Pre-Ramble: There’s a reason my golf handicap is so high … In addition to being a bad golfer, I am often distracted by the array of pretty flowers and wildlife that can be found out on our neighborhood golf course.

We’ve got foxes, turkeys, deer, egrets, great blue herons, goldfinch, blue birds, bunnies, turtles, … and three-quarters of the way up a big pine tree on hole #13, there’s a bald eagle nest — with two eaglets — !

If you’ve ever seen a bald eagle nest, you know that they are basically a giant heap of sticks wedged into a fork near the top of a tree.  And, if you’ve ever seen a baby eagle, you know that they are … well, how do I put this delicately?  …. ugly, homely, hideous-looking, … rather awkward in appearance and larger than the word “baby” would imply (they’re huge) … (juvenile eaglet shown at right).

If you look up from the tee-box, you can often see the mother eagle soaring around looking for edible little critters on the ground, or stationed on a nearby branch, patiently watching over the nest.  Such a majestic and diligent creature.

Based on the amount of squawking that comes out of that nest, I’m pretty sure we’ve got a couple of teenaged-girl-eaglets up there. Bet you a dollar that there are seed husks under the beds and feathers clogging the shower drain.  Ah, the tribulations of parenthood.

The Take-Away: Be that as it may, as the mother of two nearly grown girls who are all but perched on the edge of our nest this summer, I have only two words of advice for Mother Eagle:

1. Soak up as much of their wonderful presence and exuberance as you can because the time you can keep them under your wing is so, so short; and
2. Brush up on your tech skills. … Once those kidlets fly out of the nest, a quick text, Twitter or skype is all you’ve really got.

Pre-Ramble:  Last night was a total lunar eclipse, the first to happen on the winter Solstice since 1638. Having recently spent time in Washington D.C., the photo above of the partially eclipsed moon over the tip of the Washington Monument is truly awe-inspiring.

The Take-Away:  Wow!

Post-Note:  Totally socked in by snow, the only glowing lights in the Twin Cities last night were emanating from the ruckus that was the TCF Bank Stadium as the Minnesota Vikings were totally eclipsed by the Chicago Bears on their own frozen turf 40-14.

Pre-Ramble:  So, by now you’ve probably heard about the Carnival cruise ship that was disabled by fire in an engine room earlier this week. Thankfully, the 4,500 passengers and crew are all fine and it sounds like they are doing everything they can to keep calm and carry on in spite of the suboptimal conditions.

Carnival president and CEO, Gerry Cahill commended passengers for their patience and fortitude and promised a full refund and a percentage off on a future Carnival cruise package to each person affected by the incident. In the meanwhile, he assured them that he would see to it that everything possible was being done to mitigate their circumstances. I’m sorry, but live music (two guys with guitars?), blackjack tournaments and trivia contests are no substitute for electricity, running water and decent food. (Without 24/7 buffets, what’s the point of a cruise anyway?)

Well, so, good, … they’re doing everything they can, … blah, … blah, … And here comes the USS Reagan loaded down with 60,000+ pounds of food and supplies. Hooray!! Yay!!! … Phew … we were all getting pretty hungry here …… Thank goodness for the emergency rations which include Pop Tarts, croissants (ooh-la-la), crabmeat, and SPAM. 

Wait. SPAM?!?  I’m sorry. Is that fourth word in the series S-P-A-M?  Is this one of those insidious word association games or did someone air-lift 60,000 pounds of SPAM into that already god-forsaken situation?? 

…. So, the ship was out of food, and of all the edible substances on the face of the Earth, someone in the upper levels of management in the Carnival organization made the executive decision to send in SPAM?  … What, were they all out of …. Well, shoot! … The punch line here would be … “were they all out of SPAM?!”

Jus’ sayin – Even the Chilean miners got Albacore tuna and power bars.

No offense intended toward Hormel, the Minnesota company that actually makes the canned “meat” product. They have admirably continued to evolve and embrace their brand identity over the years. Did you know that there is a SPAM Museum, a SPAM Fan Club (“… an exciting club unlike any other…“), a SPAM Office Products division, and a SPAM recipe exchange?  

Souvenirs - The SPAM gift ideas are truly inspired … refrigerator magnets, baseball caps, stadium cups (SPAM smoothie anyone?), luggage tags (particularly appropriate for this gig), and shot glasses (shown above). Let’s hope the air-freight contained some shot-worthy beverages as well.

The Take-Away:  Cheers to the swift and safe return of this boatload of passengers. As Mr. Cahill suggests, “[These folks] will have many memorable stories to tell at dinner parties for the rest of their lives.”  (I’m guessing that Mr. Cahill is going to have his own line of lively banter — in addition to being pelted with SPAM cans, Gerry is also going to be hit with some pretty meaty lawsuits.)

Post-Note: Just in time for the holidays — For a delicious Baked Apples with SPAM Streusel recipe, click here. (WARNING: recipe includes a photo.)

Pre-Ramble: So, I was planning to tell you all about my upcoming field trip to Washington D.C. … for a conference on teaching and learning put on by the Harvard Graduate School of Education’s Project Zero. The subject matter is very relevant to the work I do as a grantwriter and consumer of all things creative.

It’s fascinating stuff really, and even more enticing is the fact that many of the sessions are going to be given on the premises of the National Gallery and other locales in and about the National Mall. (By now you must know how much I revere the National Mall.) I was planning to toss out some of the session titles to build suspense …

• Ways of Seeing, Feeling Imagining and Observing
• Art and Narrative: The Role of Information and Imagination
• We All March to Different Drummers: Using Models to Raise Awareness of How, Who, What and Where We Are Affects Our Perspective
• Studio Thinking: The Real Benefits of Visual Arts Education ( … this one’s for you Mom and Dad)
• Exploring Ethics in a Brave New Digital World: The GoodPlay Project

I know!! – It’s going to be a great, thought-provoking couple of days!!  (Maybe Barack will sit in on a session or two — sounds like he could use a little tweak in perspective … )

Well, so, but, then, as I was skimming through a couple of links, I came across this.

Five-year-old, Aiden Reed, a boy who loves, loves, loves monsters, has been diagnosed with acute lymphoblastic leukemia. That’s him over there sitting up in his hospital bed with a blanket full of markers drawing pictures of … yep, monsters. Could he be any cuter?

So, the story is, Aiden’s Mom and Dad are getting ready to put their house on the market on account of the steep medical bills when Aiden’s Aunt Mandi steps into the picture. She decides that she wants to try to help out by selling some of Aiden’s monster masterpieces on the Esty website (an online shop where folks can sell their homemade arts and crafts). Her goal was to sell 60 of them at $12 apiece. (60 X $12 = $720 …  which should cover about 2 liters of saline and a cup of lime jello.)

As of the Today Show report today, Auntie Mandi has sold 2, 460 of Aiden’s monster pictures – ! (There’s $30,000 to kick around.)

The Take-Away: Yeah, I’m going on a neat trip to learn all kinds of things about learning and creativity, and I can’t wait to relay some of it to you on the blog here … But, for today, upbeat-as-only-a-child-can-be-Aiden-Reed is selling monster drawings and I just had to write about that.

Pre-Ramble: What was I thinking?! … Barack’s poll numbers are down, so I can just stroll in at the last minute to hear his speech at the little DFL pep rally on the University of Minnesota campus??  Despite the forecast for rain, it turned out to be a lovely day; lots of energy buzzing around on a too-warm-to-be-crisp football Saturday.

Walking blithely along, I’m all, “Going to see the President … la-de-da-de-da … “

And then …. Wrought-iron barricades lining the main drag … yellow tape drawn around entire buildings … faux slackers smoking outside the Starbucks with wires coming out of their collars …

And then … The Line.

O-M-G … Block after block after turn-the-corner block … 12,000 people strung out in a single file line … It’s is a pretty impressive thing. And daunting.

Well, so, if it hadn’t have been such a clear-cut case of, “No way are you getting in there … and even if you do, you are going to be too WAY WAY far away from any meaningful sightline to the President,” I might have hung in there for what was sure to be another 3 or 4 hours. Plus, I would have had to give up my cheetah-print umbrella, which, along with knives, guns and bottled water, is considered a weapon by campus security. The deciding factor was actually that I had to be back up in suburbia by 5:00 to get ready for a night out with friends to see some Canadian guitar player guy. Whatever.

Cut to me slicing through a seared scallop as the main act strolls out onto the stage. The venue is a quasi-intimate jazz/dinner club in downtown Minneapolis. You’ve seen it — low black platform stage jutting out like a peninsula into clusters of candlelit tables and uncomfortable chairs. Performers can play their music up-close-and-personal – you can see their fingernails.

Where’s the beef? So, Mr. low-key guitar guy, in jeans and shirt-tails, ambles over to the mike and makes a few crowd-pleaser Canada jokes while tuning up what looks like a curly metal snarl at the end of his instrument. I’m thinking, “Who is this guy? If he’s not wearing a meat suit or headed off to jail, how good a musician can he really be?” … And then he unleashes this:

Who’da thunk it? Far beyond humming and strumming, this guy OWNED that guitar — and the audience. His aerobic combination of picking, slapping, tapping and what may have been Irish step dance moves … truly a wonder to behold.

The Take-Away: While this video of Don Ross’ (guitar guy’s actual name) artistry is amazing (1,673,166 hits on YouTube as of 4:15 p.m. CST), it will never be the same as the up-close, in-the-room experience. Get out there and see a live performance of something to shake up your world a little bit!

Post-Note: And if you’re walking around on campus and you see a trash can with 12, 000 umbrellas in it, you’ll know what happened.

Pre-Ramble: I want to put a word in on the awe-inspiring rescue of the 33 Chilean miners before the clock strikes twelve and reality comes rushing in to spoil this fairytale scenario.

What a historic, heroic and humbling thing we were able to witness last week as a cadre of scientists, engineers, psychologists, doctors, mechanics, nutritionists and sunglasses manufacturers came to the assistance of the thirty-three men who were trapped 2,300 feet below the earth.

Apparently, pretty much the whole world was watching as Chilean President Sebastian Pinera marshaled his forces and the will and spirit of his country to methodically and confidently move forward with a plan to bring every man out alive.

Viva Chile! Many compare the rescue to the NASA moon landing, a seminal moment in American history that I remember watching on our big old black and white television as though it was yesterday. In her usual well-crafted and moving account of events, Peggy Noonan (WSJ) describes the “Leave no man behind” ethos of the miners’ rescue and cites its power to forever transform the people and nation of Chile …

“What does it do to the children of a nation to see [this unifying and transcendent event] … Everyone from Chile will be proud as they go through the world … ‘You saved the miners.’ Chilean children will know, ‘We are the kind of people who get them out alive. We did not let the men die. We made up our mind to do it and we did.’ … What a thing to know about your country… What a transformational event this is going to be for that nation … Viva Chile!”

Form follows function - If I was writing about the innovation surrounding the event, this would certainly be an example of creative thinking and collaborative implementation at its best. What a dizzying spectacle those early brainstorming sessions on the miners’ situation must have been – fueled by adrenalin and parameters around time, space and the human condition too grim to fully comprehend. 

Charged by a staggering number of unknowns, the real miracle is the fact that a hierarchy of power and identification of resources and skills could be sorted out at all, let alone in any kind of reasonable timeframe. In the end, the jury-rigged capsule and rigorous pre-game routine designed to ferry the miners to safety were as comprehensive as they needed to be – simple and functional - a hallmark of truly successful solutions.  

Rock-solid solidarity - Even more impressive than the mechanics of the rescue however is the unshakable optimism and rock-solid solidarity displayed by ”the 33,” both while biding their time underground and carried forward as the ordeal continues to play itself out in the daylight. 

These rugged working-class men are rock stars – the world is throwing every imaginable appearance, book and movie deal at their feet. What kind of forethought must it have taken to prepare the miners for the onslaught of media attention they were undoubtedly going to receive? According to reports out of Copiapo, Chile, the miners received several hours of “media coaching” as part of a “broader strategy to control their story and any proceeds it generates.”

“The men appear to have formed a pact to jointly disseminate and market the story of how they survived longer underground than any previous accident victim … All 33 have agreed not to say anything that would break the pact they have made underground, which is that they will speak only as a group … They have some kind of group agreement to create a ‘foundation’ that would market their story.”

The Take-Away: There is plenty to take-away from this uniquely harrowing and deeply inspiring situation. My hope is that the universe will continue to shine upon the 33 miners and allow them to persist in conducting themselves on the incredibly high ground upon which they currently stand. … How tempting must it be for these individuals to capitalize on their extreme misfortune and cash in on the drama? What kind of character have these men, to forgo the lure of personal fame and fortune for the ultimate benefit of the whole? For the rest of us, I hope this event and the character demonstrated by the folks involved can even scratch the surface of the interminably shallow greed-driven hype of our ”reality TV” culture. 

Post-Note: Talk about point/counter-point — last night’s 10 o’clock news covered the return of one of the volunteers who worked on the drilling crew over at the rescue site,… Meanwhile, on a return trip from Boston, my beloved and oblivious spouse recently found himself seated next to fab-ab reality television celebrity “The Situation“  …

Pre-Ramble: So, gosh, it seems like forever since I wrote a blog post. I hope I haven’t forgotten how. Hope my readers haven’t given up on me and moved on to some other blog site that features quirky random topics …

For the past few weeks I’ve been mired in a blur of high school graduation ”tasks” as my youngest child takes those last few steps up to the edge of the nest.  The pride and ceremony that mark graduation from high school are seminal and well-deserved. These kids have worked hard. So many caps. So many gowns. So many wide eyes. So many hopes and dreams.

And - so many house parties, … so many balloon bunches, … so many yummy sheet cakes. I’ll just say that orchestrating a graduation is more complicated than one might think and, like carrying an umbrella, renting a tent does not automatically co-opt the weather into not raining on your grad party day. Thank goodness I have the kind of friends who will assure me/lie to me that our garage was totally “festive.”  Never mind that we have been raking, weeding, mulching, planting and power-washing for months. No one could see any of that from the garage. Folks got a good look at our weed wacker, Miracle Grow and arsenal of snow shovels though.

Blog-time – So, ten days is practically an eternity in blog-time.  So much has happened in the last couple weeks – General Petraeus faints on the stand; Kobe pounds the Celtics; something or other is happening in South Africa that involves soccer balls; and the oil “spill” rages on in the Gulf. 

And that will be the last time you hear me refer to that horrendous, ecologically detrimental act of negligence by the inappropriately sanguine word “spill.”  … Like, …

“Oopsy, we bad … Naughty BP, … we made a little boo-boo. Here, we’ll just sop up that whole silly mess with paper towels … “

Milk spills. Sippy cups spill. Fluffy twirling figure skaters take spills. Millions and millions of thick toxic gallons of crude oil surging uncontrollably into the water for weeks upon weeks due to the shoddy, careless - okay, criminally negligent - practices of a smug international conglomerate is far beyond anything that could even remotely be characterized as a “spill.”

The whole scenario in the Gulf is so appalling and sad that I can barely bring myself to address it directly. This is as close as I can get for now.

The Take-Away:  Such a mix of events and emotions happening now. So proud of my 2010 graduate!  Looking forward to watching her test those wings as she moves into her next Big Adventure. Looking forward too, to filling up this “empty nest” with lots of new and exciting ideas, projects, and hopefully some compelling blog posts as well.

Pre-Ramble:  After a delay of several hours due to pilot availability and then electrical problems with the plane, we finally touched down at Minneapolis/St. Paul Airport. It was 3:15 a.m. … a long, long day. 

Well, so we weary passengers were trudging up the jetway into the now vacant gate area, when there on the floor, off to one side, alone, sat a young army private.

He was wearing what looked to be standard issue combat fatigues and was accompanied by a backpack and some other light gear. He looked tired, but no more tired than we were. He didn’t look sad or injured or angry or forlorn. He looked calm and “waiting.” … Waiting for something to happen or someone to come.

In that moment, I noticed him only as an aside. We swept past and made our way up the long empty hallway to the baggage claim – the last stop before we would be in the car and finally on the way home.  Half listening to the hum of the wheels on my trailing bag, my thoughts went to the waiting soldier.

I wondered where he had been and what he had seen. I wondered if he was on his way in, or on his way out. I wondered if he was waiting to see what was in store, or whether this was his last stop before he would finally be on the way home as well.  And where was home?  Did he need a ride?  Who was his family, and would they be waiting there, anxiously anticipating his return?  If he had already served a tour of duty, or two, or three, I wondered whether he had been scared, or empowered … Whether he had suffered injuries or had injured someone else … Was he challenged to “be all that he could be” … ?  Or, hardened at too young an age to the realities of war and life.

The Take-Away:  But mostly, I wished that in that moment, as I was coming out of the jetway, that I had gone over to that young man and looked into his eyes and shaken his hand and told him how grateful and thankful I was that he was wearing that uniform and that he had made the decision to step up and serve our country.

Pre-Ramble:  Like millions around the country, I was on the edge of my seat last night watching the 2010 NCAA National Championship basketball game between the first seed Duke Blue Devils and the sweet ‘n’ scrappy Cinderella Butler Bulldogs.

With 4,200 students, [Butler] was the smallest school to play for the title since the field was expanded to 64 in 1985 and fourth-smallest overall. Forget state-of-the-art facilities. The Bulldogs play in an 82-year-old gym, the barn-like Hinkle Fieldhouse. Practice there, too. At 6:30 a.m. There are no athletic dorms and, yes, those were some of the Butler players spotted in the classroom Monday morning.

And, what a game!! Duke was favored to win, but plenty of folks were rooting for the Bulldogs to pull a “Hoosier” victory. The score never favored one team over the other and there were times where Butler looked like it was going to pull ahead only to be slapped back to reality by an efficient Duke 3-pointer.

Duke ended up beating Butler 61-59 after a 3-point half-court desperation shot by Butler’s Gordon Hayward (shown right) thwacked off the backboard, then rim, falling to the floor in a breath-taking-but-failed final attempt to clinch the win. 

The real take-away from the game however, went far beyond the scoreboard. As is the case in many of these kinds of contests, winning is secondary to the actual game itself – the twists and turns, … the way the action unfolds, … the behavior of the players and coaching staff, … the decisions of the officials…  This game definitely delivered on all of these scores – lots of amazing athletic moves; a tight game with lots of turnovers and no early run-away; nothing but good clean competition on both sides (oh, sure there was a little ticky-tack going on, but nothing ugly); and, for the most part, the officials ”let the players play the game.”

Let me state the obvious – What really made this game interesting though, was the greater sports-world context in which it was played. Front loaded onto yesterday’s news cycle along with the national championship game were both Opening Day of major league baseball, and the return of golf’s number one player-turned-scumbag, Tiger Woods. Ironically, until a few months ago, we thought that TW was one of the few professional athletes with integrity,… (And, somebody’s gotta say it, his current wannabe goatee is … unfortunate.)

The contrast in vibe between the earnest, haven’t-really-been-around-long-enough-to-screw-up NCAA players and professional athletes, and particularly Tiger Wood’s now epic, drug-through-a-toxic-sinkhole persona, is stark.  Never mind that one of the star players on the Butler team is nick-named “Babyface.” If you don’t know which one this is, look at a team photo (or photo above) and I guarantee you’ll be able to pick him out of the line-up.

No whining - Like my past blog posts on Eagle Scouts and such – college basketball players, the guys on the Duke and Butler teams, (the players on all of these teams really…) … These guys are in a league of their own. In last night’s game they demonstrated not only some outstanding skills on the basketball court, but they also provided a shining, much-needed example of what determination, integrity and sportsmanship look like. We didn’t see any tantrums or cheap shots or excuses out there, just a great competition between dedicated, talented, (tall) athletes. Butler’s head coach Brad Stevens describes it this way:

It’s the way they play that most charmed people,… The Bulldogs call it “The Butler Way,” and it has nothing to do with Xs and Os, backdoor cuts or zone defense. It’s the next guy stepping up, everybody having each other’s back. Somebody that is a team-first person, that accepts responsibility, accountable for their actions …  those are all things that lend to a successful program.”

The Take-Away: These guys are the kind of guys we need around here … making the plays, anticipating the rebounds, rolling with the bad calls, and ultimately, win or lose — owning their stuff, moving it forward and getting it done with grace, style and integrity. These are the kind of stand-up guys we need not only in sports, but in our neighborhoods, communities and world as well!

Post-Note: Heck, these are the kind of guys I’m hoping my daughters will bring home for Sunday dinner! (Especially you, Babyface.)

Pre-Ramble:  So, time sure flies when you’re sunning and funning (it would appear that we have lost an entire hour, in fact).

Alas, the week-long Mexi-fest has come to an end, with many happy memories, none so precious as the sound of the surf and the warm ocean breeze blowing  through the palm trees in the sleepy midday sun (above).

It is amazing to experience the difference in pace between the non-vacation day — an endless series of to-do’s, errands, chores, letting the dog out, deadlines, obligations, cell phones, clocks, television, news, politics, laundry, letting the dog in – and the resort vacation day which involves none of these things. 

The world moves along on its own time … the sun comes up, … progresses slowly across the sky, … and finally slips down in a firey ball over the horizon. A steady string of minutes, hours and days make space for body, brain and spirit to recalibrate and refresh themselves in the freedom of mindless task-less-ness.

Que pasa?  If I was feeling ambitious right now, I would launch into the science behind down-time, toss out a few neurobiological factoids, and give a quick how-to on the relaxation response.  But, no-can-do!! … This would take waaaay too much time and energy… This Chica is still in vacation mode.  All things informative, useful and pithy will have to wait until margarita time is officially over … (tomorrow).

The Take-Away: If this was the pace of play every day, nothing of any substance would get done. Thankfully, the primary goal of this vacation was to get nothing of any substance done … Mission totally accomplished!