No sooner – and I mean no sooner – did I start having those heavy thoughts about the real meaning of busy that I shared with you a couple of days ago did I get even busier!
It’s always like that when I’m working, of course. Directing and choreographing stadium theater calls on a dozen – a hundred! Maybe more! – different skills, and calls on them all the time.
But it’s important, whatever your business, whatever you’re doing, not to let all the time mean all of your time.
As some of you know (and all of you can find out when my book comes out this summer) a butterfly changed my perspective. I won’t go into the details here (more reason for you to get the book!) but let’s just say that on that particular day I saw a butterfly for the first time.
Not the first time I saw a butterfly, you understand. Far from it. But the first time I really saw one.
We all have these moments – at least I hope we all do. That flower that catches your attention as if you’d never seen a flower before. The perfect sunset or sunrise. A smile that says more to you than any smile you’ve ever seen. That sort of thing.
Such moments are, I suppose, rare – but they don’t have to be.
You can't make the magical butterfly come to you, or the perfect dawn appear, but you can make yourself aware of their possibility, and alert to their presence. They are there -- if you're open to seeing them.
However busy I may be – and at the moment I am busy! – I find the time to take a breath, to calm myself and gather my thoughts and pause.
I stop to see the butterflies.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Ice Cream And Beer for Breakfast
I know we have friendly ghosts in the 4th floor apartment where Bryn and I are staying for the next three months as we prepare the Ceremonies for the Mediterranean Games here in Pescara Italy. It is just a feeling I have had since I arrived at the place a few days ago.
I am not a superstitious person. But one time, fifteen years ago, I walked into a couple’s house in the panhandle of Florida and before I could stop myself, my body going ice cold in an instant, I said, “Oh my God you have a Ghost, and She is a very friendly one!”
They started to laugh and said, “Yes, we do! Nobody has figured it out that She is here so fast before, but we do!”
I experienced this same feeling as we pulled up to our apartment for the first time a few nights back, but I was not so quick to figure it out this time. The apartment reminds me of the place that Judy, Ron, and I stayed at, in Barcelona while we choreographed our first Olympics, back in 1992. We lived twenty kilometers south of the City in Gava, a small beachside town. Our balcony was right on the beach.
As we were driving through Pescara a few days ago, all I kept saying was “Déjà vu, Barcelona, Déjà vu Barcelona.”
The architecture, the trees and the higgledy piggly lay out of the city, every turn reminds me of our apartment back there in 1992. Ron passed away from AIDS two years after Barcelona, and Judy lost her battle with cancer three years after we finished the Atlanta Games.
As I wake up this morning I can hear in my memory the sounds I used to hear every weekend floating in from the open balcony doors:
“Helado, Cerveza… Helado… Cerveza...”
Ice cream and beer being sold by the vendors on the beach. They would sing it out so that you knew they were close as they carried their Igloos full of the cold elixirs. It always lulled me awake on the hot summer weekends.
I realize it is Judy and Ron who have been spiriting around this apartment letting me know they are here. I think I’ll have Ice cream and Beer and a few happy tears for breakfast!
Thanks, guys.
I am not a superstitious person. But one time, fifteen years ago, I walked into a couple’s house in the panhandle of Florida and before I could stop myself, my body going ice cold in an instant, I said, “Oh my God you have a Ghost, and She is a very friendly one!”
They started to laugh and said, “Yes, we do! Nobody has figured it out that She is here so fast before, but we do!”
I experienced this same feeling as we pulled up to our apartment for the first time a few nights back, but I was not so quick to figure it out this time. The apartment reminds me of the place that Judy, Ron, and I stayed at, in Barcelona while we choreographed our first Olympics, back in 1992. We lived twenty kilometers south of the City in Gava, a small beachside town. Our balcony was right on the beach.
As we were driving through Pescara a few days ago, all I kept saying was “Déjà vu, Barcelona, Déjà vu Barcelona.”
The architecture, the trees and the higgledy piggly lay out of the city, every turn reminds me of our apartment back there in 1992. Ron passed away from AIDS two years after Barcelona, and Judy lost her battle with cancer three years after we finished the Atlanta Games.
As I wake up this morning I can hear in my memory the sounds I used to hear every weekend floating in from the open balcony doors:
“Helado, Cerveza… Helado… Cerveza...”
Ice cream and beer being sold by the vendors on the beach. They would sing it out so that you knew they were close as they carried their Igloos full of the cold elixirs. It always lulled me awake on the hot summer weekends.
I realize it is Judy and Ron who have been spiriting around this apartment letting me know they are here. I think I’ll have Ice cream and Beer and a few happy tears for breakfast!
Thanks, guys.
Friday, April 24, 2009
The Real Meaning Of Busy
Seeing people busily trying to put their lives back together gives you some real perspective about what busy really means.
I'm constantly on the go -- to Milan, back to Pescara, out of this meeting and into that one -- and I love it. It fuels me.
But watching the aftermath of the earthquake, and how its survivors are coping with the devastation, is a powerful reminder that what I love isn't the motion, it's the results. The opportunity to put a show together, to meet new people, to help them find their own possibilities even in impossible circumstances and against impossible deadlines.
It's the accomplishment, the team-building, the learning and the creating that come out of all the travel and meetings and scurryings and scrambling that not only are the real meaning of busy.
That’s what gives busy-ness real meaning!
I'm constantly on the go -- to Milan, back to Pescara, out of this meeting and into that one -- and I love it. It fuels me.
But watching the aftermath of the earthquake, and how its survivors are coping with the devastation, is a powerful reminder that what I love isn't the motion, it's the results. The opportunity to put a show together, to meet new people, to help them find their own possibilities even in impossible circumstances and against impossible deadlines.
It's the accomplishment, the team-building, the learning and the creating that come out of all the travel and meetings and scurryings and scrambling that not only are the real meaning of busy.
That’s what gives busy-ness real meaning!
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Talent And Determination: The Unstoppable Combination
I continue to marvel at the talent and strength and resilience these kids from Scuola Danza Art Nouveau L'Aquila possess—and which they are so eager to share. The more I see and hear and experience them, the more I marvel.
The world is going to marvel, too; I’m sure of it.
Like Susan Boyle, whose voice and determination have so captivated people the past few weeks, this group’s abilities are more than matched by the sheer indomitable human sprit that fills them. Susan Boyle would recognize that spirit. (She’d love their performances too!)
And their determination shines in the shadow of tragedy and devastation on a level few of us can imagine and which, thankfully, few of us will ever have to face.
Does the talent fuel the determination, or does the determination power the survival of the talent, no matter what obstacles you face?
Both. Ask Susan Boyle.
Talent and determination are aspects of the possibility of people.
Watching these kids I believe more than ever that anything is possible.
I can’t wait for the world to meet them and see what I’ve seen.
The world, you know, loves to be surprised by brilliance from unexpected sources.
And the world loves to watch talent through tear-filled eyes.
Hip Hop Hurray!
Wow!! Truly just Wow!
From me, Doug Jack. the director of the Opening Ceremonies of the Mediterranean Games in Pescara Italy:
Today Bryn and I had the incredible honor of auditioning a Hip Hop group from L’Aquila, the very town that was destroyed by the Quake. Literally, not one home is left inhabitable in the entire town.
Now, I would like us all to re-read that last line and consider what that really means. In your mind’s eye, right now, travel outside of your house, travel up and over your home, open the aperture to include your neighborhood. Now travel higher up and open the aperture to include your entire town…
Now you can continue this blog and see what their town is like.
The people of L’Aquila are all now living in tents on the outskirts of their ruined town. Not only do they have to bury their friends, family and loved ones, they also have to get permission and be escorted my police to go back and try to find their pets and feed them. If they are still to be found.
So this group of nine dancers shows up, and we share our common love for dance and the spirit of hope and beauty of expression in such a stark time. I tell them that my twin brother is a fireman a Captain in Southern California, and my older brother, was a California Highway Patrolman who was killed on duty in 1991. I know what it is like to live in California, and have been through 3 earthquakes, yet I have never seen their kind of monstrous pain, never.
The music starts and they begin to dance for us to their own steps. (We ask groups to show us a little of a prepared routine first if they have one.) We cannot even sit in our seats as Bryn and I jump up with our mouths open as tears flow freely down our faces as they start and KICK-BUTT with such a passion and focus not only because not only are they survivors, but they are by far THE BEST DANCERS we have seen in our audition series!
The best. This not only includes the Mediterranean Games. I am talking my six Olympic Auditions as well! We are shouting and applauding, absolutely floored by their talent!
Bryn and I immediately talk to each other while they dancing but never take I eyes off them for a second. (The music is loud enough so that we can have a private conversation on the judging platform.) We begin planning instantly to feature them on the main stage in the Ceremony. Not because they are victims, but because they are just so Damn Hot and Wonderful. We are like kids watching the best show on Broadway. We are giddy from their performance; we are overjoyed and so humbled by the sheer talent and passion they exude.
We will take them, as well as their choreographers, to be on our team. They will also be assistants in the show, so that they can teach the other volunteers—and we can teach them the craft of Stadium Theater.
I am in awe of the Triumph through Tragedy that makes these kids Heroes in my heart and in my life.
Consider that each has lost everything, including parents, brothers, sisters, boyfriends and girlfriends—and yet two weeks later they have the humble passion and fortitude to blow us out of our seats into a standing ovation while they are still dancing!
I go to sleep tonight knowing I am here to help these people heal and move forward to show the world that while the walls of their lives came down in an instant in the dark night two weeks ago, in two months the world will see vitality, victory, and a voracious human spirit that can only be called , the real beauty of the Possibility of People.
Viva L’Italia and Bravi to these ordinary people who are extraordinary!
Hip-Hop-Hurray indeed!
Stairway To The Universe
My music producer lives in L’Aquila, Italy, as do his brother and his brother’s wife.
This is the epicenter for the earthquake that two weeks ago took scores of lives and made thousands homeless in seconds.
We had a meeting today, even though he has been without a home for two weeks. Life still has to move forward for him.
Leo told me that on the night of the earthquake, a little while before the Big Quake, his brother and wife felt a few minor tremors and decided it was worth their while to sleep close to the security of the front door at the top of the staircase, and not back in their bedroom.
When the Quake hit at 11 p.m. that night, they were just steps away from the staircase. They had just made their way onto it when the entire house around them fell away.
The only things left standing in the rubble were the staircase and the front door. Had they not made the choice to sleep at the top of the stairs, they would have been climbing stairs in another direction for them now.
Just a stunning story to consider.
Leo climbs into his car, the only possession he has now, and drives off to go back up the hill to see to his family who are all living in blue Red Cross tents.
It makes you stop to think how lucky we are.
This is the epicenter for the earthquake that two weeks ago took scores of lives and made thousands homeless in seconds.
We had a meeting today, even though he has been without a home for two weeks. Life still has to move forward for him.
Leo told me that on the night of the earthquake, a little while before the Big Quake, his brother and wife felt a few minor tremors and decided it was worth their while to sleep close to the security of the front door at the top of the staircase, and not back in their bedroom.
When the Quake hit at 11 p.m. that night, they were just steps away from the staircase. They had just made their way onto it when the entire house around them fell away.
The only things left standing in the rubble were the staircase and the front door. Had they not made the choice to sleep at the top of the stairs, they would have been climbing stairs in another direction for them now.
Just a stunning story to consider.
Leo climbs into his car, the only possession he has now, and drives off to go back up the hill to see to his family who are all living in blue Red Cross tents.
It makes you stop to think how lucky we are.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Wet Room, Undampened Spirit
Soggy sweeping!
I wake up here in Pescara to an inch of water in our new flat. I spend the morning forgoing a bath or even the basics as I put my sweeping talents to go use and Mop!
As I work, all I can think about is how lucky we are, and how this leak seems minor compared to the week these people have had.
A little water pales -- or should that be pails? -- in comparison to the cleanup they face!
Water on the floor seems a small price to pay to the bigger picture. I have no idea what bigger things lay ahead of us but I am ready to learn what they are.
Community and cleaning up of spirit are what is most needed in this part of the world!
I wake up here in Pescara to an inch of water in our new flat. I spend the morning forgoing a bath or even the basics as I put my sweeping talents to go use and Mop!
As I work, all I can think about is how lucky we are, and how this leak seems minor compared to the week these people have had.
A little water pales -- or should that be pails? -- in comparison to the cleanup they face!
Water on the floor seems a small price to pay to the bigger picture. I have no idea what bigger things lay ahead of us but I am ready to learn what they are.
Community and cleaning up of spirit are what is most needed in this part of the world!
Monday, April 20, 2009
Butterfly For Breakfast
It is day two of my return to Italy. I wake up at 645 a.m. in my hotel room in Milan. It is early and I head down for a walk through the morning of the Italian spring day. I try to recall what day it is, not certain whether it is today… or yesterday! I check my i-Phone and find that it is indeed still yesterday, and I’m happy that I have not lost a whole day to my jet-lag while I was sleeping.
Last night, jet-lag hit me over the head with a pillow full of lead wanting to playfully engage me in a pillow fight around 8 p.m. Jet-lag is oblivious to the fact that you cannot start a pillow fight with a lead pillow especially, if this is the first hit in the game. So jet-lag sits patiently on the end of my, bed waiting for me to stir and take up the fight. But all I can do is lay there and begin to droll into my pillow while I surrender to losing the battle but, hopefully, not the war.
I awake some 10 hours later, hungry and alone. (Jet-lag, it seems, has gone off to join one of the many Japanese tourist groups who are checking in or out of the Hotel.)
As I step out into the soft pastel light of the Italian morning, I am greeted by a shape that looks so familiar to me that I begin laughing to myself as I bend to pick it up, to see if I am not still dreaming.
It is my old friend the butterfly, this one made out of leather with a shiny bronze/sliver type coating on one side. I have found it facedown, with it’s white backside up. (I begin laughing harder as I find it in its Back Side of Wonderful pose.) A black elastic band runs through its middle, but has been cut.
I have no idea where it has come from; I have never seen this particular brand of Butterfly before. I know I just must pick it up and convince my swollen (from the jet-lag) fingers to take both ends of the elastic and tie a knot into it, completing the circle and, in a sense, its journey. I slip it on my left wrist.
I watch the street sweepers with day-glow green plastic brooms and matching safety vests clean up the sidewalk out in front of my hotel. One lady seems a little perturbed at me, as she was no doubt going to sweep up my little winged friend. before she finished and headed to the waiting garbage truck and her cigarette break with her fellow Sweeps.
I give her a look like, sorry lady but if you knew the relationship I have with butterflies and ironically with SWEEPING, the only way you are going to get this little guy into the glowing green bristles of your broom is if I happen to fall dead at this precise moment and you take us both with you to your waiting truck! He is with ME!
I am reminded that since today is only Wednesday, tomorrow I travel to Rome (by train), and then onto Pescara (by SUV), through the earthquake ridden country of the latest natural disaster. The earthquake in this small region of Italy claimed close to 300 lives in a few fateful moments. This is the region where I will be working for the next three months. It is to host the Mediterranean Games at the end of June, and we are to begin Auditions there this weekend for the Opening Ceremonies.
Yesterday we planned out a strategy to make up for the lack of people who will show up for the auditions. We are mindful that even for those who escaped that early morning mayhem, 300 people killed in such a close-knit area means that no one escapes the tragedy. Everyone knows someone who was not so lucky.
I told my team about the unnatural disaster of 9-11 hitting on the day before we started our audition series for the Salt Lake City Winter Olympics back on September 12th 2001, and how we had to then, as we must now, find a way that is respectful and honest to move forward with any and all plans, to honor those who cannot any longer.
It is the responsibility of the living to do just that: LIVE. I am nervous about heading to the area tomorrow, yet now, with my little buddy securely tied to my wrist, I know that I am in the right place at the right time. I can handle the burden of being one of life’s’ survivor,s and help my good friends the Italians to bring Joy and Honor to a place that has seen way too much sadness in the past week.
Let’s go, little buddy. We have work to do.
Last night, jet-lag hit me over the head with a pillow full of lead wanting to playfully engage me in a pillow fight around 8 p.m. Jet-lag is oblivious to the fact that you cannot start a pillow fight with a lead pillow especially, if this is the first hit in the game. So jet-lag sits patiently on the end of my, bed waiting for me to stir and take up the fight. But all I can do is lay there and begin to droll into my pillow while I surrender to losing the battle but, hopefully, not the war.
I awake some 10 hours later, hungry and alone. (Jet-lag, it seems, has gone off to join one of the many Japanese tourist groups who are checking in or out of the Hotel.)
As I step out into the soft pastel light of the Italian morning, I am greeted by a shape that looks so familiar to me that I begin laughing to myself as I bend to pick it up, to see if I am not still dreaming.
It is my old friend the butterfly, this one made out of leather with a shiny bronze/sliver type coating on one side. I have found it facedown, with it’s white backside up. (I begin laughing harder as I find it in its Back Side of Wonderful pose.) A black elastic band runs through its middle, but has been cut.
I have no idea where it has come from; I have never seen this particular brand of Butterfly before. I know I just must pick it up and convince my swollen (from the jet-lag) fingers to take both ends of the elastic and tie a knot into it, completing the circle and, in a sense, its journey. I slip it on my left wrist.
I watch the street sweepers with day-glow green plastic brooms and matching safety vests clean up the sidewalk out in front of my hotel. One lady seems a little perturbed at me, as she was no doubt going to sweep up my little winged friend. before she finished and headed to the waiting garbage truck and her cigarette break with her fellow Sweeps.
I give her a look like, sorry lady but if you knew the relationship I have with butterflies and ironically with SWEEPING, the only way you are going to get this little guy into the glowing green bristles of your broom is if I happen to fall dead at this precise moment and you take us both with you to your waiting truck! He is with ME!
I am reminded that since today is only Wednesday, tomorrow I travel to Rome (by train), and then onto Pescara (by SUV), through the earthquake ridden country of the latest natural disaster. The earthquake in this small region of Italy claimed close to 300 lives in a few fateful moments. This is the region where I will be working for the next three months. It is to host the Mediterranean Games at the end of June, and we are to begin Auditions there this weekend for the Opening Ceremonies.
Yesterday we planned out a strategy to make up for the lack of people who will show up for the auditions. We are mindful that even for those who escaped that early morning mayhem, 300 people killed in such a close-knit area means that no one escapes the tragedy. Everyone knows someone who was not so lucky.
I told my team about the unnatural disaster of 9-11 hitting on the day before we started our audition series for the Salt Lake City Winter Olympics back on September 12th 2001, and how we had to then, as we must now, find a way that is respectful and honest to move forward with any and all plans, to honor those who cannot any longer.
It is the responsibility of the living to do just that: LIVE. I am nervous about heading to the area tomorrow, yet now, with my little buddy securely tied to my wrist, I know that I am in the right place at the right time. I can handle the burden of being one of life’s’ survivor,s and help my good friends the Italians to bring Joy and Honor to a place that has seen way too much sadness in the past week.
Let’s go, little buddy. We have work to do.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
How Do You Say Copious In Italian?
Copious amounts of hand-baggage!
Traveling back to Italy after a few months of being sequestered in the foothills of southern California, I opt for two flights and depart from LAX (instead of the three required from P.S.). On this trip the Universe is reminding and entertaining me about the subtleties of language and its nuances.
LAX to London Heathrow non-stop gave me a solid 10 hours sleep (instead of a three trip journey with no leg of it really long enough to have a great long sleep). So I am very refreshed as I spend the hour waiting for my connecting flight to Milan. (Just a short hour and forty five flight and I will be in Bella L’Italia once again!)
I polished off a pint of Stella – in my opinion one of the greatest beers made — and a tasty club sandwich at British Airways’ new terminal 5. I probably could have put a third-world country though college for the price in British Pounds that I paid for it, but it’s OK: I am indeed traveling with the Universe and She is Worth it!
I must say that I loved my first time in Terminal 5. Where else can you get a pint of Stella and use the Loo, each within 10 meters of the gate? Damn Sensible!
As I board my second flight I am joyfully reminded of the subtleties of language, and the manner by which it is imparted. It is a British Airways flight from Heathrow to Milan, and the plane is chock-o-block FULL of Italians returning from holiday (taking advantage of the Pound’s drop below the Euro for its first time in history I imagine). Mix that with very fussy Brit types heading down to the balmy climes of Italy in the spring and I get a good chuckle.
This last leg of my journey is PACKED full, and if you know Brits and Italians it is the proverbial LIKE OIL AND WATER syndrome. Brits being obviously water (bottled, naturally). The Italians are happily the oil (olive, tangy and assertive, naturally).
The flight staff is all Brit, while the passengers are mostly Italian (a quick scan around the plane confirms that the Brits are outnumbered by 5 to 1). I have not only traveled, but also lived for long periods of time in both these countries, and you learn to spot the not so subtle differences.
Italians love hand luggage and not conforming to rules (ever the anarchists). While the English take more than a modicum of pride in being mindful of others and finding a safety net they relish in following the rules.
The Italians have gone way over on their number and size of their allowed carry-ons, and this is getting the goats’ of the BA flight crew. But being British makes them incapable of telling their customers that this is too much.
All the upper bins are full, and people are still boarding. Finally, a young BA flight steward who has spent the entire boarding process trying to get the overburdened people to use the space under their seats, as well as the overhead. Not to much success.
So he heads to the microphone as a way to inform, as well as to offer his fellow BA Flight attendants some support.
He says, “Ladies and Gentlemen welcome to Flight ### to Milan, we have a FULL flight as you can see tonight, and limited space in our overhead compartments tonight.”
(Here comes the subtle kicker.)
“We seem to have a copious amount of carry-on luggage. It would help us a great deal to help you if you put your smaller items down on the floor in the space provided. Leaving room up top for the rolling wheelie bags and the larger items!”
I laugh to myself as none of the Italians move to help. It was just the way he said “copious“ that made me chuckle, as did all of the other flight attendants.
I wonder how many people actually got what he was saying.
Sometimes language gets in the way of communicating – even when you’re trying to use language to communicate about luggage that’s literally in the way!
Traveling back to Italy after a few months of being sequestered in the foothills of southern California, I opt for two flights and depart from LAX (instead of the three required from P.S.). On this trip the Universe is reminding and entertaining me about the subtleties of language and its nuances.
LAX to London Heathrow non-stop gave me a solid 10 hours sleep (instead of a three trip journey with no leg of it really long enough to have a great long sleep). So I am very refreshed as I spend the hour waiting for my connecting flight to Milan. (Just a short hour and forty five flight and I will be in Bella L’Italia once again!)
I polished off a pint of Stella – in my opinion one of the greatest beers made — and a tasty club sandwich at British Airways’ new terminal 5. I probably could have put a third-world country though college for the price in British Pounds that I paid for it, but it’s OK: I am indeed traveling with the Universe and She is Worth it!
I must say that I loved my first time in Terminal 5. Where else can you get a pint of Stella and use the Loo, each within 10 meters of the gate? Damn Sensible!
As I board my second flight I am joyfully reminded of the subtleties of language, and the manner by which it is imparted. It is a British Airways flight from Heathrow to Milan, and the plane is chock-o-block FULL of Italians returning from holiday (taking advantage of the Pound’s drop below the Euro for its first time in history I imagine). Mix that with very fussy Brit types heading down to the balmy climes of Italy in the spring and I get a good chuckle.
This last leg of my journey is PACKED full, and if you know Brits and Italians it is the proverbial LIKE OIL AND WATER syndrome. Brits being obviously water (bottled, naturally). The Italians are happily the oil (olive, tangy and assertive, naturally).
The flight staff is all Brit, while the passengers are mostly Italian (a quick scan around the plane confirms that the Brits are outnumbered by 5 to 1). I have not only traveled, but also lived for long periods of time in both these countries, and you learn to spot the not so subtle differences.
Italians love hand luggage and not conforming to rules (ever the anarchists). While the English take more than a modicum of pride in being mindful of others and finding a safety net they relish in following the rules.
The Italians have gone way over on their number and size of their allowed carry-ons, and this is getting the goats’ of the BA flight crew. But being British makes them incapable of telling their customers that this is too much.
All the upper bins are full, and people are still boarding. Finally, a young BA flight steward who has spent the entire boarding process trying to get the overburdened people to use the space under their seats, as well as the overhead. Not to much success.
So he heads to the microphone as a way to inform, as well as to offer his fellow BA Flight attendants some support.
He says, “Ladies and Gentlemen welcome to Flight ### to Milan, we have a FULL flight as you can see tonight, and limited space in our overhead compartments tonight.”
(Here comes the subtle kicker.)
“We seem to have a copious amount of carry-on luggage. It would help us a great deal to help you if you put your smaller items down on the floor in the space provided. Leaving room up top for the rolling wheelie bags and the larger items!”
I laugh to myself as none of the Italians move to help. It was just the way he said “copious“ that made me chuckle, as did all of the other flight attendants.
I wonder how many people actually got what he was saying.
Sometimes language gets in the way of communicating – even when you’re trying to use language to communicate about luggage that’s literally in the way!
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Saturday, April 4, 2009
Day One Learning About This Word
So bear with me as I make meaning of this bold new world. I never even thought I'd really publish much less be blogging but here I am world.
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