Thursday, November 29, 2012

Magic Hands

I have had a pain between my shoulderblades all day like someone stabbing me with a sharp knife every time I move or turn my head.  I don't know if I slept wrong, if I've pulled something (pray God not TORN IT again), or if stress has just balled all the muscles up there into one big Gordian knot.  All I do know is that I would give all 57 cents I possess to get somebody to come here and undo it.

I have always had this problem.  I carry my stress in strange ways that cause pain and problems.  When I was in my last two years of undergrad (and taking too many courses like a fool...what am I saying...I know I would do it again...), it was a constant problem exacerbated by a backpack a friend of mine fondly called "the circus tent."  (Screw him.  I was an English major.  Nortons and Riversides had to go where I went.)  I would lay down on the hard dorm floor sometimes flat out trying to stretch the muscles so they'd relax.  And I'd want to cry.

I guess massage from a real-live therapist/masseuse could help me with this.  It's just that every time I've tried, it hurts like the devil.  I tried it in Japan and wanted to cry.  The only time I've ever had anybody get all the knots out and not hurt me was this guy at the Wesley who had absolute magic in his hands.  He came by when I was sitting in one of the Wesley big rooms complaining about the pain, and he said, "I can take care of that for you."  And he did.

Holy crap.  I went from a ball of tension with an actual lump of raised muscle at the nape of my neck to basically not being able to move because I was so limp. Why did I not somehow manage to marry him?  How was I ever so dumb to let him get away?

I wish I could find somebody now that had that same skill.  In general, I am not overly "touchy," especially with people I don't know well, so it's not like I am likely to find out if somebody was able to relieve this agony.  I can promise you this, though.  If I do stumble over one by accident, this time, I'm merry well keeping him.

A Beautiful, Double-Edged Sword

I firmly believe that teaching something you love can be one of the best and most rewarding experiences of which we as humans are capable.  There is so much richness to the action.  I always learn more, see more, when I am the one teaching.  I don't know what it is about telling it to someone else that makes the hidden wonders of whatever it is, literature, mythology, even grammar, reveal themselves.  

Even better, there is that moment when I see enjoyment, recognition, comfort in the eyes of my students.  They connect to something larger than themselves, and it's like seeing the sun cut through storm clouds.  There is absolutely nothing like that, like knowing you've been a part, however small, of helping to add to the world around somebody in a positive way.

The blade has another edge to it, though.  Sometimes, that beautiful experience can turn around and cut you wide open when the effort to share meets hostility, rejection, apathy.  I've had years like that, and what is usually a source of shared wonder becomes painful as the teaching instinct is repeatedly thwarted.

This year is not one of those years.  I have had several wonderful days lately that have reinforced that, days where everybody plays along, days where I have overheard students with nothing to gain and who weren't even aware I could hear them saying, "I ain't gonna lie.  I got into it yesterday," when talking about Hamlet.  These are the days that make the moments of darkness bearable.  These are the days to fold up and store carefully away so when the blade in my hand accidentally does me some harm, I can use them as a magic cure and wait for the good to come again.

Wednesday, November 28, 2012

Just the Worst Christmas Song EVER

At first I was incredulous.  Then I was appalled.  Then I just started laughing.

I was listening to a new compilation of Christmas songs from various artists.  On it was the song (and I couldn't make this up if I tried) "Shimmy Down My Chimney (Fill Up My Stocking)" by Alison Krauss.

I have no idea how Alison Krauss wound up singing this song.  It's nothing like what I am used to hearing from her.  She has a lovely voice, sweet and rich.  Usually, the songs she sings are delicate and thoughtful.  This one?  Yeah.  Not so much.

Here are some of the tasteful lyrics:


I'm not asking for a miracle, just a night
And if you just look in my eyes, you just might
There'll be no other woman who'll treat you like I can
(Come on over here)
I'll be your loving, darling, you'll be my loving man

Oh, I watch you shimmy down the chimney, baby
I watch you fill up my stocking
But when I offer you some Christmas greetings
You just keep on walking

Who doesn't love a Christmas innuendo?   (Oh, you, too?)

It's just horrible.  Previously, my least-favorite Christmas song was the emotional torture-tool "The Christmas Shoes."  At least there was an attempt at sweetness in that.  Granted it is the kind of sweetness that causes "diabeetus," but it has some trace of Christmas in it.  I'm having a hard time getting to the spirit of the season with "Shimmy Down My Chimney."  (God.  I feel absurd just typing the name.)

I would tell you to check it out if you haven't heard it, but I really don't think I feel much like inflicting it on anybody else.  I guess if you're curious, have at it.  If not, by all means, just take my word for it and stay well clear.

Monday, November 26, 2012

Le Voyage dans la lune

Even if you've never seen the whole thing or  weren't really aware of it at all, the still I have here of the big, cheesy moon with a rocket stuck in its eye is probably still familiar to you.  This film, 110 years old this year, has several iconic images in it that have been sampled by others for a long time.

Voyage to the Moon is worth your time for several reasons, actually.  First, that anything as delicate as film survived 110 years should demand your respect and at least one viewing.  However, a "pity view" isn't really what will go on.  You'll very quickly be pulled in to the fantastic strangeness of it all.  It seems as though we're only getting a piece of a larger story.  It would be interesting, in fact, for some good writer to take it and expand it.

Another reason is the beauty of it.  In some ways, it feels very old.  In others, though, it feels quite timeless.  The hand-colored version has gorgeous hues.  The costumes the characters wear and the sets in which they perform are incredibly elaborate given the brevity of the film (only about 15 min credits to ending titles).

Finally, there is the sheer whimsy of it.  It is very much a forerunner to all our modern "space sagas."  There are fanciful moon soldiers, astronomers who look more like magicians, highly theoretical and innovative (for the time) tech, pitched battles, last-minute escapes.  It's quite fun.

Therefore, if you haven't seen it, I encourage you to take a few minutes to watch it here.  I'd love to know what you thought of it when you're done.  You may have to click through to YouTube proper, but this is the only version of the whole thing I could find.....

Saturday, November 24, 2012

All Things End


I am tired, Beloved,
of chafing my heart against
the want of you;
of squeezing it into little inkdrops,
And posting it.
~Amy Lowell, "The Letter"

You've been showing up in my dreams again.  I close my eyes, go about the business of putting the day away, folding all the little pieces neatly and storing them in their respective drawers and cubbies, and there you are, sitting calmly, watching from a distance.

Quite frankly, in light of the fact that you're not a part of my life anymore, it is in poor taste.  Declasse. A little gauche.

The truth is that I have no intentions of walking down that path again.  There is just nothing at the end of it, concrete and ashes, an empty parking lot with leaves scuttling across its broken surface.  And, no, that wasn't always the case, but whatever was good is gone now.

It's okay.  Gloria Gaynor has a song about it, and she's right.  All things end.  That doesn't mean that I have to go with it.   I just need to get a little more discipline when my eyes close, and all will be well.

A Feeling of Accomplishment

I can look out my doors and see the soft glow of Christmas lights.  This is the first time in three years that I can say that.  I know it's so much of nothing to everybody else, but the fact that I felt like putting up my lights, carried through with it, did all the other stuff I did today (rebuilt the step to one of my porches, fixed this and that with stuff from Lowe's, spray painted and rehung my little tulip chair squirrel feeder), it matters to me.

They're not just Christmas lights.  They are a victory.  Just like the Christmas cacti lined up in the window of my sunroom, they are a sign that I'm coming back to myself.  It's a very, very good feeling, indeed.

Tomorrow, I will get my tree and put out my Santas and nativities.  I know that the last twenty-something days until Christmas break at school will be insane, but at least I will have something nice to come home to.

The Midnight Four-Wheeler Invasion

I guess it was really more like 12:30, but that's not half as interesting as far as a title goes.

I was still up reading, enjoying the precious nights when I can indulge as much as I want to in the written word without having to worry about waking up at some ridiculous hour the next morning.  It was so late that even the fairly busy road I live on was quiet.  Then, as has happened several times lately, I heard the unmistakable sound of a four-wheeler engine.

I've stopped reacting to this.  Somebody, several somebodies, actually, has been running up and down the road on them late at night lately. It could be idiot children who are not being supervised, too young for cars, maybe.  I've seen a herd of them in Podunk "circling the wagons" in the church parking lot before heading out again.  I know that once, I went out and drove down the road to make sure they weren't cutting up through my pasture, and a whole flock of teenagers in trucks drove away quickly from where they were trespassing on somebody else.  It's just a joy.  The kind that makes you want to put out roofing tacks and spike strips.

Anyway.

Last night's edition of the stupidity involved hearing the engines come up the road and then stop.  As I said, it's become so common that I mostly don't even pay attention any more.  Then, breaking the quiet, I heard....music.  MUSIC.  That was profoundly unnerving.  For them to be so close to the house that I could hear the words of the song was distressing.  And yet, neither Chewie nor Roux was barking, so I had to assume nobody was standing in my backyard.  I lay still, listening, trying to decide whether or not I needed to go outside or go to my window or what, and as I was debating it, I heard the engines again.

It was disconcerting.  I stayed up awhile trying to settle jumpy nerves, and I finally got to sleep.  While I like where I live for sentimental reasons, I have often wished I actually lived at our property farther back in the country.  Maybe if I did, I wouldn't have to deal with these midnight riders.

Friday, November 23, 2012

What I Did Today

(a list)


  • watched the last of the current episodes of Once Upon a Time on Hulu
  • vacuumed and steam cleaned all my carpets
  • ran Chewie out of the kitchen with the broom and then the mop
  • swept and mopped all my linoleum
  • emptied and reloaded the dishwasher
  • washed and replaced all my slipcovers
  • finished painting and constructing a signpost in my backyard with 8 different locations I love
  • cooked and ate dinner
  • read Jane Austen and held 72 lbs of pit bull in my lap at the same time (Roux was feeling neglected)
  • put away coats.  put away coats.  put away coats.  put away....
  • wondered again if it really might be possible to have too many books
  • enjoyed leftover ham
  • filled birdfeeders
It might not sound like much to you, but I guarantee you it was plenty for me...

Wednesday, November 21, 2012

Once Upon a Time


I don't know how I missed this show, but somehow I did.  Well, okay, I do know how I missed it.  I don't get network TV, so there are all kinds of shows I miss.  Since the vast majority of them are total crap, I am fine with that.  This, though, I sort of hate I didn't know about.  On the other hand, though, now I can watch an entire season without any commercials or waiting for the next episode. Once again, the Roku gives instant gratification.

The actors are a surprising mixture of people I know and people I have never heard of.  My favorite is Robert Carlyle.  He's always so good in everything that he does.  He makes a truly fabulous bad guy.  The scenes where he is Rumpelstiltskin are wonderful.

One of the producers of LOST is involved, and you can totally feel that.  The flashback nature of it, the hidden crap EVERYWHERE that you don't catch until they shove it back in your face, the "this world is not what everybody thinks it is" aspect.  I love that.  LOST stands as one of my all-time favorites for all those reasons, but most of all because it stood as one show that I could not figure out the ending for after seeing the first episode.  I can't tell you how rare that is.

This show has the potential to go that way.  There have already been interesting twists and turns along the way.  They killed a character off.  I didn't see that coming.  They are tying the fairy tales together in original ways.  It becomes a situation where even though I know the story, I still am not quite sure where they are taking it.

Too, fairy tales have long been a great love of mine.  Ever since my Nana gave me a copy of Grimm's for my birthday as a child, these stories have been a part of my life, something I return to when I need comfort.  To have them now in this new form is to add another new layer of enjoyment to them.

I am only part of the way through the first season so far.  I hope the quality of the storyline holds.  I don't know how long they can continue to spin this, but I will go along as long as the ride lasts.

Monday, November 19, 2012

Waking Up Again

a list of the things I have started doing again now that I'm no longer taking the Topamax:


  1. Waking up without feeling sick
  2. Growing Christmas cacti 
  3. Grading more papers without having to fight that enormous shut-down of my body every day
  4. Being able to remember things for longer than five minutes
  5. Crafting - including woodworking, crochet, painting, Cricut stuff, and plans for a stained glass window
  6. Cleaning
  7. Cooking
  8. Remembering people's names.  (Okay.  I'm still not 100% on this one, and I might never be. There is just something about names that gives me problems.  Characters, places, real people.   It's not nearly as embarrassing at it used to be, though.  Maybe whatever the Topamax did to me is undoing itself slowly.)
  9. Wanting to do things in my off time other than sleep.

It constantly scares me how much of my life disappeared into a hole while I was on that medicine.  I know I needed it, but I'm grateful now that I don't.  I hope I never do again.

A Post from the Frontlines


I got a girl in the war, Paul
I know that they can hear me yell
If they can't find a way to help her they can go to Hell
If they can¹t find a way to help her they can go to Hell
~ "Girl in the War" - Josh Ritter

There are a couple of Josh Ritter's songs (okay, more than a couple), that I feel a very personal attachment to.  This is one of them.

I frequently feel like I am the girl in this song.  I don't feel abandoned by God.  He's not the problem.  Sometimes, though, I do feel like I've been overlooked by others who have power over my life here.

Case in point:  I recently made a request that was powerfully important to me.  In the grand scheme of the universe, it was not a big deal.  I am aware of that.  That's why I started early, was willing to be patient.  Things are hectic.  I didn't expect my concern to consume anyone.  What I expected was a period of waiting followed by a clear yes or no.  What I got instead was completely ignored.  As in, not even an acknowledgement that I exist.  As in, twice.  As in, hung out in Limbo and forgotten, irrelevant.

Nothing makes you feel quite so good as being totally ignored.  Nothing confirms your place as a valued person like that does.  Nothing makes you want to spring out of bed with a little song in your heart and race forward into the day's challenges quite like it.

And nothing will make a point, sometimes, quite the way verbal irony does....

The expiration date for this request is racing forward.  It is a door closing, and it seems all I can do is watch it.  It's more frustrating and discouraging that I can adequately or politely express.  However....another one has opened, one that won't require the assistance or permission of anyone. If I can't get basic respect or assistance, I will just do without it.

But.

I won't forget that I was left on the frontlines alone.

Saturday, November 17, 2012

A Good Day

I'm cold.  I'm tired.  My hands hurt.  I'm covered with sawdust.  It's been a good day.

I got up early despite my best efforts to the contrary. It felt like a day to do things.  I called Dad, and he came with his truck.  Off to Lowe's we went.  I picked out paint.  I ogled Christmas stuff.  Finally, I found everything I needed and we came home.

I've been wanting to make a set of plywood Christmas ornaments to decorate my driveway for a long time now.  The idea came to me when I made the ghosts I put out for Halloween.  Making the ghosts, though, was a huge pain because of their shape.  Literally.  I only had a jigsaw even though the curves of them clearly required a scroll saw.

Today, though, my dad loaned me his scroll saw, and what a world of difference it made. I was able to cut curves with relative ease.  Even though I need a better work surface, I got much better looking results.

Tomorrow, I'll sand everything down and paint.  Then I'll be both ready for Christmas and be able to check off another thing I've been wanting to do for a long time.  It's really nice to be able to say that.

Wednesday, November 14, 2012

Immortals (or, What the Cornbread HELL Were They Thinking?)

I am teaching a course in mythology at long last, and so I've sort of gotten interested in filmed versions of the Greek tales.  Tonight, I was flipping through my Netflix queue, and I noticed that I had, at some point, dumped Immortals in.  I'd had a good supper of breakfast (work that out....I'll wait...), and so I was ready to brave it.  After all, one of the world's most gorgeous men is in it, Henry Cavill.  (Don't believe me on that?  Okay.  Here...  Also, you have made him angry.)


I mean.  Really.  Shouldn't this alone make for a good movie?  The whole concept for awhile there seemed to be mostly unclothed Henry.  Any film with this as its main premise should be good.  Right?

Oh, hell-to-the-no.  Tarsim Singh's yellow filter and slow motion shot privileges need to be revoked immediately.  I don't know exactly whom to call about this, but I'm looking into it.  Not everything needs to look like saffron rice.  Not every kill (and my GOD but there were a lot of them)  needed to flip over in the air and spray a fountain of blood that fell drop by drop with a big "bawwwww" noise in the background when it happened.

And then there was what was so laughably called a plot.  I don't care where it came from.  If you're going to have a character named Theseus, he should do "Theseus-y" things.  Okay.  So there was sort of a labyrinth   There was sort of a Minotaur.  Sort of.

The thing that kills me is that the real story, the one you can find a summary of in your handy-dandy copy of Edith Hamilton is SO GOOD.  Why would you need to crap it up with a bunch of stuff that you STOLE...um...borrowed from other myths, other cultures, etc.  There's a reason we've been telling these stories for thousands of years folks....

It's not like there weren't some good actors in it, too.  The aforementioned Henry Cavill is good in everything I've seen him in.  He personally wasn't bad in this.  Since there were only about twenty lines of dialog total interspersed between all the slo-mo and yellowness, it's a bit hard to hold him responsible for this.  And he is so pretty...


Okay.  Okay.  I'll stop.

The highlight of the whole thing to me was Zeus.  The portrayal of the Olympian gods was actually fairly cool.  Their costumes were...interesting...but I liked the idea of them changing forms because they were perennially young and beautiful.  I mean you read it, but it doesn't sink in.  I had that moment when Athena was talking to Zeus at the beginning and told him now that she'd seen him in his "old man" disguise, he looked more like a father.  When he wasn't wearing the disguise, his behavior might have been paternal, but his appearance wasn't.  I never really considered that before.

I also would have loved to have known more about this "we're leaving mankind ALONE" mantra Zeus was singing.  The Greek gods I am familiar with could not be farther from this.  They hang out with, romance, support, hinder, kill off, and impregnate mortals like it's their full-time job.  Most especially, Zeus.  Hmm.....were we getting all philosopho-religious-new-agey there?

All in all, I think there should have been more Zeus.  His character felt like it had the potential to be fantastic, but instead, Singh wanted more scenes with oddly-painted, fantastically-costumed (what WAS that on the Oracle and her Sisters' heads?  Lampshades?  Am I wrong?), and dismembered people.  Oh, and more streams of blood.  I bet there was a "blood boy" on hand to splash it about upon demand.  I didn't stop to look that up in the credits, but I bet it's there.  Maybe two, even.


Sigh.  Yeah.  I'll stop.  I've made Zeus cry.  I'm a bad, bad person.

So.  It wasn't the worst movie I've ever seen, but I definitely think it's not a "do-over."  Maybe if I hadn't gone into it expecting a movie about Theseus to be....well...about Theseus, I would have liked it better.  I know.  The ultimate social movie gaffe.  Consider my face red.

Tuesday, November 13, 2012

My Car

The View from the Car This Afternoon
I realized as I was sitting in my car this afternoon once I got home that my car has become this odd little bubble of peace.  I often come home and before going in sit and go through email or FaceBook, things I could do as easily if not more so inside.  Sometimes I stay and listen to the rest of a song that caught my attention on the radio.  Sometimes, I just sit in the quiet and decompress by looking up at the sky or the trees.  

As I always do when some oddity of mine catches my attention, I started wondering why I do that, why I don't simply get out and come in like all the "normal people."  I decided that it's because the car is sort of a happy limbo for me.  It's not school.  I am not called upon to give more with less or grade any damn thing.  I am completely free from red pens and meetings.  It's also not home...quite...  There are no dogs to walk, no messes to feel guilty about ignoring, no chores to be done.  It's a time-out zone.  All I have to do is just...BE.  There is almost nowhere else left like that for me that I can think of.  Every other place has requirements and obligations.  

Maybe, then, it's no wonder I'm so often reluctant to lock the door and walk away.  I guess everybody needs at least the illusion of freedom in their lives.  Maybe it's a cheap thrill, but I'll take what I can get. 

Stuff and Things, Etc.


In these bodies we will live
In these bodies we will die
And where you invest your love
You invest your life.
“Awake My Soul” - Mumford & Sons

After awhile, friction wears down the edges of the machinery.  Maybe that makes it run more smoothly sometimes.  For this particular engine, it’s starting to make everything just the tiniest - and most crucial - bit out of alignment.

I am so tired of watching people choose bad things, harmful things, things that will never help them achieve.  It’s like watching somebody in a burning house shoving away rescue.  Probably more precisely, it’s like watching someone dying of thirst refuse water.

Oh, it’s just another moment when I’m tired and sad and I don’t have anything left to give.  It’s nothing new.  That doesn’t really make it easier to deal with.  It is so hard to pull what it necessary out of a mostly-empty container.  I’m out of ideas about refilling it.

The quote from Mumford above has always been meaningful to me, never more than when I'm tired and sad, feeling defeated.  Maybe I've invested too much in this. Too much love.  Too much life.   I don't know how to turn away, though, and I don't know how to do it any other way.  I'm not sure I want to learn.

Maybe tomorrow will be Scarlett's "another day," and I will find a way to get over this.  One day, though.  One day.  I know I'm not going to get up or get over at all.

Saturday, November 10, 2012

Perspective

"No human thing is of serious importance." ~ Plato

I both agree and disagree with this statement.  The little trials and tribulations of our lives really don't make much a mark on the hard surface of the world.  In this way, Plato is totally right.  We get caught up in trivia.  So much of our daily lives are filled with minutia that are of paramount importance to us, have the power to make us ecstatic or miserable, and when we step away from them for a moment and see those concerns for what they really are, many of them can look small or petty.  

Our individual suffering or joy is only a drop in the bucket of the total history and experience around us.  And yet, that total sea is composed of those little drops.  Our world is not vast, not macro.  We are beings who live and die on the micro scale.  The tiny ripples in our pools have the effect of tidal waves when that is the boundary of all you know.  

I think this quote can be good for putting things into perspective, to help us remember that we need to look at the whole instead of only our little part.  If we are finding a way not to be trapped by the useless and the trivial, then good for us.  If we're turning a deaf ear to the cries of those nearby who are genuinely in need, then perhaps we need to think again.

Thursday, November 08, 2012

Mind Eraser

(with apologies to the Black Keys)

After an extremely stresl day, I suppose what happened was only to be expected.  I got to lunch and my off period, and the hammer of the gods struck.

It's not like I hadn't had warnings.  The lights were a little too bright.  I had those little twinges, those little previews of pain.  I had a hard time getting to names for characters, people, things.

I managed to take my Maxalt, and for a horrible little while, I lay across my desk and prayed for the pain to stop.  You know that didn't happen.  Instead, I just felt the blanket of disconnection spreading over the spikes of agony and the rolling waves of nausea.  I staggered downstairs and asked for permission to leave early.  I knew I only had a short time to get home before I would have to call someone to come get me.

I managed to get to the car, rolled down the windows, let the cold air wash over me until I got to the interstate and had to roll them up.  Then the weird crap started.

I had turned off the radio when I got in the car.  I couldn't stand the noise.  As I drove, I kept hearing music.  Very faint, but music.  I checked my phone, thinking it was ringing without me feeling the vibration.  I tried to locate the source of the sound.  Then came the horrible knowledge that it was just coming from some misfiring in my brain.

When I finally got home and laid down, somehow, I had another sensation I've never had, that of being somewhere else.  I don't even know how to describe it.  I knew I was home in my own bed, but somehow, I also felt that I was in the living room of the trailer we had when I was a small child before my parents built their house.  Maybe it was a trick of the light triggering some deep memory.  I was dizzy and quite frankly scared.

I am better now after two hours of sleep, but I still feel weak and exhausted.  I am up long enough to eat and take care of a few necessary tasks, and then I'm going back to bed.  The only explanation for what happened is that the headache must have somehow churned up the sediment of my mind.  Maybe the electrical activity was in a different part of my brain this time.  I only know that I hope I never have to experience again.

Wednesday, November 07, 2012

Come On, Thanksgiving

(a list)

We're almost to a week-long holiday.  If it doesn't hurry up and get here, I'm going to have to "take a day."  I'm that worn out.  Why, you ask?  Let me tell you about today...


  • 5 AM - Wake up.  Stare balefully at the betrayal of the iPhone. Try with limited success to make finger slide across screen to stop annoying alarm.  Eyelids slam shut.  Impatient cat attack finishes awakening process.
  • Then proceeds about an hour and a half of running in circles, sacking up trash, and forgetting to put supper in the CrockPot followed by a mad dash down the driveway during which some of the trash fell off the roof of the car.
  • 7:10 (ish) AM - School.  Restart the computer.  Try to get my bellringer up.  Fight the computer.  Try to get the bellringer up.  Pray/curse/beseech the computer.  Try to get the bellringer up...
  • 7:30 AM - DUTY.  (or, as I like to think of it, my little monthly slice of hell...)
  • 7:50 AM - "Let's get ready to rumbllllleeeee...."
  • 9:50 AM - Hi.  I'll be observing you today, but I won't be telling you what my magic rubric says.  I'll just sit over here in the corner and intimidate the crap out of you, K?  Carry on like I'm not over here scaring you.  
  • 10:15 AM - Prezi rebellion.  Mad flailing at computer.  Prezi recalcitrance.  Nervous restructuring of lesson plan.  Mad scratching on scary top-secret rubric by observer.  Prezi compliance.
  • Then proceeds a pageant of Medea, administrator-in-my-room, trying to balance giving instructions to my TA and teaching....
  • 11:50 AM - WRITE.  STOP TALKING AND WRITE.  
  • 12:10 PM - REALLY.  WRITE.  STOP TALKING AND WRITE.  Yes.  I will fix your computer.  Bring it here.
  • (repeat as needed)
  • 1:20 PM - four hundred and eighty seven problems.  And a jalapeno pimento cheese sandwich.
  • "Off period" - take down bulletin board.  put up bulletin board. make a large paper turkey.  staple silk leaves to bulletin board.  grading.  cleaning.  99 emails.  grading.  bulletin board.
  • Last bell - DUTY.  (funfunfunfunfunfun)
  • After school - grading.  grading.  singing along to the music.  grading.  redo whiteboard for tomorrow.  water plants.  print off paper turkey feathers.
  • 5:45 PM - WTW?  It's DARK OUTSIDE.  Time to go home.
  • Dinner with the parents....not cooked by me because of 5:00 AM snafu.
  • 7:45 PM - singing along with the radio.  an unexpected puppy looking for a home.  mass canine violence and chaos ensues.
Except for the unexpected dog, today wasn't all that out of character.  Now can you see why I need a holiday?

Sunday, November 04, 2012

True Sight

There comes a moment in everything, I guess, where you see it and see it clearly for the first time.  It doesn't matter what it is that obscured your vision for so long.  Maybe it was some kind of love.  Maybe it was something like hope.  Maybe it was sheer deliberate stubbornness in your own rightness.  Eventually all the scales fall away and what you're left with is no blurred glory, but only the pure truth.

And you'd think that truth would be lovely to look upon.  You'd think that it would be somehow holy, glowing and white, since it is that thing we chase, that thing we long for.  How seldom that is actually the case...

See, actually, the deceptions we weave for ourselves are the beautiful things.  We wrap something stark and horrible, something relentless and uncaring, in layers of warmth and color.  It's the old defense of the oyster against sand.  We create iridescent beauty to hide the things that have the power to break us. Therefore, the moment when the veils are drawn aside and all the illusions are destroyed, that moment that should be liberating, becomes instead a moment of almost intolerable cruelty, of Truth echoing Hamlet's "I must be cruel only to be kind."

Now that it's all a tumbledown mess and I cannot look at it anymore, even though what I'm seeing is only what was really there all along, the true test of me, I suppose, is going to be what I do next. Do I start covering over the real, naked, broken ugliness of it again, patch the holes, put it back up on its pedestal, pretend it is not broken?  Or do I have the strength to walk away from what has never been and will never be whole?

Saturday, November 03, 2012

A Good Day

I slept fairly late this morning, got up, took a hot shower, put on my jeans and a favorite tshirt, put a hot battery in the Nikon, and headed out.  Today was the Soule Live Steam Festival.

When I got out of the car, I could hear the music of the calliopes.  Even though it was fairly warm, the plumes of steam trailed into the air.  As I got closer, those unmistakable smells of the engines reached out to me, burning wood, machine oil, and sawdust.

I love the Live Steam Festival.  I look forward to it every year.  The engines themselves are fascinating.  I also love the people.  I like to watch the parents with their kids.  I like to watch the hard-core fanatics talking and exchanging information.  I like to watch the men group together and talk, gesture, explain.

This year, I did two things that I haven't done before.  I went to the Railroad Museum, and I made a sand mold.  The Railroad Museum was a lot better than I was expecting.  They had this tremendous wall of railroad lanterns that was beautiful.  To my surprise, there were all sorts of people there selling railroad related items.  Two vendors were just selling model trains. I took photos of their tables.  The colors were interesting.  Amtrak had these little "junior engineer" paper hats out for the kids.  You have no idea how tempted I was to get one for myself....

The Mississippi Industrial Heritage Museum where the Soule festival is held is getting better every year.  They have more engines, and this year, they had a tremendous number of traditional crafts on display.  People were happily learning about loom weaving, broom making, wood carving, and printing.  Some of those crafts were actually hands-on.  In the machine shop, the belt-driven machines were being operated by students from a local community college.  I stood for a long time and watched them turning steel rods on the lathe, making things in the blacksmith shop.

For several years I have thought about making one of the sand molds they pour every year at Soule.  Either the tables were crowded or I was in a hurry.  This year, I just decided I was going to do it regardless.  It was relaxing.  I made an owl, but I didn't stay for the 4:00 pouring.  I have to go back and get it tomorrow.  I can't wait to see the end result.  I hope it came out well.

I spent the rest of my afternoon fiddling with the pictures.  Even though I have shot that area pretty thoroughly, I got one or two pictures I was happy with.  The most important thing was how nice it felt to be out with the camera seeing something I don't get to see everyday.  I feel more relaxed now that I have in a long time.  I wish there were more things like this to do.

Thursday, November 01, 2012

And Then There Are Those Other Days....

Today, I ran out of fight.  I was trying to get a class through a portion of a novel, and everywhere I looked, heads were lowered, eyes were closing.  Every answer I was getting was just pulled desperately out of the air.  I guess I could have launched into an angry tirade or a lecture about the importance of it all, but I just couldn't.  I felt as fragile as spun glass, like any sudden movement was going to shatter me in such a way that I couldn't ever put the pieces back together again.  I told them to spend the remainder of the period doing SSR, and I graded the quiz on the section they were supposed to have read.

Most of my students this year engage, or at least they "play along."  There are days though, as there are in every teacher's life, when it doesn't click.  Lately, because we are having the students read a novel, it's happening more and more.  I refuse to believe they can't do it.  If they were genuinely incapable, I would have more patience with it, honestly.

What I cannot stand, what is destroying me, is when they can but they WON'T.  It is unbearable to me to sit and watch somebody choose ignorance over knowledge.  It's never wrong not to know something, but it is wrong to continue to shun knowledge when it is offered to you.  Any time you don't take an opportunity to better yourself, you have broken one of the great unwritten commands of the universe - Go forth, do, and learn from it.

And yes, I know they're young.  I know they're distracted.  I know that apparently, I am failing to make it "relevant" enough despite all my best efforts to the contrary, a fact that continues to depress me.  And no, it's not everybody.  I can't learn to let go of the ones who do.  I can't deny that some part of me envies teachers who just sort make the sign of the cross over it and go on.  I am sure their blood pressure stays much lower than mine, that they don't get nasty ripping headaches.  I just don't know how to stop letting it affect me so much.

Today, just now, I need to be grading, doing lesson plans, prepping materials for the week ahead.  Instead, all I want to do is sit very still and try to pull my pieces back together.  Maybe if I can do that, then I can find what it's going to take to try to get up and go again tomorrow morning.