Bottle Tree

Once a common site in the Southern landscape, the bottle tree is now an increasing rarity as ancient folk beliefs and customs fall from common usage.

From the website http://www.steberphoto.com/gallery/bottle.htm

I made a bottle tree today. If you are unfamiliar with this, you can check the website listed above to learn about their history or click here to see color pictures of a modern reinterpretation. Most of the modern ones I see on the web have been made of rebar or a piece of 4X4X6 timber with dowels or PVC inserted into drilled holes.

I wanted something a little closer to the original concept. I took branches from some of the piles and piles of storm damage in the edges of the woods and lashed a couple together. I "planted" it in a defunct flower bed in my backyard and put the bottles on. It is a work in progress, but I like it.

I guess I became fascinated by them when I saw the one at the Mississippi Agriculture and Forestry Museum in Jackson. Maybe I'd seen them in old pictures before, but I'd never really paid much attention to them. I liked the fact that it was a way to reuse the glass, and I love the colors as sunlight filters through the bottles. It's like outside stained glass.

The fact that it's also talismanic adds another level of enjoyment for me. I have always been interested in good luck or protective symbols. I collect them when I travel. Since this is an element of Southern culture, albeit a fading one, I thought it was appropriate to have in my yard.

After making the tree (with considerable "help" from the dogs), I simply sat and watched the light shine through. It may fall apart tonight. I may have to rebuild the whole thing in two weeks. Today, though, it glowed blue, green, and brown in an abnormally-warm December day, and I felt strangely peaceful.

Rereading Narnia

A young man who wishes to remain a sound atheist cannot be too careful of his reading.
C. S. Lewis

I want to go see The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe over the holidays, so I sat down last night and reread the first of the Chronicles of Narnia. It was such a good book. It had been far too long since I took the pleasure of reading it.

I had forgotten so much of it. I had forgotten how quickly it moves along. I had forgotten the power of the words and the symbolism within. So much truth is wrapped inside a story that was written for a college professor's goddaughter.

Whether I am seeing it in a cartoon form or reading the book, I always cry over Aslan, and I can never stop the chills that run up my spine when the resolution of that crisis happens. As you may be able to tell, I'm trying not to "spoil" it.

All I can say is that you should read it if you haven't. It won't take long, and I don't think you'll ever be sorry that you did.

Christmas

God grant you the light in Christmas, which is faith; the warmth of Christmas, which is love; the radiance of Christmas, which is purity; the righteousness of Christmas, which is justice; the belief in Christmas, which is truth; the all of Christmas, which is Christ.
--Wilda English

Christmas for me this year was wonderful. I hope the same can be said for each of you who read this. It wasn't about what I got or gave. It was about finally having a family Christmas.

For several years now, my family has been scattered or unfocused. I don't know how to explain it. The holidays have been more or less just another day. There are many reasons for this, and all of them have been valid, but I can't say it wasn't a disappointment to me. Our last few Christmases have consisted of all of us sitting in front of the TV with very little being said.

I love the holidays. Actually, I love almost all holidays. I love the decorations, I love the special purpose behind the holidays, and I love the idea that there are some days in which we honor God, our families, love, being Irish, or whatever. I believe some days should be special to refocus us on the important things of life. Those special days, those holidays, help us carry on through the day-to-day grind.

It's almost like a booster shot to my spirit. I am the only teacher on my hall to hang little pumpkin lights at Halloween, twinkle lights and garland at Christmas, and shiny red and pink garland at Valentine's Day. I long for a set of plastic turkey lights.
I need those twinkle lights. I need those tiny illuminated pumpkins to inoculate myself from the bad things that seem to build up sometimes.

Coming back to Christmas, though, this year we all got together after church on Sunday morning, and I made brunch casserole. We ate and talked and never once was the TV turned on. It was a good family time. I hope it's the start of a new tradition for us.

After Mom and Dad went home, I turned on the Christmas music and just watched the lights on the tree for awhile. The weather outside was bad, so I eventually watched a movie. Just before I went to bed, I turned out all the lights except the one directly over my piano and the string of lights that illuminates my nativity scene collection. I sat down and played all my favorite Christmas hymns one last time for the year. "Silent Night," "O Holy Night," "We Three Kings," and "What Child Is This" are all favorites of mine. It was a very peaceful way to end a good day.

When I finally went to bed, I felt like the day had been a special one. It wasn't like the big family holidays we used to have when I was a child, but I hope that it is the start of a new and wonderful tradition for my adult life.

The Ruins of Shearwater

I went to the websites of the museum and family businesses of my favorite artists, the Andersons of Ocean Springs. There I found decimation and despair. Shearwater is gone.

For those of you who never had the privilege to drive down that twisting, shaded lane and catch glimpses of a life dedicated to art and family, this may not be comprehensible. However, anybody who ever really looked at any of the natural curves of the pottery at Shearwater or sorted through the stacks of prints at Realizations knows what has been lost. That wonderful gifted family had their past, their present, and their future pulled out from under them by a force of nature from which no one could protect themselves.

As I look at the damage, I just cry and cry. Why does this move me more than the other images I've seen? I don't know these people. My short sojurns to Ocean Springs are not enough to tie me to them in any real way. That being said, I feel this loss very personally. Looking at those photos of destruction and reading John Anderson's essay about what has been taken makes me feel as if I were looking at one of Walter Anderson's watercolors of a drowned seabird. The grace of that lifestyle has been shattered, and now lies waterlogged.

I believe that the coast can and will recover. I believe that Shearwater and the lifestyle it represents must recover. While I know that much has been lost, I pray that there will be enough help, enough support for all the Andersons to allow them to save Walter Anderson's works and begin to produce the works of their own talented hands once again. Even though it's just a tiny corner of the Mississippi Gulf Coast, if Shearwater is lost, some measure of light will be lost. If you love it like I love it, please go to the website above and find out what you might be able to do to help them recover.

Todd Agnew

"I need a little more patience in the middle of stress/ I need a little more beauty in the middle of this mess/ Need a little more substance in the middle of this emptiness...."
-- Todd Agnew "In the Middle of Me"

I have found another musician to add to my list of favorites, Todd Agnew. I suppose I am coming to him late, but I think the time he came out with his first album was about the time I was in Japan or in transition from Japan. Regardless of that, I'm glad I found him now.

You can go to this page and hear some of his stuff. I like the actual sound of the music a lot, prone as I am to all things bluesy, but to me, the best part of his music is the intense personal feeling I get from his lyrics. I can hear in them a man who has known darkness and can appreciate God's light.

There is nothing saccharine or trite about this album. Nowhere does it lapse into the expected or the cute. I appreciate that. It is rare to find something so genuine. For that alone, I would have bought it. Agnew's lyrics have the same quality I associate with really good poetry: the exposing of things not always comfortable for healing, for confession, and for letting others know that they are not alone.

Works like this always make me wish I could get to know the artist. There are a select few that I'd love to just sit down in the living room with and talk to. If the opportunity presented itself, I'd probably just turn shy and stupid, but to be able to share with somebody who can be that honest with himself would be a great privilege.

I strongly recommend you check out Todd Agnew's stuff. Maybe someday he'll come close enough to Podunk, my humble hometown, that I can go see him live. I bet it's a great show.

Pit Bull?!

If there was a manual describing ideal Pit Bull temperament, it would probably read something like this: "The Pit Bull is goofily friendly towards people--family, friends, and strangers alike. Known for its sound character, strong nerve, and great intelligence, the breed makes an ideal companion for households with children, while remaining strong and vigilant enough to protect its loved ones if need be."
From the website The Real Pit Bull

I took Britta to the vet this morning (with Dad's help), and it turns out that she's not boxer at all. She's a pure blooded pit bull. I have to admit that I was somewhat nervous about that. I asked the vet about a million questions. I told him that all I'd ever heard about pit bulls was that they snapped and attacked people. He said that it wasn't the dog that went crazy. It was the owner that made them go crazy. He told me that they actually make very good pets.

I felt better after that and resolved to come home and look up everything I could about pit bulls on the internet. I found a really good website and learned a lot. Some of the things concern me....her aggressive tendencies toward my other dog may not go away...but others were very settling. Basically, I should only have to worry about her being aggressive to other animals, not to people.

She was fairly good in the vet's office. She showed some aggression (mild) to other big dogs in the office, but I was able to hold her collar and tell her no. Now that I've read the website, I realize that I got off LUCKY there. She also seemed to react only to the other female dogs. The website said that pit bulls seem to react for strongly to their own gender. She pretty much ignored the two or three big male dogs that strolled through.

I'm going to have to do some obedience training with her. I've never done that before, so I'm a little worried about "getting it wrong", etc. I ordered a recommended book and will start over our Christmas break.

Health-wise, she's more or less okay. No mange, but she's got basic outdoor dog worms. The biggest concern is that she tested positive for heartworms. That tore me up, but the vet said as young as she is (about a year or year and a half), she should be able to take the full treatment and be cured.

It's all a little overwhelming, but I think it's going to work out okay. I'm going to make it work, anyway. As long as I can get her and Yelldo to at least tolerate one another, everything else will take care of itself. If push comes to shove (literally) there, I'll probably grant Yelldo his fondest wish and make him an "in-the-house" dog.

Oh well, if it weren't for the high maintenance animals in my life, what would I do with all my "free time?"

The Christmas Shoes

Most drama in our lives is really rather squalid.
Tom Baker

I realize that I am probably going to hell for this, but I HATE the song "The Christmas Shoes." Every time I hear those first few piano cords, I change the channel on the radio. Sometimes I come in on those last few saccharine little kid words, and I shudder uncontrollably. I almost wrecked this morning trying to get to the channel selection buttons when they snuck it in on my while I was half asleep.

It's hard to put my finger on why a song most people regard as a staple of the Christmas holidays, a deeply moving and semi-religious experience, makes my teeth ache. Maybe it's the same thing I hate about really sad country songs. It's not that I doubt the original sentiment of the song. It's that I think it's crass to take that emotion and try to make a buck off it.

Yes, it's sad. It's impossibly sad. It disturbs me, though, that this type of thing always becomes so terribly popular. Are we all so hungry for a publicly-sanctioned form of catharsis that we have to take it in huge, artificially sweetened, heavy air-play rotation doses? To me, it cheapens the original sentiment that inspired the song. Seeing every woman in an entire beauty shop tearing up while turning the volume on the shop radio to maximum so it can be heard over the dryers is just somehow repulsive to me.

I know this isn't a world-shattering issue. Most people probably either disagree or don't care. I just hope that I can get through the rest of the holiday season without having to hear that melodramatic song again.

New Dog

Friday afternoon, just after dark, a large Ford vehicle pulled up near my mailbox. It was odd because they just kept sitting there. I got up and walked toward the door, and I suppose they saw my silhouette through the window because they pulled away. About ten minutes later, chaos erupted on my back porch.

I looked out to find a beautiful, honey-colored, mostly boxer dog. She was so hungry you could see her ribs, and she was looking through the glass door with the most adorable wrinkled brow. I think it was the wrinkled brow that caught me.

I opened the door carefully (strays are always an unknown entity, especially big ones), and poured a scoop full of food into Yelldo's dog dish. She ate it as though she hadn't seen food for a long time and might not ever see it again. She ate so fast she almost choked herself, and I felt an overwhelming sense of hate for anybody who would let an animal be that hungry.

Deciding to take a chance, I stuck a finger through the door. She sniffed and licked very politely. Feeling a little more confident, I put out my whole hand. When I raised it, she flinched and cowered. Again, I felt that anger. Not only had whomever had gutlessly thrown her out starved her, they'd hit her enough to make her shy away from a casual pat.

Four days later, she's got a collar and a name (Britta because she was pitched out on the Waters), she's stopped eating every morsel in the bowl, and she is a wonderful frisky critter with a huge bark and really, really big puppy energy. I still have to take her to the vet, but she's mine, regardless.

I can't believe the callous crappiness of people. Even if someone is having a problem dealing with an animal for some reason, what kind of person takes a defenseless animal and just throws it away? It may not be a kind thought, but I firmly believe there's a special section of Hell for people who abuse animals.

Britta has a home now, and I'll do the best I can by her. My other dog, Yelldo, is in shock. Britta is about three times as large as he is, and the poor baby is more than a little overwhelmed. I'm hoping we all normalize soon. Until then, I will continue to enjoy looking out whatever door I happen to be at and seeing her cute, curious expression peering back at me.

COLD!!

The heat in my house has been off for about a week. Right before Thanksgiving, some valve-thingy died and now I am very, very cold. Thank goodness I have gas space heaters on the walls. Unfortunately, you have to be very close to them to be warm.

Right now, I'm wearing three layers of clothes and have blue nails. My cats are sprawled on the floor in front of the space heater. They love it. They also love the extra blankets on the bed. We will all be glad when the heat comes back.

I hung Christmas lights Sunday. I also set up my Santa collection and my Nativity collection. Every year, it's like discovering every piece again. This year, I got to put my Waterford nativity out for the first time. I can't get over how it catches the light. I can sit here in my chair wrapped in a blanket or five and watch the light play on it. :)

In addition to heater problems, I also had to have the windshield in my car replaced. About two months ago, a rock from one of those enormous highway mowers dinged me, and one day when the weather got cold, the ding became a run. Yesterday, in the time it took me to drive from home to work, it grew by two inches. This morning, I was grateful I'd called Novus to get it replaced, because I actually SAW the run get longer. I almost drove into a ditch trying to get the defroster off.

Well, there's no organization to this. Maybe thought will return when Christmas break comes. Maybe not.... I'm off to shiver on the couch.

Sappy Movies, etc.

I don't take the movies seriously, and anyone who does is in for a headache.
-- Bette Davis

I am about to watch You've Got Mail...again. I have probably seen this movie about 15 times thanks to its heavy rotation on TBS. I don't know why this particular bit of fluff always catches my attention.

It's not the type of movie I'd chose for myself. Generally, I like old movies. In fact, glancing over my video collection, the vast majority of movies I've liked enough to purchase are either black and white or foreign. I love the glamour of those classic movie stars. I want to be Bette, Ingrid, or Katherine when I "grow up." I want to be confident and polished, full of intelligent banter and fire, the proverbial iron fist in a velvet glove.

One attraction for this film might be the vague connections to Pride and Prejudice. I can see how the plot was more or less ripped off from Jane. As we all know, I am a sucker for anything Darcy-ish. (I am, however, highly skeptical about the new P&P film...more on that later, post viewing.)

Every once in a while, maybe everybody just needs a sappy movie. There's lot to be said for a world where true love reigns, where friends are loyal and true, where the happy ending comes despite all obstacles, even if it's a world that only exists within the confines of a Hollywood soundstage. Does life ever work out like the movies?

Sometimes I feel like my life is a low-budget indie film, or God forbid, an episode of a reality-TV show. The Truman Show appealed to me for that reason. Quite often, I feel like everybody else knows the script except for me.

Well, I suppose that's enough of that. I am going to retire to my lovely new couch and drink a glass of sweet tea while soaking up the sappy unreality of this movie.

Changes

No quote.

I have been making big progress on my house. Today, two new couches arrived, and I just can't get over how... adult...my livingroom looks. It all matches! None of it is broken or tatty. Pearl, one of my two cats, has commandeered the loveseat, and I've spent quite a bit of time curled up on the sofa. It's amazing.

I'm even prouder of my office than I am of my sofas, though. Dad and I finished it Tuesday. I installed a ten-foot countertop as a work surface, and it's just the greatest thing since sliced bread. I have already done three projects that have been hanging around since last summer, and I can actually walk in and lay hands on any of my sewing and craft materials without having to get on my hands and knees with a flashlight.

I now have space for my copier and its paraphenalia on a table across the room, and ten feet of empty, clean workspace. There's a huge amount of storage under the table and the countertop, and I have shelves to grow into. I can't believe I finally have a room like this. I've been dreaming of it for a long time. I love it. Once I can get the power strip put in and the TV connected to my satellite, I may never leave it again.

I only hurt myself badly once during the whole process. I was sort of amazed. I was hammering the grommets on the curtain that hides the undercounter area, and I missed the grommet die. I don't know if I"m going to lose the thumbnail yet, but I do know that I CRIED. I haven't hurt myself that intensely in a long time.

I also bought and (with help from Dad) installed a rainfall showerhead. The showerhead by itself is very nice, much nicer than one might expect a showerhead to be, actually, but the best part is the ten inch swan's neck extender bar. Being a tall woman, I have always sort of had to do acrobatic contortions to get the shampoo out of my hair. No more. I can stand under the thing and still have a good 6 inches between me and the showerhead.

Another change was a subtraction instead of an addition. The old TV antenna that had bent in half when Katrina came through finally came down today. Dad took it down while I made a water haul to town trying to do errands and meeting with frustration at every turn. It's strange for it not to be there. That antenna was probably almost as old as I am.

The roof repair is still in the planning phase. I called the recommended roofer, and he's supposed to be getting back to me soon. If he can't do it, the wonderful man who's going to come do the kitchen floor is going to recommend someone else. It may take several more months to get everything finished up, but I'm so excited that something has finally started to get done.

Well, this is the end of my week of Thanksgiving holidays. Tomorrow, I'll have to get back in harness with school work. At least I have a nice place to do it in now.

Frankenstein

I am watching the 2004 Hallmark production of Frankenstein in preparation for my AP classes' viewing this week. I am amazed by how much of this story I had forgotten before I reread it to teach it. I had forgotten how good it really is.

I almost always sympathize with the monster in any movie where there is one. I have always been that way, and I don't even want to think about what that probably says about my mental health or lack thereof. It's the same in Frankenstein. I have such sympathy for the monster.

He never asked to be created. In fact, his creation must have been filled with pain. Then, once he's been dragged into this world, Frankenstein abandons him. He's basically an infant in an adult body, and he has to figure out everything on his own. Everyone who sees him hates him without knowing if he is really evil. He is judged on appearance alone.

So many of the issues in the novel still haunt us today. We still seek knowledge and we still ignorantly rule people as "monsters" based on our own criteria. I am very glad I rediscovered Frankenstein. I'll probably come back to this entry later when I have a little more focus and revise.

Equilibrium

I went to my parents' house last night, and I took the crap curriculum. I wanted my mother, retired from teaching after 35 years, to look over it and give me her opinion. Her opinions were almost exactly mine. That simple fact calmed something that had been raging in my heart since late August.

Today I pulled together several copy packets from the crap curriculum. I waded through it and took the things I thought would be good for my students and sent them out to be printed.

I think that I have peace about it now. If nobody will come and shake my proverbial monkey tree, I think I will be able to find a balance with it.

I also signed my loan papers today. There was no thunderclap and no pain. I am ready to go look at shingles and carpet. I think, now that my own personal Swords of Damocles have fallen, I can finally get some perspective and move forward. It's a good feeling.

Now if I can just get my grades in the computer....

Cowardly

"You must do the things you think you cannot do." -- Eleanor Roosevelt

This quote has been something I've tried very hard to live my life by. Tonight, though, I totally chickened out of something I should have done.

Like most things, it wasn't a huge, earth-shattering moment of decision. It was just a difficult hymn in the evening service. Since our sanctuary is being remodeled, it's just me on the piano at night, and it's been a LONG time since I was the sole means of accompaniment for the congregation. In fact, I'm usually playing the organ, not the piano, and while it may all seem like keyboards to the casual observer, there are differences.

Anyway, I had practiced this one hymn, but not enough. It was still rough around the edges. The music director told me that he'd give me the choice. When it came time to do the hymn, he'd look toward the piano and I could nod or shake my head. When it came time, I shook my head and we did a "backup" hymn instead.

I regretted it the whole time. Such a silly little thing. Why didn't I go ahead and play it?

It ties in with what I was telling my kids as we studied the poem "George Gray" by Masters. It's the things you don't do that you regret.

This is especially true in the romantic area of my life. I always seem to take the "better safe than sorry" route. There have been times when I really should have taken a chance, even if it meant the notes were a little sour.

I have a friend who was totally fearless about love. At church camp, she's the one who always had at least ten guys begging to throw away her lunch tray or carry her bag. When she saw a guy she was interested in, she could articulate it. She could "work it." I am still in awe of her.

I am so awkward. My first feeling whenever I start to be interested in a guy as more than a friend is always one of prevailing dread. I lose my ability to make sense. Even though I want to be around him and talk to him, I become the Queen of Cowards and I usually run away. I have all the social grace of a bumbling twelve year old. It's all about fear, and it's embarrassing. I passed twelve a long time ago.

In the meantime, I guess I'll set myself a few goals. I will continue to try to live up to my goals of truth and honesty. I will try not to beat myself up when I fail. I will continue to hope that someday, I will have the courage not be twelve anymore. Most importantly, next time, I will play that song.

Twice in One Night

I guess maybe I'm making up for lost time, but after I finished the previous post, I went to view the usage stats for my blog. I figured they'd bottomed out. After all, I have been silent for nearly a month.

To my surprise, some of you are still out there checking in regularly. Thank you. For some reason, those random cyberspace brushes are encouraging to me. Thank you for not abandoning this even though you've had ample cause.

Ages and Ages

Obviously, I haven't been faithful to my resolution to keep writing daily. I've come to accept the fact that, at least for this school year, my blogging is going to be sporadic at best. The AP curriculum consumes almost every moment I spend online, and I've been sick a lot lately, so there hasn't actually been that much online time at home. It's been more of a come home and fall down time.

A couple of interesting things are going on right now, though. A friend of mine from work gave me a copy of a book full of places to get my poetry published. Apparently, the book is published every year, is reliable, and is well known. I had a duh moment. Why the heck didn't it occur to me that there would be a resource like that? I haven't had a chance to do much more than browse through it, but I'm excited. During the upcoming holiday breaks, I'm going to try to start sending poems out. If nothing else, maybe I can get some quality feedback to help me refine.

The second thing is really BIG. I am about to start major repairs on my house. Katrina did a number on my roof, and it has to be replaced. It was old to start with, and having 100 mph winds didn't help. The financial implications of this are staggering. I'll be okay, and it's a workable situation, but never before has the mantle of "adulthood" weighed so heavily on my shoulders.

In fact, lately, I've felt that leaden cape dragging me down further and further. I can't help but feel, however irrationally, that signing the requisite paperwork in the next few days is going to be like Faustus signing the Devil's contract in his own blood. (Since I just got through teaching Marlowe's play, I see Mephistopheles around every corner these days...)

Once I sign and once I begin this work, I will be clipping my own wings. It will be a commitment to stay in this job, to stay in this town. Never again will I be able to pick up and go abroad for a year or two. Never again will I be free. I am trying to look at it in terms of obligations, in terms of blessings, in any terms but the terms of a cage door swinging shut, and most of the time I can focus on these other worthy things, but sometimes, especially right before I go to bed, I can hear the squeaking hinges, and I ache between my shoulderblades where those feathers used to be. It's not the money; it's the limiting of choice.

It's foolish to wish for everything. As my father is so fond of saying, "Wish in one hand and spit in the other. See which one fills up fastest." I just wish I didn't sometimes have this terrible, panicky sense of entrapment.

There's a song by David Wilcox called "A Young Man Dies." It deals with him looking through old photographs and finding one of himself at a much younger age. The chorus says, "In the years it takes to make one man wise, a young man dies." I feel like this is the death of the "young" me. That seems highly melodramatic, even to me, but in some ways, I think it's also very true.

So what comes next? Heck if I know. I'll make some changes, fix some things, go on teaching...all those little things that won't matter at all to anyone else but me. I'm committing to this path. Hopefully I can look back later and be satisfied.

Henry the VIII

A mnemonic to remember the wives of Henry the VIII: Divorced, Beheaded, Died, Divorced, Beheaded, Survived

Even though he was a lecherous old goat, I get a kick out of Henry the VIII. I have to respect somebody who said, "You won't let me divorce? Fine. I'll go start my own flippin' church then." Of all the events of the Renaissance, none other was so influential, yet so driven by personal greed. There was no religious fervor, only the desire of a man in hot pursuit of the next young thing and a son to secure his kingdom.

I love the Tudor dynasty in general. They fascinate me. Elizabeth's delicate juggling of foreign invaders-cum-suitors; poor, twisted, demented Mary trying to avenge her mother and her overwhelming desire for a baby that would never come; Edward, the fading child-king...has there ever been such a collection of personalities in one family?

I enjoy most of the British monarchy, at least the ones long gone. History of England was one of my favorite classes in undergraduate. That was probably due to the teacher. I think most history classes probably sink or swim based on the teacher.

Back to Henry...
I like the fact that he was interested in a lot of things. I wonder what he was like before he got old and sick. I wonder if he really wrote Greensleeves. I bet he was one of the most arrogant creatures ever to walk the earth. Who wouldn't be when taught from birth that your will is an extension of the will of God?

One thing always makes me feel badly for him: Catherine Howard. I know she was probably forced into marriage with him, but all the records say he was truly in love with her. I wonder if he'd ever been in love before in all his life. Then to have her abandon him for a younger lover must have been beyond heartbreaking. I'm sure he knew he wasn't physically attractive anymore. I'm sure he never really expected marriage to anything other than a means of procreation. Somehow, though, he truly came to love her and was betrayed. Maybe it's this one moment of genuine emotion that makes him real to me.

I stood in the hallway at Hampstead Court that Catherine Howard supposedly raced down to plead with him at prayers. I could almost see him kneeling at the rail, head in hands, heart torn, pride wounded, making the decision to cloak himself in royal anger and wreak destruction on the sources of his pain. I wonder if he ever turned to the door where she was screaming for her life.

One of my favorite doodads from my recent trip to the UK is a tiny sterling silver charm of Henry. I got it at St. Paul's Cathedral in London. It's a fairly detailed and heavy piece. I smile every time I put on. I don't know how he would have felt about being reduced from divine-right sovereign to kitschy silver souvenir, but I like to think maybe, just maybe, he'd have been amused.

A Miracle

To sit with a dog on a hillside on a glorious afternoon is to be back in Eden, where doing nothing was not boring - it was peace. ~Milan Kundera

Sheppa is going to live. The vet said she has a fractured pelvis, but that it should heal. She is also going to lose her beautiful plumy tail, but she will live.

I got the news at school. I had called at lunch, but there was no news. After the end of day bell, Dad called to tell me the news. I cried. All day long, I had been waiting for something and fearing the worst. I felt the huge weight fall away and I burst into tears.

She's got a long way to go for recovery, but at least we still have her. I can't wait until she's up and around again.

Losing an Old Friend

I got a call just before I started to write this. My dad called to say that one of the two dogs we've had for the last 10 years or more had an accident today. I raced up to their house to see her.

She's not in any pain, but she can't stand up. She's just laying in what used to be my bathroom on some blankets. I went in and sat with her for a little while.

Memories flooded my mind. I remembered the day she came to live with us. Someone had thrown her out on us. She came into the yard, lean as a rail and hungry, but looking for attention. Mom tried to run her off twice, but then she started barking and lunging at the tall grass nearby and killed a large snake. She had a home with us from that day forward.

I remembered other times. I remembered taking a nap on the back deck with her. It was a cool fall day, and when I woke up, she was curled into me. I remembered the way she'd always fling herself off the front deck and through the air, landing and racing around the front yard in big circles of joy. I remembered how she'd charge the cows and then run when they weren't intimidated. I remembered the way she'd grab the leg of blue jeans or overalls and shake them like a chew toy.

I've known for some time now that her health was failing. She's had heartworms for a couple of years. The medicines she takes keeps that under control. Her arthritis has been getting more pronounced. She can only see light and shadow and she can only hear high tones.

For all that, she's still been happy. She has roamed around the hills and woods where my parents live and chased squirrels with our other dog. She's followed my mother around the yard in endless circles while Mom does yardwork.

Now, tomorrow, the vet will probably have to put her to sleep. I am keeping a crazy, foolish hope alive that she'll get up again tonight and be okay tomorrow, but I know in my heart that tonight was probably the last time I'll get to sit beside her and pat her head. Tonight was the last time I'll get to tell her what a good dog she is. I would do anything if there was some way to help her. The hardest thing is when there's nothing else to do, no path to pursue, no hope of reclamation.

I'm going to try to focus on my bouncing young friend right now. I'm going to try to see the fearless flyer instead of the broken and grounded dog I left behind. I don't know of anything else to do except remember, hope, and cry.

Recent Stuff

No quote. I'm doing well to be posting.

Life has just piled up on my lately, and I haven't felt much like posting. Mostly, I've just been grading papers and planning classes. This is the bad time of the year for me. The beginning of the school year and the end are okay. It's the mid-semester time when grades have to be in and everything is in process instead of wrapping up that things get tense.

I am going to be shedding some extra things that I've taken on. I hate to do it, but I had a crying panic attack the other night, and I think it's about time to accept the fact that I can't do everything. I did not come into this world swathed in a red cape with an "S" on it, and it takes far less exotic things than Kryptonite to bring me down.

I am also going to force time back into my life for some things that I love, but have abandoned. I am going to the gym Monday afternoon. I am going to go out and shoot pictures again. I am going to find a way to take a pottery class.

Basically, it's about balance. Mine is way off and I have to fix it.

I did have one complement, of sorts, yesterday. One of my AP students told me that my class was his favorite and that I was one of the only teachers he had whom he didn't hate. :) Left handed, but still pretty high praise from him. At least somebody appreciates what I do.

Well, this is short, but the point is that I did it. I really do enjoy my blog. I love to write and this has been such a good medium for me. This is another one of those elements that I am trying to find space for. I suppose only time will tell how successful I am.