I made the mistake of going to school today. As it turned out, it was actually a good thing I did. After waxing my floors, they had just sort of thrown furniture in and shut the door. Mom had come with me, and after three hours, we got it sorted again. I HATE it when people mess with my little kingdom.
The room is almost ready to go. I still have quite a lot of paperwork to generate and photocopy, but I feel pretty good, all things considered. Of course, this is the point when when things fall out from under the feet....
I took several postcards and some other things I'd bought on the trip to my room today. Looking at them again and placing them really brought back some parts of it. I still can't get over how much we saw and did in those 21 days. A lot of it, whether it's because of stress, jetlag, or causes undiscovered, feels almost dreamlike now, but that always happens after travel.
I still want to go back. Looking at the postcards of Bath, I realized how little time we wound up with there. It looked like such a charming city, but we were on a schedule. I'd like to go and spend a couple of days there. Jane Austen wrote of it frequently, and there's a museum dedicated to her there. I also would like to see the baths themselves again when I wasn't totally distracted and disgusted with behavioral issues. I was so tired and distracted when we went through that it's mostly a blur.
Right now, even though I just got home, I have itchy travel feet again. It's because it's a period of change. Once I get "in harness" for the year, I'll settle down. Right now, though, I feel like I could fly off in any direction. Although I never liked Mary Poppins at all, I sort of envy her that umbrella. It must be nice to unfurl it into a likely breeze and fly away.
I get like this whenever there's something I can't resolve. I'm still turning the unresolved issue of the sweet guy over and over in my mind. You'd think it would round off the sharp edges, kind of like a rock in a tumble polisher. Unfortunately, it doesn't seem to work that way. It just keeps stabbing me at odd moments and making me want to pack camera, "adventure girl" hat, and run off somewhere to take my mind off it.
Soon enough, school will dominate all, and maybe I'll have five minutes of peace from it. In the meantime, I'm going to spend as much time as possible making stuff for school and gathering my resources. I WILL beat this thing. I always have in the past, and I will this time, too. There's no other option when there's no hope of any other conclusion.
Monday, July 25, 2005
Sunday, July 24, 2005
A Day of Reading
There is more treasure in books than in all the pirates' loot on Treasure Island and at the bottom of the Spanish Main... and best of all, you can enjoy these riches every day of your life.
Walt Disney
Long quote, short post...probably....
I spent most of the day ripping through the Harry Potter book I mentioned yesterday. I finished it about 30 minutes ago. It was very good, but I can't help but feel sad. Those of you who have read it and give a crap will understand why. Feel free to drop me a line and we can discuss it. I don't want to be one of those irritating people who give away stuff on their website.
I love the sheer indulgence of spending a whole day with a book. During the school year, I don't have time to do it much, but I usually wind up spending a big part of my summers devouring books. I didn't get to do much of that this summer between one thing and another, but I've read several things over the past few days and I feel less deprived. :) There's still a healthy stack of books to be read in my sunroom-cum-library, but I don't know how many more I'll be able to do in the near future.
While I was reading, I listened to my favorite Sunday night radio shows, Echoes and Hearts of Space on NPR. I have listened to those for years. That ambient stuff is good for reading because it doesn't distract. When I was in high school, they played several hours of it every Sunday night. Now, I think they only do about two hours of it. I miss it.
Well, that's all for tonight. Nothing deep or profound. Just a peaceful day with a good book.
Walt Disney
Long quote, short post...probably....
I spent most of the day ripping through the Harry Potter book I mentioned yesterday. I finished it about 30 minutes ago. It was very good, but I can't help but feel sad. Those of you who have read it and give a crap will understand why. Feel free to drop me a line and we can discuss it. I don't want to be one of those irritating people who give away stuff on their website.
I love the sheer indulgence of spending a whole day with a book. During the school year, I don't have time to do it much, but I usually wind up spending a big part of my summers devouring books. I didn't get to do much of that this summer between one thing and another, but I've read several things over the past few days and I feel less deprived. :) There's still a healthy stack of books to be read in my sunroom-cum-library, but I don't know how many more I'll be able to do in the near future.
While I was reading, I listened to my favorite Sunday night radio shows, Echoes and Hearts of Space on NPR. I have listened to those for years. That ambient stuff is good for reading because it doesn't distract. When I was in high school, they played several hours of it every Sunday night. Now, I think they only do about two hours of it. I miss it.
Well, that's all for tonight. Nothing deep or profound. Just a peaceful day with a good book.
Saturday, July 23, 2005
Lucidity
Thinking is easy, acting is difficult, and to put one's thoughts into action is the most difficult thing in the world.
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
The haze of medicine is finally lifting, and today, I almost felt like myself. There is still a hint of oddness around the edges, and my endurance is low in the heat, but I guess I must have finally turned a corner. Hallelujah! I don't think I could have taken much more of it.
I've spent most of today preparing syllabi and other documents for the upcoming year. I have gone all out and made a syllabus for my AP class much like one I'd have given my IEP students at Indiana or my Aidai students in Japan. I love the fact that I can return to that very frank style of instruction where I don't have to pull punches (much).
I had been craving salmon for no readily apparent reason, so I went out and bought some. It was my first attempt at cooking it, but I think it came out okay. I made a guestimation marinade and there was enough of everything to give Mom and Dad some for their dinner, too. It was nice.
While I was at the store, I saw a copy of the new Harry Potter, and I splurged. I really don't buy hardbacks that much. In fact, I think the only books I buy in hardback are reference or HP. I know lots of people scorn the entire series, but it's so creative and every book has been getting better and better. I am really looking forward to stealing some time in the next few days to rip through it. People can laugh all they like, but I find it entertaining. After all, isn't that the point of reading? Actually, I may get up on a soapbox about the purpose of reading one evening in the near future, but tonight, I'm kind of wiped out.
One last note, and then off to bed. I can't stop thinking about this one guy that I met recently. Last night when the meds and the moonlight coming through my window were keeping me up (I never sleep well on the nights of the full moon...no, I don't know why), all I could think about was him. It's driving me crazy. I try to be very stern with myself and realistic. It was not a situation that had any possibility of going anywhere. So why can't I just fold it up and put it away? I have to. There's no other option.
It's so hard for me to know what to think about the whole thing. My instincts about guys are notoriously off. I think there might have been another choice once, but when that moment of choice came, I chose to run like hell. Now, I'll never know. Somebody told me recently that it was better to take the chance than to never know. I have never been comfortable taking that risk. I can recite the cliches against it....the worst they can say is no...you never know until you try...but when I thought there might be the slightest chance that the wonderful sweet guy might have been interested, I folded my tents and slipped away.
I'll probably never see him again. All that's left is the debate within me as to whether or not what I did was a wise protection against pain or an unnecessary sacrifice to the gods of insecurity. I wish with all my heart that there was another chance, some other moment of decision, but the kick of it is that those moments don't come twice. "You pays your money, and you takes your choice...."
I'll be teaching my kids "Carpe Diem" as a theme this year. I believe it to the roots of my being...in every area except for anything that risks my heart. I wish that once, just once, I could put aside my fear of being hurt, and step over the side of that proverbial castle wall (see previous posting) and find out if the harness was going to hold me or not.
This got a lot longer than I planned, but I'm going to leave it as it stands. Maybe if I can keep exploring the truth of this, I can find a way to work through it.
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
The haze of medicine is finally lifting, and today, I almost felt like myself. There is still a hint of oddness around the edges, and my endurance is low in the heat, but I guess I must have finally turned a corner. Hallelujah! I don't think I could have taken much more of it.
I've spent most of today preparing syllabi and other documents for the upcoming year. I have gone all out and made a syllabus for my AP class much like one I'd have given my IEP students at Indiana or my Aidai students in Japan. I love the fact that I can return to that very frank style of instruction where I don't have to pull punches (much).
I had been craving salmon for no readily apparent reason, so I went out and bought some. It was my first attempt at cooking it, but I think it came out okay. I made a guestimation marinade and there was enough of everything to give Mom and Dad some for their dinner, too. It was nice.
While I was at the store, I saw a copy of the new Harry Potter, and I splurged. I really don't buy hardbacks that much. In fact, I think the only books I buy in hardback are reference or HP. I know lots of people scorn the entire series, but it's so creative and every book has been getting better and better. I am really looking forward to stealing some time in the next few days to rip through it. People can laugh all they like, but I find it entertaining. After all, isn't that the point of reading? Actually, I may get up on a soapbox about the purpose of reading one evening in the near future, but tonight, I'm kind of wiped out.
One last note, and then off to bed. I can't stop thinking about this one guy that I met recently. Last night when the meds and the moonlight coming through my window were keeping me up (I never sleep well on the nights of the full moon...no, I don't know why), all I could think about was him. It's driving me crazy. I try to be very stern with myself and realistic. It was not a situation that had any possibility of going anywhere. So why can't I just fold it up and put it away? I have to. There's no other option.
It's so hard for me to know what to think about the whole thing. My instincts about guys are notoriously off. I think there might have been another choice once, but when that moment of choice came, I chose to run like hell. Now, I'll never know. Somebody told me recently that it was better to take the chance than to never know. I have never been comfortable taking that risk. I can recite the cliches against it....the worst they can say is no...you never know until you try...but when I thought there might be the slightest chance that the wonderful sweet guy might have been interested, I folded my tents and slipped away.
I'll probably never see him again. All that's left is the debate within me as to whether or not what I did was a wise protection against pain or an unnecessary sacrifice to the gods of insecurity. I wish with all my heart that there was another chance, some other moment of decision, but the kick of it is that those moments don't come twice. "You pays your money, and you takes your choice...."
I'll be teaching my kids "Carpe Diem" as a theme this year. I believe it to the roots of my being...in every area except for anything that risks my heart. I wish that once, just once, I could put aside my fear of being hurt, and step over the side of that proverbial castle wall (see previous posting) and find out if the harness was going to hold me or not.
This got a lot longer than I planned, but I'm going to leave it as it stands. Maybe if I can keep exploring the truth of this, I can find a way to work through it.
Friday, July 22, 2005
Irritated and Embarrassed
The rate at which a person can mature is directly proportional to the embarrassment he can tolerate.
Douglas Engelbart
I had to watch as my parents cut my grass today. The antibiotics or some of the other crap I'm taking has made me so sun sensitive that my skin reddens even in the 15 minutes it takes me to drive from town to home. Because of this, my yard has been looking derelict in the extreme.
One of my biggest faults is an inability to take help from other people. I always feel so embarrassed that I can't do it myself. I guess it's a form of egotism like anything else. I feel like I should be able to do it all, and I hate the humbling that comes when I realize that I can't. Maybe I never gave up the idea of being Wonder Woman even though I grew out of my Underoos a long, long time ago.
I guess, once in a while, I need to fall on my face just to be reminded that nobody does it all by themselves. It just irritates me and embarrasses me that I have human weaknesses. I expect too much from myself and I have to find some way of learning to take help with fewer feelings of failure. I am so grateful to my parents for helping me out while I'm sick, but I sure do hope that this crap passes soon so I can don my cape again and head back out into the world.
Douglas Engelbart
I had to watch as my parents cut my grass today. The antibiotics or some of the other crap I'm taking has made me so sun sensitive that my skin reddens even in the 15 minutes it takes me to drive from town to home. Because of this, my yard has been looking derelict in the extreme.
One of my biggest faults is an inability to take help from other people. I always feel so embarrassed that I can't do it myself. I guess it's a form of egotism like anything else. I feel like I should be able to do it all, and I hate the humbling that comes when I realize that I can't. Maybe I never gave up the idea of being Wonder Woman even though I grew out of my Underoos a long, long time ago.
I guess, once in a while, I need to fall on my face just to be reminded that nobody does it all by themselves. It just irritates me and embarrasses me that I have human weaknesses. I expect too much from myself and I have to find some way of learning to take help with fewer feelings of failure. I am so grateful to my parents for helping me out while I'm sick, but I sure do hope that this crap passes soon so I can don my cape again and head back out into the world.
Thursday, July 21, 2005
London Again
The news caught up with me in the waiting room of a hospital lab. I was floating in a haze of weariness and medication and waiting for a totally indifferent lab tech to take several vials of blood from me to run some obscure and possibly meaningless test when I realized what the almost inaudible CNN report was saying.
It wasn't a rehash of two weeks ago and the horrible losses. It was a new attack on London. I flashed back immediately to the gentler of the two security men at Gatwick when we were getting ready to leave England the day after the original attacks. We were talking with a familiarity based soley in the fact that both our nations had been attacked by cowards and extremists, and I remember him saying, "It's not over yet. They'll attack again. It's just beginning."
I hate that we live in a world that proved him right. How is it that life has become so appallingly cheap? Why have we lost the ability to look at another human being, no matter what he or she believes or looks like or speaks, and see him or her as an entity of worth? There is some fundamental part of our humanity that seems on the verge of extinction.
How God must weep when he looks at us. The clever brains he gave us get more and more efficient at creating new ways to cleave and rend our brothers and sisters. Our deft fingers fashion new and more horrible tools of destruction. Why? Why do so many chose the path of hatred?
I can't understand how those suicide bombers could get on their chosen targets, be it a London tube or an American 747, look around them at the parents holding the hands of their children, the young people commuting to work or school, the grandparents traveling to see their families, and believe, even for a moment, that their religion or their politics justifies their actions.
The response to this is going to be the tired and rather convenient old cliche, "One man's terrorist is another man's freedom fighter." Doesn't that just make everything okay? Isn't that just the perfect justification? "In my world view, it's okay for me to kill, so everybody should just get over it." It's crap. The most valuable thing in the whole world is life. It's the one thing we can't simulate or synthesize in the lab. Additionally, how in the world does killing commuters on a London subway forward the cause of liberty or statehood? After all, the whole world backs, nay cherishes, those who randomly, rabidly kill anyone who is handy. Everybody jumps on board to champion, support, and aid those whose goal is to spread terror and hate.
I know I'm an idealist. I claim it and the evitable disappointment that comes with it. I have to believe that we as a species are capable of more. I have to believe that someday we will want more. I have to believe that the majority of the world DOES want more right now. If I don't believe that, I don't think I can go on. I have to believe that the darkness won't win. The day I begin to believe that it will, that there is no way for the dreams of peace and sanity to prevail, is the day that I will become, at least tacitly, a part of the problem.
I'm not a Pollyana. Realistically, I know that I live in an age that will probably see acts much more heinous than those of New York, Madrid, or London. I don't know what the solution is. God didn't give me that wisdom. All I can do is try my best to always "see" the people around me and encourage people in whatever impossibly small way I can to do the same.
It wasn't a rehash of two weeks ago and the horrible losses. It was a new attack on London. I flashed back immediately to the gentler of the two security men at Gatwick when we were getting ready to leave England the day after the original attacks. We were talking with a familiarity based soley in the fact that both our nations had been attacked by cowards and extremists, and I remember him saying, "It's not over yet. They'll attack again. It's just beginning."
I hate that we live in a world that proved him right. How is it that life has become so appallingly cheap? Why have we lost the ability to look at another human being, no matter what he or she believes or looks like or speaks, and see him or her as an entity of worth? There is some fundamental part of our humanity that seems on the verge of extinction.
How God must weep when he looks at us. The clever brains he gave us get more and more efficient at creating new ways to cleave and rend our brothers and sisters. Our deft fingers fashion new and more horrible tools of destruction. Why? Why do so many chose the path of hatred?
I can't understand how those suicide bombers could get on their chosen targets, be it a London tube or an American 747, look around them at the parents holding the hands of their children, the young people commuting to work or school, the grandparents traveling to see their families, and believe, even for a moment, that their religion or their politics justifies their actions.
The response to this is going to be the tired and rather convenient old cliche, "One man's terrorist is another man's freedom fighter." Doesn't that just make everything okay? Isn't that just the perfect justification? "In my world view, it's okay for me to kill, so everybody should just get over it." It's crap. The most valuable thing in the whole world is life. It's the one thing we can't simulate or synthesize in the lab. Additionally, how in the world does killing commuters on a London subway forward the cause of liberty or statehood? After all, the whole world backs, nay cherishes, those who randomly, rabidly kill anyone who is handy. Everybody jumps on board to champion, support, and aid those whose goal is to spread terror and hate.
I know I'm an idealist. I claim it and the evitable disappointment that comes with it. I have to believe that we as a species are capable of more. I have to believe that someday we will want more. I have to believe that the majority of the world DOES want more right now. If I don't believe that, I don't think I can go on. I have to believe that the darkness won't win. The day I begin to believe that it will, that there is no way for the dreams of peace and sanity to prevail, is the day that I will become, at least tacitly, a part of the problem.
I'm not a Pollyana. Realistically, I know that I live in an age that will probably see acts much more heinous than those of New York, Madrid, or London. I don't know what the solution is. God didn't give me that wisdom. All I can do is try my best to always "see" the people around me and encourage people in whatever impossibly small way I can to do the same.
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
Setting the Progression
No quote tonight. I have been asleep off and on during the evening, and don't have the mental acuity to look one up and trust it to be apt.
Another day in the salt mines of registration. I saw many of last year's students getting their stuff together for their junior year. It was pleasant in some cases, not so much in others, about like I expected it to be.
I finally got the progression of works to be studied ironed out, and I was having a good time adding poems to the major works, but I may have taken a larger selection of those than is actually feasible. It's hard for me to pick poems. Give me a good anthology, and I grab greedy fistfuls of them.
I don't know if it's actually possible to have too many of them, but it's probably likely that we won't be able to hack our way through all of them in the course of a year. If you were given a bag full of gems, though, how could you possibly say this flawless stone was worth more than any of the others?
I wish I could teach a class of nothing but poems. How lovely it would be to surround myself with them for an hour everyday and share them, teach others to love their facets and colors. Maybe someday I can do that. Maybe I need to go back to school for a literary PhD and just quit fooling with this other crap. Of course I'd be in the "publish or perish" pool then, and I'm sure that would get old, too. Maybe I just need to go find a tiny house in Costa Rica, Ireland, or Japan, live in abject poverty, write and read.
I'm still on the meds, and I'm still not terribly lucid, so if this doesn't flow, excuse me. I can't wait to finish these darn things. They're making it very hard for me to focus my attention. It's almost like I've been up too long and have drunk too much caffeine. I hate that feeling, especially at this time of the year when I need all my mental faculties around me.
Another day in the salt mines of registration. I saw many of last year's students getting their stuff together for their junior year. It was pleasant in some cases, not so much in others, about like I expected it to be.
I finally got the progression of works to be studied ironed out, and I was having a good time adding poems to the major works, but I may have taken a larger selection of those than is actually feasible. It's hard for me to pick poems. Give me a good anthology, and I grab greedy fistfuls of them.
I don't know if it's actually possible to have too many of them, but it's probably likely that we won't be able to hack our way through all of them in the course of a year. If you were given a bag full of gems, though, how could you possibly say this flawless stone was worth more than any of the others?
I wish I could teach a class of nothing but poems. How lovely it would be to surround myself with them for an hour everyday and share them, teach others to love their facets and colors. Maybe someday I can do that. Maybe I need to go back to school for a literary PhD and just quit fooling with this other crap. Of course I'd be in the "publish or perish" pool then, and I'm sure that would get old, too. Maybe I just need to go find a tiny house in Costa Rica, Ireland, or Japan, live in abject poverty, write and read.
I'm still on the meds, and I'm still not terribly lucid, so if this doesn't flow, excuse me. I can't wait to finish these darn things. They're making it very hard for me to focus my attention. It's almost like I've been up too long and have drunk too much caffeine. I hate that feeling, especially at this time of the year when I need all my mental faculties around me.
Tuesday, July 19, 2005
Grow Frickin Up
I had promised myself that tonight would be a one-post, slice-of-life type of night, but after having dinner with some people and finding out some stuff, I was driven to the computer again.
When I was given the AP English position at the end of last year, I knew that some people were surprised, others were angry, and at least one was downright hostile about it. I was very much surprised myself. I never expected to get it so soon after coming to the high school. However, I thought all this was contained within our department and that it would have blown over by now. Apparently not.
I had underestimated what a frickin fishbowl I live in. It seems that it's all over the school how angry certain factions are over this. I've become the center of a stupid melodrama. I am NOT doing this for even a week. Even if I have to take the bull by the horns and talk it out, I just cannot stand this kind of silliness.
Part two of the drama comes from the students who are buzzing about how hard the class might be under me. I'm tired before I've begun. Granted, part of this is just me being sick right now. I got up at 5:00 and I'm ragged out. However, I did not need this today.
I can do this. I really believe I can be a good AP teacher. I am just in a place where I have crap pulling at me before I've even begun. Advice anybody?
When I was given the AP English position at the end of last year, I knew that some people were surprised, others were angry, and at least one was downright hostile about it. I was very much surprised myself. I never expected to get it so soon after coming to the high school. However, I thought all this was contained within our department and that it would have blown over by now. Apparently not.
I had underestimated what a frickin fishbowl I live in. It seems that it's all over the school how angry certain factions are over this. I've become the center of a stupid melodrama. I am NOT doing this for even a week. Even if I have to take the bull by the horns and talk it out, I just cannot stand this kind of silliness.
Part two of the drama comes from the students who are buzzing about how hard the class might be under me. I'm tired before I've begun. Granted, part of this is just me being sick right now. I got up at 5:00 and I'm ragged out. However, I did not need this today.
I can do this. I really believe I can be a good AP teacher. I am just in a place where I have crap pulling at me before I've even begun. Advice anybody?
Test Results
If you think education is expensive, try ignorance. ~Attributed to both Andy McIntyre and Derek Bok
Nothing philosophical tonight, just a slice of life.
I got my test results back for last year's English II exam takers. It was better than I was afraid of, but not as good as I'd dreamed. The scores seemed to bear out the observations I'd made in class. The scores also roughly correlated to the pass/fails in my class which made me feel good. That means my curriculum was pretty well adjusted to the material tested. Overall, even though I see lots of room for improvement, it went okay for my first year.
One small petty note...my worst attitude problem from last year failed every section of the test. I guess I was right. :)
I worked at registration today and met some of my future AP kids. I also got a chance to talk with another first-time AP teacher who's going to be doing AP Chemistry. It was good to compare notes and fears. I have a lot of work to do, but I feel pretty confident about the whole thing. Of course, I think that's the point at which the floor usually falls out from under you, right?
After registration, I went up to my classroom to piddle and get some work done. Imagine my surprise when I found that I couldn't get to my room from 2 of the 4 staircases. They'd removed everything and blocked the stairs in preparation to strip and reseal my floors. Apparently, I have a lot of crap in my room. I guess I won't be able to go up tomorrow, either. I don't know how long it takes to do stuff like that, but I'm guessing it's an all day event.
I really need to get in there, too. I have a lot of work to do, and I can't get much of it done here at home. There are too many distractions here...cats, TV, books I don't have to read for a class, my blog, a soft, sleep-inducing couch.... Maybe I can go in Thursday morning and get stuff squared away.
Well, nothing Pulitzer-worthy tonight. If you tuned in for deep thoughts, you'll have to look elsewhere, ace.
Nothing philosophical tonight, just a slice of life.
I got my test results back for last year's English II exam takers. It was better than I was afraid of, but not as good as I'd dreamed. The scores seemed to bear out the observations I'd made in class. The scores also roughly correlated to the pass/fails in my class which made me feel good. That means my curriculum was pretty well adjusted to the material tested. Overall, even though I see lots of room for improvement, it went okay for my first year.
One small petty note...my worst attitude problem from last year failed every section of the test. I guess I was right. :)
I worked at registration today and met some of my future AP kids. I also got a chance to talk with another first-time AP teacher who's going to be doing AP Chemistry. It was good to compare notes and fears. I have a lot of work to do, but I feel pretty confident about the whole thing. Of course, I think that's the point at which the floor usually falls out from under you, right?
After registration, I went up to my classroom to piddle and get some work done. Imagine my surprise when I found that I couldn't get to my room from 2 of the 4 staircases. They'd removed everything and blocked the stairs in preparation to strip and reseal my floors. Apparently, I have a lot of crap in my room. I guess I won't be able to go up tomorrow, either. I don't know how long it takes to do stuff like that, but I'm guessing it's an all day event.
I really need to get in there, too. I have a lot of work to do, and I can't get much of it done here at home. There are too many distractions here...cats, TV, books I don't have to read for a class, my blog, a soft, sleep-inducing couch.... Maybe I can go in Thursday morning and get stuff squared away.
Well, nothing Pulitzer-worthy tonight. If you tuned in for deep thoughts, you'll have to look elsewhere, ace.
Monday, July 18, 2005
Things People Have Taught Me
I am learning all the time. The tombstone will be my diploma. ~Eartha Kitt
This is another day of double posting, but I wanted to list some of the things I've learned from the people who have moved through my life.
1. The Rules and the Instructions Are Important -- I owe my cousin L. for this. He was always the one who took the time to open the rule sheet and figure out where all the game pieces went when we were growing up. As I've gotten older and had to deal with increasing levels of paperwork and red tape, I have again and again reminded myself that I can't play the game correctly if I don't read the instructions. Of course, this doesn't always stop me from throwing them out the window if they don't suit me. I was always the creative illogic foil to his methodical and logical tactics.
2. Getting Sick Is Not the End -- I watched my grandmother fight two separate types of cancer. The first went into remission, but we lost her to the second. Never at any time, even at the end, did she give up. I can't imagine how much pain she must have been in.
A few years ago, I went through a period where the doctors thought I might have cancer. It was the worst two weeks of my entire life. The one thought I kept going back to was Granny and how brave she was. Living here in the house that was hers, I could almost feel that courage here during that time. By the grace of God, it wasn't cancer for me that time. A day may come when I have to deal with it again. I hope I can remember her lesson if that day ever comes.
3. Overly Smooth Guys Are Dangerous, or, Two-Week Romances Suck -- Okay, this one probably should be a "duh" lesson, but I suppose everybody has to learn this one for him/herself. I learned this one at the hands of a brief grad school romance with T. I should have known I was in over my head with him, but at the time, I guess I wasn't thinking of much at all. Now that's not true. There were all sorts of warning signals of how poorly suited we were to each other...big flashing red lights and klaxons of deafening intensity. None of that seemed to matter when we were together. I won't lie and say it was all bad, but the aftermath was so horrible for me that it sort of outweighed the rest. I learned my lesson well. Now, a guy is going to have to be very determined, patient, and we're going to have to have a whole heck of a lot more time to figure things out between us. I'm not a "fling" girl. Things that move at light speed seem to fall apart with the same rapidity. Of course, it's rather double-edged. Since T., there's been at least one really great guy that I lost my chance with because of my fears. However, I think this lesson probably kept me from making a real fool out of myself recently, so I don't know that it's always wrong, either.
4. Look Up or You'll Miss Something -- I owe this to my friend T. (not the same T. mentioned in #3) from Japan. While I appreciate architecture, I never really raised my eyes above head level much unless I was in a place with sky-scraper type buildings. T. showed us the beautiful details on Japanese rooftops and I started looking up. There was a whole other world up there, full of carvings, protective insignia and charms, and personal art subtly adorning the rain-slickened gray roofs. In London, I had the pleasure of looking up again. Everywhere there were details and frills that I would have missed, works of arts and pleasures for the eye above street level. I am grateful for being taught to notice the unexpected. Now, I continue the habit T. instilled in me when we were walking through Nara and one of my favorite things to look for when I'm shooting B/W film is the hidden architectural gem.
5. Watch the News Even If It Makes You Cry -- This is a recent lesson I learned from I. His whole life revolves around current events, and he reminded me of the importance of knowing what's going on in the world. I have always much preferred the comfortable gossamer insulation of the world of fantasy or the affairs of people who have been dead for hundreds of years. I can't stand to see the evil that people constantly inflict on each other. This isn't to say that I don't know anything about what's going on, but I really haven't been keeping up with news in a responsible way. My very job as an TESOL professional means its my obligation to know and understand the issues that affect and shape the lives of my students. I haven't been living up to this. I had a conversation with I walking (at high speed) around the streets of a city in England, and I realized that I couldn't make my opinion understood. (I know some of you will fall over at the idea that I couldn't express myself, but yeah, it happened.) Recently, things seem to have gotten so much more horrible and life seems to have reached all-time levels of cheapness. I am not offering this as an excuse. I know that not paying attention doesn't make it go away. However, even though I still don't think I can stand long stints of CNN/FOXNews, etc., I have to be more responsible.
6. I Can Do It -- This is something so many people have contributed to that I have a hard time attributing it. Over and over, there have been things that I didn't think I could do. A couple of specific examples that come to mind are the first time I was going to submit a poem for a contest and the first time I wanted to go abroad and was trying to think of a way to break it to my parents. I was encouraged to do both of these things by my college friend D. Going over the side of Penrhyn Castle is probably the most recent example. In this case a kind young woman from New Zealand was involved. All such experiences, of which the listed few here are but a drop in the proverbial bucket, and the people, whether they are people who are still in my life, or whether they are people who only passed through just long enough to give me that needed nudge/shove, helped me push my own boundaries and have given my courage to do "the thing I think I cannot do." I am grateful to them as I face the future challenges of life.
There are other lessons, of course. Even within these few recorded here, layers of new knowledge remain unexplored, only to be harvested with reflection. I just wanted to put these out there as a tribute to those who, intentionally or not, helped me learn them.
This is another day of double posting, but I wanted to list some of the things I've learned from the people who have moved through my life.
1. The Rules and the Instructions Are Important -- I owe my cousin L. for this. He was always the one who took the time to open the rule sheet and figure out where all the game pieces went when we were growing up. As I've gotten older and had to deal with increasing levels of paperwork and red tape, I have again and again reminded myself that I can't play the game correctly if I don't read the instructions. Of course, this doesn't always stop me from throwing them out the window if they don't suit me. I was always the creative illogic foil to his methodical and logical tactics.
2. Getting Sick Is Not the End -- I watched my grandmother fight two separate types of cancer. The first went into remission, but we lost her to the second. Never at any time, even at the end, did she give up. I can't imagine how much pain she must have been in.
A few years ago, I went through a period where the doctors thought I might have cancer. It was the worst two weeks of my entire life. The one thought I kept going back to was Granny and how brave she was. Living here in the house that was hers, I could almost feel that courage here during that time. By the grace of God, it wasn't cancer for me that time. A day may come when I have to deal with it again. I hope I can remember her lesson if that day ever comes.
3. Overly Smooth Guys Are Dangerous, or, Two-Week Romances Suck -- Okay, this one probably should be a "duh" lesson, but I suppose everybody has to learn this one for him/herself. I learned this one at the hands of a brief grad school romance with T. I should have known I was in over my head with him, but at the time, I guess I wasn't thinking of much at all. Now that's not true. There were all sorts of warning signals of how poorly suited we were to each other...big flashing red lights and klaxons of deafening intensity. None of that seemed to matter when we were together. I won't lie and say it was all bad, but the aftermath was so horrible for me that it sort of outweighed the rest. I learned my lesson well. Now, a guy is going to have to be very determined, patient, and we're going to have to have a whole heck of a lot more time to figure things out between us. I'm not a "fling" girl. Things that move at light speed seem to fall apart with the same rapidity. Of course, it's rather double-edged. Since T., there's been at least one really great guy that I lost my chance with because of my fears. However, I think this lesson probably kept me from making a real fool out of myself recently, so I don't know that it's always wrong, either.
4. Look Up or You'll Miss Something -- I owe this to my friend T. (not the same T. mentioned in #3) from Japan. While I appreciate architecture, I never really raised my eyes above head level much unless I was in a place with sky-scraper type buildings. T. showed us the beautiful details on Japanese rooftops and I started looking up. There was a whole other world up there, full of carvings, protective insignia and charms, and personal art subtly adorning the rain-slickened gray roofs. In London, I had the pleasure of looking up again. Everywhere there were details and frills that I would have missed, works of arts and pleasures for the eye above street level. I am grateful for being taught to notice the unexpected. Now, I continue the habit T. instilled in me when we were walking through Nara and one of my favorite things to look for when I'm shooting B/W film is the hidden architectural gem.
5. Watch the News Even If It Makes You Cry -- This is a recent lesson I learned from I. His whole life revolves around current events, and he reminded me of the importance of knowing what's going on in the world. I have always much preferred the comfortable gossamer insulation of the world of fantasy or the affairs of people who have been dead for hundreds of years. I can't stand to see the evil that people constantly inflict on each other. This isn't to say that I don't know anything about what's going on, but I really haven't been keeping up with news in a responsible way. My very job as an TESOL professional means its my obligation to know and understand the issues that affect and shape the lives of my students. I haven't been living up to this. I had a conversation with I walking (at high speed) around the streets of a city in England, and I realized that I couldn't make my opinion understood. (I know some of you will fall over at the idea that I couldn't express myself, but yeah, it happened.) Recently, things seem to have gotten so much more horrible and life seems to have reached all-time levels of cheapness. I am not offering this as an excuse. I know that not paying attention doesn't make it go away. However, even though I still don't think I can stand long stints of CNN/FOXNews, etc., I have to be more responsible.
6. I Can Do It -- This is something so many people have contributed to that I have a hard time attributing it. Over and over, there have been things that I didn't think I could do. A couple of specific examples that come to mind are the first time I was going to submit a poem for a contest and the first time I wanted to go abroad and was trying to think of a way to break it to my parents. I was encouraged to do both of these things by my college friend D. Going over the side of Penrhyn Castle is probably the most recent example. In this case a kind young woman from New Zealand was involved. All such experiences, of which the listed few here are but a drop in the proverbial bucket, and the people, whether they are people who are still in my life, or whether they are people who only passed through just long enough to give me that needed nudge/shove, helped me push my own boundaries and have given my courage to do "the thing I think I cannot do." I am grateful to them as I face the future challenges of life.
There are other lessons, of course. Even within these few recorded here, layers of new knowledge remain unexplored, only to be harvested with reflection. I just wanted to put these out there as a tribute to those who, intentionally or not, helped me learn them.
Yeah, Still Sick
Madness takes its toll. Please have exact change. ~Author Unknown
I had a crazy day today. I started out at the dentist...two invisible cavities that will have to be filled. They used a "space age" laser tool to find them. It was wacky. When they touch your tooth, if there's a problem, it makes a low buzzing noise a little like an electronic raspberry. Both my back molars buzzed. :( Although the decay can't yet be seen, they're going to have to be drilled and filled. Crap. Those make fillings 2 and 3 respectively. My perfect record is shot.
After the dentist, I went to school to sign my contract. I found that technology had not filled my workorder, that our test scores were back, but not very good, and that I have to go work at registration tomorrow. Ack, ack, ack. It also appears that a great deal of room shifting has taken place and very few people will be in the same rooms as last year.
Since I had a huge coughing fit in the parking lot after climbing up and down to my room, I decided to go on to the doctor. He shot me full of decadron and gave me an antibiotic, etc. for 10 days. I was running a lowgrade fever and felt like crap most of the rest of the day. Only within the last couple of hours have I been able to get up and around. I almost waited too late to go this time. He said it was my usual sinus crap but it had already started to morph into bronchitis. I'm glad I went. It always takes forever to get over bronchitis.
There are so many things I need to do to get ready for school. That last minute sense of panic has set in since I went up to my room. I am going to spend whatever time I can steal tomorrow working on stuff and am going to go ahead and move some plants back. I'm looking forward to hanging my Union Jack and the other things I got on my trip. I am more excited about teaching Brit Lit now than I had been since I've seen some of the places and experienced some of the culture.
This week, which I had intended to be a week of rest, is going to turn into a week of frantic preparation and doctors' visits. Oh well. Welcome back to the real world.
I had a crazy day today. I started out at the dentist...two invisible cavities that will have to be filled. They used a "space age" laser tool to find them. It was wacky. When they touch your tooth, if there's a problem, it makes a low buzzing noise a little like an electronic raspberry. Both my back molars buzzed. :( Although the decay can't yet be seen, they're going to have to be drilled and filled. Crap. Those make fillings 2 and 3 respectively. My perfect record is shot.
After the dentist, I went to school to sign my contract. I found that technology had not filled my workorder, that our test scores were back, but not very good, and that I have to go work at registration tomorrow. Ack, ack, ack. It also appears that a great deal of room shifting has taken place and very few people will be in the same rooms as last year.
Since I had a huge coughing fit in the parking lot after climbing up and down to my room, I decided to go on to the doctor. He shot me full of decadron and gave me an antibiotic, etc. for 10 days. I was running a lowgrade fever and felt like crap most of the rest of the day. Only within the last couple of hours have I been able to get up and around. I almost waited too late to go this time. He said it was my usual sinus crap but it had already started to morph into bronchitis. I'm glad I went. It always takes forever to get over bronchitis.
There are so many things I need to do to get ready for school. That last minute sense of panic has set in since I went up to my room. I am going to spend whatever time I can steal tomorrow working on stuff and am going to go ahead and move some plants back. I'm looking forward to hanging my Union Jack and the other things I got on my trip. I am more excited about teaching Brit Lit now than I had been since I've seen some of the places and experienced some of the culture.
This week, which I had intended to be a week of rest, is going to turn into a week of frantic preparation and doctors' visits. Oh well. Welcome back to the real world.
Sunday, July 17, 2005
Claddagh
For love, we wear the heart. In friendship, we wear the hands. And, in loyalty and lasting fidelity: we wear the Royal Claddagh crown. -- http://www.claddagh.com/
I bought a Claddagh ring while I was in Ireland. Normally, I do not buy things that I consider overtly touristy. I don't know why. There's nothing inherently wrong with buying tourist stuff. I guess it has to do with me wanting to have things that are unique or different.
The longer I wandered around, though, the more I wanted a Claddagh ring. I have always liked them because I like their symbolism. Three of the things I believe in most strongly: friendship, love, and loyalty. Three of the things I most desire in a future mate. Three things that make all the bad things in life tolerable.
I learned more about their history from reading various sources on the trip and also from the website listed above. Like many things in Ireland, the origins are shrouded in a darn good story which may or may not be grounded in truth. Actually, that's just one more thing I love about Ireland. Nothing ever has a boring origin in Ireland. Everything is always a fantastic tale rife with poetry, mayhem, love and loss. I respect that.
I also like things with a hidden meaning or intricate traditions. The website explained this as did other sources I saw, but if your heart is free, the ring is worn crown down on the right hand. If your heart is taken, it's worn heart down on the left. There's also apparently a third position to let people know you've got your eye on somebody, heart down on the right hand. I just saw that one on the website. Who knows. I don't think there are hordes of people running around looking at rings on fingers out there, but it's one of those little personal symbols that fascinate me. A secret trove of personal information conveyed with a hand gesture.
In Killarney, I finally succumbed to the tourist trade and bought a ring. It's very simple and low detail. When I put it on, it made me happy, and touristy or not, I think that's the important thing. I like what it represents, and every time I look at it, I remember all the good things from the trip. Right now, mine is very much crown down, right hand, but God willing, I hope it will switch position and hand sometime soon.
While its not priceless, heirloom jewelry, I also hope to follow one of the other traditions of the Claddagh. One day, I hope I can give it to a little girl of my own and tell her the story of the trip from whence it came.
I bought a Claddagh ring while I was in Ireland. Normally, I do not buy things that I consider overtly touristy. I don't know why. There's nothing inherently wrong with buying tourist stuff. I guess it has to do with me wanting to have things that are unique or different.
The longer I wandered around, though, the more I wanted a Claddagh ring. I have always liked them because I like their symbolism. Three of the things I believe in most strongly: friendship, love, and loyalty. Three of the things I most desire in a future mate. Three things that make all the bad things in life tolerable.
I learned more about their history from reading various sources on the trip and also from the website listed above. Like many things in Ireland, the origins are shrouded in a darn good story which may or may not be grounded in truth. Actually, that's just one more thing I love about Ireland. Nothing ever has a boring origin in Ireland. Everything is always a fantastic tale rife with poetry, mayhem, love and loss. I respect that.
I also like things with a hidden meaning or intricate traditions. The website explained this as did other sources I saw, but if your heart is free, the ring is worn crown down on the right hand. If your heart is taken, it's worn heart down on the left. There's also apparently a third position to let people know you've got your eye on somebody, heart down on the right hand. I just saw that one on the website. Who knows. I don't think there are hordes of people running around looking at rings on fingers out there, but it's one of those little personal symbols that fascinate me. A secret trove of personal information conveyed with a hand gesture.
In Killarney, I finally succumbed to the tourist trade and bought a ring. It's very simple and low detail. When I put it on, it made me happy, and touristy or not, I think that's the important thing. I like what it represents, and every time I look at it, I remember all the good things from the trip. Right now, mine is very much crown down, right hand, but God willing, I hope it will switch position and hand sometime soon.
While its not priceless, heirloom jewelry, I also hope to follow one of the other traditions of the Claddagh. One day, I hope I can give it to a little girl of my own and tell her the story of the trip from whence it came.
Still Sick
A good laugh and a long sleep are the best cures in the doctor's book. ~Irish Proverb
Would that this cure would work... day four of the creeping crud. I have taken all the OTC stuff I know of, and it creeps on, so I guess I'm going to have to go get some antibiotics and nuke it. Of course, the downside of antibiotics is that they nuke EVERYTHING and make me very, very tired. However, if I don't go on and do it, I'll won't get well before school starts, and I don't think I can manage a new school year this far under the weather.
Being sick makes me reflective. Maybe it's all the laying around and staring at the ceiling between Nyquil-induced hallucinations. Maybe it's just the Nyquil. Who needs illegal drugs? Nyquil is wacky enough for me. God knows what would happen if I ever had anything much stronger.
Anyway, I've been thinking deeply on lots of things, mostly about the year to come. This year is going to be a big test for me. Either I will settle into the K-12 (mostly 10, 12) mold this year, or I'm going to have to find something else. I don't know if teaching motivated AP 12 is going to make the magic difference for me or not. Lots of people seem to think so, but I just don't know if I'm cut out for high school. Am I really making any difference there?
As I was on the trip and since I've been home, the feeling has been growing that I'm going to have to make some changes in my life. One, tiny and inconsequential as it will be to everyone else, is changing my wardrobe. I had a moment of great embarrassment earlier this past year when I went down to the library to talk to the insurance guy and renew all my policies for the year ahead. I wasn't wearing my ID that day, and he actually stared at me for a moment and asked, "I don't mean to be rude, but you ARE a teacher, right?" He told me that he thought so, but that I looked so young.... Now, I don't think that I look particularly young. I see the little lines, and there are an increasing number of little silver strands in my hair, but I guess my clothing is still really graduate school. I need to find clothing that looks more "professional". Part of me mourns this, but part of me, what little "girly" instinct I have, I guess, is actually quietly happy. I won't suddenly burst out in Chanel suits, of course, but there is a look that I like, and I think I need to make steps toward it. I'll still be me, but maybe I'll be a little more polished. I made a step toward that yesterday. I bought a nice pair of shoes.
Like I said, to everybody who's reading this, it's nothing, but for me, it was a step to a goal. Hey, if you're reading this on a regular basis, you already know I'm not your average bear, so just chalk it up to me being odd and go on.
Another change I know I need to make is taking better care of myself. This trip to the UK and Ireland helped me lose quite a bit of weight thanks to our non-stop hard-core schedule and our different diet. Everyone lost. The kids labeled it the "Ivan Plan" after our fearless leader. Whatever it was, I feel a lot better. I stopped going to the gym around January when testing heated up and my health went into its annual winter slump. I am going to head back either this week, or more likely, next week once the antibiotics have a chance to help me breathe again. I miss the gym and the time it gave me to think and relax.
Well, I guess it's probably time for another dose of Nyquil and whatever Spirit Quest it sends me on this time. Stay tuned for further revelations from the "green fairy" in the bottle.
Would that this cure would work... day four of the creeping crud. I have taken all the OTC stuff I know of, and it creeps on, so I guess I'm going to have to go get some antibiotics and nuke it. Of course, the downside of antibiotics is that they nuke EVERYTHING and make me very, very tired. However, if I don't go on and do it, I'll won't get well before school starts, and I don't think I can manage a new school year this far under the weather.
Being sick makes me reflective. Maybe it's all the laying around and staring at the ceiling between Nyquil-induced hallucinations. Maybe it's just the Nyquil. Who needs illegal drugs? Nyquil is wacky enough for me. God knows what would happen if I ever had anything much stronger.
Anyway, I've been thinking deeply on lots of things, mostly about the year to come. This year is going to be a big test for me. Either I will settle into the K-12 (mostly 10, 12) mold this year, or I'm going to have to find something else. I don't know if teaching motivated AP 12 is going to make the magic difference for me or not. Lots of people seem to think so, but I just don't know if I'm cut out for high school. Am I really making any difference there?
As I was on the trip and since I've been home, the feeling has been growing that I'm going to have to make some changes in my life. One, tiny and inconsequential as it will be to everyone else, is changing my wardrobe. I had a moment of great embarrassment earlier this past year when I went down to the library to talk to the insurance guy and renew all my policies for the year ahead. I wasn't wearing my ID that day, and he actually stared at me for a moment and asked, "I don't mean to be rude, but you ARE a teacher, right?" He told me that he thought so, but that I looked so young.... Now, I don't think that I look particularly young. I see the little lines, and there are an increasing number of little silver strands in my hair, but I guess my clothing is still really graduate school. I need to find clothing that looks more "professional". Part of me mourns this, but part of me, what little "girly" instinct I have, I guess, is actually quietly happy. I won't suddenly burst out in Chanel suits, of course, but there is a look that I like, and I think I need to make steps toward it. I'll still be me, but maybe I'll be a little more polished. I made a step toward that yesterday. I bought a nice pair of shoes.
Like I said, to everybody who's reading this, it's nothing, but for me, it was a step to a goal. Hey, if you're reading this on a regular basis, you already know I'm not your average bear, so just chalk it up to me being odd and go on.
Another change I know I need to make is taking better care of myself. This trip to the UK and Ireland helped me lose quite a bit of weight thanks to our non-stop hard-core schedule and our different diet. Everyone lost. The kids labeled it the "Ivan Plan" after our fearless leader. Whatever it was, I feel a lot better. I stopped going to the gym around January when testing heated up and my health went into its annual winter slump. I am going to head back either this week, or more likely, next week once the antibiotics have a chance to help me breathe again. I miss the gym and the time it gave me to think and relax.
Well, I guess it's probably time for another dose of Nyquil and whatever Spirit Quest it sends me on this time. Stay tuned for further revelations from the "green fairy" in the bottle.
Thursday, July 14, 2005
Weird Things and Miscellaneous Sickness
There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy. -- Hamlet, Act I, Scene V
I've been on the roads a lot the past few days traveling to and from the conference. I always see strange things when I drive, but this week has taken the cake for odd. There seems to be a motif developing, though, and I'm trying to work out a possible symbolism for it. Everyday, I see trucks carrying 1) tanks (not the containers, the big heavy shooting machines), 2) fire hydrants, and 3) church steeples. Why? Of all the things eighteen wheelers carry across this country, why do I keep seeing the same three things?
Perhaps it's some sort of oracle. As an English teacher, my life is bound up in symbolism and allegory. What could they represent? Give me some help if you have any ideas.
I have also managed to come down with some sort of exotic sickness. I feel like I've been backed over by one of the trucks full of fire hydrants. It's the end result of me not taking good care of myself, and I guess it was inevitable. I need about 3 days in bed to recover from it. Don't guess THAT'S happening any time in the near future.
The leader of my conference noticed that my voice has gone all hoarse and froggy, and commented on my "paleness" as well. I hate to tell her, but I'm always pale. You might even call it one of my defining characteristics. :) Then again, there's really nothing, when you're feeling bad, like finding out that you look bad, too.
The one upside to this conference, other than the "incredible confidence I will have at the end" is that I've managed to produce 3 poems over the past 3 or 4 days. All the experiences from the UK/Ireland trip are starting to simmer nicely, and I've gotten a couple of beginnings down from them. They aren't finished probably, but just having the nascent seeds on paper makes me feel good. I also found a collection I did for my college creative writing class and am looking forward to seeing what might be gleaned from it. I know one of them was good enough to win a competition in college. Maybe some of the others can be worked on, too.
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy. -- Hamlet, Act I, Scene V
I've been on the roads a lot the past few days traveling to and from the conference. I always see strange things when I drive, but this week has taken the cake for odd. There seems to be a motif developing, though, and I'm trying to work out a possible symbolism for it. Everyday, I see trucks carrying 1) tanks (not the containers, the big heavy shooting machines), 2) fire hydrants, and 3) church steeples. Why? Of all the things eighteen wheelers carry across this country, why do I keep seeing the same three things?
Perhaps it's some sort of oracle. As an English teacher, my life is bound up in symbolism and allegory. What could they represent? Give me some help if you have any ideas.
I have also managed to come down with some sort of exotic sickness. I feel like I've been backed over by one of the trucks full of fire hydrants. It's the end result of me not taking good care of myself, and I guess it was inevitable. I need about 3 days in bed to recover from it. Don't guess THAT'S happening any time in the near future.
The leader of my conference noticed that my voice has gone all hoarse and froggy, and commented on my "paleness" as well. I hate to tell her, but I'm always pale. You might even call it one of my defining characteristics. :) Then again, there's really nothing, when you're feeling bad, like finding out that you look bad, too.
The one upside to this conference, other than the "incredible confidence I will have at the end" is that I've managed to produce 3 poems over the past 3 or 4 days. All the experiences from the UK/Ireland trip are starting to simmer nicely, and I've gotten a couple of beginnings down from them. They aren't finished probably, but just having the nascent seeds on paper makes me feel good. I also found a collection I did for my college creative writing class and am looking forward to seeing what might be gleaned from it. I know one of them was good enough to win a competition in college. Maybe some of the others can be worked on, too.
Tuesday, July 12, 2005
Meetings Ad Nauseum
Patience can't be acquired overnight. It is just like building up a muscle. Every day you need to work on it.
Eknath Easwaran
I am jet-lagged. I am exhausted. Needless to say, my patience is at all-time lows. So, of course, the very thing I needed was to be stuck in all-day meetings for an entire week. I don't do well in all-day meetings at any time. I get antsy unless there are frequent breaks, and in this set of meetings, the breaks are few, far between, and appallingly short.
Here's a list of things other than being in the seminar that I'd rather be doing. In no particular order:
1) Riding the London Eye with a cute guy
What can I say, I love that giant Ferris wheel. It would make a perfect date thing...except for the possible fact that you might wind up in car with 18 teenagers. Now if you could contrive to get a car with only the guy you were out with, that would be insanely romantic. I bet that doesn't happen, though.
2) Reading a book
Any book. Any way to escape. Hard to be polite and read when it's a lecture hall of fewer than 20. Hmm....
3) Making bread
I need to start my sourdough again, and I'm intrigued by the brown bread I had in Ireland. I have to find a recipe.
4) Sleeping
Ah, to be home in my own little bed again....
5) Playing the piano
Can you say, "Out of practice?"
6) Photographing onigawara in Kyoto
Or photographing anything in Kyoto, for that matter. Kyoto is a painfully beautiful place. I don't think there's a bad camera angle in the whole place...with the possible exception of any shot that catches that giant ultramodern glass monstrosity of a train station....
7) Deadheading roses
8) Go walking in the woods
No purpose, no destination, just endless greenness. I think the lush verdancy would erase some of the frustration.
9) Listening to blues in Clarksdale
I STILL haven't gotten to Clarksdale and the Blues Museum. That was supposed to be a long roadtrip this summer, but I guess I'll have to put it off again. Maybe I can go this fall and spend a weekend.
10) Dancing with a cute guy
Surely, no explanation of this one is needed. I'm in a crazy, dancing mood. I think it's because I've been pent up in a cannibal chair listening to the buzz-saw drone of a lecture all day. Seat dancing in the car on the long drive home just isn't the same.
11) Sleeping
Can you see any recurring themes? ;) Just a bit of pointless silliness with which I distracted myself during the day. This has to be, hands down, my worst entry ever. That's what happens when you get a non-juried publication. Oh well, you know what they say...you get what you pay for....
Eknath Easwaran
I am jet-lagged. I am exhausted. Needless to say, my patience is at all-time lows. So, of course, the very thing I needed was to be stuck in all-day meetings for an entire week. I don't do well in all-day meetings at any time. I get antsy unless there are frequent breaks, and in this set of meetings, the breaks are few, far between, and appallingly short.
Here's a list of things other than being in the seminar that I'd rather be doing. In no particular order:
1) Riding the London Eye with a cute guy
What can I say, I love that giant Ferris wheel. It would make a perfect date thing...except for the possible fact that you might wind up in car with 18 teenagers. Now if you could contrive to get a car with only the guy you were out with, that would be insanely romantic. I bet that doesn't happen, though.
2) Reading a book
Any book. Any way to escape. Hard to be polite and read when it's a lecture hall of fewer than 20. Hmm....
3) Making bread
I need to start my sourdough again, and I'm intrigued by the brown bread I had in Ireland. I have to find a recipe.
4) Sleeping
Ah, to be home in my own little bed again....
5) Playing the piano
Can you say, "Out of practice?"
6) Photographing onigawara in Kyoto
Or photographing anything in Kyoto, for that matter. Kyoto is a painfully beautiful place. I don't think there's a bad camera angle in the whole place...with the possible exception of any shot that catches that giant ultramodern glass monstrosity of a train station....
7) Deadheading roses
8) Go walking in the woods
No purpose, no destination, just endless greenness. I think the lush verdancy would erase some of the frustration.
9) Listening to blues in Clarksdale
I STILL haven't gotten to Clarksdale and the Blues Museum. That was supposed to be a long roadtrip this summer, but I guess I'll have to put it off again. Maybe I can go this fall and spend a weekend.
10) Dancing with a cute guy
Surely, no explanation of this one is needed. I'm in a crazy, dancing mood. I think it's because I've been pent up in a cannibal chair listening to the buzz-saw drone of a lecture all day. Seat dancing in the car on the long drive home just isn't the same.
11) Sleeping
Can you see any recurring themes? ;) Just a bit of pointless silliness with which I distracted myself during the day. This has to be, hands down, my worst entry ever. That's what happens when you get a non-juried publication. Oh well, you know what they say...you get what you pay for....
Monday, July 11, 2005
The Hurricane That Wasn't
The best thing one can do when it's raining is to let it rain. ~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
We all battened down the hatches two days ago. Everyone was acutely mindful of Ivan's rampage through our state and the greater devastation along the Gulf Coast. I have friends in trailers who were heading for stronger walls, and everyone was moving things that might become airborne in 40 - 50 mph winds.
Since everyone was in such a furor of preparation, I suppose it's a natural that the hurricane would swing around us. It only brushed its damp fingers across us, gave us a sigh, and tore through Florida instead.
This time, we were only without power about 12 hrs. There was no flooding that I'm aware of nearby, and I didn't see many if any trees down. Last time, they uprooted everywhere once the ground became too sodden to hold the giant oaks down. I only lost a few limbs from my fragile pecan trees. The giant dead one that I am waiting to fall, of course, managed not to shed even so much as a limb.
All in all, it would have been a very nice rainy evening in save for the fact that I had to drive 90 min. in the heavy rain for the beginning of a conference for school. There were several times that I thought the winds were going to scoot me and my little car right off the road. It wasn't the worst I've ever driven in, but it was pretty darn close. I kept thinking, "All the sane people are in right now. What the heck is wrong with you?"
Regardless of the stress of the drive, I'm glad we got off so lightly. I know Dennis won't be the last big one of the year, but I'm grateful that it didn't hit us with as much fury as all the predictions said it would.
We all battened down the hatches two days ago. Everyone was acutely mindful of Ivan's rampage through our state and the greater devastation along the Gulf Coast. I have friends in trailers who were heading for stronger walls, and everyone was moving things that might become airborne in 40 - 50 mph winds.
Since everyone was in such a furor of preparation, I suppose it's a natural that the hurricane would swing around us. It only brushed its damp fingers across us, gave us a sigh, and tore through Florida instead.
This time, we were only without power about 12 hrs. There was no flooding that I'm aware of nearby, and I didn't see many if any trees down. Last time, they uprooted everywhere once the ground became too sodden to hold the giant oaks down. I only lost a few limbs from my fragile pecan trees. The giant dead one that I am waiting to fall, of course, managed not to shed even so much as a limb.
All in all, it would have been a very nice rainy evening in save for the fact that I had to drive 90 min. in the heavy rain for the beginning of a conference for school. There were several times that I thought the winds were going to scoot me and my little car right off the road. It wasn't the worst I've ever driven in, but it was pretty darn close. I kept thinking, "All the sane people are in right now. What the heck is wrong with you?"
Regardless of the stress of the drive, I'm glad we got off so lightly. I know Dennis won't be the last big one of the year, but I'm grateful that it didn't hit us with as much fury as all the predictions said it would.
Saturday, July 09, 2005
Ireland
Of all the places I saw on my trip, none moved me as much as southern Ireland. Once we were off the ferry and rolling through the hills in the coach, an endless vista of green unfolded, and for whatever reason, it didn't feel like a "foreign land" at all. It felt familiar. I don't know how that's possible.
Everybody commented on this, and on how much it looked like Mississippi. It did and it didn't. I have noticed that no matter where I am, there are always bits that look like home. A wise friend of mine in Japan laughed and told me once, "This is the Earth. It is all the same. Of course it looks like home."
The sheer physical beauty of it was overwhelming. I can see why it's a country of poets and singers. Who wouldn't be inspired just by looking out the front door each morning? I could come up with half a dozen smilies or metaphors about it right now off the top of my head.
Everywhere in Ireland there were roses. They bloomed and flourished in the climate like a garden in a dream. I wish I could get mine to look half so healthy. Walking down the side of any random road, you could smell the fragrance from them. It was divine.
There was also a pervasive sense of history layering over the whole. As we drove along, it was common to see the ruins of a tower or church sitting out in a field. Apparently, they were as unremarkable an occurrence for the locals as a tumbledown barn would have been for us. It never ceases to amaze me how young my own country is, and how little recorded history we have (Native American traditions excluded) when I travel like this. Most of those piles of stone had been ruins longer than we have been a free nation.
It wasn't just the rural parts of Ireland that I loved. I also, surprisingly enough, like Dublin quite a bit, too. I'm not a big city person as a rule, but the feel of the city was comfortable. It didn't feel "too big", and as I was running around either with or without the group, I felt like I could probably have managed it.
All in all, Ireland was the most comfortable place I was during the whole of the trip. As soon as we got on the ferry to leave, I felt a sense of loss. I'm trying hard not to romance it. I don't believe it's any sort of "ancestral connection", but I do know that I wanted to go back almost as soon as I was gone, if for no other reason than to wonder around in all that soft, glowing greenness.
Everybody commented on this, and on how much it looked like Mississippi. It did and it didn't. I have noticed that no matter where I am, there are always bits that look like home. A wise friend of mine in Japan laughed and told me once, "This is the Earth. It is all the same. Of course it looks like home."
The sheer physical beauty of it was overwhelming. I can see why it's a country of poets and singers. Who wouldn't be inspired just by looking out the front door each morning? I could come up with half a dozen smilies or metaphors about it right now off the top of my head.
Everywhere in Ireland there were roses. They bloomed and flourished in the climate like a garden in a dream. I wish I could get mine to look half so healthy. Walking down the side of any random road, you could smell the fragrance from them. It was divine.
There was also a pervasive sense of history layering over the whole. As we drove along, it was common to see the ruins of a tower or church sitting out in a field. Apparently, they were as unremarkable an occurrence for the locals as a tumbledown barn would have been for us. It never ceases to amaze me how young my own country is, and how little recorded history we have (Native American traditions excluded) when I travel like this. Most of those piles of stone had been ruins longer than we have been a free nation.
It wasn't just the rural parts of Ireland that I loved. I also, surprisingly enough, like Dublin quite a bit, too. I'm not a big city person as a rule, but the feel of the city was comfortable. It didn't feel "too big", and as I was running around either with or without the group, I felt like I could probably have managed it.
All in all, Ireland was the most comfortable place I was during the whole of the trip. As soon as we got on the ferry to leave, I felt a sense of loss. I'm trying hard not to romance it. I don't believe it's any sort of "ancestral connection", but I do know that I wanted to go back almost as soon as I was gone, if for no other reason than to wonder around in all that soft, glowing greenness.
Kate Chopin and the Trip
No quote today, at least for this one. There will probably be several posts over the next few days as I sort out things from the trip.
I reread The Awakening by Kate Chopin right before I left for my trip. Perhaps that was a mistake.
I have come back a different person than when I left. Of course, this happens anytime a person travels, but it's very strong this time. I don't know if it's like an allergic reaction that will go away, or if I've finally gone off my rocker for good. All I know is that I'm different.
As I was on the trip, it seemed like my opinions and feelings were different from the other two leaders on almost every issue. Once, I would have bowed my head and said nothing. This trip, though, I thought, "Screw it. This, for better or worse, is what I really believe. Why should I feel ashamed of it?" These weren't huge moral issues. These were everyday life issues. What does it matter if I have a different view? Do I have to agree with everybody else?
Increasingly, I guess, I just don't fit in with the "genteel Southern lady" image. Once, I think I really wanted to be that, but now, I think I'd rather just be me. I'm happier that way, and it's so much more honest. I guess some people will always think me strange, but at least I will be true to myself. With my family and my group of friends, I don't think I'll ever have to face Edna's dilemma, but I can appreciate how suddenly the world can shift out from under your feet much better now.
I reread The Awakening by Kate Chopin right before I left for my trip. Perhaps that was a mistake.
I have come back a different person than when I left. Of course, this happens anytime a person travels, but it's very strong this time. I don't know if it's like an allergic reaction that will go away, or if I've finally gone off my rocker for good. All I know is that I'm different.
As I was on the trip, it seemed like my opinions and feelings were different from the other two leaders on almost every issue. Once, I would have bowed my head and said nothing. This trip, though, I thought, "Screw it. This, for better or worse, is what I really believe. Why should I feel ashamed of it?" These weren't huge moral issues. These were everyday life issues. What does it matter if I have a different view? Do I have to agree with everybody else?
Increasingly, I guess, I just don't fit in with the "genteel Southern lady" image. Once, I think I really wanted to be that, but now, I think I'd rather just be me. I'm happier that way, and it's so much more honest. I guess some people will always think me strange, but at least I will be true to myself. With my family and my group of friends, I don't think I'll ever have to face Edna's dilemma, but I can appreciate how suddenly the world can shift out from under your feet much better now.
Tuesday, July 05, 2005
Penryn Castle, or Chickens of the World Unite
"You must do the thing you think you cannot do." -- Eleanor Roosevelt
Today I literally took a leap of faith. I abseiled (aka rapelled, and no, I don't know the difference) down the side of a castle tower. Really.
I wasn't at all nervous going up. I knew I wouldn't be. I was actually sleepy from being so tired. The group I was with was singing the whole way up the tower. We went last, so it took a couple of hours for us to reach the top and the platform. The castle, Penryn, is here in North Wales, and is a showy castle rather than a defensive one. It was beautiful.
When we went out to the castle to start the abseiling, it was raining. We all got soaked. Again, another important moment in my life with rain. We stood outside in it anyway and yelled for everyone as they came to the top. It was such a supportive group of people.
When I got to the top, I could feel my pulse pick up. I knew that was going to happen. I'd been able to put in my "creative reality" until then and had mostly convinced myself that there was nothing to be afraid of. Try putting that over on yourself when you're looking down the side of a castle.
They harnessed me in and I stepped up on the metal platform from which I would descend....and I froze solid. I couldn't let go. I wanted to go, but I couldn't feel the harness supporting me, and images of Wile E. Coyote falling down the cliff face kept running through my head. The wonderful pro who was helping me finally talked me into leaning back far enough that my weight would be supported by the harness, I reached the "Point of No Return", and suddenly, against every better instinct I've ever had, I was dangling off the ground trying to get down the side of a stone tower. Without a doubt, it was one of those "is this my life?" moments.
To tell the truth, I'm not sure how much I remember about the trip down. I remember it being exhilarating and I remember my shoulder hurting from trying to control the line, but I didn't exactly look around a lot. My only thought, truly, was to get down the side of the stupid thing.
I did it. The long and short of it is, I did it. And now, I don't have to be afraid of that anymore. It was very liberating for me. I have been sort of dreading that ever since I first heard about it. I wasn't "too big". I was able to be harnessed and to get up and down all the ladders. They didn't have to pull in a crane to support me. I feel great!
The quote at the beginning from E. Roosevelt kept coming to me the entire time I was up on that tower. To be honest, I think it is the reason I didn't chicken out entirely. Ultimately, the possibility of falling was less scary that the self I'd have to live with if I went down the stairs rather than the line.
Today I literally took a leap of faith. I abseiled (aka rapelled, and no, I don't know the difference) down the side of a castle tower. Really.
I wasn't at all nervous going up. I knew I wouldn't be. I was actually sleepy from being so tired. The group I was with was singing the whole way up the tower. We went last, so it took a couple of hours for us to reach the top and the platform. The castle, Penryn, is here in North Wales, and is a showy castle rather than a defensive one. It was beautiful.
When we went out to the castle to start the abseiling, it was raining. We all got soaked. Again, another important moment in my life with rain. We stood outside in it anyway and yelled for everyone as they came to the top. It was such a supportive group of people.
When I got to the top, I could feel my pulse pick up. I knew that was going to happen. I'd been able to put in my "creative reality" until then and had mostly convinced myself that there was nothing to be afraid of. Try putting that over on yourself when you're looking down the side of a castle.
They harnessed me in and I stepped up on the metal platform from which I would descend....and I froze solid. I couldn't let go. I wanted to go, but I couldn't feel the harness supporting me, and images of Wile E. Coyote falling down the cliff face kept running through my head. The wonderful pro who was helping me finally talked me into leaning back far enough that my weight would be supported by the harness, I reached the "Point of No Return", and suddenly, against every better instinct I've ever had, I was dangling off the ground trying to get down the side of a stone tower. Without a doubt, it was one of those "is this my life?" moments.
To tell the truth, I'm not sure how much I remember about the trip down. I remember it being exhilarating and I remember my shoulder hurting from trying to control the line, but I didn't exactly look around a lot. My only thought, truly, was to get down the side of the stupid thing.
I did it. The long and short of it is, I did it. And now, I don't have to be afraid of that anymore. It was very liberating for me. I have been sort of dreading that ever since I first heard about it. I wasn't "too big". I was able to be harnessed and to get up and down all the ladders. They didn't have to pull in a crane to support me. I feel great!
The quote at the beginning from E. Roosevelt kept coming to me the entire time I was up on that tower. To be honest, I think it is the reason I didn't chicken out entirely. Ultimately, the possibility of falling was less scary that the self I'd have to live with if I went down the stairs rather than the line.
Sunday, July 03, 2005
Westminster Abbey
I don't have a quote today because I'm on a pay terminal. I'll try to do better next time. :)
I've been traveling in England, Wales, and Ireland for the past two weeks, and it's been a great experience. I can't believe all the things I've been able to seen and experience. Since this is a pay by the minute type of place, I'll relate just one and catch up on others when I get a chance.
I got to see Westminster Abbey. I still can't believe it. How did a person from the rural South get to stand in Poet's Corner and see Chaucer's grave? It seemed utterly incredible to me, like a scene from a dream. I saw the graves of kings and queens, and architecture that was glorious, but nothing moved me like seeing the names of all those men and women whose words have inspired me my whole life.
I stood and just breathed in the air, and I prayed that some tiny portion of the power with which those word-saints expressed themselves could transfer itself to me. More than anything else, I want to write. I'll never be great like them, nor will Westminster ever make a place for me, but to be able to express the world and the feelings it gives me truly would be a blessing.
When I stepped out, I felt a difference in the world. I felt changed, and I wondered if my face glowed like Moses' when he came down the mountain. Once I have five minutes to myself when there are not people everywhere, I hope to be able to put some of this down on paper.
I suppose that should be all for today. More adventures await.
I've been traveling in England, Wales, and Ireland for the past two weeks, and it's been a great experience. I can't believe all the things I've been able to seen and experience. Since this is a pay by the minute type of place, I'll relate just one and catch up on others when I get a chance.
I got to see Westminster Abbey. I still can't believe it. How did a person from the rural South get to stand in Poet's Corner and see Chaucer's grave? It seemed utterly incredible to me, like a scene from a dream. I saw the graves of kings and queens, and architecture that was glorious, but nothing moved me like seeing the names of all those men and women whose words have inspired me my whole life.
I stood and just breathed in the air, and I prayed that some tiny portion of the power with which those word-saints expressed themselves could transfer itself to me. More than anything else, I want to write. I'll never be great like them, nor will Westminster ever make a place for me, but to be able to express the world and the feelings it gives me truly would be a blessing.
When I stepped out, I felt a difference in the world. I felt changed, and I wondered if my face glowed like Moses' when he came down the mountain. Once I have five minutes to myself when there are not people everywhere, I hope to be able to put some of this down on paper.
I suppose that should be all for today. More adventures await.
Friday, June 10, 2005
Walter Anderson
"We all get what we want. Each painter that paints a picture puts into it exactly what he wants. If he fails, it is because he did not want enough. Teach people to want the right things and they will get them. Teach them to want the wrong things and they will be ruined." -- Walter Inglis Anderson
While I was on the coast, I went over to Ocean Springs. I love Ocean Springs, and with Natchez, it's one of the only two other places in the state that I'd want to live. It has its ugly modern highway aspects, but with a simple turn toward the gulf's waters, it becomes old, preserved, and reflective.
Ocean Springs houses a museum containing the work of Walter Anderson. He was an amazing artist whom I won't attempt to biographize (is that a word?) here. Go see the website to learn more about him. The museum has a rotating collection of his work, and a portion of the cabin in which he lived when he was at home called "The Little Room". The walls and ceiling reflect the path of the sun across the room and woven into that are flowers, trees, animals, and birds. To see it all, one needs to sit in the middle of the floor and just absorb.
The museum also has one of my favorite sculptures in the world. Anderson was a productive artist in many media, including wood and ceramic arts. My favorite sculpture is called "The Swimmer" and was crafted, if I remember correctly, from a driftwood log. The color is a beautiful burnished brown, and the lines are so pure. It is, of course, one of those things you're not supposed to touch. I always yearn to run my hands across it, to feel the smoothness of it, to feel the grace and the movement. I don't know a lot of arty terms, that not having been a field I've ever studied formally, but the figure, although stylized, seems to have been lifted whole from the warm waters of the gulf instead of hewn from wood.
All his art is like that. He had what he referred to as his "public art", consisting of fabulous murals and linoleum block prints. I have several of the reprintings of the block prints all over the house. Some of his descendants started the company Realizations to make his public art available. You can see their stuff here.
He also had his "private art," which mostly consisted of watercolors. He spent extended periods of time living as naturally as possible, mostly without manmade shelter, on Horn Island in the MS Gulf. While he was there, he recorded every aspect of the natural world with his water colors. He was seeking the truth of it, the beauty of it. There is a power in his works that stuns. I wish I could see like he saw. When I stand and look at one of his watercolors, I can feel something inside me lift. I always think of a pelican spreading her wings and rising swiftly to the sun.
Whenever I go to the coast, I always try to go to his museum. This time, with the teacher conference being in Biloxi, there were many people in it. I like it better when I'm the only person there and I can walk around and stare without any other voice intruding. Sometimes, when it's quiet enough, I think I can almost feel his presence there.
While I was on the coast, I went over to Ocean Springs. I love Ocean Springs, and with Natchez, it's one of the only two other places in the state that I'd want to live. It has its ugly modern highway aspects, but with a simple turn toward the gulf's waters, it becomes old, preserved, and reflective.
Ocean Springs houses a museum containing the work of Walter Anderson. He was an amazing artist whom I won't attempt to biographize (is that a word?) here. Go see the website to learn more about him. The museum has a rotating collection of his work, and a portion of the cabin in which he lived when he was at home called "The Little Room". The walls and ceiling reflect the path of the sun across the room and woven into that are flowers, trees, animals, and birds. To see it all, one needs to sit in the middle of the floor and just absorb.
The museum also has one of my favorite sculptures in the world. Anderson was a productive artist in many media, including wood and ceramic arts. My favorite sculpture is called "The Swimmer" and was crafted, if I remember correctly, from a driftwood log. The color is a beautiful burnished brown, and the lines are so pure. It is, of course, one of those things you're not supposed to touch. I always yearn to run my hands across it, to feel the smoothness of it, to feel the grace and the movement. I don't know a lot of arty terms, that not having been a field I've ever studied formally, but the figure, although stylized, seems to have been lifted whole from the warm waters of the gulf instead of hewn from wood.
All his art is like that. He had what he referred to as his "public art", consisting of fabulous murals and linoleum block prints. I have several of the reprintings of the block prints all over the house. Some of his descendants started the company Realizations to make his public art available. You can see their stuff here.
He also had his "private art," which mostly consisted of watercolors. He spent extended periods of time living as naturally as possible, mostly without manmade shelter, on Horn Island in the MS Gulf. While he was there, he recorded every aspect of the natural world with his water colors. He was seeking the truth of it, the beauty of it. There is a power in his works that stuns. I wish I could see like he saw. When I stand and look at one of his watercolors, I can feel something inside me lift. I always think of a pelican spreading her wings and rising swiftly to the sun.
Whenever I go to the coast, I always try to go to his museum. This time, with the teacher conference being in Biloxi, there were many people in it. I like it better when I'm the only person there and I can walk around and stare without any other voice intruding. Sometimes, when it's quiet enough, I think I can almost feel his presence there.
Casinos on the Coast
No quote tonight.
I just returned from a week-long conference on the coast. It's changed a lot since I was a little kid and used to go down with my parents every summer for our vacation.
When I was young, the tackiest things there were the gift shops selling dolls made of shells, plastic snowglobes, and t-shirts saying, "My folks went to the Gulf Coast and all I got was this shirt." I remember there being seemingly hundreds of goofy golf courses, water slides, and go cart places. And then there was all that gorgeous sand. The water was always silty; being that close to the mouth of the Mississippi, I guess that's to be expected. The scariest thing I remember seeing was a dead manta ray drifting in the tide.
This time, things were cleaner, but a lot of the kitschy charm was gone. In place of the water slides and seafood shacks were slick, towering casinos. They cluster together in twos and threes as if they're afraid to stand on their own.
I wound up staying in one for the conference. I must say that I wasn't terribly impressed. The room was neither better nor worse than a Holiday Inn. The restaurants weren't fabulous, just expensive. I went to eat sushi and was so disappointed, I almost couldn't finish the meal. No green tea, no ume-shu, and no real sushi chef. To get to the restaurants, you had to navigate your way through a smoke-filled forest of slot machines that smelled horribly of spilt whiskey and was peopled with aging zombies who mechanically inserted credits or bills and pushed the buttons.
The materials that had been used were good. The lights and the sounds tried to make it festive. I just can't get over how few people I saw there who seemed to be having a good time. Most of them were mesmerized by the flashing lights of the machine in front of them. I did not see a single person win the entire time I was there, and heard almost no laugher or even conversation on the game floor.
I miss the tacky kitsch of the coast of my youth. I don't think I like these new casinos. I wrote a poem about it, so I guess the trip was good for that reason. I just wish there were fewer all you can eat buffets, and more actual entertainment.
I just returned from a week-long conference on the coast. It's changed a lot since I was a little kid and used to go down with my parents every summer for our vacation.
When I was young, the tackiest things there were the gift shops selling dolls made of shells, plastic snowglobes, and t-shirts saying, "My folks went to the Gulf Coast and all I got was this shirt." I remember there being seemingly hundreds of goofy golf courses, water slides, and go cart places. And then there was all that gorgeous sand. The water was always silty; being that close to the mouth of the Mississippi, I guess that's to be expected. The scariest thing I remember seeing was a dead manta ray drifting in the tide.
This time, things were cleaner, but a lot of the kitschy charm was gone. In place of the water slides and seafood shacks were slick, towering casinos. They cluster together in twos and threes as if they're afraid to stand on their own.
I wound up staying in one for the conference. I must say that I wasn't terribly impressed. The room was neither better nor worse than a Holiday Inn. The restaurants weren't fabulous, just expensive. I went to eat sushi and was so disappointed, I almost couldn't finish the meal. No green tea, no ume-shu, and no real sushi chef. To get to the restaurants, you had to navigate your way through a smoke-filled forest of slot machines that smelled horribly of spilt whiskey and was peopled with aging zombies who mechanically inserted credits or bills and pushed the buttons.
The materials that had been used were good. The lights and the sounds tried to make it festive. I just can't get over how few people I saw there who seemed to be having a good time. Most of them were mesmerized by the flashing lights of the machine in front of them. I did not see a single person win the entire time I was there, and heard almost no laugher or even conversation on the game floor.
I miss the tacky kitsch of the coast of my youth. I don't think I like these new casinos. I wrote a poem about it, so I guess the trip was good for that reason. I just wish there were fewer all you can eat buffets, and more actual entertainment.
Tuesday, May 31, 2005
Old
Old age is the most unexpected of all the things that happen to a man. ~Leon Trotsky (Lev Davidovich Bronstein), Diary in Exile, 1935
Tonight I went out with the remnants of our supper club. We've lost quite a few members to moving away for school or work and babies.
As I was paying for my food, I became acutely aware of how much older I am than most of the others in that group. The cashier offered them tickets about a college promotion, but I must look "too mature" for that now. As we talked, one of our group is headed for college, and conversation turned to tales of dorm days long past.
It struck me how on the brink of all those crazy memory-building experiences he is and how far past them I am now. I could feel every one of the gray hairs on the top of my head as though they had transmuted to stainless steel threads.
I am approaching 30 at light speed. I have never been too worried about my age. It's just a number, after all, and I've been blessed with a lot of wonderful things and people and it's all been crammed into these 29 short years. I can't complain.
It's just that lately, ever since I got home from Japan, I have felt things slowing down. I wonder if maybe they're supposed to.
I miss going to Wal-Mart in the middle of the night because my roommate and I needed a break from school. I miss sitting on the porch at the Wesley and talking to my friends, speaking with passion about everything and nothing. I miss getting together to do things.
I know life changes, and maybe, just maybe someday my life will change in this way, too, but right now, I hate these changes. Everyone I know, all the friends I used to have have been consumed by family and work and we never see each other. We never do anything. I guess everybody has broken off into self-contained units, and I don't have a unit of my own.
Maybe that's the problem. I just feel like the transmission on my life has been thrown into neutral and I don't know how to get it back in gear. I worry that I'm going to turn into the stereotypical "old maid" school teacher living alone except for cats. I'm almost there already. I haven't met anybody in a LONG time who interested me at all. Why is that? Why can't I do all my other friends did years ago and find somebody to spend my life with?
Age has snuck up on me. I don't mind the wrinkles (only a few...thank God and genetics for good bones), the aches in my hands and knees, or the gray streaks. However, I really, really do mind the being alone. That's the one thing that growing older hasn't taught me how to deal with gracefully.
Tonight I went out with the remnants of our supper club. We've lost quite a few members to moving away for school or work and babies.
As I was paying for my food, I became acutely aware of how much older I am than most of the others in that group. The cashier offered them tickets about a college promotion, but I must look "too mature" for that now. As we talked, one of our group is headed for college, and conversation turned to tales of dorm days long past.
It struck me how on the brink of all those crazy memory-building experiences he is and how far past them I am now. I could feel every one of the gray hairs on the top of my head as though they had transmuted to stainless steel threads.
I am approaching 30 at light speed. I have never been too worried about my age. It's just a number, after all, and I've been blessed with a lot of wonderful things and people and it's all been crammed into these 29 short years. I can't complain.
It's just that lately, ever since I got home from Japan, I have felt things slowing down. I wonder if maybe they're supposed to.
I miss going to Wal-Mart in the middle of the night because my roommate and I needed a break from school. I miss sitting on the porch at the Wesley and talking to my friends, speaking with passion about everything and nothing. I miss getting together to do things.
I know life changes, and maybe, just maybe someday my life will change in this way, too, but right now, I hate these changes. Everyone I know, all the friends I used to have have been consumed by family and work and we never see each other. We never do anything. I guess everybody has broken off into self-contained units, and I don't have a unit of my own.
Maybe that's the problem. I just feel like the transmission on my life has been thrown into neutral and I don't know how to get it back in gear. I worry that I'm going to turn into the stereotypical "old maid" school teacher living alone except for cats. I'm almost there already. I haven't met anybody in a LONG time who interested me at all. Why is that? Why can't I do all my other friends did years ago and find somebody to spend my life with?
Age has snuck up on me. I don't mind the wrinkles (only a few...thank God and genetics for good bones), the aches in my hands and knees, or the gray streaks. However, I really, really do mind the being alone. That's the one thing that growing older hasn't taught me how to deal with gracefully.
Monday, May 30, 2005
Returning to Normal
No quote tonight. I just don't want to go look one up. Summer laziness.
The year ended well. I finally got all my kids done and all my grades in. I totally rearranged my classroom. I love it. It looks, for no readily apparent reason, about four times as large.
I also had some great news. I am going to get to teach AP English next year! I was so shocked. I had wanted AP, and was planning to take the training for the course this summer, but I never expected to be able to teach it for years and years. I am proud to have been chosen, and a little nervous, too.
It's exciting to be able to teach a class at the "college" level, or as close as you can get with HS students, again. But it's also kind of nervewracking. Am I good enough to do this? I think I can. I'll do my best. Gambate, ne?
In other trivia from my world, I just broke my DELL SUCKS rule and ordered a Dell DJ from them. I needed it for the upcoming summer trip, and I think it will work better with my computer than an IPod would. I paid with my regular bank account, so no more of the every month hassle with Dell. I hope this thing is going to be as spiffy as I think it is....
On Sunday, I had a chance to use my Spanish more. A man from Guatemala came to our church, and since I"m the only one who has any Spanish, they called me at 9: 30 to come down and talk to him. He was looking for a Spanish-speaking church, and I had to tell him there's only one, and it's not in our tiny town. A larger city, the city where I teach, has a church with Spanish services. We had a good discussion. He was the neatest guy.
As I was talking to him, I kept thinking about how little effort most of this state has put into creating services for the growing Spanish-speaking population. It's almost a sullen refusal. It's like they're saying, "If we don't make it easy, they won't come," and indeed, I've often heard sentiments of this kind expressed. There's plenty of, "Why don't they learn English if they're going to come here?" around.
If these people had ever had the experience of being a minority, of not being able to ask for toilet tissue in the store, or not being able to go to a doctor by yourself, then I think they would get off their prejudicial high horses a little. I have long stated that everybody ought to have to go spend two or three months in a foreign country, and one in which they don't speak the language. I think so much of people's blase callousness to the problems immigrants are having in our area stems from the fact that they've 1) stopped seeing the basic humanity of their fellow man, and 2) never had to scratch and survive themselves.
One of the most embarrassing things I've ever had to do was explain my menstrual cycle to my boss so he could document it on a Japanese medical form. At that point, I was really sick and running a fever, almost deaf in one ear from an infection that had gone on too long, and on top of all of that was heaped the shame of illiteracy. He was embarrassed to have to ask, I was mortified to have to answer, but thank God and the Japanese sense of saving face, we were able to move past that.
I came home from Japan with a keen sense of what it's like to be helpless because of language. I was a trained, educated professional, but so often, I know the people I was encountering though me of subnormal intelligence. It's a natural reaction, maybe, to think that the person who doesn't speak the language you've been babbling in since birth is somehow odd. I was frustrated and even when I took classes to learn, my progress was slow, and technical situations like the doctor were still beyond the grasp of my basic-greeting-color-number-directions Japanese.
It's wrong for there not to be more help for people in this area. I do what I can. I offer my little ESL classes, but I still feel it's too little. I hear stories from my students sometimes that make me aware that they're facing the same problems I faced in Japan, and I wish I knew how to do more to help them. I am hoping to find some like-minded people and get some serious help made available for them. God willing, we can cut off some of the hardship before it begins. Life in a new place when you've left family behind is hard enough without little things being stumbling blocks.
The year ended well. I finally got all my kids done and all my grades in. I totally rearranged my classroom. I love it. It looks, for no readily apparent reason, about four times as large.
I also had some great news. I am going to get to teach AP English next year! I was so shocked. I had wanted AP, and was planning to take the training for the course this summer, but I never expected to be able to teach it for years and years. I am proud to have been chosen, and a little nervous, too.
It's exciting to be able to teach a class at the "college" level, or as close as you can get with HS students, again. But it's also kind of nervewracking. Am I good enough to do this? I think I can. I'll do my best. Gambate, ne?
In other trivia from my world, I just broke my DELL SUCKS rule and ordered a Dell DJ from them. I needed it for the upcoming summer trip, and I think it will work better with my computer than an IPod would. I paid with my regular bank account, so no more of the every month hassle with Dell. I hope this thing is going to be as spiffy as I think it is....
On Sunday, I had a chance to use my Spanish more. A man from Guatemala came to our church, and since I"m the only one who has any Spanish, they called me at 9: 30 to come down and talk to him. He was looking for a Spanish-speaking church, and I had to tell him there's only one, and it's not in our tiny town. A larger city, the city where I teach, has a church with Spanish services. We had a good discussion. He was the neatest guy.
As I was talking to him, I kept thinking about how little effort most of this state has put into creating services for the growing Spanish-speaking population. It's almost a sullen refusal. It's like they're saying, "If we don't make it easy, they won't come," and indeed, I've often heard sentiments of this kind expressed. There's plenty of, "Why don't they learn English if they're going to come here?" around.
If these people had ever had the experience of being a minority, of not being able to ask for toilet tissue in the store, or not being able to go to a doctor by yourself, then I think they would get off their prejudicial high horses a little. I have long stated that everybody ought to have to go spend two or three months in a foreign country, and one in which they don't speak the language. I think so much of people's blase callousness to the problems immigrants are having in our area stems from the fact that they've 1) stopped seeing the basic humanity of their fellow man, and 2) never had to scratch and survive themselves.
One of the most embarrassing things I've ever had to do was explain my menstrual cycle to my boss so he could document it on a Japanese medical form. At that point, I was really sick and running a fever, almost deaf in one ear from an infection that had gone on too long, and on top of all of that was heaped the shame of illiteracy. He was embarrassed to have to ask, I was mortified to have to answer, but thank God and the Japanese sense of saving face, we were able to move past that.
I came home from Japan with a keen sense of what it's like to be helpless because of language. I was a trained, educated professional, but so often, I know the people I was encountering though me of subnormal intelligence. It's a natural reaction, maybe, to think that the person who doesn't speak the language you've been babbling in since birth is somehow odd. I was frustrated and even when I took classes to learn, my progress was slow, and technical situations like the doctor were still beyond the grasp of my basic-greeting-color-number-directions Japanese.
It's wrong for there not to be more help for people in this area. I do what I can. I offer my little ESL classes, but I still feel it's too little. I hear stories from my students sometimes that make me aware that they're facing the same problems I faced in Japan, and I wish I knew how to do more to help them. I am hoping to find some like-minded people and get some serious help made available for them. God willing, we can cut off some of the hardship before it begins. Life in a new place when you've left family behind is hard enough without little things being stumbling blocks.
Monday, May 16, 2005
Oddness and Cheese
Not the kind of cheese that melts, either. No quote tonight.
Item One: I discovered today that my blog has been ruled "Tasteless/Obscene" by the internet filter that's on our school computers. I had to laugh. Me? Obscene? It's enough to make me feel like a stand-up comedian on Comedy Central. I think it was either the "run! bastard alert" or the "jackass" comment from earlier blogs. I just can't get over the fact that I now really do apparently have a PG-13 rating. How bizarre.
Item Two: In the flurry of crap that's come out for the new Star Wars movie, I found something I had to have. No, not the big Yoda that talks (creepy...creepy). Not the $400 lightsaber you can really kill your friends with (why? A walking stick does the job pretty well, right cuz?). I am the proud owner of Darth Tater, better known by his pre-Sith name, Mr. Potato Head. I love it. It's the perfect blending of sci-fi and tacky. He is now guarding my living room. It's great.
Item Three: The Burger King guy is back. Have you seen the latest commercial? He and Darth Vader are starting at each other. Both are breathing out of their big plastic masks. It was kind of cool. Now I'll probably have nightmares about that thing....
Item One: I discovered today that my blog has been ruled "Tasteless/Obscene" by the internet filter that's on our school computers. I had to laugh. Me? Obscene? It's enough to make me feel like a stand-up comedian on Comedy Central. I think it was either the "run! bastard alert" or the "jackass" comment from earlier blogs. I just can't get over the fact that I now really do apparently have a PG-13 rating. How bizarre.
Item Two: In the flurry of crap that's come out for the new Star Wars movie, I found something I had to have. No, not the big Yoda that talks (creepy...creepy). Not the $400 lightsaber you can really kill your friends with (why? A walking stick does the job pretty well, right cuz?). I am the proud owner of Darth Tater, better known by his pre-Sith name, Mr. Potato Head. I love it. It's the perfect blending of sci-fi and tacky. He is now guarding my living room. It's great.
Item Three: The Burger King guy is back. Have you seen the latest commercial? He and Darth Vader are starting at each other. Both are breathing out of their big plastic masks. It was kind of cool. Now I'll probably have nightmares about that thing....
Tuesday, May 10, 2005
The Hands
"A sense of humor is a major defense against minor troubles. " -- Mignon McLaughlin
I am very bad with guys. Part of this is because of a basic disbelief in their sincerity. That's a long story that I won't go into here, but it's true. Additionally, I don't know how to flirt. Somehow, that part of southern girl upbringing missed me. I don't know how to handle it when a guy shows interest in me. I was always the least interesting of my friendship group. Guys always went for my friends, and I was always the tall, quiet one in the background. I've been lucky to have some really tremendous guy friends, but my romantic batting average is pitiful.
After an odd, but trauma-free day of school, I was looking forward to seeing my friends in our biweekly dinner club. We were going to my favorite Mexican restaurant and I always feel better when I know a cheese-laden plate is going to be laid before me at some point in the evening. Nothing is as nice as cheese. :)
Anyway, there is a guy at my favorite restaurant who always flirts with me. I don't know what to think about that. I get so embarrassed that I think I'm going to burst into flame. He's actually told me on more than one occasion how much he likes tall, pretty girls. (I suppose that's me...) He's asked at least two of my guyfriends I've been in the restaurant with if I'm their wife/girlfriend, etc., etc.
The thing is, he's not bad looking. I don't get the "RUN!! BASTARD ALERT!!" vibe off him. I just can't believe that his complements are personal toward me. I wonder how many other girls he says stuff like that to daily, and I flash back to the jerk from grad school who loved all women and told them so. If I thought his complements were related to some aspect of me other than the fact that have anatomical aspects opposite to his own, then I might feel differently about the guy.
Tonight, he came up behind me and placed his hands on my shoulders while he asked my cousin "who the pretty lady was." I, like most other modern American women, have a thing about that. I couldn't believe it! He just walked up and put his hands on me without permission. As I once told the guy from grad school, unless you'd like to lose those hands, don't put them on me without me saying it's okay.
I did the Southern Lady thing and just waited until he took his hands away. He wasn't trying to cop a feel. It was just strange. I don't know what to think about it. I don't know why I didn't break him into a half dozen small writhing pieces. I responded in the only way that seemed appropriate: I threw back my head and I laughed.
I am very bad with guys. Part of this is because of a basic disbelief in their sincerity. That's a long story that I won't go into here, but it's true. Additionally, I don't know how to flirt. Somehow, that part of southern girl upbringing missed me. I don't know how to handle it when a guy shows interest in me. I was always the least interesting of my friendship group. Guys always went for my friends, and I was always the tall, quiet one in the background. I've been lucky to have some really tremendous guy friends, but my romantic batting average is pitiful.
After an odd, but trauma-free day of school, I was looking forward to seeing my friends in our biweekly dinner club. We were going to my favorite Mexican restaurant and I always feel better when I know a cheese-laden plate is going to be laid before me at some point in the evening. Nothing is as nice as cheese. :)
Anyway, there is a guy at my favorite restaurant who always flirts with me. I don't know what to think about that. I get so embarrassed that I think I'm going to burst into flame. He's actually told me on more than one occasion how much he likes tall, pretty girls. (I suppose that's me...) He's asked at least two of my guyfriends I've been in the restaurant with if I'm their wife/girlfriend, etc., etc.
The thing is, he's not bad looking. I don't get the "RUN!! BASTARD ALERT!!" vibe off him. I just can't believe that his complements are personal toward me. I wonder how many other girls he says stuff like that to daily, and I flash back to the jerk from grad school who loved all women and told them so. If I thought his complements were related to some aspect of me other than the fact that have anatomical aspects opposite to his own, then I might feel differently about the guy.
Tonight, he came up behind me and placed his hands on my shoulders while he asked my cousin "who the pretty lady was." I, like most other modern American women, have a thing about that. I couldn't believe it! He just walked up and put his hands on me without permission. As I once told the guy from grad school, unless you'd like to lose those hands, don't put them on me without me saying it's okay.
I did the Southern Lady thing and just waited until he took his hands away. He wasn't trying to cop a feel. It was just strange. I don't know what to think about it. I don't know why I didn't break him into a half dozen small writhing pieces. I responded in the only way that seemed appropriate: I threw back my head and I laughed.
Monday, May 09, 2005
Walking on the Rooftop of Hell
There's a quote somewhere, I can't remember if it's Rumi or Basho, that says, "We're all walking on the roof of hell gazing at flowers." Today, I put a foot through the roof and shattered the illusion.
It didn't happen to me. It happened to one of my students. She came in early to ask about makeup work. She'd been out for four days, something that was out of character for her. She's one of my most diligent students. Her family background is, like so many of my kids lives, littered with the unimaginable. Although she's not yet seventeen, she's seen a close family member slain in cold blood by a former lover, members of her immediate family put in prison, and other members of her family following paths that will probably lead them to one of those two same destinations.
She's very strong. She's very steady. She has dreams and goals, and she works hard to get to them. She didn't do well in English last year, but has been very pleasantly surprised that she can do well in my class if she tries. I have been so proud of her this year, and so happy to be able to mark solid, strong B's for her almost every grading period.
This morning, after a brief discussion about makeup work, she told me that she'd probably be out again tomorrow. I never want to pry. Life is a personal thing, and it's full of crap that most people don't really want to have to explain over and over again. I could tell that something was wrong, though, and I gently asked her if there was anything I could do.
She started crying. My steady, strong student had silent tears running down her face, and my heart almost broke. I knew it had to be something terrible. I just went to her and hugged her. I didn't know what else to do. I got her some Kleenex, sat her down in a desk, and asked her what was wrong.
She had a baby three days ago, and her baby is dead. My sixteen-year old student miscarried, and the baby, premature by three months, wasn't strong enough to survive. She told me her story with tears streaming.
What do you even say? There are no words for grief that deep. There is no response. Anything that is said is too pale, too weak, too trite, too much a cliche to ever begin to be a response. What I wanted to say was that although I don't know what it's like to hold life inside me and lose it, my heart hurt for her. I wanted to rock back and forth and scream with her at the loss. These are not the done things, though.
So many people would just shut it out as a sad moment and go on. Too often, I've heard people insinuate that such things are either a punishment or somehow deserved because the girls are poor, or black, or too young to be having a baby, anyway. I'm sure some self-righteous jackass might even say it was better all the way around that the baby didn't make it. How anybody could look at another human being in pain and be that...un-human...is beyond my ability to comprehend. She is my student. She is a person. She is a girl child. Her heart was just cut out of her. How could anyone turn away from that?
This is the second time this year I've had a student face the unbearable. Another of my girls had a baby and lost her own mother in the space of 5 months. She, like my other one, is not yet seventeen years old. From mother to orphan in less than half a year. Again, there are no words.
I remember the day she came to tell me her mother was gone. She came to ask me for any work she'd need for the next few days. I figured something had happened and she'd gotten suspended, so I asked what happened. Her eyes couldn't focus. I will never forget. The day was so sunny. She looked out past me at the huge oaks that can be seen from the end of the hall windows and she said, "My mother just died. I have to go home." I almost fell down. Again, I grabbed her and hugged her. What else is there to do?
I wish I had the power to give these girls back their girlhood. I wish I had the power to give them a chance to be a teenager before they have to be adults. So many of my kids come from places where home is not a refuge, but another level of hell. So many of them have darkness chasing them.
I feel so useless to them. What good is pronoun/antecedent agreement when you've been up with a colicky baby all night? Is there anything other than prayer and a sympathetic ear I can give them? It rips my heart out to see them so young and in so much pain.
Tomorrow, my steady, solid student will go to bury the tiny body that is all that remains of the baby she'd looked forward to with such happiness. I'll be working on To Kill a Mockingbird with my classes. We'll all go on walking on the roof of hell and trying to focus on the flowers while avoiding the gaps and thin spots that will send us right back down again.
It didn't happen to me. It happened to one of my students. She came in early to ask about makeup work. She'd been out for four days, something that was out of character for her. She's one of my most diligent students. Her family background is, like so many of my kids lives, littered with the unimaginable. Although she's not yet seventeen, she's seen a close family member slain in cold blood by a former lover, members of her immediate family put in prison, and other members of her family following paths that will probably lead them to one of those two same destinations.
She's very strong. She's very steady. She has dreams and goals, and she works hard to get to them. She didn't do well in English last year, but has been very pleasantly surprised that she can do well in my class if she tries. I have been so proud of her this year, and so happy to be able to mark solid, strong B's for her almost every grading period.
This morning, after a brief discussion about makeup work, she told me that she'd probably be out again tomorrow. I never want to pry. Life is a personal thing, and it's full of crap that most people don't really want to have to explain over and over again. I could tell that something was wrong, though, and I gently asked her if there was anything I could do.
She started crying. My steady, strong student had silent tears running down her face, and my heart almost broke. I knew it had to be something terrible. I just went to her and hugged her. I didn't know what else to do. I got her some Kleenex, sat her down in a desk, and asked her what was wrong.
She had a baby three days ago, and her baby is dead. My sixteen-year old student miscarried, and the baby, premature by three months, wasn't strong enough to survive. She told me her story with tears streaming.
What do you even say? There are no words for grief that deep. There is no response. Anything that is said is too pale, too weak, too trite, too much a cliche to ever begin to be a response. What I wanted to say was that although I don't know what it's like to hold life inside me and lose it, my heart hurt for her. I wanted to rock back and forth and scream with her at the loss. These are not the done things, though.
So many people would just shut it out as a sad moment and go on. Too often, I've heard people insinuate that such things are either a punishment or somehow deserved because the girls are poor, or black, or too young to be having a baby, anyway. I'm sure some self-righteous jackass might even say it was better all the way around that the baby didn't make it. How anybody could look at another human being in pain and be that...un-human...is beyond my ability to comprehend. She is my student. She is a person. She is a girl child. Her heart was just cut out of her. How could anyone turn away from that?
This is the second time this year I've had a student face the unbearable. Another of my girls had a baby and lost her own mother in the space of 5 months. She, like my other one, is not yet seventeen years old. From mother to orphan in less than half a year. Again, there are no words.
I remember the day she came to tell me her mother was gone. She came to ask me for any work she'd need for the next few days. I figured something had happened and she'd gotten suspended, so I asked what happened. Her eyes couldn't focus. I will never forget. The day was so sunny. She looked out past me at the huge oaks that can be seen from the end of the hall windows and she said, "My mother just died. I have to go home." I almost fell down. Again, I grabbed her and hugged her. What else is there to do?
I wish I had the power to give these girls back their girlhood. I wish I had the power to give them a chance to be a teenager before they have to be adults. So many of my kids come from places where home is not a refuge, but another level of hell. So many of them have darkness chasing them.
I feel so useless to them. What good is pronoun/antecedent agreement when you've been up with a colicky baby all night? Is there anything other than prayer and a sympathetic ear I can give them? It rips my heart out to see them so young and in so much pain.
Tomorrow, my steady, solid student will go to bury the tiny body that is all that remains of the baby she'd looked forward to with such happiness. I'll be working on To Kill a Mockingbird with my classes. We'll all go on walking on the roof of hell and trying to focus on the flowers while avoiding the gaps and thin spots that will send us right back down again.
Thursday, May 05, 2005
The Future
"And in today already walks tomorrow." ~Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Today two future possibilities presented themselves that made the thought of more years of teaching tolerable. The first was a suggestion about teaching AP English. Our wonderful AP teacher is starting to think about retirement, and it has been suggested that I might possibly be considered for that position when he goes. The more I think of it, the happier I am. AP is more like college than any other course I'd teach. Theoretically, although the actuality is frequently different, I'd also be teaching the most motivated of students in an AP course. I am going to start looking into what's necessary to get ready for that.
The other possibility comes through the retirement of another colleague. We will need a creative writing teacher next year, and possibly an oral communication teacher as well. Both those options sound wonderful. I just need something different to break up my day. If I had a class that wasn't the equivalent of a 4WD expedition into a bottomless mud pit, then I think I could endure some of the other better. Right now, I'm teaching the same thing 6 periods a day. Everybody needs a break. Maybe one of these options will be mine.
I'm especially excited by the possibility of teaching creative writing. I have always wanted to do that. I don't know if I'd be any good at it or not, but I think it will be so much fun to try. I think working like that would also inspire me to do more of my own writing.
We'll have to wait and see, ultimately. Things are changing very fast right now, so who knows?
Today two future possibilities presented themselves that made the thought of more years of teaching tolerable. The first was a suggestion about teaching AP English. Our wonderful AP teacher is starting to think about retirement, and it has been suggested that I might possibly be considered for that position when he goes. The more I think of it, the happier I am. AP is more like college than any other course I'd teach. Theoretically, although the actuality is frequently different, I'd also be teaching the most motivated of students in an AP course. I am going to start looking into what's necessary to get ready for that.
The other possibility comes through the retirement of another colleague. We will need a creative writing teacher next year, and possibly an oral communication teacher as well. Both those options sound wonderful. I just need something different to break up my day. If I had a class that wasn't the equivalent of a 4WD expedition into a bottomless mud pit, then I think I could endure some of the other better. Right now, I'm teaching the same thing 6 periods a day. Everybody needs a break. Maybe one of these options will be mine.
I'm especially excited by the possibility of teaching creative writing. I have always wanted to do that. I don't know if I'd be any good at it or not, but I think it will be so much fun to try. I think working like that would also inspire me to do more of my own writing.
We'll have to wait and see, ultimately. Things are changing very fast right now, so who knows?
Tuesday, May 03, 2005
Why We Do This
"In teaching you cannot see the fruit of a day's work. It is invisible and remains so, maybe for twenty years." ~Jacques Barzun
The end of school is the toughest time for teachers. It's harder than the first day when every teacher walks in to the great unknown with hopes, expectations, and a lesson plan to carry them. It's harder than the panic right before Christmas when high spirits and grading deadlines play havoc with holiday happiness. It's harder than testing season when adrenaline carries you through the big day twitching like a caffeine junkie in a bad overdose and you feel like a rubber band stretched right to the point of breakage.
It's hard because, in so many cases, there's no hope left. No hope that student X is going to wake up and try to make something out of this opportunity to learn. No hope for student Y that he will pass. No hope that seventh period is going to turn out to be anything other than silly and hyper.
After school, it's not uncommon for us to gather in the halls after the kids go to the buses. We blow off steam about the day. It's sort of a safety valve that helps us pick up the pieces and go on. Today, though, our conversation was more bitter than it's been at any other time so far.
All of us, 30-plus year veterans, teachers in mid-career, and rookie me, were asking why we bother to do this anymore. It's so discouraging to come into a class and face blatant disrespect and disobedience every day. Despite the fact that all of us would bend over backwards and do on a regular basis to help out a student in need, we're a caste of something less than human beings. The kids are selfish and rude. They put forth no effort and expect to "reap what they didn't sow," to borrow Biblical metaphors.
As I'm typing this, I feel 500 years old. I feel like a caricature of a teacher, the type of person I never thought I'd be. My friends and I always swore we'd be never be like this, and yet now, all my conversations with my teacher friends, no matter what school they're at, no matter what stage of their career they're in, sound the same. Same complaints, same frustrations, same worries.
So this is my question: Why the hell are we still doing this? (Oops...there goes the PG rating again...shame, shame) Additionally, all of us are teachers by nature as well as by vocation. What do we do when the thing that makes our hearts move and sing becomes a source of agony? Is this a "thorn in the flesh" we have to endure? Is this an age, a generation that will pass? Where do we go if we don't stay where we are? And the one that keeps me up at night...does all this heartsblood I pour into my work matter at all? Do I touch a life or make a difference at all?
Supposedly, teaching is one of those professions that requires a basically optimistic outlook. As the quote says, you do the best you can, sketch the sign of the cross over them, and send them out into the world. I feel like I'm folding origami boats and setting them adrift on the current. I don't know how seaworthy these little crafts are. My fingers feel less and less nimble as I make the folds. I don't know if I'm doing it right anymore.
Maybe this is just a part of the natural cycle of the school year. I don't know. All I know is the idea of 24 more years of this seems unimaginable. Who will I be after 24 more years of this? Will I be a twisted-up old maid school teacher who comes home to only cats for company? Will be be able to feel compassion for my students anymore, or will they all just be "idiots in the hall"?
Where did the joy go? I used to love going to school. Even earlier this year, I loved it. Right now, though, I just want to take a personal day or five and disappear.
Tomorrow, I'll rise and put on my professional face. I'll focus on the positive, look for the silver lining, and call the glass half full. Tonight, though, I'm an old maid school teacher who wants to escape.
The end of school is the toughest time for teachers. It's harder than the first day when every teacher walks in to the great unknown with hopes, expectations, and a lesson plan to carry them. It's harder than the panic right before Christmas when high spirits and grading deadlines play havoc with holiday happiness. It's harder than testing season when adrenaline carries you through the big day twitching like a caffeine junkie in a bad overdose and you feel like a rubber band stretched right to the point of breakage.
It's hard because, in so many cases, there's no hope left. No hope that student X is going to wake up and try to make something out of this opportunity to learn. No hope for student Y that he will pass. No hope that seventh period is going to turn out to be anything other than silly and hyper.
After school, it's not uncommon for us to gather in the halls after the kids go to the buses. We blow off steam about the day. It's sort of a safety valve that helps us pick up the pieces and go on. Today, though, our conversation was more bitter than it's been at any other time so far.
All of us, 30-plus year veterans, teachers in mid-career, and rookie me, were asking why we bother to do this anymore. It's so discouraging to come into a class and face blatant disrespect and disobedience every day. Despite the fact that all of us would bend over backwards and do on a regular basis to help out a student in need, we're a caste of something less than human beings. The kids are selfish and rude. They put forth no effort and expect to "reap what they didn't sow," to borrow Biblical metaphors.
As I'm typing this, I feel 500 years old. I feel like a caricature of a teacher, the type of person I never thought I'd be. My friends and I always swore we'd be never be like this, and yet now, all my conversations with my teacher friends, no matter what school they're at, no matter what stage of their career they're in, sound the same. Same complaints, same frustrations, same worries.
So this is my question: Why the hell are we still doing this? (Oops...there goes the PG rating again...shame, shame) Additionally, all of us are teachers by nature as well as by vocation. What do we do when the thing that makes our hearts move and sing becomes a source of agony? Is this a "thorn in the flesh" we have to endure? Is this an age, a generation that will pass? Where do we go if we don't stay where we are? And the one that keeps me up at night...does all this heartsblood I pour into my work matter at all? Do I touch a life or make a difference at all?
Supposedly, teaching is one of those professions that requires a basically optimistic outlook. As the quote says, you do the best you can, sketch the sign of the cross over them, and send them out into the world. I feel like I'm folding origami boats and setting them adrift on the current. I don't know how seaworthy these little crafts are. My fingers feel less and less nimble as I make the folds. I don't know if I'm doing it right anymore.
Maybe this is just a part of the natural cycle of the school year. I don't know. All I know is the idea of 24 more years of this seems unimaginable. Who will I be after 24 more years of this? Will I be a twisted-up old maid school teacher who comes home to only cats for company? Will be be able to feel compassion for my students anymore, or will they all just be "idiots in the hall"?
Where did the joy go? I used to love going to school. Even earlier this year, I loved it. Right now, though, I just want to take a personal day or five and disappear.
Tomorrow, I'll rise and put on my professional face. I'll focus on the positive, look for the silver lining, and call the glass half full. Tonight, though, I'm an old maid school teacher who wants to escape.
Monday, May 02, 2005
Back again
"A good laugh and a long sleep are the best cures in the doctor's book. " ~Irish Proverb
After the testing was over, the week just flew by. I was so tired that I went to sleep early almost every night last week, and this week, I'm feeling slightly less like a dead teacher and slightly more like a real person.
Payday also helps. There is no day so precious in the paid once a month world as payday. I bought several books by Carolyn Haines. They're light mystery set in the Mississippi Delta. I'm on a Mississippi kick again right now, and I guess I'll probably write more about that in a forthcoming post.
There's nothing earthshattering to report, but as with so many things, I felt myself falling out of the habit of writing. This is sort of a blog space filler. Tomorrow, perhaps, real sentiment will be seen.
After the testing was over, the week just flew by. I was so tired that I went to sleep early almost every night last week, and this week, I'm feeling slightly less like a dead teacher and slightly more like a real person.
Payday also helps. There is no day so precious in the paid once a month world as payday. I bought several books by Carolyn Haines. They're light mystery set in the Mississippi Delta. I'm on a Mississippi kick again right now, and I guess I'll probably write more about that in a forthcoming post.
There's nothing earthshattering to report, but as with so many things, I felt myself falling out of the habit of writing. This is sort of a blog space filler. Tomorrow, perhaps, real sentiment will be seen.
Tuesday, April 26, 2005
Old Houses and Wanderlust
"I travel not to go anywhere, but to go. I travel for travel's sake. The great affair is to move." ~Robert Louis Stevenson
I'm starting to get itchy feet again. I have been looking at other houses and other cities and wondering if the grass might be green there, too. I don't know why I do that. Maybe I inherited it from my grandmother. She moved about every 5 years. There was something within her that drove her from house to house, state to state.
There's this great old house very close to the school I work at. It's a three story Italianate. It has the tower and everything. Right now, it's almost hidden behind overgrown grounds, but it has a magnolia and azaleas, and with some love could be beyond beautiful. I imagine that the inside has hardwood floors, probably worn and scuffed, and tall ceilings. I imagine that the view from the tower window looks out across the rooftops of the other houses, and that I could probably just see my school from it. I look at the old hammock on the porch and imagine a summer afternoon with a book. I think I'm in love with that house.
Of course, this is house adultery. I also love the house I'm in right now. This is my family legacy and my family home. It sits on seven acres and has more space than I and another couple of families could use. It has a privacy that a town lot, no matter how large, could never give. Every time I walk through, I can feel the love of my grandparents surrounding me. This set of grandparents, my mother's parents, lived in the same house for more than 20 years. From them, I get the desire to nest.
One day, that great old Italianate will go on the market, and I'll have to make a choice. I'll have to either turn in and take a look or grip the wheel and come home. I don't know if the gypsy or the nester will win out in the end.
I'm starting to get itchy feet again. I have been looking at other houses and other cities and wondering if the grass might be green there, too. I don't know why I do that. Maybe I inherited it from my grandmother. She moved about every 5 years. There was something within her that drove her from house to house, state to state.
There's this great old house very close to the school I work at. It's a three story Italianate. It has the tower and everything. Right now, it's almost hidden behind overgrown grounds, but it has a magnolia and azaleas, and with some love could be beyond beautiful. I imagine that the inside has hardwood floors, probably worn and scuffed, and tall ceilings. I imagine that the view from the tower window looks out across the rooftops of the other houses, and that I could probably just see my school from it. I look at the old hammock on the porch and imagine a summer afternoon with a book. I think I'm in love with that house.
Of course, this is house adultery. I also love the house I'm in right now. This is my family legacy and my family home. It sits on seven acres and has more space than I and another couple of families could use. It has a privacy that a town lot, no matter how large, could never give. Every time I walk through, I can feel the love of my grandparents surrounding me. This set of grandparents, my mother's parents, lived in the same house for more than 20 years. From them, I get the desire to nest.
One day, that great old Italianate will go on the market, and I'll have to make a choice. I'll have to either turn in and take a look or grip the wheel and come home. I don't know if the gypsy or the nester will win out in the end.
Monday, April 25, 2005
Natchez
"Welcome to Natchez, Mississippi - the oldest civilized settlement on the
Mississippi River!" -- Official Natchez Webpage
I spent Friday in Natchez. Natchez is amazing. I hadn't been there since our 5th grade Mississippi Trip, and all I remembered about it was Longwood.
This time, I got to walk around and appreciate the beauty of the town. I love river towns anyway. They all seem so calmly saturated with history. The downtown was sort of genteelly shabby. It seemed that it was impossible to turn without finding an interesting shop or a wonderful old house.
I also went back to Longwood. It's amazing. I kept thinking, "What would it have been had it been finished?" I could almost picture it in my mind as the docent described the marble that was to go on the floors. Looking up into that unfinished expanse stretching five floors above me, I was in awe of Haller Nutt's dream. He included so many revolutionary design elements. He must have been an amazingly smart man.
I had sort of a weird thing happen there, too. The house is one of those places that feels...I don't know...watchful. It, in the tradition of all old houses in the South, is supposed to be haunted. Supposedly, when the haunting is active, the lights flicker, the chandelier moves, and things move by themselves.
The whole time I was in the first room of the tour, the lights flickered, and the chandelier started to shimmy. Not like a puppet on a string, but enough to notice. The tour guide kept looking at it with a puzzled expression on her face, but she didn't say anything about it until we got into the next room. A candle had fallen from a three candle candelabra, and she laughingly said, "Oh, Dr. Nutt and Julia are playing with things again." She picked it up and shoved it, and I mean twisted it with FORCE, into the holder. She wiggled it with her fingers. It wasn't going anywhere.
It stayed in the holder until we moved into the next room. Then, suddenly, it leapt out of the holder, off the table, and into the middle of the floor. I don't see how it could have gotten off the table by itself. It was strange. Nothing that could be proven, but I don't think I'd want to be there after dark. None of us commented on it, and we moved on to the upstairs part of the tour soon thereafter. I don't know whether I had a brush with Dr. Haller Nutt, but I really enjoyed his house.
I loved Natchez, odd stuff and all. I found a really amazing potter, Connor Burns, whose stuff I will have to have more of. I am just learning about U.S. pottery and I have so much to find out. I also found a potter who works in the Native American style and bought a very nice cat shaped rattle head figure.
In the confines of that one small city, there was pottery, Thai food (thank GOD), good BBQ, shopping, a blues festival, old houses, and everything I love to be around. I think I want to move to Natchez. Maybe then Haller Nutt could throw things at me on a regular basis. :)
Mississippi River!" -- Official Natchez Webpage
I spent Friday in Natchez. Natchez is amazing. I hadn't been there since our 5th grade Mississippi Trip, and all I remembered about it was Longwood.
This time, I got to walk around and appreciate the beauty of the town. I love river towns anyway. They all seem so calmly saturated with history. The downtown was sort of genteelly shabby. It seemed that it was impossible to turn without finding an interesting shop or a wonderful old house.
I also went back to Longwood. It's amazing. I kept thinking, "What would it have been had it been finished?" I could almost picture it in my mind as the docent described the marble that was to go on the floors. Looking up into that unfinished expanse stretching five floors above me, I was in awe of Haller Nutt's dream. He included so many revolutionary design elements. He must have been an amazingly smart man.
I had sort of a weird thing happen there, too. The house is one of those places that feels...I don't know...watchful. It, in the tradition of all old houses in the South, is supposed to be haunted. Supposedly, when the haunting is active, the lights flicker, the chandelier moves, and things move by themselves.
The whole time I was in the first room of the tour, the lights flickered, and the chandelier started to shimmy. Not like a puppet on a string, but enough to notice. The tour guide kept looking at it with a puzzled expression on her face, but she didn't say anything about it until we got into the next room. A candle had fallen from a three candle candelabra, and she laughingly said, "Oh, Dr. Nutt and Julia are playing with things again." She picked it up and shoved it, and I mean twisted it with FORCE, into the holder. She wiggled it with her fingers. It wasn't going anywhere.
It stayed in the holder until we moved into the next room. Then, suddenly, it leapt out of the holder, off the table, and into the middle of the floor. I don't see how it could have gotten off the table by itself. It was strange. Nothing that could be proven, but I don't think I'd want to be there after dark. None of us commented on it, and we moved on to the upstairs part of the tour soon thereafter. I don't know whether I had a brush with Dr. Haller Nutt, but I really enjoyed his house.
I loved Natchez, odd stuff and all. I found a really amazing potter, Connor Burns, whose stuff I will have to have more of. I am just learning about U.S. pottery and I have so much to find out. I also found a potter who works in the Native American style and bought a very nice cat shaped rattle head figure.
In the confines of that one small city, there was pottery, Thai food (thank GOD), good BBQ, shopping, a blues festival, old houses, and everything I love to be around. I think I want to move to Natchez. Maybe then Haller Nutt could throw things at me on a regular basis. :)
A Very Bad Day
"Never argue with a fool. People might not be able to tell the difference." -- Author unknown
Today, this quote saved me from turning into a frothing-at-the-mouth screaming idiot myself. A parent came for a conference that turned into a personal attack.
She sat there and accused me to my face of lying about her daughter and changing the attendance record. Her daughter is failing every single class. Her daughter's attitude is legendary. Yet, I am the villain. I am "picking on her" and apparently, have designed every aspect of my classroom management strategy, including other referrals for other students, with no other purpose than to frame her child.
I am offended to the core of my being. I could feel my blood pressure rise and I wanted to say and do so many things. This quote sprang to mind, and I suddenly just sat there and let her rage. It was clear to everybody what she was. I didn't have to defend myself. Everything is documented. The administration can tell when and if anything was changed in the system. I don't even know how to change stuff in the attendance program once it's entered.
She got so out of control that the administrator ended the conference. The crazy woman grabbed her papers and her child, tore down the hall screaming that her child needed a new class and a new teacher, and peeled rubber out of the parking lot. Everyone heard it. Everyone saw it. I was very proud that I managed not to leap across the table and rip her throat out with my teeth.
I know this isn't over. I know she or her mother is going to create a huge scene at least once more before the end of the year. As long as it doesn't harm my car or me personally, I'll consider it a good ending. I just want her gone. I'm tired of fighting her crap attitude and watching it infect my other students.
Mom brought me a carton of ice cream and I think I'm going to go dive into it. Today was a bad, bad day. Tomorrow, hopefully, will be better. I'll try to update tomorrow.
Today, this quote saved me from turning into a frothing-at-the-mouth screaming idiot myself. A parent came for a conference that turned into a personal attack.
She sat there and accused me to my face of lying about her daughter and changing the attendance record. Her daughter is failing every single class. Her daughter's attitude is legendary. Yet, I am the villain. I am "picking on her" and apparently, have designed every aspect of my classroom management strategy, including other referrals for other students, with no other purpose than to frame her child.
I am offended to the core of my being. I could feel my blood pressure rise and I wanted to say and do so many things. This quote sprang to mind, and I suddenly just sat there and let her rage. It was clear to everybody what she was. I didn't have to defend myself. Everything is documented. The administration can tell when and if anything was changed in the system. I don't even know how to change stuff in the attendance program once it's entered.
She got so out of control that the administrator ended the conference. The crazy woman grabbed her papers and her child, tore down the hall screaming that her child needed a new class and a new teacher, and peeled rubber out of the parking lot. Everyone heard it. Everyone saw it. I was very proud that I managed not to leap across the table and rip her throat out with my teeth.
I know this isn't over. I know she or her mother is going to create a huge scene at least once more before the end of the year. As long as it doesn't harm my car or me personally, I'll consider it a good ending. I just want her gone. I'm tired of fighting her crap attitude and watching it infect my other students.
Mom brought me a carton of ice cream and I think I'm going to go dive into it. Today was a bad, bad day. Tomorrow, hopefully, will be better. I'll try to update tomorrow.
Thursday, April 21, 2005
Tired
"I was too old for a paper route, too young for Social Security and too tired for an affair." -- Erma Bombeck
I am so tired. I would like to sleep for about a week. The combined stress of state testing, regular end-of-the-year insanity, and preparations for this summer trip are about to finish me off. I'm not sleeping much or well. As you can tell by the time of the post, I should be in bed, but I've just finished working on something I've got to have for a weekend meeting, and even though I'm exhausted, I don't think I could sleep.
Whenever I feel like this, I always wonder if I'm supposed to feel like this. Am I so tired because I'm doing the right thing well, or because I'm doing the wrong thing altogether? If I were in full-time ESL, would I be so tired? Is this a physical thing or an emotional one?
I love my kids. Most of them are a real joy. Watching them grow this year like seedlings breaking the surface of the garden soil has been an educational experience for me as well as them. Sometimes, though, it's just overwhelming. Right now, it's overwhelming.
The paperwork is endless. Today, one of my 7th period kids lost her mind and was sent out. All of them are acting nuts, and we still have 4 weeks of school left.
On top of all this, our lovely school board issued its new school calendar for next year. They've added more days to school and we now start back on Aug. 1. Why can't they see that more classroom days aren't the answer?
Anyway, I need to try to lay down and sleep. I have to take a trip tomorrow, and I guess driving and sleeping don't mix well. Maybe at some point I'm going to have 5 minutes for myself.
I am so tired. I would like to sleep for about a week. The combined stress of state testing, regular end-of-the-year insanity, and preparations for this summer trip are about to finish me off. I'm not sleeping much or well. As you can tell by the time of the post, I should be in bed, but I've just finished working on something I've got to have for a weekend meeting, and even though I'm exhausted, I don't think I could sleep.
Whenever I feel like this, I always wonder if I'm supposed to feel like this. Am I so tired because I'm doing the right thing well, or because I'm doing the wrong thing altogether? If I were in full-time ESL, would I be so tired? Is this a physical thing or an emotional one?
I love my kids. Most of them are a real joy. Watching them grow this year like seedlings breaking the surface of the garden soil has been an educational experience for me as well as them. Sometimes, though, it's just overwhelming. Right now, it's overwhelming.
The paperwork is endless. Today, one of my 7th period kids lost her mind and was sent out. All of them are acting nuts, and we still have 4 weeks of school left.
On top of all this, our lovely school board issued its new school calendar for next year. They've added more days to school and we now start back on Aug. 1. Why can't they see that more classroom days aren't the answer?
Anyway, I need to try to lay down and sleep. I have to take a trip tomorrow, and I guess driving and sleeping don't mix well. Maybe at some point I'm going to have 5 minutes for myself.
Monday, April 18, 2005
Who's Out There?
"A single rose can be my garden; a single friend, my world." -- Leo Buscaglia
I often wonder who is reading this little blog. I know my good friend DEG is out there. It's funny. He and I have communicated more through this blog than we have in years. Isn't that crazy?
I think several members of my family are reading it, too. Hello, assorted relatives.
I wonder who else sees it, or if anybody does. I don't necessarily put it out there to be read, but for some reason, when I noticed my counter had somehow broken 200, even though it advances every time I reload after an update, I was surprised.
Tonight's musing is short and largely pointless. If you're out there reading, you might leave me a post and let me know. Just to satisfy my catlike curiosity. ;)
I often wonder who is reading this little blog. I know my good friend DEG is out there. It's funny. He and I have communicated more through this blog than we have in years. Isn't that crazy?
I think several members of my family are reading it, too. Hello, assorted relatives.
I wonder who else sees it, or if anybody does. I don't necessarily put it out there to be read, but for some reason, when I noticed my counter had somehow broken 200, even though it advances every time I reload after an update, I was surprised.
Tonight's musing is short and largely pointless. If you're out there reading, you might leave me a post and let me know. Just to satisfy my catlike curiosity. ;)
Saturday, April 16, 2005
I Won!
"To be a poet is a condition, not a profession." -- Robert Frost
When my dad and I went down to run and fold our church's bulletin today, he asked me if I'd checked my mail today. That may sound odd, but sometimes I go a couple of days without doing that. Nothing very important ever comes to me except bills. Who needs them on top of a long day?
As we were coming back, he stopped and picked up what was in the box. In the pile was a letter from the people who sponsored the literary contest I entered awhile back (see previous postings). I won first place! I was so happy.
It turns out my mother already knew. A former teacher of mine and colleague of hers was the judge for the competition. The entries were all anonymous, but when she found out who wrote the poem she'd chosen, she called my mom and told her. Mom had been keeping the secret for about a week.
It's an extra layer of happiness to me that this former teacher was the judge. It's actually the second time she's chosen me for a poetry contest, but I bet she doesn't remember the first one. I wrote for and won a "Roses are Red" variation contest in 9th grade. It was my first competition win.
I will go to an awards presentation in a couple of weeks to receive the prize. I had hoped I'd win with one of the three poems I entered, but I'm not sure if I believed it would really happen. It's so encouraging. I'm glad I entered because I started not to do so. I haven't had anyone who could help me refine my work since my undergraduate days, and I was hesitant to put anything out there without some polishing.
I wish I had somebody to help me refine my stuff. My college creative writing professor was so amazing for that. He never pulled punches, and as a result of his classes, I made so much progress as a writer. One of the pieces I wrote for him took first prize at a competition I entered during college.
I've often thought of writing to him with newer stuff, but that's such an imposition and presumption. He is a producing poet himself and has new classes every year to help. I would feel strange about asking him to help me, random student from years ago.
This was a much-needed encouragement. It renews my desire to write again. Not for the prizes. Not for any kind of victory. Rather, because, as the quote at the beginning says, the poetry is a part of who I am, and it's a part I've been keeping locked away since Japan. It's time to open the doors and see what happens.
When my dad and I went down to run and fold our church's bulletin today, he asked me if I'd checked my mail today. That may sound odd, but sometimes I go a couple of days without doing that. Nothing very important ever comes to me except bills. Who needs them on top of a long day?
As we were coming back, he stopped and picked up what was in the box. In the pile was a letter from the people who sponsored the literary contest I entered awhile back (see previous postings). I won first place! I was so happy.
It turns out my mother already knew. A former teacher of mine and colleague of hers was the judge for the competition. The entries were all anonymous, but when she found out who wrote the poem she'd chosen, she called my mom and told her. Mom had been keeping the secret for about a week.
It's an extra layer of happiness to me that this former teacher was the judge. It's actually the second time she's chosen me for a poetry contest, but I bet she doesn't remember the first one. I wrote for and won a "Roses are Red" variation contest in 9th grade. It was my first competition win.
I will go to an awards presentation in a couple of weeks to receive the prize. I had hoped I'd win with one of the three poems I entered, but I'm not sure if I believed it would really happen. It's so encouraging. I'm glad I entered because I started not to do so. I haven't had anyone who could help me refine my work since my undergraduate days, and I was hesitant to put anything out there without some polishing.
I wish I had somebody to help me refine my stuff. My college creative writing professor was so amazing for that. He never pulled punches, and as a result of his classes, I made so much progress as a writer. One of the pieces I wrote for him took first prize at a competition I entered during college.
I've often thought of writing to him with newer stuff, but that's such an imposition and presumption. He is a producing poet himself and has new classes every year to help. I would feel strange about asking him to help me, random student from years ago.
This was a much-needed encouragement. It renews my desire to write again. Not for the prizes. Not for any kind of victory. Rather, because, as the quote at the beginning says, the poetry is a part of who I am, and it's a part I've been keeping locked away since Japan. It's time to open the doors and see what happens.
Tuesday, April 12, 2005
Ask and Ye Shall Receive....
"Every moment of your life is infinitely creative and the universe is endlessly bountiful. Just put forth a clear enough request, and everything your heart desires must come to you." -- Mohandas Gandhi
Today was so weird. It was a constant tidal flow of the good and the stupid.
I started the day with the discovery that some of my students had swiped about 7 of the meager number of copies we have of TKaM. Of course, in my extremely literary mind, this action is rife with irony. Not that I don't appreciate the literary merits of the situation, but it pissed me off to the N-th degree. We have nothing. They know we have nothing. They steal bits of the nothing we have.
Anyway, after a diatribe and lots of guilt (I learned it at my grandmother's knee, and NOBODY was better than she), I retrieved most of the books. I anticipate the others trickling in tomorrow.
After dealing with that crap, I got some really good news. After the PowerPoint presentations mentioned in the last post, I decided to look around and see if I couldn't find some way of getting one for the classroom. I looked up manufacturers of LCD projectors, located a rep for Mitsubishi Electronics, and wrote him a letter. Yesterday, I talked to another rep for a company that does demos for them. Today, I got confirmation. They are making us a great deal on a used demonstrator. I felt like I was walking on air!
I didn't really expect anything to come of my requests. I was so happy! Now I can do PowerPoints for other things. I have so many ideas already. I plan to incorporate pictures from this summer's trip to England into a PP about Shakespeare.
The day swung back down with some of my later classes. Other stuff also happened. In my infinite dumbness, I put the wrong shipping address on a package I ordered. I was pretty low when school ended.
Then the up-wave came again. It's not a big event, but it was nice. A prescription that I need was accepted by my insurance, so it no longer costs me a million dollars a month. I also found out that I don't owe the government anything this year on taxes. Two big pluses for me. Tonight when I got home, the company I ordered the materials from wrote me back to say they'd gotten the package as a return and were sending it to the corrected address. I didn't lose my money/stuff after all.
Even though today was a day of gains, I hope tomorrow is a little more even keel. I need some peace. The weekend was almost non-existent, and this week is taking its toll. Whenever I get too tired, every little thing affects me more than normal. This weekend, I'm going to try to SLEEP!!!
Today was so weird. It was a constant tidal flow of the good and the stupid.
I started the day with the discovery that some of my students had swiped about 7 of the meager number of copies we have of TKaM. Of course, in my extremely literary mind, this action is rife with irony. Not that I don't appreciate the literary merits of the situation, but it pissed me off to the N-th degree. We have nothing. They know we have nothing. They steal bits of the nothing we have.
Anyway, after a diatribe and lots of guilt (I learned it at my grandmother's knee, and NOBODY was better than she), I retrieved most of the books. I anticipate the others trickling in tomorrow.
After dealing with that crap, I got some really good news. After the PowerPoint presentations mentioned in the last post, I decided to look around and see if I couldn't find some way of getting one for the classroom. I looked up manufacturers of LCD projectors, located a rep for Mitsubishi Electronics, and wrote him a letter. Yesterday, I talked to another rep for a company that does demos for them. Today, I got confirmation. They are making us a great deal on a used demonstrator. I felt like I was walking on air!
I didn't really expect anything to come of my requests. I was so happy! Now I can do PowerPoints for other things. I have so many ideas already. I plan to incorporate pictures from this summer's trip to England into a PP about Shakespeare.
The day swung back down with some of my later classes. Other stuff also happened. In my infinite dumbness, I put the wrong shipping address on a package I ordered. I was pretty low when school ended.
Then the up-wave came again. It's not a big event, but it was nice. A prescription that I need was accepted by my insurance, so it no longer costs me a million dollars a month. I also found out that I don't owe the government anything this year on taxes. Two big pluses for me. Tonight when I got home, the company I ordered the materials from wrote me back to say they'd gotten the package as a return and were sending it to the corrected address. I didn't lose my money/stuff after all.
Even though today was a day of gains, I hope tomorrow is a little more even keel. I need some peace. The weekend was almost non-existent, and this week is taking its toll. Whenever I get too tired, every little thing affects me more than normal. This weekend, I'm going to try to SLEEP!!!
Friday, April 08, 2005
A Taste of the Good Stuff
"Education's purpose is to replace an empty mind with an open one." -- Malcolm S. Forbes
I had the best day today. It started out stressful as I was trying to hook my laptop to my class TV for PowerPoint presentations. As usual in such situations, my laptop was uncooperative, and I was scrambling to fill the gaps with something while I worked. I finally borrowed the office's super projector thing, used the school's laptop (yes, we only have the one...we're a poor school), and got the presentation running. The kids were so into the presentations.
I gave a PP on the Civil Rights Movement and on the Jim Crow laws of the 30's to help them understand Mockingbird better. I had prepared the PPs for teaching Mockingbird in Japan, but the same material worked with my 10th graders.
I couldn't get over how involved they became. They were asking questions and all of them were awake and interested. For those of you unfamiliar with the world of modern secondary education, that in and of itself is a minor miracle. I encouraged them as much as possible to go home and talk to the people living in their own houses and communities who had lived through these events, and I saw some of them who probably never considered those people as anything except for "old" look consideringly.
After the PPs, they broke up into Reading Circle discussion groups where every person has a different facet of the material to present. I was unsure of how well they'd do or if they'd do the work involved, but all but 6 all day long did it, and by some miracle, even if it was only the miracle of the new, they enjoyed it. I felt almost reborn. It was almost like teaching in the college ESL programs in Indiana or Japan.
They left talking about the materials they'd seen. They left curious to read more. I have students who came to me with no interest in reading who are eagerly plowing their way through this book, and I'm so proud of them I could cry. It's not anything that I'm doing, but it's what they're discovering they're capable of themselves. It's what they are finally looking around and seeing in the world other than the trivialities of teenhood. I am so happy for them!
At the same time, I feel kind of like an anxious gardener with a tender new planting before me. I am worried that it won't take. I am worried that some harsh weather will come to shrivel it before its roots grow deep enough to support and nourish. I know not all of them will care, but to have some of them so interested is like a gift from God. Maybe I can make a small difference somehow.
I had the best day today. It started out stressful as I was trying to hook my laptop to my class TV for PowerPoint presentations. As usual in such situations, my laptop was uncooperative, and I was scrambling to fill the gaps with something while I worked. I finally borrowed the office's super projector thing, used the school's laptop (yes, we only have the one...we're a poor school), and got the presentation running. The kids were so into the presentations.
I gave a PP on the Civil Rights Movement and on the Jim Crow laws of the 30's to help them understand Mockingbird better. I had prepared the PPs for teaching Mockingbird in Japan, but the same material worked with my 10th graders.
I couldn't get over how involved they became. They were asking questions and all of them were awake and interested. For those of you unfamiliar with the world of modern secondary education, that in and of itself is a minor miracle. I encouraged them as much as possible to go home and talk to the people living in their own houses and communities who had lived through these events, and I saw some of them who probably never considered those people as anything except for "old" look consideringly.
After the PPs, they broke up into Reading Circle discussion groups where every person has a different facet of the material to present. I was unsure of how well they'd do or if they'd do the work involved, but all but 6 all day long did it, and by some miracle, even if it was only the miracle of the new, they enjoyed it. I felt almost reborn. It was almost like teaching in the college ESL programs in Indiana or Japan.
They left talking about the materials they'd seen. They left curious to read more. I have students who came to me with no interest in reading who are eagerly plowing their way through this book, and I'm so proud of them I could cry. It's not anything that I'm doing, but it's what they're discovering they're capable of themselves. It's what they are finally looking around and seeing in the world other than the trivialities of teenhood. I am so happy for them!
At the same time, I feel kind of like an anxious gardener with a tender new planting before me. I am worried that it won't take. I am worried that some harsh weather will come to shrivel it before its roots grow deep enough to support and nourish. I know not all of them will care, but to have some of them so interested is like a gift from God. Maybe I can make a small difference somehow.
Wednesday, April 06, 2005
Clowns and other scary things
"People don't buy from clowns." -- Claude C. Hopkins
I guess Ronald McDonald would be considered the ultimate refutation of this....
Is anyone else afraid of the clownish thing Burger King is using in their ads now? If you haven't seen it, you can see a pic and a short clip here. The King is beyond wacky. He's the kind of thing that shows up in nightmares. He moves far too fast and with a stealth that's not conducive to calm affection. Only nasty things scurry like that...cockroaches, rats, psychopaths in movies...
I particulary hate the one where the guy looks out his window and sees a far away speck. He turns to say something to his wife or look at something, and when he turns back, that big old freaky plastic head is filling up his window offering him a heart attack for breakfast. They both laugh and the sun shines blissfully on a "happy morning."
I can tell you right now that I wouldn't be laughing if that thing showed up outside my window. I'd be grabbing either my kendo shinai or a baseball bat. One of my friends (who will probably read this eventually) was reenacting the commercial as it might go if it happened here in the Deep South. I kind of like this version better.
Scene opens: Freaky guy is a dot on the horizon.
Guy appears. Looks out window. Stretches and turns away momentarily.
Freaky Burger King Thing is suddenly filling up the whole window. Regular guy turns.
Sound of shell being chambered in a shotgun. Boom. End of Freaky Burger King Thing menace.
Another friend of mine observed that part of what makes the thing so scary is that he has normal human hands. I think that may well be part of it. For me, it's the stop motion movement and that big old smiling shiny plastic head. It reminds me of the freaky rabbit in Donnie Darko, which if you haven't seen, you should really check out. I also think that next Halloween's best selling costume could well be the Burger King if they'll put it into production.
Probably, the worst part of it is the same thing I (and probably lots of other people) dislike about clowns. There is no movement in the face. It is impossible to get any readings or any of those subtle body language cues we rely on for communication. I believe this is the reasons clowns rank so high on phobia lists (there's a term for fear of clowns... coulrophobia) and on lists of things people just generally find disturbing. When the face is hidden, so too are the motivations and the clues we need to figure out whether something is amusing or a threat.
For me, creepy Burger dude is a mix. I suppose as long as he stays on his side of the TV, everything is okay. God help him if I ever look out my windows and see that huge plastic head outside offering me any form of BK breakfast though.
I guess Ronald McDonald would be considered the ultimate refutation of this....
Is anyone else afraid of the clownish thing Burger King is using in their ads now? If you haven't seen it, you can see a pic and a short clip here. The King is beyond wacky. He's the kind of thing that shows up in nightmares. He moves far too fast and with a stealth that's not conducive to calm affection. Only nasty things scurry like that...cockroaches, rats, psychopaths in movies...
I particulary hate the one where the guy looks out his window and sees a far away speck. He turns to say something to his wife or look at something, and when he turns back, that big old freaky plastic head is filling up his window offering him a heart attack for breakfast. They both laugh and the sun shines blissfully on a "happy morning."
I can tell you right now that I wouldn't be laughing if that thing showed up outside my window. I'd be grabbing either my kendo shinai or a baseball bat. One of my friends (who will probably read this eventually) was reenacting the commercial as it might go if it happened here in the Deep South. I kind of like this version better.
Scene opens: Freaky guy is a dot on the horizon.
Guy appears. Looks out window. Stretches and turns away momentarily.
Freaky Burger King Thing is suddenly filling up the whole window. Regular guy turns.
Sound of shell being chambered in a shotgun. Boom. End of Freaky Burger King Thing menace.
Another friend of mine observed that part of what makes the thing so scary is that he has normal human hands. I think that may well be part of it. For me, it's the stop motion movement and that big old smiling shiny plastic head. It reminds me of the freaky rabbit in Donnie Darko, which if you haven't seen, you should really check out. I also think that next Halloween's best selling costume could well be the Burger King if they'll put it into production.
Probably, the worst part of it is the same thing I (and probably lots of other people) dislike about clowns. There is no movement in the face. It is impossible to get any readings or any of those subtle body language cues we rely on for communication. I believe this is the reasons clowns rank so high on phobia lists (there's a term for fear of clowns... coulrophobia) and on lists of things people just generally find disturbing. When the face is hidden, so too are the motivations and the clues we need to figure out whether something is amusing or a threat.
For me, creepy Burger dude is a mix. I suppose as long as he stays on his side of the TV, everything is okay. God help him if I ever look out my windows and see that huge plastic head outside offering me any form of BK breakfast though.
Tuesday, April 05, 2005
update
Short tonight, and no quote. Things are rocking along pretty well. Good Mockingbird discussion..more about it tomorrow. I'm, as a colleague says, "beat to my knees."
Friday, April 01, 2005
Why tea kettles Whistle
"Patience: A minor form of despair disguised as a virtue." -- Ambrose Bierce
Actually, I value patience very highly. It's a very important part of my job. I pray for more all the time. Patience and wisdom are hard-won, though. Today and yesterday have been trying my patience in the extreme. I've figured out that it's not the heat under the kettle that causes the scream. It's the inability to vent in any other way.
Not the kids, first of all. They've not been worse than is normal. It's been a week of administrative mandates that have completely wrecked my lesson plans. We had to give a practice test for the big state test coming up later in the month. It's the 3rd time around on this, and even the slowest of my kids were saying, "We are doing this AGAIN?!?!" I explained that its purpose is to show how they've grown over the year and to point out any particular skills for practice before the real thing, but none of us could scrape up much enthusiasm for it.
We got word that the change had to be made on Wednesday. No kidding. Less than 24 hrs. notice. My Type-A personality took the change with all the grace of a freight train suddenly derailed. I HATE it when somebody changes set plans at the last minute. If it's a casual thing, it doesn't matter, but when I put as much work into planning and pacing my lesson plans, it's a big slap in the face to have them so carelessly swept aside.
So, teakettle-like, I've sat in my room, mostly at my desk, for the past two days. I have filed piles of papers, graded and recorded others, set up my computerized gradebook and started working on entering grades for it, and even hung some posters that had fallen long ago and been shoved into a corner. Things are spic-and-span (where did that phrase come from, anyway?) and ready for parent-teacher day on Monday. I hated it. Every minute of it. I felt useless. I wasn't helping them learn. All I was doing was babysitting and cleaning. I could feel the steam building, and by 7th period today, I wanted to shriek with it.
This isn't what we're supposed to be doing. We're supposed to be talking about To Kill a Mockingbird. They're supposed to be discovering how wonderful it is on their own. Instead, we killed two days. I can't remember the quote, but it says something like, "As if we could kill time without injuring eternity." Today, I think we gave it a nasty bruise, at the very least.
One of the things I'm going to have to learn is more flexibility, especially with the stupid trivialities that are so much a part of public education. I will just have to find a way to let it roll off my back. One of my friends was having a problem of patience and tolerance with a family member, and she developed the habit of saying, "Quack, quack" to remind herself to do that. I think I'm going to print that off the computer and put it somewhere on my desk. I need to be more duck and less teakettle.
Actually, I value patience very highly. It's a very important part of my job. I pray for more all the time. Patience and wisdom are hard-won, though. Today and yesterday have been trying my patience in the extreme. I've figured out that it's not the heat under the kettle that causes the scream. It's the inability to vent in any other way.
Not the kids, first of all. They've not been worse than is normal. It's been a week of administrative mandates that have completely wrecked my lesson plans. We had to give a practice test for the big state test coming up later in the month. It's the 3rd time around on this, and even the slowest of my kids were saying, "We are doing this AGAIN?!?!" I explained that its purpose is to show how they've grown over the year and to point out any particular skills for practice before the real thing, but none of us could scrape up much enthusiasm for it.
We got word that the change had to be made on Wednesday. No kidding. Less than 24 hrs. notice. My Type-A personality took the change with all the grace of a freight train suddenly derailed. I HATE it when somebody changes set plans at the last minute. If it's a casual thing, it doesn't matter, but when I put as much work into planning and pacing my lesson plans, it's a big slap in the face to have them so carelessly swept aside.
So, teakettle-like, I've sat in my room, mostly at my desk, for the past two days. I have filed piles of papers, graded and recorded others, set up my computerized gradebook and started working on entering grades for it, and even hung some posters that had fallen long ago and been shoved into a corner. Things are spic-and-span (where did that phrase come from, anyway?) and ready for parent-teacher day on Monday. I hated it. Every minute of it. I felt useless. I wasn't helping them learn. All I was doing was babysitting and cleaning. I could feel the steam building, and by 7th period today, I wanted to shriek with it.
This isn't what we're supposed to be doing. We're supposed to be talking about To Kill a Mockingbird. They're supposed to be discovering how wonderful it is on their own. Instead, we killed two days. I can't remember the quote, but it says something like, "As if we could kill time without injuring eternity." Today, I think we gave it a nasty bruise, at the very least.
One of the things I'm going to have to learn is more flexibility, especially with the stupid trivialities that are so much a part of public education. I will just have to find a way to let it roll off my back. One of my friends was having a problem of patience and tolerance with a family member, and she developed the habit of saying, "Quack, quack" to remind herself to do that. I think I'm going to print that off the computer and put it somewhere on my desk. I need to be more duck and less teakettle.
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