Things People from MS Should Know

Oddities in my life being what they are, today I was in an antique shop in a small MS town, and the woman behind the desk asked me, "Isn't Eudora Welty sort of a famous writer?" I looked at her with what I know had to be an incredulous expression on my face, and said, "Yes. Yes, she is." The woman went on to ask, "Isn't she from Mississippi?" I told her yes, Welty was from Jackson, and that she was very famous. The woman went on to comment that she thought she might have read something by Welty before but remained blank when I named three or four of the more commonly-anthologized or taught stories.

I think what prompted this bizzare conversation was a cookbook. Welty had a recipe included in one of the Jackson charity cookbooks, and she frequently signed those books for local fans. I suspect the lady behind the desk had one of these signed books because I saw her with something spiral bound in her lap, and when I told her that Milsaps would be celebrating the centenial of Welty's birth soon and that they had recently opened Welty's Jackson home, the woman's eyes got brighter and brighter with what I assume was probably hope for profit and not pride in a homegrown author.

This little encounter really started me thinking about how little the common person seems to know about Mississippi's legacy in the arts and literature. I think every man, woman, and child in this state ought to be aware that the following "belong to us":

1) Eudora Welty
2) William Faulkner
3) Richard Wright
4) Howlin Wolf
5) Muddy Waters
6) Robert Johnson
7) B.B. King
8) Elvis
9) Oprah


There are more, of course, but to live here and not to know these just baffles me. In fact, go to this website and see the whole whoppin' list. Mississipians, we may be last in a lot of things, but in production of writers and musicians, we need never bow our heads to any other state.

Changes and Transformations

This week has been very sweet. I've had to go into town a few times, but for the most part, I've been able to stay at home and relax. I've read a lot, gotten the materials together for a seminar I'm leading next week, cleaned up some of the messes that had accumulated here, caught up on bill paying, watched a video or two, and just generally enjoyed not having to go to school. I love my job, but sometimes a person needs a break.

My car is being repaired. I took it in Tuesday, and they gave me a rental, an Impala. I really miss my poor little PT Cruiser. I went by the body shop yesterday to get something I'd left out of the car, and they had removed the damaged bumper and rear light assembly. It looked forlorn sitting in the repair bay, but at least it's on the "road to recovery."

I own my car now, and that's a big deal for me. When I first bought it, I had just returned from Japan and I didn't have a job here, so it was purchased in my dad's name. For a variety of reasons, mostly because I'm way too old to live like that anymore, I wanted it in my name, so I recently bought my dad out on the loan. It's in my name now, and I feel much better. As soon as the repairs finish, I'm changing insurance companies because I loathe the thick-headed redneck moron my parents use, and the transformation will be complete.

I'm also trying to get my list of "crucial projects" together for this summer. Of course, the age-old cleaning out the storage room in the back of the house remains, but I also have some other stuff I need to take care of. Hopefully, I'll get some ambition to go with that and won't spend the whole summer curled up on the couch with a book.

Nancy Drew

My parents sent a huge box of stuff from one of their sporadic cleanings-out of the room that used to be mine, and in that box was an old hardback copy of a Nancy Drew mystery. I only ever owned one, but I know I read all of them when I was younger courtesy of our local public library.

In desperate need of a break from the pressures at the end of the year, I sat down one afternoon and read it. I think it took me all of two hours to read through the whole thing, but I was remarkably refreshed at the end. I think the saddest moment in the whole book dealt with damage to Nancy's trusty blue roadster. I put the book to the side and really didn't think about Nancy Drew again for awhile.

Sometime later, I was cruising one of my favorite junktique locations, and in two separate stalls, I saw some ten total copies of Nancy Drew. Remembering the pleasant afternoon I'd had reading the one from Mom and Dad's, I picked up one of the books to look at the cover art. To my surprise, the price tag was only a dollar. I decided I might pick another one and read it, too. By the time I'd looked at the descriptions of each book, I wound up walking out with all ten.

When I got home, as I do whenever something new/old catches my eye, I looked online to see what I could find about Nancy Drew. Apparently, in the years since I spent the summer going back and forth between Podunk and the library, stories, new series, and even some kind of stupid-looking movie have been made about good old Nancy. I, however, really am not interested in ultra-hip modern Nancy.

I like the classic mysteries from the 1930s to the 1960s. In addition to the joy of the simple mysteries, those old Nancy Drews also contain such candid little pictures of the evolution of what was "daring" for a woman. In one book from the late 30s, Nancy and her friends are outside at night setting an ambush for a criminal, and they put on their "dark colored dresses" to do it. I had to giggle. Teen aged girls setting an ambush for a potentially-dangerous criminal? Okay. Teen aged girls wearing pants? TOO shocking!

I've read several of these classic Nancy Drews now, and they're definitely predictable, but I still enjoy them. Sometimes, a formula is a good thing. I'm working on collecting a full set. eBay, as always, has plenty of Nancy Drew, some of them multi-book sets for very little money. The editions I'm collecting are by no means valuable, but I keep thinking that maybe someday I'll have a little girl who might enjoy reading them. In the meantime, I know I'll continue to get a kick out of the titian haired detective and her somewhat campy exploits.

Sadness

As this year is finally grinding to a halt, I felt sad today. Too many people are leaving, both students and teachers. I can't even imagine what next year is going to be like. Every project I'm a part of seems to be getting more complex instead of finding a path to move down easily. Weariness just washes over me in waves.

The primary cause of my sadness today was actually having to go down to the vocational center where Dad taught for a meeting. Just walking through the front doors and knowing he wasn't down the hall in his classroom, just knowing that he would never been down that hall and in that classroom again was more depressing than I can express. I wanted to go into his supervisor's office and ask her how she sleeps at night after telling such heinous lies. Of course I didn't. Professional people don't do things like that, I guess, and I still have barely enough reserve left not to do things like that.

I've been throwing out papers and old files. I found last year's class of AP students' writing samples. I don't know why those folders were even still in my cabinet. I found a whole drawer full of materials for Julius Caesar and To Kill a Mockingbird, and just not teaching those also made me nostalgic. It's getting a bit silly. There's too much change. Even my job is not going to be exactly the same next year; more responsibilities are coming, and while I welcome the challenge, right now, I feel totally inadequate to meet them.

Maybe it's just the time of the year. It's not a beginning where everything is fresh with hope. It's an ending with all the farewells, memories, and regrets that endings always entail. What I want to do more than any other thing is just get in my poor wounded car and run away for a couple of days. The pressure of being around all these endings is making my soul feel sore. It will be a few more days before that sort of escape can be a reality, though. In the meanwhile, I suppose I'll just hunker down and try to focus on the good instead of the lost and the wasted.

Graduation

Tonight, I watched all my little chickadees walk across the ersatz stage on the track to receive the last handshakes and the empty document folder. They are free now. I am so proud of them all. They gave prayers and speeches. They greeted or simply walked up to receive the fruits of twelve years of labor.

Watching them line up in their bright blue robes, they reminded me of baby birds who were just now fledged and ready to test their new wings. They had that same wondering look in their eyes as it began to set in that next year would not involve a seven-period class day or the restrictive security of the routine within red-brick halls. They strode proud and ecstatic or collected and calm, but each one shook our principal's hand with a new awareness, a new mantle of the future settling its weight, both liberating and unsettling, around their shoulders.

I wish the class of 2007 the best. They have certainly been a lot of fun to teach, and it's not every year that I can say that. They have so much potential, and it's been my very great privilege to watch them begin to stretch those wings. I hope as they soar away into whatever the future holds that they remember fondly those of us whose job it is to keep the nest ready and help the next class begin to believe in the power of their own beautiful flight. Dios te bendiga, class of 2007.

Decisions

I haven't been blogging much lately. There have been too many things swirling around in my head to allow for much reflective writing. Little pieces of my stable world have been crumbling off around the edges, and I've been trying to figure out some answers for a major decision or two.

The biggest decision of these is where I'll be teaching next year. I teach at a school that has a vocational school on the same campus, and for years, my father has taught there in one of their programs. Because of a personal vendetta on the part of his supervisor, his program is closing two years away from his retirement. He has jumped through all the hoops, and there is no recourse or way to stop the closing.

That alone is hard for me to swallow. Just the closing is enough. The fact that the program is going because of her personal venom is almost intolerable, and after Dad's board hearing (a farce beyond the farcical), I decided that I could not work for my school system anymore.

Since I had to go see my insurance agent in a city in another county, I decided to stop by that county's superintendent of education and see if they had any job openings. They did, and shortly thereafter, I found myself being offered the senior English/AP English job at their high school. I told their principal that I needed a week to consider, and I drove home full of questions to which I could find no answers. Was this a sign that I was supposed to change now?

So many things at my school have been crazy lately. The crazy screamer down the hall has been in full form; kids run up and down the halls with no control at all during 6th and 7th periods. I don't know what their teachers are thinking, or even if they are thinking, but they're certainly not keeping them in their classroom the way they're supposed to do. Also, as the numbers finally stabilize, I find I will have 26 AP students next year, and while I'm so excited about the program growth, I am trying to figure out when in the world I will get all their grading done, much less the section of Honors III I'll have.

This other job offered me a simpler world. I would not be one of three; I would be "the only". Discipline is tight, test scores are good, and the community is firmly behind this other school. As I sat in their office waiting to talk with the principal, I saw not one sad face, not on the office workers, not on those who were there to pick up their children, not even on the faces of the children who were coming in for some form of discipline. It was like another world. Nobody was out of control or sullen, adult or child. I cannot say it's not a tempting environment.

After long prayer for guidance and a conversation with my current principal, I came to my decision Friday. I cannot leave my current school. I've already met those 26 AP students, given them their summer reading, started them on the path for next year. I've even had somebody volunteer to be my TA for next year. There's so much I believe my school is capable of becoming, and although we have a LONG way to go before we are like the other school, I want to see us get there. I still have to call the other principal and turn him down, but I will be staying at Podunk High for better or for worse.

As soon as I'd made my decision, I felt a weight lift off me. While I know lots of my readers and my friends are never going to understand why I've made this choice, I feel a happiness and an optimism about next year. There is a chance for things to change radically next school year. I am hopeful that the problems of this year will be taken care of so we can begin to rise. We have pretty much hit the breaking point, so up should be the direction of choice from this point forward.

Crash

After an exceptionally long day travelling to Hoover, AL to see their high school as a part of our own school's attempts at redesign, I was on my way back to Podunk. I hadn't gotten much sleep the night before because I had a chance to visit with somebody who I don't see very often, and we stayed up late talking. I was coming over the top of an overpass, and suddenly, the car in front of me slammed on its brakes. I hit mine, too, and slid, but I managed to stop in time.

Unfortunately, the twenty-something kid behind me didn't. The back fender of my poor little car is crunched. It took out the tail light and the curve of the PT Cruiser fender. Fortunately, nobody was hurt, he had insurance, and the car is still drivable. I'll be dealing with the insurance mess today, but it was NOT the way I wanted yesterday to end.

Roux Injured

Yesterday was odd. I had no students except for 6th period's tiny bunch of juniors, and I also had to leave campus to go to a meeting at the CO, so my routine was totally blown.

I finished out my senior grades, took care of several chores in the room, finished up my reading of The Crucible for this year, and just generally got things done. I still have to clean up the room and batten down the hatches for summer, but mostly the big things are done. Since I've been able to get so much finished, I was able to leave school at a reasonable hour. It was still daylight and everything.

On the way home, the eastbound lane of I-20 was blocked completely by a multi-vehicle wreck. I saw a Neon with the back wheels of an eighteen-wheeler sitting on top of its hood. Traffic was backed up for about four miles and was steadily piling up. By the time I got to the Podunk exit, traffic was already stopping there, too. I remember thinking how glad I was that I wasn't any reason for me to have to be headed back toward the east.

When I got home, Roux didn't meet me. She always mugs me first thing when I get home, but even when I called, she didn't come. I walked down to the road calling her, and by the time I got back to the house, she was slowly dragging herself around the side of the porch. I knew when I saw how she was moving that something was wrong. When I got her inside and checked her, she had a hole in her abdomen.

After having a minor freak out, I realized that I had only about five minutes before my vet closed. I called them, loaded Roux as gently as I could into the car, and headed for the interstate only to find that the wreck was so bad that they had actually reversed traffic on I-20 East to come off the Podunk exit through Podunk and to a local road that runs parallel to the blocked highway. I think the fastest we moved until we got through Podunk was 15 mph.

Roux was just leaning against me. She wouldn't lie down. Once I got her to the vet, they looked at her and put in six staples. Apparently, she stabbed herself on a broken stick or limb. I can't imagine how she managed to do that, but I'm just so relieved she's okay. They gave me some pain pills and antibiotics for her, and I brought her home.

Today, she seems okay. She's not moving around very fast, and of course, trying to get these pills down her is NOT fun. To have to be more stubborn than a pit bull twice a day isn't easy. She'll take the pain pills okay because they dissolve in her mouth, but the gel coated antibiotics are another nasty matter. She spit this morning's out twice before I managed to throw it to the back of her throat, clamp her mouth shut, and rub her neck until she had to swallow.

Hopefully, she'll be back to her old self soon. I'm just so grateful that it wasn't worse and that she didn't puncture a major organ.

Random

Today, my AP students took this year's edition of the AP English exam (bing...welcome College Board cyberpolice....). I saw a couple of them afterward, and generally, they said they felt pretty good about the test. I'm looking forward to getting their writing prompts back so I can a)see what the prompts were and b)see if they marked the pages well. I was extremely hyper this morning as I was setting up the snack table for them. It was good that I was running around up and down stairs to carry stuff. It helped burn of some of that excess.

I also got to use one of my vintage tablecloths today. I used the one that had all the four leaf clovers and other good luck charms on it. It seemed appropriate. It's nice to be able to use these things I collect.

This school year is grinding to a close. I've got almost all my grades ready to turn in, and I've got most of what I have to prepare for next year done. That only leaves the AP Audit materials and a couple of other small projects. It's a nice feeling. I came home this afternoon, lay down on the couch, and the next thing I knew, it was almost dark. I guess now that everything is done, my body is simply going to TAKE what it needs by way of rest.

In other news, Dad just shot a snake in my yard. The dogs were going insane, and when I looked outside, I saw a copperhead coiled and striking at Roux and Yelldo. I got them to run away, and Dad came down to take care of the snake. Snakes are one of those things I have no intention of dealing with on my own. Had it been a king snake, I'd have let it go. Since it was poisonous, it had to go.

I'll try to write more later, and maybe that effort won't be so disjointed. Right now, it's bedtime, I think.

Witch Trials

I'm teaching The Crucible to my one tiny class of juniors right now, and we just wrapped up the history portion. It had been a long time since I'd even thought about the Salem Witch Trials. I guess it's not the sort of thing that is really common in the everyday mind.

I did a lot of research to make sure I had my facts straight before teaching it, and the deeper I dug, the more amazed and afraid I was. How did an entire group of supposedly sane and rational people suddenly decide that, with absolutely no proof other than the clever acting of a couple of disturbed teenagers, twenty five people deserved to die?

I keep thinking of Giles Cory lying between those two stone slabs and watching the dour, self-righteous faces of his judges as they placed another stone and then another on his chest until he simply stopped breathing. Who thought up the idea of "pressing"? What person woke up one morning and said, "This is a just thing to do to another person"?

There have been so many examples of hysteria like this, though. It's all too easy to look back from a twenty-first century viewpoint, feel superior, and scoff at the credulity of the Puritans, but we've certainly seen it since then. How else does one explain abominations like the Holocaust? It gets closer to home in the 1950s with McCarthy's crusades, and more recently, the same putrid vapors of mass panic have been scented in regard to terrorist attacks. Who knows but that tomorrow we may be calling in this generation's Cotton Mather to legitimize whatever fear is currently bearing evil fruit.

I am of two minds about going to Danvers. Part of me would very much like to see the place where this part of American history happened. Another part of me, though, feels like it's a desecration to those who lost their lives that tourists traipse through Witch Trials Wax Museums, buy "magic" souvenirs, and get their pictures made with the Bewitched bronze statue in the middle of town. Maybe, though, as long as they and the total breakdown of sanity that caused their deaths are remembered in some form or another, their memories are honored.

Looking for the Past

I just spent about thirty minutes looking for various and sundry people I knew from the past on Facebook. I have had a page for a long time now, but I seldom do anything with it. I wouldn't have gone there tonight had somebody from high school not sent me a message.

I think I found somebody I've been curious about since I graduated high school, but I can't be sure yet. If so, it will be the single-most useful moment of my entire association with either Facebook or MySpace. I am so hoping that the person I wrote to is the person I think I wrote to.

There's not much else to say. I'm still grading research papers. I don't think it is ever going to end. I only have one class left, though, so perhaps the faintest of glimmers is visible at the end of the tunnel.

Well, it's late, and I'm worn out from yarding today. Maybe the person will be who I thought they were so I'll have something interesting to write about later this week.

Busyness

This weekend, I caught up on some housework chores that I've been meaning to take care of for awhile. I redid my guest room so it now can function as a guest room rather than a depot for linens not in use. I took the bedroom set I had in my room before I got my peacock bedspread and moved a lot of my stuff from Japan in there as well. It's amazing how much difference it made. Of course, I now have to find things to go on my bedroom walls, but that too will be enjoyable.

Today, I did intensive cleaning. I think I folded every piece of clothing I own and put it away. It's amazing how easy it is to do laundry and how hard it is to find the time to fold it and properly put it away during the school year. I vacuumed up about three cats-worth of critter fur from all the carpets in the house, most of it from my long-haired grayish-white cat, Pearl. I still have a couple of things I need to do, but I am largely caught up. Since this week promises to be complicated, I think this is a good thing.

I also got a lot of sleep this weekend. That more than any other thing is going to help me. I feel as if I'm starting to fight a sinus thing, and maybe I slept enough to give my body a fighting chance. Almost every teacher I know has been struck down with the end-of-the-year crap, and I really can't afford to join those ranks.

I'm ending my weekend by mixing up my weekly batch of sourdough and watching the beautiful Mr. D'Onofrio. Tomorrow, I'll have to go back to the world outside my door, but at least when I get to come back home for five minutes, it will be a clean haven.

Making Peace with Hemingway

Happiness in intelligent people is the rarest thing I know.
- Ernest Hemingway

I'm nearing the end of what has turned out to be a surprisingly enjoyable course covering almost everything Hemingway wrote. I didn't expect to find any of the works that I could have more than a passing technical appreciation for, and I wasn't overly optimistic that I would feel any real affection for the author himself, either.

For the first few meetings, those prophecies were fulfilled. The female characters were laughable or downright unrealistic. Scenes of brutality were displayed that I could not abide. Everybody died. I got mad frequently.

Somewhere along the way, though, an overwhelming wave of pity filled me. I think it was about the time we read Green Hills of Africa and during the presentation, we did some online research and discovered that Hemingway sent for the gun his father had used to kill himself. There was never a happy ending possible for Hemingway, either in his fiction or in his real life.

To my surprise, I found a lot to enjoy. My book to present was For Whom the Bell Tolls, and in it and in The Sun Also Rises, I found a Hemingway I could appreciate. Even in Death in the Afternoon, I found treasure. Despite the fact that I can never condone bullfighting, I was moved by his obvious passion for it and all other things Spanish. The writing in the Nick Adams short story cycle was wonderful.

I have finally decided to just overlook the women. Clearly, based upon what happened to him in his real life, he had no idea about what a real woman was, wanted, or how one would behave. I don't blame him for the cardboard cut-outs; instead, I find it a source of profound pity for him.

As we had the last of the novel presentations last Wednesday for A Moveable Feast, the pseudo-legitimate memoir posthumously published by his last wife, the presenter mentioned the continual presence of the term "emptiness" throughout the book. It struck me as I sat there that this was the key, the final illumination needed to understand this complex man and his writing. He was consumed by the emptiness withing. He sought ever-increasingly more complex experiences, ever more alcohol, ever more dangerous sports, ever greater challenges, ever more admiring women in an effort to fill that void, and ultimately, when the emptiness could no longer be filled, it swallowed him whole. The progression, the foreshadowing, is very clear when you read all his works back-to-back. The darkness always lingers in his defiant, deprecatory comments about suicide as a coward's way and also in the constant lack of a happy ending for any of his characters.

I keep wondering what would have happened to him if he had found the thing he needed to fill that void. Would his voice have been stilled? Would the despair have turned to transcendent hope? I like to think that if he had found the thing that fills those dark shadows of the soul that instead of a legacy of tragedy, he might have left a legacy of triumph instead.

Ultimately, I have made my peace with Hemingway. There are several pieces that I would read again and several that I will shelve indefinitely. I no longer see him as a misogynistic anachronism. Instead, I see a troubled man who loved writing almost more than any other thing, and I feel a great compassion and honor for the struggle.

A Nice Break

Today is the last day of my Easter break. It has been a nice four days. I needed a rest terribly. Of course, all my good intentions for getting school work done went down the tubes, but I feel much more rested.

Right now, I'm stuck in the class from perdition. I have, so far, done research for the paper I'll write for my other class, checked on my eBay auctions, read and responded to my school mail, and I'm about to write up the mini-report needed for my Wed. night class. It's amazing what can be done in 2.5 hours.

I think my class is the only class still here. Almost everybody else cancelled class tonight like sane, humane people. Only my professor raves (literally) on.

In other news, I'm reading a really good book right now. It's called Gentlemen and Players and it's by Joanne Harris, the author of Chocolat. I stayed up later than I had intended reading it last night, and I'm probably going to hide it behind my laptop screen and read some more in just a minute. (Shameful behavior!!)

Well, I need to finish up some work for Wednesday night. I might come back and do another post as we grind toward the finish line for this week's edition of Purgatory.

Where Is Wonder Woman?

When I was little, my favorite superhero was Wonder Woman. I religiously watched the Lynda Carter show, owned at least one doll, and of course, had the Underoos. (I don't even know if they still make Underoos, but if they don't, today's kids are really missing a joy.) Whenever we were picking imaginary people to be in kindergarten or on the playground, Wonder Woman always came up as one of the most hotly contested choices. All of us girls wanted to be her. She was pretty, she was classy, she could kick butt, and at least on the show, she was the only person with brains in the whole outfit.

When my Mom was on one of her "clean out the kid's old room" kicks, she unearthed an old Avon hand mirror with Wonder Woman on it and sent it to me. That in conjunction with my current lifestyle of non-stop activity made me start thinking about Wonder Woman again. I found and downloaded the old theme song for the show and made it into a ringtone for my cellphone. I took a picture of the old mirror and made it into a wallpaper for the same phone. I guess it's sort of portable inspiration.

I was in a daze one day and cruising through Wal-Mart, and decided that it would be funny to find a little action figure of her to put on my desk for moral support. (When my blood sugar dips and I'm in Wal-Mart, all kinds of things seem funny that may or may not really be...) I rolled down the toy aisle, and lo and behold, no Wonder Woman. No female figures of any kind. I remember thinking, "What the...."
Spiderman was everywhere, X-Men were cluttering up the aisle, Superman was present, but there was not one female figure among them. What happened to Wonder Woman?

I have heard rumors that a movie is going to made about her. I hope so. I hate to think of all the little girls growing up without knowing about her. She taught us children of the 70s and 80s a lot. She taught us that it was okay to be strong, that it was right to be honest, and that ultimately one has to do the right thing. That may be a lot to draw from an admittedly cheesy TV half-hour show involving a woman in a star spangled shorts, a bustier and pantyhose (definitely a man's idea for a crime fighting outfit), but I still miss her. The idea of what she was at the core was always more important to us that the TV representation. She was a strong woman filling her place in the world with passion and determination, even when that place was difficult or dangerous. I think the world couldn't help but be a better place if Wonder Woman came back.

Fatigue Poisoning

If you fell down yesterday, stand up today. -- H.G. Wells

I heard a new phrase today: "fatigue poisoning". I think I have it whether it's real or not. I am so tired, physically, mentally, and emotionally, that I feel like I could sleep for a million years.

School continues to grind me into dust. I found out that one of the very first people I knew at my school is leaving. I can't blame him. I'm happy for him. He deserves to go somewhere where he can be happy and not have so much placed upon him, but I can't help but feel that this makes our chances of doing something with our school less.

Such a small thing shouldn't make me feel so negative, but there are other factors that combine with this and make me need a break. Easter Break starts tomorrow afternoon, and I'm hoping that it will be enough of a holiday for me to limp to the end of the year. I am going to finish up a test I'm giving tomorrow, and then I'm going to sleep. Hopefully that will let me make it through tomorrow.

Purgatory

I'm sitting waiting for the worst class in the world to begin. I finally resorted to bringing in my laptop for a diversion so I don't smack the teacher and run out screaming. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, this is the post you've all been waiting for....live from Podunk U, it's Monday Niiiiiiight.....

I just got to fill out a professorial evaluation form, and while I usually try not to mark the "Strongly Disagree" boxes, this time, I was gleefully checking them off. I cannot ever remember a class that so frustrated me. Right now, I don't even care what grade I get; I just want out.

I think this class would be a good modern version of Purgatory: it goes on forever, there are no gains, and it's definitely painful enough to make one wish to repent of whatever wrong had been done to land one here. It's a real shame, too. The class had such potential to be interesting. That, however, was pretty much choked out of it within the first two class meetings.

Well, I think I'm about to have to pretend that I'm paying attention. In reality, I will be grading papers, planning lessons, updating class websites, and lots of other things that I know are rude. I'm past politesse, however. It's all about survival.

A Long Week

This week has seemed endless. The first week back after a holiday is always interminable, but this one seemed worse than usual. I think it's because all the research papers came in this week. It's been a frenzy of last-minute advice, editing, and preparation as all my students were trying to get their papers ready for today. I have been really pleased to see that the majority of my students worked hard on getting it done. I was half afraid when we started that many of them would just choose not to do one. I still have to go through and grade all of them, and there may be many problems with them, but at least they cared enough to do the work, ask me questions, and try. That counts for a lot these days.

I am so tired that I actually fell asleep in my lawn chair this afternoon. I had gone out with the new striped cushion Mom bought for me to read and enjoy some of this eighty-degree weather we're having, and next thing I knew, Roux was licking me in the face 30 minutes later. I came in and just took a nap. I'm headed back to bed soon. Maybe I can get some stuff done tomorrow if I can get some sleep tonight.

I heard back from the poetry contest today. I didn't even place this year. Oh well. I can't say I'm surprised or even very disappointed. I had a feeling that I wouldn't make it in three years in a row. I still believe in the value of that poem, though. It seems that the ones I like the best don't ever make it in competition. It's okay. I guess they're like children; your own are rarely ugly to you.

Well, it's not really late, but I am almost asleep as I type, so I'm going to call it a night before I go to sleep in my chair here. Maybe I can get to the computer to type sometime before next weekend, but no promises....

PET FOOD RECALL

If you have pets to whom you give "wet" canned or pouch food, PLEASE check this site. A major manufacturer whose products retail under several famous names and in many pet stores and retail stores has tainted product that is causing kidney failure and death in dogs and cats. Make sure your babies are safe.

http://www.fda.gov/bbs/topics/NEWS/2007/NEW01590.html

SO Sore....

The backs of my legs feel like overtightened guitar strings. Every time I move, I think one of them is going to twang and snap. I've been working in my yard for the past two days, and my poor teacher body is woefully unready for such labor.

I started by getting a bunch of old bricks from an old house place to make some flower beds. I planted my lilies, added a concrete St. Francis (no, not Catholic, but I find him admirable anyway), fertilized my patchy front yard, planted two roses, repotted ailing Christmas cacti, tuned up my mower, cut up live oak leaves and trimmed off all the old winter weeds, fought with the vine tangle in the corner of the yard, and generally overdid it.

I still need to plant some cannas, make a bed for a gardenia I bought, and pot up some petunias I got on impulse. I don't know if I'm going to get it all done this week, but I'm going to try. It's been very nice to sit on the porch swing or the lawn chair and read in the evenings. I am also quietly proud of my little brick-edged beds. It's amazing how the addition of a few small pieces of hardened clay make something look finished off.

Well, it's TV time, soon to be followed by go-to-sleep time if I can unbend myself from this chair. Tomorrow will be another day of yarding.

Luscious

There's no other word for the weather today than luscious. I woke fairly early and got the housework underway. Once I got it to the run-the-dryer stage, I took a book and went out to my lawn chair. It was fantastic. The sun and the shade, the absolute indulgence of reading for pleasure and not for classes was like a balm on frazzled nerves. Tomorrow, barring the unforeseen, will be a day of yard. I am going to rebuild my bottle trees with some four-by-whatever timbers. Even though I like the look of using tree branches, I'm tired of having to rebuild them constantly. This way, they should last indefinitely. I'll try to do some pictures when I get them up. Well, I've indulged in Sonic after church tonight, and I'm watching the Bravo Law and Order:CI Sunday night marathon, so life is good in Podunk. Thank God for Spring Break.

Long Time Away

It's been a long time since I've had the time or even felt like Blogging. There are a lot of things that fall into that same category. Being a teacher and a student at the same time is harder than I thought it would be. I'm enjoying doing both, but neither leaves very much time for creative endeavours.

Spring Break has finally arrived, and I'm celebrating by watching Ferris Bueler. I haven't seen this movie in years, and I had forgotten how funny it is. It should seem dated being from the great 80s, but somehow, it really doesn't except for a few hairstyles and the soundtrack.

Life in Podunk goes on. I am now on Every Committee Known to Man at school, and we're in the final rush to graduation, testing, and other finalities for 2006-2007. It's odd to think that soon I won't see this batch of students any more. I've known some of them for three years and taught some of them twice. Seeing them go will be emotional, but I'm so proud of most of them.

I am attempting to do some minor yarding this week. I went a little nuts in the Wal-Mart garden department and purchased five pots of lilies, some petunias (one of my favorites), and two roses, one of which is called Irish Creme. Today I bought a concrete St. Francis to put in a bed I'm building. My favorite thing, though, is a big white plastic lawn chair I put under my pecan trees in the side yard. I plan to spend some quality time in it this week with something that's not Hemingway.

I have also been to some of my favorite junkin' places. I found a couple of really gorgeous old hankies, an old yellow McCoy Floraline planter for my lucky bamboo, and a really cool 40's tablecloth with good luck charms all over it. All this was less than $30. How great is that? I plan to spend some time junkin' in a couple of new locations in the next few days.

It will be nice to have a week to decompress. I had reached a point of desperation by Friday. I think everybody at the school had, teacher, student, and admin alike.

Devolution

I had the most disgusting experience today. I had turned in a paper for my Hemingway class, and I knew it was not what it should have been when I did. There was something nagging at me about it, and I stayed after class to talk with my professor about it.

Once he started pointing out ways to make it better, it suddenly clicked with me what the problem was. I was looking at a high school paper, not a graduate student's paper, not a paper that is up to what I used to write. Apparently, I have become what I teach: a three-point thesis and a military outline structure.

I have devolved without knowing it. I feel ill. If I can get my kids to write at that level, I'm happy, but only because they have a good basic grounding from which to grow into that subtle, organic style that is a mature form of writing. From myself, I expect much more. Granted it's been a long time since I wrote about literature, but that the basic mechanics have so invaded my writing as to become obtrusive is unacceptable. It's like seeing the mechanism behind the illusion.

I don't know if I can get back to what I used to have. Maybe I've been hamstrung by my own teaching. All I know is that I have a week to see if I can refine this graceless lump into something with some elegance, and am definitely going to try.

I Heard the News Today

After taking a vocabulary test today, one of my students told me that a former student had been shot and killed over the weekend. All that potential wasted, cast aside like something of no value. I still can't believe, with the typical denial of the living, that anyone that young and alive can be dead in a box.

He was never much on school. He refused, albeit politely, to even do things that would have been simple for him. He had no interest in it, and always struck me as a person simply humoring another until it was okay to leave. I wish so much that something we had done had caught his attention. Maybe if anything had, all that latent talent wouldn't be gone now. Maybe he would have chosen a path other than the one that led him to a grave before he was 25.

I wrote a poem for him. It's the first time I've been moved to words in a long time. I think it will be my entry in this year's competition. If it wins, I think that would be a fitting tribute to him.

Birthday Surprise

I had the nicest surprise today. My fourth period class brought me cupcakes, dill pickle chips, and PEZ. One of my coworkers gave me a funny card. It was nice to be noticed.

Most of my birthdays are terrible, but this one is looking better than most. In addition to that little lift, I also got news that one of my best friends who has been "expecting" for what I'm sure seems to her like forever had her baby this morning early. I know it's weird, but I think it's neat that her baby and I will have the same birthday. If she's lucky, the little one won't grow up to be anything like me. :)

Rat Rescue

Of all the things I didn't think I'd be doing tonight, rescuing mice is probably at the top of that list. Dillon and Pearl managed to corner one, but Dilly is still so young that she's not quite sure what to do with wiggly things. They chased it under the desk in my living room, and then Pearl grabbed it in her teeth and took off to the sun room growling like some sort of feral creature instead of the overfed lapcat she is.

I ran to the kitchen, got my heavy leather work gloves from my junk drawer, raced back, and grabbed up the mouse. Pearl, needless to say, was most displeased. There was blood on the mouse, but it was still kicking, so I hope she didn't mortally wound it. I took it outside and dropped it into some tall grass away from the house.

I have rat poison in my attic and under my house, so I guess this action was a bit paradoxical, but I just couldn't stand the thought of the cats torturing it to death. It probably ran right back under the house and proceded to chew up my phone lines again in vengence, and Pearl is currently in full savage-cat hunting stalk looking for another one, but at least I feel like I did the right thing.

Got One!

I finally got one! My eBay luck changed and I beat out the persistant bidder siempredolcevita who was buying up every chenille spread offered. This is my birthday present to myself. I love the color combination, and there is something oddly comforting about just lying on top of it. It's another thing somebody made with his (or more likely, her) own hands, and it's a piece of American history as well. I wonder how many people have spreads like this one shunned and tucked away in their closet tops. Maybe they aren't the current vogue, and I'm sure that the IKEA crowd would rather die than have one, but it suits my vintage life and tastes perfectly. I am looking forward to sweet dreams guarded by brilliant peacocks in the nights to come.

Bizarre-Land

Yesterday, there was a memo from October in my mailbox with passages highlighted that concerned regulations against teachers wearing jeans at school.

I was so hacked off. It must be admitted that I am occasionally guilty of wearing a really dark blue pair of jeans with my high school sweatshirt because I can't seem to find any navy pants when I need them. However, I also live, sweat, bleed, and die my job, so I don't think that one dark blue pair of jeans is a heinous sin.

I gave the sheet to my department head who took it to my principal, and guess what? It didn't come from the administration at all. Hmm..... curious....

Apparently, we have someone childish and silly on the hall. Joy-O. It's not enough that I deal with teenagers everyday; now one of my co-workers has devolved into one, too.

I have a pretty good idea who's responsible, and now I can just laugh at it. It's not going to affect me. I have too much to do to play juvenile games, but I have to say, it made yesterday really bizarre. As long as my administrators are happy with what I do, petty children in adult bodies can find anatomically improbable places to put such little missives.

And Then There Are Other Days

....the days I hate this job more than I can bear. Today is one of those days. My second period class apparently cheated on the makeup test I gave them, and I just want to put all my belongings in a box and go home permanently.

I hate dishonestly in general, but something about this just galls me. First, there's nothing that can be done. Since I personally didn't see it, there is no action I can take. Second, after confronting one of the alleged cheaters and having her lie right in my face, I am so physically sick that I need to go throw up.

I know I am not the arbiter of their morality, but I find it so offensive. Then adding the lie to it, I don't know how I'm going to be able to look at that class again. To know that they are cheating liars, to know that every single moment of every single class they lie and cheat, is almost too much for me to stand.

I wish I could just shrug my shoulders and say, "Oh well." I wish it didn't matter. It does, though, and today, I feel like the weather, gray, dull, cold, and lifeless.

I'm sick of this. There has to be something better, something worthy out there somewhere. I give too much, I put too much of myself into this teaching for things like this not to matter to me.

Maybe I'll go back overseas. I loved that. I was happy there. Maybe I could be again. Right now, I cannot believe that anything I do here matters anymore. That's not a feeling I can stand.

Oddness

At church tonight, our pastor was reminding the youth and their parents about summer's camp plans, and he mentioned the fact that Gulfshore, the Baptist camp on the coast where I spent almost every summer, was completely gone. I knew it had taken massive damage from Katrina, but I thought some part of it had survived. I thought I was going to cry. One more splinter of my childhood gone forever, I suppose.

Life has been odd lately. I have missed two days in my classroom because of an editing job for some stuff at school. Just being at school in my room without my students has been really weird. I've missed them. Even though they quite frequently wear me out, their absence was uncomfortable. I hope the job I did was useful, though.

Men have been odd lately, too. It seems that the interesting ones I meet are all GEMINI -- gay, engaged, married, insane, or not interested. This town and what passes for its dating pool constantly depress me. As Madame De Stael said, "The more I see of men, the more I like my dog."

Hopefully this week things will stabilize a little. I have a lot of Hemingway I've got to read for one of my night classes, and an assignment for the other, so I guess I need to get to it.

Elvis

I am on a serious Elvis kick right now. I took a three-CD set and selected twenty something songs to make one portable CD that I've been driving around to non-stop for the past week. I think it's probably impossible to be sad listening to "Return to Sender" and "You're So Square." I have found myself arriving at school in a much better mood since I've been listening to Elvis on the way in.

The 3 CD set was chronological, so the collection I made goes from early to late, and it's interesting to hear the changes in the music over time. I added two remixes, one for "Rubberneckin'" and one for "A Little More Action," that I downloaded from Wal-Mart's website.

Elvis' voice, and this is probably a "duh" statement, is such a pleasure to listen to. When you start stacking him up against most of the so-called singing stars around today (for some reason, Justin Timberlake and his pale, weak self comes to mind), it really starts to make you wonder just how these people got recording contracts. I guess though, that's probably a little unfair. After all, there's only ever been one King. I am going to continue to enjoy his gorgeous voice in my commuting.

Golden Light

There was a golden light as I was driving to Jackson this morning for Tech Prep training. It was like the whole world was inside an amber ball. This light is the light of my dreams, the good ones anyway. It's one of the things I missed the most when I was in other countries and states. Nowhere but Mississippi has that delicate spun-honey light. Sometimes, in the summer, it looks like a tangible thing, like something you could carve or mold. I love it when it slants through the trees late in the evening, bars of warmth, columns of the sky. It's one of the few things that makes the endless back-and-forth of the interstate a pleasure, and watching it bathe everything in glory this morning helped balance out what turned into a very pointless day.

Ella

I got a new CD Thursday from Amazon. It's called Ella for Lovers and is a part of Verve's massive re-releasing of their catalog. It's great. Of course, with her voice, how could it not have been?

I've loved Ella Fitzgerald for years. She was one of the first jazz vocalists I discovered. Her voice has a beauty of feeling that informs every note. I imagine each sound like a perfectly-cut jewel shimmering in the air.

I have probably five cds of just her works from various periods and labels. Of course, one of my very favorites is the collection I have of her and Louis Armstrong, but this disc is a good addition to my collection of her works, too, because so many of the songs are simply her, a piano, and perhaps a guitar. It's good rainy-day music, and since today is another rainy Sunday, I'm looking forward to a pleasant day of reading 1984 and listening to her heavenly voice.

The Missing Harness

This evening, Roux showed up at the door to be let in for the evening, and I opened the door for her and Yelldo. I fed them both, and when she came back in the living room afterward, I noticed that her harness was gone. She had no form of identification or restraint at all.

I could swear that she had it on when she came in. How could I have missed the fact that the brightly-striped and jingly harness was not on the big red dog? However, apparently, I saw what I was used to seeing instead of what was really there.

I walked down the road and then back up the pasture in search of it and went over all the yard. No sign of it. I suppose she lost it somewhere in the woods in the hour and a half she was outside without me.

It was just weird. I jokingly half-suspected my mom came down and stole it because she hated the stripes so much. She thinks the only two colors for a dog collar are brown and black. I prefer more colorful options.

Anyway, tomorrow begins the long haul toward the AP test and the end of the school year, so I'm going to put the mystery to the side, watch a little more tv, and get some rest. Maybe the harness will show up again somewhere in the future.

New Year's Eve

An optimist stays up until midnight to see the new year in. A pessimist stays up to make sure the old year leaves. ~Bill Vaughan

I don't know which category I fall into in regard to the above quote. There is a bit of both in me, I think.

I watched the last light of the last day of 2006 fade from the trunks and boughs of the pines on top of the hill near my house. It seemed to cling just a little longer than usual, as if the year was hesitant to pass on, as if it would stay now that its time has come.

Yesterday and last night, torrential rains swept through Podunk. The rain was sufficient to set dry streams running and to cut shallow rivulets through my driveway. As I listened to it pounding the metal roof in the back of the house, I kept thinking that it was the hand of God washing away the old year, cleaning the slate, as it were.

2006 was not a particularly good year for me. Those of you who have been reading me for a long time may have noticed the shift of topic and tone in my blog; of course, with the infrequency of my blogging, the change may not be apparent. It's been so much easier to stick with the trivial or not to write at all. If you know me personally, you may have noticed that my usual taciturn nature has been even more than its usual solitary self.

There were things from the past that came back to me this year, things I cannot and will not discuss in a forum such as this, but suffice it to say, these things put a crack into that thin roof of hell upon which the famous quote says we all stride picking flowers, oblivious to the imminent danger just below. The idea that the monsters in the closet come back after childhood is over is enough to make anybody run, and running is exactly what I've been doing. Things I used to care about and enjoy have been pushed to the wayside. Friendships I treasure have been allowed to slide into decline. It's been easy to be too busy for everything because being busy keeps the mind from having time to engage topics better left alone.

I refuse to live 2007 this way. If I do, the monsters in the darkness win. So tonight, as I prepare for my own observances of the death of the old year and the birth of the new, I am lighting every candle in the house. The lights on my porch still glow and twinkle. There will be no darkness, no horrible things waiting in the shadows tonight. I will meet the new year with hope and with purpose. My family has its own traditions, and one of those is that odd-numbered years are lucky for us. I am looking forward to a lucky and healing 2007.

Happy New Year to you, wherever you may be.

Nothing Like Sickness for the Holidays

Christmas Eve morning, I woke up with that spaced-out feeling that precedes a bout of sinus crap for me. I hoped against hope that it was just allergies stirred up by something the previous day, but by the time I got home from church, I was really looped out. I went to sleep, and slept all day.

Christmas day, I was supposed to cook a breakfast meal for my family so we could do our gift exchange, but I couldn't even get up. We finally had Christmas last night around 8, and it was very low key.

I hate being sick, but this is the worst. I am fighting it with every medicine known to man, so hopefully, I can stave off an infection or bronchitis. I guess I should be glad that it's not school time right now, but man, I did NOT want to waste my precious holiday with this....

Citizen Kane

Today, I saw the movie ranked #1 by the AFI top 100 movies of all time poll. I don't know exactly why I haven't seen it before now, but it's one that has eluded me. I am currently trying out Netflix, and I decided to send for Citizen Kane after having seen most of Welles' Othello in my recent Shakespeare class.

I enjoyed it for several reasons. I was able, thanks to the Shakespeare class, to appreciate some of the technical things that were going on film-wise, and with me, the more I know about something, the deeper my enjoyment generally is. The storyline was also captivating, as was the way the story was presented. I can see why it's considered to be so great. If I knew more about its technical aspects, I could probably understand better why it's considered to be the best ever. I'm a little leery of labels like that.

While I don't think it will ever become one of my frequently-watched favorites, I am glad I saw it. I want to watch it one more time before I send it back to get the flavor of it better.

Passion for Vintage

Yesterday, another box of the vintage Shiny-Brite ornaments I won on eBay arrived. These were in the original box with Uncle Sam and Santa shaking hands. As I took each incredibly thin and fragile ornament from its box, I wondered what kind of Christmases each had seen. What presents had been unwrapped, what family meals had been consumed in their gentle twinkle? I felt privileged to be a part of their continuing history. I have one more box of them on the way, and that will probably end my collecting of Shiny Brite.

I have also been using my old cotton print tablecloths this season. My favorite one is a 1960's Santa and reindeer in reds, greens, and browns. It makes me incredibly happy just to smooth my hand across it on my table. Again, I can almost feel the "happy holiday vibe" coming from it. Granted, it could have been put away in someone's linen closet and never unfolded, but I prefer to think that maybe for at least one holiday, it soaked up some joy.

Currently, I am on the trail of a chenille peacock bedspread. I know just the colors I want, but I am having a hard time finding one in good condition and at an affordable price. A gorgeous one is up for auction on eBay, but the seller wants $250, and there's no way I can justify that. Hopefully, before summer, I will be able to find one that is both the color combination and price I desire. I think it will look great with the decor I already have in the house.

I guess I'm just a hard-core vintage junkie. Other prize holiday possessions are my previously mentioned Phil Spector collection and the absolutely lovely, sparkly Christmas tree pin I won at auction. I am going to wear it proudly to church tomorrow. Each of these items has opened up conversations with others: friends, parents, other collectors. This is one of my favorite parts of these things. My dad remembers having Shiny Brites on his family's Christmas trees when he was a child, and he knows, as did I, that my grandmother would have loved the Christmas tree pin. It's a connection to my own personal past as well as to the past of those who loved the items before me.

Another satisfying aspect of these things is finding their place in history. Nothing I have is of exceptional value; in fact, many of the things I enjoy collecting are fairly inexpensive. None of them are in the running with Waterford or Haviland for price, value, or historical significance. However, I've been learning a lot about these American products, and through them, I'm opening tiny windows into recent American history. Shiny Brite was made on a machine that was developed by Corning for light bulbs, and the peacock spreads were made in Georgia and originally sold off clotheslines to tourists. The tablecloths I love so much were a household staple brightening the kitchen tables of America for thirty years or so before they fell out of favor. These are the items that were common during my grandparents' and parents' time.

Now I have the joy of using these things and adding my own memories to the collections they already hold. There's nothing pretentious about these common-place treasures, but each time I unfold one of my vintage cloths, add a PEZ to my collection, place a hanger through the metal loop atop a Shiny Brite, or pin on my glittery tree pin or one of my other vintage brooches, I am making a bridge between the past and the present. It's a comfortable place to be.

Peace on Earth

We had a really great trip today to see my uncle. I had given Mom part of her Christmas gift early, an Elvis Christmas CD, and we all hummed along and sang as we traveled. Normally, Mom and I get irritated with each other at some point, but today was very peaceful. Maybe we need Elvis all the time.

Now, I'm back home, and although I had hoped to go carolling tonight, the current mizzening rain is kind of nice, too. There's a snoozing pit bull on the couch, various and sundry napping cats draped across chair backs and velour blankets, and I have at least three books I can choose from to spend the evening with.

I also got a package today from one of my eBay purchases. Six of the old-fashioned indent glass ornaments I won came in, and they look great on my tree. The other auction gained me eight more, and maybe they'll come in tomorrow. I love the old-fashioned look of them.

I'm going to spend the evening with the animals, the glittering tree, and whichever of the paperbacks I finally settle on. How could life possibly be better?

Phil Spector's A Christmas Gift for You

Today, the DHL man zipped up the driveway in his large, appropriately-yellow van, managed to overcome his fear of Roux, and delivered Phil Spector's Christmas compilation to my door. It's a fabulous bit of Christmas fluff. I have been listening to it as I've been driving around in this unseasonably hot 75 degree weather to finish out my Christmas shopping, and I am in a better mood than I've been in for a long time. I think it's probably impossible to listen to the Crystals sing "Santa Claus Is Coming to Town" and be grumpy. I went bopping down the interstate and didn't once feel like yelling at anyone. I even managed to be cheery in the midst of the chaotic hell that is Wal-Mart these last few days before the holiday because no matter how many people cut me off with carts or screaming children, I was humming "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus" a la the Ronettes. It was great. It's amazing how happy thirteen bucks can make a person sometimes...

Long Time, No Blog

I simply haven't felt like blogging in the past month. I've been too tired or too busy. I've often thought about it, but I simply haven't been able to scrape up enough interest to get into it.

I've spent the last few days since school got out singing in our choir musical, entertaining people from church, and generally trying to rest up some. Today, I spent most of the morning reading and glancing through eBay. It's delightful.

Soon, I really need to get the last of my Christmas shopping done. The same old dilemmas persist: what am I going to get Mom and Dad, people who want nothing, need nothing, and will request nothing? This year, I think I found a couple of neat things, but really, I still don't know exactly what to get them, and I don't want it to be gift certificates. I might go roam around Jackson a day and see if I can't find something there.

Well, I'll try to keep up the blog better now. Maybe I'll be able to come up with something better than the inane commentary here.

Holiday Procrastination

I am hopelessly behind with my work for my two night classes, so of course, today I got my Christmas tree, hung the lights and the ornaments, fixed the lights on my porch, and did laundry and other housework. The more behind I get with school, the spiffier my house and my holiday decorations get. I'm sure it's a kind of sickness.

It's nice, though, to see the tree up and all the lights glittering. I love Christmas, as I've said here before, and now when I'm coming home at dark-thirty from the endless pageant of night class crud, I will be able to see my lights welcoming me home. That along with a heavy dose of Christmas carols in the car and during my off period are keeping me in a mostly Christmasy mood.

Yesterday, I went to the Chimneyville Crafts Festival in Jackson. It's so nice to go somewhere and see items lovingly made by hand rather than mass-produced and cheaply-made things. Part of the experience is getting to talk to the craftspeople, too. I had a thirty minute conversation with a potter whose husband has an anagama (Japanese style wood fired kiln) in Tennessee. It was a touch of Japan, and I was thrilled. The piece I bought from them, a splendid raven figure, is something I had been thinking of since last year's show. They only make two each year, and last year both had been sold when I got there. This year, I was able to buy one. It's sitting in regal black satin splendor on my living room shelves.

Tonight, I played for church and also wound up getting drafted to sing. I was a nervous wreck, as usual, but I managed to get it out okay. The song, "What Child Is This?", is one of my favorites, so that helped. Now, I suppose I need to do a little class work before the almighty teacher bedtime kicks in. Sigh. Where are those magic ruby slippers or genie lamps when you really need them?

Things Your Dog Won't Forgive

I know it's tacky and heinous, but I saw these at the dollar store and was seized by the need to see Roux wearing them. Since she got bunches of treats, maybe she'll forgive me at some point....

A Largely Useless Bliss

I did nothing over the holiday. I have spent an entire week resting, reading, and taking care of those day-to-day chores I have no time for during the school week. It's been wonderful. I got a haircut, so I no longer look like a shaggy pony. I went with my family to see a dog they're going to adopt. I made calls, registered for classes, put up holiday decorations, dug out my Christmas CDs, cleaned out my refrigerator, and folded about five hundred pieces of laundry that had been waiting in baskets for a long time. I swept, mopped, and vacuumed. I went through a pile of old bills and mail. I tried my darnedest to get my Christmas lights working but only managed to coax about 1/3 of them to burn. I went to see my uncle who lives in the northern part of the state. I sunned my feather mattress, chased my dogs, aired out my house, took naps with my kitten, and I refuse to apologize for one minute of it. I think now, even though I am very behind school-wise, I have the reserves built back up to jump in, get serious, and survive this last manic push to Christmas. I might even have a little bit of Christmas spirit.

Seeing Red

Friday, three guys were talking while they were doing their Canterbury Tales projects and their conversation turned to their bad, bad dogs and how their dogs could take out anybody else's dog. I tried to ignore it, but when one of them started talking about how his dog had taken another by the throat, I told them to stop the conversation. I wanted to pick up a heavy object and hurl it, or even better, defenestrate them personally.

Only a weak, sorry human being gets joy out of goading an animal to fight another. Only worthless, powerless trash would take a loving, fierce, loyal dog and twist it into a killing machine. Pit bulls, Rotties, Mastifs....all are glorious and game dogs. All of them would put themselves through hell if their owner showed them approval. All of them have animal aggression that can be turned into a lethal weapon. Nobody I can have any respect for would ever twist that power and spirit into something to amuse and bet on, to debase and abuse.

And it is abuse. Let there be no questions. Let there be no claim that the animal is personal property, that it is natural for the dog, or that it doesn't hurt anyone. It is the most basic betrayal of the bond between man and dog, and I wish with a fervent and passionate desire that all the dog fighters could be adequately punished. I wish they could know the terror and the pain of the animals they abuse. I wish somebody would put every single worthless, disgusting, inhuman one of them under a jail somewhere and forget them.

Because of these human vermin, the pit bull has taken on a reputation as a vicious dog. There are cities all over the country where even owning one or a dog that looks like what somebody thinks might be a pit is illegal. The dogs can be taken and destroyed just because of their breed. No actual assessment of the dog itself is done. It's a pit; it's a threat; it's a dead animal. This is the legacy of the dog fighter.

But the legacy of pain doesn't even stop there. Even more horrific are the breeding programs, the bait dogs, the poor abused and maimed creatures left after the battle, and all the dogs who die for the bloodlust and avarice of their so-called masters.

How anybody could look into the eyes of a dog as brave and loving as a pit and see only a deadly toy to be used and disposed of is beyond me. Instead of law enforcement focusing its sights on the dogs, why can't they begin to punish the human refuse that tortures and abuses them? Instead of the media frothing everyone into a state of hysteria over vicious animals, why can't they dispose of the vicious owners and raise the public's awareness of the truth about this situation?

I am passionate about this. I don't think anyone with a shred of love for animals who has seen some of the abused and rescued dogs that come from this world could fail to be angry about it. I only hope our culture can reawaken some of its respect for all life and start punishing these semi-human monsters with the severity their crime demands.

Just the Coolest Thing Ever

Last night, Mom, Dad, and I went out to eat and then headed over to Sam's. Sam's is a place of great financial danger for me. I always, always, always spend too much money when I go there.

While I was there, I browsed through the Christmas stuff, and they had just the coolest thing ever. It was a giant Mr. Potato Head wearing a pirate outfit. He was like a cookie jar, and he's full of four other Potato Heads and all their accouterments. I swear I giggled like a five-year-old. Just seeing that giant pirate potato made my weariness slide away.

I'll tell you the truth. People were buzzing around those toys like moths drawn to a flame. Many happy children, or crazy middle-aged people like myself, are going to have those. I bet they'll all be gone by the end of the week. There's just something so non-threatening and smile-inducing about Mr. Potato Head.

I brought him home to add to my collection of kitsch toys in my office. He goes quite well with all the PEZ and the Darth Vader Potato Head I already had. I'm sure it says something not-so-flattering about me that I'm 30, and I still like Mr. Potato Head, but as I told my students: everybody collects something, and if something as simple as this makes me happy, then I think I'm pretty well off.

A Moment of Peace

Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower. ~Albert Camus

I'm sitting outside at a table at the university branch here in town. The sun is gilding the poplar leaves, there's a gentle wind soughing in the tops of the still-green live oaks, and even though this place is close to a busy road, there is peaceful birdsong. Only occasionally does the road noise become intrusive.

I needed this moment of peace desperately. I have been in a constant state of furious motion since yesterday at 5:30 a.m. I did my class day, did my class night, went to the grocery store, came home, fell down, got back up, came back to work, set up a buffet table, led a meeting, dealt with the aftermath of that, and am just now having a minute where something isn't demanding my attention. It's divine.

Soon, I will have to get up and go to another meeting, another class, but for just right now, the only sound I have to focus on is that wonderful leaf-rustle of late fall. I will try to wrap this moment around me like a warm blanket against the haste and furor to come.

Places Cellphones Should Not Go

I just had an odd experience. I was in the ladies' room prior to my night class starting, and I began to hear voices. Doesn't that sound like a cry for medication and /or a "vacation"? It turned out that someone was checking her messages with the speakerphone option turned on in the stall two or three down from me.

I got to hear all her personal business including a song somebody left as a message for her. The song was the freakiest part. Imagine a disembodied voice singing in that tinny tone given by cellphones in the emptiness of a large ladies' room. Surreality at work, folks. I wanted to laugh, but didn't want to be rude.... Oops, too late....

Google

"Don't be evil." -- Google motto

I like Google. I use their web pages, calendar, photo editing software, and of course, this wonderful Blogger. Every last tiny bit of it is free. They put it out there because they think everybody ought to have access to useful tools without having to mortgage a house to get them. Isn't that an almost foreign concept in today's world of burden the market all it can bear capitalism?

The calendar application is one of my favorites. I can keep up with all my various classes' assignments online, and parents and students who miss can use the calendar to see what they've missed. It's so much more efficient than a paper calendar which invariably gets lost. Students can print it off and tote it with them if need be, and then go to the website to get the handouts or Power Points to do the assignments.

Google keeps putting new stuff out, and every time they do, it's always something that I think, "Huh, why didn't somebody else think of that?" Their video service is something I'm exploring, but I have already found old Buster Keaton movies, the 1984 Mac commercial, and several other things I wanted to use for class. If it grows as fast as some of their other services, I can only imagine what will be out there next.

It's amazing to me that all of this grew out of a search engine. It's nice to see a company innovating, growing, succeeding, and yet not sticking it to their users just because they can. Kudos, Google, kudos.

Romeo and Juliet

Last night, I went to a newly rennovated theater downtown and watched the Aquilla acting company's version of Romeo and Juliet. It was wonderful, the theater and the performance both.

The theater is a part of a downtown rennovation project. The Grand Opera House was built just before the turn of the last century, and in its heyday, it was one of the premiere entertainment destinations in the southeast. It fell into disrepair, was closed down, and because it was on the second floor, also suffered the indignity of having a shoe store put in what was once its lobby. I remember going with my mom to the department store of which the opera house was a part. It was such an old-fashioned building that the elevators still required an operator to run them. While Mom shopped, I rode the elevator, and the kindly lady who worked it would tell me stories of the opera house. I always dreamed of going to a performance in it.

I saw it briefly in high school. A local theater company had reopened it and was trying to use it for amateur performances. It was in very bad shape, though, and I wondered then if anything would ever be done to save it. About five years ago, Mississippi State University and a local group of philanthropists bought the property and started massive rennovations. They have combined the old department store and the theater into one large center. The department store became a conference center, and the theater was restored to its full late Victorian glory. It was absolutley wonderful. I was so proud to see the care that had been taken to preserve what was already there and the additions that will allow it to be useful for professional performances. I don't think this town has ever had anything like it, or at least, not since the opera house was open in its original incarnation.

Romeo and Juliet was different again. The company consisted of six actors, and to figure out which roles they'd be playing, the actors went to the audience and had them draw roles out of a sack. We managed to wind up with a male Romeo and a female Juliet, but some nights, depending on the luck of the draw, they don't. The costumes and sets were stark and simple, but the wonderful language had the same power. I really enjoyed it. The character who played the Nurse as one of his three roles was a riot. He milked every innuendo and seemed to be having a good time with it.

Overall, it was a night of what I needed. I desperately needed something that wasn't teaching or taking classes, something with beauty and art. I am looking forward to more performances at our new theater.

Phantoms

I just saw the most recent film version of The Phantom of the Opera, and I know I'm going to be singing various parts of it for days. I had put off watching it for awhile even though I've had the disc for some time now. I was afraid it wouldn't be as good as I had hoped it would be, but it was even better, I think.

I love this story. I first read Phantom in junior high school, and it became one of those stories I revisit every year or so. Sometime in high school, I read Susan Kay's novel Phantom, which added a tremendous back story about why the Phantom was the way he was. I have almost worn that copy out with rereads. I don't know if it's even still in print, but if you enjoy this story and haven't read it, you might check Amazon for it. It's universally wonderful.

The next stage of my great love for this story came when I saw the 1929 silent version presented in a local historic movie palace. Even though the building had long since become a performing arts center, they lowered the original "silver screen", dusted off the projector, and showed Lon Chaney version for Halloween one year. They had also just finished the restoration of the world-class theater organ this theater is fortunate enough to house, and a master organist was invited in to show off that powerful instrument's range. Even though the seats in this wonderful old building are tiny, having been sized for bodies in the 1920s, I was absolutely spellbound by the thundering organ and the pathos of the creature suffering and striking out in pain. That film version is one of my all-time favorite versions of the story, and I added it to my personal collection earlier this year.

This newest version satisfied a long-standing desire to see the Andrew Lloyd Weber version. I know the film and the stage production are going to vary, but I have had the original cast soundtrack since college and have spent many a long road trip and flight wondering what images went with the music. Now, at least, I have some idea of how things go together. A lot of it is as I imagined it, but the costuming and the performances were so gloriously ornate. It was perfect.

The story of the Phantom is just another example of how I always empathize with the "monster". There is not one solitary doubt in my mind that had I found myself in Christine Daae's position, I would have dumped the milquetoast Vicount de Chagny and stayed with the Dark Angel of Music. Of course, this is probably indicative of all sorts of reasons why I always fall for guys who are inappropriate or imaginary.

Regardless, there is such power in this story. What would Erik have been able to accomplish without the prejudice against his appearance? Would he have become a killer without the cruelty of others? Can anyone, when told he or she is monstrous from infancy by even one's family, find a way not to become a monster?

In many of the stories, the Phantom is given some reprieve at the end. The version I saw tonight made it clear he lived on. Susan Kay's version gives a gentle and beautiful finality to it. I think that's what we are all rooting for in the end, the idea that the Angel of Music can find a way to mend his broken wings and soar out of the endless night in which he has both been confined and confined himself.

By the Way

The blood work came back, and I finally got a surly nurse to tell me what the results were. Fortunately, there doesn't seem to be any problem with anything they tested. I suppose the headaches are a combination of stress, allergies, and other factors about which nothing can be done. I am just so happy that my blood sugar was okay. That's one less crisis to have to deal with.

Screaming with a Smile

There are things about school that sometimes make me want to throw my Shakespeare bobble head in a tote bag and go home before lunch. Often lately as I've been working with my classes, I've had the urge to close my book with the delicacy one would use in handling bone china, gently place the wooden stool I use with my speaker's stand in its place, blow out my candle, and pull the door soundlessly shut behind me. This softness would be the last mask before the true frustration emerges. It would be necessary because if it disappeared, all that would be left would be something that I couldn't live with.

It's the time of the year and the fact that I have three preps this year. Honestly, I love my kids. Some days, though, most days recently, they're treading on very thin ice. I get little sleep, have great stress, and get mortally weary of saying the same stupid things over and over. I am tired of student who strain at gnats and swallow camels. Apathy, after a very short time, becomes a physical pressure in the room.

This is a late-October teacher cry. Tomorrow, I'll go back to work, screaming with a smile.

Great Quote

Today's quote of the day, "Only the educated are free" by Epictetus, is one of my favorite quotes. How much truth is wrapped up in that one small statement? Ignorance is slavery of heart, soul, and mind. Only by learning about ourselves, each other, and the wonderful world around us can we grow the wings we need to fly over the walls of the prison that holds us. Great quote. Really, really great quote.

Dill Pickle Potato Chips

I have become addicted to Dill Pickle Potato Chips. Before I tasted them, the very thought of a chip flavored with pickle made me shudder. I had tried salt and vinegar chips, and they made my stomach curdle. Somehow, though, I was persuaded to taste one, and now I want them all the time.

Golden Flake's are the best. They are so tart that after eating them, it feels like my tongue has wrinkled up. Yum. They make an exceptional accompaniment to sandwiches, and also a really nice "this-day-sucks" food, too.

They can't possibly be good for me, and I freely acknowledge that. However, sometimes, you just gotta have a dill pickle potato chip. I refuse to apologize for it. I have to have some cheap thrills, after all.

Spoon River Anthology

I had said that I was going to write about something good that happened, and now I'm keeping to it.

Last Wednesday, I took my honors and AP students through Edgar Lee Masters' Spoon River Anthology. It's one of my favorite collections of poems, especially American poetry, and I was so glad to get to share it. I made some very ugly tombstone cut-outs from black foam core and adhered a poem from the collection on it. We had six tombstones in our little graveyard.

The students walked around the room, read the poems, and wrote comments on pieces of paper near them. I had Mozart's Requiem going in the background. It was so wonderful to watch the students get into the poems. I love it when that happens, especially when it's a work or set of works that I myself am passionate about.

We had excellent discussion in all three classes, and I heard several students say they wanted to read more of them. That was a very good day. I don't know if any of them went and read more of the poems or not, but just the fact that they had that interest, even if it was only for 55 minutes, made me feel like I had accomplished something. If I can continue to give them those moments, maybe I can do something that lasts.

BTW, if you've never read Spoon River Anthology, check it out here.

Bad Attitudes

The natives are restless...

We've had a spate of bad behavior at school lately. I don't know if it's a phase of the moon, the bizzare giddiness of Homecoming, or some sort of hellish voodoo, but I do so hope it goes away soon. I have rarely heard more kids whining, backtalking, and generally being savagely uncouth.

I don't know where they get the idea that it's okay to act like that. Who ever told them that they have the right to show disrespect to one another or to their teachers? I get so tired of having to ask for silence and to try to get them to do what they're supposed to be doing, but I'll tell you the truth: the part that bothers me most isn't my kids' classroom behavior. The part that is killing me is the wild insanity and rudeness in the hall.

I am trying very hard not to focus on it because I can only Type-A my little corner of the world. It's just so discouraging and exhausting to fight the same stupid battles every day with people you're trying to help. It's like trying to pull a drowning wolf from a pond while it claws and bites you.

On another front, I still haven't heard back from Monday's blood work. I called today and left a message, so hopefully I'll have an answer tomorrow. I suppose if they haven't called me by now, nothing too bad can be wrong, right?

I had another splitting headache today, and I'm not sure why. It started on the way to school and neither caffiene nor Tylenol could kill it. I finally got rid of it with an accidental fifteen minute nap while I was waiting for my night class to start. If they could just tell me what to do about them to make the pain stop, I could live with everything else.

There's so much more I want to say. There are so many entries that I start composing in my mind that never make it to the screen. I guess I'm back in the school year blogging mode, which is to say slow, slow, slow...

Last Week

After Monday, there really wasn't a lot of time to blog. Monday afternoon, I had an eye exam and was told that at least one thing on my stupid body is working perfectly. 20/20 vision and a perfectly shaped eye. At least I don't need glasses, and my eyes are the cause of my headaches.

Tuesday afternoon, I went back to the doctor for a recheck since my white blood cell count was high. I was running a slight fever, but upon recheck, my white cell count was lower, and he has just about ruled mono out as the source of my ongoing tiredness. Monday, I'll have some more tests run to see if he can locate what's going on. He's talking now about pre-diabetes. Nothing will be certain until the lab work comes back, and he's talking about some other possibilities, too, so right now, I'm trying as hard as I can to reserve judgement.

I stood with a friend at the funeral of his mother this Wednesday. Funerals are never easy affairs; I always feel the grief like a clinging haze. This one was harder than most because my friend was so grief-stricken. I pray for my friend. I
hope he can find a way to move on.

Thursday is actually a blur. I had stayed up late getting already-overdue grades ready to submit the following morning. I remember very little of it except that I was weary, and it was long. I couldn't have been very coherent in class. I had a midterm in a night class I'm taking, and I probably failed it. After I finished the test, I came home and fell down.

Friday went blissfully fast until seventh period. Seventh period, an assortment of sophomores and juniors got stupid, and there was a shouting match in the hall amongst them that had to be dealt with.

There were some really good things last week, too, but mostly it was a grey fog. I'll write about one of the good things later on because I need to remind myself that the good is always there. Right now, though, my whole life's focus is on finding out what in the world is wrong with me, whether it's diabetes or needing a new multivitamin. Maybe I'll get that answer this week.

Just a Little Scarier Than It Used to Be

There's something wrong with the world today
I don't know what it is
There's something wrong inside...

-- Aerosmith "Livin' on the Edge"

Today's news was full of the North Korean nuclear test. Now a crazy man with delusions of divinity has a weapon capable of starting a war that may be the end of all we know. Once one single person finally pushes that button, I wonder if there will be anybody standing in the end after the preemptive strikes, the retaliatory strikes, and all the other excuses to kill masses of humanity.

Why is life so cheap? How did it get that way? How can any person look at another and be blind to the beauty of that life? We talk about acceptable losses and collateral damage. We entertain ourselves with games full of destruction and movies full of the same. What is it about us that drives this blood thirst?

The leader of North Korea is in charge of a nation with the world's largest standing army and a population that is literally starving to death. There has to be a special place in hell for that sort of thing.

I keep thinking that God should have made us with some sort of fail-safe valve, some sort of mechanism that just blows up if we reach a certain point of evil. Don't talk to me about relativity, either. Don't talk about YOUR values versus MY values. I'm not talking about driving SUVs, leaving lights on when you leave the room, or failing to recycle. I don't mean things you ought or ought not to do. I'm talking about EVIL, all capital letters. I'm talking about the kind of evil that leads to child abuse and genocide, to dictatorships and torture. When you are in charge of a group of people and you use that power to suppress, misinform, torture, and starve them, that valve ought to blow sky high.

So what now? This is my generation's nuclear threat. I don't think we'll be having drills at school where we all slide under our desks and assume the position. What will we do? What about Japan, China, and South Korea sitting so close to the impulsive insanity of a human gone rabid with power and paranoia? I have friends in those places, and now I have to worry for them and for the wonderful nations in which they live as well as for my own land.

And what of the North Koreans? What will happen to them once the political maneuvering is over and the sanctions or worse begins? My one wish is that they as a people would rise up and say, "Too much is enough," and destroy the leadership. If they did that, then maybe they could have a chance at freedom.

Just thinking about all of it is enough to make you want to find a safe, dark place and hide. I don't know how this drama is going to unfold, but I have to say it's frightening. Thanks to the machinations of a madman, the world is just a little bit scarier that it used to be, and God knows, it was scary enough without it.

And One More Thing

One more small thing... I got an antenna to pick up local stations. That means Tuesday I get to see either the enchanting and wonderful Mr. D'Onofrio or the other pair. At least it's a new episode of CI, and I'll also be able to get local news now. It's the little victories, you know.

Medical Mystery

I have to go back to the doctor tomorrow or Tuesday for a recheck. Apparently, my blood count was high. Joy. I'm feeling a lot better, though. I still get tired quite a bit, but I feel better than I've felt in weeks, and the swelling in my neck is completely gone. I'm hoping for good news when I go back.

On the more amusing side of things, some of my student readers were apparently speculating as to how I might have contracted mono, if that's what this turns out to be. I imagine they had some pretty lurid romantic scenarios. It might be funny to find out what they were, but then again...do I really want to go down that road? I think not.

Halloweening

Yesterday, the air was the perfect temperature. The sun was warm but not the brutal and burning type it has been all summer. I decided to put out my Halloween decorations and enjoy the day.

I love Halloween. Christmas is my favorite holiday, but Halloween runs a close second. I love the fun of it. I love the simple, inner-child pleasure of candy and safe thrills. I love putting up the pumpkins around my door, hanging the ghosts in my driveway, and watching parents with their kids in the store deciding whether this year's costume will be the princess or the witch.

Even in our increasingly homogenized world, most cultures have a holiday that deals with fears and concerns about death and grief for those who have departed. Japan has Obon, Mexico has Dia de los Muertos, and we have Halloween. That part of the holiday fascinates me, too. It is so important for us to have that connection to those who are gone, and even though we don't use Halloween in a ceremonial way anymore, the haunted houses, plastic phantoms, and carved pumpkins still represent a way of dealing with the fear of the unknown that comes with death. We learn as children, even in a very softened way, that death doesn't have to be something of which we need be afraid.

I have loved Halloween since I was a child. We used to have the best Halloween carnivals at school. I remember walking through the sixth-grade building's haunted house, riding around the playground on a hay wagon, and winning endless little bags of prizes with my friends. There was nothing fancy about it, but just being there with the costumes and the cooling weather was special.

My mom and I used to hang the same cardboard decorations on the windows every year, and so looked forward to the day when Mom would say it was time to get them out and hang them up. We also bought plastic ghosts and pumpkins and hung them on the trees lining our driveway. Coming home was a thrill as the headlights caught those silly, smiling plastic figures. It was special to me, and it still is.

For the remainders of the month, I will have the same thrill as an adult. Whenever I come home late from school, my plywood copies of those same silly smiles will be there to cheer me. The plastic pumpkins around my schoolroom door will keep me company as I work late to get papers graded and recorded. I will feed that six-year-old who still lives inside me and enjoy it.

Please, Not Mono

I have been feeling so bad lately. I have no energy, and no matter how much I sleep, I always feel tired. Two days ago, my lymph node under my ear became swollen. I've never had that happen in all my many illnesses.

Today, I felt so horrible that I went and braved the overcrowded waiting room at my doctor's walk-in clinic. Once I got to the back, all I wanted to do was lie down on the paper-covered table and sleep until somebody made me better.

When the doctor came in, he checked me over and ordered a blood test. Then he uttered the worst of words...mono. It's not sure yet, and I'm fervently hoping it's just a sinus infection, but if it is, it's a doozy. I'm not really sinusy, but I'm completely wiped out. I won't know for about two weeks whether or not it's mono for about two weeks, but keep your collective fingers crossed for me. It's going to devastate my school year if I have to be out six weeks.

October

October is finally here! It's one of my favorite months. The weather finally starts to cool down, the leaves change, and the holidays start to roll in.

I love to get my Halloween stuff out every year and hang it up or set it out. It brings back memories of childhood and never fails to bring a smile to my face.

Before I left Friday, I redid the bulletin board in the hall outside my room and hung my garland and pumpkin lights. I changed out my "This Day in History" calendar and rewrote the information on my boards in orange and black. These are little things, but I feel better knowing they're done.

I still have to hang up my ghosts outside, but that can wait awhile. I have a lot of school work I need to do today, and I also want to take a nap. Then I can enjoy the rest of my decorating.