Heart in My Throat

I just pressed send on one of the biggest requests I've ever made of an employer.  My heart is in my throat now as the waiting begins.

I want to apply for a Fulbright, but I am going to have to have the backing of my district to be able to participate, and I know that what I'm asking for is a huge, huge thing.  I truly believe that I am competitive for it.  I am by no means the best there will ever be, and I'm sure there are people who have done more to ready them for it.  I am not going to put myself down, though.  I want it.  I have wanted it for quite some time.  Therefore, I am going to simply close my eyes and go after it.

But I can't stop the birds-in-too-small-a-cage fluttering my heart is doing....

Elvis, Doves, and an Owl Cake

The other day I was using Poll Everywhere with one of my classes.  We were putting up answers to a question, and since a great number of students had been called from class for a quick meeting with the counselor, I wasn't in any great hurry to move through them quickly and leave the rest of the students behind.

We lingered, and the students put up good answers, thoughtful answers to the questions.  I am still trying to remember how we got on the subject, but suddenly we were talking about what it would take for me to get married.  I have tried, but I can't figure out how we made that leap.  I'm sure it was there in the literature we were studying.  The actual steps between points A and B are just fuzzy now.

Anyway.

I think the students were a little shocked when I told them I didn't exactly have a lot of faith that would be happening for me now.  I shouldn't say things like that to them, I guess.  They are young and precious, and most of them still believe in the idea of everybody pairing up like animals heading into the Ark.  The simple truth, though, is that some of us are unicorns, Chimeras, phoenixes, and dragons, and we really didn't get on the boat in time....

After seeing their faces, I hastened to assure them that it was really reaching a point where it didn't bother me as much, that I was okay with it.  I told them that I was free to travel, free to move, free to do or not do whatever I wanted.  I told them that I wasn't easy to live with.  They weighed all this, and then they more or less dismissed it out of hand and started planning...no, that's not really the right word...plotting... my wedding for me.  It got funny really fast after I told them I have always had a secret dream (okay, not so secret....everybody who knows me has heard this) to get married in Vegas by an Elvis.  They found this acceptable as long as there were doves.  Apparently, there have to be doves.  The doves are key.  And a cake shaped like an owl.  Or a cake from which someone dressed as an owl leaps.  And Shakespeare.

It was so funny.  I could see it all so clearly in my mind.  The birds, the inevitable white cape with red satin lining on the bejeweled Elvis, the owl-shaped wedding cake, some guy in a doublet and ruff.  The hilarity of it.  And you know what?  If that's the closest I ever get to having it, that was a pretty good deal, actually.

Random Items

...likely to be found in the pockets of my "teacher apron" at any given moment.
(a list)

• a blue Pelikano Jr. fountain pen
• pick any three:
• red grading pen
• Sharpie highlighter
• Sharpie
• dry erase marker
• Uniball Vision black ink, micro tip pen
• the last three orange Post-its on a pad which have now become sort of free-form origami
• pick any two:
• stereo remote
• projector remote
• PowerPoint clicker
• lightsaber laser pointer
• library passes
• a box of Maxalt
• a pair of purple scissors with a polkadot sheath
• pick one:
• peppermints
• cinnamon disks
• small roll of colored duct tape
• dry erase board eraser
• bulletin board tack stapler
• at least one pin that has fallen off the front and needs mending

What do you carry around in your "pockets" during the day?

What a Little Moonlight Can Do

My yard, my porch, the field beside the house, all of it is soaked in the most beautiful full moon of the year, the October moon.  I came home from church and walked my dogs by light so bright that I almost couldn't tell where the security light ended and where the moonlight began.  The dogs were full of happiness because everything is out and about in the woods, so adventures aplenty abound.

Today, this night of the October moon, is when the ancient Celts would be celebrating their new year, Samhain, the night  when the veil between the land of the living and the land of the dead is pulled aside.  I'm enjoying the beauty of the orb even if it doesn't have any particular religious significance for me.

I have my the playlist that I entitled "moonmusic" spinning, and I've stolen a few pieces of candy out of the big bag I am taking to school later this week.  It's calm and it's peaceful and it's very nearly perfect.

I wonder why so many of the great old songs had to do with the moon.  Examples right off the top of my head:  "Fly Me to the Moon," "Paper Moon," "Moon River," and "What a Little Moonlight Can Do."  Do we have that many modern moon songs?  Did it lose its mystery and magic for us once we set foot on it?  These songs are still wonderful, still full of an innocence and a hope that I sometimes miss in modern music, especially the hope part.  As long as the singer has the light of the moon and the person s/he loves, everything is going to be okay.  How often do you hear a song where things are that simple, that pure?

Maybe a little more old-fashioned enchantment by the moon wouldn't be a bad thing.

Two Movies

Tonight, I actually watched two films.  I saw both Abraham Lincoln:  Vampire Hunter and Avengers Assemble.  I had wanted to watch both for ages.  How different was my reaction to the two.

Abraham Lincoln was in so many ways a disappointment.  I was surprised to learn that the author of the book was actually in charge of the screen play.  It was so completely unrecognizable as the same work that I just assumed somebody else was in control of it.  I wonder why they went away from the very engaging text.  I cannot say that everything they changed was to make it "easier to film" or something like that, changes that sometimes have to occur because of the limits of the technical aspect of film.  These changes were just....bad changes.  It lessened the power of the story to me.  If the change you make makes it worse, don't change it.

The second movie, Avengers Assemble, was actually much better than I had hoped for.  Again, Joss Whedon turns out an amazing work.  To have that many strong personalities in one picture was a gamble.  But the dynamic on the screen was so close to what they are in the comics, not necessarily close, but working together and forming bonds - against their own will and better judgment - in the process.

It has to be said, too, that at times, I could feel the spirit of Firefly in the movie.  Mal would have been right at home with them, although let's face it, he and Tony Stark would have issues, problems, and miscommunications applenty.  Everything I've ever seen Whedon turn out has that same beautiful strength to it, that same feeling that no matter what our differences are, no matter what our individual quirks, it is always better if we come together.

I really hope they will continue to make more of these films.  They are well-written and great good fun.  Two of my favorite scenes were when Captain America was handing out assignments and he told the Hulk, "You...SMASH."  It was perfect.  Also perfect was the scene in which Loki is running his mouth off and is then picked up by the feet and thrashed back and forth against the floor until he cannot move or speak by the Hulk.  He says something to the effect of, "I am a GOD..." and then he gets his butt handed to him on a platter.  Nice.  A quick extra favorite came when Thor and the Hulk were in a lull in the battle and the Hulk side-punched Thor through a building.  It was snarky, sneaky, and in perfect keeping with everything that had gone on with them previously.  Nice continuity.  Nice characterization.

I will watch Avengers again.  It is pleasant and well done.  As for Abraham Lincoln, if I never see it again, that will be okay.  I am going to go back and reread the book to get that good storyline back in my head.  It's so clouded with crap right now from the movie that I am losing my liking for it.  It was too good a book to let the movie version be the last encounter I have with it.  What a shame when bad films happen to good books.

Songs with Wings

So many of my favorite lines and favorite songs have the image of flight in them.  I started thinking about that today.  Here are a few examples:

• "Oh, had I wings I would fly away and be at rest..."  ~ "Ecstasy," Crooked Still (traditional hymn)
• "On my way to better things / I found myself some wings / Distant roads are calling me...."  ~ "No Time Left for You," The Guess Who
• "My love she's like some raven / at my window with a broken wing."  ~ "Love Minus Zero / No Limit," Bob Dylan
• "One glad morning when this life is done / I'll fly away..."  "I'll Fly Away," traditional hymn
• "Perhaps I'll be a bird one day/ if I'm good enough/ and I'll spread out and fly away/ and give up all this stuff."  "Meheni Rachi," Laura Marling version
• "I'm learning to fly / but I ain't got wings/ coming down is the hardest thing." ~ "Learning to Fly," Tom Petty
• "And when we die/ we say we'll catch some blackbird's wing/ Then we'll fly away to heaven come some sweet bluebonnet spring..." ~ "Gulf Coast Highway," Nanci Griffith
• "...Last night I dreamt that I grew wings/ I found a place where they could hear me when I sing."  ~ "Wings," Josh Ritter

I'm sure there are more, but it's late and I'm tired.  This is all I can think of for now. 

Sleepless in Podunk

Who didn't see it coming?

I avoided it for as long as possible, reading, cleaning, generally putting of my bedtime until it became one of those issues of survival for the following day (as in, go to bed now, or there's no way you'll survive tomorrow).  When I lay down, I knew.  The lights were off, including the annoying glare of my alarm clock/iPhone dock, and still the room was too bright, the waxing moon laying strips of illumination across my bed, across my pillow, across my cheek.

Somebody text messaged me about the time I almost managed to sleep the first time, and after that, I was too hot, too cold, too...something...for at least another hour.  I'd roll over, unsettle a cat or two in the process, try to find a spot the moon wasn't in, and close my eyes.  Then, after minutes that seemed like hours, I'd open them again, stare around the dark corners of my room as if some answer or remedy was hiding there, start the process again.

When I finally did doze off, I had nightmares.  I had suspected that I would.  Everything was in them, travel, my job, my students, friends, stuff I'm reading, stuff I've seen on TV lately.  My whole life was twisted into a massive, screwed up Bosch painting.

Tonight, I need some rest.  Therefore, I'm fortifying myself with chocolate, fluff TV, Jane Austen. Whatever I dream tonight, it needs to be full of light and unicorns.  I'm tired of the other.

Sadness

I went to our church's Homecoming this morning despite the little voice in my head telling me that I should skip it.  I should really learn to listen to that voice.

I'd looked forward to hearing the speaker, a returning member of the church staff from when I was a child.  What he talked about though, just brought me to tears.  He shared from his own story about loss and grief and finally coming to a place where you're not praying for healing but for mercy, and all I could see was my uncle in those last terrible days in the ICU.  It was like I was there standing by the bed he was in when they first brought him, watching him shake and fight for breath.

There is nothing worse than having grief swamp you and being trapped in a public place.  I sat there with tears running down my face, unable to do more than raise my handkerchief to my face occasionally.  What I wanted to do was run out, run away, be somewhere private where I could cry until the pain was gone.  Instead, I had to wait, to listen, to hurt until it was finally done. I put bruises on my hands from holding on so tight so I could maintain until the end finally came.   I fled to my car as soon as I could, sat with my head on the wheel as the first wave of it passed, drove home (probably unsafely) with tear-blurred eyes.  I sat in my driveway and cried and cried until I could start to pull it together again.

It wasn't just my uncle.  How many times have I had to come to that point where I try to accept, to pray that hardest of all the prayers, "Thy will be done"?  There was Grandaddy.  Nana.  Granny.  Peepaw.  Uncle Gary.  All of it, every moment of their fading and loss was like a relentless tide sweeping over me again and again.  How many times will I have to find the strength to pray it again?

I went to eat with Mom.  I came home and read.  I took a nap.  Now I'm up again, and I'm trying to get rid of this lingering sadness.  It just won't go.  I don't know how long it will take to disappear.  I wish I had not gone to have all this stirred up.

Yard Sale

Today I was a part of our community's annual yard sale day.  I haven't done it before because I always felt too bad to fool with it, but what with the cleaning out this summer, I had lots of stuff that would be salable, so I got up at five this morning, drug all my stuff out into the dew-wet yard, and waited for the customers.

I have to admit, the whole process took me back in time.  I used to do this with my Granny all the time.  She would load up her big brown station wagon, or, if we had a lot of stuff, one of the trucks and take her stuff to one of the local areas where people did garage sales on Saturday.  Sometimes, she'd have one here occasionally.  I went as free labor and company.  I spent a number of Saturdays doing that.

I had really forgotten what it was like.  It was icy cold in the pre-dawn darkness this morning. I had to come back inside and put on a sweatshirt.  Then there was the "waiting."  Waiting for people to show up, waiting for them to look over what I had to see if it was of interest, waiting for them to decide if they wanted to buy....

Then there is the mixed pleasure of dealing with the shoppers themselves.  Almost everybody I encountered today was delightful.  Some of them said they come to this sale every year.  I heard one woman talking on the phone saying that she was willing to get a "write up" at work for missing today just to come out to the sales.  It made me think of the way people talk about Canton Flea Market, and I've never really thought about anything related to us in that way.

And then there were the types of people who showed up in my yard.  I had a woman in an honest-to-God clown hat who'd raced home from work to make the sales.  I had a guy who had served as a bar bouncer tell me about the time four women "helped" him spend $800 on his birthday.  I had one of my best friends and her two girls who are always a delight.  The older woman who was buying things to paint for bingo prizes.  Church members.  The guy who unexpectedly turned out to be my cousin.  The many, many people who had known my grandparents and remembered them.

It surprised me how much people liked my ramshackle old house, the ghosts I made that decorate my trees.  I had several people ask me about them and tell me that I should start making them and selling them.  I had thought about that before.  I think I will try it for next year.

The other thing people consistently commented on was the log smokehouse that sits next to my house.  I had several people ask jestingly if I was selling it.  I never think about how unusual it is, I guess.  It has always been a part of this place, of my Granny and Grandaddy's house.  To see it through someone else's eyes was refreshing.

I had two goals this morning.  One was to get rid of a lot of big furniture stuff that has accumulated.  The second was to make enough money to replace my ailing Kindle.  I think I accomplished that.  I didn't get rid of all the stuff, but that was probably unrealistic anyway. From what I remember about yard sales, nobody EVER gets rid of all the stuff...

What I got instead of a clean sweep was a feeling I almost never have here, of being a part of the community.  Since I work elsewhere and didn't go to school here, I usually feel very much like an outsider.  Today, I almost felt like I was a real part of this place, not just a descendant of or a stander-on-the edges.  It was...nice.

Trying It Again

So, I'm trying it again from the iPad. I had a reward certificate from Office Thing, and I cashed part of it in on this wireless keyboard. So far, it seems to be quite the thing. For tasks where I have to type on the iPad, this makes WORLDS of difference. I do hate typing on the flat and unresponsive touch screen, and even though I am a pianist/organist and am used to being flexible with the movements of my hands, some of the ways I have to type on that tiny little keyboard are not comfortable.

Ideally, the iPad would be sitting on the keyboard, but because it has its MOBI case still on it, I've rigged it by leaning it up against the wall behind my desk as I do this post. I don't think this is a lasting solution, but, for the time being, problem solved.

This could enable me to take the iPad more places. I still don't think it will replace my netbook since the netbook will always be able to do things the tablet just won't. It would be nice to be able to take fast notes in meetings, though, or quick edit documents, etc.

And there's always this blogging on the fly that I'm so prone to doing. This gives me another avenue for sharing the humdrum that is my life with the whole world. Now aren't you all glad I spent this money on this? O_o

Ick

Sometimes, air is a precious commodity.  Sometimes, there's just not enough NyQuil in all the world.

It is possible to be so sick that you look at yourself in the mirror and think, "Good God."  I'm there right now.  I feel and look like death warmed over very, very lightly.

I got up this morning with every intention of "powering through it," using my world-famous stubborn and going to school regardless.  I rolled out of my bed at 5, managed not to bump into too many things on the way to the shower, and it was there that I hit my wall.  The water felt so good and moving around felt so wrong.  I had left things yesterday at a point where if I had to be out I could have a fair amount of peace of mind with that decision, so I sat down, made out a lesson plan (during which time I found yet another new level of appreciation for our new textbook), made the necessary calls and texts, walked my dogs, took some pills and went back to bed.

I was unconscious almost immediately, and I stayed that way until 10:30.  Since then, I've been supine and/or asleep on one surface or another most of the day.  I still feel like a truck hit me, but it's getting better.  Tomorrow, I must go back to school.  The stubborn must prevail.  One day to fight off this crap is something I'm proud to say I have grown enough to allow myself.  Two...well...I don't think I'm quite ready for two yet.

Up and Down

It's been a day of mixed feelings.  I woke up with my throat sore and a general sense of ickishness. I stood morning duty, always a joy, and came in to start my day as best I could.  I made a pot of tea and drank it.  Tea always helps me feel better when this stuff comes on, soothes my throat and warms me from within.  I ate about a million hard cinnamon disks.

Then, after first period, two of my students showed up at my door.  Apparently, they had composed an ode in their creative writing class.  It was about me.  It just made my day.  This year, the students are so sweet.  They seem interested in their teachers, their school, and each other.  It's refreshing.  I like that they feel connected enough to all their teachers that they use us as the fodder of their projects.  That the things they say are usually kind things is even better.

I got to hear a colleague get an award today.  I was so happy for her.  Too often, the things my fellow teachers do go unnoticed.  I know she works extra hard for all her students, so to see that recognized was very satisfying.

By the end of third block, though, I was feeling very bad.  I stayed about halfway through fourth and then I went to see my administrator to request early leave.  He let me come home, and I was medicated and asleep by four.  I got up only when my mother came by to check on me and drop off some soup.

As I ate, I fell back to my comfort resources, Downton Abbey and the afghan my grandmother made for me.  I have no idea why I always want to watch Downton when I feel like crap, but there is something about it that soothes me.

I got online to see what was happening in the universe while I watched, and I found that Punch Brothers are releasing a new mini-EP in November, available for pre-order now.  On it is the version of "Another New World" I saw on YouTube.  I am so happy about that.  "Another New World" is one of my favorite songs from Josh Ritter.  It always, always reminds me of Robert Walton in Frankenstein.  Thile's version of it is fantastic.  It never ceased to amaze me how a good song performed by two different excellent artists can come out two kinds of great.  I love that.  There is also, apparently, a version of a Gillian Welch song on this new thing from her latest effort, and that, too, is a thing that makes me happy.  I wish all these people would get together for one giant recording.  Then, even if this crap I have now kills me, I guess I could die happy.  (ha)

Now I'm about to walk my dogs, take more medicine, and go back to bed.  I don't know if I will be able to do school tomorrow or not.  I guess only time and Nyquil can tell.  Regardless, I have one new song now from Chris Thile and a couple of really good things from the day to counterbalance, so I'm not very bad off, right?  (that's my story, and I'm sticking to it...)

Lately

• I've been called a part of the "Fantastic Four."  There's a whole mythology in the making, apparently.  It makes me laugh.  I love it.
• I don't feel very well.  My throat hurts tonight, and I'm feeling decidedly ickish.  I haven't been really sick in a long time, but I have a nasty feeling that my number has come up.
• Every other thing I say is yelling at my dog Chewie for being an idiot.
• Everything - people, animals, the weather - has been trying to kill me as I drive.
• I've been giving thought to trying to take some classes in education technology.  Are there classes in education technology?
• I've become moderately addicted to Clif Bars.
• I found myself cruising the Christmas aisle in Wal-Mart even though we haven't had Halloween yet.  The shiny made me happy.
• I want nothing more than to get away from negative people.  It hurts them; it hurts me.  Why do it?  Either change it, accept it, or get away from it.  Don't keep poisoning the air because of it.
• I keep thinking ITALY.  ABOUT 140 DAYS.
• I am going to bed earlier and earlier.
• I wrote some stuff.
• I have enjoyed sitting in my driveway listening to one more song before I go in the house.  Why it should be that music is so much better in the car in one's own driveway, I cannot say.
• Just at the time it was most necessary, support came from a totally unexpected source.  It made me feel loved and protected.  It made me cry.

There's probably more, but none of it is earthshattering.  I guess I'm just in the school year rut.  That's okay.  There is a beauty to the mundane and routine, too, if you look at it the right way.  "There's nothing either good or bad..."

Etc., Etc., Ad Nauseum

(a list)

• I started teaching my Mythology class today officially.  It is going to be great fun.  I love it, and I think the students will have a good time, too.
• I should be asleep, especially since I haven't gotten much sleep this week, but....
• I feel compelled to write here because...
• I am torn between two emotions.  On the one hand, things are going pretty well.  I have things to look forward to, things that make me happy.  My work life has stabilized.  I should be happy, but....
• There are pockets tucked into hidden corners, the contents of which make me sad and frustrated, mostly I think because...
• I want something I can't have.  Ever.  Shouldn't have.  Am not capable of having even in the smallest measure. Which brings me to my biggest question...
• How do I turn off that wanting?  How do I set it aside and pretend like it's not there?  Will the pretending make it real sooner or later?  If I just close my eyes, plug my ears, ignore it, will it fade away from lack of attention?  Life would be so much kinder if I were just dead inside, mindless and automated.  This constant state of feeling every little bump in the road is too much.  I need better shock absorbers for my soul.  And so, I guess...
• I will just go to bed now.  Sleep and hope not to dream.  Try to focus on the positive.  Try to be a support instead of needing to be supported.  Live up to the adage about giving and receiving.  Close my eyes another day and hope I don't bump into too many things that will bruise me in the process.

Babel

So when your hopes are on fire
But you know your desire
Don't hold a glass over the flame
Don't let your heart grow cold
I will call you by name
I will share your road

MUMFORD & SONS - HOPELESS WANDERER LYRICS 
_______________________

Can I just tell you how much I love this album?  When I first heard it, I thought it was good, but as always with this group, the more I pay attention to the lyrics, the better it gets.  Every time I listen to it, I hear something else that strikes my heart like a hammer shaping steel on an anvil.

Take these from "Ghosts that We Knew":

So give me hope in the darkness that I will see the light
Cause oh they gave me such a fright
But I will hold on with all of my might
Just promise me we'll be all right

Ghosts that we knew made us black and all blue
But we'll live a long life
And the ghosts that we knew will flicker from view
And we'll live a long life

I love that love here is something that conquers the ghosts everybody carries around with them.  The love is the light that finally puts the shadows of the past to rest.  I want that.  Oh, how I want that.

Another example:


Now I'll be bold
As well as strong
And use my head alongside my heart
So tame my flesh
And fix my eyes
A tethered mind freed from the lies

And I'll kneel down
Wait for now
And I'll kneel down
Know my ground

Raise my hands
Paint my spirit gold
Bow my head
Keep my heart slow

'cus I will wait, I will wait for you
And I will wait, I will wait for you


~ I WILL WAIT 

The line about using "my head alongside my heart" and having a "tethered mind freed from the lies" is tremendous.  If you read here much at all, you know I am creature of the mind as much as I am of the heart.  The joining of the two here, the grounding of the intellect and the clearing of the vision as a step to get ready for love is so much me.  I also find the idea of "paint[ing] my spirit gold" just beautiful.  The imagery of it fills me with a sense of the mystery and wonder that this particular relationship will bring. This whole idea of putting oneself under control and getting ready for love instead of flying around impulsively is gorgeous to me.

And that seems to be a theme throughout the album.  Not every song has it, but it comes up repeatedly.  It's not something one hears a lot in music today.  Most artists do more of the Carpe Diem "sieze it before it's gone" sort of lyrics.  I find the idea of waiting for something that is real and worthy infinitely more appealing.  It's hopeful that the thing desired is out there somewhere and that until it comes, we need to be working on ourselves with patience.  This is always something I need to hear.

I could quote more lyrics, talk about more of the songs, but I will leave these here and just continue to enjoy the rest without the commentary.

Well....That Was....Unexpected

I'm in the last phases of cleaning out all the things in my grading folder to close out grades tonight, and as I shifted the papers around, I found a typed essay with JUST READ IT!!! on the top mixed in with other assignments.

Puzzled, I glanced at the title, "The Hollow Woman."  Then my blood absolutely froze in my veins.  If you're paying attention to all the players and points around here, then you will know that was the title of a blog of mine early in September.

Once I started to breathe again, I started to read.  One of my students has taken the structure and even some of the words of that entry and sort of....written back to me.  I had to read it twice because my brain stopped working the first time through when I realized whole phrases had been lifted from my own writing.

It's not signed, or rather the typed signature reads only "Anonymous," so I have no idea where it came from.  It's a personal thing, the content of which I won't share here.  Someone perhaps connected to what I was saying in that blog and wanted me to know it.

I am torn between two emotions:  compassion and a wariness that I can't quite shake.  The last time current students of mine found my blog, a couple of really bad things happened.  This doesn't feel like that, though.  And those students weren't writing back, either.

I'm going to take it on faith, then, that this is just somebody who wanted me to hear their response, to know they were listening.  I am going to say, "Likewise."  I hear what you're saying.  I'm sorry it took me so long to find it.  And despite what you may believe, I am sure that nothing in your past would possibly keep you from whatever future you desire.

Monumental

Tonight after dinner, two of my TGC friends and I walked the National Mall.  I have wanted to see the Lincoln Memorial for as long as I can remember.  The last two times I was here, things got in the way of that.  This time, though, I finally got my wish.

I took my time going up the stairs.  Too often when you have waited a long time for something and you get it, it turns out to be somehow less now that it is being checked off your personal "list."  Not so with the Lincoln Memorial for me.  The sight of one of the presidents I admire the most, one of the few I admire at all, sitting there like an American deity enshrined was powerful and moving.  He looked calm, serious, and watchful.  It seemed that he could, at need, rise from his chair and step out to rectify wrongs.  It's probably just as well that he cannot.  I cannot imagine that he would be very pleased with a lot of what he sees....

All of the monuments in the National Mall are beautiful.  They all inspire deep thought and self-examination.  I wonder what it's like to be a person of another nation and stand there.  As I stood at  the base of those pale marble stairs, all I could feel was that sense of belonging, of...American-ness.... for lack of a better term.  It wasn't flag-waiving patriotism or some latter-day superiority.  Rather, as I looked at those huge, strong hands wrapped around the arms of a mighty throne-like chair that Lincoln was some how of me and I of him.  We were connected in a way that was powerful despite having time, gender, and mortality between us.

That sense of the nation being present everywhere was also at two other monuments, the World War II monument and the Vietnam Wall.  The World War II monument was grand, ornate, full of symbolism and power.  Seen in the darkness of this October night, I cannot imagine a more fitting tribute for the generation who fell to defend freedom.

Across the park and lit only by a few soft lights from the path below sits the Vietnam Wall.  In the darkness, it takes you by surprise, the black of its slabs rising suddenly from the black of the surrounding night.  At some point walking along it, I realized there were framed photos lying at the base of it, a couple smiling and feeding each other wedding cake, he in a uniform, she in a white dress and a beehive.  There were letters carefully wrapped in ziplock bags to preserve them against the elements until whatever needed to read them could.  There were bundles of roses, funeral wreaths on stands.

Perhaps this was the most personal place of all for me.  I ran my fingers over the names, not really seeing them, but rather hearing the words of Komunyakaa's "Facing It" and knowing that had things been only a little different, my father's name could be trapped there, too.  There are no fountains or gold stars here.  Instead, there is only the silent dark wall, monument and memory-keeper, eternally strong, eternally grieving.

There is so much history, so much of what defines us as a nation present in those still figures and sculpted stones that line the grassy space at the heart of this city.  I feel connected to the nation again, to the people around me.  Despite our problems in the present, I am reminded of things we have overcome in the past, of the sacrifices made.  Everybody should come here.  Maybe we would be better off if everyone remembered.

'Scuse Me While I Kiss the Sky

(with apologies to Jimi)

Okay.  So I didn't kiss the sky.  It was just a convenient song lyric.

I did, however, touch a piece of the moon.

That's right.  I said I TOUCHED A PIECE OF THE MOON.

The Air and Space Museum is just amazing.  There are rockets in the entry way along with the nosecone capsules of Gemini and Apollo rockets.  Just standing there under those pitted, curving surfaces was almost religious.  Those tiny little vessels sheltered men who rode fire into space and came back to tell the tale.  The scored and battered heat shielding was like a warrior's shield, each impact and burn mark telling a tale of what might be the grandest of all the battles, man against gravity.  Man against his earthbound existence.

There was a personal touch for me, too.  I have family who worked on those big rockets at Redstone Arsenal.  Somewhere among them, there is a bit of my genes, a bit of my shared DNA there.  Somewhere, my family helped those birds fly free.

I walked from exhibition hall to exhibition hall, looking at a history of man's obsession with flight.  There were a couple of Wright Brothers planes (not the first one), and there was the mighty Spirit of St. Louis.  There was even the Key Brothers' plane, hometown heroes that they are for us.  There were graceful, sleek shapes, more fish of the air than feathered counterparts.  There were deadly machines, beautiful in their stilled aggression and survival of impossible combat.

There was an exhibition in progress dedicated to the Space Shuttles.  I stood with people from many nations and watched that last great flight of Discovery as it hurled itself upwards one last glorious time. As ignition occurred and the blue-clear flames began to push the ungainly white craft up, I had tears in my eyes.  It was beautiful, and so was the collective silence and respect of every person in that room even though it was just a recording.

The theme that ran throughout for me was the undying need we as a race seem to have to escape limits, to go beyond whatever it is that holds us down.  The museum, even though it had machines built specifically for war in it, was an incredibly hopeful and inspiring place.  If we put our mind to it, even the edges of the Earth cannot hold us.

I stood for a long time running my fingertip of the tiny sliver of moon rock embedded in the hard white plastic.  I took the time to focus on it, to try to be sure I would remember that oddly slick marble-like texture.  When I walked away, I had an unconquerable smile on my face.  I had touched the moon.  With both feet standing on the ground, surrounded by flowing tides of speakers of other languages and school field trips, I had traced the surface of another world.

What could ever be impossible now?