It was a banner day for me today. I made four major errors in our church bulletin. I still don't know how I screwed it up that badly, but there you have it. It was also my turn to play the offertory tonight, and that always makes me a little nervous. You'd think that it would pass after all these years, but the tiny butterflies of nervousness never fail to flutter. The offertory went better than it had any right to based on my amount of practice, but by the time church was done, I was in need of a little treat.
After church, I drove down an old highway toward a small town near Podunk that has fast food. Podunk, bastion of civilization that it is, is far too tiny to have even a McDonald's. Most of the time, that's a nice trait, but occasionally one needs an infusion of grease and salt. This other town is probably three or four times as large as Podunk, and it has an alluring assortment of grease with the additional assuring factor that none of my students will be behind the counter of these places like they might be if I went in to the town in which I teach. Anybody whose ever been a teacher can appreciate the potential importance of that.
There are two ways to get to this place, one a major interstate and one a rural highway. I like to take the highway. It goes past fields, through patches of deep woods, and over river sloughs. When I was a child, hundred-year-old oak trees lined the road and were like a canopy shading it on even the hottest summer days. Those oaks were cut long ago; too many drunks did themselves irreparable harm by crashing into them, I suppose.
Dirt roads intersect the highway at regular intervals, and almost all of them look like you could take a left or right turn on them and disappear into the lush piney green through which they slice their tiny knife-thin red lines. I always entertain the thought that one night, I'll just pick one at random and head off into whatever may be out there. Of course, since I don't have the Evil Jeep anymore, that's become a riskier proposition than it once was. PT Cruisers, as I've noted before, aren't really good for dirt road exploration.
Sunday nights are when MPB, our state's public radio station, broadcasts Echoes and Hearts of Space. I have been hooked on these since high school. The music is good for just drifting in the world of thought. Rarely are there interpretable lyrics, and the international mixture of artists sends spirals of thought through me like drops of dye slowing dripping into a basin of still water. They make interesting patterns. Those two shows were the first two experiences I'd ever had with ambient music. Now, of course, it's everywhere. Satellite radio can provide aficionado with 24-hours of commercial-free feed. Then, though, it was a special treat that only came on Sundays.
Now, I still enjoy it on Sunday nights. Driving down the old highway in the indigo gloaming, my imagination always runs wild. The open fields of a huge farm span both sides of a mile or two of the road. At this time of the year, there's a crop of corn and a crop of sunflowers growing. Because it's open farmland, there's very little light pollution, and on a clear night, the skies are wide open. It would be an excellent place to take a blanket and watch stars. It looks like something out of a dream. During the summer, the music and the light mix, and my heart always feels calm.
It's a small pleasure. I don't go every Sunday night. Sometimes, I come straight home after church or wind up staying late to work on something. Sometimes I just stay and talk. On the nights I do make this journey through rural Mississippi, I always try to hold the peace and carry it with me for whatever the week ahead may bring.
Sunday, June 18, 2006
Saturday, June 17, 2006
Rain and Falling Trees
"The elements have come to destroy us..." (just for Clip, who will understand)
We finally got rain today. We've been very lucky that we're not as dry as Texas and some of the western states, but things have been dry. Even going down the driveway has raised a cloud of good old red Mississippi dirt.
We didn't get a huge amount of water, but another wave of the front is supposed to move through. At least now maybe we'll be able to breathe and the danger of fire will be suppressed. For some reason, every fool in the free world decides to burn when we haven't had rain for a long time. I don't exactly understand their reasoning. Perhaps there's no reasoning to understand.
Before the rains, there was a huge and powerful wind. It came up suddenly, and the trees were swirling in those scary, tornado-like circles like inverted wind-driven pendulums. It was the kind of wind that makes me feel as if I might be able to spread my arms out and fly. Of course, if that actually happened, I don't guess it would be like my childhood dreams of flight and would probably, at some point, involve smacking into something immobile.
Since Katrina, we've had lots of trees die from hidden damage or come down, so I was anxiously going from door to door and watching the skyline. Isn't it funny what sorts of irrational things you do in situations like that? Really, I have to laugh at myself. What was I going to do if a tree DID fall toward the house? Use my superpowers to make it go away? Catch it?
Anyway, I did pace and fret, and I stepped outside to secure a garbage can on the south porch. As I was tinkering with it, I heard a huge thud and saw a movement from the corner of my eye. The giant dead pecan tree in my front yard had fallen.
It was nothing more than a leafless trunk, and at some point this summer it was going to be removed anyway, but I have many childhood memories of that tree and have to admit that I was somewhat sorry to see it fall. That pecan, one of three big ones in the front yard, was our monkey swing tree. My two cousins and I spent hours and hours entertaining ourselves with the simple wooden round and rope swings that hung from the strong limbs of that tree. I'll never forget being at the top of the swing arc and having the rope break. I was actually airborne that time; unfortunately, the landing pretty much knocked me out.
The tree I remember has been gone a long time, though. It started dying when I was in college, and pieces of it have been falling for years. Today's wind didn't really destroy my memory tree. I'll always remember all the games and injuries my cousins and I garnered playing there. Tomorrow or the next day when the rain clears, Dad and I will use the tractor to remove the husk. The memory will stay.
We finally got rain today. We've been very lucky that we're not as dry as Texas and some of the western states, but things have been dry. Even going down the driveway has raised a cloud of good old red Mississippi dirt.
We didn't get a huge amount of water, but another wave of the front is supposed to move through. At least now maybe we'll be able to breathe and the danger of fire will be suppressed. For some reason, every fool in the free world decides to burn when we haven't had rain for a long time. I don't exactly understand their reasoning. Perhaps there's no reasoning to understand.
Before the rains, there was a huge and powerful wind. It came up suddenly, and the trees were swirling in those scary, tornado-like circles like inverted wind-driven pendulums. It was the kind of wind that makes me feel as if I might be able to spread my arms out and fly. Of course, if that actually happened, I don't guess it would be like my childhood dreams of flight and would probably, at some point, involve smacking into something immobile.
Since Katrina, we've had lots of trees die from hidden damage or come down, so I was anxiously going from door to door and watching the skyline. Isn't it funny what sorts of irrational things you do in situations like that? Really, I have to laugh at myself. What was I going to do if a tree DID fall toward the house? Use my superpowers to make it go away? Catch it?
Anyway, I did pace and fret, and I stepped outside to secure a garbage can on the south porch. As I was tinkering with it, I heard a huge thud and saw a movement from the corner of my eye. The giant dead pecan tree in my front yard had fallen.
It was nothing more than a leafless trunk, and at some point this summer it was going to be removed anyway, but I have many childhood memories of that tree and have to admit that I was somewhat sorry to see it fall. That pecan, one of three big ones in the front yard, was our monkey swing tree. My two cousins and I spent hours and hours entertaining ourselves with the simple wooden round and rope swings that hung from the strong limbs of that tree. I'll never forget being at the top of the swing arc and having the rope break. I was actually airborne that time; unfortunately, the landing pretty much knocked me out.
The tree I remember has been gone a long time, though. It started dying when I was in college, and pieces of it have been falling for years. Today's wind didn't really destroy my memory tree. I'll always remember all the games and injuries my cousins and I garnered playing there. Tomorrow or the next day when the rain clears, Dad and I will use the tractor to remove the husk. The memory will stay.
Things I'm Not
I'm having an odd moment, and this is what's come of it. So often, we try to define ourselves by what we are. This doesn't really come up to the standard of self-defining, but I was thinking about some odd things in my sleep-deprived state and, thus, the list was born:
I am not:
- patient (although I really do try)
- wise (although I want to be)
- short
- a person who suffers fools gladly
- good at math
- riddled with existential angst
- afraid to ask questions about anything
- athletic
- able to sleep right now
- in Japan, Thailand, Costa Rica, Ireland, or England (but, Lord, I wish I was)
- a good eBay seller, apparently, although I tried
- tolerant of my own weaknesses
- going to go raid the fridge, despite the knowledge that cheese awaits me
- an organist who practices enough
- ever going to meet the wonderful Vincent D'Onofrio
- filled with regret
- sure about where I'll be in five years
- always good and/or kind
- knocking myself, but rather, I'm being brutally honest
- fencing right now, but I soon will be (Yippee!!)
- designed to teach little kids
- going to tolerate being backed into a corner
- easily impressed or intimidated
- usually at a loss to express my opinions
- always careful enough to express my value of the opinions of others
- ever going to be tired of Roux hugging me when I come home
- ever going to be chic or ultra-stylish
- unhappy with who I am
- having any luck with eHarmony
- rich enough to afford a full set of Fire King Restaurant Ware plates
- in contact with my friends enough
- eating fried chicken or green curry
- going to bore you with any more of these random things
Goodnight, one and all.
I am not:
- patient (although I really do try)
- wise (although I want to be)
- short
- a person who suffers fools gladly
- good at math
- riddled with existential angst
- afraid to ask questions about anything
- athletic
- able to sleep right now
- in Japan, Thailand, Costa Rica, Ireland, or England (but, Lord, I wish I was)
- a good eBay seller, apparently, although I tried
- tolerant of my own weaknesses
- going to go raid the fridge, despite the knowledge that cheese awaits me
- an organist who practices enough
- ever going to meet the wonderful Vincent D'Onofrio
- filled with regret
- sure about where I'll be in five years
- always good and/or kind
- knocking myself, but rather, I'm being brutally honest
- fencing right now, but I soon will be (Yippee!!)
- designed to teach little kids
- going to tolerate being backed into a corner
- easily impressed or intimidated
- usually at a loss to express my opinions
- always careful enough to express my value of the opinions of others
- ever going to be tired of Roux hugging me when I come home
- ever going to be chic or ultra-stylish
- unhappy with who I am
- having any luck with eHarmony
- rich enough to afford a full set of Fire King Restaurant Ware plates
- in contact with my friends enough
- eating fried chicken or green curry
- going to bore you with any more of these random things
Goodnight, one and all.
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
Collections
I was just making my evening check on my eBay auctions, both bidding and selling, and I was thinking about the things we collect. As I've said in a previous post, one of the best things about eBay is that no matter what your particular passion is, somebody on eBay is bound to be selling at least one type of that thing.
What is it that our collections say about us? I'm sure a psychologist/psychiatrist could have a field day with this topic, but I really wonder. What does it say about me that I collect Fire King Restaurant Ware, PEZ, vintage scarves, maneki neko, vintage tablecloths, and old fashioned Santas? I have friends who collect GI Joe, porcelain clowns, NASCAR, teacups, ladybugs, lunchboxes, horse figurines, nutcrackers, and all kinds of other stuff. What is it about these objects that satisfies? Is it simply the thrill of acquisition?
I used to think that the collection bug was primarily an American thing, but I was disabused of that notion the first time I went to Costa Rica in college. My host mom there collected geese. Her whole house was filled with goose things. My Japanese friends collected everything from purses to porcelains to Hello Kitty. Everybody has something.
Do we do it just so our friends and family can give us gifts? I've often thought that everybody ought to be required to collect something just so people can find something for special occasions without having to go generic with a gift card. My best friend does the ladybug thing. I am always on the lookout for something interesting with ladybugs for her. It's almost as much fun for me to find something unusual for her as it is to find some new trinket for myself.
Do we define ourselves with these collectibles? I could probably do some amateur analysis on myself and say that I have a strong connection to vintage and kitsch based on my list of collectibles. I am not conscious of collecting these things for that reason. I don't think anybody I know is making a conscious statement about his or her life based on his or her collection. I guess somebody might collect something because it was expensive, to show that he or she can afford it. Maybe that's a conscious thing. I wonder if the people who collect for that reason get the same joy from their collections.
I can walk into my office, flip on the light, and my PEZ collection never fails to bring a smile to my face. I can remember finding or winning most of them. Going into Dollar Tree and seeing a new seasonal display of PEZ always quickens my pulse and rifling through the bins and coming up with a full set of the latest release always gives me a "PEZ rush." I guess as long as I can be made happy for about $4, I shouldn't question it.
What is it that our collections say about us? I'm sure a psychologist/psychiatrist could have a field day with this topic, but I really wonder. What does it say about me that I collect Fire King Restaurant Ware, PEZ, vintage scarves, maneki neko, vintage tablecloths, and old fashioned Santas? I have friends who collect GI Joe, porcelain clowns, NASCAR, teacups, ladybugs, lunchboxes, horse figurines, nutcrackers, and all kinds of other stuff. What is it about these objects that satisfies? Is it simply the thrill of acquisition?
I used to think that the collection bug was primarily an American thing, but I was disabused of that notion the first time I went to Costa Rica in college. My host mom there collected geese. Her whole house was filled with goose things. My Japanese friends collected everything from purses to porcelains to Hello Kitty. Everybody has something.
Do we do it just so our friends and family can give us gifts? I've often thought that everybody ought to be required to collect something just so people can find something for special occasions without having to go generic with a gift card. My best friend does the ladybug thing. I am always on the lookout for something interesting with ladybugs for her. It's almost as much fun for me to find something unusual for her as it is to find some new trinket for myself.
Do we define ourselves with these collectibles? I could probably do some amateur analysis on myself and say that I have a strong connection to vintage and kitsch based on my list of collectibles. I am not conscious of collecting these things for that reason. I don't think anybody I know is making a conscious statement about his or her life based on his or her collection. I guess somebody might collect something because it was expensive, to show that he or she can afford it. Maybe that's a conscious thing. I wonder if the people who collect for that reason get the same joy from their collections.
I can walk into my office, flip on the light, and my PEZ collection never fails to bring a smile to my face. I can remember finding or winning most of them. Going into Dollar Tree and seeing a new seasonal display of PEZ always quickens my pulse and rifling through the bins and coming up with a full set of the latest release always gives me a "PEZ rush." I guess as long as I can be made happy for about $4, I shouldn't question it.
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
The Search for the Dog
Tonight Missy played a cruel dog joke on me. Since the weather was not quite so hot today and since my cat Yoda is about ready to kill anything that moves (and somethings that don't) from dog-induced stress, I left Missy outside today. She usually comes in during the middle of the day and sleeps during the hottest part of the afternoon. Today, she came and peered in the door with her right ear aloft quizzically, but I didn't let her in.
About six, I started trying to get the dogs in for supper. Yelldo came running with his perky little tail wagging as usual, but no Roux. I called and called, received no response, decided that Missy wasn't ready to come in yet and sat down to eat my own supper. Seven came and went; no Roux looking in the screen door.
At eight, I started calling her and walking around the yard. I checked the ditches and the pasture. No Roux. I started getting really worried and not a little panicked. When the last of the day faded, I came to the house, got Roux's training clicker and turned on every outside light attached to the house. With the porch lights blazing, I made the rounds again calling and clicking. No Roux.
I grabbed my car keys and got in my car. I took my poor little PT Cruiser out into the pasture to the far end and called and clicked. No Roux. I managed to back and turn without hitting a tree or a terrace row and crept back up to the house. I love my car, but it wasn't made for off-roading, even in a recently mown pasture.
I decided to go up and down the road and check the ditches again. By this point, I had already started crying. I couldn't stop thinking about Britta and how similar the situation was. I was on my way down the driveway, and I heard the faint jangling of a collar tag through my open windows. I slammed on the brakes, looked in my rearview mirror, and there was Missy. I literally felt my heart unclench.
I jumped out of the car and grabbed her. She was panting heavily like she'd just come a long distance or had been running hard. It's possible that she followed me from the far end of the pasture. I don't know where she came from, but I am so happy she's back. I loaded her into the car and we came back up the driveway. When we got back to the house, I brought her in (on a leash) and she went directly to her water bowl and drained it. I fed her, she ate, and she immediately curled up on the loveseat and went to sleep. She seems exhausted.
I guess all this was her way of paying me back for leaving her to her own devices all day. I have some news for her....it's going to be a LONG time before she gets to have an outside-all-day day again soon. Of course, that may have been the point to begin with.....
About six, I started trying to get the dogs in for supper. Yelldo came running with his perky little tail wagging as usual, but no Roux. I called and called, received no response, decided that Missy wasn't ready to come in yet and sat down to eat my own supper. Seven came and went; no Roux looking in the screen door.
At eight, I started calling her and walking around the yard. I checked the ditches and the pasture. No Roux. I started getting really worried and not a little panicked. When the last of the day faded, I came to the house, got Roux's training clicker and turned on every outside light attached to the house. With the porch lights blazing, I made the rounds again calling and clicking. No Roux.
I grabbed my car keys and got in my car. I took my poor little PT Cruiser out into the pasture to the far end and called and clicked. No Roux. I managed to back and turn without hitting a tree or a terrace row and crept back up to the house. I love my car, but it wasn't made for off-roading, even in a recently mown pasture.
I decided to go up and down the road and check the ditches again. By this point, I had already started crying. I couldn't stop thinking about Britta and how similar the situation was. I was on my way down the driveway, and I heard the faint jangling of a collar tag through my open windows. I slammed on the brakes, looked in my rearview mirror, and there was Missy. I literally felt my heart unclench.
I jumped out of the car and grabbed her. She was panting heavily like she'd just come a long distance or had been running hard. It's possible that she followed me from the far end of the pasture. I don't know where she came from, but I am so happy she's back. I loaded her into the car and we came back up the driveway. When we got back to the house, I brought her in (on a leash) and she went directly to her water bowl and drained it. I fed her, she ate, and she immediately curled up on the loveseat and went to sleep. She seems exhausted.
I guess all this was her way of paying me back for leaving her to her own devices all day. I have some news for her....it's going to be a LONG time before she gets to have an outside-all-day day again soon. Of course, that may have been the point to begin with.....
Saturday, June 10, 2006
Cleaning
I forced myself to take a break from reading today and actually accomplished some cleaning. I worked on the back storage room. It's not done by any stretch of the imagination, but I have this Clean Sweep euphoria about being able to see even the tiny patch of floor that I opened up today.
That room has been a convenient dump site for years. It is the last bastion of crap-in-boxes, that phenomenon anyone who has moved a lot is painfully familiar with. My goal is to make it all go away. The room will probably still have a bunch of stuff stored in it, but I want to be able to walk in and not have to vault over stuff to get to wrapping paper or my store-in-inside holiday stuff. This past year, I simply didn't put out all my Santas because I couldn't get to them. Absurd.
One day, I'd like for that room to be a bedroom again, but I have to clean out the storage van (an eighteen-wheeler trailer) first. That's not a task to start when the day''s base temperature is over 100. Maybe I can do it in stages. A lot of it needs to be thrown out or sent to someone who can use it. Who knows? Maybe I'll find something wonderful to eBay and be able to afford some shelving for the van. Right now, there's a really scary system of old doors and wooden spools holding everything up. Every time I go in there, I am secretly afraid the whole thing is going to fall down like a house of cards.
Once I get everything out of the back of the house and to its final destination (charity or the dump), I will be a happy woman. Hopefully this week will be the magic week in which all that stuff and the big stuff that's collected near the barn will all leave my place. Increasingly I feel like Thoreau about things. The railroad is riding on me in the form of the seemingly neverending piles of junk I have to shuffle from place to place in this house. I want it Zen, stripped to the bone essentials.
Actually, that may not be strictly true, else why would I keep eBaying? I guess it's better to say that I want things of my own choosing and that are useful rather than things that have followed me from another life somewhere and no longer function for me. The guy on Clean Sweep (and believe it or not, I cannot think of his name as much as I've seen that show) always talks about not confusing keeping an item with keeping a memory. The first time I heard that, it really struck me. I don't have to keep the set of ceramic geese Granny bought at a yard sale somewhere to remember her. To be honest, I do have a lot of things that I love and won't get rid of because they were this person's or that one's, but this guy's philosophy has helped me get rid of lots of things that hopefully have gone to make somebody else happy.
Well, Law and Order: CI is on, and even though it's not Goren and Eames, I am going to watch it and go to bed. Where is Goren? I need a tall, cute, smart guy fix....
That room has been a convenient dump site for years. It is the last bastion of crap-in-boxes, that phenomenon anyone who has moved a lot is painfully familiar with. My goal is to make it all go away. The room will probably still have a bunch of stuff stored in it, but I want to be able to walk in and not have to vault over stuff to get to wrapping paper or my store-in-inside holiday stuff. This past year, I simply didn't put out all my Santas because I couldn't get to them. Absurd.
One day, I'd like for that room to be a bedroom again, but I have to clean out the storage van (an eighteen-wheeler trailer) first. That's not a task to start when the day''s base temperature is over 100. Maybe I can do it in stages. A lot of it needs to be thrown out or sent to someone who can use it. Who knows? Maybe I'll find something wonderful to eBay and be able to afford some shelving for the van. Right now, there's a really scary system of old doors and wooden spools holding everything up. Every time I go in there, I am secretly afraid the whole thing is going to fall down like a house of cards.
Once I get everything out of the back of the house and to its final destination (charity or the dump), I will be a happy woman. Hopefully this week will be the magic week in which all that stuff and the big stuff that's collected near the barn will all leave my place. Increasingly I feel like Thoreau about things. The railroad is riding on me in the form of the seemingly neverending piles of junk I have to shuffle from place to place in this house. I want it Zen, stripped to the bone essentials.
Actually, that may not be strictly true, else why would I keep eBaying? I guess it's better to say that I want things of my own choosing and that are useful rather than things that have followed me from another life somewhere and no longer function for me. The guy on Clean Sweep (and believe it or not, I cannot think of his name as much as I've seen that show) always talks about not confusing keeping an item with keeping a memory. The first time I heard that, it really struck me. I don't have to keep the set of ceramic geese Granny bought at a yard sale somewhere to remember her. To be honest, I do have a lot of things that I love and won't get rid of because they were this person's or that one's, but this guy's philosophy has helped me get rid of lots of things that hopefully have gone to make somebody else happy.
Well, Law and Order: CI is on, and even though it's not Goren and Eames, I am going to watch it and go to bed. Where is Goren? I need a tall, cute, smart guy fix....
Friday, June 09, 2006
Law and Order: CI
I have gotten hooked on Law and Order: Criminal Intent. I have seen the other varieties of the show, but I love CI. Each evening, I tune in to USA's seemingly endless stream of Law and Order episodes and watch Goren and Eames tear it up. I always love to see the little details that give away the criminals.
My favorite part of the show is the closing of the trap at the end, though. I love the way they mess with the criminal's mind to make him or her confess. Goren always find the right psychological buttons to push and it's fascinating.
I also have to admit that I'm sort of infatuated with Detective Goren. How could you not be? The character is incredibly passionate about what's important to him, super, super intelligent, and, I have to say, very easy on the eyes. I have no idea what the actor who plays him might really be like, but I bet the character's intensity comes from the actor.
Knowing that TV is highly unrealistic, I wonder if any of what goes on in these shows is like real police work. I don't mean the various ways people find to be evil to each other. That I believe is real. I wonder about the solving of the crimes.
Police work is something I don't think I could ever do. I don't think I could ever get the requisite distance to be able to focus and solve the crimes. I think I'd just cry over every victim.
Well, another bad guy has been successfully foiled, so I guess it's time to go get supper from somewhere. Sometime around 10:00, they'll be on again....
My favorite part of the show is the closing of the trap at the end, though. I love the way they mess with the criminal's mind to make him or her confess. Goren always find the right psychological buttons to push and it's fascinating.
I also have to admit that I'm sort of infatuated with Detective Goren. How could you not be? The character is incredibly passionate about what's important to him, super, super intelligent, and, I have to say, very easy on the eyes. I have no idea what the actor who plays him might really be like, but I bet the character's intensity comes from the actor.
Knowing that TV is highly unrealistic, I wonder if any of what goes on in these shows is like real police work. I don't mean the various ways people find to be evil to each other. That I believe is real. I wonder about the solving of the crimes.
Police work is something I don't think I could ever do. I don't think I could ever get the requisite distance to be able to focus and solve the crimes. I think I'd just cry over every victim.
Well, another bad guy has been successfully foiled, so I guess it's time to go get supper from somewhere. Sometime around 10:00, they'll be on again....
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
Summer Evenings
Tonight is one of those most wonderful of summer evenings in the South. The humidity has abated this week. I don't know what meteorological fluke is responsible for this, but I'm grateful. It's cool enough to enjoy working outdoors and to have the windows and attic fan on in the evenings. The sun stays out until past 8:00, and those final wonderful lingering hours of sunlight are the golden part of summer. I wish I could catch that light in a jar and carry it around with me always.
There's a softness to Southern summer nights like this that I've never found anywhere else. The air always smells of fresh-cut grass, late-blooming honeysuckle, or gardenias. Right now, the sweetness of it is rushing in through my windows replacing the stale, recycled air that has been trapped in for so long when the A/C is running. The flow of it and the fragrances make me feel centered and, for lack of a better description, home.
Nights like this always bring out the urge to go walking in the woods. I wish I had a good walking path cleared out that I could use when the world turns velvety like this. Katrina felled huge trees onto the only good path on my property, and we've not cleared them, so I suppose that urge will have to be suppressed. It's probably just as well. Snakes and other critters are bound to be enjoying this gentle summer, too.
I'll probably be up much too late tonight with a good book (Greg Iles may become a favorite author if this book continues to be this good), my two crazy dogs, and the soft comfort of Mississippi wrapped around me like the coolness of a clean white cotton feed sack quilt.
There's a softness to Southern summer nights like this that I've never found anywhere else. The air always smells of fresh-cut grass, late-blooming honeysuckle, or gardenias. Right now, the sweetness of it is rushing in through my windows replacing the stale, recycled air that has been trapped in for so long when the A/C is running. The flow of it and the fragrances make me feel centered and, for lack of a better description, home.
Nights like this always bring out the urge to go walking in the woods. I wish I had a good walking path cleared out that I could use when the world turns velvety like this. Katrina felled huge trees onto the only good path on my property, and we've not cleared them, so I suppose that urge will have to be suppressed. It's probably just as well. Snakes and other critters are bound to be enjoying this gentle summer, too.
I'll probably be up much too late tonight with a good book (Greg Iles may become a favorite author if this book continues to be this good), my two crazy dogs, and the soft comfort of Mississippi wrapped around me like the coolness of a clean white cotton feed sack quilt.
Sunday, June 04, 2006
Yard Redux
Guilt dragged me back outside yesterday, and I finished off the yard. I used the trimmer, and it looks a lot better. In fact, the trimmer made things look so good that I was inspired to pull out my pruning shears and hedge clippers. I suppose I got a bit carried away.
It's nice to be able to walk around the yard and have it look like somebody reputable lives here, though.
Well, that's it for tonight. Just a quick note. Maybe I'll get philosophical or have an exciting day tomorrow.
It's nice to be able to walk around the yard and have it look like somebody reputable lives here, though.
Well, that's it for tonight. Just a quick note. Maybe I'll get philosophical or have an exciting day tomorrow.
Saturday, June 03, 2006
Yard
I have to admit, I'm not much into yard work. My mom spends every sunlit hour outside building, landscaping, and grooming. Her yards are a work of art. Mine are more like a velvet Elvis painting.
I do mow once a week or once every two weeks depending on rain. My big orange Husqvarna zero turn helps that be a relatively pain-free task. It's a big grownup go-cart, and I still get a kick out of riding it.
I do not keep them up like Mom does, though. I don't like the weedeater and I absolutely hate the push mower. My yard, because it has steep grades in some places, requires both. It usually winds up with neatly groomed flats and raggedy slopes.
Right now, it's about due for me to get out with the trimmer and the push mower again. I generally wait until I just can't stand to look at it anymore before I can force myself to do something to it. I think today is that day. Maybe, though, I can just ignore it until it gets too dark to do anything and escape the chore for another day.
I do mow once a week or once every two weeks depending on rain. My big orange Husqvarna zero turn helps that be a relatively pain-free task. It's a big grownup go-cart, and I still get a kick out of riding it.
I do not keep them up like Mom does, though. I don't like the weedeater and I absolutely hate the push mower. My yard, because it has steep grades in some places, requires both. It usually winds up with neatly groomed flats and raggedy slopes.
Right now, it's about due for me to get out with the trimmer and the push mower again. I generally wait until I just can't stand to look at it anymore before I can force myself to do something to it. I think today is that day. Maybe, though, I can just ignore it until it gets too dark to do anything and escape the chore for another day.
Thursday, June 01, 2006
Selling on eBay
Today I joined the ranks of sellers on eBay. I am trying to clean out some things that I don't use and to which I have no great sentimental attachment.
When I moved into this house, the cabinets and closets were full to bursting with things from my grandparents and other family members. I have slowly been sorting through it all. Right now, I'm auctioning off a set of Frankoma Plainsman dishes. Granny got them at some garage sale somewhere anyway, and I am not attached, so we'll see how it goes.
Now that the items are listed, I feel a little anxious. What if nobody bids? I feel almost protective towards those blue green dishes. Strange, but true. I am not looking to make millions, but I do hope the items go "to a good home."
Well, it's late, or early, depending on your point of view, and I think I'll try to go on to bed. Tomorrow promises to be busy. Dad is going to come down and we're going to try to finally finish off the great water heater problem and install a ceiling fan on my porch. Hopefully, we'll not have a machine curse day and we can get everything done.
When I moved into this house, the cabinets and closets were full to bursting with things from my grandparents and other family members. I have slowly been sorting through it all. Right now, I'm auctioning off a set of Frankoma Plainsman dishes. Granny got them at some garage sale somewhere anyway, and I am not attached, so we'll see how it goes.
Now that the items are listed, I feel a little anxious. What if nobody bids? I feel almost protective towards those blue green dishes. Strange, but true. I am not looking to make millions, but I do hope the items go "to a good home."
Well, it's late, or early, depending on your point of view, and I think I'll try to go on to bed. Tomorrow promises to be busy. Dad is going to come down and we're going to try to finally finish off the great water heater problem and install a ceiling fan on my porch. Hopefully, we'll not have a machine curse day and we can get everything done.
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
Word Glutton
I have been reading non-stop since school dismissed Friday. I've plowed through two and 3/4 novels between house cleaning, eBay perusal, construction projects, and catching up on overdue appointments and obligations. The sheer luxury of taking a few hours to rip through a book is almost intoxicating.
This is summer, and if I do nothing else in summer, I always feed the word hunger inside me. I'm not talking about lofty literature. I'm talking about the simple pleasure of letting pulp and ink sweep me away into someone else's life, someone else's dilemma. I'm talking about armchair travel, finding out whodunit, and what's going to happen next.
As I've probably mentioned before, I read almost everything. Most of my students probably think all I read are the lofty classics, but the simple truth is I love pulp fiction, chick lit, sword-and-sorcery, general fiction, Southern authors, biography, history, mystery, and so forth every bit as much as I love Jane Austen (okay, mostly as much...Jane's a special case). The only books I studiously avoid are those with a political or philosophical mission. I can think for myself, thank you. There's nothing more dull than a bunch of allegorical characters blathering on about the dark, pointless nature of existence. Please. They always strike me as anorexic models with no grasp on the realities of life. I can almost see them, their frail bodies draped in black, cigarettes waving through the air in exaggerated arcs of gesture, having conversations that mean nothing to anyone, not even themselves.
I also don't like books that focus entirely on "man's dark struggle to survive." As I've said time and time again, every individual's daily life has enough darkness in it to meet whatever universal requirement there may be for that. There's no need to wallow in it and seek it out in fictional doses. William Blake, fantastic looney that he was, believed in an Organized Innocence, an acknowledgment of the evils, a willingness to fight them, but an absolute refusal to let that darkness close off the windows of light and good. Good for him. So many works people tout as "essential" have far too much of that focus on dark to the exclusion of good. I find it depressing and pointless most of the time.
I am looking forward to a summer of good reading. It may not all be reading of AP's "works of literary merit", but I am quite sure that my brain cells will survive the insult. It's time to dust off the library card, fling the cats from the crocheted comforter, pour a big glass of Red Diamond, and luxuriate in the selfish gluttony of the written word. I think I can balance my addiction with the feelings of guilt and the need to do something "productive" and get my summer to-do list checked off while I catch up on my books. Well...most of it, anyway....
This is summer, and if I do nothing else in summer, I always feed the word hunger inside me. I'm not talking about lofty literature. I'm talking about the simple pleasure of letting pulp and ink sweep me away into someone else's life, someone else's dilemma. I'm talking about armchair travel, finding out whodunit, and what's going to happen next.
As I've probably mentioned before, I read almost everything. Most of my students probably think all I read are the lofty classics, but the simple truth is I love pulp fiction, chick lit, sword-and-sorcery, general fiction, Southern authors, biography, history, mystery, and so forth every bit as much as I love Jane Austen (okay, mostly as much...Jane's a special case). The only books I studiously avoid are those with a political or philosophical mission. I can think for myself, thank you. There's nothing more dull than a bunch of allegorical characters blathering on about the dark, pointless nature of existence. Please. They always strike me as anorexic models with no grasp on the realities of life. I can almost see them, their frail bodies draped in black, cigarettes waving through the air in exaggerated arcs of gesture, having conversations that mean nothing to anyone, not even themselves.
I also don't like books that focus entirely on "man's dark struggle to survive." As I've said time and time again, every individual's daily life has enough darkness in it to meet whatever universal requirement there may be for that. There's no need to wallow in it and seek it out in fictional doses. William Blake, fantastic looney that he was, believed in an Organized Innocence, an acknowledgment of the evils, a willingness to fight them, but an absolute refusal to let that darkness close off the windows of light and good. Good for him. So many works people tout as "essential" have far too much of that focus on dark to the exclusion of good. I find it depressing and pointless most of the time.
I am looking forward to a summer of good reading. It may not all be reading of AP's "works of literary merit", but I am quite sure that my brain cells will survive the insult. It's time to dust off the library card, fling the cats from the crocheted comforter, pour a big glass of Red Diamond, and luxuriate in the selfish gluttony of the written word. I think I can balance my addiction with the feelings of guilt and the need to do something "productive" and get my summer to-do list checked off while I catch up on my books. Well...most of it, anyway....
Saturday, May 27, 2006
School Ends
It's finally done. I've been fighting a relapse of the crud, trying to get things finished up at school, and I really haven't felt much like blogging. Now, everything has come to a close, and I think you'll start seeing more posts from me.
I lay on couch and read most of today. The rest of the day, I was helping Dad wrestle with my ancient water heater. It went belly-up earlier this week and getting it out turned out to be more of a hassle than one might imagine. Apparently, it was installed just about the time I was born and had rusted away to almost nothing. Trying to move it caused flakes of rust to come off. To get a good grip, we just sort of punched through the side and made a handhold. Once again, only that great magic, kind force of the universe was holding all that rust together in the semblance of a water heater. By all rights, as far as I can tell, it should have disintegrated long ago.
We're still working on it...plumbing sucks. I have water all over the house again, though, and the water heater for the back of the house is still working, so we can drink and bathe. (Well, I can bathe. The cats and my dogs take care of that in other ways.)
I have started a couple of minor renovations on my main bathroom, just moving stuff around and spray painting a couple of smaller items. I am going to try to get the ancient contact paper stripped off the walls (no, I didn't put it up) and paint. I may get crazy and put down some self-stick floor tiles to try to do something with the horrid floor. It's nice to have summer to tinker with stuff. I miss my tinkering time fiercely during the school year.
I also got a new laptop. Well, I'm using a new laptop. I can't say it belongs to me. Our school system bought laptops for all their teachers to use. They're Gateway, and they're "da bomb." (Do people even say that anymore? Should people say that anymore?) It's wireless, and will command a wireless projector they're in the process of mounting to my classroom ceiling. They're also tablet PCs, so I can draw little stick men for my classes. :) Maybe this way I can get my instructions across more clearly.
In all seriousness, this is exciting for me. I finally have the tools to do some serious tech stuff in my teaching. Before, I was having to rig a bunch of stuff and pray for good results. Now it's all simply right at my fingertips. It's almost overwhelming.
Well, I'm off to play with my fantastic machine for another night. I should be sleeping, but hey, it's a tablet PC and school's out for the summer. Life is good.
I lay on couch and read most of today. The rest of the day, I was helping Dad wrestle with my ancient water heater. It went belly-up earlier this week and getting it out turned out to be more of a hassle than one might imagine. Apparently, it was installed just about the time I was born and had rusted away to almost nothing. Trying to move it caused flakes of rust to come off. To get a good grip, we just sort of punched through the side and made a handhold. Once again, only that great magic, kind force of the universe was holding all that rust together in the semblance of a water heater. By all rights, as far as I can tell, it should have disintegrated long ago.
We're still working on it...plumbing sucks. I have water all over the house again, though, and the water heater for the back of the house is still working, so we can drink and bathe. (Well, I can bathe. The cats and my dogs take care of that in other ways.)
I have started a couple of minor renovations on my main bathroom, just moving stuff around and spray painting a couple of smaller items. I am going to try to get the ancient contact paper stripped off the walls (no, I didn't put it up) and paint. I may get crazy and put down some self-stick floor tiles to try to do something with the horrid floor. It's nice to have summer to tinker with stuff. I miss my tinkering time fiercely during the school year.
I also got a new laptop. Well, I'm using a new laptop. I can't say it belongs to me. Our school system bought laptops for all their teachers to use. They're Gateway, and they're "da bomb." (Do people even say that anymore? Should people say that anymore?) It's wireless, and will command a wireless projector they're in the process of mounting to my classroom ceiling. They're also tablet PCs, so I can draw little stick men for my classes. :) Maybe this way I can get my instructions across more clearly.
In all seriousness, this is exciting for me. I finally have the tools to do some serious tech stuff in my teaching. Before, I was having to rig a bunch of stuff and pray for good results. Now it's all simply right at my fingertips. It's almost overwhelming.
Well, I'm off to play with my fantastic machine for another night. I should be sleeping, but hey, it's a tablet PC and school's out for the summer. Life is good.
Sunday, May 14, 2006
Fable
There's a story I want to tell. Consider it a modern fable, if you will.
Once upon a time, there was a senior. That senior had worked very hard for the past thirteen years (K-12) earning academic honors and the trust and respect of the senior's teachers and peers. Suddenly, during the senior's last year, the senior decided to slack off a bit. The senior's grades began to slide and the senior was forced to consider the fact that the almighty GPA might fall.
This is when the senior made a fateful choice. The senior chose to access the grades through the school's computer and change those that did not meet the high expectations everyone, including the senior, had for the senior. The senior was crafty and subtle. It was a process that was painstakingly done over the course of an entire academic year. Finally, the day after the last final, the senior logged in once more, edited the last of the grades that offended, dashed off a condescending email requesting the senior's final grades from teachers, and with a smile, left campus for the last time until graduation practice.
Through a regular checking of the grades, the changes were discovered. All hell broke loose. Administrators and teachers were angry and disappointed. Trust and respect which had been established shattered like a ceramic cookie jar dropped by a pillaging child. Ultimately, everything the senior had worked for over the course of time was taken. No graduation, no honors, no speaking at graduation. It was all gone. The senior would lose rank, prestige, and even the right to attend the senior's own graduation. Nothing would be left to show for thirteen years of work except a stripped-down diploma which would be mailed the day after the grand ceremony.
What makes somebody throw away all those years? It's a question to ponder. The moral of this modern fable might be that there are some gambles it's better not to take. It might be that there are some gains that are meaningless when they are earned by force and dishonesty. Finally, though, I think it has to be that there is never a good time or a right time to abandon the things we know are right. None of us are ever above ethics, even if our time in a certain place has come to a close. It's never too late to have it all taken away because of a poor choice.
Once upon a time, there was a senior. That senior had worked very hard for the past thirteen years (K-12) earning academic honors and the trust and respect of the senior's teachers and peers. Suddenly, during the senior's last year, the senior decided to slack off a bit. The senior's grades began to slide and the senior was forced to consider the fact that the almighty GPA might fall.
This is when the senior made a fateful choice. The senior chose to access the grades through the school's computer and change those that did not meet the high expectations everyone, including the senior, had for the senior. The senior was crafty and subtle. It was a process that was painstakingly done over the course of an entire academic year. Finally, the day after the last final, the senior logged in once more, edited the last of the grades that offended, dashed off a condescending email requesting the senior's final grades from teachers, and with a smile, left campus for the last time until graduation practice.
Through a regular checking of the grades, the changes were discovered. All hell broke loose. Administrators and teachers were angry and disappointed. Trust and respect which had been established shattered like a ceramic cookie jar dropped by a pillaging child. Ultimately, everything the senior had worked for over the course of time was taken. No graduation, no honors, no speaking at graduation. It was all gone. The senior would lose rank, prestige, and even the right to attend the senior's own graduation. Nothing would be left to show for thirteen years of work except a stripped-down diploma which would be mailed the day after the grand ceremony.
What makes somebody throw away all those years? It's a question to ponder. The moral of this modern fable might be that there are some gambles it's better not to take. It might be that there are some gains that are meaningless when they are earned by force and dishonesty. Finally, though, I think it has to be that there is never a good time or a right time to abandon the things we know are right. None of us are ever above ethics, even if our time in a certain place has come to a close. It's never too late to have it all taken away because of a poor choice.
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
Ears
I, par for the course, have been very, very sick lately. Apparently, I have bronchitis, a sinus infection, and my right ear is so infected that it has completely closed off. I take a huge handful of pills every day and am using a frightening albuterol puffer thing. I have drops for my ears and nasal spray. To be brief, it sucks.
The part that is taking the longest to get over is the ear thing. I damaged my ears in Japan with an ongoing infection and bizarre medical practices. They've never been "strong", but after that, they seem to get much more irritable much more often.
I was sick in a place in which I did not speak the language, so I was reluctant to go to the doctor. The infection finally reached the point where my ear was continuously draining, and I finally got up the nerve to ask my boss to take me and translate. He agreed, and we went to a local clinic in my neighborhood.
The doctor made some cursory inspections, and the next thing I remember was him coming toward my face with a small wire. I grabbed his wrist right about the time I realized he planned to stick the wire, which was actually a camera, up my nose. My boss thought it was the funniest thing he'd ever seen. Apparently, Japanese doctors don't feel the same compulsion to tell you what they're going to do before they do it that American doctors have. It was a tense moment.
Finally, though I sat there and cried while he looked at the inside of my head with the little camera. I can't describe that feeling, but it still makes me shudder to think about it. He gave me some little packets of medicines and told me I'd have to come back every day for treatment. Every day for three weeks, I had a breathing treatment and that horrid little camera up my nose. I didn't get well until I managed to get back home and get some medicines based on my body weight. To this day, it ranks among my worst memories.
This ear infection has brought it all back. I'm still pretty weak from the other, too. I spent all day Saturday and Sunday in bed. Mom and Dad, my wonderful, wonderful parents, took care of me. I don't know what I'd do without them. I think I need a keeper.
Anyway, that's what's going on in my world. There's more. My seniors are gone, and their leaving was actually graceful and lovely. I'll write about it later on. Right now, I have to go take round two of medicine for the evening, and then I need to fall down again.
The part that is taking the longest to get over is the ear thing. I damaged my ears in Japan with an ongoing infection and bizarre medical practices. They've never been "strong", but after that, they seem to get much more irritable much more often.
I was sick in a place in which I did not speak the language, so I was reluctant to go to the doctor. The infection finally reached the point where my ear was continuously draining, and I finally got up the nerve to ask my boss to take me and translate. He agreed, and we went to a local clinic in my neighborhood.
The doctor made some cursory inspections, and the next thing I remember was him coming toward my face with a small wire. I grabbed his wrist right about the time I realized he planned to stick the wire, which was actually a camera, up my nose. My boss thought it was the funniest thing he'd ever seen. Apparently, Japanese doctors don't feel the same compulsion to tell you what they're going to do before they do it that American doctors have. It was a tense moment.
Finally, though I sat there and cried while he looked at the inside of my head with the little camera. I can't describe that feeling, but it still makes me shudder to think about it. He gave me some little packets of medicines and told me I'd have to come back every day for treatment. Every day for three weeks, I had a breathing treatment and that horrid little camera up my nose. I didn't get well until I managed to get back home and get some medicines based on my body weight. To this day, it ranks among my worst memories.
This ear infection has brought it all back. I'm still pretty weak from the other, too. I spent all day Saturday and Sunday in bed. Mom and Dad, my wonderful, wonderful parents, took care of me. I don't know what I'd do without them. I think I need a keeper.
Anyway, that's what's going on in my world. There's more. My seniors are gone, and their leaving was actually graceful and lovely. I'll write about it later on. Right now, I have to go take round two of medicine for the evening, and then I need to fall down again.
Friday, May 05, 2006
After the AP
Yesterday was the day of the AP English exam for my seniors. I nervously waited to hear how they think they might have done. I saw two or three of them, and they said they felt confident, but they had big problems with one of the essays. Oops. They got a passage from Oscar Wilde and it threw many of them.
I feel so relaxed now that it's over for this year. I have been working on my plans for next year for quite some time, but now I can begin to do so in earnest. I want to get some final feedback from this year's class, and then it will be almost time to start all over again.
Since everybody was gone 2nd and 5th yesterday, I used the time to create webpages for my classes. It's something I'd thought about doing half a dozen times, but a colleague of mine brought it back up to me again, and since I had the time and couldn't focus on anything else, I decided to go for it. I used Google's Pagemaker. It's about as basic as possible, but it was plenty to do what I needed. I'm not a corporation, after all, and although the current trend of thinking about education often refutes this, I am not trying to sell anybody anything.
There are many changes I want to make for next year. I am switching out some works, reducing the total number studied, putting poetry into a chronological order, and several other things. I want to make it harder and better. It's become sort of a hobby for me. I don't know what that says about me, but it's true.
Well, I am currently giving a test, so I guess I should get back to it. It's strange to be doing this from school. I wonder how long this strange reprieve from being banned as "tasteless/obscene" will last?
I feel so relaxed now that it's over for this year. I have been working on my plans for next year for quite some time, but now I can begin to do so in earnest. I want to get some final feedback from this year's class, and then it will be almost time to start all over again.
Since everybody was gone 2nd and 5th yesterday, I used the time to create webpages for my classes. It's something I'd thought about doing half a dozen times, but a colleague of mine brought it back up to me again, and since I had the time and couldn't focus on anything else, I decided to go for it. I used Google's Pagemaker. It's about as basic as possible, but it was plenty to do what I needed. I'm not a corporation, after all, and although the current trend of thinking about education often refutes this, I am not trying to sell anybody anything.
There are many changes I want to make for next year. I am switching out some works, reducing the total number studied, putting poetry into a chronological order, and several other things. I want to make it harder and better. It's become sort of a hobby for me. I don't know what that says about me, but it's true.
Well, I am currently giving a test, so I guess I should get back to it. It's strange to be doing this from school. I wonder how long this strange reprieve from being banned as "tasteless/obscene" will last?
The Poem
This is the poem I've been promising to post for so long. For some odd reason, I can get to blogger from work today, so here tis:
Sisyphus Days
Too often my life becomes
the tritest of Greek tragedies.
The worn wood door opens on my classroom –
I step in as Prometheus
ambrosia-fed
Dickinson and Plath
Frost and Cummings
fill heart and battered brown tote
with fire to transfigure, refine,
burn away the dross
of unthinking childhood.
By the end of the day
I am battered and bruised.
The gods are sullen or filled with ennui
and do not interfere.
The boulder I have been pushing
uphill
with such foolish optimism
crashes across me
as it races
unthinking
bell-driven
to the door
to the bus
to the sweet Lethe
of television-video-game-all-night-phone-call
and I sit in the abandoned room
alone.
Sisyphus Days
Too often my life becomes
the tritest of Greek tragedies.
The worn wood door opens on my classroom –
I step in as Prometheus
ambrosia-fed
Dickinson and Plath
Frost and Cummings
fill heart and battered brown tote
with fire to transfigure, refine,
burn away the dross
of unthinking childhood.
By the end of the day
I am battered and bruised.
The gods are sullen or filled with ennui
and do not interfere.
The boulder I have been pushing
uphill
with such foolish optimism
crashes across me
as it races
unthinking
bell-driven
to the door
to the bus
to the sweet Lethe
of television-video-game-all-night-phone-call
and I sit in the abandoned room
alone.
Sunday, April 30, 2006
The Joys of Teaching
Payday has come at last. It's always such a novelty to walk to the refridgerator, open the door, and see it full.
I feel like I am provisioning myself for a great artic voyage when I do my payday shopping. My cart is always overflowing with dog food, milk, cheese, toilet tissue, and the other day-to-day necessities. I see other people staring at the cart in sort of perplexed wonder as I struggle to maneuver it, and I want to tell them, "If you had to buy everything you need for the month in one fell swoop, you'd shop like this, too."
This is teacher life. We live from once-a-month payday to once-a-month payday for a pittance. No other profession would do this. I can't for the life of me figure out why we do, either. Oh, there's the great argument that "we love what we do, so money shouldn't be the issue." There's something to be said for that, I suppose, but I grew up in a teacher household, and I am now a teacher household myself, and I am all too familiar with the problems money could ease. After all, no amount of love for one's job can put a new roof on one's house.
The crappiest part of it is that every year, the legislature plays a coy game with funding for education. They pretend they are going to fully fund us, but then they put it off, take bits of the budget for other things, give themselves payraises, and tell us to make do. It doesn't really matter who gets elected, either. Every election year is filled with the propaganda of education reform and funding. Every following term is filled with fattened off-shore accounts and personal purses for the legislators and tighter belts and more sacrifices on the part of the teachers.
I received less than two hundred dollars of classroom monies this year. I use my own money to provide Kleenex, pencils, cleaning supplies, paper for my printer, ink cartridges, and other "luxuries." I'm not the only teacher who does this by a long shot. Our already meager income is further reduced by trying to fill in the gaps for our funding. Why not spend the $200? Well, I have spent some of it. I used part of it to purchase some new instructional materials and to get supplies from our district warehouse. I'm hoarding the last $50 to try to have a chance to purchase some textbooks next year. To try to make you understand if you don't, last year I had to decide between buying whiteboard markers and having a filing cabinet that wasn't broken and useless. I chose the markers. After all, it was only my empty purse and a VCR I'd purchased with my own money that I put in the filing cabinet each day and hoped were safe.
I think that teachers are a people of hope. I don't know where it comes from. I think that deep down, we truly believe that one day the scales are going to fall from the political machine's eyes and somebody will say, "Hey! Did you know that teachers are molding the next generation. Maybe we'd better make sure they have enough food to do that with. Maybe we should give them something besides sticks and dirt to teach with!"
I don't know why I'm on this tangent tonight, or why the sight of two jugs of Red Diamond tea should have launched me into this, but it felt like the right thing to discuss. If you are a teacher, I know you understand. If you are not a teacher and you have the chance to kick one of our esteemed legislators down a steep flight of stairs, do if for all of us who wish we had the chance. In the meanwhile, we, the "few, the proud" will continue to do what we can.
I feel like I am provisioning myself for a great artic voyage when I do my payday shopping. My cart is always overflowing with dog food, milk, cheese, toilet tissue, and the other day-to-day necessities. I see other people staring at the cart in sort of perplexed wonder as I struggle to maneuver it, and I want to tell them, "If you had to buy everything you need for the month in one fell swoop, you'd shop like this, too."
This is teacher life. We live from once-a-month payday to once-a-month payday for a pittance. No other profession would do this. I can't for the life of me figure out why we do, either. Oh, there's the great argument that "we love what we do, so money shouldn't be the issue." There's something to be said for that, I suppose, but I grew up in a teacher household, and I am now a teacher household myself, and I am all too familiar with the problems money could ease. After all, no amount of love for one's job can put a new roof on one's house.
The crappiest part of it is that every year, the legislature plays a coy game with funding for education. They pretend they are going to fully fund us, but then they put it off, take bits of the budget for other things, give themselves payraises, and tell us to make do. It doesn't really matter who gets elected, either. Every election year is filled with the propaganda of education reform and funding. Every following term is filled with fattened off-shore accounts and personal purses for the legislators and tighter belts and more sacrifices on the part of the teachers.
I received less than two hundred dollars of classroom monies this year. I use my own money to provide Kleenex, pencils, cleaning supplies, paper for my printer, ink cartridges, and other "luxuries." I'm not the only teacher who does this by a long shot. Our already meager income is further reduced by trying to fill in the gaps for our funding. Why not spend the $200? Well, I have spent some of it. I used part of it to purchase some new instructional materials and to get supplies from our district warehouse. I'm hoarding the last $50 to try to have a chance to purchase some textbooks next year. To try to make you understand if you don't, last year I had to decide between buying whiteboard markers and having a filing cabinet that wasn't broken and useless. I chose the markers. After all, it was only my empty purse and a VCR I'd purchased with my own money that I put in the filing cabinet each day and hoped were safe.
I think that teachers are a people of hope. I don't know where it comes from. I think that deep down, we truly believe that one day the scales are going to fall from the political machine's eyes and somebody will say, "Hey! Did you know that teachers are molding the next generation. Maybe we'd better make sure they have enough food to do that with. Maybe we should give them something besides sticks and dirt to teach with!"
I don't know why I'm on this tangent tonight, or why the sight of two jugs of Red Diamond tea should have launched me into this, but it felt like the right thing to discuss. If you are a teacher, I know you understand. If you are not a teacher and you have the chance to kick one of our esteemed legislators down a steep flight of stairs, do if for all of us who wish we had the chance. In the meanwhile, we, the "few, the proud" will continue to do what we can.
Thursday, April 27, 2006
Silence
During seventh period today, my printer inexplicably stopped working. No, that's inaccurate. It works, but the printer carriage moves back and forth across the page only about every minute or so. I tried everything I knew to do to fix it. I went so far as to uninstall and reinstall the printer. I rebooted endlessly. The stinking thing is still messed up.
The only thing I know of that might have caused it, and for the life of me, I don't see how, is that I changed to a new print cartridge. To test that theory, I put the almost used up one back in, and, voila, happy but inkless printer. How is it possible for a cartridge to SNAFU a printer? I'll know for sure tomorrow when I put in the new "new" cartridge I purchased at Podunk's office supply store. I hope that's all it is. I really can't take another day of fighting with it.
I got so upset with it that I almost hurled it out the window. I don't respond well to inanimate defiance even when I'm well-rested and full of patience. I'm neither right now, so I am sure you can imagine.
When I walked out to the car, the silence was like aloe on a sunburn. I turned off the stereo and rode home. I could barely even tolerate the quiet sound of my car engine. Everything, every sound was like someone touching a bruised area. In fact, I still feel bruised.
It wasn't the printer, or at least, not mainly the printer. This week has been long and stressful. Even though the state test is over, it's going to take me some time to recover from the buildup to it. As you know, once the adrenaline stops pumping, the body truly reveals its weariness. I need some time to just sit under a tree or lay in the sun until this feeling passes. I know I won't be able to get it anytime soon. I just hope that I can continue to keep going on whatever tattered reserves I have left. I have a feeling that I'll need lots of afternoons of silence.
The only thing I know of that might have caused it, and for the life of me, I don't see how, is that I changed to a new print cartridge. To test that theory, I put the almost used up one back in, and, voila, happy but inkless printer. How is it possible for a cartridge to SNAFU a printer? I'll know for sure tomorrow when I put in the new "new" cartridge I purchased at Podunk's office supply store. I hope that's all it is. I really can't take another day of fighting with it.
I got so upset with it that I almost hurled it out the window. I don't respond well to inanimate defiance even when I'm well-rested and full of patience. I'm neither right now, so I am sure you can imagine.
When I walked out to the car, the silence was like aloe on a sunburn. I turned off the stereo and rode home. I could barely even tolerate the quiet sound of my car engine. Everything, every sound was like someone touching a bruised area. In fact, I still feel bruised.
It wasn't the printer, or at least, not mainly the printer. This week has been long and stressful. Even though the state test is over, it's going to take me some time to recover from the buildup to it. As you know, once the adrenaline stops pumping, the body truly reveals its weariness. I need some time to just sit under a tree or lay in the sun until this feeling passes. I know I won't be able to get it anytime soon. I just hope that I can continue to keep going on whatever tattered reserves I have left. I have a feeling that I'll need lots of afternoons of silence.
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
State Test
It's over! I don't know if the kids feel as much relief as I do, but I am sure happy. As soon as we handed in the test materials, it felt as if a huge stone was lifted. I hope everyone did their best on it. Even though I know I'll have a few who won't make it through, I can say that I felt confident going in this year. That was new.
This will be very brief. I'll try to get back to regular blogging soon. One more poetry mention before I go. I rediscovered Blake's "Poison Tree". Very good. I especially love the art he did to go with it. Check it out if you have the time.
This will be very brief. I'll try to get back to regular blogging soon. One more poetry mention before I go. I rediscovered Blake's "Poison Tree". Very good. I especially love the art he did to go with it. Check it out if you have the time.
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
John Donne. Holy Sonnet 14.
John Donne. Holy Sonnet 14.
I am teaching metaphysical poetry right now in my mad dash toward getting the seniors ready for the impending AP test. I don't know that they are getting very into it, but I am rediscovering the beauty and power of John Donne.
I always liked Donne, but it's been quite some time since I read him. As I've come back to Meditation 17, Valediction: Forbidding Mourning, and Death Be Not Proud, there has been real joy for me. His poems are what I hope mine will grow to be. There is a personal nature to all his poems. They are slices of his heart laid before God, and now before us as well.
The poem that has moved me most is the one linked above, "Batter My Heart, Three-person'd God". The imagery and the diction are stunning. The violence of the language is not what you'd expect from a prayer, but it fits. I have felt like Donne, helpless, besieged by my own sinful nature, unable to help myself.
I particularly love the totality of his request. He holds nothing back because he knows that only if God possesses him, breaks him, reforms him can he be whole. Not necessarily a comforting poem, but one that is honest to the bone.
If you haven't read any of Donne's stuff, check the poem above, and then find "Death, Be Not Proud". Let me know what you think of them.
I am teaching metaphysical poetry right now in my mad dash toward getting the seniors ready for the impending AP test. I don't know that they are getting very into it, but I am rediscovering the beauty and power of John Donne.
I always liked Donne, but it's been quite some time since I read him. As I've come back to Meditation 17, Valediction: Forbidding Mourning, and Death Be Not Proud, there has been real joy for me. His poems are what I hope mine will grow to be. There is a personal nature to all his poems. They are slices of his heart laid before God, and now before us as well.
The poem that has moved me most is the one linked above, "Batter My Heart, Three-person'd God". The imagery and the diction are stunning. The violence of the language is not what you'd expect from a prayer, but it fits. I have felt like Donne, helpless, besieged by my own sinful nature, unable to help myself.
I particularly love the totality of his request. He holds nothing back because he knows that only if God possesses him, breaks him, reforms him can he be whole. Not necessarily a comforting poem, but one that is honest to the bone.
If you haven't read any of Donne's stuff, check the poem above, and then find "Death, Be Not Proud". Let me know what you think of them.
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
Once a Week
Well, we're back to the once a week postings. There's not much to tell. I had a peaceful Easter break, discovered the joy of electric hedge trimmers, and generally tidied up around.
This week is going to be rough. As of today, we are officially 7 days away from the state test. All else has pretty much ceased until that's over. Thursday is the awards ceremony for the poetry contest, and I'm scheduled to read. We also have an all day, off campus review session for all our 10th graders Thursday. Thursday night is Senior Awards night, and I don't think I'm going to be able to get to all those things. I love my seniors, but I might have to skip the awards ceremony.
I tried to use my Rollei this weekend. I think I managed to ruin a roll of film and possibly get one photo. It took me forever to figure out how to load it, and I discovered my counter must not work. I'm sure the people at our local "photo shoppe" (the pretentious e is deliberate) will charge me an arm and a leg to develop that one image and laugh at my ineptitude. Oh well.... we live, we learn.
I promise to get the winning poem up soon. I haven't forgotten. All other life has just gone away for the time being. I was doing really good to get this together. Don't give up. There will be more later. It just may have to wait until after the 25th.
This week is going to be rough. As of today, we are officially 7 days away from the state test. All else has pretty much ceased until that's over. Thursday is the awards ceremony for the poetry contest, and I'm scheduled to read. We also have an all day, off campus review session for all our 10th graders Thursday. Thursday night is Senior Awards night, and I don't think I'm going to be able to get to all those things. I love my seniors, but I might have to skip the awards ceremony.
I tried to use my Rollei this weekend. I think I managed to ruin a roll of film and possibly get one photo. It took me forever to figure out how to load it, and I discovered my counter must not work. I'm sure the people at our local "photo shoppe" (the pretentious e is deliberate) will charge me an arm and a leg to develop that one image and laugh at my ineptitude. Oh well.... we live, we learn.
I promise to get the winning poem up soon. I haven't forgotten. All other life has just gone away for the time being. I was doing really good to get this together. Don't give up. There will be more later. It just may have to wait until after the 25th.
Saturday, April 08, 2006
Lazy Saturday
Saturday night is your big night. Everybody used to fry up fish and have one hell of a time. Find me playing till sunrise for 50 cents and a sandwich. And be glad of it. And they really liked the low-down blues.
Muddy Waters
This quote doesn't really have all that much to do with my post, so don't get too excited. I just love Muddy Waters, and I'm in a bluesy mood, so I picked it from the quote site.
Today was about as low key as it's possible to get. I got up, did laundry, put away some, cleaned up the kitchen, and mowed the yard. I played with my dogs, stripped and remade the bed, and read on the couch. It was wonderful.
There were numerous things I should have gotten done today, but they'll keep. It was nice just to do what appealed to me when it moved me.
Muddy Waters
This quote doesn't really have all that much to do with my post, so don't get too excited. I just love Muddy Waters, and I'm in a bluesy mood, so I picked it from the quote site.
Today was about as low key as it's possible to get. I got up, did laundry, put away some, cleaned up the kitchen, and mowed the yard. I played with my dogs, stripped and remade the bed, and read on the couch. It was wonderful.
There were numerous things I should have gotten done today, but they'll keep. It was nice just to do what appealed to me when it moved me.
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
Verdant
There is no other place that fills my heart like Mississippi in the spring. There is a quality to the light here always, a dusting of gold that coats everything in the late afternoon. In the spring, that quality expands and the simple act of driving home becomes a moment of epiphany.
The trees are becoming green again. It's so subtle at first that you can't be sure if it is real, a breath on a cold window pane. When it strengthens, there are a million shades of green among the trees. Sturdy pines mix with the delicate paleness of new dogwood leaves. The live oaks tassel and drop last year's leaves. Even the sluggish pecan has started to show the knobby buds that will eventually unfurl to clothe them.
Yesterday, the day was perfect. The sky was a blue that was right out of a Crayon box. Rising to the top of a highway hill outside of Podunk, I could feel my heart swell, and I felt a little like the Grinch when his heart grows so suddenly and breaks the bonds that had held it.
I came home, loosed Missy (whose nickname has become Roux), and sat in the chair in my shaggy backyard with a book. I read for awhile, but I also found myself just staring up into the live oak watching the shifting greens as the wind dragged its fingers through the canopy, opening and closing windows to the sky. I pity those who don't have a similar place of peace.
My yard won't ever win any awards for horticulture, and admittedly, my grass needs cutting more often than I am able to get to it, but there may never be a sweeter or prettier spot than that plastic Adirondack under the lush verdancy of the live oak in my back yard.
The trees are becoming green again. It's so subtle at first that you can't be sure if it is real, a breath on a cold window pane. When it strengthens, there are a million shades of green among the trees. Sturdy pines mix with the delicate paleness of new dogwood leaves. The live oaks tassel and drop last year's leaves. Even the sluggish pecan has started to show the knobby buds that will eventually unfurl to clothe them.
Yesterday, the day was perfect. The sky was a blue that was right out of a Crayon box. Rising to the top of a highway hill outside of Podunk, I could feel my heart swell, and I felt a little like the Grinch when his heart grows so suddenly and breaks the bonds that had held it.
I came home, loosed Missy (whose nickname has become Roux), and sat in the chair in my shaggy backyard with a book. I read for awhile, but I also found myself just staring up into the live oak watching the shifting greens as the wind dragged its fingers through the canopy, opening and closing windows to the sky. I pity those who don't have a similar place of peace.
My yard won't ever win any awards for horticulture, and admittedly, my grass needs cutting more often than I am able to get to it, but there may never be a sweeter or prettier spot than that plastic Adirondack under the lush verdancy of the live oak in my back yard.
Thursday, March 30, 2006
Unexpected Gift
I didn't mention it because I genuinely didn't expect it to come to anything, but I entered and won our local poetry contest again this year. I entered both an essay and the poem, and I think both are going to be published. The prize is just for the poem, though.
It was a nice surprise. This is the time of the school year when both the students and we are completely sick of each other. There are many other responsibilities that are coming together right now, and I have been more than a little stressed.
I haven't had much if any time to work on my writing this year. It's been pushed to the side in a big way. I almost didn't even enter anything because I didn't feel that I had much that was ready. I hope that I have more time for writing this summer. I'm going to try to take the summer off (as much as possible) and recover.
I want to get something permanent (as much as anything can be) with the prize money. Right now, I'm thinking a tree for the yard. I don't know. As you can tell, I'm not very focused. I just wanted to share this good thing that happened.
It was a nice surprise. This is the time of the school year when both the students and we are completely sick of each other. There are many other responsibilities that are coming together right now, and I have been more than a little stressed.
I haven't had much if any time to work on my writing this year. It's been pushed to the side in a big way. I almost didn't even enter anything because I didn't feel that I had much that was ready. I hope that I have more time for writing this summer. I'm going to try to take the summer off (as much as possible) and recover.
I want to get something permanent (as much as anything can be) with the prize money. Right now, I'm thinking a tree for the yard. I don't know. As you can tell, I'm not very focused. I just wanted to share this good thing that happened.
Friday, March 24, 2006
A Month?
Today was a mixed up kind of day. It was "grades in the computer" day, which is never very encouraging as I realize how many of my students haven't quite figured out that passing might involve turning in a homework assignment. There are always some who have that magic change of heart and suddenly start doing what they need to, but there are also even more who just continue to slide down. It's a helpless feeling sometimes.
My AP classes are starting Chaucer, and I'm sure there will be a full-fledged blog post about it later. I love Chaucer. He was such an acute observer of humanity. His characters have all the same silliness and weakness of real people. I respect writers who can do that. We're all so full of little quirks and flaws, but I think a lot of writers are scared to touch that. To me, that's one of the best parts of us. I know I have enough "quirks" to fill a wheelbarrow. I would probably have been excellent fodder for Chaucer. I'm just ridiculous enough most days....
After school, I went on a quest for 120 film and discovered that there is none to be had here in Podunk. Nor is there any to be found in the slightly larger Podunk City to the east. In fact, in Podunk City, I was told that the 120 was on backorder and that they hoped they might get some NEXT MONTH. A month? What is this? Pony Express days? Are they having gnomes mine it out of a hillside and craft it by hand? Is it elfin magic? Impatience, impatience, impatience....
I suppose I'm going to have to go to Jackson to get the film. That will be okay. I've been looking for an excuse to head that way to see my best friend who lives out that way, anyway. I haven't been able to go visit with her for awhile. I'll probably have to wait until Blessed Payday gets here and then I can make the film and a couple of other things I need my April Splurge. Until then, I will have a good chance to practice my "patience skills", always sorely in need of betterment. Maybe I'll just go hold the camera some more and *pretend* there's film in it.... :)
My AP classes are starting Chaucer, and I'm sure there will be a full-fledged blog post about it later. I love Chaucer. He was such an acute observer of humanity. His characters have all the same silliness and weakness of real people. I respect writers who can do that. We're all so full of little quirks and flaws, but I think a lot of writers are scared to touch that. To me, that's one of the best parts of us. I know I have enough "quirks" to fill a wheelbarrow. I would probably have been excellent fodder for Chaucer. I'm just ridiculous enough most days....
After school, I went on a quest for 120 film and discovered that there is none to be had here in Podunk. Nor is there any to be found in the slightly larger Podunk City to the east. In fact, in Podunk City, I was told that the 120 was on backorder and that they hoped they might get some NEXT MONTH. A month? What is this? Pony Express days? Are they having gnomes mine it out of a hillside and craft it by hand? Is it elfin magic? Impatience, impatience, impatience....
I suppose I'm going to have to go to Jackson to get the film. That will be okay. I've been looking for an excuse to head that way to see my best friend who lives out that way, anyway. I haven't been able to go visit with her for awhile. I'll probably have to wait until Blessed Payday gets here and then I can make the film and a couple of other things I need my April Splurge. Until then, I will have a good chance to practice my "patience skills", always sorely in need of betterment. Maybe I'll just go hold the camera some more and *pretend* there's film in it.... :)
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
TLR and Other Things
I got my Rolleiflex yesterday. I am so proud of it. It's a physically beautiful piece of machinery. To me, all things should be made that way, substantial, with great attention to detail, function with beauty.
I have to spend some time learning to master it. It's going to be a big change from my Nikon. So much of the Nikon is automated that I can use it like a glorified point and shoot. This Rollei is going to require more intelligence on my part. Gee, I hope I can swing it. :)
I also got shot down by three or four more candidates on eHarmony. I have really begun to hate that website. The people it matches me to live on the other side of America and invariably want stick-insects to date. Since there's no refund, I won't cancel, but unless a miracle happens, I won't renew, either. Screw it.
Well, I am going back to my Wednesday night addiction, Ghost Hunters, and then I'm off to bed. Tomorrow is "Friday Eve" and I will be one day closer to playing with my Rollei.
I have to spend some time learning to master it. It's going to be a big change from my Nikon. So much of the Nikon is automated that I can use it like a glorified point and shoot. This Rollei is going to require more intelligence on my part. Gee, I hope I can swing it. :)
I also got shot down by three or four more candidates on eHarmony. I have really begun to hate that website. The people it matches me to live on the other side of America and invariably want stick-insects to date. Since there's no refund, I won't cancel, but unless a miracle happens, I won't renew, either. Screw it.
Well, I am going back to my Wednesday night addiction, Ghost Hunters, and then I'm off to bed. Tomorrow is "Friday Eve" and I will be one day closer to playing with my Rollei.
Saturday, March 18, 2006
The New Doctor Who
I am an old-school Dr. Who fan from way back. When I was still in elementary school, our Public Broadcasting channel (one of only three we could pick up) used to show Dr. Who every Saturday afternoon. Whatever my family was doing, we'd always stop and watch it together. I have good memories of it.
Since it went off the air, several attempts at reviving it have come along. The last one I saw was several years ago, and it just didn't have the right tone. The Doctor was more like a Romantic poet than a Timelord.
I saw the new Sci-Fi channel Dr. Who last night, and I have to say I was pretty happy with it. I like the guy they chose to play the Doctor. He's quirky, but it doesn't seem forced. He also doesn't seem to be deliberately imitating any of the previous Doctors.
The first episode even had some of the cheese and camp of the old episodes, too. When I saw the mannequins moving, I had to laugh. I don't mean the it wasn't creepy. After all, that's probably a common nightmare/phobia. But their movements and the whole arm through the elevator door thing reminded me of the Cybermen, etc. The scene where the arm comes to life and tries to kill Rose and the Doctor was almost MST3K-ish. It was great.
The second episode hearkened back to some of the great space station episodes of the past. Lovely costumes, but nothing too over the top, good, but not top-of-the-line CGI effects, all of it was the perfect tone for Dr. Who.
I want to see more episodes. If it holds its own or gets better, then it's going to be my favorite show. I'm just excited that it's back again. I have also realized that I have missed a lot of storyline history along the way. I've got to try to catch up. Apparently Gallifrey (sp?) was destroyed. When did that happen?
Oh well, more to enjoy. It's kind of nice to have something to look forward to again.
Since it went off the air, several attempts at reviving it have come along. The last one I saw was several years ago, and it just didn't have the right tone. The Doctor was more like a Romantic poet than a Timelord.
I saw the new Sci-Fi channel Dr. Who last night, and I have to say I was pretty happy with it. I like the guy they chose to play the Doctor. He's quirky, but it doesn't seem forced. He also doesn't seem to be deliberately imitating any of the previous Doctors.
The first episode even had some of the cheese and camp of the old episodes, too. When I saw the mannequins moving, I had to laugh. I don't mean the it wasn't creepy. After all, that's probably a common nightmare/phobia. But their movements and the whole arm through the elevator door thing reminded me of the Cybermen, etc. The scene where the arm comes to life and tries to kill Rose and the Doctor was almost MST3K-ish. It was great.
The second episode hearkened back to some of the great space station episodes of the past. Lovely costumes, but nothing too over the top, good, but not top-of-the-line CGI effects, all of it was the perfect tone for Dr. Who.
I want to see more episodes. If it holds its own or gets better, then it's going to be my favorite show. I'm just excited that it's back again. I have also realized that I have missed a lot of storyline history along the way. I've got to try to catch up. Apparently Gallifrey (sp?) was destroyed. When did that happen?
Oh well, more to enjoy. It's kind of nice to have something to look forward to again.
Thursday, March 16, 2006
Sunset Boulevard
"I'm ready for my close-up, Mr. DeMille." -- Norma Desmond
One of my favorite films is Sunset Boulevard. I generally like Billy Wilder films. He and George Cukor are probably my favorite directors of that generation. I don't know enough about the art of movie making to talk about technical details, but neither of them ever makes an unremarkable film.
I watched SB tonight. I don't watch it as often as I run some of my other favorites. It needs time between the viewings to soften and blur before coming to it again. I love the gothic elements of it from the opening scenes with William Holden dead in the swimming pool to the dead chimpanzee to Norma herself.
The best scene in the movie is the last one where Norma is coming down the stairs performing for the news cameras. There is tragedy there, but also a regal presence you can't dismiss. That's what makes it so captivating, both for the other characters and for the audience. I love the line about "all those people sitting out there in the dark" that she makes. It's sort of startling to be addressed suddenly.
I first saw SB when I was at IU. They had a film series put on by their film studies department, and they had screenings of old films the way they'd have been seen in the theater during their heyday. It was great. I got to see Easy Rider, Casablanca, Sunset Boulevard, and Double Indemnity that way. It was a favorite weekend destination for lots of people. You could bring in food and sit there with other fans and enjoy.
The Bloomington Parks and Recreation service also showed old movies on the side of an eighteen-wheeler trailer in one of the parks during the summer. That was great. You could take a blanket, whatever you wanted to partake of, load up kids and dogs, etc., and head to the park. I got to see The Awful Truth that way. I still love that film as well.
I wish there were more opportunities like that around here. In some cities, I know Memphis does it, at least, they take one of the grand old movie palaces and use it for that purpose. Nobody around here seems to think that's a profitable enterprise, though, so they don't do it. At least I have my DVDs. I can indulge any time I want. Now I just have to figure out a way to drag my TV outside and I guess I can have the complete experience.
One of my favorite films is Sunset Boulevard. I generally like Billy Wilder films. He and George Cukor are probably my favorite directors of that generation. I don't know enough about the art of movie making to talk about technical details, but neither of them ever makes an unremarkable film.
I watched SB tonight. I don't watch it as often as I run some of my other favorites. It needs time between the viewings to soften and blur before coming to it again. I love the gothic elements of it from the opening scenes with William Holden dead in the swimming pool to the dead chimpanzee to Norma herself.
The best scene in the movie is the last one where Norma is coming down the stairs performing for the news cameras. There is tragedy there, but also a regal presence you can't dismiss. That's what makes it so captivating, both for the other characters and for the audience. I love the line about "all those people sitting out there in the dark" that she makes. It's sort of startling to be addressed suddenly.
I first saw SB when I was at IU. They had a film series put on by their film studies department, and they had screenings of old films the way they'd have been seen in the theater during their heyday. It was great. I got to see Easy Rider, Casablanca, Sunset Boulevard, and Double Indemnity that way. It was a favorite weekend destination for lots of people. You could bring in food and sit there with other fans and enjoy.
The Bloomington Parks and Recreation service also showed old movies on the side of an eighteen-wheeler trailer in one of the parks during the summer. That was great. You could take a blanket, whatever you wanted to partake of, load up kids and dogs, etc., and head to the park. I got to see The Awful Truth that way. I still love that film as well.
I wish there were more opportunities like that around here. In some cities, I know Memphis does it, at least, they take one of the grand old movie palaces and use it for that purpose. Nobody around here seems to think that's a profitable enterprise, though, so they don't do it. At least I have my DVDs. I can indulge any time I want. Now I just have to figure out a way to drag my TV outside and I guess I can have the complete experience.
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
Pointless
There's a line in You've Got Mail where Meg Ryan's character asks one of the guys who works in her store if he's online. He replies with something like, "The internet is just another way for me to be rejected by women." I am beginning to sympathize.
My eHarmony experiences have not been very good so far. The few guys I've gotten to the open communication stage with have been nice, but there's been no spark of any kind thus far. I posted pictures and had two guys tell me that they are "pursuing other relationships" and close the matches with me. I'm pretty sure that was their polite way of saying, "Oh NO, NO, NO" after seeing the pictures.
As you can imagine, this has been a tremendous ego boost for me. I don't know how much longer I'm going to keep this up. It's bad enough not to be able to find anybody locally. It's much, much more depressing to find out that not even the much touted eHarmony computer can find a match for me. I feel like a sideshow freak.
My membership with them runs until May, so I'll play it out until then. I just don't know how many more rejections from anonymous guys I can take. Even though I'm trying to stay positive about it, it just reinforces ideas I have already been fighting on a daily basis for years about my attractiveness and the possibility that a member of the opposite sex will ever see me as anything other than a friend.
Those voices are hard to fight, especially in the face of so much evidence to the contrary. I have always been the girl friend and never the girlfriend. It was made excruciatingly clear to me in the past that I didn't have what it took to be a girlfriend in the attractiveness department.
Sorry. I didn't intend for this to turn into a pity party. Well, chin up, laugh, clown, laugh, tomorrow's another day, and any other cliche that might apply.
My eHarmony experiences have not been very good so far. The few guys I've gotten to the open communication stage with have been nice, but there's been no spark of any kind thus far. I posted pictures and had two guys tell me that they are "pursuing other relationships" and close the matches with me. I'm pretty sure that was their polite way of saying, "Oh NO, NO, NO" after seeing the pictures.
As you can imagine, this has been a tremendous ego boost for me. I don't know how much longer I'm going to keep this up. It's bad enough not to be able to find anybody locally. It's much, much more depressing to find out that not even the much touted eHarmony computer can find a match for me. I feel like a sideshow freak.
My membership with them runs until May, so I'll play it out until then. I just don't know how many more rejections from anonymous guys I can take. Even though I'm trying to stay positive about it, it just reinforces ideas I have already been fighting on a daily basis for years about my attractiveness and the possibility that a member of the opposite sex will ever see me as anything other than a friend.
Those voices are hard to fight, especially in the face of so much evidence to the contrary. I have always been the girl friend and never the girlfriend. It was made excruciatingly clear to me in the past that I didn't have what it took to be a girlfriend in the attractiveness department.
Sorry. I didn't intend for this to turn into a pity party. Well, chin up, laugh, clown, laugh, tomorrow's another day, and any other cliche that might apply.
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
The Joy of the Nap
I don't feel old. I don't feel anything till noon. That's when it's time for my nap.
Bob Hope
I got up today with the best of intentions. Today was going to be the day I did a lot of those dirty outdoor chores that have been piling up. I even made it outside and got halfway into one of the worst jobs, raking the live oak leaves away from the foundation of the house.
Suddenly, though, the sun was just too tempting. I laid aside the rake, grabbed The Secret Life of Bees, and sat down in the plastic chair in my back yard. That has become one of my great pleasures. I want to build a patio area back there, but I'm not sure about how to go about it despite the numerous HGTV shows I've seen on that topic. Next month, I may also get this incredibly tempting round lounger thing from Wal-Mart.
I read for a couple of hours. The combination of the warm sun, the cool winds, the sounds of the birds at the feeders, and the whuffling of the dogs was as potent a sleeping draught as any drug imaginable. The next thing I knew, I was sprawled out in the chair with my head thrown back and my book dangling by two fingers.
I decided to give up. I came in, shuffled my cat Yoda off the covers, and settled in. I feel better now than I have in a long time. Apparently, I wasn't as recovered as I thought I was. At least I've got Spring Break to make up for lost time. I hope I can get another day to just loaf and read. I really can't imagine a tropical retreat that would be any more pleasurable.
Bob Hope
I got up today with the best of intentions. Today was going to be the day I did a lot of those dirty outdoor chores that have been piling up. I even made it outside and got halfway into one of the worst jobs, raking the live oak leaves away from the foundation of the house.
Suddenly, though, the sun was just too tempting. I laid aside the rake, grabbed The Secret Life of Bees, and sat down in the plastic chair in my back yard. That has become one of my great pleasures. I want to build a patio area back there, but I'm not sure about how to go about it despite the numerous HGTV shows I've seen on that topic. Next month, I may also get this incredibly tempting round lounger thing from Wal-Mart.
I read for a couple of hours. The combination of the warm sun, the cool winds, the sounds of the birds at the feeders, and the whuffling of the dogs was as potent a sleeping draught as any drug imaginable. The next thing I knew, I was sprawled out in the chair with my head thrown back and my book dangling by two fingers.
I decided to give up. I came in, shuffled my cat Yoda off the covers, and settled in. I feel better now than I have in a long time. Apparently, I wasn't as recovered as I thought I was. At least I've got Spring Break to make up for lost time. I hope I can get another day to just loaf and read. I really can't imagine a tropical retreat that would be any more pleasurable.
Saturday, March 11, 2006
Miss Eudora's Photographs
A long time ago, I read about and saw a couple of the photographs Eudora Welty did for the WPA. I was struck by them at the time, and put it on my list of "things to explore". It fell by the wayside somewhat, as many things on that list tend to do when faced with the awesome demands of time and funds that is day-to-day life. Still, the idea of them was hovering around my memory.
About a month ago, I got to attend a seminar on Welty's fiction at Millsaps. Part of the seminar included a tour of the library's collection of photos from Welty. They were amazing. I loved her composition and the way she captured the spirits of the people she was photographing. I resolved to go ahead and actually get one of the collections of her photographs and explore further. I came home, went to my trusty laptop and amazon.com, and sent for Photographs, the collection of her work.
Today was the first time I've had time to do more than cursorily glance through. I sat today and savored each one. It's amazing how she was able to record the positive. It would have been so easy in that time and place to find darkness, despair, resistance, and resentment. We're talking about the segregated, poverty-stricken South of the 30s. What she found, however, was the indomitable, the joyous, the quietly hopeful, and the noble in her subjects. She records the dignity and the regal humanity of even the poorest of them. Even if I had never read her stories, I would love her for that alone.
I wish I could have known her. There are numerous anecdotes about people just sort of wandering up to her Jackson home and talking to her. I would never have been bold enough to do that. It would have been an inexcusable intrusion into a person's privacy. I still wish I had been fortunate enough to have been introduced and had a reason to know her. Not that I could have come up with intelligent conversation, but I think she would have been a great person to visit with. She seemed to have that now hard-to-find Southern class that comes not so much from money, but more from the constant awareness of others and a general concern for them. It's a graciousness that is in sharp demand and short supply these days.
I'm currently pursuing a Rolleiflex on eBay. I don't know yet whether or not I'll be lucky enough to win it. I want to try my hand at seeing through that lens. I am sure my amateurish efforts will never have a tenth of the clarity and...magic...of hers, but I think just the act will be wonderful. I enjoy trying to see the world through my Nikon. Perhaps I can achieve that clarity she found and revive my view of the basic goodness of humanity through the viewfinder of the Rollei.
About a month ago, I got to attend a seminar on Welty's fiction at Millsaps. Part of the seminar included a tour of the library's collection of photos from Welty. They were amazing. I loved her composition and the way she captured the spirits of the people she was photographing. I resolved to go ahead and actually get one of the collections of her photographs and explore further. I came home, went to my trusty laptop and amazon.com, and sent for Photographs, the collection of her work.
Today was the first time I've had time to do more than cursorily glance through. I sat today and savored each one. It's amazing how she was able to record the positive. It would have been so easy in that time and place to find darkness, despair, resistance, and resentment. We're talking about the segregated, poverty-stricken South of the 30s. What she found, however, was the indomitable, the joyous, the quietly hopeful, and the noble in her subjects. She records the dignity and the regal humanity of even the poorest of them. Even if I had never read her stories, I would love her for that alone.
I wish I could have known her. There are numerous anecdotes about people just sort of wandering up to her Jackson home and talking to her. I would never have been bold enough to do that. It would have been an inexcusable intrusion into a person's privacy. I still wish I had been fortunate enough to have been introduced and had a reason to know her. Not that I could have come up with intelligent conversation, but I think she would have been a great person to visit with. She seemed to have that now hard-to-find Southern class that comes not so much from money, but more from the constant awareness of others and a general concern for them. It's a graciousness that is in sharp demand and short supply these days.
I'm currently pursuing a Rolleiflex on eBay. I don't know yet whether or not I'll be lucky enough to win it. I want to try my hand at seeing through that lens. I am sure my amateurish efforts will never have a tenth of the clarity and...magic...of hers, but I think just the act will be wonderful. I enjoy trying to see the world through my Nikon. Perhaps I can achieve that clarity she found and revive my view of the basic goodness of humanity through the viewfinder of the Rollei.
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
Stupidity
Better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to speak out and remove all doubt. -- Abraham Lincoln
For some reason, I have a huge surge of energy that's keeping me up tonight, so I was cruising through amazon.com. I decided I'd look for another good book on pit bulls, especially one that deals with their health issues. When I came to the reviews for Pit Bulls for Dummies, I was disgusted by what I found there. Several miscellaneous fools had used the review site as a forum for their prejudiced and, in most cases, sadly misinformed diatribes about pit bulls.
Now, I'm not even going to dignify the "big bad scary evil dog" argument with a rebuttal. Throughout the past 20 or 30 years, there has been a dog breed that, for whatever reason, has been the "killer dog" du jour. It was Dobermans (Dobermen?) for awhile, then Rotties were on the hot seat. Now, pit bulls are the hunted ones. For more on the truth of these dogs, what they are and why they are what they are, please see a reputable site like The Real Pit Bull or expert trainer Diane Jessup's site. If you've read any of my previous postings, you know I am the proud owner of a beautiful red nose pitty princess, and I love this courageous, loyal, and exuberant breed.
What hacked me off about amazon wasn't just the rank and file stupidity of the "reviews", but more that they weren't reviews at all. None of those people then owned, had owned, or were planning to own either a pit bull or the book. My question is this: How in blue blazes did they get to be a published "review" at all? Is it a review if nobody is talking about the book?
There are forums for expressing personal opinion, for grandstanding, and for soapbox lecturing. I just don't think the review section of amazon.com is the place. If you read the book in question, great. Tell me what you thought. If you have no idea what the book is about, don't display your overwhelming vacuity to the entire e-universe. Get yourself a blog or a personal website and type yourself blue in the face. After all, that's what the polite rest of us do.
For some reason, I have a huge surge of energy that's keeping me up tonight, so I was cruising through amazon.com. I decided I'd look for another good book on pit bulls, especially one that deals with their health issues. When I came to the reviews for Pit Bulls for Dummies, I was disgusted by what I found there. Several miscellaneous fools had used the review site as a forum for their prejudiced and, in most cases, sadly misinformed diatribes about pit bulls.
Now, I'm not even going to dignify the "big bad scary evil dog" argument with a rebuttal. Throughout the past 20 or 30 years, there has been a dog breed that, for whatever reason, has been the "killer dog" du jour. It was Dobermans (Dobermen?) for awhile, then Rotties were on the hot seat. Now, pit bulls are the hunted ones. For more on the truth of these dogs, what they are and why they are what they are, please see a reputable site like The Real Pit Bull or expert trainer Diane Jessup's site. If you've read any of my previous postings, you know I am the proud owner of a beautiful red nose pitty princess, and I love this courageous, loyal, and exuberant breed.
What hacked me off about amazon wasn't just the rank and file stupidity of the "reviews", but more that they weren't reviews at all. None of those people then owned, had owned, or were planning to own either a pit bull or the book. My question is this: How in blue blazes did they get to be a published "review" at all? Is it a review if nobody is talking about the book?
There are forums for expressing personal opinion, for grandstanding, and for soapbox lecturing. I just don't think the review section of amazon.com is the place. If you read the book in question, great. Tell me what you thought. If you have no idea what the book is about, don't display your overwhelming vacuity to the entire e-universe. Get yourself a blog or a personal website and type yourself blue in the face. After all, that's what the polite rest of us do.
AAARRRGGHHH!!!
I feel like I'm going to die. My temperature keeps spiking. I went to school today, possibly one of my least considered choices ever, and I clung to the edges of control by tooth and nail.
I wish I could just stay home and not worry about it. I don't know why I drag myself up there when I'm sick. Deep down, I suppose I feel that unless I'm on life support, I should go.
Add to this the fact that we're in state testing season, and you have a perfect cocktail of guilt designed to pry me from the blissful comfort of my bed and my Kleenex. If only it weren't the week before Spring Break. If only it weren't the week before the writing test.
Despite all these things, if I feel as bad tomorrow morning as I did this morning, I'm staying home. Yup, the walls may collapse on my end of the high school hall, but I'm not able to put myself through what I went through today.
I wish I could just stay home and not worry about it. I don't know why I drag myself up there when I'm sick. Deep down, I suppose I feel that unless I'm on life support, I should go.
Add to this the fact that we're in state testing season, and you have a perfect cocktail of guilt designed to pry me from the blissful comfort of my bed and my Kleenex. If only it weren't the week before Spring Break. If only it weren't the week before the writing test.
Despite all these things, if I feel as bad tomorrow morning as I did this morning, I'm staying home. Yup, the walls may collapse on my end of the high school hall, but I'm not able to put myself through what I went through today.
Sunday, March 05, 2006
Sick Again
The creeping crud has crept up on me and caught me unawares. Yesterday, I started to cough a little and it hurt. Today, I feel as though a truck has backed over me and I'm running a fever. Joy.
When am I ever going to get any immunity? I know that all the kids and most of the teachers have been hacking and sniffing for awhile now, but it seems like every time I turn around I'm sick. Shouldn't I be building up some tolerance by now? This is almost the end of the second year.
I already called in and asked for a sub since I'm running fever. No point in my spreading it further. I'll go see the doctor tomorrow, get a hip full of decadron and some antibiotics that hopefully won't make me ill, and go back to school on Tuesday. Life goes on.
On a separate subject, I am looking at just about the cutest thing in the world. My pit bull has commandeered one end of my couch and my little golden beagle/dachshund has taken the other. They are both knocked out. The pit bull snores. :) That is what happiness is for me right now, a couch full of warm, content, snoring dogs.
I'm about to go join them. I slept about 14 hours today, but I'm still exhausted. Maybe tomorrow I'll feel better.
When am I ever going to get any immunity? I know that all the kids and most of the teachers have been hacking and sniffing for awhile now, but it seems like every time I turn around I'm sick. Shouldn't I be building up some tolerance by now? This is almost the end of the second year.
I already called in and asked for a sub since I'm running fever. No point in my spreading it further. I'll go see the doctor tomorrow, get a hip full of decadron and some antibiotics that hopefully won't make me ill, and go back to school on Tuesday. Life goes on.
On a separate subject, I am looking at just about the cutest thing in the world. My pit bull has commandeered one end of my couch and my little golden beagle/dachshund has taken the other. They are both knocked out. The pit bull snores. :) That is what happiness is for me right now, a couch full of warm, content, snoring dogs.
I'm about to go join them. I slept about 14 hours today, but I'm still exhausted. Maybe tomorrow I'll feel better.
Thursday, March 02, 2006
Rosencrantz and Guildenstern
I've been working on R&G now for about 3 weeks with my AP classes, and their reception of the work has been less than warm, to say the least. It's been downright depressing at times.
It's not so much that I care whether they like the play or not. That's a personal thing, and no classroom full of people is ever going to like any work universally. That's fine. In fact, I'd be deeply worried by that kind of bandwagon consensus.
It's that they can't seem to find anything redeeming in it. I know they're young. I keep telling myself that. When I was young, I probably wouldn't have enjoyed it, either. Heck, it's not my all-time favorite now, even as a member of the English-geek tribe. I just hate seeing them act like they are.
I expect too much of them, I think. I expect them to be something more than senior. I expect them to hunger to learn, and I forget that frequently teenagers don't give a crap about school, even the "cream of the crop." I just want for them to make the best of all the latent ability they contain. I know they'll walk different paths, but I learned long ago that everything you learn, every tiny shred, opens up the world exponentially.
I don't think I'm going to teach this next year. If I approach it at all, I'll let them watch it at the end of the Hamlet unit rather than a video of Hamlet. I think that will be a better compromise. Maybe we can get through it without my being saddened.
It's not so much that I care whether they like the play or not. That's a personal thing, and no classroom full of people is ever going to like any work universally. That's fine. In fact, I'd be deeply worried by that kind of bandwagon consensus.
It's that they can't seem to find anything redeeming in it. I know they're young. I keep telling myself that. When I was young, I probably wouldn't have enjoyed it, either. Heck, it's not my all-time favorite now, even as a member of the English-geek tribe. I just hate seeing them act like they are.
I expect too much of them, I think. I expect them to be something more than senior. I expect them to hunger to learn, and I forget that frequently teenagers don't give a crap about school, even the "cream of the crop." I just want for them to make the best of all the latent ability they contain. I know they'll walk different paths, but I learned long ago that everything you learn, every tiny shred, opens up the world exponentially.
I don't think I'm going to teach this next year. If I approach it at all, I'll let them watch it at the end of the Hamlet unit rather than a video of Hamlet. I think that will be a better compromise. Maybe we can get through it without my being saddened.
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
Sunshine and Mountain Dew
Today, I packed up my workbag, and waiting for the grindingly slow progress of the clock hands toward 3:30. A small herd of students had sworn they were coming in to do makeup work (we're in the eleventh hour, so suddenly, everyone is in a state of panic), but nobody had shown up by 3:15, and I blew out my candle, shut down my computer, hoisted my ponderous bag, and bolted for the door.
It felt almost sinful to be leaving that early. Other teachers were still working in their classes; the sounds of the extended day students echoed in our high-ceilinged old halls. Sunlight streamed through the window so rich and so good that it almost had a taste as it flooded the central hall.
I moved down the stairs as fast as my stiff knees would allow, darted through the office, and then I was out into the parking lot. There were still cars there, and again, the feeling of doing something illicit through me. I put my PT Cruiser into reverse, rolled down my windows, cranked my Todd Agnew cd, and put the pedal down.
When I got home, again I marveled at the sheer luxury of being home in the daytime. I loosed Missy, she promptly took off to explore the privet hedge, and I got out a seldom-used plastic Adirondack chair.
Sitting beneath the bare branches of the chestnut tree in my backyard, I indulged in a Diet Mountain Dew and the first few chapters of A Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovitch. My bottle tree caught the golden afternoon sun, the windchimes rang softly, Missy and Yelldo intermittently gave me doggy kisses, and Granny's daffodils shone in Wordsworthian glory. I felt peace descend like a winged spirit, and all the tiredness that has been plaguing me for the past week melted away.
It was a brief interlude, but a vital one. I needed those peaceful moments alone at home more than I had realized. Tomorrow, when the students are apathetic, when another unreasonable demand on my time is made, I will have the soft daffodil-scented warmth of today to carry me through.
It felt almost sinful to be leaving that early. Other teachers were still working in their classes; the sounds of the extended day students echoed in our high-ceilinged old halls. Sunlight streamed through the window so rich and so good that it almost had a taste as it flooded the central hall.
I moved down the stairs as fast as my stiff knees would allow, darted through the office, and then I was out into the parking lot. There were still cars there, and again, the feeling of doing something illicit through me. I put my PT Cruiser into reverse, rolled down my windows, cranked my Todd Agnew cd, and put the pedal down.
When I got home, again I marveled at the sheer luxury of being home in the daytime. I loosed Missy, she promptly took off to explore the privet hedge, and I got out a seldom-used plastic Adirondack chair.
Sitting beneath the bare branches of the chestnut tree in my backyard, I indulged in a Diet Mountain Dew and the first few chapters of A Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovitch. My bottle tree caught the golden afternoon sun, the windchimes rang softly, Missy and Yelldo intermittently gave me doggy kisses, and Granny's daffodils shone in Wordsworthian glory. I felt peace descend like a winged spirit, and all the tiredness that has been plaguing me for the past week melted away.
It was a brief interlude, but a vital one. I needed those peaceful moments alone at home more than I had realized. Tomorrow, when the students are apathetic, when another unreasonable demand on my time is made, I will have the soft daffodil-scented warmth of today to carry me through.
Monday, February 27, 2006
Missy
Here she is, at long last. It was a rainy trip to Birmingham, but other than the rain, it went very smoothly. The very first thing she did when I got out of the car was to run up, put her paws around me, and kiss me on the cheek. She's so cute and so loving!
I will get to more actual blogging soon. Now, hopefully, we can find a rhythm and routine. I'm tired, but it's a good tired.
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
The Ides of February
Whooo-hooo!!!! I got the news today that I have been accepted by one of the Pit Bull Rescue groups, and a lovely red-nose pit mix named Missy is going to become a part of my family. I have to figure out the logistics of getting her here (she's in TN, currently) and the timing (I hope Spring Break is going to be okay), but it's official!
This experience has been a mixed thing. Some of the groups I've talked to have been so kind and encouraging, even if there were barriers (mostly distance) to my adopting one of their dogs. A couple of the groups have been downright rude, though. I guess they probably have a lot of email to sort through, but when a person is legitimately trying to adopt an animal, that sincere wish should at least be acknowledged with an automated email.
Back to Missy.... She's beautiful, and the rescue society lady says she's good with other dogs and playful. I am excited for Yelldo. He has been so sedentary since Britta died. He needs a friend to play with. I think, once we get over the shock of new dog in my space, he's going to have a good time.
You can see a picture of Missy on the PBRC rescue site. Click here to go straight to Missy. You may need to scroll down a bit.
Well, I'm off to an afternoon of "dog dreaming." I am going to Wal-Mart tomorrow to start getting presents for her. It's so amazing that she's finally going to be mine!
This experience has been a mixed thing. Some of the groups I've talked to have been so kind and encouraging, even if there were barriers (mostly distance) to my adopting one of their dogs. A couple of the groups have been downright rude, though. I guess they probably have a lot of email to sort through, but when a person is legitimately trying to adopt an animal, that sincere wish should at least be acknowledged with an automated email.
Back to Missy.... She's beautiful, and the rescue society lady says she's good with other dogs and playful. I am excited for Yelldo. He has been so sedentary since Britta died. He needs a friend to play with. I think, once we get over the shock of new dog in my space, he's going to have a good time.
You can see a picture of Missy on the PBRC rescue site. Click here to go straight to Missy. You may need to scroll down a bit.
Well, I'm off to an afternoon of "dog dreaming." I am going to Wal-Mart tomorrow to start getting presents for her. It's so amazing that she's finally going to be mine!
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
eHarmony II
Well, I have entered the world of eHarmony, and I have to say that I'm still feeling a little odd about it. I have met a nice guy that I'm writing emails to, and that's a good thing, but I'm still in the weird phase of this. No funny tales to tell yet, but I'll keep everybody posted.
Saturday, February 11, 2006
Snowy Saturday
That's right...snow. We've had flurries off and on today. I can't express how odd that is to those of us who live in Mississippi. Any trace of snow is cause to press one's nose up against the window and make preparations better suited to an eight-foot blizzard than a dusting of white. Bread and milk become scarce commodities, people drive at absurd speeds, and children cling to the radios in silent prayer for those most blessed of words, "Schools are closed today." If there is even a fraction of an inch of accumulation, tiny muddy snowmen appear like mushrooms on porches, in driveways, and wherever else the meager amounts of snow can be scraped together.
My dog, Yelldo, has had a wonderful day. He has been in various stages of unconscious sprawl on the leopard print furry blanket on my couch. Every once in awhile, he rolls, opens his eyes minutely, sighs deeply, and wiggles in bliss. Even getting him to go outside to take care of the call of Nature has been an effort today. I don't much blame him.
I spent the day watching one of my favorite film noir movies, Laura. It was a good day for old movies. I also watched IU play basketball. We lost. I was proud that we came back from such a great deficit, but it was sad anyway.
After watching, I got a burst of energy and tidied some of the mess here in the house up. There's a lot I can't do until I get the flooring back in the kitchen, but the word has come that next week is the week the installers are coming. Maybe by next weekend, I'll have my washer and dryer running again and get my refridgerator out of my living room.
There's really nothing else to tell. It was just a peaceful, if cold and snowy, Saturday.
My dog, Yelldo, has had a wonderful day. He has been in various stages of unconscious sprawl on the leopard print furry blanket on my couch. Every once in awhile, he rolls, opens his eyes minutely, sighs deeply, and wiggles in bliss. Even getting him to go outside to take care of the call of Nature has been an effort today. I don't much blame him.
I spent the day watching one of my favorite film noir movies, Laura. It was a good day for old movies. I also watched IU play basketball. We lost. I was proud that we came back from such a great deficit, but it was sad anyway.
After watching, I got a burst of energy and tidied some of the mess here in the house up. There's a lot I can't do until I get the flooring back in the kitchen, but the word has come that next week is the week the installers are coming. Maybe by next weekend, I'll have my washer and dryer running again and get my refridgerator out of my living room.
There's really nothing else to tell. It was just a peaceful, if cold and snowy, Saturday.
Friday, February 10, 2006
Fear and eHarmony.com
Computer dating is fine, if you're a computer.
Rita May Brown
I did it. I sucked it up, typed in my credit card information, and joined eHarmony. I have a curious blend of feelings about the whole situation.
Part of me is relieved. Finally, I've gotten off my posterior and taken what will hopefully be a positive step toward finding somebody I can stand. I have good luck with finding things on the computer. After all, eBay and amazon have been good to me over the years. Whenever I've wanted something that I couldn't find locally, the magic of the internet has always come through for me.
Part of me is scared to death. What if there aren't any matches for me? What if I get an email from Neil Clark Warren saying they're refunding my money because they can't find anybody suitable? What if there ARE matches for me? I am hopeless with men. Truly, truly, hopeless. That's how I have gotten into my current situation after all.
Part of me wonders about the possibility of finding true love online. Despite the propaganda in You've Got Mail and every eHarmony TV commercial, I wonder if this is a good way to meet people.
As Eleanor Roosevelt said, "You must do the thing you think you cannot do." I am tired of just wishing for somebody, and I don't know any other step that I would be willing or able to take right now. Sooooo....here we go. Maybe it will at least provide interesting anecdotes....
Rita May Brown
I did it. I sucked it up, typed in my credit card information, and joined eHarmony. I have a curious blend of feelings about the whole situation.
Part of me is relieved. Finally, I've gotten off my posterior and taken what will hopefully be a positive step toward finding somebody I can stand. I have good luck with finding things on the computer. After all, eBay and amazon have been good to me over the years. Whenever I've wanted something that I couldn't find locally, the magic of the internet has always come through for me.
Part of me is scared to death. What if there aren't any matches for me? What if I get an email from Neil Clark Warren saying they're refunding my money because they can't find anybody suitable? What if there ARE matches for me? I am hopeless with men. Truly, truly, hopeless. That's how I have gotten into my current situation after all.
Part of me wonders about the possibility of finding true love online. Despite the propaganda in You've Got Mail and every eHarmony TV commercial, I wonder if this is a good way to meet people.
As Eleanor Roosevelt said, "You must do the thing you think you cannot do." I am tired of just wishing for somebody, and I don't know any other step that I would be willing or able to take right now. Sooooo....here we go. Maybe it will at least provide interesting anecdotes....
Sunday, February 05, 2006
The Gentle Art of Procrastination
One thing that's good about procrastination is that you always have something planned for tomorrow.
Gil Stern
This is a record...three postings in one day. Can you tell that I have reams of papers waiting to be graded?
It's amazing how appealing all other things become when I have papers to grade. In fact, I really cannot get any work done here at home. That's the main reason I stay at school so long each day; I know that saying, "I'll do it tonight at home" is just a big lie. It's not even a good lie. Nobody else is fooled, and I certainly know myself well enough not to believe it.
Through the years, I've gotten myself into all kinds of jams because of procrastination. I'll never forget the all-important paper in grad school I neglected to even start writing until 1:00 a.m. the day it was due. I think I spent most of that time procrastinating by playing a game on the computer.
Today, so far, I've gone to town with my dad for lunch, wandered around our local home improvement store aimlessly, refilled bird feeders (the feathered pigs are cleaning me out), looked over two or three well-thumbed catalogs, put away laundry, and of course, blogged. I keep telling myself that in thirty minutes, I'm going to get serious and get the work done. In reality, next thing I know it will be midnight and I'll just write it off and go to bed.
I think I'll try to break the cycle. I'm going to finish this off and start work on the handout my AP kids will need tomorrow. On the other hand, the house could use a general tidying, and I think Yelldo needs a bath....
Gil Stern
This is a record...three postings in one day. Can you tell that I have reams of papers waiting to be graded?
It's amazing how appealing all other things become when I have papers to grade. In fact, I really cannot get any work done here at home. That's the main reason I stay at school so long each day; I know that saying, "I'll do it tonight at home" is just a big lie. It's not even a good lie. Nobody else is fooled, and I certainly know myself well enough not to believe it.
Through the years, I've gotten myself into all kinds of jams because of procrastination. I'll never forget the all-important paper in grad school I neglected to even start writing until 1:00 a.m. the day it was due. I think I spent most of that time procrastinating by playing a game on the computer.
Today, so far, I've gone to town with my dad for lunch, wandered around our local home improvement store aimlessly, refilled bird feeders (the feathered pigs are cleaning me out), looked over two or three well-thumbed catalogs, put away laundry, and of course, blogged. I keep telling myself that in thirty minutes, I'm going to get serious and get the work done. In reality, next thing I know it will be midnight and I'll just write it off and go to bed.
I think I'll try to break the cycle. I'm going to finish this off and start work on the handout my AP kids will need tomorrow. On the other hand, the house could use a general tidying, and I think Yelldo needs a bath....
The Is of the Thing
The Is of the Thing
This is a blog started just today by a friend of mine. If you're looking for some good reading, I recommend trying his site.
This is a blog started just today by a friend of mine. If you're looking for some good reading, I recommend trying his site.
Picture
I promised this shot quite a while ago, but today was the first time the weather was clear and I was home/not sick, etc., enough to get it. I'll try to include some of my cameos later. This is my bottle tree. If you look carefully enough, you can also see Friedrik the Gnome lurking on an old tree stump. He keeps the daffodils tended and the bottle tree upright with Gnome Magic. That's the only explanation for why the wind we had last week didn't knock the whole affair over.
Saturday, February 04, 2006
Looming on the Horizon
Do not regret growing older. It is a privilege denied to many. ~Author Unknown
Live as long as you may, the first twenty years are the longest half of your life. ~Robert Southey, The Doctor
My thirtieth birthday is coming in a few days. Why thirty should matter is beyond me. It's just a number, and, I'm assuming anyway, no great revelation or change will happen when the clock strikes twelve on that day. Somehow, though, I find that I'm not where I thought I would be at thirty, and I am disconcerted. I wonder if anybody ever gets where they thought they were going. I wonder if anybody who does is ever happy there.
I am by no means unhappy with my life. Of course, there are a couple of things I wish were different, but that's just a part of the human condition.
I wish, profoundly wish, that I could have found a man to share my life with by now. I haven't had the best of luck with that. In fact, it's been about two years since I even met anybody I found remotely interesting in that department. What I'm looking for simply doesn't seem to be around here. I'm not sure why. I don't know if it's the locale or something in the water, but my ideas don't seem to mesh well with those of most men I meet. I am still looking, but I am thinking I'm going to have to look elsewhere.
Pushing that aside, I can't believe I've had some of the experiences I've had. Ten years ago, I never dreamed I'd have had the chance to travel to Costa Rica, Japan, Thailand, England, and Ireland. I never would have dreamed I'd have lived abroad, leaving home and family to pursue a job that fell into my lap and changed me forever. I would never have predicted that I would have met people from all over the world and worked with them, teaching and learning at the same time. It's been such a blessed thing so far.
I don't think I'm going to rush out and buy a Dodge Charger (probably not, anyway) or have plastic surgery or a wild fling with a college guy or any of those other mid-life cliches, but I am very reflective right now. I guess I'm in the process of adjusting all those childhood assumptions to the adult realities. It's strange. I'm not the person I thought I'd be (married, couple of kids), and I might never become that person. I've stopped taking it for granted that I will find a mate, and due to health issues, I stopped taking the babies for granted years ago.
Yet, despite these "missing pieces", there's a remarkable peace with things. I don't want to settle, but at the same time, I hope I'm going to enter this decade with a bit of dignity, not grasping and clawing after my fast-fading youth. I am hopeful that this decade will be every bit as full of pleasantly unexpected good things as the last one was. I guess I will just put the panic attacks off until the next big milestone looms on the horizon.
Live as long as you may, the first twenty years are the longest half of your life. ~Robert Southey, The Doctor
My thirtieth birthday is coming in a few days. Why thirty should matter is beyond me. It's just a number, and, I'm assuming anyway, no great revelation or change will happen when the clock strikes twelve on that day. Somehow, though, I find that I'm not where I thought I would be at thirty, and I am disconcerted. I wonder if anybody ever gets where they thought they were going. I wonder if anybody who does is ever happy there.
I am by no means unhappy with my life. Of course, there are a couple of things I wish were different, but that's just a part of the human condition.
I wish, profoundly wish, that I could have found a man to share my life with by now. I haven't had the best of luck with that. In fact, it's been about two years since I even met anybody I found remotely interesting in that department. What I'm looking for simply doesn't seem to be around here. I'm not sure why. I don't know if it's the locale or something in the water, but my ideas don't seem to mesh well with those of most men I meet. I am still looking, but I am thinking I'm going to have to look elsewhere.
Pushing that aside, I can't believe I've had some of the experiences I've had. Ten years ago, I never dreamed I'd have had the chance to travel to Costa Rica, Japan, Thailand, England, and Ireland. I never would have dreamed I'd have lived abroad, leaving home and family to pursue a job that fell into my lap and changed me forever. I would never have predicted that I would have met people from all over the world and worked with them, teaching and learning at the same time. It's been such a blessed thing so far.
I don't think I'm going to rush out and buy a Dodge Charger (probably not, anyway) or have plastic surgery or a wild fling with a college guy or any of those other mid-life cliches, but I am very reflective right now. I guess I'm in the process of adjusting all those childhood assumptions to the adult realities. It's strange. I'm not the person I thought I'd be (married, couple of kids), and I might never become that person. I've stopped taking it for granted that I will find a mate, and due to health issues, I stopped taking the babies for granted years ago.
Yet, despite these "missing pieces", there's a remarkable peace with things. I don't want to settle, but at the same time, I hope I'm going to enter this decade with a bit of dignity, not grasping and clawing after my fast-fading youth. I am hopeful that this decade will be every bit as full of pleasantly unexpected good things as the last one was. I guess I will just put the panic attacks off until the next big milestone looms on the horizon.
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
Under Pressure
"When in panic, or in doubt, run in circles, scream and shout." -- R. Heinlein
Today was a day-long conference to work on realigning our English curriculum. I was so exhausted at the end of it that I could hear the humming dullness inside my own skull. I stopped meaningfully processing information a full hour before the meeting ground to a halt.
What we were doing was both important and valuable, but I thought I would go crazy before I could get away. I am excited that we are making changes in our curriculum, but I am so stressed out right now, that I can hardly bear the touch of a feather.
I have three sets of AP papers ungraded and four sets of regular papers that have to be graded. I haven't entered lesson plans in what seems like a hundred years. I got a message from the teacher support team leader that says I have to remediate, document, and meet about every student who was failing my class at semester.
I wanted to curl into a little ball under my desk and cry. How can we be expected to keep all these balls in the air? In fact, we've gone way past just juggling balls...they've added swords, flaming brands, and big fish. (Perhaps, an odd choice, but that's the image that sprang to mind.)
Once again, I talked with my mom and she brought me chicken strips and strawberry cobbler, five-year-old soul medicine, and I feel better. Tomorrow, I'll just work until I get it done. I might need more cobbler tomorrow, though....
Today was a day-long conference to work on realigning our English curriculum. I was so exhausted at the end of it that I could hear the humming dullness inside my own skull. I stopped meaningfully processing information a full hour before the meeting ground to a halt.
What we were doing was both important and valuable, but I thought I would go crazy before I could get away. I am excited that we are making changes in our curriculum, but I am so stressed out right now, that I can hardly bear the touch of a feather.
I have three sets of AP papers ungraded and four sets of regular papers that have to be graded. I haven't entered lesson plans in what seems like a hundred years. I got a message from the teacher support team leader that says I have to remediate, document, and meet about every student who was failing my class at semester.
I wanted to curl into a little ball under my desk and cry. How can we be expected to keep all these balls in the air? In fact, we've gone way past just juggling balls...they've added swords, flaming brands, and big fish. (Perhaps, an odd choice, but that's the image that sprang to mind.)
Once again, I talked with my mom and she brought me chicken strips and strawberry cobbler, five-year-old soul medicine, and I feel better. Tomorrow, I'll just work until I get it done. I might need more cobbler tomorrow, though....
Saturday, January 28, 2006
Recovery
Diseases of the soul are more dangerous and more numerous than those of the body. ~Cicero
Today, I have a voice. It's the first day since Wednesday that I don't have moments of fade out or whisper. I haven't been sick like this in years, I think. I really can't remember the last time I had laryngitis.
The medicines the doctor gave me to "clean everything out" included a dose pack of steroids. I hate them. He gave me the painful horse dose in the hip before I left, and then prescribed these oral doses as well. Now, I am awake at absurd hours watching bad movies from the 80s, listening to music in celebration on Mozart's birthday, and feverishly crafting or shopping eBay.
Last night, I designed, cut, foiled, and soldered a stained-glass suncatcher of Psyche. I finished her about 3:30 a.m., and I am going to have to go back to it and touch up. Looking at it this morning, I can't even remember all the steps. I remember this period of incredible, almost humming, energy pouring through me after taking that last "bedtime" dose of those pills, but other parts of the process are a blur.
I am also healing from losing Britta. There are those, I have no doubt, who will question whether or not the loss of a dog, especially one who had not been a part of the family very long, could cause long-term pain.
Just today for the first time I could walk around and fill my birdfeeders without looking for her. Just today, filling out an application to start the process of seeking a pit bull to adopt didn't make me want to cry. I still miss her, but I think the worst of the darkness that has surrounded me since she died is starting to dissipate. I am hoping that this soul-sickness will give way to the golden keeping of the good and the sharing of the love she gave me with another needy dog.
I still find it hard to talk about the accident. I still can't easily accept the consolations of others. As is so often when the topic is something that hurts so much, I don't want to talk about it. I don't know how to explain it. I suppose the easiest way to think of it is that it's still too near, too sacred for me to be able to talk about with anything other than pain. I can only hope that this, too, will be something I can recover from in time.
Now, I am going to try to go get some sleep. The rain outside should help lull me. Tomorrow will be a new day, and I will get up, get dressed, and face whatever comes. I might even have a voice with which to address those issues. I don't know when the full recovery will come, but I am grateful for the progress that has been made.
Today, I have a voice. It's the first day since Wednesday that I don't have moments of fade out or whisper. I haven't been sick like this in years, I think. I really can't remember the last time I had laryngitis.
The medicines the doctor gave me to "clean everything out" included a dose pack of steroids. I hate them. He gave me the painful horse dose in the hip before I left, and then prescribed these oral doses as well. Now, I am awake at absurd hours watching bad movies from the 80s, listening to music in celebration on Mozart's birthday, and feverishly crafting or shopping eBay.
Last night, I designed, cut, foiled, and soldered a stained-glass suncatcher of Psyche. I finished her about 3:30 a.m., and I am going to have to go back to it and touch up. Looking at it this morning, I can't even remember all the steps. I remember this period of incredible, almost humming, energy pouring through me after taking that last "bedtime" dose of those pills, but other parts of the process are a blur.
I am also healing from losing Britta. There are those, I have no doubt, who will question whether or not the loss of a dog, especially one who had not been a part of the family very long, could cause long-term pain.
Just today for the first time I could walk around and fill my birdfeeders without looking for her. Just today, filling out an application to start the process of seeking a pit bull to adopt didn't make me want to cry. I still miss her, but I think the worst of the darkness that has surrounded me since she died is starting to dissipate. I am hoping that this soul-sickness will give way to the golden keeping of the good and the sharing of the love she gave me with another needy dog.
I still find it hard to talk about the accident. I still can't easily accept the consolations of others. As is so often when the topic is something that hurts so much, I don't want to talk about it. I don't know how to explain it. I suppose the easiest way to think of it is that it's still too near, too sacred for me to be able to talk about with anything other than pain. I can only hope that this, too, will be something I can recover from in time.
Now, I am going to try to go get some sleep. The rain outside should help lull me. Tomorrow will be a new day, and I will get up, get dressed, and face whatever comes. I might even have a voice with which to address those issues. I don't know when the full recovery will come, but I am grateful for the progress that has been made.
Wednesday, January 25, 2006
Silent
Yesterday I was hoarse. Today, I have completely lost my voice. I went to the doctor after school, and the doctor told me to come home and be quiet for two days.
It's odd how many important conversations spring to mind when you're told not to talk. It's also ironic how many people suddenly want to have long talks.
I hate the fact that I'm going to have to miss two days of school. I know this is a quack, quack deal, and I need to just enjoy it, but I am still irked at getting even farther behind with Hamlet. Granted, most of one of my AP classes was going to be gone tomorrow anyway, but still...
I guess it just feels like cheating to me somehow. I always feel like if I can get up in the morning without visible means of life support, I should be at school working. I know the building isn't going to fall in, and my kids won't be any worse than they'd be for anybody else's sub, but it's a part of my Type-A personality. For two days, my private domain is going to be out of my control. It's not an easy thing to accept.
Still, today showed me that I can't just force myself through it. I should have stayed home today, but my formal evaluation was supposed to have happened today. It didn't for various reasons, but all day long, I was sucking down hot green tea and eating Halls trying to get even a Mickey Mouse voice to come out. I lectured and had a good class for both my APs. My regular tenth graders were writing today, anyway, so I didn't have to talk much. By the end of the day, I was exhausted from the effort at getting out little bits of sound, and, of course, all the wild pantomime that was a part of getting any message across.
I am going to try to focus on the fact that I have two days to get caught up with things both school-related and otherwise and not worry about what's going on at school. For better or worse, it will still be there when I get back, after all...
It's odd how many important conversations spring to mind when you're told not to talk. It's also ironic how many people suddenly want to have long talks.
I hate the fact that I'm going to have to miss two days of school. I know this is a quack, quack deal, and I need to just enjoy it, but I am still irked at getting even farther behind with Hamlet. Granted, most of one of my AP classes was going to be gone tomorrow anyway, but still...
I guess it just feels like cheating to me somehow. I always feel like if I can get up in the morning without visible means of life support, I should be at school working. I know the building isn't going to fall in, and my kids won't be any worse than they'd be for anybody else's sub, but it's a part of my Type-A personality. For two days, my private domain is going to be out of my control. It's not an easy thing to accept.
Still, today showed me that I can't just force myself through it. I should have stayed home today, but my formal evaluation was supposed to have happened today. It didn't for various reasons, but all day long, I was sucking down hot green tea and eating Halls trying to get even a Mickey Mouse voice to come out. I lectured and had a good class for both my APs. My regular tenth graders were writing today, anyway, so I didn't have to talk much. By the end of the day, I was exhausted from the effort at getting out little bits of sound, and, of course, all the wild pantomime that was a part of getting any message across.
I am going to try to focus on the fact that I have two days to get caught up with things both school-related and otherwise and not worry about what's going on at school. For better or worse, it will still be there when I get back, after all...
Friday, January 20, 2006
Week End
Clocks slay time... time is dead as long as it is being clicked off by little wheels; only when the clock stops does time come to life.
William Faulkner
I survived another week of secondary education, and I am now comfortably ensconced in my rocking chair watching sitcom reruns.
I am about to luxuriate in my weekend. The school week is so hectic with grading, preparation, and all the ridiculous crap that floats in unexpectedly.
I have big plans. I am going to read a book or two, watch some old movies, play with my dog, and generally do nothing. I'll come back and blog about it later. :) Won't you be on pins and needles waiting for *that* post.
Wherever you are, gentle readers, I hope you enjoy the end of your week, too.
William Faulkner
I survived another week of secondary education, and I am now comfortably ensconced in my rocking chair watching sitcom reruns.
I am about to luxuriate in my weekend. The school week is so hectic with grading, preparation, and all the ridiculous crap that floats in unexpectedly.
I have big plans. I am going to read a book or two, watch some old movies, play with my dog, and generally do nothing. I'll come back and blog about it later. :) Won't you be on pins and needles waiting for *that* post.
Wherever you are, gentle readers, I hope you enjoy the end of your week, too.
Thursday, January 19, 2006
Cameos
Discoveries of archaeological sites in Italy and Egypt renewed an interest in the classics that influenced cameos of the Victorian Era. Motifs included gods and goddesses from mythology and other subjects related to them, such as Bacchante maidens adorned with grape leaves in their hair, the Three Graces, who were the daughters of Zeus, and Leda, a woman shown feeding Zeus and more.
from the website http://www.victorianbazaar.com/cameos.html
I have become interested in cameos lately. I don't think realized that there was a symbolism to most of them. I am not sure that I ever noticed that they were anything but little portraits of women in old-fashioned garb.
My interest started when I was researching the myth of Cupid and Psyche. Some source or another stated that the Victorians used the myth as a decoration for cameos, symbolizing love triumphant. Intrigued, I went to eBay and started exploring.
I noticed that Psyche wasn't the only mythological figure that appeared. Daphne was there along with Athena, Diana, Ceres, Eros, Venus, the Maenads (Bacchantes), Hebe and Zeus....the list is practically endless. Each of these figures had a meaning for the Victorians. A woman wearing a Bacchante was very subtly advertising herself as a "wild" woman since the Bacchantes were devotees of wine, passion, and song.
I wonder how long it took a Victorian lady to dress everyday when practically every piece of clothing had a symbolism. What if you had an off day, got dressed quickly, and threw on something inadvertently lascivious? I don't think I would have done well in that world. I'm not nearly careful enough about clothing.
That being said, I do enjoy the "hidden meanings" behind these ubiquitous pieces of jewelry. A 1970's resin Three Graces my parents gave me for Christmas is a nice symbol for good cheer, beauty, and festivity. I have managed to get a nice shell Diana for myself (protector of animals, goddess of the moon, etc.), obtained a very nice Terpsichore (muse of Music) for my mother, and just today won an auction for a Psyche (the soul).
This will probably end my collecting. They are beautiful, but my LORD, they are costly on a school teacher's budget. Psyche is the one who started this quest, anyway. I will enjoy being able to wear her image, she who represents the soul, and I'll know, even if nobody else does, what she means.
from the website http://www.victorianbazaar.com/cameos.html
I have become interested in cameos lately. I don't think realized that there was a symbolism to most of them. I am not sure that I ever noticed that they were anything but little portraits of women in old-fashioned garb.
My interest started when I was researching the myth of Cupid and Psyche. Some source or another stated that the Victorians used the myth as a decoration for cameos, symbolizing love triumphant. Intrigued, I went to eBay and started exploring.
I noticed that Psyche wasn't the only mythological figure that appeared. Daphne was there along with Athena, Diana, Ceres, Eros, Venus, the Maenads (Bacchantes), Hebe and Zeus....the list is practically endless. Each of these figures had a meaning for the Victorians. A woman wearing a Bacchante was very subtly advertising herself as a "wild" woman since the Bacchantes were devotees of wine, passion, and song.
I wonder how long it took a Victorian lady to dress everyday when practically every piece of clothing had a symbolism. What if you had an off day, got dressed quickly, and threw on something inadvertently lascivious? I don't think I would have done well in that world. I'm not nearly careful enough about clothing.
That being said, I do enjoy the "hidden meanings" behind these ubiquitous pieces of jewelry. A 1970's resin Three Graces my parents gave me for Christmas is a nice symbol for good cheer, beauty, and festivity. I have managed to get a nice shell Diana for myself (protector of animals, goddess of the moon, etc.), obtained a very nice Terpsichore (muse of Music) for my mother, and just today won an auction for a Psyche (the soul).
This will probably end my collecting. They are beautiful, but my LORD, they are costly on a school teacher's budget. Psyche is the one who started this quest, anyway. I will enjoy being able to wear her image, she who represents the soul, and I'll know, even if nobody else does, what she means.
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
Rain
Let the rain kiss you. Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops. Let the rain sing you a lullaby. ~Langston Hughes
Early this morning, long before dawn, it started raining. I struggled awake and, stupefied by sleep, started to get up to put the pans down in my bathroom to catch what I not-so-fondly call "the waterfall."
How nice it was to roll over, pull the covers back up to my ears (disgruntling cats along the way), and simply enjoy the sound of rain on the tin roof of the back part of the house. There were no leaks, no rivers, no pots to catch the drips. Rain has become an outdoor issue once again, and the peace I felt was absurdly transcendent.
It's such a relief not to have to arrange a barrier of towels and dishpans whenever clouds dot the sky. I can go away from the house with the sort of confidence one is supposed to have when one lives indoors. It's a small victory, surely, but it's one that's been a long time coming for me.
Early this morning, long before dawn, it started raining. I struggled awake and, stupefied by sleep, started to get up to put the pans down in my bathroom to catch what I not-so-fondly call "the waterfall."
How nice it was to roll over, pull the covers back up to my ears (disgruntling cats along the way), and simply enjoy the sound of rain on the tin roof of the back part of the house. There were no leaks, no rivers, no pots to catch the drips. Rain has become an outdoor issue once again, and the peace I felt was absurdly transcendent.
It's such a relief not to have to arrange a barrier of towels and dishpans whenever clouds dot the sky. I can go away from the house with the sort of confidence one is supposed to have when one lives indoors. It's a small victory, surely, but it's one that's been a long time coming for me.
Monday, January 16, 2006
Total Chaos
I am sitting in my usual blogging spot, a rocking chair in my living room, and my refridgerator is almost close enough to touch. My dining chair currently serves as a cat perch at my shoulder, and I spent most of the day breaking down and emptying my bedroom closet. Life has GOT to get back to normal soon.
The man who is doing the repairs on the house is wonderful. I feel so confident now. Apparently, the whole thing was about to fall down. He's put in beams and insulation and floors. There are no longer crazy slopes to my kitchen floor or living room. It's a nice feeling.
As nice as it is to see these changes happening, I wish I could wake up tomorrow and not see my washer and dryer in my living room. Normalcy needs to return. Maybe by weeks end, I'll have linoleum and everything can move back to its usual place.
The man who is doing the repairs on the house is wonderful. I feel so confident now. Apparently, the whole thing was about to fall down. He's put in beams and insulation and floors. There are no longer crazy slopes to my kitchen floor or living room. It's a nice feeling.
As nice as it is to see these changes happening, I wish I could wake up tomorrow and not see my washer and dryer in my living room. Normalcy needs to return. Maybe by weeks end, I'll have linoleum and everything can move back to its usual place.
Saturday, January 14, 2006
Shattered, Broken, Gone
"Playing in the fields of the Lord" -- epitaph on Britta's grave marker
I haven't written at all this week. In fact, I have just been going through the necessary motions with day-to-day life this week. On Monday, Britta was killed by a car.
I had been to Wal-Mart to pick up yet another big bag of dog food and I got home after dark. No graceful beast bounded across the yard to welcome me. At that moment, I knew. I called, hoping that she was off in the woods, although she was always waiting for me after dark. I listened, hoping against hope to hear that tiny musical jingle of her vaccination tag, but the only sound was that of the wind through the dead January tree limbs.
I got a flashlight, drove my car down to the road so I would have the headlights to see by, and started looking. I checked the ditches and the edge of the woods, but I didn't see anything, and for a few minutes, I started to hope. I even hoped that maybe somebody had taken her. At least that way, she'd be alive somewhere.
I called Mom and Dad who came down to help me. We looked and called and walked for about thirty minutes, and Dad found her. She'd been hit and was beside the road in a spot I had missed. They wouldn't let me see her until they'd wrapped her in a towel, but Mom was able to offer me the cold comfort that at least her death must have been quick.
She must have followed me to the road when I left for work. There's no other reason why she'd have been there. She never went to the road unless I was there, either leaving or coming in. She didn't chase cars; she was afraid of them.
My heart is broken. I know I only had her for a few short months, an accumulation of weeks, but I feel as though all the joy in my life has been shattered along with her poor brave body. Every time I look out the door, I expect to see her quizzical look. Today, I went about my Saturday routine, filling birdfeeders and tidying up the yard, and I had to sit down. Last weekend, I did the same thing with her playing and nuzzling me every step of the way. Today, the sky was the same bright blue, but there was no Britta to enliven me.
There's no more to say. She's buried out near the barn, and Mom made her a marker from an old metal barrel lid. I couldn't go out there until Thursday afternoon. When I saw the inscription, it was perfect. That is the way I am going to try to remember her, in full bound, racing across the yard...pure joy personified.
I haven't written at all this week. In fact, I have just been going through the necessary motions with day-to-day life this week. On Monday, Britta was killed by a car.
I had been to Wal-Mart to pick up yet another big bag of dog food and I got home after dark. No graceful beast bounded across the yard to welcome me. At that moment, I knew. I called, hoping that she was off in the woods, although she was always waiting for me after dark. I listened, hoping against hope to hear that tiny musical jingle of her vaccination tag, but the only sound was that of the wind through the dead January tree limbs.
I got a flashlight, drove my car down to the road so I would have the headlights to see by, and started looking. I checked the ditches and the edge of the woods, but I didn't see anything, and for a few minutes, I started to hope. I even hoped that maybe somebody had taken her. At least that way, she'd be alive somewhere.
I called Mom and Dad who came down to help me. We looked and called and walked for about thirty minutes, and Dad found her. She'd been hit and was beside the road in a spot I had missed. They wouldn't let me see her until they'd wrapped her in a towel, but Mom was able to offer me the cold comfort that at least her death must have been quick.
She must have followed me to the road when I left for work. There's no other reason why she'd have been there. She never went to the road unless I was there, either leaving or coming in. She didn't chase cars; she was afraid of them.
My heart is broken. I know I only had her for a few short months, an accumulation of weeks, but I feel as though all the joy in my life has been shattered along with her poor brave body. Every time I look out the door, I expect to see her quizzical look. Today, I went about my Saturday routine, filling birdfeeders and tidying up the yard, and I had to sit down. Last weekend, I did the same thing with her playing and nuzzling me every step of the way. Today, the sky was the same bright blue, but there was no Britta to enliven me.
There's no more to say. She's buried out near the barn, and Mom made her a marker from an old metal barrel lid. I couldn't go out there until Thursday afternoon. When I saw the inscription, it was perfect. That is the way I am going to try to remember her, in full bound, racing across the yard...pure joy personified.
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
Mythology
I'm very taken by mythology. I read it at a very early age and kept on reading it.
Roger Zelazny
One of the first books I remember checking out of the library was a beautifully illustrated book about ancient Egypt. I can still remember the drawings. I was immediately hooked. I spent most of my summers reading about the gods and goddesses, learning how to write truly pitiful looking hieroglyphics, and dreaming of going to see the pyramids.
My early fascination with mythology never went away. Instead, it expanded to include other cultures. I love Greek and Roman mythology. Not as much as the Egyptians, but I have really enjoyed rediscovering the details of the myths as I have been teaching my AP students this year. My recent trip to Ireland got me digging into Celtic mythos. When I lived in Japan, I read book after book about Shinto gods and their folklore.
My favorite characters are spread among all these groups. I have always liked Thoth, the Egyptian god of magic and writing. The combination of those two areas under one deity intrigues me. I like the idea that writing is a form of magic. Another favorite comes from the Celts. I am intrigued by the Morrigan, the Battle Raven, the goddess of war and passionate love.
There are three Greco-Roman goddesses I find appealing: Diana, Athena, and Psyche. Diana, chaste goddess of the moon, protector of animals, is a figure I can identify with. I admire Athena, goddess of wisdom who burst from fully clad in armor from her father Zeus's head. The story of Psyche and her quest for true love with the god of love is probably my favorite myth.
I don't know what it is about these tales that draws me. Maybe it's the magic. Maybe it's the fact that cultures long gone and drastically different from my own had the same problems and the same quest to understand the world around them. In any case, I, like countless others before me, enjoy dusting off these old tales and exploring them in these modern times.
Roger Zelazny
One of the first books I remember checking out of the library was a beautifully illustrated book about ancient Egypt. I can still remember the drawings. I was immediately hooked. I spent most of my summers reading about the gods and goddesses, learning how to write truly pitiful looking hieroglyphics, and dreaming of going to see the pyramids.
My early fascination with mythology never went away. Instead, it expanded to include other cultures. I love Greek and Roman mythology. Not as much as the Egyptians, but I have really enjoyed rediscovering the details of the myths as I have been teaching my AP students this year. My recent trip to Ireland got me digging into Celtic mythos. When I lived in Japan, I read book after book about Shinto gods and their folklore.
My favorite characters are spread among all these groups. I have always liked Thoth, the Egyptian god of magic and writing. The combination of those two areas under one deity intrigues me. I like the idea that writing is a form of magic. Another favorite comes from the Celts. I am intrigued by the Morrigan, the Battle Raven, the goddess of war and passionate love.
There are three Greco-Roman goddesses I find appealing: Diana, Athena, and Psyche. Diana, chaste goddess of the moon, protector of animals, is a figure I can identify with. I admire Athena, goddess of wisdom who burst from fully clad in armor from her father Zeus's head. The story of Psyche and her quest for true love with the god of love is probably my favorite myth.
I don't know what it is about these tales that draws me. Maybe it's the magic. Maybe it's the fact that cultures long gone and drastically different from my own had the same problems and the same quest to understand the world around them. In any case, I, like countless others before me, enjoy dusting off these old tales and exploring them in these modern times.
Monday, January 02, 2006
Two Collars, A Harness, and a Fitting
Today was hectic. I got to school for our work day and Mom called to say the builders were here and that Britta had to be chained. She came down to take care of it, and I told her that if Britta slipped the collar, she should call me and I'd come try to do something. Thirty minutes later, I got a call. Not only had Britta slipped the regular collar, she'd also slipped the choke chain.
I hastily left school, drove to the local Wal-Mart, bought two harnesses, and sped home. Britta and Mom were waiting when I got home. We had a three little bears moment (this harness is too small...this harness is to big... etc.), and I strapped her in. When I left, she was fussing and leaping about four feet straight up in the air.
This, apparently, was a strategy to loosen the buckles on the harness. Mom called right after I got back to my classroom to tell me Britta had slipped out of the new harness twice.
Now, the websites all warned me that pit bulls are escape artists. They are determined to the point of obsession. When they focus on something, they do whatever is necessary to obtain it. She, apparently, decided that being on the end of a chain wasn't on her agenda for the day. It was amazing. It had to have hurt. She ran the length of the chain and threw herself into the air to get out of this stuff.
Even though the construction crew eventually was okay with her being out, I have to have some way to restrain her just in case. Our local pet supply store has really great, knowledgeable people who work there, so I came home, loaded up Britta, and drove in to the store. She now has a very "bad dog" looking black leather harness which, in theory, she can't get out of. We'll see.
It was just tiring. Having to run back and forth between town and home all day wore me out. I did manage to get most of my preps for the week done, but, as usual, I have a hundred other things to get done.
This probably isn't very coherent, but I've been up 18 hours so far. I am going to go to bed, I think. Tomorrow, the kids return....
I hastily left school, drove to the local Wal-Mart, bought two harnesses, and sped home. Britta and Mom were waiting when I got home. We had a three little bears moment (this harness is too small...this harness is to big... etc.), and I strapped her in. When I left, she was fussing and leaping about four feet straight up in the air.
This, apparently, was a strategy to loosen the buckles on the harness. Mom called right after I got back to my classroom to tell me Britta had slipped out of the new harness twice.
Now, the websites all warned me that pit bulls are escape artists. They are determined to the point of obsession. When they focus on something, they do whatever is necessary to obtain it. She, apparently, decided that being on the end of a chain wasn't on her agenda for the day. It was amazing. It had to have hurt. She ran the length of the chain and threw herself into the air to get out of this stuff.
Even though the construction crew eventually was okay with her being out, I have to have some way to restrain her just in case. Our local pet supply store has really great, knowledgeable people who work there, so I came home, loaded up Britta, and drove in to the store. She now has a very "bad dog" looking black leather harness which, in theory, she can't get out of. We'll see.
It was just tiring. Having to run back and forth between town and home all day wore me out. I did manage to get most of my preps for the week done, but, as usual, I have a hundred other things to get done.
This probably isn't very coherent, but I've been up 18 hours so far. I am going to go to bed, I think. Tomorrow, the kids return....
Sunday, January 01, 2006
The New Year
If you're running a 26-mile marathon, remember that every mile is run one step at a time. If you are writing a book, do it one page at a time. If you're trying to master a new language, try it one word at a time. There are 365 days in the average year. Divide any project by 365 and you'll find that no job is all that intimidating.
~ Charles ( Chuck ) R. Swindoll
I can hardly believe this is the beginning of a new year. Where do the days go? Every Christmas and New Year, it always feels as though the days between have been a featureless blur. I can hardly believe that during the past year I went to the UK and Ireland, started teaching AP English, began renovation on the house, and got a really big dog. So much has happened.
I wonder what the year ahead will hold. Last night, as I waited for the end of the old year and the birth of the new, I heard the sound of exuberant fireworks all around me. In all the years I've lived here, I've never heard any fireworks. It made me feel like a part of a community, like I was not alone, even though I was in my pajamas in my livingroom and it was a foggy midnight outside. The sound filled me with a hopeful optimism that I haven't felt in a long, long time.
Another part of that optimism may be the fact that I just bought the missing supplies and tools to begin doing stained glass again. For those of you who don't know me well, during my undergrad years, I worked in a professional stained glass studio as an "apprentice." That time was the fulfillment of a fascination I'd had with stained glass since I was old enough to notice the stained glass window in the baptistry of our church. It's been years since I was able to do any work with glass, so I'm sure I'll have a lot to remember. I'm just excited that I have finally decided to step forward and begin.
For too long now, I've been saying "someday" to lots of things in my life. Some of them are small things; some of them are hobbies like the stained glass work. Some of them, however, are things that never should have been allowed to go by the wayside. I realized that I had not sent a single birthday card this year. I have everyone's birthday written in a calendar, but I never take the time to send the card. That may seem trivial to some, but it is just another symptom of how little contact I have had with my friends in the past year. Every other thing has taken that time, and this year, I want that to change.
I don't believe in formal resolutions. To me, making a statement like that is just like begging for failure. However, at this traditional time of reflection, I have found several areas I want to look at. I don't know if I'll be able to be successful, but perhaps the main thing is just to try.
~ Charles ( Chuck ) R. Swindoll
I can hardly believe this is the beginning of a new year. Where do the days go? Every Christmas and New Year, it always feels as though the days between have been a featureless blur. I can hardly believe that during the past year I went to the UK and Ireland, started teaching AP English, began renovation on the house, and got a really big dog. So much has happened.
I wonder what the year ahead will hold. Last night, as I waited for the end of the old year and the birth of the new, I heard the sound of exuberant fireworks all around me. In all the years I've lived here, I've never heard any fireworks. It made me feel like a part of a community, like I was not alone, even though I was in my pajamas in my livingroom and it was a foggy midnight outside. The sound filled me with a hopeful optimism that I haven't felt in a long, long time.
Another part of that optimism may be the fact that I just bought the missing supplies and tools to begin doing stained glass again. For those of you who don't know me well, during my undergrad years, I worked in a professional stained glass studio as an "apprentice." That time was the fulfillment of a fascination I'd had with stained glass since I was old enough to notice the stained glass window in the baptistry of our church. It's been years since I was able to do any work with glass, so I'm sure I'll have a lot to remember. I'm just excited that I have finally decided to step forward and begin.
For too long now, I've been saying "someday" to lots of things in my life. Some of them are small things; some of them are hobbies like the stained glass work. Some of them, however, are things that never should have been allowed to go by the wayside. I realized that I had not sent a single birthday card this year. I have everyone's birthday written in a calendar, but I never take the time to send the card. That may seem trivial to some, but it is just another symptom of how little contact I have had with my friends in the past year. Every other thing has taken that time, and this year, I want that to change.
I don't believe in formal resolutions. To me, making a statement like that is just like begging for failure. However, at this traditional time of reflection, I have found several areas I want to look at. I don't know if I'll be able to be successful, but perhaps the main thing is just to try.
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