Pre-Ramble:  So, a friend of mine just got back from a trip to the Boundary Waters in northern Minnesota.  The Boundary Waters is a revered place to Minnesotans; it is a Mecca of all things good and rustic and wild and adventurous.  FYI - If you’re going to the Boundary Waters, you are going camping.

Camping …  you know … dragging a tent, musty sleeping bags, a flashlight and all of your food to a remote location and dumping it onto a clearing in the woods. You spread it all out like you’re playing house and then sit around on a log until the ”wildlife” can divine your location. 

The people who enjoy camping are the same people who jump at fishing and canoeing and hunting and hiking … the out-doorsy folks who have a knack for gathering sticks, reading maps and tying knots. These people use the racks on the tops of their cars.

According to National Park Service statistics, 5.4 million people camped last year, 3.1 million of them in traditional tents and another 2.3 million in RVs. Campers use all kinds of neat outdoor gear … lanterns, canteens, tarps, lots of bungee cords and stuff with netting.  Sure, it all looks real back-to-nature and doable in the retail environment, but you mustn’t lose sight of the fact that being outdoors is a critical part of the camping experience.

Outdoors is a whole nother thing … (you can quote me on that) … there’s dirt, sand, gravel, pointy rocks and picky grass out there. And, there’s nowhere to go to get away from it – except in your tent, which, after ten minutes, also has dirt, sand, gravel and grass in it. And then there are bugs. Bugs love the outdoors and they are everywhere – crawling, circling, buzzing and biting. Unless you’re doused in repellant or zip yourself into your sleeping bag, the bulk of your time will be spent On Patrol, … swinging, swatting, smacking, scratching and bleeding.  Bringing in the added menace of the potential to encounter actual mice, snakes, bats, coyote and bears makes the prospect of the idyllic camping experience simply absurd. 

But, wait!!  A new type of camping has emerged that offers a significantly less rustic experience — glamping.  According to Glamping Girl, an entire website devoted to this travel trend, there’s a whole new way to enjoy the outdoors. A cross between “glamour” and “camping,” glamping brings civilized accoutrements to uncivilized environments.  Glamping is an outdoor experience, often in an exotic location, that integrates cushy, high-end creature comforts like beds, linens, china, chefs, butlers, bathroom facilities, spa staff and cocktails. I bet there’s toilet paper too.

The five-star experience – There are glamping destinations all over the world and a wide variety of living quarters from which to choose … elaborate tents, cliff-side cabins, desert retreats, floating villages, … for example …

• Mille Etoiles offers 14 yurts in the Rhone-Aples region of France overlooking the Ardeche River gorge. Tents are built on oak platforms and furnished with four-poster beds, oriental rugs and antiques… “so guests feel like they are on an Edwardian safari …”
• Montana’s Paws Up Ranch has horseback riding and fly-fishing and accommodations that boast newly built “tents” on the Blackfoot River complete with king-sized beds, art on the walls, a personal butler and private master bath. Rates start at $695 per night for two and include three meals per day.
• Located in a hidden valley 1,000 meters above sea level near two inactive volcanoes in Gunung Gede Pangrango National Park, Situgunung is the oldest tourist destination in West Java and a perfect location for glamping.  Along with intrepid (and supervised) outbound activities, glampsite amenities include pre-pitched fire-proof tents, comfortable restrooms and a five-star buffet.

The Take-Away: How about a glamp-out at the Waldorf-Astoria? … take a day-pack into Soho … do a little white-knuckle shopping on Madison Avenue … hunt for vermin on Wall Street … and have close encounters with the wildlife in Times Square.  Throw in some marshmallows, and this is the perfect summer adventure!  Sign me up!

Pre-Ramble:  So, yesterday, sixteen-year-old Australian Jessica Watson sailed into Sydney Harbor in her pink 10.23 meter Sparkman & Stephens 34 (her sailboat named Ella’s Pink Lady shown with Jessica at right), to become the youngest individual to sail non-stop and unassisted around the world.

Details on the trip itself – the specifications of the preparation, the boat, the route, the support systems, and Jessica’s own website and blog – are fascinating … a true adventure, the stuff of the books and movies which are undoubtedly forthcoming.  Here though, I am drawn to the situation from the perspective of a mom. 

I know you think I’m going to rip on Jessica’s parents for letting their sixteen-year-old child – a girl, no less - take such a dangerous, potentially life-threatening journey.  And, you would be right, to a point. Certainly, Watson’s journey has its detractors, …

“Barry Tyler of Pacific Motor Yacht magazine wrote, “like the majority of the seafaring world, I consider it irresponsible, cavalier and indeed ignorant to attempt such a feat, at such a tender age and with so little trans-ocean experience … [and] a more general concern was raised by the Australian Childhood Foundation, who questioned whether a 16-year-old girl would have the ability to fully understand the risks that such a venture would involve.”

Descriptions of the harrowing situations in which Jessica found herself are enough to give anyone pause,

“When south of Australia, Watson suffered a lot of bad weather. In this part of the journey, she had at least three knockdowns (where the mast hit the water), one of them with the mast deep into the sea, … luckily without any real damage or injury. The swells she experienced in the Great Australian Bight were up to 12 meters in height, higher than anytime before.”

Luckily?! And, this doesn’t even go into the part where her navigation system became non-functional and she had to jury-rig some wiring to bring it back … ” … Oh yes, gee-whiz,… so glad those super-big waves that dipped the mast - and half of the boat – into the water out in the middle of the fricking ocean didn’t cause a problem …”  

Clearly, I’m having trouble containing my incredulous sarcasm around some of the metrics here.

Disclaimer:  My parents had a 30 foot sailboat that was the scene of many a family weekend and summer adventure. We raced the boat, named Solar, in an evening series on the Great Lakes and visited marinas up and down the coast of Michigan and Canada, and up into the North Channel. 

Sailing was fun, but it was never my passion or calling. Frankly, I wasn’t a fan of all the spiders who would make their home in the rigging or folds of the sail covers. It may have been a different story though if I had been given my own pink yacht. There certainly is that angle of the significant time and financing required to bring a dream like Jessica’s to reality; accounts of her parents flying overhead in private planes as she reached various milestones, definitely qualify them as resource rich and actual “helicopter parents.”

So, as a mom, with teenage daughters, in prom season, I find myself conflicted. Do I fret over stuff like hemlines and curfews? Or do I save up and flip out over something on another end of the continuum?  Jessica’s journey causes me to question my attitudes about permissiveness and freedom, … guidance and support. What is an appropriate amount of “freedom” for a young person to have? How do we empower young people to reach for big things, while being mindful of what constitutes a foolish, or possibly criminal, level of risk? Is Jessica a hero, or just lucky to be alive? 

The Take-Away:  In spite of these questions and the answers that I would undoubtedly give, there is a part of me that is immensely inspired and proud of what this young woman has done.  Jesscia Watson has challenged herself in an unfathomable way and has “succeeded” in reaching her dream by some combination of pluck, preparation and guardian angels. Through her fantastical journey, Jessica has found a well-spring of strength, resourcefulness and perspective that will serve her for the rest of her life.

“Overall, I feel pretty drained and would kill for some easy sailing, but seeing as that’s not what I’m going to get, I’m just going to have to toughen up some more and deal with it.”

While I hope it doesn’t involve the tremendous level of risk that Jessica has taken in her journey, I wish for the same kind of singular pluck, preparation and resolve for my daughters in theirs.

Pre-Ramble: So, … between a random Comcast black-out and a 12-hour road trip from Detroit to Minneapolis, I’ve been incommunicado for a few days now.  Lucky for me, the down time was filled with “forced thinking opportunities” and yielded a swell angle on a quasi-travel-blog. Lucky for you, I will share that with you now.

You are here. Locating yourself relative to your destination is key – hence the need for navigational aids.  We were prepared with not one, but FOUR modes of navigation – 1. Garmin GPS suctioned onto the windshield at eye-level; 2. a print-out of turn-by-turn Mapquest directions from point A to point B; 3. a series of AAA maps (those folded up, multi-colored paper things) with the entire route marked in green highlighter; 4. a portable handheld device (iPhone) that could pin-point our exact location in the event that we were inadvertently drawn into uncharted territory or thrown from the vehicle.

Another important consideration is that both driver and passenger must be in synch with food, drink and potty stop requirements. This is essential to efficient scheduling of on and off road events. The last thing you want is for one or the other of the travelers to skip a potty stop because they “don’t have to go” only to have to drop them off on the side of the interstate with a cocktail napkin deep into toll-booth territory.

Which brings us to a third point – bring a zip-lock baggy full of change (NO PENNIES).  Stow it in the sidedoor compartment and keep your eyes peeled for the toll road signs. The trick here is, you’ve got to be ready for anything. Required toll amounts can vary from 3o-cents to a buck-eighty …  As the front seat passenger/navigator, it is your duty to count out the proper change and hand it to the driver as the vehicle enters the cash only booth lane. The hand-off is critical. You don’t want any loose dimes slipping off between the seats, or worse, falling out of the car window onto the road before reaching the attendant’s out-stretched hand. There are serious points deducted for that. 

Other tips:

• You’re going to keep running into the same vehicles (not literally) on the road … you’ll catch up and pass … they’ll catch up and pass … etc. So, you want to make sure you’re focused and non-combative. Nobody needs road rage.
• If you need to find a Target along the way, there’s an app for that.
• The funnest thing ever is to randomly change your route and listen to Garmie (pet name for GPS) give you the irritated “Recalculating” missive. (Also, have you ever noticed that when you’re in the close up range on the GPS, your vehicle stays “on track,” i.e., on the straight pink road up the center of the screen THE ENTIRE TIME?)

Ok, so, here’s a really stupid/cool travel/adventure that I found online the other day… it’s called, A Virtual Road Trip with Marc Horowitz and Peter Blades. 

Apparently, Pete and Marc wanted to take a road trip together this summer, but Pete lives in Richmond, VA and Mark lives in LA. They tried and tried to make their dreams of the classic American cross-country journey come true, but because of finances, schedule conflicts, and time constraints, they just couldn’t make it work. You know how it is. But then they had an idea – an idea that my friend Ann would call a classic “hair-brained scheme” … They decided to take a virtual road trip … one that exploited the wonderful technologies of Google Maps and ustream!

On August 10, 2009, at 3pm PST, they left Marc’s house in LA and began driving together to Pete’s place in Richmond. They were essentially “virtual driving” across the country by continuously pressing the Google Maps arrow keys eastward, and broadcasting the entire experience live on http://www.googlemapsroadtrip.com .

Folks who don’t have anything more pressing to do are able to not only see and hear Pete and Marc as they travel, but also join them in a real-time chat room.  Wow! Just think of it as an invitation to hop into the backseat and ride along with them for part of the adventure. This gig was real-time, so when Pete and Marc stopped to eat, they actually ate, when they stop to sleep, they actually go to bed. Not only that, but if you wanted them to visit you, they actually called you as they entered your area, and called you up for a virtual tour around your hood.

This is everything that we’d do on a real road trip, except we don’t have to leave the house, pay for gas, or worry about getting speeding tickets.”

Kinda wacky, huh? 

Ok, great … but, based on our recent twelve hour drive-o-rama however, if they’re going to simulate the true, extended butts-in-seats-experience, they need to pledge that they will sit in the same chair for hours on end with yesterday’s newspaper and bags of stale French fries crammed around their ankles, drinking nothing but lukewarm bottled water and day-old coffee, and rebooting their computer every ten minutes while throwing $.80 in exact change into the wastebasket. Now you’re talking road trip!

The Take-Away: Road trips are great adventures and the next chance you get, you should head for the open road! 

Post-Note: If you come across a giant fiberglass mouse outside a cheese shop in Wisconsin – don’t even think about not stopping.

Pre-Ramble: I can’t decide who should be madder … the wife of soon-to-be-resigning South Carolina Governor Mark Sanford, his kids, the good people of the state of South Carolina, the Republican party, or Valerie Bauerlein and Alex Roth.

According to Valerie and Alex’s article in Wednesday’s (6/24) Wall Street Journal, Governor Sanford, a guy who has been mentioned as a possible Republican candidate in 2012, went AWOL last week, taking off in a nearby sport utility vehicle and turning off his mobile phone.  Apparently, the quirky governor regularly “ditched his bodyguards when taking a run or dashing out to Taco Bell or other favorite spots … ” (like Argentina?)

Initially, Sanford’s office refused to disclose his location, indicating only that he was, “hiking along the Appalachian Trail and was difficult to reach.”  Then, in a press conference late yesterday, a tearful Sanford revealed that “he had been in Argentina visiting a woman with whom he was having an extramarital affair.”

Ok, so – no wife wants to hear that her husband has been catting around with some gal in Argentina for the past eight years. The kids aren’t likely to be thrilled with that news either.  The people/tax payers of South Carolina deserve way better.  And, the Republican Party … well, they probably deserve whatever they are getting.  It’s Valerie and Alex that I feel most sorry for.

As the esteemed journalists that they undoubtedly are, the pair clearly spent many intensive hours diligently pursuing this story.  They researched the Appalachian Trail, posting a topographical map detailing the longest marked footpath in the U.S., noting elevations, and marking the point where a mobile tower last picked up Sanford’s phone signal.  

They inquired into the curious circumstances surrounding the governor’s absence, interviewing state officials, family friends and ordinary citizens. They considered the predicament of authorities who became uneasy when they hadn’t heard from the governor for several days and began marshalling an interim line of command should an urgent matter crop up.

Not to be able to get in touch with a person who is responsible for [the welfare of] 4.5 million people is a concern … the idea that for the day-to-day operations of our state, nobody knew who was in charge — that bothers people.” 

(Yep, that seems bothersome … )

Just imagine the myriad possible scenarios that a seasoned journalist would have to consider – Had untold stressors compelled the poor man to flee for solitude? … Had he become lost and disoriented while hiking in the wilderness? … Had he twisted an ankle and tumbled down the side of a cliff somewhere, clinging to a branch for dear life? … Had he been abducted and tied up in a cave, desperately waiting to be rescued?  Political detractors?  Folly gone wrong? 

Yes, yes, yes, and yes! Turns out, it’s all of the above!  There was definitely stress involved … it’s probably a lot harder than we think to deceive several million people (and ultimately, even harder to deceive oneself); … Lost and disoriented? … Check!  This man had clearly lost his way long before he turned the key on the get-away car; … Clinging for dear life? … Absolutely, but his ankle wasn’t the twisted body part that put his ass cliff-side; … Desperate? … You betcha!  Such is the plight of even the most repentant scumbag rat; … Folly? Oh, yes!  This ranks right up there with Elliot Spitzer, John Edwards, and Bill Clinton (sorry Bill, but it has pretty much been established that you did, in fact, have “sexual relations with that woman”). 

The Take-Away:  Don’t cry for us in Argentina, there Mark; the truth is …  well, the truth plays no role in this saga, particularly now that the “steamy” emails are out.  A fitting punishment for you, my friend, would be to make you fly back and forth between South Carolina and Argentina for eight more years pondering “moral legitimacy” while sitting in coach, eating trail mix, and watching Madonna in Evita. Some have even suggested that you be forced to actually hike all 2,178 miles of the Appalachian Trail … just to clear your head.

Post-Note from Daisy:  Even though you might try to rinse them off in the sprinkler, if you’ve got mud in your paws, it’s gonna come off on the rug.

Pre-Ramble: Of all the things on my list of Things to Worry About, pirate attacks has never been one of them – which is why the recent hijacking attempts in the Indian Ocean are so unfathomable. Who would think that in this day and age, a scenario which has largely been the stuff of backyard games and blockbuster Hollywood movies is actually a very real threat to the safety of international shipping crews on the other side of the world?

Just last week, the cargo ship, Maersk Alabama, was carrying 4,100 tons of corn soya and 990 tons of vegetable oil to the Kenyan port of Mombasa as food aid for children in Uganda and Somalia when it was attacked by pirates.  The ship’s captain, Richard Phillips, valiantly offered himself in exchange for the safe release of the crew. The entire world watched as the situation played itself out; the U.S. Navy, Navy SEALS teams, the FBI, and General Petraeus were involved, culminating in a heart-stopping rescue just yesterday.  

According to the International Maritime Bureau, pirate attacks have been on the rise, topping 190 attacks in the Gulf of Aden and western Indian Ocean since 2007. The very informative Cecil Adams of The Straight Dope, suggests that piracy had it’s golden age in the early 1700’s when thousands of pirates terrorized ships on the Atlantic Ocean. Adams cites fictional references including Robert Louis Stevenson’s Treasure Island and James Barrie’s Peter Pan which have influenced the modern take on pirates, generating ”the pirate genre’s most durable cliches” including the eye patch, hooks, peg legs, parrots on shoulders, skull-and-crossbones, walking the plank, treasure maps marked with an “X,” and pirate jargon such as “arrrr,” bly-me,” and “shiver me timbers.”  

So, here we are in the 21st Century — how do pirate attacks even happen?  Having grown up on the Great Lakes of Michigan, I’ve seen my share of shipping channels and I can tell you that ocean liners are TALL. Boarding a small boat that is secured to a dock is tough enough — it can only be tougher to scale one of these formidable vessels out on the open seas (it’s not like they are dragging a swim ladder).

And, in the case of the Maersk Alabama, they really didn’t think the whole thing through. I would have liked to have been a parrot on a shoulder in that planning meeting. After all the hardship, what did they think the pay-off would be?  It’s not like that cargo hold was going to be filled with piles of gold coins and loose diamonds. Between the corn and the cooking oil, at the end of the day the only thing they had coming was a life supply of tortillas. 

The Take-Away:  My intent is not to make light of Captain Phillips’ recent ordeal, but rather to explore my curiousity around this particular event and highlight its relative absurdity in contrast to my comparatively uneventful suburban life. It was useful to me to consider the very real pirate scenario in some kind of context. This story was just so bizarre – as if no person deserved to be in a situation that was so dangerous and wrong, and so … fictional.  Also, it was easy to root for the side of “good” here. Far from the literary stereotype or “romanticized, swashbuckling adventurer,” (Adams) David Cordingly characterizes the reality of piracy on the high seas in Under the Black Flag:

“Pirates were not maritime versions of Robin Hood and his merry men … their attacks were frequently accompanied by extreme violence, torture, and death.”

Those pirates were truly bad guys. Thankfully, Captain Phillips has been rescued — well deserving of the hero’s welcome that awaits him.

Pre-Ramble: At a recent neighborhood dinner party, the dessert dishes had been cleared and, as coffee was being served, an open question was posed to the group, “Tell us something about you we don’t know.” It’s a curious thing to consider what item to share in a situation like this.

One guy had had John Travolta bum a cigarette off him while standing in a doorway in New York City. The woman seated next to him, a high level executive at a Fortune 500 company, disclosed that she had, in her youth, gotten into a brawl with another girl in a random cheerleading incident. Following on with that theme, the next person described how he had punched some kid in the jaw to settle up a line-cutting skirmish at the drinking fountain in fifth grade. (The kid had it coming.)

Then it was my turn. I’m sure there are plenty of things that people don’t know about me, like that I talk to my dog (and she talks back in a high squeaky voice) or, that I stick the good fortune cookie quotes at eye-level along the shelf over my desk. (I rip the stupid ones in half and throw them away.) But, in this rare moment, I had an opportunity to reveal something that really has no other appropriate venue to be known; it’s the kind of thing that’s really neat, but isn’t something you just bring up…

I once held the Tiffany Diamond (shown above, actual size) in the palm of my hand.

For real.

The table fell silent as people tried to get their head around the concept of me holding one of the world’s most famous and magnificent gems in my hot suburban little hand. I may as well have said that I was once struck by lightning. It is kind of surreal, even for me to think about.

Here’s how it happened: My husband and I moved from Detroit to New Jersey on our honeymoon (that’s another blog). While looking for work, I answered a help wanted ad in the New York Times. The job turned out to be art director for the in-house publications department at Tiffany and Company. (I know.) (I know!)  So began my Cinderella moment — a cubicle in the legendary Fifth Avenue store and a daily adventure designing layouts and directing photography for all manner of majorly amazing bling.

The merchandising department would literally roll up a cart loaded with jewelry, watches, silver, crystal, scarves and handbags and our job was to artfully and tastefully (the Tiffany brand is all about “tasteful”) present them in the printed media. On any given day, I could easily have tens of thousands of dollars worth of jewelry, clumped into plastic bags on my desk. (Yes, of course I tried it all on.)

One day while we were working on a catalogue for a special collection of estate jewelry, I got a call.  The powers-that-be wanted the Tiffany Diamond on the cover. I’m all, “Great! … Can do! … Let’s look at the photos we have on file and decide which one to use.”

But No.  The powers-that-be wanted a new photograph taken; they felt that the existing pics of the celebrated jewel did not do it justice.

!!! !!!    (That’s me in my cubicle flipping out.)

In order to take the shot, the incredibly large, incredibly rare, fancy yellow, cushion-cut diamond, valued at over $12 million (in 1983), had to be moved from its armored display case on the store’s main floor to the in-house photography studio a few floors away. Needless to say, bullet-proof transport logistics on this priceless gem were a must, lest some butter-fingered art director bobble the bauble in the stairwell on the way up to the studio. Let’s just say that an undisclosed number of armed guards, helicopters, and copious amounts of insurance were involved.

It’s all about lighting: Once in the studio, two highly talented staff photographers attended to the gem with the precision of a team of neurosurgeons. They anchored the stone on set with a tiny piece of wax and began, in a subdued, meticulous manner, to reflect light at various angles into the facets of the stone using silver, white and black cards. In a situation where we’re basically shooting a straight-on view of a single stone, the role of the art director is to observe the proceedings, check the Polaroids (I’m old), and say, “Yep, there it is, … looks good.”  In a situation where there’s a 128 carat diamond in the room, it is also the role of the art director to say, “Hey, can I hold that thing in the palm of my hand before the clock strikes midnight and you guys both turn back into field mice?” 

The Take-Away: As I said, other than at dinner the other night, there is no place that I can tell this story. The photograph of the Tiffany Diamond we took that day (not it above) was stunning. If you’re ever in NYC, take a quick trip to the Tiffany and Company flagship store on the corner of Fifth Avenue and 57th Street (you can’t miss it). Go through the main door and over to your left against the north wall is a small window onto a vaulted case – take a deep breath and behold the sparkliness.

So,… back to sweeping cinders out of the hearth for me.

Pre-Ramble: I’ve decided to start an occasional feature on my site called, “In their Own Words,” where I share some truism or particularly incredible turn of phrase.  Here is a notable observation by a guy named Chris Anderson on his website, The Long Tail, regarding emerging social networking forums:

… [while] Twitter and other microblogging [mechanisms can make] lifecasting and other status updating easier, for most people it still feels like another obligation, taking time to do well and causing guilt when neglected.

I could not agree more, but before I go into that, I need to mention here that I casually clicked the “about” button on Chris’ site to get a little background on who he is, what he does, etc.

Ok – Duh. Chris Anderson is the editor-in-chief of Wired Magazine. Wired Magazine! As in, the keys to the kingdom for tech-trend-savvy folks (or wannabes). Chris Anderson is the wizard of all things tech. To cite something that he has to say about the dynamics of social networking as meaningful, is like saying a ripped guy named Laird can surf. Cut to me showing up at Teahupo’o Reef in floaties and a nose plug. 

To his point: And, Chris is so right about the double bind of social networking. While it is amazing and empowering to be able to share random thoughts, photos and even video with potentially millions of people, attending to what is essentially a constant chorus of calls to come out and play can be a serious time-buster. Do I actually need to know that you just moved your dark load from the washer to the dryer? That you have a front-loader? That it was set on “fluff”? That a brown sock went missing?

Or worse – I’ve been “tagged,” obligating me to list the top 25 things that I would want to have with me on a desert island. Except, I can’t just rattle off any old response; the self-imposed standards of my inner perfectionist dictate that this list has to be not only carefully considered, it has to be witty, hip, entertaining and express my true inner self. Shit. That kind of deliberation can take the better part of an afternoon – if I’m lucky. So,… either I indulge the well-meaning friend who sent it… or, I blow it off and risk alienating my friend and coming across as a royal-stick-in-the-mud-buzz-kill in front of the whole Internet.

The Take-Away: Learning how to manage time and maximize effort in this new online world will take some doing. As with reality shows, shoe shopping, cocktails, and now Facebooking, Twittering and the like, we’ll need to master some degree of moderation. And, we’ll just have to face facts - when it comes time to head out to the desert island, some of us will be prepared, and some won’t.

Pre-Ramble: According to our favorite meteorologist, the planets Venus and Jupiter will be brightly visible in the southwest skies at twilight over the next week or so. Astronomy is so amazing. There is something eerily comforting about the moon and stars and the enduring vastness of space. When my kids were little, we would take our sleeping bags out onto the driveway in the middle of the night and scan the canopy of darkness for the magical streaks of shooting stars.

Interestingly, moving along in the stardust as well, are thousands of orbiting ”space objects.” According to the U.S. Space Surveillance Network, there are more than 12,000 objects, including 600 operational satellites and what is known as “orbital debris” circling in the skies above the Earth, many of which can be seen with the naked eye. Iridium Communications Satelites, for example, are approximately the size of a Volkswagen Beetle and have highly polished antennas which reflect a bright flash of light when their orbit comes into alignment with the sun.

Featured moment: This week, and for the next several centuries, it is likely that you and the kids will also be able to spot a small, greasy, backpack-sized bag full of tools moving across the evening sky. In a recent and highly unfortunate mishap, astronaut and Minnesota native, Heidemarie Stefanyshyn-Piper watched as her untethered tool bag, valued at $100,000, floated slowly out of reach during the first of four spacewalks scheduled to repair a jammed Solar Alpha Rotary joint. Apparently, a grease gun had exploded in the bag (hate it when that happens) during the “extravehicular activity,” whereupon the miffed astronaut was recorded as saying, “Oh, great.”

Seriously, that is what she said. I think something else would be rolling off my tongue if a grease gun had just exploded in my bag in the middle of a seven hour spacewalk. When interviewed later, the mortified Stefanyshyn-Piper blamed herself, noting that, “…[it was difficult] knowing that [I] made a mistake and living through that… it was the hardest coming back in and having to face everybody else.”

Hold on a second there, Heidemarie… If I’m not mistaken, while you, the only gal on the mission, were out there working your space gloves to the bone, your male crew mates were essentially inside just hanging around. (Please don’t tell me you still had to shop and rehydrate dinner when you finished up with that spacewalk.) And let’s not forget history here – in 1971, revered Apollo 14 Commander, Alan Shepard, lost three golf balls in some sophomoric high jinx on the moon. It’s hard enough to find a lost golf ball here on Earth and you don’t see him all sheepish and apologetic. He’s the one who should be embarrassed – did you hear the play-by-play on those iron shots?? He topped the first one, sliced the second, and then totally exaggerated the distance on the third. Let’s not blow the gravity of your situation out of proportion, for heaven’s sake; who among us hasn’t made a mistake on the job?

The Take-Away: Four things to take away here: 1) Grace under pressure - you have set a stellar example of how to handle challenging circumstances for the millions of young men and women who look up to you; 2) Teaching moment – you will probably learn and grow more from this experience than from all the perfect missions put together; 3) Notoriety – as “that astronaut who dropped the tool bag,” you will have something to talk about on Ellen for the rest of your career (you may even be able to do a double dipper on this if the bag ends up hitting someone in the back of the head at some point); and finally, 4) Take heart - you will be able to look back at this a couple light years from now and laugh.

Post Note: According to satellite trackers at SpaceWeather.com, the errant bag was spotted in the sky after sunset on Saturday, November 23rd by Edward Light using 10 X 50 binoculars while scanning the sky in his backyard in Lakewood, N.J.  On the same night, Keven Fetter of Brockville, Ontario, video-recorded the bag as it passed through the constellation Pisces. The satellite tracker predicts that the bag will be visible through binoculars from Eurpoe and western North America this week, and by late next week, should appear in the eveining skies over most of North America.

Pre-Ramble: Ok, so, in an effort to shake things up a little, I decided to step out and try a few new things… like take piano lessons (again), start a website/blog (you’re there), and, what the heck – take a beginner improvisational acting class, a.k.a. Improv. Those who know me know that this is a huge and unprecedented step (see October 9th posting on turtlenecks). To put this into context, I was voted “Most Easily Embarrassed” in high school. This, and the fact that I was raised Lutheran, will make the following scenario even more horrific.

Improvisation – A Primer: Improv is a rapid-fire, “put-it-all-out-there” activity. The improv mantra is “move the energy forward,” which basically means, don’t just sit there pondering what you might do, JUST DO IT, and JUST DO IT NOW. According to the experts at Minnespolis’ Brave New Workshop (BNW), founded in 1958 by revered improv innovator, Dudley Riggs, improvisation is defined as “an attitude that allows one person, or a group of people, to innovate and create instantly using their own sense of truth, trust, acceptance, and creativity.” Note: Hillary’s BFF, Al Franken honed his political skills on the BNW stages. And curiously, Microsoft spell-check keeps correcting the word “improv” into the word “improve.”

Coming fresh onto the improv scene, I was bolstered by the assumption that, while I would never be Robin Williams, this was a doable thing. Surely I could handle whatever came up in Level 1; you get in there and play along … you make stuff up … you jump around … how hard can it be? (Said the deer standing on the double yellow lines.)

The Incident: So, it is the fourth or fifth session of class, and we are doing a dialogue exercise. When my turn comes up, the leader asks the group to throw out an animal. Somebody says, “Giraffe!”  (I’m thinking, “Yay, I love giraffes!”)  Then he asks for a musician, to which somebody yells out, “Bob Dylan!” (I’m thinking, “Crap, I hate Bob Dylan!”) Then he asks for a musical item, and somebody throws out, “Guitar pick!” (”Sure; swell; whatever; make it work…”)  So, the exercise progresses and I am fielding the questions fairly well. I’m actually thrilled that I am able to form thoughts and verbalize them in a semi-audible manner in front of the group (not something I was successfully able to do during my wedding vows.) I was also heartened in the knowledge that the three minute exercise would soon be over.

Then it happened. Somehow or other the conversation torqued around to a place where I heard somebody saying something that sounded like, “Can you sing a little bit of that for us?”

“What?”

Do you see that blank area between that question and this line here? That is a billion times smaller than the blank space that came over my brain as I struggled to verify that I was still in possession of all of my limbs. Did someone just suggest that I should s-i-n-g something?  Here, in front of the class?  More specifically, did someone just suggest that I should sing a few bars of something as a giraffe channeling Bob Dylan? To say that this was a tall order would be a grave understatement. The unfortunate event that followed was the improvisational equivalent of being beaten up on the playground.

By now the class is clapping, wild with encouragement, and I am forging upstream through the blind terror hissing in my head. In what’s left of my peripheral vision, I notice that the teacher is inadvertantly blocking the room’s only exit and realize that I am either going to cry or barf or both. After several failed attempts to fend off the surreal situation, it becomes clear to me that I am not getting out of that chair until I sing. In fact, the teacher’s exact words are, “You’re not getting out of that chair until you sing.”

The only lyrics I can think of while lying in state are the words to Happy Birthday, which I somehow manage to squeak out while playing air guitar on the hem of my cardigan. I wish David Sedaris were here to do the description justice. (I really wish David Sedaris had been there to sing like a giraffe doing Dylan.)

The Take-Away: You can’t just pay lip-service to the idea of ”stepping out” and “shaking it up a little.” Inherent to the concept is that you don’t get to choose what the new situation will be. The element of challenge is key. Was I shell-shocked by the impromptu singing scenario? Absolutely, but getting out there in new and unexpected ways is not only part of the deal, it’s where the value lies.

So then, there’s the silver lining. There might be some truth in what they say about hindsight and that whole, “if it doesn’t kill you” platitude. I survived it. Two-and-a-half days after the fact, I’m able to eat solid foods again, interact with others, and see some shreds of up-side. The good news is that Randy, Paula and Simon were not in the room during my performance, and, to my knowledge, my vocal stylings were not captured for broadcast on YouTube. More importantly, like a grain of sand in an oyster shell, the universal haz-mat team immediately rushed in to soothe my scuffed psyche with a cosmic cocktail of denial, rationalization and fairy dust. I’m probably not looking at a record deal, but if the analogy holds up, I should be sitting on a nice shiny pearl in no time.

And finally, there’s the element of synchronicity; never doubt the mysterious ways of the cosmos. Last night, I wandered into a little botique, just to check it out, and there among a small display of earrings, was a pair made out of guitar picks. Really. I “picked” out the animal print pair to wear to improv next week.  Stay tuned…

Pre-Ramble: As the campaigns head into the final turn, there’s going to be a lot more than spitballs flying. Let’s face it, we’re sitting in the splash-zone for the next few weeks as election fervor hits the final fan. I’m thinking that this would be an excellent time to head out of range, put our heads under the desk until we hear the all-clear signal. Today, in the spirit of escapism and creativity, we’re going on a little field trip. The following virtual adventure falls under the category of “things found on the way to looking for something else” (the best kind of discoveries ever).

Where are we going with this: We are going to visit an entity called Illegal Art, “a collaborative of artists whose goal is to create interactive public art to inspire self-reflection, thought, and human connection.” Basically, their work is about simple compelling concepts and invites the participation of the general public (like you and me). When you’re finished skimming over my rambling, (Hello? … Hello? … Is this thing on? …), I thought we could go to the Illegal Art website at www.illegalart.org and check out some of their work.

As a fan of the 3M company (which is headquartered here in the Twin Cities), the “TO DO” installations based on the ubiquitous “post-it-note” (shown right), are by far my favorites. It’s a bunch of bright yellow and pink post-it-notes spelling out the words “TO” and “DO” stuck to the side of a building. Passersby write whatever moves them on the little paper squares. Very cool!

To find this on the Illegal Art website, click on the word “projects” at the top, then click on “TO DO” at left. A brief description will pop up and a very subtle list of specific projects/sites will appear below left – click on any one of them. If you click on “East Village 2007,” for example, the photo shown above should pop up. A small cluster of numbers will appear top left – click on any number to reveal a photo taken at the installation site.

Well, we should be having lots of fun at this point, virtually captivated by the messages that the various participants have written on the post-its. Some of the writings are pretty straight up lists of things that the person plans to do; others are a little more abstract – …”file, pedicure” … “call mom” … “get good at juggling” … “become a better actor” (that one was supposedly written by Matt Damon; I bet Jimmy Kimmel wrote it) … “nap, samba, try not to go home with the Brazilian” … etc.

The Take-Away: There is a lot of neat stuff going on out there. In the interest of the ongoing quest to open up as many neural pathways as possible, be sure to put “check out neat stuff going on out there” on your TO DO list.

Note: You can get approximately 9 to 12 spitballs of a decent size and saturation capacity out of a standard post-it-note.  And be sure to wrap the sticky end in, or it will get hung up on the inside of the straw.