-saw.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: right;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">photo illustration by S. King<br /></span></i></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: right;"><br /></div><p><br /></p><p>Light reflecting off the yellow walls of the hospital room</p><p>Gives the scene a warm, nostalgic air it doesn't deserve.</p><p>On the bed, a boy cries and screams.</p><p>His limbs are spindly, his skin pale, his head overlarge,</p><p>Like a six-year-old foetus.</p><p>A white-capped nurse holds him down as he flails.</p><p>Doctors in white coats wait in the background,</p><p>Prepared to fix what's broken.</p><p>The boy's mother stands in the doorway</p><p>In a blue gingham housedress and brown cardigan.</p><p>Her hair is set in curls,</p><p>Her face in lines of perpetual worry.</p><p>She speaks to the gentleman in the hall,</p><p>A friend who has stopped by because.</p><p>"It happened again," she says</p><p>With perfunctory weariness.</p><p>The boy wails, the nurse shushes, the mother shrugs.</p><p>"But don't worry about us.</p><p>"We'll be all right."</p>Susannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05836224575041085431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4114823400562783818.post-85294296625543244592020-03-21T16:17:00.001-04:002020-03-21T16:17:46.902-04:00Poem: My Children Will Always Be Strangers<div class="poem">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1lRQ62xsNPw/XnZ1uAfLCaI/AAAAAAAAFeY/yXxe85sfs58JZspJFR6SodtfVLoTrDwAwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/children-strangers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="675" data-original-width="1200" height="360" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1lRQ62xsNPw/XnZ1uAfLCaI/AAAAAAAAFeY/yXxe85sfs58JZspJFR6SodtfVLoTrDwAwCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/children-strangers.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">digital illustration by S. King, based on a photo by <a href="https://unsplash.com/@renebbernal?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText">Rene Bernal</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
My children will always be strangers.<br />
The defining events of their lives,<br />
The bright flags on their timelines;<br />
I saw these as a jaded adult<br />
With decades of perspective<br />
To temper my understanding.<br />
I cannot fathom the imprint<br />
These days leave on young minds.<br />
Whatever shaped me long ago,<br />
The circumstances of my youth,<br />
Are gone or changed forever.<br />
When, someday, I am asked<br />
To answer for the choices made today,<br />
I doubt any reasons will suffice<br />
To those who still remember all<br />
With the stark intensity of childhood.<br />
Each generation has to ask forgiveness<br />
From all the ones who follow.
</div>
Susannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05836224575041085431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4114823400562783818.post-41127221908632791842019-12-03T16:35:00.001-05:002019-12-03T16:35:46.734-05:00Salted Pecans RecipeThis is my mother-in-law's recipe for salted pecans. I'm posting it here because, well, why not?<br />
It's very simple, and I suppose you could use whatever nut you have in your neck of the woods instead of pecans.<br />
<h4>
Salted Pecans<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LGA-D5XF3Is/XebUdG5MoVI/AAAAAAAAFbA/Rn1KgxdmWj0GToZdulb5iDqXBtErWGI9QCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/3412470545_ace5b6f6ec_w.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="267" data-original-width="400" height="266" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LGA-D5XF3Is/XebUdG5MoVI/AAAAAAAAFbA/Rn1KgxdmWj0GToZdulb5iDqXBtErWGI9QCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/3412470545_ace5b6f6ec_w.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/futurestreet/" target="_blank">futurestreet</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</h4>
<br />
<ul>
<li>One pound pecan halves</li>
<li>One stick ( 1/2 cup ) Land O Lakes salted butter</li>
<li>Small amount of salt</li>
<li>Preheat oven to 300 degrees</li>
</ul>
<div style="clear: both;">
Cut up butter and put it on a cookie pan (approximately 12x16). Melt the butter in the oven while it is preheating. Stir nuts in pan until completely covered in butter. Lightly salt. Cut off oven and put nuts in and leave until the oven is completely cooled. More salt can be added when the nuts are taken out. If the nuts are too salty or have too much butter, shake them in a paper bag to remove the excess.</div>
Susannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05836224575041085431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4114823400562783818.post-6229129727450952542019-06-28T18:36:00.000-04:002019-06-28T18:36:47.580-04:00How to Delete the Adobe Cache in MacOS XAll the informational posts I found about this are videos, so here are simple, text-based instructions.<br />
<br />
<br />
<ol>
<li>Go to ~/Library/Application Support/Adobe/Common/Media Cache Files</li>
<li>Delete everything in there.</li>
<li>Go up one level to the Media Cache folder & delete everything in there, too.</li>
<li>Now go to ~/Library/Caches/Adobe.</li>
<li>Pick one of the applications and navigate to [Application Name]/[Version No.]/Disk Cache.</li>
<li>Delete everything in there.</li>
<li>Go back to the list of Adobe applications and repeat steps 5 & 6 until you're satisfied. Some applications may not have a Disk Cache.</li>
<li>Empty the trash.</li>
</ol>
<div>
<br /></div>
Susannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05836224575041085431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4114823400562783818.post-42861805644827485192019-02-19T15:46:00.001-05:002019-02-19T15:46:08.675-05:00Collage: Humility<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rTQqa_uQF18/XGxqOBvrK2I/AAAAAAAAFRU/BhVY-b0C4D07CI3-LYAj73ZwuvL6HlyGwCLcBGAs/s1600/humility_19FEB19.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1200" height="480" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rTQqa_uQF18/XGxqOBvrK2I/AAAAAAAAFRU/BhVY-b0C4D07CI3-LYAj73ZwuvL6HlyGwCLcBGAs/s640/humility_19FEB19.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: right;"><i>digital collage by S. King</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
The collection of photos I found by searching on the word "humility" were, for the most part, not very evocative of that concept. There were a lot of stained glass and illuminated manuscript pictures, a lot of photos of church interiors and showy flowers. Among those, I managed to find three that I thought illustrated humility: a spare jail cell, a wooden figure, and a tree bent down from ice. These photos are by <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lafaske/3254188826/" target="_blank">Ben</a>, <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/saaleha/" target="_blank">Saaleha Bamjee</a>, and <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/dafongman/" target="_blank">Saved by Grace</a>.<br />
<br />
Right now, spring flowers are just beginning to bloom, but they're still surrounded by winter's dead grass and bare branches. I don't really like the contrast between the beautiful flowers and the ugly, dead winter leftovers. So this piece is a way of trying to pair death with new life, winter with spring, and trying to find beauty in the contrast.Susannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05836224575041085431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4114823400562783818.post-4932891349736544832019-02-15T17:31:00.001-05:002019-02-15T17:32:46.710-05:00Collage: Dialogue<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-246styuF1jc/XGc9JxHMUMI/AAAAAAAAFRE/nX3bxx-GfegamylYmEQpQao0PKSJz3YeACLcBGAs/s1600/dialogue_15FEB19.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="788" data-original-width="1400" height="360" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-246styuF1jc/XGc9JxHMUMI/AAAAAAAAFRE/nX3bxx-GfegamylYmEQpQao0PKSJz3YeACLcBGAs/s640/dialogue_15FEB19.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: right;">
<i>digital collage by Susanna King</i></div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I've been in an artistic slump for a while now. For a long time, I didn't feel like creating anything. More recently, I've been inspired to create but felt awkward and out of practice. I wasn't sure how to start again.<br />
<br />
These digital collages inspired by a single word have been my go-to creative exercise for years. Even though I couldn't think of a good word myself, I remembered that an email newsletter I get from <a href="https://www.ssje.org/" target="_blank">the Society of St. John the Evangelist</a> includes a daily word for meditation.<br />
<br />
Art is a form of meditation for me, so today I meditated on the word "Dialogue." I used my tried and true formula: searching for Creative Commons-licensed images on Flickr using this word, and selecting the ones that spoke to me. The photos included in this collage were taken by <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/66252478@N02/" target="_blank">Katie Taylor</a>, <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/lisso/" target="_blank">Olga</a>, and <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/schill/" target="_blank">Scott Schiller</a>.Susannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05836224575041085431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4114823400562783818.post-3081537958934197632018-10-13T15:36:00.000-04:002018-10-13T15:36:32.945-04:00Story: Goodbye, Manny<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6yCNW4XVnBM/W8JJDn4ADJI/AAAAAAAAFOw/YVIzvPICOocpDLdvEh4XRF6uP5QFDOvQQCLcBGAs/s1600/hospitronix.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1147" data-original-width="735" height="400" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6yCNW4XVnBM/W8JJDn4ADJI/AAAAAAAAFOw/YVIzvPICOocpDLdvEh4XRF6uP5QFDOvQQCLcBGAs/s400/hospitronix.png" width="256" /></a></div>
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Lily and Caden watched from across the great room as their four-year-old daughter, Carole, played dolls with Manny. The robot patiently helped Carole change the dolls’ clothes, doing the velcro closures when the girl had trouble.<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“You be the mommy and I’ll be the baby,” Carole instructed. “Say we’re going to the playground and the ice cream store.” She handed Manny a doll wearing a ball gown.<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Okay,” replied Manny in his pleasant, medium-pitched voice. “This doll is the mommy and your doll is the baby. We’ll pretend they’re going to the playground and the ice cream store.” He held up the doll in one of his articulated, pincer-like hands. “Let’s go to the playground today,” Manny said, his voice now that of a young woman.<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“He’s so good with Carole,” Caden said softly as he sipped his coffee. It was Sunday morning, family time.<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I know,” said Lily. “But I worry he’s getting old. He’s had a lot of glitches lately. I don’t think the last software update agreed with him.”<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Well, when it’s time, it’s time,” said Caden. “Robots don’t last forever.”<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Carole made the baby doll talk in a high-pitched voice, bouncing up and down. Manny started to reply, then froze, the waveform display that represented his mouth a broken, pixelated line.<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Manny?” asked Carole, patting him on the arm. “What’s wrong?” She tapped him harder, then turned to her parents. “Mommy? Manny’s stuck again.”<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Again?” Caden asked Lily.<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“This is like the third or fourth time since Thursday. Imaginative play, finding lost things, anything that’s too complicated and requires a little thought seems to make him freeze,” Lily said. “This last update was supposed to improve that sort of thing, but for him, it’s made it worse.”<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Sounds like it might be time for an upgrade,” said Caden. “How old is he now? Two and a half years?”<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“At least,” said Lily. “Probably more like three.”<br />
Caden watched his daughter poke at the frozen robot’s head while his wife removed a small panel and pressed the reset button. “Yep,” he said. “It’s time.”<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Lily stood up. “I’ll make the call today,” she said.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
*</div>
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Hospitronix, how can we help you?”<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Hi, yes, our Alphabet Series 3 robot needs to be replaced.”<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“All right. Are you looking to upgrade?”<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Yes, we’d like to get the Series 5s.”<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Very good. We can set up the data transfer and delivery for you.”<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“That would be great, thanks.”<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“When are you looking to retire your Series 3?”<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“As soon as possible, I think. Can you come tomorrow?”<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Let’s see, I can have a specialist come between two and four tomorrow afternoon.”<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“That sounds fine. How long does it usually take?”<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Anywhere from thirty minutes to an hour, depending on how many things you want to do while you say goodbye. I’ll give you a code for our app and you can select the specific program you want.”<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Will that be enough time to get everything ready?”<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“If you make your program selections today, our specialist will be able to get everything ready by tomorrow afternoon.”<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
*</div>
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>At two-thirty on Monday, the Hospitronix specialist arrived, carrying a blue backpack and a large, empty duffel bag with a window in the top. He introduced himself to Lily and Caden, who had taken the afternoon off. “Hello. I’m Rob. And you must be Carole,” he said, smiling at the girl peeking out from behind her mother’s leg.<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Are you a grandpa?” Carole asked.<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Rob laughed. “Yes, I am a grandpa! You’re very smart.”<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“But not your grandpa,” Lily clarified. “Rob is here to bring Manny back to the robot factory. <span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Remember, we talked about this. Manny is getting too old and needs to go back to be with the other robots.”<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Carole’s lip began to quiver. “I don’t want him to take Manny! Manny stays here with us.”<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Lily put her arms around Carole, while Rob squatted down until he was eye level with the girl.<br />
“I know you’re going to miss Manny,” said Rob. “But you know how hard he’s worked. He’s getting tired and needs to take a break.”<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Why’s he have to go away? Can’t you just fix him so he doesn’t break anymore?” asked Carole, her eyes beginning to water.<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Sometimes we can’t fix what’s wrong. In Manny’s case, he’s just gotten too old and can’t do everything as well as he used to.” Rob stood up. “But that’s why I’m here, to give you a chance to say goodbye to Manny and make sure you get to play your favorite games before he goes.”<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Like dress-up dance?”<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Yes,” said Rob. He set the bags down and pulled out a tablet. “It says here that your favorite game to play with Manny is dress-up dance, and your favorite snack for him to make is toast with grape jelly.”<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Carole nodded.<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Okay then?” Lily said. She tapped the face of her wristwatch and spoke. “Manny, meet Carole in her room.” To her daughter, she said, “Go get dressed up. We’ll wait here for the dance show.”<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>After Carole ran off upstairs, Caden asked Rob, “Will you be able to transfer all the data to the new robot? Including everything he’s learned?”<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Yes,” said Rob. “The new bot won’t be exactly the same, though, to prevent confusion. And we can adjust the level of learning it’ll need. How much retraining do you want to do?”<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Carole enjoyed teaching Manny so much, I think we should let her do that all over again. Just keep any pre-loaded games and information on the new robot. It should know all about Manny, but not act like him,” said Lily.<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Not a problem,” said Rob.<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“But keep all the household chore training,” said Caden.<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Yes,” Lily agreed. “We don’t want to have to do that all over again.”<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Okay, great,” said Rob, making a note on his tablet. “Now, do you want the new bot to be male, female, or neutral?”<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“How about a female one this time,” said Lily.<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“All right. Series 5s, female primary personality, pre-trained with data upload. She can arrive as soon as tomorrow.”<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Well…” Caden frowned.<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Would you like to wait a day or two?” asked Rob.<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Yes,” said Caden. “I think it would be good for Carole, and for us, to have at least a day in between. Could you deliver the new one Wednesday?”<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Absolutely,” said Rob, noting the date on his tablet.<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Just then, Carole shouted from the top of the stairs, “We’re ready!”<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“All right!” called Caden. “We’re sitting on the sofa! Let the show begin!”<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The adults arranged themselves on the sofa as the great room’s lights dimmed. Peppy dance music began streaming from the wall speakers. Carole hopped down the stairs, followed by Manny with his careful, rolling robot gait. Both were wrapped in brightly-colored scarves with sequined bands around their heads. At the bottom of the stairs, Carole yelled “One two three go!”<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The little girl waved her arms and twirled around while the robot spun first one way, then the other. Finally, Carole stood still and said “Ta da!”<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The music stopped and the lights came up. Manny and Carole bowed to their audience, who applauded and whistled.<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Great show!” said Rob.<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Now can we have jelly toast?” asked Carole.<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>When the snack was finished, Lily said it was time to say goodbye to Manny. Rob opened the panel on the back of his head and connected a small portable storage drive. “All of Manny’s memories will be stored in here, so when you get a new robot, they’ll be able to learn from him,” he said.<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Carole began to lose her calm. “I don’t want a new robot,” she said. “Why can’t we keep Manny?”<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Sweetie, we talked about this,” said Caden, holding his daughter on his lap. “Manny is getting too old to do everything he needs to around the house. He’s starting to break in ways we can’t fix him. It’s time to let a newer robot do the job, okay?”<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Carole nodded, her eyes big and serious.<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“All right, everyone. I’m going to put Manny to sleep so he can travel back to the factory with me in this big bag here. It’s time to say goodbye.”<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Goodbye, Manny,” said Caden, shaking the robot’s hand.<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Bye, Manny,” said Lily, patting the robot’s head.<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Carole climbed off her father’s lap and threw her arms around the robot’s shoulders. “Bye, Manny! I’m gonna miss you!” She looked at Rob. “Can he call me from the robot factory?”<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Yes,” said Rob. “If it’s all right with your parents.”<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“That would be fine,” said Lily. She’d read that the Series 3 personality could be stored inside the Series 5 until it was no longer needed. Once Carole knew Manny was okay, Lily figured the girl would be so enamored with his replacement, she’d probably forget about him after a while.<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Carole gave Manny one last squeeze, then stepped away. Rob put a small chip into a port in Manny’s back.<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Goodbye, everyone,” the robot said. “Goodbye, Caden. Goodbye, Lily. Goodbye, Carole.”<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The robot’s eyes slowly dimmed and his head tipped forward, as if he were falling asleep standing up. Rob gently lifted Manny and laid him in the large duffel bag so that his face showed through the window in the top when it was closed.<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“All right,” said Rob, lifting his bags. “Have a good evening. And please let me know if there’s anything else Hospitronix can do for you.”<br />
<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>As Rob walked out to his car, Carole hugged her mother’s leg and waved. “Bye, Manny,” she whispered.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>
Susannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05836224575041085431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4114823400562783818.post-9525962073827423372018-10-08T11:12:00.001-04:002018-10-08T15:16:52.630-04:00Dialogue: The Hummingbird<style type="text/css">
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<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-381UFr7ndAg/W7tzPyFN7AI/AAAAAAAAFOg/K8Gvf0q_1jYN3m_LSb-82Xm7EOqb1Q4PACLcBGAs/s1600/hummingbird-illustration.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="821" data-original-width="1200" height="436" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-381UFr7ndAg/W7tzPyFN7AI/AAAAAAAAFOg/K8Gvf0q_1jYN3m_LSb-82Xm7EOqb1Q4PACLcBGAs/s640/hummingbird-illustration.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: right;"><i>Photo illustration by Susanna King. Window photo by <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/howzey/" target="_blank">Paul</a>. Hummingbird photo by <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/thedreadpirateroberts/" target="_blank">Yugen</a>.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<br style="clear:both" />
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span>
<span class="s1">“Quick! Look out the window!”</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“Just a sec.”</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“You’re going to miss it!”</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“Hold on, I’ve got to set this down… Okay. What is it?”</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“It’s gone now. It was a hummingbird. You’ve got to look right when I say, ‘Look!’”</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“I couldn’t. I was carrying a big pot full of water.”</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“You always make excuses like that. You never want to do something right when I tell you to do it.”</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“If I’d rushed over to the window, I would’ve spilled water all over the floor and maybe dropped a heavy pot on your foot.”</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“But what if it had been a life and death situation? If I told you to run and you stopped to finish whatever you’re doing, you might not make it.”</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“But this wasn’t a life and death situation. It was a hummingbird. I’m sure it was cool, and I would’ve liked to have seen it, but I don’t think it was worth risking potential injury and messing up the kitchen.”</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“But it’s not just this time. Whenever I say ‘Look at this!’ or ‘Come here!’ you always have to ask why, or you say ‘Just a minute.’ You’ve got to trust me that I know what I’m doing.”</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“And you need to trust me that I can hear from your voice that it’s not an emergency. In a real emergency, I promise, I would drop everything and come right away. I’m sorry I missed the hummingbird.”</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“Look! It’s back!”</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“You’re right. It is pretty neat.”</span></div>
<br />Susannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05836224575041085431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4114823400562783818.post-41315905238988023952018-03-30T17:39:00.000-04:002018-03-30T17:39:34.950-04:00Poem: Honey<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EnjotDrZQFM/Wr6sJV9Qy9I/AAAAAAAAFKc/dVGQ2IgsbvctoPJkaUKIcw9oKtDv9M9rgCEwYBhgL/s1600/honeyillustration.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1392" data-original-width="1024" height="438" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EnjotDrZQFM/Wr6sJV9Qy9I/AAAAAAAAFKc/dVGQ2IgsbvctoPJkaUKIcw9oKtDv9M9rgCEwYBhgL/s400/honeyillustration.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>photo illustration by S. King, </i><br />
<i>original photo by <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/stewickie/" target="_blank">Stew & Vee Carrington</a></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div class="poem">
The honey inside of me<br />
Is so old,<br />
It has hardened<br />
And crystallized.<br />
Heat me with<br />
Your fire,<br />
So I might melt<br />
A little.<br />
Soften what<br />
Is hard in me<br />
And I will share<br />
Some sweetness<br />
With those nearby –<br />
The sour,<br />
The bitter,<br />
And the salty ones.
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Susannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05836224575041085431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4114823400562783818.post-74928370745122793012018-03-04T12:14:00.003-05:002018-03-04T12:14:57.634-05:00Poem/Song: Highway 9This morning in church we read the story of Jesus chasing the merchants and moneychangers out of the temple from John (<a href="http://www.lectionarypage.net/YearB_RCL/Lent/BLent3_RCL.html#gsp1" target="_blank">John 2:13-22</a>). The reading reminded me of the second half of a song I wrote several years ago. Chances are slim to none I'll ever get around to recording it (ask me to sing it for you next time I see you though). But song lyrics are a kind of poetry, so I thought I'd share them here. I particularly like the sense of place and time this song evokes for me.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LQuY-Vl_1I8/Wpwo3eY4PGI/AAAAAAAAFJE/Wl4nyeMwkzMn6qro2m8nIoh0PgUVBxvNgCLcBGAs/s1600/pondy-sun8889.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="726" data-original-width="1600" height="290" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LQuY-Vl_1I8/Wpwo3eY4PGI/AAAAAAAAFJE/Wl4nyeMwkzMn6qro2m8nIoh0PgUVBxvNgCLcBGAs/s640/pondy-sun8889.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: right;"><i>photo illustration by S. King, photos from Ponderosa Lodge '88 and '89</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<h3>
<br />
Highway 9</h3>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="poem">
We drove down Highway 9<br />
From Ashton to Rocketown<br />
The sun was up<br />
Our defenses were down<br />
You drove so fast<br />
We didn’t care<br />
About the day & the time <br />
In the rest of the world<br />
We just wanted to be there<br />
On Highway 9<br />
Between Ashton & Rocketown<br />
The radio is loud<br />
There’s enough to go around<br />
Sand in your shoes<br />
Leaves in my hair<br />
We’re in the mountains<br />
And at the beach<br />
We are everywhere<br />
On Highway 9<br />
Between Ashton & Rocketown<br />
<br />
If you had told me then<br />
How my life would be today<br />
I’d have told you that’s<br />
Impossible, I will never stray<br />
From Highway 9<br />
Between Ashton & Rocketown<br />
The road’s still there<br />
But it has a new sound<br />
Traffic and noise<br />
Billboards everywhere<br />
I have to make<br />
My own way now<br />
I don’t belong there<br />
On Highway 9<br />
Between Ashton & Rocketown<br />
<br /></div>
Susannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05836224575041085431noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4114823400562783818.post-58315817106294567552017-12-07T19:51:00.001-05:002020-01-07T11:04:59.557-05:00Poem: Protest<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jtetJhe0wyw/WgsJT4_pA-I/AAAAAAAAFDQ/QRRkIwSpA-wPaCZZscjs1V6puhxMgyRDwCLcBGAs/s1600/protest.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1443" data-original-width="1000" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jtetJhe0wyw/WgsJT4_pA-I/AAAAAAAAFDQ/QRRkIwSpA-wPaCZZscjs1V6puhxMgyRDwCLcBGAs/s400/protest.jpg" width="275" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: right;"><i>digital collage by S. King, using a photo <br />by <a href="http://www.ihikesandiego.com/" target="_blank">Brad Spiess</a></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="poem">
The rock is in my way;<br />
I have to move it.<br />
But,<br />
When I push against<br />
This obstacle,<br />
I uncover all<br />
The nasty things<br />
Living beneath.<br />
"Why did you move that rock?"<br />
People ask me.<br />
They blame me for<br />
Exposing<br />
The hidden creatures<br />
Lurking below it.<br />
They tell me,<br />
"Stop!"<br />
As if it's<br />
My fault they see<br />
Something ugly<br />
Crawling out from<br />
Underneath that rock.<br />
The rock is in my way,<br />
And I will move it.
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Susannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05836224575041085431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4114823400562783818.post-67489895069207574332017-12-01T10:58:00.001-05:002017-12-01T10:58:05.545-05:00What Democrats Believe<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JwRBbSAEKQ4/WiF4T6u0m_I/AAAAAAAAFEE/uzjzZF61Tr8S8HWVvrgw4M96y56h70D8wCLcBGAs/s1600/Dems3RsSquare.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="432" data-original-width="432" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JwRBbSAEKQ4/WiF4T6u0m_I/AAAAAAAAFEE/uzjzZF61Tr8S8HWVvrgw4M96y56h70D8wCLcBGAs/s320/Dems3RsSquare.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>My take on a summary for the Democratic Party's agenda.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
In the wake of last year's election, there's been a lot of soul-searching among members of <a href="https://www.democrats.org/" target="_blank">the Democratic Party</a>. One point I see raised often is that Democrats don't have a clear message or statement of beliefs. I recall a local Democratic Party meeting back in February where we scoured the state party web site for such a statement, and found nothing. The problem, of course, is not that Democrats don't have a clear set of beliefs, but rather that we're not very good at articulating them.<br />
<br />
Earlier this year, the party tried to improve their messaging with the proposal <a href="https://abetterdeal.democraticleader.gov/" target="_blank">"A Better Deal."</a> I can understand the thought behind this: the New Deal is still the gold standard of Democratic legislative accomplishments, what we're offering is better than what the Republicans have, put the two together and voila! Unfortunately, the message fell flat. "A Better Deal" sounds hesitant and timid, and the proposal itself is heavily detailed and more practical than progressive - criticisms which reinforce the stereotype of the Democratic Party as out of touch with the needs of America today.<br />
<br />
This week, The Takeaway radio show has been <a href="http://www.wnyc.org/story/fight-inside-dnc" target="_blank">asking various people inside the Democratic Party</a> about what they think its direction should be as part of their series <a href="http://www.wnyc.org/series/parties" target="_blank">The Road Ahead</a>. I've heard a lot of good ideas, and at their core is the belief in democracy: that government should be of the people, by the people, and for the people. From Keith Ellison to Howard Dean, the people interviewed all said that the future of the party is coming from the grassroots up, not the top down. Like any good manager, the job of the people in charge is to facilitate the best ideas, remove roadblocks, and make it easier for everyone to get involved.<br />
<br />
So, while the people who are good at meeting and facilitating and administrating are doing their jobs (God bless them! It ain't easy.), I'd like to submit my ideas for consideration. This is my take on a succinct statement of beliefs for the Democratic Party. <a href="http://www.superflippy.net/media/3Rs_1.pdf" target="_blank">Here's a PDF you can download, too.</a><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-MEdL6k3mnV4/WiFyfMKD5YI/AAAAAAAAFD0/z96ujCLT5nISWHZ1NSFrtxyTTKZc7pOjgCLcBGAs/s1600/Democrats3Rs.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="792" data-original-width="612" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-MEdL6k3mnV4/WiFyfMKD5YI/AAAAAAAAFD0/z96ujCLT5nISWHZ1NSFrtxyTTKZc7pOjgCLcBGAs/s640/Democrats3Rs.png" width="494" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Please note this is not (yet) officially endorsed by the Democratic Party</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I used the language that Democrats I know have already been using this year. <a href="http://knowyourmeme.com/memes/resist" target="_blank">"Resist"</a> cropped up immediately after Trump's election, and hasn't diminished in the year since. <a href="https://www.vox.com/culture/2017/7/31/16070822/reclaiming-my-time-maxine-waters-mnuchin-meme" target="_blank">"Reclaim"</a> entered the conversation thanks to Representative Maxine Waters, who refused to allow others to ignore her questions or talk over her. "Rebuild" isn't a meme, it's just a simple statement of the work we have ahead of us to fix what's been broken and neglected.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
My goal was to craft a statement of beliefs that can inspire those both within and outside the Party. I wanted something general enough that most of the Party's goals and values would be included, without getting bogged down in details, as we so often do. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
In the spirit of democracy, I would like to hear your feedback on this statement of beliefs. What would you change? What would you add? I'd like to continue the conversation to let America know what the Democratic Party believes, and hopefully inspire a few more people to say, "I want to be a part of that."</div>
<br />Susannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05836224575041085431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4114823400562783818.post-86460522050568709512017-09-05T08:00:00.000-04:002017-09-05T08:00:15.699-04:00Their History Matters to Them<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8kLMKaa2qr4/Wa2Kv9BsmlI/AAAAAAAAFAE/MJQfo7HrZPo35XEt6ag9v8Wlfsh7TeYrgCLcBGAs/s1600/hebrew-history.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="670" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8kLMKaa2qr4/Wa2Kv9BsmlI/AAAAAAAAFAE/MJQfo7HrZPo35XEt6ag9v8Wlfsh7TeYrgCLcBGAs/s640/hebrew-history.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: right;"><span style="color: #999999;"><i>Sculpture: <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:PikiWiki_Israel_12454_last_voyage_relief_in_yad_vashem.jpg" target="_blank">"The Last Voyage"</a></i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I recently came across an online discussion about whether or not the Israelites were ever really slaves in Egypt. There's <a href="http://www.haaretz.com/jewish/archaeology/1.713849" target="_blank">a lot of scholarship on this subject</a>, and it's fascinating to read about the archeological evidence (or lack thereof) for the Hebrew Bible. But I find it even more interesting to think about how the history of this small ethnic group is now known the world over.<br />
<br />
I don't find it at all surprising that the Egyptians didn't corroborate a lot of the stories from the Hebrew Bible in their own writings. After all, why would they? They were large and powerful monarchies, and with the effort and expense required to actually write things down 4,000 years ago, why would they waste any of that on stories about a fragment of the slave or migrant population? There were thousands of people who migrated through Egypt's kingdoms back then.<br />
<br />
The history of the Israelites (or people who eventually became the Israelites) just didn't matter to the Egyptian ruling class. But it mattered to the Israelites. They carefully preserved the stories of their ancestors, passing them down orally and eventually in written form. As a migrant people, history and shared culture was all they had.<br />
<br />
Now, one of the great ironies of history, in my mind, is that many people the world over who have no Hebrew ancestry can list the rulers of Israel and recite stories from their histories; while few beyond scholars can name more than a couple of Egyptian pharoahs. In fact, a lot of people only know Egyptian history through the lens of the Hebrew Bible.<br />
<br />
Millennia later, the unimportant migrants, the slaves, are known worldwide. Their histories are just as important as those of the great kingdoms where they toiled anonymously. I wonder, who are the Israelites among us now? Which ignored, marginalized people are carefully recording their own stories from their own perspective - stories those in power aren't even aware of.<br />
<br />
A thousand years from now, the people in power now might either be forgotten or else known primarily through the stories of the ones they enslaved and mistreated. It's a good reminder not to discount people's points of view just because they aren't the ones in charge.Susannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05836224575041085431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4114823400562783818.post-2336349914371125662017-09-04T11:00:00.001-04:002017-09-04T11:00:41.563-04:00The Definition of "Free"<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-eGJ7LpRMuh4/Wa1p5Y330tI/AAAAAAAAE_0/hBgllb3KitQVxSFQ2VNVI-AOQY8CfCquwCLcBGAs/s1600/balloons.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="627" data-original-width="1600" height="250" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-eGJ7LpRMuh4/Wa1p5Y330tI/AAAAAAAAE_0/hBgllb3KitQVxSFQ2VNVI-AOQY8CfCquwCLcBGAs/s640/balloons.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: right;"><i><span style="color: #999999;">photo by <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/inparistexas/" target="_blank">Amy Claxton</a></span></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
When I first started this blog, I intended it as a place where I could share ideas that I thought were useful but that I didn't really know what to do with. "Free Ideas" meant ideas that I was sharing for free, without cost.<br />
<br />
Over the years, however, I've found that while my head is as full of ideas as ever, not all of them are useful. Many of them are simply persistent, connections or stories or images that, once created, seem to want to rattle around in my brain, getting in the way of my thinking about more important stuff.<br />
<br />
So I've decided to free these ideas trapped in my head. "Free Ideas" now means a place to set free all the thoughts clogging my mind, a place to purge my brain. For anyone reading this blog, you likely won't notice much difference except that the frequency of posting should increase.<br />
<br />
For me, I hope that this change in focus will help me get better at turning invisible ideas into visible creations. I tend to be satisfied with the creation of a story or a song or anything else simply in my own head, and don't need (or even want, most of the time) the validation that comes with sharing it with a wider audience. However, as I get older, I've realized that I don't want everything I've created to die with me, so I need to get it out of my head somehow.<br />
<br />
Hopefully, posting here will be a start.Susannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05836224575041085431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4114823400562783818.post-28949432640249526682017-05-24T15:19:00.000-04:002017-05-24T15:19:18.841-04:00Poem: I Was a Teenage Moth<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-FtfjAxfLrWQ/WSXbrG8jmdI/AAAAAAAAE9o/sjHjWBEfQ_oJhmfCBUy8CGKvFKLv2rRkgCLcB/s1600/cocoon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="765" data-original-width="1000" height="488" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-FtfjAxfLrWQ/WSXbrG8jmdI/AAAAAAAAE9o/sjHjWBEfQ_oJhmfCBUy8CGKvFKLv2rRkgCLcB/s640/cocoon.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: right;"><i>Me on the last day of 8th grade</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="poem">
I covered myself with plastic chains,<br />
Rocks and beads, embroidery thread,<br />
Glitter paint, and soda can tabs.<br />
I wrapped my body in ripped jeans<br />
And t-shirts stamped<br />
With symbols of my tribe.<br />
So cocooned, I pupated,<br />
Relying on my outer shell<br />
To tell the world<br />
Exactly who I was,<br />
Who I wanted to be.<br />
Inside, I gradually developed<br />
A heart, a spine, a prefrontal cortex:<br />
Each new organ dearly bought<br />
And painfully grown.<br />
At last, I realized I had emerged<br />
The day I found<br />
Pieces of my cocoon<br />
Neatly boxed up and put away<br />
As mementos from a time<br />
When I wore my inner self<br />
On the outside.
</div>
Susannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05836224575041085431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4114823400562783818.post-13442482895770092882017-05-13T15:43:00.001-04:002017-05-13T15:43:52.316-04:00Poem: Sine Wave<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IYHaqCC0bO0/WRdf81BZiiI/AAAAAAAAE9I/W3Ynm4CWeC0t_rcKAN3dPfD8aByd19_xwCLcB/s1600/sinewave.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="290" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IYHaqCC0bO0/WRdf81BZiiI/AAAAAAAAE9I/W3Ynm4CWeC0t_rcKAN3dPfD8aByd19_xwCLcB/s640/sinewave.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: right;"><i>illustration by S. King</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="poem">
Life happens on a sine wave.<br />
Troughs and peaks, crests and valleys<br />
Are part of every day,<br />
Every week,<br />
every year.<br />
I can't determine<br />
The period of this waveform<br />
From my mortal perspective<br />
On my little life raft<br />
Riding each wave as it comes.<br />
All I know is<br />
The motion is continuous<br />
Through life's ups and downs.<br />
It doesn't matter<br />
Which part of the wave<br />
I'm surfing today -<br />
Rise or fall,<br />
Tomorrow will be different.<br />
<br /></div>
Susannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05836224575041085431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4114823400562783818.post-6620063091819738422017-04-23T18:27:00.002-04:002017-04-23T18:32:19.702-04:00Poem: Shoot<div class="poem">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NJ7zO8vtIOU/WP0i0nzlinI/AAAAAAAAE8k/ysSDhsj0AawIlaQt7y939HsggoVoSmuJQCLcB/s1600/shoot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NJ7zO8vtIOU/WP0i0nzlinI/AAAAAAAAE8k/ysSDhsj0AawIlaQt7y939HsggoVoSmuJQCLcB/s640/shoot.jpg" width="532" /></a></div>
<br />
You were your mother's last effort,<br />
Sustaining life when she faced death.<br />
Your mother was old,<br />
Old and strong and beautiful.<br />
I wish you could have seen her<br />
In her springtime glory<br />
Before that winter day<br />
When ice came raining down.<br />
Her branches bent and broke,<br />
But I think she could have<br />
Remained and recovered<br />
As her sisters did<br />
(Look! You can see them now<br />
Flanking that empty spot.)<br />
If it weren't for the patch<br />
Of bad ground where she stood.<br />
The earth around your mother<br />
Was too weak to hold her up.<br />
Her roots lost their grip, and she fell.<br />
She fell, but did not die, not yet.<br />
When she saw death coming,<br />
Your mother sent up shoots<br />
Sprouting by the dozens.<br />
Most were little things,<br />
Hardly more than weeds.<br />
But you were her best effort.<br />
She reached out and placed you<br />
Distant, far away from<br />
The bad ground that sealed her fate.<br />
She passed on to you<br />
Her strength and tenacity.<br />
I saw her in you from the beginning,<br />
And let you grow where you sprang up,<br />
Wild at first, spindly and untamed.<br />
I hoped you might grow into<br />
My memory of your mother's beauty.<br />
So I trimmed your branches<br />
And shaped you with care.<br />
No longer just a shoot,<br />
You've become a tree,<br />
One which I hope will grow tall<br />
And spread its branches wide<br />
And bloom in springtime to remind me<br />
That even death is not the end.</div>
<h4>
</h4>
<h4>
<br /></h4>
<h4>
Postscript</h4>
This poem was inspired by a comment my friend Susanna (yes, we have the same name) made. She is a landscape designer and knows more about how to grow and nurture plants than I ever will. I posted a video of my husband cutting down a tree in our yard on Facebook, and she asked why we cut it down, since it made her "sad to see trees go down without good cause."<br />
<br />
Her comment made me pause and think about how differently I view trees here in South Carolina than when I lived in California. There, trees are the majestic giants of the landscape. Each tree, whether pine or oak, birch or redwood, has its own space. In California gardens, trees generally don't grow unless you specifically plant them there. When Susanna redesigns someone's garden, she takes existing trees into account and designs around them.<br />
<br />
In South Carolina, trees grow like weeds, literally. When I weed a flowerbed, I pull up handfuls of pine and cherry laurel and oak tree sprouts (Oak are the worst! Their roots are so stubborn.). Any empty lot will become a forest if you just leave it alone for a couple of years. When developers build houses around here, they often clear out all the trees on a lot before building. After all, you can easily grow more trees after the house is built. The tree that we cut down in our yard wasn't aesthetically pleasing and had been damaged by an ice storm. I thought of it as sort of a giant weed, to be honest. My friend's comment made me think about the prevailing attitude where I live now, that trees are so common and easy to grow we don't value them much.<br />
<br />
There was another tree knocked down by the ice storm, a beautiful flowering pear, the middle one of three that lined our driveway. After the storm, we cut it down to the stump, since stumps are difficult to remove. Remarkably, the stump continued to send out shoots, as if it were desperate to continue its life even though the main body of the tree was gone. Most of those shoots we cut down. But one grew big enough that it would've been too much trouble to remove it. I began to wonder how big it could get, and whether or not it would be able to become a tree in its own right. I liked the idea of the old pear tree leaving behind a "daughter" tree to remember her by.<br />
<br />
All these thoughts inspired me to write the poem above. Common or not, each tree is a little miracle of nature, designed to grow and thrive in all sorts of adverse circumstances.Susannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05836224575041085431noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4114823400562783818.post-16953401013918686392017-04-14T08:31:00.000-04:002017-05-24T21:46:23.166-04:00Poem: Unimproved Lot<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-m0D7E38xwEo/WPDAwXGeRYI/AAAAAAAAE8M/m2N8mo82g20BbG_aT2uoMPU0QyJsOzbfACLcB/s1600/unimproved.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-m0D7E38xwEo/WPDAwXGeRYI/AAAAAAAAE8M/m2N8mo82g20BbG_aT2uoMPU0QyJsOzbfACLcB/s640/unimproved.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="poem">
Find beauty in a dead oak tree<br />
Drowning in kudzu.<br />
Find beauty in a lopsided longleaf pine<br />
And the squirrel nest in its broken branches.<br />
Find beauty in dusty red dirt<br />
Scattered with pine cones.<br />
Find beauty in blackbirds' overlapping cries<br />
And cicadas' grinding whirrs.<br />
Find beauty in shimmering, humid heat<br />
On a cloudless summer afternoon.<br />
Find beauty in places called empty,<br />
Abandoned, ignored, unimproved.</div>
Susannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05836224575041085431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4114823400562783818.post-63150117146224454672017-02-01T16:00:00.000-05:002017-02-01T16:00:36.930-05:00How to Write a Politically Correct Business Email<div style="background-color: #eee; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 1.5em; padding: 5px;">
Dear Bubba,<br />
I know that I really ought to be raising this issue with Jim Bob. But, as anyone who's met him knows, he's a stupid S.O.B. and lazy to boot, so therefore unlikely to either understand or care about my concerns.</div>
<br />
<br />
Dang. That's no good.<br />
<br />
<div style="background-color: #eee; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 1.5em; padding: 5px;">
Dear Bubba,<br />
I know that I really ought to be raising this issue with Jim Bob. But I think that it falls outside his area of expertise. I hope that you will be able to help me take care of this problem, or recommend someone else who can. Please don't bring Jim Bob into this, he's dumb as a slug and mean as a hornet and you'll only make him confused and angry.</div>
<br />
<br />
Nope. Dang.<br />
<br />
<div style="background-color: #eee; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 1.5em; padding: 5px;">
Dear Bubba,<br />
I know that I really ought to be raising this issue with Jim Bob. But I think that it falls outside his area of expertise. I hope that you will be able to help me take care of the problem, or recommend someone else who can. I don't think it's a good idea to bother Jim Bob with this right now, as he has other priorities. If we can come up with a reasonable solution quickly, I think we'll be able to implement it before Jim Bob has another one of his temper tantrums and goes whining to the boss like a spoiled five-year-old.</div>
<br />
<br />
Nope. Can't do it. Try again.<br />
<br />
<div style="background-color: #eee; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 1.5em; padding: 5px;">
Dear Bubba,<br />
I know that I really ought to be raising this issue with Jim Bob. But I think that it falls outside his area of expertise. I hope that you will be able to help me take care of the problem, or recommend someone else who can. I don't think it's a good idea to bother Jim Bob with this right now, as he has other priorities. If we can come up with a reasonable solution quickly, I think we'll be able to implement it without interference.<br />
Thank you for your time.</div>
<br />
<br />Susannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05836224575041085431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4114823400562783818.post-80013809666323916402016-11-28T22:04:00.004-05:002016-11-28T22:05:43.563-05:00Poem: Respite<div class="poem">
<div style="float: right; text-align: right;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AXTiWtCoAro/WDzviiXz0VI/AAAAAAAAE4o/nMCktgVBAWM9qsw-pqUyc4EwqFMg8cKtACLcB/s1600/cheese-crest2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AXTiWtCoAro/WDzviiXz0VI/AAAAAAAAE4o/nMCktgVBAWM9qsw-pqUyc4EwqFMg8cKtACLcB/s320/cheese-crest2.jpg" width="249" /></a></div>
We drink wine and whiskey<br />
While the world falls apart.<br />
Despair is parked outside;<br />
Anger left by the door<br />
Like a wet umbrella.<br />
Here in the Kingdom of Cheddar and Brie<br />
Contentment reigns -<br />
Nine o'clock and all's well.<br />
We tell old stories,<br />
Sing old songs,<br />
Drink old scotch,<br />
And share memories,<br />
And memories of memories.<br />
Tomorrow's news<br />
Will put new wrinkles on my face.<br />
But tonight,<br />
I drive home in silence -<br />
Cheese in my stomach,<br />
Music in my head -<br />
And sleep in quiet peace.<br />
<br /></div>
Susannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05836224575041085431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4114823400562783818.post-84370401411685059542016-09-30T18:20:00.000-04:002017-07-06T17:04:38.974-04:00Collage: September DiptychIt's been a while, but I finally made some new desktop picture collages. This month, I was not very creative and just searched Flickr with the word "September".<br />
<br />
Because I have two monitors, I created two complimentary collages, like I did with my fog diptych.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ZQ6u9dLDiO4/V-7jrV-9q_I/AAAAAAAAE3c/c0S5VvPjExAPamclNaIjyK4FrixQtPOqQCLcB/s1600/SEP16_1_september.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ZQ6u9dLDiO4/V-7jrV-9q_I/AAAAAAAAE3c/c0S5VvPjExAPamclNaIjyK4FrixQtPOqQCLcB/s640/SEP16_1_september.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: right;"><i>September 1 by S. King</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-B1K0Iik_Slo/V-7ju_jLBNI/AAAAAAAAE3g/F5-sAgkgGhgCvyYA7P2ySjvp3eAkjx0OQCLcB/s1600/SEP16_2_september.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-B1K0Iik_Slo/V-7ju_jLBNI/AAAAAAAAE3g/F5-sAgkgGhgCvyYA7P2ySjvp3eAkjx0OQCLcB/s640/SEP16_2_september.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: right;"><i>September 2 by S. King</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
The first image is on my main monitor and the second is to my right. I like how looking from left to right is like looking from the beginning to the end of September, from the last days of summer to the start of October and Halloween season.<br />
<br />
Here are the 4 images I used as my sources:<br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 1em; text-align: center;">
<a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/flatworldsedge/5148859022/in/faves-47389587@N00/" title="Crop Rotation (Sunset & Cows), Dorset"><img alt="Crop Rotation (Sunset & Cows), Dorset" height="213" src="https://c7.staticflickr.com/5/4145/5148859022_6b6de62917_n.jpg" width="320" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script></div>
<div style="margin: 1em; text-align: center;">
<a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/davedehetre/5016937448/in/faves-47389587@N00/" title="harvest moon september 22nd 2010"><img alt="harvest moon september 22nd 2010" height="309" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4149/5016937448_db4b7e7805_n.jpg" width="320" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script></div>
<div style="margin: 1em; text-align: center;">
<a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/cuppini/471033827/in/faves-47389587@N00/" title="Fonti del Clitunno [Explored]"><img alt="Fonti del Clitunno [Explored]" height="242" src="https://c4.staticflickr.com/1/216/471033827_08bc4e339a_n.jpg" width="320" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script></div>
<div style="margin: 1em; text-align: center;">
<a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/chrismatos/8540856987/in/faves-47389587@N00/" title="Hello Flick Family. Read My Story. Know My Name :))"><img alt="Hello Flick Family. Read My Story. Know My Name :))" height="249" src="https://c4.staticflickr.com/9/8099/8540856987_b58ebe373c_n.jpg" width="320" /></a><script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script></div>
<br />
I used the Pixellate > Pointillize filter a lot in both collages. For the second, I also used the halftone filter. One of the pointillized layers from the boat image is in the moon picture, to add more texture and color. I used the threshold filter on a cut-out of the cat to make the shape stand out and look more like a shadow.Susannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05836224575041085431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4114823400562783818.post-17263360522240154632016-09-14T17:00:00.000-04:002016-09-14T17:00:12.030-04:00Poem: Midlands September<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-I-p_BB2WA-Q/V9m1epeJNWI/AAAAAAAAE2o/qS-A4mQ-NEMIsxxhEnRaPtTEgeQu_SfWwCEw/s1600/mid-sep.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-I-p_BB2WA-Q/V9m1epeJNWI/AAAAAAAAE2o/qS-A4mQ-NEMIsxxhEnRaPtTEgeQu_SfWwCEw/s640/mid-sep.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: right;"><i>Photo illustration by S. King. <a href="https://www.blogger.com/By%20Own%20scan,%20slightly%20modified.%20Original%20by%20Emil%20August%20Goeldi%20(1859%20-%201917).%20-%20E.%20A.%20Goeldi%20(1905)%20Os%20Mosquitos%20no%20Par%C3%A1.%20Memorias%20do%20Museu%20Goeldi.%20Par%C3%A1,%20Brazil.%20Figures%203%20(left)%201%20(middle)%20and%202%20(right)%20of%20Plate%201%20in%20the%20Appendix.,%20Public%20Domain,%20https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=5469706" target="_blank">Mosquito image credits</a>.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="height: 1em;">
</div>
<div class="poem" style="margin-left: 1em;">
Some day soon<br />
Mosquitoes will lie dormant<br />
And the water in the air<br />
Will retreat<br />
To clouds, lakes, and rivers.<br />
<br />
Some day soon<br />
I will walk outside<br />
Briskly<br />
And my shirt will not<br />
Stick to my back and chest.<br />
<br />
Some day soon<br />
A breeze will make me shiver<br />
And I will open<br />
Every window in my house<br />
To let it in.<br />
<br />
Some day soon<br />
Summer's tyranny will end<br />
And we will dance in the streets,<br />
Wearing jeans,<br />
Rejoicing in the victory of Fall.
</div>
Susannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05836224575041085431noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4114823400562783818.post-52608004726522605022016-09-11T15:51:00.000-04:002016-09-11T15:51:24.887-04:00Creating a weekly family schedule<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Z0DmdMGxOuQ/V9W0UG6Jj3I/AAAAAAAAE2U/WVIyGZmO8Mkw93RB51kOctCjl7VtwSH9ACLcB/s1600/fam-sched-titlepic.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="278" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Z0DmdMGxOuQ/V9W0UG6Jj3I/AAAAAAAAE2U/WVIyGZmO8Mkw93RB51kOctCjl7VtwSH9ACLcB/s320/fam-sched-titlepic.png" width="320" /></a></div>
My husband and I both work full-time and we have two elementary-age kids. This means that our life can get pretty busy sometimes, what with everyone's activities, obligations, doctor appointments, etc.<br />
<br />
Several months ago, my husband wished for a way to organize our chaotic schedules, to have a big-picture idea of what was coming instead of just being unpleasantly surprised by his phone alerting him that David has a basketball game across town in 15 minutes. Synced smart-phone calendars help, but they don't do a very good job of giving all four of us a picture of what our week will look like.<br />
<br />
In the past, we'd also had laminated chore charts on the fridge so we could check off everyday chores. He wanted to bring those back, too, so I took it up as a design challenge to save fridge space and combine the two: weekly calendar and daily chore chart. After all, I'm a graphic designer turned UX specialist. This sort of thing ought to be right in my wheelhouse!<br />
<br />
After several iterations, here is what I came up with. This is an example of a weekly schedule from a few months ago.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wBjFHxRaWnw/V9WtA0u5VDI/AAAAAAAAE2I/Iz8bg-GIBGUXasXXCbMpN3kY0M5qaGVMACLcB/s1600/FamilySchedule3_1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="494" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wBjFHxRaWnw/V9WtA0u5VDI/AAAAAAAAE2I/Iz8bg-GIBGUXasXXCbMpN3kY0M5qaGVMACLcB/s640/FamilySchedule3_1.png" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
Here are some of the notable features of this design:<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Only 4 activities fit on each day, a reminder that it's just not realistic to try and do too much in one day.</li>
<li>The schedule begins on Monday, because that's how we think of our weeks: five days of school/work followed by two days of weekend. Also, some events go across the whole weekend and having Saturday and Sunday next to each other makes it easier to show that.</li>
<li>The chores can be changed each week when I print out the new schedule. For example, this week I added making & delivering a cake to the chores. </li>
<li>Originally, I had initials next to each chore showing who was supposed to do what. I ended up getting rid of those because everyone already knows which chores are theirs.</li>
<li>We can use this schedule to plan meals for the week, seeing ahead of time which days we'll have a lot of time for cooking and which days will be 'Leftovers a la Microwave.' If I were a terribly organized sort of person, I might even add the menu to the schedule (but I'm not, so I won't).</li>
<li>Even the youngest member of the family can easily see which days are busy and which are not, especially useful if you want to know when you can invite a friend to come over.</li>
</ul>
<div>
I'm still working on the design of the weekly schedule, refining features based on user feedback. For example, I'm experimenting with the best way to display multi-day events like the camping trip shown here (especially tricky since this has to work in print, not just on the screen).</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I'd love to hear any feedback you have on this design, especially any ideas for improving it!</div>
Susannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05836224575041085431noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4114823400562783818.post-47340931646055697872016-07-23T10:56:00.000-04:002016-07-23T10:56:19.297-04:00Poem: Spartanburg Dim<i>I wrote this poem a few months ago, but waited too long to post it, and <a href="http://www.wltx.com/news/politics/bathroom-bill-sponsor-sen-lee-bright-loses-runoff/258563986" target="_blank">now it's no longer relevant</a>. However, I still think it's pretty good, so I'm posting it anyway. While Spartanburg, SC may have <a href="http://www.thestate.com/news/politics-government/politics-columns-blogs/the-buzz/article77676542.html" target="_blank">slain their dragon at the polls</a>, there are plenty of other places across the USA where the advice in the last four lines still applies.</i><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SDnAfJktndg/V5OD-kTyXNI/AAAAAAAAE08/7ql5iUOHEUUFtvabmcFQbvmelkWBpL1EACLcB/s1600/3258777822_2f62823848_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="aerial view of Spartanburg, SC" border="0" height="400" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SDnAfJktndg/V5OD-kTyXNI/AAAAAAAAE08/7ql5iUOHEUUFtvabmcFQbvmelkWBpL1EACLcB/s640/3258777822_2f62823848_b.jpg" title="Spartanburg, SC" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="poem">
The town is plain, unadorned<br />
A model of the civic norm.<br />
But look: inside<br />
Its borders something hides.<br />
Stupidity is sheltered there,<br />
Ignorance has made its lair.<br />
It sprawls, it rules,<br />
It gibbers, shouts, and drools.<br />
The light of knowledge flickers dim,<br />
A brown-out of the brain within<br />
This town. But wait,<br />
It's spread across the state!<br />
The people there have set it loose<br />
To grow, breed, reproduce.<br />
Who can suppress<br />
This plague of foolishness?<br />
Just like a fungus, like a mold<br />
It's taken root and taken hold.<br />
Look out! Despair!<br />
The crazy's everywhere.<br />
The folks back home now hold the key<br />
To break the spell and set us free:<br />
One man, one vote.<br />
And while I breathe, I hope.
</div>
Susannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05836224575041085431noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4114823400562783818.post-76205199419106138752016-07-23T10:38:00.000-04:002016-07-23T10:38:44.133-04:00Increasing MIDI Volume in GarageBandYears ago, I bought an Edirol PCR-50 MIDI keyboard on eBay. Just this week, I got it hooked up and working with my new iMac running OS X El Capitan. But there was still one problem, something that had frustrated me back when I first bought it: the volume of the MIDI tracks in GarageBand was too low.<br />
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Even with the track volume turned all the way up, the green bar barely showed, no matter how hard I pounded on the keyboard. Naturally, I turned to Google to solve this problem. I found a lot of old, irrelevant advice. The closest thing to good information I found was <a href="http://www.bulletsandbones.com/GB/FAQPages/MakeMIDILouder.html" target="_blank">this FAQ page</a> (warning: do not click unless you've got a good pop-up blocker), clearly geared toward an old version of GarageBand.<br />
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But that old info pointed me in the right direction, and I found the answer. Here's how to get it to work.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-U6_4Jb4WG44/V5N-x2-dp3I/AAAAAAAAE0s/_LYS8Ua64_sxGEjlP7QLRSCXWkzIrFZNQCLcB/s1600/visualeq.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="GarageBand visual EQ manual settings" border="0" height="514" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-U6_4Jb4WG44/V5N-x2-dp3I/AAAAAAAAE0s/_LYS8Ua64_sxGEjlP7QLRSCXWkzIrFZNQCLcB/s640/visualeq.jpg" title="GarageBand visual EQ manual" width="640" /></a></div>
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<ol>
<li>With your MIDI controller (i.e. keyboard) plugged in, select the MIDI track in GarageBand.</li>
<li>Over on the right, select the Edit tab, highlighted here in yellow.</li>
<li>From the Visual EQ dropdown list (also highlighted in yellow), select the Manual option.</li>
<li>A pop-up window like you see on the left here will appear. Click and drag on the blue line to increase the volume.</li>
</ol>
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The settings you see here aren't necessarily the best - play around with it until you get something you like. It might vary depending on the instrument you're using. For example, I needed to raise the Bass and Low Mid to increase my overall volume, but didn't touch the Treble or High Mid. (My keyboard's all about that bass, no treble.)</div>
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I rushed to take a screenshot and post it here so that anyone else out there using an old MIDI keyboard with a new copy of GarageBand would be able to find this information. If you actually know something about MIDI controllers and EQ's and all that jazz, please post in the comments and correct any mistakes I might have made. Thanks, and happy music-making!</div>
Susannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05836224575041085431noreply@blogger.com1