Blasts from the Past

Late on Friday afternoon, my co-worker Kelli sent Kate and I a YouTube vid of the kids’ song she and her baby sing and dance to every morning, saying how it always makes her happy. In return, I sent her this:



--and got back this, which I also fondly remembered:


Kate, who’s a few years younger, joined in with this, which we felt explains a lot about her generation (violence! loudness! power!), and then Doug heard what we were doing and jumped on board with this (I adore the Spotty Man!):



We ended the day watching more random childhood videos in Kelli’s office (they nearly collapsed when I showed them Bagpuss--I never realised before how Depression-era the opening looks) and dancing along to the one that started it all...this:



Any childhood faves you’d like to share?

Pero, a Chocolate Biscuit, and a Birthday

What’s cosier than a warm laptop, a mug of pero, pyjamas, and the aforesaid choccie biccie, with a little Missy Higgins on the playlist? This is how I’m ending my Saturday.

Today was my dad’s birthday. Wasn’t sure if I’d feel something extra or different today, but I really didn’t. I think probably because birthdays aren’t a huge deal in our family. We remember them--if you forget it’s a no-no, but we’re not too princessy about them. Gifts are sometimes optional. In fact, one of my fond memories of my dad is related to that. I’d always get a call on my birthday--usually on the answering machine, because of the time difference. I got home one year and hit play, and as expected, there was a message from my dad. I got to the end and thought “wait a second.” I played it again, and sure enough, there wasn’t a “happy birthday” within earshot.

I called him the next day to berate him for forgetting, and to ask where my present was (we rarely got the hang of mailing things early enough internationally, so “it’s in the post” became a bit of a joke). But honestly (and I told him this), I kind of liked that he called me mid-week without being consciously obligated. It’s like the men who send roses when it isn’t Valentine’s day (not that I know any personally, but I’ve heard legends)--it’s a little more meaningful when Hallmark hasn’t guilted you into it.

So I don’t know that I’m obligated to do something “special” today. I couldn’t visit my dad’s grave, for obvious reasons. I thought about going up into the mountains and beginning some kind of tradition, but in the end it felt like it would be just manufactured. I think about my dad a lot--right now I don’t need a ritual. I sort of doubt they celebrate birthdays in the next life, anyway, but I’ll assume that if they do, my dad knows I’m thinking of him. Or even if not.

Another Excuse Not to Write a Real Post

I went to a work lunch today that showcased winners from some Cannes advertising competition. I had to leave early, so I'm sure there were gems I missed, but my favourites are below. See, advertising can be art. Or just really funny.



Beautiful--really pretty simple technology but used skilfully, and totally fascinating.



I think this ad is phenomenal. They've used Richard Burton and the poem in a way that doesn't feel exploitative, it feels like that's exactly what Dylan Thomas had in mind as he wrote it. It's beautifully and creatively shot, and for me, it captures that very alive feeling you get sometimes when you're driving at night, and you're alone, but not lonely. And of course, overtly reminds you that driving itself can be a pleasure rather than just A to B. I kind of miss that feeling.




This one had me giggling for some time after. I think because it took me several seconds to realise what was going on. I adore the sheepish co-worker.

Schweppes, VW, and whichever candy company, you are WELCOME for the free advertising here.

Lena Dies a Little Inside

Bloggers, do you ever just feel like you’ve lost the ability to blog? That you have NOTHING left to say that even your mum would care to read? That you would fall asleep reading your own blog post?

C’est moi!

So, we’re working on this big proposal at work. Really big. I mean, big as in we are mildly worried about whether or not it will fit into its two-inch binder. I have
put blood (wonky staple caught my thumb), sweat, and maybe even a couple of tears into that thing. I really hope the readers like it.

The somewhat twisted thing is that I am also somewhat enjoying writing it. I like writing, I do. Even technical writing. I really like taking other people’s prose and editing it. I’m not ashamed of my nerdiness.

But it has somewhat killed my ability to write about anything else. I have actually lost sleep over this thing. I keep thinking about additions, and edits, and making it flow, and...

I’m barely able to write Facebook updates, let alone blog posts. The only updates that come to mind involve being tired and hoping to make it to the weekend, and I consider frequent use of either of those as being on a par with “Lena is eating lunch [unnecessary exclamation mark]”

Note. If your Facebook update is any of those things, I still love you.

So this post is just to say that I have nothing to say. At least, not in any readable way.

I went skiing with my niece and nephew.
I saw an interesting Werner Herzog movie about the South Pole.
I went for dinner and a great motorcycle ride with my friend Jeff.
I rehearsed with Citrine in preparation for our CD recording.
I inhaled hot chocolate and “orange” “drink” while cleaning the dairy at Welfare Square.
(I think ATMIT is really cool.)

See what I mean?

Let’s hope for a rebirth of my brain cells in the near future. In the mean time, Lena is going to bed!

p.s. Thanks, Tim for sending the pic today--that expresses it perfectly.

God Bless America, and England, and Canada, and even France

I don’t have anything I particularly want to share about my life right now, so let’s take a look waaaaaay back at 2008 (cue swimmy harp music and wavy images).

Some time around August, you may have noticed a change in Lena. Maybe her carbon footprint increased a little, maybe she hankered after fast food a little more, maybe she put on a few...eh, whatever--making American jokes is no fun when it’s mostly Americans reading them.

But yes, amid the more important events in my life such as finding clips of Colin Firth on youtube and blogging about going to the dentist, I somehow omitted to tell certain people (i.e. most of you) that I became a US citizen. Now, don't panic. I'm still a British one too. I still like Marmite and hot water bottles and don't like ice in my drinks. I still scoff when Americans say things like "different than," "aluminum," and "World Series." I still mock the guy/woman who has to give the little explanation of the upcoming programme on "Masterpiece Theatre" (guys, just because they're wearing period clothes doesn't mean it's hard to understand).

But, I:

Can't get deported (again).
Don't have to pay an exorbitant fee to the INS every few years for the privilege of a new green card.
Can work for the federal government (Lena for secretary of state?).
Can vote.

This is very nice. But I must confess I'm not overly emotional about it, and that is perhaps why I haven't mentioned it to y'all before now.

I took the citizenship test (Francis Scott Key! Betsy Ross! 10 out of 10!), I went to the citizenship ceremony (the largest in Utah history), I took the oath and all, but I was very much aware that there were people there for whom this meant a lot more than it did for me. It was wonderful to see. It really felt like the poor, the oppressed etc, had come to find a new home here in the states, and becoming a citizen was the crowning moment of that for them. But I've never had to struggle for my freedom, I come from a nation that has a lot to be proud of and a fascinating history, and getting citizenship wasn't something that affected my personal identity.

So, America is lovely. Gracious skies and amber waves an' all. It stands for great things, and I really respect that. I just can't promise to get chills when I see the flag wave, or hear the national anthem. I hope you do.

Lena’s Mum Has Ideas

My mum called me this morning.

Mum: Lena, what do you think about going blonde?

Me: What? Why? [suspiciously] Is this a “have more fun” thing?

Mum: I just thought it might be a nice change. You could get highlights.

Me: But I like my hair colour.

Mum: Yes, of course, it’s lovely, and with your skin... [stream of motherly compliments]...But it might be a nice cheerful change.

Me: I suppose it might be fun to switch things up. But don’t you think I’d end up looking a bit washed out with my pale skin?

Mum [very positively]: Not with YOUR clothes.

Me: What’s that supposed to mean?!

Mum: Nothing! You always look lovely! I just meant that you wouldn’t have to change your clothes!

Me: I’ll think about it. Maybe in the summer.

Mum: I also thought, how about getting a bird feeder?

Me: A bird feeder.

Mum: Yes, you could hang it on your balcony. I have one, and it’s so delightful watching all the birds come and play. It’s like spring.

Me: Yes, I expect it would cheer me right up.

Mum [giggling]: I could buy you a bird book!

Me: I could buy an anorak!

It's not fine.

So, here's the ad with me in it. Behold me over-act.

Um, I must say, the "American accent" isn't quite as noticeable as it was in my head. Which is probably a good thing.