I have been so unmotivated lately.  I haven't felt very good about myself, my work, or anything.  So today I told myself, "Just show up...That's half the battle."  I went to work and started one thing and then another and I ended up having a pretty productive day.  I'm actually feeling pretty good about myself for the first time in awhile.  "Just show up."  It sounds pretty trite but pretty much everything is dependent on first showing up.  The next step, "Just follow through."  Is a lot more daunting.  I think I'll stay with just showing up for now.

Thank you Mssrs. Lincoln and Washington.  Although Presidents day isn't as meaningful a holiday as Veterans' Day, it's still nice to have a day off from work with the house to myself.

First things first, Put some music on my computer and write.  Right now I'm listening to and loading Stan Getz' "Serenity"--Mr. Getz was a Sax great who came up during the be-bop era.   I so wish I had seen him play live.

Today is an unusual day.  The house is clean, I'm not in the midst of any household projects, (even the laundry is done) and the only thing I absolutely have to do is bake a cake by 4 this afternoon.   Lets see....seven hours to bake a cake...I think I can handle that.  I wonder if this is what retirement will be like, each day a blank slate to be filled in however I please.

I'm thinking yoga or meditation or tai chi will be a must for the retired me in 20 years.  No more aerobics for granny Carol.  Cooking and baking has been and will be a constant.  Maybe a class or two will help me expand my repertoir.  I'll still play piano and without work I'll have much more time to practice at my beloved Yamaha.  Maybe I'll even fill in at church when the musician is sick or on vacation.  I know that I'll never want for a time filler as long as my church is in existence.   Even though Unitarian-Universalism has no dogma or dictates it still has pot lucks, coffee hours, cards to write, landscaping,  and committee work.  

I don't know how people have the energy to retire.  I haven't even mentioned book clubs, card and scrabble games, theater groups, watching the grandkids, the symphony and opera on those great $20 senior tickets,  "early bird" dinners, hanging around Starbucks for hours drinking Vente Lattes.  Whew, I think I'll work until I'm 70.

Today, in my "aspects of retirement" day, I'll be content to watch the shadows move from left to right in my sunroom.  I'll be happy to learn one more line of Beethoven's Pathetique Piano Sonata.   I'll put  The Modern Jazz Quartet's "Last Concert" and Golijov's opera "Ainadamar' on my computer.  And I'll bake a cake.  I think of it as "retirement lite."

Every year, with varying degrees of success, I try to see all of the films nominated for best picture.  So far I'm at my usual average of three...I've seen "Michael  Clayton,"  "There Will Be Blood," and last night I saw "Atonement."  I'm pretty sure I'll make it out to see "The Diving Bell and the Butterfly" but I think husband Mike will have to drag me to see "No Country for Old Men" much like I dragged him to see "Atonement."  (I spared him 27 dresses...I saw that one with a girlfriend.)

All I can say about "Atonement" is, I love Keira Knightly's green dress!  The rest of the movie is good...very good in fact, but that green dress is spectacular!  It's a Gatsbyesque symbol of passion and yearning.  For her, a yearning for freedom from the constraints of her social system, for him a desire for the freedom that he believed his education would give him.  Forget about all of that water and those windows and mirrors as symbols.  They're too confusing.  The green dress is straight forward and as I watched the film I thought about my yearning to look like Keira Knightly and to wear a dress like that.

My husband liked the wartime scenes in Dunkirk and London.  He also liked the set for the family mansion.  Did we see the same movie?

I'm disappointed that "Atonement" is on the Best Picture list instead of "The Darjeeling Limited."  That Wes Anderson film really moved me.  It was funny, heartbreaking, lyrical, and ultimately too precious for Oscar voters' tastes.  But "Atonement" is Oscar's type of movie.  It's a lovely film;  big, historical, accessible, and rich in culture and detail.  But it's smaller than "Titanic" in emotional breadth and depth and that's why my guess for Best Picture Winner goes to"There Will Be Blood."   

This week has been quite a cultural whirlwind.  On Monday I went to see "There will be Blood," the new film by PT Anderson.  On Tuesday Ashley and I went to the Lyric Opera to see "Falstaff."  Yesterday I listened to the opera "Susannah" by Carlisle Floyd on my car's CD player while driving all over Chicagoland for work.  "Blood" and "Susannah" are as tragic as they get.  Thank goodness they were sandwiched around a comic opera.

"There Will Be Blood" is unrelentingly grim.   It tells the story of the rise of an American oilman, a Mr. Plainview, played by Daniel Day Lewis.  Plainview is the prototypical capitalist.  Everything about him, family, work, ethics, is about making money and finishing on top.  His road to the top is through the bowels of the earth--where the black pitch blood of the earth--oil comes from.  Even the vibrant Brahms Violin concerto seems strangely off key.  It's a wonderful film and I was transfixed for the entire show.

If the NBA can have its dog days of February, I guess the Lyric Opera can also.  "Falstaff" is an enjoyable opera, full of gorgeous late Verdi melodies, but as Ashley said, "It's not Triviata."   It certainly is not!  It's light, airy and fun and quickly forgettable.

On Wednesday I listened to Floyd's "Susannah."  It's an opera based on an apochryphal writing of the bible set in turn of the 20th century Tennessee.  Sounds dull, but the opera had sex and violence and vengeful crowds.  Like any good operatic tragedy, it ended badly for everyone.  The story involves a pretty girl who is shunned by jealous church members and the preacher who tries to save her soul even while lusting for her body.  I was so enthralled by this story I was reading the libretto while driving the car.  Not as dangerous as doing mascara, but still pretty bad.   No more books on tape for me on long drives, it'll be operas on CD from now on.

Next week I have Mara's school symphony concert on Monday and the Chicago Symphony performing Bartok's 3rd Piano concerto on Thursday.  I'm a glutton...I can't wait.

I was telling my husband the other day that we're not that unlike the raccoon that lives in my back yard.  He immediately made some sort of crack about me rooting through the garbage again and after we calmed down...I only root through the garbage when I think I've lost something...I explained my reasoning to him.

These last few snowy mornings I've come out my back door and found fresh raccoon tracks.  Around the back of the house, over to the shed, behind the garage, between the garbage cans...like the trail Jeffy leaves in that awful cartoon "Family Circus."  After a few days I noticed that even if the snow was fresh the tracks were in the same places.  Around, back, over, behind and between.  Our raccoon has a routine.

A few minutes later I got to my parking deck and started to walk to the office.  As I walked through the snowy area between the two I saw my bootprints from yesterday.  They were mine alright...rectangular, thin heel, size eight, a little pigeon toed.  As I looked close I saw my prints from the day before;  same boot, same gait.  And going down the same path over and over... same as the raccoon.  Even leaving the house I went down the same path.  When I pulled out of my driveway I went down the same streets as always and even saw some of the same people.  Not unlike the raccoon.

I knew we are creatures of habit and I've written here before about how much I cherish our habits.   I had just never realized just how hard wired our habits are.  I have friends who retire to Florida or Arizona, not realizing just how hard it will be to readjust to an entirely new environment.  It' not surprising many of them are unhappy.  Just imagine taking a raccoon and plopping him down in a forest fifty miles away.  Panic city for that poor raccoon.

Now I'm off to the library to drop off some CDs.  Then It's off to the dry cleaner's to pick up a skirt I had altered and to drop off a couple suits.  I imagine I'll take the same route as always, but maybe, just maybe today I'll get a Tall coffee instead of a Vente.  Watch out, this girl is living dangerously!

If we couldn't live vicariously through our daughters, how could we live?  I can imagine myself wearing a pair of cute low rise jeans and a really tight top because I can see how Mara looks in that outfit.  I can relive my prom dresses and dates through Ashley's prom plans.  And I can experience my frustrated musical dreams whenever I hear my daughters play their violin or cello.

But where I was once a supportive orchestra mom, now I'm a jealous one.   Last Friday night Mara called me, bubbling over with excitement.  She had gone to see the Chicago Symphony concert that night--Boulez conducting Stravinsky and Berio--and I thought she as calling to give me a review.  No no.  She was able to go backstage after the concert, thanks to her violin teacher.  There she met not only Maestro Boulez, but also the mezzo-soprano Susan Graham.   I am so happy for her, but also so jealous.

I never had musical training as a girl.  I did the normal girl stuff, Brownies, Girl Scouts, cheerleading, but what I really wanted was to play a musical instrument.  I wanted to be able to read those mysterious black marks with the little flags, I wanted to be part of an ensemble that created something together.  The only ensemble my culturally challenged mother and sports addicted father approved of was the cheer squad.  Ouch.  So instead of singing I danced.  When I was on the football field in my short skirt and tight top leading a cheer I really longed to be in long pants and a structured sexless jacket in the band.  I so wanted to be a band geek.

So now my older daughter is at the conservatory studying violin and having great musical adventures.  My younger daughter is in two orchestras and a trio.  I've been studying piano for ten years now, but I can't even come close to knowing what has become instinctual to them.  I have to be content with having expanded my knowledge of music and music theory, if not my ability to make music.  Just now Bruckner's 7th Symphony has come up on my I-tunes shuffle--I'll take that as a sign.

 I am so proud of both my daughters;  and even though I'm a bit jealous of them, it could be worse.  At least I'm not jealous of them for being young and pretty.

It's a Super Tuesday here in Illinois, you know, the day of the Big Election.  The candidates have all gone home to vote, Barak to the South Side of Chicago, Huckabee to Little Rock, the others back to under whatever rock they crawled from.  I voted in the primary this afternoon, happily darkening the circle for one of my favorite judges.  He's running in the primary against three other Democrats, some who are less than qualified, so I'm keeping my fingers crossed.

Of course I voted for Barak.  It felt good, but rather anti-climactic.  Barak will certainly win big in Illinois and my vote felt sort of meaningless.

We vote in the social hall of a Lutheran church.  There's a large public grade school right next door and I wish we voted there.  It always feels strange crossing that Church/State division to vote in a church.  Until ten years ago we used to vote in a neighbor's garage.  They had a stove going in there and it always felt comfy and so right to vote amongst the hanging rakes and hoses and weed-wackers.  I never missed an opportunity to cast a ballot there.  When I go to the church I feel like I should bring something for a pot luck.

But I did my civic duty today and it felt good.  Tonight I'll watch CNN, C-Span, and even Fox to get the results and the spin.   It's been such a mean spirited and bitchy campaign I almost hate to see it end.  'Cmon...criticizing Romney for putting down Dole's tepid endorsement of McCain?   Was Bill Clinton really our first Black President?  Anyway, here's my real hope...a nasty floor fight in the democrat convention with everyone so bloodied that our nominee is...Nobel Peace Prize Winner Al Gore.  I can see the signs already...RE-ELECT AL GORE!!!

It's Sunday and a girl's thoughts turn to...television preachers and morning news shows.   I had Joel Osteen and Hillary Clinton back and forth with the "recent" button on my remote control.  Joel told me to have a purpose in life, to wake up every day with the idea that I could make the world a better place just by connecting with my friends and neighbors.  Hillary told me that Barak Obama is a misdirected person who lies about the Clintons and about his own past record whenever he opens his mouth.  I so dislike politicians.  Hillary even refused to answer the simple question of how she would have individuals pay for their health care.  After a couple hundred obfuscatory words I lost interest and turned her off.

I'm an atheist, but I could watch Joel Osteen all day.  I loved to hear Billy Graham speak and I think that Louis Farrakhan is one of the most dynamic speakers ever.  Unlike a politician a great preacher can get me to suspend my powers of critical thinking and simply soak in their message.  The poor politicians.  As soon as they begin speaking I turn on my BS filter and leave it running for the entire speech.

Except for Barak.  I have fully pulled the wool over my eyes and ears when it comes to him.   Health care...oooh, he'll solve it.  He sounds so earnest and wise.  The race problem...it'll go away the day he's sworn in.  Barak's so full of hope and integrity.  I know I'm acting like a tween with a crush on Hannah Montanah, but what's the alternative?  Cynicism as usual?