Fingers To Keyboard, No Filter

Ten to fifteen minutes this time. Just got home. Tired and hungry. Had a pleasant social engagement over dinner and some nice B and N time. Came home to some emails, with hope, and a new CD and two books. Bookstores do a good job of what they're out to do - a lesson to learn. As I came through the door I put on the radio and caught the tail end of this piece: the writer was talking about how connecting with a kid and figuring out what he/she is bringing to the classroom is key. He learned about his mother, who died when he was 13, through interviewing students of hers during her last year alive. I feel a little funny recommending it without having heard it. And yet.

I wonder how many haiku I've posted here. Here's one I wrote around Ma'ariv time last night as that time approaches again:

Waiting For Kaddish

I hear my music

Also I have my muses

As for me my G-d

I had an awkward experience recently when a friend helped me edit something I wrote and it started to feel like he/she was reshaping it in his/her image. The worst part is - I was letting it happen.

"Do we have time for this Paul?" I still have time here on my self imposed limit. I have to tell you some sad news: Paul Shaffer is missing. My most amazing cleaning person filed him/his book away somewhere and I can't find him. I hope this doesn't throw his hosting off.

I started (restarted) the book on Highly Sensitive People. Sigh. Identifying something is harder than dealing with it. According to the book there about twenty percent of the people in this country are highly sensitive - which is to say that they take things in more strongly than others. It's not better or worse, just is. And it can't be changed, only addressed. If you meet one of them (and some of my best friends are HSP) I have one bit of advice - do not say any variation of, "Just don't be so sensitive," unless when you meet people that measure in at seven feet you tell them, "Just don't be so tall."