Trips to the dentist - I like to postpone that kind of thing.
Johnny Depp
After a long day of preparation for Thursday, I went to the dentist to have my two invisible cavities drilled and filled. This is a fairly new event for me. Until this year, I had no fillings of any kind. I don't know if genetics, diet, or obsessive brushing protected me for so long, but I enjoyed my "perfect record."
My dentist is quite good. The most uncomfortable moment is when he gives me the shots to deaden my gums. I hate needles, and even the sight of one hovering that close to my mouth gets me very, very tense.
It all took less than 30 minutes. It's amazing how fast something like tooth drilling and reconstruction takes now. Granted, these were sort of pre-cavities, so I'm guessing they weren't very deep. However, I seem to remember such things taking a lot longer for other friends and my family who've had cavities in the past.
My dentist also made a point of telling me that these fillings would be white, so if I looked, I probably wouldn't see anything. Hmmm....several centuries of dentistry, and they just now got around to making them white? Why didn't this occur to somebody before?
There's really not much else to tell about today. I have some other stuff that I may get to in another post, but that's it for now. Now, I'm going to bed so I can get up for another day of fun, fun, fun. At least now I'm dentally sound. :)
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
Monday, August 01, 2005
Old Movies
I don't take the movies seriously, and anyone who does is in for a headache.
Bette Davis
When I got home today, a treat awaited me. I had ordered a used copy of All About Eve from amazon.com (oh, how I love used DVD's) and it arrived. I popped it in and am watching the story unfold. Even though I know how it will end (I've seen it a million times), I am still gripped by the performance.
I love old movies. It seems as if the characters were so much stronger then. I don't know why. Maybe it's because the actors were different somehow. Most of them had such forceful (euphemism, anyone) personality off screen that perhaps their performances were flavored by it. So many of them must have been fascinating to know. Difficult, vain, primadonnas, and real jackasses, but probably fascinating to know.
Some of my favorite movies are All About Eve, Some Like It Hot, Singin' In the Rain, and Sunset Boulevard. Two are silly, and two are serious. I am trying to build a collection of my favorites, but, in truth, I can watch almost any old movie.
Some of my favorites are seasonal. For Halloween, I like Hush, Hush, Sweet Charlotte or House of Wax (the original, not the crappy new one). Another really scary b/w film is the original The Haunting of Hill House. It's based on a Shirley Jackson story and even though there are no mega special effects, the tension is fifty times greater than that awful remake of a few years ago. I scared myself silly with that one on a summer night when I was staying in the dorm by myself.
When I was in grad school, the film studies department at that university offered a series of free screenings of classic films. I got to see Casablanca from film just as it would have been shown in the theater. They showed a great selection every year. It was great to go in and sit in the dark with people who also liked those great old films and just enjoy.
Another of my favorite old movie memories happened when I was very young. The town near us has one of those enormous, elaborate movie palaces built in the 20's. It has a theater organ that has been restored, and to celebrate the completion of the renovation, they brought in an organist from the state capital and showed the original silent version of The Phantom of the Opera. It was spellbinding. Maybe that's when my love of old films began. There was an intermission with a sing along. They also showed a serial and a news reel. I was captivated. They've never done it again, but every year I hope for the magic to come back.
Those movie palaces were built to transport people away from their normal world. I love that. As you may already know, I am a big proponent of fantasy. Today's theaters don't really transport me anywhere, nor do the films they show. I guess that's one reason why I don't go very often. I'd much rather be in a place like the Orpheum in Memphis watching their organist rise up out of the pit in his white tux with tails and see something truly funny like Some Like It Hot on the big screen. Maybe if I can build up enough of a collection here at home, I can capture some tiny sparks of that feeling to revisit from the comfort of my couch.
Bette Davis
When I got home today, a treat awaited me. I had ordered a used copy of All About Eve from amazon.com (oh, how I love used DVD's) and it arrived. I popped it in and am watching the story unfold. Even though I know how it will end (I've seen it a million times), I am still gripped by the performance.
I love old movies. It seems as if the characters were so much stronger then. I don't know why. Maybe it's because the actors were different somehow. Most of them had such forceful (euphemism, anyone) personality off screen that perhaps their performances were flavored by it. So many of them must have been fascinating to know. Difficult, vain, primadonnas, and real jackasses, but probably fascinating to know.
Some of my favorite movies are All About Eve, Some Like It Hot, Singin' In the Rain, and Sunset Boulevard. Two are silly, and two are serious. I am trying to build a collection of my favorites, but, in truth, I can watch almost any old movie.
Some of my favorites are seasonal. For Halloween, I like Hush, Hush, Sweet Charlotte or House of Wax (the original, not the crappy new one). Another really scary b/w film is the original The Haunting of Hill House. It's based on a Shirley Jackson story and even though there are no mega special effects, the tension is fifty times greater than that awful remake of a few years ago. I scared myself silly with that one on a summer night when I was staying in the dorm by myself.
When I was in grad school, the film studies department at that university offered a series of free screenings of classic films. I got to see Casablanca from film just as it would have been shown in the theater. They showed a great selection every year. It was great to go in and sit in the dark with people who also liked those great old films and just enjoy.
Another of my favorite old movie memories happened when I was very young. The town near us has one of those enormous, elaborate movie palaces built in the 20's. It has a theater organ that has been restored, and to celebrate the completion of the renovation, they brought in an organist from the state capital and showed the original silent version of The Phantom of the Opera. It was spellbinding. Maybe that's when my love of old films began. There was an intermission with a sing along. They also showed a serial and a news reel. I was captivated. They've never done it again, but every year I hope for the magic to come back.
Those movie palaces were built to transport people away from their normal world. I love that. As you may already know, I am a big proponent of fantasy. Today's theaters don't really transport me anywhere, nor do the films they show. I guess that's one reason why I don't go very often. I'd much rather be in a place like the Orpheum in Memphis watching their organist rise up out of the pit in his white tux with tails and see something truly funny like Some Like It Hot on the big screen. Maybe if I can build up enough of a collection here at home, I can capture some tiny sparks of that feeling to revisit from the comfort of my couch.
Sunday, July 31, 2005
Loose Ends and New Beginnings
The beginnings and endings of all human undertakings are untidy.
John Galsworthy
I skipped the reunion. I have very little guilt about this, either. It was raining, tomorrow is work, bright and early, and I had to go buy this month's groceries. There was only one possible circumstance under which I'd have regretted not going, and I don't think that particular event was a possibility.
Tomorrow is the official beginning of the new school year. I've been to the school to work registration and to decrapify (won't spell check have a good time with that word) my room. Tomorrow, though, is the first time everybody will be back together since the bitterness at the end of last year.
I saw one of my teacher friends when I went to fix the paycheck problem earlier in the week. He told me again to focus on how much I am looking forward to teaching the class and forget about the rest of it. I am going to do my level best to do this. I am so excited about the class that I think I can put up with most of the other silliness.
While I was out buying stuff for the month, I bought two large frames for the two Walter Anderson prints I bought at the beginning of the summer. I hung them with another of the same series (his alphabet woodcuts) and now have my initials across the wall of my library/sun room. For some reason, it was important to me to get those hung before the school year started. It feels completed somehow.
Another thing I took care of was getting a copier for the house. I've been wanting one for a long time, but they've been too expensive and I've been too broke. This year, with the help of Mom and Dad, I got a small one. It also does faxes, so now I don't have to run around looking for one whenever paperwork has to go in. I really like that.
This is the ending of summer and the beginning of another school year. For the first time in a long time, I'm looking forward to seeing how this one is going to go. If nothing else, going back to school will undoubtedly get my mind off "the guy"....
John Galsworthy
I skipped the reunion. I have very little guilt about this, either. It was raining, tomorrow is work, bright and early, and I had to go buy this month's groceries. There was only one possible circumstance under which I'd have regretted not going, and I don't think that particular event was a possibility.
Tomorrow is the official beginning of the new school year. I've been to the school to work registration and to decrapify (won't spell check have a good time with that word) my room. Tomorrow, though, is the first time everybody will be back together since the bitterness at the end of last year.
I saw one of my teacher friends when I went to fix the paycheck problem earlier in the week. He told me again to focus on how much I am looking forward to teaching the class and forget about the rest of it. I am going to do my level best to do this. I am so excited about the class that I think I can put up with most of the other silliness.
While I was out buying stuff for the month, I bought two large frames for the two Walter Anderson prints I bought at the beginning of the summer. I hung them with another of the same series (his alphabet woodcuts) and now have my initials across the wall of my library/sun room. For some reason, it was important to me to get those hung before the school year started. It feels completed somehow.
Another thing I took care of was getting a copier for the house. I've been wanting one for a long time, but they've been too expensive and I've been too broke. This year, with the help of Mom and Dad, I got a small one. It also does faxes, so now I don't have to run around looking for one whenever paperwork has to go in. I really like that.
This is the ending of summer and the beginning of another school year. For the first time in a long time, I'm looking forward to seeing how this one is going to go. If nothing else, going back to school will undoubtedly get my mind off "the guy"....
Saturday, July 30, 2005
HGTV Junkie
"You should see...what's on HGTV" -- commercial tagline, HGTV
As you can tell from the quote, tonight's post will be light and fluffy. I haven't done any light and fluffy in awhile, and even though I am still turning some pretty heavy stuff over in my mental rock tumbler, I am tired of writing about it. Therefore, I have chosen a topic which can't possibly turn into angst: HGTV.
I have an addiction to watching HGTV. I love to watch people transform their houses. My favorite shows are Design Remix, Design on a Dime, and Decorating Cents. There are about a hundred other shows, but I don't really watch them that much.
As I've said in other posts, I live in an old house. The last remodel on it was done in the mid-70s, so I have lots of orangy carpet and light colored pine paneling. Fortunately, my Granny was a lady with vision and taste, and I also have a fairly open floor plan. The original house had lots of tiny little rooms, but she did away with lots of walls so the living space, kitchen, and dining area all flow together.
Also previously pointed out, I teach and therefore have NO money ever. This makes overhauling my house problematic at best. I would like to rip out all the paneling and put up sheet rock. I'd love to have hardwood floors and some carpet that is younger than I am. I really want one of those deep spa jet tubs in my bathroom and something other than the faux marble patterned cabinet tops. I want the ceilings raised and plastered. I have a whole list of things I want to accomplish.
However, since I have no money, no help, and very little experience with construction and power tools, I mostly work on small changes right now. I have repainted my office and am planning to put in some shelves a la Mission Organization. I have used baskets for storage per the advice of Design on a Dime, and, although it's not really an HGTV show, Clean Sweep has inspired me to sort, file, and discard.
The shows give me inspiration. They also help me feel like big changes are possible even if I don't have professional assistance or lots of money. They make me feel that I can continue to make my house more and more my home. I love them for that.
Very few things make me feel as good as finishing one of my little projects and seeing that part of my house come together to reflect my personality and be a welcoming space for others. My house is probably my most important sanctuary.
Working on the house also makes me feel tied to my grandmother. It seemed she was always redoing things. My cousins and I used to move furniture for her all the time. She was always redesigning the front guest bedroom or sewing new drapes. I guess maybe I got this urge to rearrange my nest from her. It makes me feel that she'd approve whenever I finish a project and it comes out well.
For all these reasons, I enjoy HGTV. I may not be able to make my room look as good as they do after an episode of Design Remix, but I always feel inspired. Instead of looking around at my house and seeing limitations and dated furnishings, I see potential and ways to go from 70's blah to "retro". Long live HGTV and their happy, smiling, kind hosts and hostesses. Long live all of us who are trying to make juice with the fruits we've been given. (I won't call my house a lemon, but you know what I mean....)
As you can tell from the quote, tonight's post will be light and fluffy. I haven't done any light and fluffy in awhile, and even though I am still turning some pretty heavy stuff over in my mental rock tumbler, I am tired of writing about it. Therefore, I have chosen a topic which can't possibly turn into angst: HGTV.
I have an addiction to watching HGTV. I love to watch people transform their houses. My favorite shows are Design Remix, Design on a Dime, and Decorating Cents. There are about a hundred other shows, but I don't really watch them that much.
As I've said in other posts, I live in an old house. The last remodel on it was done in the mid-70s, so I have lots of orangy carpet and light colored pine paneling. Fortunately, my Granny was a lady with vision and taste, and I also have a fairly open floor plan. The original house had lots of tiny little rooms, but she did away with lots of walls so the living space, kitchen, and dining area all flow together.
Also previously pointed out, I teach and therefore have NO money ever. This makes overhauling my house problematic at best. I would like to rip out all the paneling and put up sheet rock. I'd love to have hardwood floors and some carpet that is younger than I am. I really want one of those deep spa jet tubs in my bathroom and something other than the faux marble patterned cabinet tops. I want the ceilings raised and plastered. I have a whole list of things I want to accomplish.
However, since I have no money, no help, and very little experience with construction and power tools, I mostly work on small changes right now. I have repainted my office and am planning to put in some shelves a la Mission Organization. I have used baskets for storage per the advice of Design on a Dime, and, although it's not really an HGTV show, Clean Sweep has inspired me to sort, file, and discard.
The shows give me inspiration. They also help me feel like big changes are possible even if I don't have professional assistance or lots of money. They make me feel that I can continue to make my house more and more my home. I love them for that.
Very few things make me feel as good as finishing one of my little projects and seeing that part of my house come together to reflect my personality and be a welcoming space for others. My house is probably my most important sanctuary.
Working on the house also makes me feel tied to my grandmother. It seemed she was always redoing things. My cousins and I used to move furniture for her all the time. She was always redesigning the front guest bedroom or sewing new drapes. I guess maybe I got this urge to rearrange my nest from her. It makes me feel that she'd approve whenever I finish a project and it comes out well.
For all these reasons, I enjoy HGTV. I may not be able to make my room look as good as they do after an episode of Design Remix, but I always feel inspired. Instead of looking around at my house and seeing limitations and dated furnishings, I see potential and ways to go from 70's blah to "retro". Long live HGTV and their happy, smiling, kind hosts and hostesses. Long live all of us who are trying to make juice with the fruits we've been given. (I won't call my house a lemon, but you know what I mean....)
Friday, July 29, 2005
Competency
"When in panic, or in doubt, run in circles, scream and shout." -- Robert Heinlein
I got up this morning, and it was that most magical of days, "Pay Day." I came to my trusty computer and checked my bank balance to make sure my direct deposit went through. Just routine, right? Oh no. Nothing in my world is ever routine.
The money wasn't there. Few words in the English language will curdle the stomach like those four. I went to the central office to pick up the deposit voucher and I asked about it thinking perhaps I had the day wrong and the deposit wouldn't go through until tonight. No, no. It's supposed to be there.
I looked at my voucher and realized that my bank account number was off by one number. This is month two of my direct deposit, so how did I get my money last month? Apparently, my nice bank had sorted out their end and notified the central office that there was a problem. Our CO, of course, did nothing about it.
The upshot of all this is that my money was found, and the number problem is supposedly fixed, but my question remains. If you were in charge of making sure someone's meager, once-a-month paycheck arrived so they could pay bills, buy rice, or whatever, don't you think you'd try to be a little more on it? Don't you think you'd double check the account numbers, and if the bank sent a letter, don't you think you'd try to fix it?
I don't make very much. I am a teacher in Mississippi. We make less than EVERYBODY. By the time I get my paycheck, I am usually out of groceries and have college loan collection agents breathing down my neck. Forgive me if I get a little stressed out when my money isn't there when I need it. A little competency would go a long, long way towards making life less stressful.
I got up this morning, and it was that most magical of days, "Pay Day." I came to my trusty computer and checked my bank balance to make sure my direct deposit went through. Just routine, right? Oh no. Nothing in my world is ever routine.
The money wasn't there. Few words in the English language will curdle the stomach like those four. I went to the central office to pick up the deposit voucher and I asked about it thinking perhaps I had the day wrong and the deposit wouldn't go through until tonight. No, no. It's supposed to be there.
I looked at my voucher and realized that my bank account number was off by one number. This is month two of my direct deposit, so how did I get my money last month? Apparently, my nice bank had sorted out their end and notified the central office that there was a problem. Our CO, of course, did nothing about it.
The upshot of all this is that my money was found, and the number problem is supposedly fixed, but my question remains. If you were in charge of making sure someone's meager, once-a-month paycheck arrived so they could pay bills, buy rice, or whatever, don't you think you'd try to be a little more on it? Don't you think you'd double check the account numbers, and if the bank sent a letter, don't you think you'd try to fix it?
I don't make very much. I am a teacher in Mississippi. We make less than EVERYBODY. By the time I get my paycheck, I am usually out of groceries and have college loan collection agents breathing down my neck. Forgive me if I get a little stressed out when my money isn't there when I need it. A little competency would go a long, long way towards making life less stressful.
Thursday, July 28, 2005
Maintenance Required?
Women wish to be loved without a why or a wherefore; not because they are pretty, or good, or well-bred, or graceful, or intelligent, but because they are themselves.
Henri Frederic Amiel
I went to get my hair trimmed today. As I was sitting in the salon, I watched the little dramas unfolding around me. Every time I go, it feels like I've stepped into a Eudora Welty story. It's a great place if you are a person who appreciates the absurd.
So many of the women who float through the cloud of hairspray are divas. The whole world turns around them. It's interesting to watch the various orbits collide within the small space.
Watching these high maintenance women clash sent my mind back to a conversation that happened very late during the trip I went on recently. Two of the other adults and I were sitting around and for some reason we started talking about relationships. I don't know why that happened. We were obviously up past that magical time at which the conversation always heads off in weird directions.
The premise put forward was that guys are more attracted to high maintenance women. I don't remember the reason why, exactly. I guess they're all sparkly or something. Today, that flashed back to me, and I wondered again why it's true.
I have a friend whom I dearly love, and who will tell you herself that she is high maintenance. When we were growing up, she charmed and captivated about 90% of the guys we met. When we went to summer camp, she always had more guys interested in her than the rest of us combined. I always wondered how she did it.
I am not a sparkly-high-maintenance kind. I have always been the quiet one in the back of the group. I am vastly uncomfortable in parties where I don't know anybody. I am the world's least accomplished flirt. I am the Queen of Geekdom who was always interested in history, computers, sci-fi, and books. This is not to say that I never had any contact with guys, but by and large, I was blessed with guy friends, not boyfriends.
Part of me kind of regrets this. Not the guy friends, mind you. I was really blessed with some great friendships BECAUSE I was (and still am) Geek Queen. I regret not being a little more sparkly. What would my life have been like if I had decided to be a Diva and not a Geek? Would I have cut a swath through the male population like I've seen some of them do? Would I be happier now?
As the aging divas pranced around today, I looked at my life sort of like one of those old Choose-Your-Own-Adventure novels. Would I have chosen differently if I could do it again? To be honest, though, I don't think I'd go back and try to be high maintenance. I can't understand why a guy would want a girl who treats him like crap. (Not that this is a phenomenon solely of the male of the species, but that's a different topic.) I couldn't hurt somebody deliberately and then think they deserved it. People deserve respect. If I like somebody, then I don't want to play stupid games and screw with his head on purpose. Games bore me. They take away from the truth of things, and isn't what's true more important in the end?
On the other hand, maybe we're all high maintenance under the surface. Maybe I am high maintenance, but in a quieter way. After all, I do have very strong preferences for things that I don't mind telling people about. In my old age, I've gotten much more outspoken. I have a temper that is the stuff of legend. It takes a long time and a lot of crap to set it off, but God help the bystanders when it wakes up. I get grumpy and moody and need personal space. Are these high maintenance traits, or just the traits of a poet? Are poets and divas the same thing? Maybe I can be the first Geek Diva. ;) Somehow, I doubt the guys will be lining up for THAT combination....
Henri Frederic Amiel
I went to get my hair trimmed today. As I was sitting in the salon, I watched the little dramas unfolding around me. Every time I go, it feels like I've stepped into a Eudora Welty story. It's a great place if you are a person who appreciates the absurd.
So many of the women who float through the cloud of hairspray are divas. The whole world turns around them. It's interesting to watch the various orbits collide within the small space.
Watching these high maintenance women clash sent my mind back to a conversation that happened very late during the trip I went on recently. Two of the other adults and I were sitting around and for some reason we started talking about relationships. I don't know why that happened. We were obviously up past that magical time at which the conversation always heads off in weird directions.
The premise put forward was that guys are more attracted to high maintenance women. I don't remember the reason why, exactly. I guess they're all sparkly or something. Today, that flashed back to me, and I wondered again why it's true.
I have a friend whom I dearly love, and who will tell you herself that she is high maintenance. When we were growing up, she charmed and captivated about 90% of the guys we met. When we went to summer camp, she always had more guys interested in her than the rest of us combined. I always wondered how she did it.
I am not a sparkly-high-maintenance kind. I have always been the quiet one in the back of the group. I am vastly uncomfortable in parties where I don't know anybody. I am the world's least accomplished flirt. I am the Queen of Geekdom who was always interested in history, computers, sci-fi, and books. This is not to say that I never had any contact with guys, but by and large, I was blessed with guy friends, not boyfriends.
Part of me kind of regrets this. Not the guy friends, mind you. I was really blessed with some great friendships BECAUSE I was (and still am) Geek Queen. I regret not being a little more sparkly. What would my life have been like if I had decided to be a Diva and not a Geek? Would I have cut a swath through the male population like I've seen some of them do? Would I be happier now?
As the aging divas pranced around today, I looked at my life sort of like one of those old Choose-Your-Own-Adventure novels. Would I have chosen differently if I could do it again? To be honest, though, I don't think I'd go back and try to be high maintenance. I can't understand why a guy would want a girl who treats him like crap. (Not that this is a phenomenon solely of the male of the species, but that's a different topic.) I couldn't hurt somebody deliberately and then think they deserved it. People deserve respect. If I like somebody, then I don't want to play stupid games and screw with his head on purpose. Games bore me. They take away from the truth of things, and isn't what's true more important in the end?
On the other hand, maybe we're all high maintenance under the surface. Maybe I am high maintenance, but in a quieter way. After all, I do have very strong preferences for things that I don't mind telling people about. In my old age, I've gotten much more outspoken. I have a temper that is the stuff of legend. It takes a long time and a lot of crap to set it off, but God help the bystanders when it wakes up. I get grumpy and moody and need personal space. Are these high maintenance traits, or just the traits of a poet? Are poets and divas the same thing? Maybe I can be the first Geek Diva. ;) Somehow, I doubt the guys will be lining up for THAT combination....
Wednesday, July 27, 2005
The Things that Divide
No quote. I'm too lazy to look one up.
I spent most of today reading and relaxing. Tomorrow, I have to get into the school work grind, so today was my "last day of freedom." I should have been cleaning, but I stayed up too late last night, and it threw my whole schedule off.
The news says the British authorities think they've caught one of the people responsible for the recent failed bomb attempts. I hope so. It would be refreshing for a person to be caught for this. I don't mean that as any sort of criticism of the authorities world-wide who are hunting these terrorists. It just seems like they melt into the shadows, and like the rabid vermin that they are, escape through dime-sized holes. Wouldn't it be great if they found all of them? I know that wouldn't solve the problem nor deter future attacks, but those four would be caught.
Also today, Mom stopped by on her way home from her weekly get-together with her group of retired teacher-friends. It made me so happy to see her happy and laughing. She hasn't been this way in years, it seems. School had become a burden for her, I think. I guess it happened slowly. The little things went by the wayside, but now she's rediscovering them.
I see the same thing happening in the my life and the lives of my friends. We are still trying so hard to get together and do things, but gradually, we're becoming so overwhelmed with jobs, kids, and other things that we see very little of each other. It's amazing how much there seems to be to be done during the course of a day. I have to go to work, prep lessons, clean up messes from me and my cats, buy groceries, try to get to the gym, and a million other daily trivialities. All this, and I don't even have kids or a husband added into that mix!
These things are important, but do we have to lose everything else? Is there no way to make space for the friend stuff, too? Is this just the way of the world? Maybe it's a part of growing up. If so, as I have said before, growing up sucks.
Some of the separation also comes because most of my very best friends live at least 90 minutes away from me. However, I hardly ever see the ones who live 5 minutes away, either, so that's not the whole explanation. If it weren't for church, I might never see anybody except the people I work with and my immediate family.
Something has to be done about this. I don't want to have to wait until retirement to rediscover my friends. I don't know what I'm going to do yet, but I'll try to think of something. One change I know I can make is to try to get our supper club back together. It sort of fell apart during the spring, but now maybe we can revitalize it now that everyone will be back in the school year schedule.
I have to find some balance. That's the trick, though, right?
I spent most of today reading and relaxing. Tomorrow, I have to get into the school work grind, so today was my "last day of freedom." I should have been cleaning, but I stayed up too late last night, and it threw my whole schedule off.
The news says the British authorities think they've caught one of the people responsible for the recent failed bomb attempts. I hope so. It would be refreshing for a person to be caught for this. I don't mean that as any sort of criticism of the authorities world-wide who are hunting these terrorists. It just seems like they melt into the shadows, and like the rabid vermin that they are, escape through dime-sized holes. Wouldn't it be great if they found all of them? I know that wouldn't solve the problem nor deter future attacks, but those four would be caught.
Also today, Mom stopped by on her way home from her weekly get-together with her group of retired teacher-friends. It made me so happy to see her happy and laughing. She hasn't been this way in years, it seems. School had become a burden for her, I think. I guess it happened slowly. The little things went by the wayside, but now she's rediscovering them.
I see the same thing happening in the my life and the lives of my friends. We are still trying so hard to get together and do things, but gradually, we're becoming so overwhelmed with jobs, kids, and other things that we see very little of each other. It's amazing how much there seems to be to be done during the course of a day. I have to go to work, prep lessons, clean up messes from me and my cats, buy groceries, try to get to the gym, and a million other daily trivialities. All this, and I don't even have kids or a husband added into that mix!
These things are important, but do we have to lose everything else? Is there no way to make space for the friend stuff, too? Is this just the way of the world? Maybe it's a part of growing up. If so, as I have said before, growing up sucks.
Some of the separation also comes because most of my very best friends live at least 90 minutes away from me. However, I hardly ever see the ones who live 5 minutes away, either, so that's not the whole explanation. If it weren't for church, I might never see anybody except the people I work with and my immediate family.
Something has to be done about this. I don't want to have to wait until retirement to rediscover my friends. I don't know what I'm going to do yet, but I'll try to think of something. One change I know I can make is to try to get our supper club back together. It sort of fell apart during the spring, but now maybe we can revitalize it now that everyone will be back in the school year schedule.
I have to find some balance. That's the trick, though, right?
Tuesday, July 26, 2005
Little Victories of Organization
Our life is frittered away by detail... simplify, simplify.
Henry David Thoreau
I spent today cleaning stuff out of my kitchen. It amazes me how fast things pile up in corners. Clutter seems like it must be a member of the mushroom family, springing up in the dark and growing with stealthy rapidity.
Two more boxes of stuff are ready to go to the local charity store and I feel an almost ridiculous calm. I sorted forks, weeded out old dishes, and forced myself to do something about the vast amounts of plastic storage containers that fall out of the cabinet every time I open the door. I created a drawer near the phone where the phone book can hide. I kicked clutter-butt.
One thing about living here in this old house is that there is always more stuff to go through. There's my stuff, there are the things that were left after my grandmother passed, and there are the things that no one seems to be clear on exactly where they came from. I have been trying to get everything cleaned out for years. I didn't get many of my projects done this summer, but I'm finally getting motivated again. I guess if you watch enough HGTV, sooner or later the subliminal messages sponsored by Lowe's and the Home Depot sink in to the most reluctant of viewers. :)
I have plans to work on my office again soon. I need payday to come and then I want to make it a workable space. Right now, it's a run in and dump space, but I need somewhere that's not my living room where I can have all my school and computer stuff together. I think with some shelves, it will be a lot more functional.
I also want to reclaim the room that's currently being used as a storage room for a guest bedroom. Once I get it done, the entire back of the house can be like a guest suite with its own bathroom and sitting room. It used to be a bedroom, but when I moved in, it turned into a boxroom and I've never gotten everything sorted. I think most of what's in there could be sent away. Maybe I'll get very motivated tomorrow and start the process of going through that room. There's a LOT of stuff back there, though. I wish Clean Sweep would show up. That way, I know I'd get it done.
I know cleaning seems like a stupid thing to blog about, but I have always admired the Thoreau quote above. When I lived in Japan, I fell in love with the clean spaces of traditional Japanese homes. There weren't a lot of knicknacks or piles of stuff around. It made the few pieces that were on display so much more meaningful. I know most Japanese women stay home and maintain the home, so maybe that's how they keep the clutter from overwhelming them, but I want my spaces to be that serene.
Admittedly, I have a lot of stuff. I have a Japanese maneki neko collection of about 50 pieces, not to mention the tons of books around. I don't think I'll ever attain the zen ideals I saw abroad. However, I'm going to keep trying to apply Thoreau's advice to my house and my life in general and see if I can't have a little more sanity with everything.
Oh well, back to it....
Henry David Thoreau
I spent today cleaning stuff out of my kitchen. It amazes me how fast things pile up in corners. Clutter seems like it must be a member of the mushroom family, springing up in the dark and growing with stealthy rapidity.
Two more boxes of stuff are ready to go to the local charity store and I feel an almost ridiculous calm. I sorted forks, weeded out old dishes, and forced myself to do something about the vast amounts of plastic storage containers that fall out of the cabinet every time I open the door. I created a drawer near the phone where the phone book can hide. I kicked clutter-butt.
One thing about living here in this old house is that there is always more stuff to go through. There's my stuff, there are the things that were left after my grandmother passed, and there are the things that no one seems to be clear on exactly where they came from. I have been trying to get everything cleaned out for years. I didn't get many of my projects done this summer, but I'm finally getting motivated again. I guess if you watch enough HGTV, sooner or later the subliminal messages sponsored by Lowe's and the Home Depot sink in to the most reluctant of viewers. :)
I have plans to work on my office again soon. I need payday to come and then I want to make it a workable space. Right now, it's a run in and dump space, but I need somewhere that's not my living room where I can have all my school and computer stuff together. I think with some shelves, it will be a lot more functional.
I also want to reclaim the room that's currently being used as a storage room for a guest bedroom. Once I get it done, the entire back of the house can be like a guest suite with its own bathroom and sitting room. It used to be a bedroom, but when I moved in, it turned into a boxroom and I've never gotten everything sorted. I think most of what's in there could be sent away. Maybe I'll get very motivated tomorrow and start the process of going through that room. There's a LOT of stuff back there, though. I wish Clean Sweep would show up. That way, I know I'd get it done.
I know cleaning seems like a stupid thing to blog about, but I have always admired the Thoreau quote above. When I lived in Japan, I fell in love with the clean spaces of traditional Japanese homes. There weren't a lot of knicknacks or piles of stuff around. It made the few pieces that were on display so much more meaningful. I know most Japanese women stay home and maintain the home, so maybe that's how they keep the clutter from overwhelming them, but I want my spaces to be that serene.
Admittedly, I have a lot of stuff. I have a Japanese maneki neko collection of about 50 pieces, not to mention the tons of books around. I don't think I'll ever attain the zen ideals I saw abroad. However, I'm going to keep trying to apply Thoreau's advice to my house and my life in general and see if I can't have a little more sanity with everything.
Oh well, back to it....
Monday, July 25, 2005
This and That
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.
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.
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.
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