We spent Friday afternoon with our Spanish friends, enjoying their company one last time. They departed for Spain this weekend.
They chose to meet in the city of Berkeley near Cal, where they once lived. Going by memory, they adroitly navigated us around town. We stopped at their favorite taqueria for lunch. We mused and joked happily as we worked on our generous portions of tacos and burritos.
I know how exhausting it must be for the couple to unceasingly communicate in English when their native tongue is Spanish, but they carried on impressively.
(Spain Spanish is slightly different than Latin American Spanish. They can vary in pronunciation and terminology. —One major observation I had during my trips abroad in Spain were their pronunciation of the word 'c' which sounds like 'th'. The word 'Gracias' is spoken: 'Gra-thias.' The name 'Ignacio' would sound like: 'Igna-thio.')
After lunch, our friends wished to visit Ross for some super bargain shopping with their strong €uros. We took them there for their shopping spree.
When we parted ways later in the day, they asked us to seriously consider visiting them in Madrid this fall. Their gracious invitation launched me back in time, to another life I’ve once lived -a flashback of a hot summer, evening in Seville. My traveling friend, Tanya and I just finished a fine paella dinner. As we strolled down a plaza, I saw orange trees towering above us and suddenly had a citrus craving. This was our chance to gather free produce, I quipped to Tanya. But the trees were still rather tall, beyond our reach. I noticed a bar not far from us in the plaza with tall bar stools. That would help us access the oranges, I resolved. Tanya wondered if we were going to ask the bartender for permission to borrow a stool. It was my intent to either attempt sneaking one out or to bat our eyes and ask...but I also figured the language barrier would vex my power of persuasion. Ready to thwart my idea, a tall, young Spaniard walked past us. I instantly called out to him, "Por favor..." I smiled and pointed up at the tree. That night I learned the words naranja and beso. For his effort to collect our oranges, the gentleman requested a kiss on the cheek from the both of us. We obliged and so had a purse filled with naranjas that night.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Playing Tourist
Thanks to visiting friends from Spain, Bubba and I have been playing tourist in our own backyard, visiting unfamiliar sights. It feels good traipsing around our own neck of the woods.
Our friends from Spain are a young couple that Bubba met five years ago. Through a network of friends, Bubba was introduced to them. The husband was working on his MBA and the wife was working as a teacher at an inner city school. They were here on a visa. With only six months left in the US, they were reluctant to renew their rental lease. Learning of their dilemma, Bubba invited them to live in his three-story house in the Presidio. It was a good solution as the husband was a semester away from graduation and the wife was pregnant with their first child.
After the husband graduated, they returned home to Spain with a new baby girl in their arms, but they left their hearts in California. The husband accepted a job in Spain with a Mexico-based company, under the impression of eventual relocation back to the US. But five years, and a second daughter later, nothing over here has opened up on the company’s overseas job list.
Their visit to San Francisco is a mix of business and pleasure. Unfortunately, we do not have a place to host them, so they are staying with other friends. Without the kids in tow, the wife says she is deceived into visualizing her old life again, sans children.
We returned to see the Presidio brick house so they could take pictures to show their first-born daughter of where she resided as an infant.
We joined them in their re-exploration of San Francisco and on a day outing to Sonoma, with a friend/host of theirs.
I was sorry to admit that I missed out on this adorable town with a memorable plaza. We roamed around and visited the Solano Mission, the barracks and other historic
landmarks, such as the Vallejo Home. I learned about California’s original ties to Spain in the early 18th century. It was the Spaniards who established a string of missions throughout this state signifying its territorial claims. Later, Spain would cede this western territory to Mexico and eventually the lands were annexed by the US.
This new knowledge made me appreciate the myriad soil beneath my feet. I was reminded of my funny observation of this summer of how the names of the many towns in the west start with “San -” and those in the east end with “-ville.”
The husband pointed out that it is human nature to seek out what we know. How else would we explain the settlement of the New England regions by the Europeans of the North (i.e., Great Britain). Winters can be drearily damp and icy but yet, familiar with the climate, they homesteaded in that part of the continent successfully. The Spanish sailed further and found the climate of the west to be like home. Some settled as ranchers and were also responsible for cultivating the first vineyards here.
We were graciously invited to dine at the couple’s host’s parents’ house. There we feasted on a grand Greek meal of spanakopita, chicken baked in filo dough, rice pilaf, green salad, red wine and fresh baked brownies for dessert. The delicious food was coupled with a lively conversation that flowed so naturally, it was as if we have all been friends forever.
This past week of constant socializing has injected us with a great sense of vitality. Yes, there is a certain l’art de vivre we Americans must learn.
Our friends from Spain are a young couple that Bubba met five years ago. Through a network of friends, Bubba was introduced to them. The husband was working on his MBA and the wife was working as a teacher at an inner city school. They were here on a visa. With only six months left in the US, they were reluctant to renew their rental lease. Learning of their dilemma, Bubba invited them to live in his three-story house in the Presidio. It was a good solution as the husband was a semester away from graduation and the wife was pregnant with their first child.
After the husband graduated, they returned home to Spain with a new baby girl in their arms, but they left their hearts in California. The husband accepted a job in Spain with a Mexico-based company, under the impression of eventual relocation back to the US. But five years, and a second daughter later, nothing over here has opened up on the company’s overseas job list.
Their visit to San Francisco is a mix of business and pleasure. Unfortunately, we do not have a place to host them, so they are staying with other friends. Without the kids in tow, the wife says she is deceived into visualizing her old life again, sans children.
We returned to see the Presidio brick house so they could take pictures to show their first-born daughter of where she resided as an infant.
We joined them in their re-exploration of San Francisco and on a day outing to Sonoma, with a friend/host of theirs.
I was sorry to admit that I missed out on this adorable town with a memorable plaza. We roamed around and visited the Solano Mission, the barracks and other historic
landmarks, such as the Vallejo Home. I learned about California’s original ties to Spain in the early 18th century. It was the Spaniards who established a string of missions throughout this state signifying its territorial claims. Later, Spain would cede this western territory to Mexico and eventually the lands were annexed by the US. This new knowledge made me appreciate the myriad soil beneath my feet. I was reminded of my funny observation of this summer of how the names of the many towns in the west start with “San -” and those in the east end with “-ville.”
The husband pointed out that it is human nature to seek out what we know. How else would we explain the settlement of the New England regions by the Europeans of the North (i.e., Great Britain). Winters can be drearily damp and icy but yet, familiar with the climate, they homesteaded in that part of the continent successfully. The Spanish sailed further and found the climate of the west to be like home. Some settled as ranchers and were also responsible for cultivating the first vineyards here.
We were graciously invited to dine at the couple’s host’s parents’ house. There we feasted on a grand Greek meal of spanakopita, chicken baked in filo dough, rice pilaf, green salad, red wine and fresh baked brownies for dessert. The delicious food was coupled with a lively conversation that flowed so naturally, it was as if we have all been friends forever.
This past week of constant socializing has injected us with a great sense of vitality. Yes, there is a certain l’art de vivre we Americans must learn.
Monday, February 18, 2008
Starting A Trend
I was dismissed from jury duty on Thursday. My name finally made it into that randomly selected list late in the afternoon.
The courtroom was filled with 92 of us and 18 people were placed into the jury box on day one. (The jury panel is really composed of a dozen citizens with two alternates.) The pool of potential jurors rapidly dwindled over the course of the two days. By the time I made it to the jury box, there were only 25 of us left in the courtroom.
The judge conducts the initial assessment of the potentiality of each individual to be jurors by asking a series of questions, such as whether we recognize the attorneys, the defendants or the witnesses –a list of names are read, whether we or any family member or friends are employed within the law enforcement field, whether we have ever been the victim of a crime or committed a crime and whether we are familiar with the neighborhood in which the crime (it was a drug case) occurred and if we have preconceived notions of the area.
If we are not inside the jury box, we are to notate on paper our answers to the above questions, if any applies to us, and to refer to it when we are called to the box. Otherwise, the focus is on those in the jury box.
The jury box individuals also have to answer the following list of questions posted on a board:
1) Name
2) Place of residence
3) Occupation
4) Marital status (state occupation of spouse/partner)
5) Number of children (state occupation if adult children)
6) Any experience serving on a jury (civil or criminal)
After listening to each juror, the attorneys can follow with their own line of carefully crafted questions to select individuals. This was the farthest I have ever been and the procedure was interesting to watch. The attorneys, both the prosecution and the defense parties have a right to excuse jurors who they feel may be biased. In a way, it was like watching sports fan engaging in a ‘fantasy pick’ in order to assemble their perfect team.
We watched as the prosecutor and the defense lawyers excused juror after juror. Often times, we could understand why the juror was being let go. For instance, there were a few who were related to law enforcement, a few who were lawyers themselves and even a judge…however, we were completely baffled when they let go of an elementary school teacher, a retired film professor (with a sense of humor) and a healthcare guy, who showed no bias whatsoever in their replies.
By the time, we were down to 25 in the courtroom, we thought the judge may have to summon a group of newly reporting citizens from the waiting room. (We learned that the Jury Commissioner’s office sends out 5000 summons per week!)
I knew that my veteran background would likely lead to my dismissal. A woman with a policeman brother, an EMT and a woman whose father was a JAG lawyer were swiftly excused. Anticipating my dismissal, I found myself lambasting the system when it came time for me to speak. I opined how our government is improperly allocating endless funds to drug abusers who make the choice to be addicts. And here, our country is leaving every single vet behind, classifying those returning from war without limbs as being merely 30% disabled and how our vets are on a waiting list to acquire a primary care provider at the VA Hospital. To this, the judge told me I was exhibiting high emotions and said that we are not here to discuss Congressional policies or Federal laws but to deliberate on a county drug case. My dismissal came quicker than I thought, when I got to the questions on the board. I stated that I was currently residing outside of San Francisco with my partner. Regardless of my San Francisco home of record, I was not physically living inside the city and therefore, the judge stated I am not considered a ‘peer’ to the defendants. With that, she sent me away.
I reunited with Bubba and arrived in time for Valentine’s evening. My practical surprise of two king-sized bags of M&Ms candy (Bubba observes M&M peanut candy and red wine to be my primary staples of choice) and a beautifully written card awaited me. The simplicity was what I expected. All I really wanted, anyhow, were thoughtful words from Bubba. (He had already spent a bundle in Hawaii, buying me the Kuuipo bracelet and a Swarovski crystal necklace.)
The weather has been gorgeous up here. Overly motivated one day, I ran obsessively miles upon miles and charged up a steep hill four times. I returned to find my left foot hurting and semi-swollen. Since then, I have been taking it easy. I have honed the skill of walking while hula hoopin’ and this uncommon practice has garnered some attention here on the trail. A woman stopped with her kids to comment how I may be ‘starting a new trend.’ She happily accepted my invitation to try and she took my hula-hoop and walked a few awkward paces. Over the weekend, some young women in a jeep honked and cheered me on. Another woman on the trail told me my exercise was like doing the patting my head and rubbing my belly trick. Bubba joined me on one of these long walks around the trail. I kept the hula-hoop going the entire 2-mile distance. Bubba remarked that I have reached the point where I’ve stopped thinking about the combined effort and that is why the exercise has become so natural to me.
Come to think of it, I may just want to start a trend and start a hoopin' club....
The courtroom was filled with 92 of us and 18 people were placed into the jury box on day one. (The jury panel is really composed of a dozen citizens with two alternates.) The pool of potential jurors rapidly dwindled over the course of the two days. By the time I made it to the jury box, there were only 25 of us left in the courtroom.
The judge conducts the initial assessment of the potentiality of each individual to be jurors by asking a series of questions, such as whether we recognize the attorneys, the defendants or the witnesses –a list of names are read, whether we or any family member or friends are employed within the law enforcement field, whether we have ever been the victim of a crime or committed a crime and whether we are familiar with the neighborhood in which the crime (it was a drug case) occurred and if we have preconceived notions of the area.
If we are not inside the jury box, we are to notate on paper our answers to the above questions, if any applies to us, and to refer to it when we are called to the box. Otherwise, the focus is on those in the jury box.
The jury box individuals also have to answer the following list of questions posted on a board:
1) Name
2) Place of residence
3) Occupation
4) Marital status (state occupation of spouse/partner)
5) Number of children (state occupation if adult children)
6) Any experience serving on a jury (civil or criminal)
After listening to each juror, the attorneys can follow with their own line of carefully crafted questions to select individuals. This was the farthest I have ever been and the procedure was interesting to watch. The attorneys, both the prosecution and the defense parties have a right to excuse jurors who they feel may be biased. In a way, it was like watching sports fan engaging in a ‘fantasy pick’ in order to assemble their perfect team.
We watched as the prosecutor and the defense lawyers excused juror after juror. Often times, we could understand why the juror was being let go. For instance, there were a few who were related to law enforcement, a few who were lawyers themselves and even a judge…however, we were completely baffled when they let go of an elementary school teacher, a retired film professor (with a sense of humor) and a healthcare guy, who showed no bias whatsoever in their replies.
By the time, we were down to 25 in the courtroom, we thought the judge may have to summon a group of newly reporting citizens from the waiting room. (We learned that the Jury Commissioner’s office sends out 5000 summons per week!)
I knew that my veteran background would likely lead to my dismissal. A woman with a policeman brother, an EMT and a woman whose father was a JAG lawyer were swiftly excused. Anticipating my dismissal, I found myself lambasting the system when it came time for me to speak. I opined how our government is improperly allocating endless funds to drug abusers who make the choice to be addicts. And here, our country is leaving every single vet behind, classifying those returning from war without limbs as being merely 30% disabled and how our vets are on a waiting list to acquire a primary care provider at the VA Hospital. To this, the judge told me I was exhibiting high emotions and said that we are not here to discuss Congressional policies or Federal laws but to deliberate on a county drug case. My dismissal came quicker than I thought, when I got to the questions on the board. I stated that I was currently residing outside of San Francisco with my partner. Regardless of my San Francisco home of record, I was not physically living inside the city and therefore, the judge stated I am not considered a ‘peer’ to the defendants. With that, she sent me away.
I reunited with Bubba and arrived in time for Valentine’s evening. My practical surprise of two king-sized bags of M&Ms candy (Bubba observes M&M peanut candy and red wine to be my primary staples of choice) and a beautifully written card awaited me. The simplicity was what I expected. All I really wanted, anyhow, were thoughtful words from Bubba. (He had already spent a bundle in Hawaii, buying me the Kuuipo bracelet and a Swarovski crystal necklace.)
The weather has been gorgeous up here. Overly motivated one day, I ran obsessively miles upon miles and charged up a steep hill four times. I returned to find my left foot hurting and semi-swollen. Since then, I have been taking it easy. I have honed the skill of walking while hula hoopin’ and this uncommon practice has garnered some attention here on the trail. A woman stopped with her kids to comment how I may be ‘starting a new trend.’ She happily accepted my invitation to try and she took my hula-hoop and walked a few awkward paces. Over the weekend, some young women in a jeep honked and cheered me on. Another woman on the trail told me my exercise was like doing the patting my head and rubbing my belly trick. Bubba joined me on one of these long walks around the trail. I kept the hula-hoop going the entire 2-mile distance. Bubba remarked that I have reached the point where I’ve stopped thinking about the combined effort and that is why the exercise has become so natural to me.
Come to think of it, I may just want to start a trend and start a hoopin' club....
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Runaway Jury
If I were to count all the days since my initial Jury Summons’ date (which includes the standby) tomorrow will be: Day 7.
Yes, I have to report for yet another full day of what is beginning to feel a lot like monkey business. (At least, I learned that all jurors are paid when they report for their second day of jury duty, so I made a whopping $17.50 today.)
I say, ‘monkey business,’ because there are still a handful of jurors, hell-bent on being released, willing to say anything to be dismissed. We, the people, unfortunately, are partially to blame for this delay.
The judge remains ever adamant, addressing each impatient juror, quite rhetorically, if they are capable of impartially reviewing evidence and applying the letter of the law to reach a fair conclusion.
Since the nature of the case cannot be divulged, I can only say that I agree with the judge. Aside from one juror, who demonstrated good reason for his immediate bias, the rest were merely expressing that they had an opinion. And…who doesn’t?
There is one prosecutor and two public defenders, one for each defendant. Besides our unnecessary breaks (we are all impatient to get started or get back to our schedules) and the lunch recess, the two defenders spent a good part of the afternoon, weeding out the so-called ‘biased’ jurors after intensive questioning. By the end of the day, they dismissed six and the court only got as far as selecting five new alternate jurors before we were released. We shall see if my name comes up by tomorrow. (Since attendance is taken, this sheet of names is then scrambled by a computer and we are randomly called.) I made a few friends already, a pediatric nurse and a social worker. During recess, we, the unpicked jurors, mingle in groups to compare notes on which juror we think the lawyers will send home next. It may probably be the most entertaining part of our day.
There is one question that is always asked of each potential juror in criminal cases and that is whether we or anyone in our immediate family or circle of friends work within the law enforcement field. Since there is yet to be a former veteran in the jury box, we shall see how this background affects my eligibility at all, if my name happens to come up for the hot-seat tomorrow.
(Note to prospective citizens being summoned for jury duty: the security to enter a courthouse building is equivalent to airport screening. Do not bring any weapons or self-defense items that may bar you or delay you from entering. I prepared in advanced and left my knife, pepper spray and taser in the car, however, I forgot a cutter on my key chain. I was denied entry so I gifted the cutter to one of the guards.)
Yes, I have to report for yet another full day of what is beginning to feel a lot like monkey business. (At least, I learned that all jurors are paid when they report for their second day of jury duty, so I made a whopping $17.50 today.)
I say, ‘monkey business,’ because there are still a handful of jurors, hell-bent on being released, willing to say anything to be dismissed. We, the people, unfortunately, are partially to blame for this delay.
The judge remains ever adamant, addressing each impatient juror, quite rhetorically, if they are capable of impartially reviewing evidence and applying the letter of the law to reach a fair conclusion.
Since the nature of the case cannot be divulged, I can only say that I agree with the judge. Aside from one juror, who demonstrated good reason for his immediate bias, the rest were merely expressing that they had an opinion. And…who doesn’t?
There is one prosecutor and two public defenders, one for each defendant. Besides our unnecessary breaks (we are all impatient to get started or get back to our schedules) and the lunch recess, the two defenders spent a good part of the afternoon, weeding out the so-called ‘biased’ jurors after intensive questioning. By the end of the day, they dismissed six and the court only got as far as selecting five new alternate jurors before we were released. We shall see if my name comes up by tomorrow. (Since attendance is taken, this sheet of names is then scrambled by a computer and we are randomly called.) I made a few friends already, a pediatric nurse and a social worker. During recess, we, the unpicked jurors, mingle in groups to compare notes on which juror we think the lawyers will send home next. It may probably be the most entertaining part of our day.
There is one question that is always asked of each potential juror in criminal cases and that is whether we or anyone in our immediate family or circle of friends work within the law enforcement field. Since there is yet to be a former veteran in the jury box, we shall see how this background affects my eligibility at all, if my name happens to come up for the hot-seat tomorrow.
(Note to prospective citizens being summoned for jury duty: the security to enter a courthouse building is equivalent to airport screening. Do not bring any weapons or self-defense items that may bar you or delay you from entering. I prepared in advanced and left my knife, pepper spray and taser in the car, however, I forgot a cutter on my key chain. I was denied entry so I gifted the cutter to one of the guards.)
Saturday, February 9, 2008
Duties and Traditions
If it weren’t for receiving those red envelopes filled with money, or finding everything in my mom’s house fastidiously washed and cleaned and seeing a variety of fruits and candy displayed on the kitchen table, I would have completely forgotten that it was Chinese New Year’s on February 7th. 
It is such a serious holiday in the Chinese culture filled with festivities. In China, celebrations last an entire two weeks. Civil service offices and shops stay closed. I vaguely recall that there is a dining etiquette designated for each day of the week as well as which groups of family and friends to visit.
In witnessing my own indifference to these cultural practices, I sadly realized that these time-honored traditions I grew up experiencing ends with me, my generation. I doubt my brother and I would remember to commemorate Chinese New Year someday, much less plan a big production around it. Having been born and raised on this continent, I think I will forever be resigned to the role of casual-detached-observer of my heritage, which only dictates the color of my skin (and tastebuds) but nothing else.
Bubba and I received a few generously filled red envelopes from immediate family. It was then that Bubba decided to go get a few red envelopes to fill and give to his daughters. His willingness to embrace this practice gave me some hope of preservation.
Bubba and I are still staying up north at the rental. My entire schedule this week was sidetracked by my Jury Duty summons. I checked in daily only to find my group number on standby. By Thursday, I thought I was home free. Surely they’d excuse the rest of us on a Friday. Not only did I guess wrong, I was also ordered to another courthouse. Since I skimmed the instructions online, I found myself, along with a handful of other less attentive folks, rushing to catch the bus to the correct destination. How unappealing Muni is compared to the bus in Honolulu. (But at least my bus driver was very polite.) When I got there, I waited two hours before being called into a courtroom for jury selection. In the past, I have always been dismissed at this point. Once I was excused as the court schedule conflicted with my military schedule. On another occasion, I was selected to hear a domestic violence case. I told the judge that it is certain women are never as fully protected by the system, as they should be. To this he dismissed me. Today, I was not the first 18 randomly selected for the jury box. From the sidelines, we listened to entertaining excuses from half the jurors explaining why they would not make ‘good jurors.’ The woman judge was less tolerant and countered every point each juror made about possibly being ‘subjective.’ The judge asked them to put aside their subjectivity and to simply listen to the evidence provided during the case and to draw a rational conclusion. In seeing how unyielding the judge was, I figured that if I make it into the jury box next week, I would not seek to be dismissed. In fact, I should look forward to the experience. I may even volunteer to be the foreman. We were dismissed late in the day and instructed to report back in a week.
During my monotonous two-hour wait, I pondered why people find jury duty so excruciating. As I sat in the waiting room, bored and tired…I imagined how small things such as a free parking lot and a catered lunch for jurors would make our civic duty the more palatable. Pay us more than $17.50 per day (we're paid only when a trial begins) and I’m sure many of us would be much more willing to serve. ($17.50 doesn’t even cover lunch or parking in SF!)
It is such a serious holiday in the Chinese culture filled with festivities. In China, celebrations last an entire two weeks. Civil service offices and shops stay closed. I vaguely recall that there is a dining etiquette designated for each day of the week as well as which groups of family and friends to visit.
In witnessing my own indifference to these cultural practices, I sadly realized that these time-honored traditions I grew up experiencing ends with me, my generation. I doubt my brother and I would remember to commemorate Chinese New Year someday, much less plan a big production around it. Having been born and raised on this continent, I think I will forever be resigned to the role of casual-detached-observer of my heritage, which only dictates the color of my skin (and tastebuds) but nothing else.
Bubba and I received a few generously filled red envelopes from immediate family. It was then that Bubba decided to go get a few red envelopes to fill and give to his daughters. His willingness to embrace this practice gave me some hope of preservation.
Bubba and I are still staying up north at the rental. My entire schedule this week was sidetracked by my Jury Duty summons. I checked in daily only to find my group number on standby. By Thursday, I thought I was home free. Surely they’d excuse the rest of us on a Friday. Not only did I guess wrong, I was also ordered to another courthouse. Since I skimmed the instructions online, I found myself, along with a handful of other less attentive folks, rushing to catch the bus to the correct destination. How unappealing Muni is compared to the bus in Honolulu. (But at least my bus driver was very polite.) When I got there, I waited two hours before being called into a courtroom for jury selection. In the past, I have always been dismissed at this point. Once I was excused as the court schedule conflicted with my military schedule. On another occasion, I was selected to hear a domestic violence case. I told the judge that it is certain women are never as fully protected by the system, as they should be. To this he dismissed me. Today, I was not the first 18 randomly selected for the jury box. From the sidelines, we listened to entertaining excuses from half the jurors explaining why they would not make ‘good jurors.’ The woman judge was less tolerant and countered every point each juror made about possibly being ‘subjective.’ The judge asked them to put aside their subjectivity and to simply listen to the evidence provided during the case and to draw a rational conclusion. In seeing how unyielding the judge was, I figured that if I make it into the jury box next week, I would not seek to be dismissed. In fact, I should look forward to the experience. I may even volunteer to be the foreman. We were dismissed late in the day and instructed to report back in a week.
During my monotonous two-hour wait, I pondered why people find jury duty so excruciating. As I sat in the waiting room, bored and tired…I imagined how small things such as a free parking lot and a catered lunch for jurors would make our civic duty the more palatable. Pay us more than $17.50 per day (we're paid only when a trial begins) and I’m sure many of us would be much more willing to serve. ($17.50 doesn’t even cover lunch or parking in SF!)
Sunday, February 3, 2008
"Contents, my dear."
That web design book I bought is torturous. I’m baffled by the slew of acronyms and terminology: HTML, Bandwidth, RAM, FTP, scripting…etc. I’m learning that it’s merely computer speak—programs and codes to tell the computer what to do but I’m overwhelmed.
In the midst of pulling out my hair, I confessed to my cousin that I couldn’t even begin to visualize this website thingy. What was I thinking?! This computer jargon is so uninteresting to me.
With just a few words, my cousin put it all into perspective. “Contents, my dear,” was her wisdom to me. She reminded me to do what I do best, write. She instructed me to take a deep breath, make a cup of tea and sit down with pen and pad. In time, the design will foment, she promised.
I’m glad I followed the doctor’s orders to the T. I inhaled and exhaled deeply, made a cup of Earl Grey, picked up pen and notebook and sat back. In one sitting, the ideas and words came pouring out totaling seven pages. This weekend I managed three more pages. (The contents will continue to remain mum, but I am delighted to report that I secured my domain name and server space!)
I sent the product to my cousin, seeking an objective critique. She is in fact the prototype of the niche audience I am seeking to target. She took time to evaluate every page, commenting when something was entertaining, well written or unnecessary. The feedback was helpful and encouraging. Her enthusiasm for my inkling of an idea has given me such a boost in confidence. Taking my idea seriously, she will be sending me back a marked up copy to revise!
What a consultation from my cousin! She ought to consider becoming a consultant. She is so full of life and goodwill. She has always been this way. Her parents divorced when she was in junior high and she took control of her life right then and there. She worked full-time unceasingly while going to school. She never got caught up in the wrong crowd. She was so independent. Every year, she bought me my Christmas present of choice, no matter how unusual my request. I had the good fortune of living with her for six years as her roommate. She likes to tell me that I am the brave, gregarious and admirable one. However, I am the one gifted with this exceptional role model. And here she is nurturing my newest dream. How very fortunate I am to have such a heroine.
In the midst of pulling out my hair, I confessed to my cousin that I couldn’t even begin to visualize this website thingy. What was I thinking?! This computer jargon is so uninteresting to me.
With just a few words, my cousin put it all into perspective. “Contents, my dear,” was her wisdom to me. She reminded me to do what I do best, write. She instructed me to take a deep breath, make a cup of tea and sit down with pen and pad. In time, the design will foment, she promised.
I’m glad I followed the doctor’s orders to the T. I inhaled and exhaled deeply, made a cup of Earl Grey, picked up pen and notebook and sat back. In one sitting, the ideas and words came pouring out totaling seven pages. This weekend I managed three more pages. (The contents will continue to remain mum, but I am delighted to report that I secured my domain name and server space!)
I sent the product to my cousin, seeking an objective critique. She is in fact the prototype of the niche audience I am seeking to target. She took time to evaluate every page, commenting when something was entertaining, well written or unnecessary. The feedback was helpful and encouraging. Her enthusiasm for my inkling of an idea has given me such a boost in confidence. Taking my idea seriously, she will be sending me back a marked up copy to revise!
What a consultation from my cousin! She ought to consider becoming a consultant. She is so full of life and goodwill. She has always been this way. Her parents divorced when she was in junior high and she took control of her life right then and there. She worked full-time unceasingly while going to school. She never got caught up in the wrong crowd. She was so independent. Every year, she bought me my Christmas present of choice, no matter how unusual my request. I had the good fortune of living with her for six years as her roommate. She likes to tell me that I am the brave, gregarious and admirable one. However, I am the one gifted with this exceptional role model. And here she is nurturing my newest dream. How very fortunate I am to have such a heroine.
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