Dinner with Friends

Sometimes, it turns out the only thing I really needed after all was dinner with my friends. I went to a Mardi Gras party last night at my friends' house, and I had the best time I've had in a long while. We used to have a supper club where we went from house to house once a month, but with the stresses of jobs, night classes, and increasing numbers of children in our group, it sort of fell by the wayside. I knew I missed those monthly dinners, but until last night, I really didn't know just how much I was missing them.

I felt connected for the first time in a long time again. I found out things that were going on with people that I've known, literally, all my life, but I haven't seen continuously for more than ten or fifteen minutes at a time in months. We ate good food, kept saying that we needed to go home as the hour got later and later, and the number one thing that everyone said over and over again was, we have to do this again. Why haven't we been doing this?

If nobody else can host the next one, I will do it. I will decrapify my house and figure out something to prepare, but I'll play hostess. It was too nice to have that communion with people who know me and with whom I actually have things in common. There were no social status measuring, no games, no ulterior motives, and no politics in play. I didn't have to play who do you know, what do you drink, or how much do you make. In my current world, that is too precious not to have it happen again.

Ups and Downs

After four continuous days of having to listen to my friend go on and on about how excited he is about his upcoming "not a date" with the woman in the skimpy costume, I am finally growing numb, or at least resigned to it. Wednesday, I went off on him for his general insensitivity, but it skipped right over his head. I don't guess I was explicit enough. Thursday, I wasn't able to meet that group, and today, I had just decided that if it came up, I wasn't going to rise to the bait. I was very proud of myself. Now if I can just make it through his joyous retellings of whatever happens once he's actually been to the party with this person and this costume (however many days it takes him to relate that) without killing him for being a thickheaded and insensitive male, then life can go on.

It's been a tough week, even without that whole thing going on. Wednesday was the worst, starting off with an earring dropped down a sink drain (one of my jade ones carefully brought back from Thailand; I hope Dad can get it out), forgetting to put my trash out at the bottom of the driveway and it blowing off the roof of my PT Cruiser into the middle of the interstate and my having to retrieve it at 6:15 a.m., and so on. It ended with my Shakespeare professor belittling my profession as "unrespectable" since we high school teachers have to do things like keep bus duty, etc., and all have classrooms that are out of control (? Has he been in my room lately?). It was a long, long day.

The week ended on a high note, though. I got wonderful news today, sort of reward for not picking up a chair at some point and thrashing my friend with it, maybe. One of my students selected me as Star Teacher. I was totally blown away. I never expected such an honor to come to me. When the counselor came to tell me about it, I was completely dumbfounded for a minute. It means so much to me to have been chosen, especially since it's coming just now in the middle of all this horrible crap of the oncoming birthday.

After school, I went to my favorite junktique shop, and tomorrow I have a gathering of friends to go to, so I am hoping that now that January is finally dead and gone that things will begin to lighten up. It's been a rough start to the year, but maybe that's done now.

AngrySadTired -- You Probaby Don't Want to Read This

And yet words are necessary to deal with it for me. You might just want to skip this one. Go read another post.

Recently, I was in a gathering of friends and the commentary turned Mardi Gras. A friend of mine is going to a party that requires costumes, and the person he's going with apparently has a costume that displays her rather nice figure rather nicely. Although I don't think he's dating this person, the combination of costume and pulchritude was apparently enough to get his mind going in that direction.

His comment and his awe over her figure just touched a nerve in me that's always raw, but never more than at this time of the year. I swear to God that I am so sick and tired of men and their inability to see beyond T and A that I cannot stand it anymore. I am tired of watching stick figures prance around half clothed on TV. I am tired of watching men ogle every pair of breasts that happens to shape themselves under a shirt. More than any of this, though, I am tired of the physical being the end-all, be-all measuring stick of a woman's worth.

Is there really not one single one of them who isn't looking for a Barbie doll? I mean, really? I am nobody's Barbie doll. I'm built more along the Amazon warrior lines, and stick figure is not a label that could ever have been stuck on me, not even when I was playing basketball in high school and running line drills, laps, and bleachers everyday. I'm really tall, and my body curves. Why can't that be okay, too, with somebody? I have a fierce mind, a strong body, and a brave heart. Why can't that be good, too? Why should I have to have D cup breasts, blond hair, and be the size of a freaking porcelain doll to be attractive?

As of that conversation, I officially give up. I have heard it all too many times now. I have also heard all the palliatives (The right man will find you beautiful; Different people find different things attractive), and I think they're all crap. All the men of my acquaintance chase the same old stereotypes although they may put a different hair color on top. Screw it. In a way, maybe it will be a relief to quit looking. I know my own value, and if they can't see it, then to hell with them all.

Wishing

I haven't felt much like writing lately, and I've been busy, too, so the posts have been pretty sparse. Sooner or later, I'm going to post about Tim O'Brien's The Things They Carried, but I'm still in the middle of it. It's emotionally a very hard read for me, and I don't know yet how long it's going to take me to finish it.

Mostly, lately I just wish I could spend some time away. I need a trip out of country where nobody knows me. Sometimes, just being here where everywhere I go there's I teach or have taught absolutely wears me out. I have to be "Teacher Woman" all the time. While I know that is a part of the responsibility, and probably "Teacher Woman" isn't really all that different from any other aspect of my personality, sometimes I miss being a totally private citizen who can go to the bookstore in shleppy jeans and no makeup without having to worry about running into little Mary Sue and her Eager Parents.

Maybe I'll go out of town this coming weekend and enjoy being unknown somewhere else. It would be nice to have a change, just for a little while anyway. I'm just tired.

Wrap Your Mind Around This One

The truth is more important than the facts.
Frank Lloyd Wright

Part of me, when I first saw this quote, instinctively went, "Yeah. Deep, man." Of course, I've been up something like seventeen hours at this point, and I really, really need to go to bed. When next I looked at it, I began to say, "But wait, can one divorce the truth from the facts? What is truth? How does it relate to the facts?" Then, I decided that what I need to do most right now is stop surfing and blogging and get some rest before I hit that Zen state in which one begins to ponder whether or not one's personal reality is true for everyone around one, a state found most commonly in dorm rooms late the night before major papers are due but nevertheless dangerously near anytime it's late and the brain is tired. I leave it to you gentle reader to tangle with good old FLW.

Mississippi Snow

We had one of those rare Mississippi snowstorms this past weekend. It dropped about three inches of snow, and we all headed outdoors to gawk in wonder. Mom, Dad, and I loaded up in Dad's huge, battered brown four-wheel drive Dodge and drove up to the Old Place to look at the snow on the pastures there. It was beautiful. I took a lot of pictures and fought to breathe, but it was worth it to see the trees wearing their rare mantle of white.

All up and down the roads, hastily-assembled snowmen could be seen. Every one I passed made me smile, even the ones that had more leaves than snow in the the bases. I guess people in states that get a lot of snow can afford to wait for a good depth or be blase about it, but we here in Mississippi have to take it like we can get it if we intend to get any snowmen at all.

After our recent bout of rain, the last lingering vestiges that had been sheltered are gone, but the memories of our recent whitening remain. It may be several years before we see that much snow again and all the snow people reemerge. Maybe we stored up enough enjoyment until it comes again.

Headed for Thirty-two

As I dragged my aching, coughing, barely-functional body back and forth from the library Friday while my classes were doing credit checks, I noticed that the teachers downstairs have already put up Valentine's Day bulletin boards. Although usually I am the first teacher on board the overboard holiday decor train, there is not one scrap of pink or red anywhere near my door yet, nor will there be for at least a few more days. You see, as we get closer to the day of the stupid blind flying infant we also get closer to the anniversary of my thirty-second year on this earth.

I have heard all sorts of people complain about having their birthdays coupled with a major holiday. I have relatives and friends whose birthdays get lost in the shuffle with Christmas and Thanksgiving. I put forth to them, however, that there is no double-whammy as crappy as the one barreling down on me in less than four weeks. Soon, every place I look will be festooned with a nauseating amount of red, pink, lace, glitter, and reminders that roses, candy, and affection will rain down from the heavens all around me, sort of a reverse Charlie Brown black rain cloud effect. Only in my little spot will it be dry. Add to this, then, the merry nudge from Father Time that another year has come and gone, and you've got a recipe fit for all sorts of glee.

I wish I could build a sort of bunker somewhere and just hide out in it from New Year's Eve until the end of February. Every person I know has "big plans" to treat their special someone well (more power to them), or somehow miraculously manages to dig up a special someone for the duration of the holidays. I'd settle for a good friend to go to dinner with. It's not even safe to go to the store to buy groceries. One has to run the gauntlet through aisles filled to the top of twenty-foot ceilings with giant stuffed animals, overly-cute knickknacks, and chocolate, the soul salve of lonely like me.

Just for once, just for once, I'd like to be able to look forward to my birthday. I'd like to have a great guy, or at least a great guyfriend, and be going to do something interesting. I don't want diamonds and pearls. I don't expect a man to break the bank with roses and trinkets. Oh how wonderful it would be, though, if thirty-two didn't have to loom in the distance a monolith carved out of black stone.....

Matters of Trust

I have been sick lately, the usual sinus crud, but it's been making me wish I could find a quiet corner to curl up and die in. I have stubbornly and foolishly been dragging myself through my regular routine, so by yesterday evening, I was to the point of shaking weakness and tears. Why, oh why, don't I just take the kind of advice I would give others? Go home and rest....

Anyway, sometime during the past few days, I was with a gathering of friends, and listening to a conversation about how men should treat women. One of the guys was talking about how to treat a woman, and his ideas included wine, firelight, and poetry. The other women at the table were pretty much astounded that any man could come up with something like that on his own since so many men seem to have no idea whatsoever that fire can be used for anything but destruction or food preparation and that poetry exists outside required and loathed coursework long forgotten. Even in my weakened and sickened state, I thought his ideas were pretty good, too. The guy in question is a real sweetheart. He's recently been treated about as badly as you can be by a woman, and yet he still manages to come up with something like this, so that's another gold star in the plus column for him.

At that moment, though, everything froze. A ghost entered the room, at least for me. I could practically see T., my ex, standing in the doorway smirking. He, too, knew about the value of poetry, wine, and firelight. He knew all kinds of things about what women like and how we work. In fact, he'd made it sort of his life's passionate study. He prided himself on it. The great downside to this, of course, is that he couldn't be bothered to please only one woman. There were far too many of us in the world who needed his tender ministrations....

The ghost was only there for me. Nobody else noticed, and since I was sick and largely just sort of sitting in the corner suffering anyway, I doubt my expression actually changed much. I just wonder if there's ever going to come a time when I don't have to look at guys and not think of the ghosts of the past.

All Things Jane, and, Soapbox, Here I Come

Jane Austen, my hero, is much in the media these days with PBS's Masterpiece Theater (or are the Theatre sort? I can never remember...) makeover. Maybe she's never out of the media. I keep thinking back to the movie that came out last year (or was it two? Ah, Topamax...) with the Horrid Stick Figure cast as Lizzy. I still haven't seen it. I should bite the proverbial bullet and get it through Netflix just to see how bad a thing can be, but each time I think of the Stick Insect trying to be one of the most wonderfully bright and independent women in literature, I feel a little queasy.

I read a blog called AustenBlog that keeps up with "all things Jane". Their tagline is "one lump of snark or two?", so you can sort of tell what tone the site has. I love it. They had a brief bit recently about a company that was going to publish dumbed-down editions of the big six Austen novels for children and busy adults. I know I felt more than a bit queasy at that.

What's the point? Why even bother to read it? Also, why do adults always assume that children can't handle the real thing? I was reading the real thing when I was in about the fifth grade, thank you very much. I can't see that it did me much harm not to have watered-down pap packaged and forced down my throat instead of trusting that my brain could stretch to meet the challenge. Maybe I had to ask my parents what a word meant. Maybe I had to, God forbid, go get a dictionary off a shelf.

It all goes back to the great contradiction so present in everything else. We pretend and pretend that we want our children/students/selves to reach for high goals and lofty ideals, but when it comes right down to it, instead of giving them the real Jane Austen and a dictionary, we give them the faux Austen and tell them that's all they're capable of handling. What a crappy cheat. I hope that the kids who get stuck with the pseudo-Austen find out that there's something missing and seek it for themselves. It's too sad to contemplate otherwise. She's lasted this long and been this popular for a good reason.

Good Old Ernest.....

Never mistake motion for action.
Ernest Hemingway

Early Morning Dog Story

So this morning, I let the dogs out early and went about the business of getting ready to head to school as I usually do. When I was putting food out for them a bit later, I could hear the high-pitched strident barks from Roux that mean she's into something "good" coming from across the road. At first, I thought the noise was dogfight noise, and my fear was that the horrible brown stray had wandered back into my yard. Then I listened more carefully, and I recognized the yips of frustration which come whenever Roux can't quite get to whatever it is that she wants. I went back inside after calling her for a few minutes to finish getting ready.

When I drove down the driveway, I stopped and walked across the road to the woods where the dogs were. I found them dancing around the base of a sapling about as thick as my upper arm. At the top of that sapling, swaying precariously, was a very large opossum who was doing its level best to appear invisible. Yelldo came to me, and I picked his little yellow butt up and put him in the car. Roux, though, just ran close enough to wag her tail at me and give me a big toothy pit bull grin and ran away again.

She would dash up to the trunk of the tree, lean against it causing it to sway, stand under the swinging possum, and then, when there was no falling mammal, she would go take a few bites out of the trunk of the tree. I have never seen any dog do this. She was literally chewing down the stupid tree. By the time I got to the scene, she had removed long strips of the trunk of the sapling, and about half its trunk was gone.

I called her and tried to entice, coerce, and finally berate her for about fifteen minutes to no avail. She was in a place I could not get to, and I had to go to school ultimately. I don't know what happened with the possum. I asked my dad to go down and check on her when he got off work, and when he got there, Roux was hale and healthy, so I don't think she caught the possum. As big as it was, there would be tell-tale signs. I haven't had a chance to go across the road to see if she finally managed to fell the tree. I think I'll save that adventure for tomorrow.

Knowledge

Tonight was the first night of one of my new night classes, and I learned something completely unknown. I now know what was regained when the Renaissance came in. Before tonight, I had always been taught that it was just the "rebirth of knowledge" or the "rediscovery of Greek and Latin classical texts." My professor tonight taught me that in the West, the last scholars of Greek, actually, the very last, had been killed off by his students, and the reading and speaking knowledge of the language had died. For a couple of hundred years, nobody could read Homer or Plato or Socrates. Nobody could get to the stories of the Iliad or the Odyssey or Medea or Antigone, and oh, how they wanted to... The Italians, heirs to the legacy of Rome, understood that the Romans had based much of their culture on the foundations that Greece had painstakingly laid, but those texts were mute since the language in which they were written was a dead one for them.

Can you imagine it? We take it for granted that we can walk into a bookstore and lay hands on volume after volume of knowledge in our own language. I watch school kids casually discard or groan under the study of these same stories that were almost completely lost forever during the time after the fall of the Roman Empire.

I didn't know that until tonight. I didn't know how close we came to losing them forever. I always assumed that when the textbooks said they were rediscovered during the Renaissance, that the real meaning was that people finally had enough time to stop worrying about disease, war, and famine carrying them away long enough to pick up something extraneous to survival again, and that was indeed part of it. More to the point, though, is that until they found the Greek-speaking-and-reading refugees from Constantinople's Orthodox churches, there was nobody who could begin the process of unlocking the rich wonders within those ancient texts for them.

No wonder the Renaissance authors were so crazy about translations and getting their hands on every ancient text they could. They probably wanted to make sure the same thing could never happen again as well as feeding that deep hunger for knowledge. Who can read a little of the Odyssey and not want more? Who can start the Oedipus cycle and not want to know how it turns out for the poor, fate-doomed man?

It was a good night of class, and to be honest, I'm looking forward to going back despite the huge amount of work this class is going to be (a play a week). If I can pick up something this monumental every week, it will be time well spent. Maybe this is something everybody else in the world already knew, but I missed it somehow. I'm glad to know it now.

Selfish Days

Every once in a great while, I feel worn thin by things that I normally very much enjoy doing. Right now is one of those moments. It's not that I had a really stressful day. There was no drama today. In fact, there's been a minimum of drama lately, a fact for which I am profoundly grateful. It's more a case of having too much to do and that load increasing gradually, sort of like the old Puritan torture of pressing, I guess, where they keep laying one stone after another on top of a person. I am overcommitted in the highest possible degree, and this afternoon, I found another thing that "needs doing", but I cannot possibly fit it into my schedule, and I'm frustrated and ill with myself and the situation.

As I'm listening to the rain on the roof and getting ready to go take a shower and have an early bedtime in order to face tomorrow, my first day with night classes in the new semester, I am having a selfish day. I want to have a childish tantrum in which I put my fingers in my ears and refuse to listen to the voices that are asking me to do all these various and sundry things I've been asked to do. I want to run as fast as I can away from my obligations and find a big playground with a swing set and a slide. I want to close my door and turn off my light and pretend like there's nobody home.

None of this will actually help anything. It will truly only make me feel worse for having done it. I guess this miniature rebellion is probably a warning sign that I need to take a step back and assess my load, and that I need to be cautious about making sure I add in some time for less juvenile release valves. Maybe I need to budget the funds for Civ IV this month after all....

January

I'm heading into my January slump. I can feel it creeping up like a slow mist rolling across an open field. January stinks. Even though I try not to judge it based on previous editions, there's just something about the month that's fundamentally grey and gloomy. Maybe it's the weather. Maybe it's the end of the sparkly wonder of Christmas. Maybe it's the poverty or the impending crapfest double-whammy of Valentine's Day and my birthday hovering right around the corner. It just always seems that the sunless and cloudy skies creep into the corners of my heart during January, and I have a hard time shaking them out again. If there are fewer posts here for awhile, just chalk it up my not wanting to inflict my January blues on the rest of the world.

What We Believe About Ourselves

I was watching What Not to Wear tonight, and they had a sort of "best of" show on tonight with clips from some of their favorite cases/episodes. I watched the shortened versions of episodes, many of which I'd already seen, and I was struck by the almost universal theme running under the different bad outfits and hairdos: a belief, conscious or unconscious, that the woman was fundamentally unattractive. Once Stacy and Clinton had done their work, which basically consists of pointing the person away from things the person probably knew weren't a good idea anyway, and the hair and makeup artists come in, the person is able to see the fundamental truth that there is beauty in every human being. This is probably my favorite thing about the show, that moment when the woman suddenly realizes that, whether she is carrying more weight than the gurus say is proper or is smaller than supermodels in the magazines, she is lovely.

Why is it that we all seem to believe that we're ugly? When I think about my own circle of girl friends and indeed over most of the women I have known in my lifetime, all but a handful have had some secret belief that some portion of their anatomy, if not their whole anatomy, is hideous. Why do we believe this? Where does this come from? If this is true, it means that every woman I know is ugly. That just can't be true. My friends are beautiful people. They have husbands who love them and think they are the centers of the known universe. Where does this inner whisper come from?

I am familiar with the voice myself. I know its insidious voice. I even know some of the reasons why I hear it. Knowing why it's there doesn't really make it easier to combat sometimes. Even though I strive to accept myself as I am, some days, I find myself fighting that same old image in the mirror.

I so wish that we could all, even in our analysis of ourselves, get past the external or just embrace the external that is there and learn to love it. There is so much beauty under that surface and so much potential. Isn't a shame that we bind ourselves to so much less than we're capable of and lose the chance to know so many people as they truly are because of this?

Back to the Real World

I had to force myself to get up this morning when the alarm went off. We're having a stretch of bitterly cold weather, so crawling out from under the covers and cats before dawn was not high on my list of priorities.

It's always so hard to return to routine after a holiday. Even though I eventually get bored and restless during a long break (I wasn't quite there yet, however), I hate getting up so early. That's really my least favorite part of my whole job, when I think about it. If I could sleep one more hour every morning and still get to school on time, my job satisfaction would go up about 40%. How sad is that?

I've always wondered why school has to start at some ungodly early hour. I think I know most of the reasons, including the fact that kids, especially little ones need to be "babysat" during their parents' working hours and that originally in rural areas students would become working members of their families upon their return home with chores on the farm. I wish now, though, that we'd revisit the issue and start school at 9:00. Not going to happen, but I can still dream.

Well, tomorrow the kids will be back, so I had better go fortify myself mentally....

An Interesting Notion for the New Year

Through another blog I read, I found a link to this blog and this list, the Daily Decalogue of Pope John XXIII. I made a copy of it to print off and put on my desk because the ideas here are really appealing to me, mostly because it seems that it's based on focusing on day at a time. You might see if any of them are useful to you. Happy New Year, everyone.

The End Approaches

As the year draws to a close, two things are certain to happen in my life. First, I will definitely have the mad and uncontrollable urge to clean my house, even the dark and secret rooms to which the doors are never opened when others are present. Second, I will begin to review the year past and go over it with the proverbial and cliched finetoothed comb to see how my life has changed for better and for worse in the year coming to an end. I suppose that both processes are actually two different expressions of the same need to set all things in order, as it were, before one things ends and a new thing begins.

New Year's Day is an arbitrary, manmade date on a calendar. It doesn't even line up with anything astronomically significant as once it did. That's why the power it has to make a person, well me anyway, stop and take stock of things never ceases to surprise me. Sitting up late and watching the old year die and the new year be born, even though I know it's sort of a created thing is moving. Every year, I say that I will simply go to bed early (tired out from all the manic housework, you see) and just let the old year go in peace, but year after year, I find myself staring at the clock at 11:59 with everybody else in this part of the world waiting for 200_ to dissolve into 200_.

I don't go out and party on New Years. I never have been a big partygoer. (Those of you who know me are shocked beyond all knowledge, I know.) I've often thought that the purpose of New Year's parties might be to help people not reflect so much, but rather to focus on the fact that regardless of what happened, it's over, everybody present survived in some form or another, and life marches on. Despite the fact that I'm not really a big fan of drunken revelry and the inevitable regretfest that follows it, (I mean, be an idiot if you want to, but live to remember it, and how much fun is it really if you have to pray nobody took any pictures of it?) there is something to be said in joining together with your friends in celebration of having made it through another long year and in defiance of whatever might be hurled at you by the Fates in the year to come.

I suppose however we choose to meet the New Year, in solitary reflection or group defiance and celebration, the point is that we are here to meet it at all. That's something to be grateful for. No matter what scars we may have earned in the year past, we survived. May we be stronger and wiser for it in the year to come.

Good Quote

There is nothing on this earth more to be prized than true friendship.
Saint Thomas Aquinas

Dell Yeah

Okay, so it's well known that I'm not Dell's biggest fan, but I had to do something. My school-sponsored Gateway laptop has become capricious at best and downright irritating-bordering-on-suicidal at worst, so I needed a machine that was both mine and capable. I was planning on getting one myself, but my parents decided that they would get me something "big" this year for Christmas, and, voila, I have a new Dell. I won't get into all the gruesome specs other than to say it runs Vista and it's a dual-core machine which makes it so much faster than anything else I've used before that it's usually sitting and tapping its fingers waiting for me rather than the other way round. That's a nice change.

I did get a 19" monitor to go with it, and the sheer joy of having a screen that I don't have to peer down into my lap to look at is amazing. When I was working on our church bulletin a little while ago, the page actually was big enough to see. Wow.

My only big computing ambition now that I finally found the "hidden" application data folder so I could move my address book from one machine to the other is to purchase Civ IV so I can come home, feed my cats/dogs, and disappear into my office for the evening. I have noble goals, I think, sure to help me get lots and lots of productive work done around the house and for school.....

Sick for the Holidays

I don't know what it is but it stinks. I have a headache, a fever, and I'm nauseous beyond belief. I have been mostly debilitated for the past two days, but I spent the whole day today in bed. I hope tomorrow is better. I don't want the rest of my holiday to be spent having to recover from some mystery illness.

Christmas Dinner

It's the end of Christmas day, and it's been a good one here in Podunk. I got up fairly early and finished up some housecleaning in preparation for having my family over for Christmas dinner. This is the first time that I've done the whole Christmas dinner thing myself, so I wanted everything to be just so.

I've done a potluck Thanksgiving for my friends, and I usually do a brunch for my family on Christmas, but for too long now, my family hasn't had a big meal for Christmas or Thanksgiving. We always seem to have some major crisis, personal or physical, come up right at Thanksgiving or Christmas, and the whole holiday gets sort of preempted. The holidays just seem to get lost in the shuffle, and I miss them terribly.

Despite my best intentions to the contrary, it happened at Thanksgiving this year. I had a big family meal planned, and I had sworn that come heck or high water, we were going to have the full-on turkey dinner at my house. I had even gone so far as to buy a very lovely tablecloth for the occasion, but then my mom got sick, and the whole thing just sort of fell apart. We had a small meal, but nobody felt much like going to the effort involved to do a big dinner.

About a week after Thanksgiving, though, Dad got a ten-pound turkey, already seasoned and cooked, from work as a part of his Christmas bonus this year, and that was the centerpiece of the meal. This time, the hard part was already done, and I knew that I could do the rest if that killer part of it was already done for me.

I dealt with the remaining preparations for the turkey and about half of what was left of the rest of the meal and my mom brought the other half. I used the beautiful red linen tablecloth I got on sale a few years ago and have never had an occasion to use and put one of my favorite 1940's luncheonette cloths over it, one with Shiny Brites and holly on it. I used my good white Southern Living dishes and pulled out candles, too. It was no Martha Stewart production, but I was proud enough of it to have taken a picture of it.


We all sat down and had a meal at the table, not in front of the TV, not sitting on the couch, and it was wonderful. We should do it more often. Although there were far fewer of us than there were when this was my Granny's house, it reminded me of those Christmas dinners we had then. I think this house has missed being a place where people come for those together times. I know I have missed those times being held here. It's so hard to make those times happen with schedules being what they are, but as I was smoothing my hands over the tablecloths, laying them out and enjoying their colorful patterns, I kept thinking to myself, "Why isn't this a priority, too? Isn't this time just as important, just as vital as the other things that I do?"

The best gift I got today wasn't in a box or an envelope, although I am grateful for those things, too. The best gift I got was having my family with me around my table spending time together. Even after everyone was gone and I was washing up in the kitchen, I still felt the glow of it like a candle flame. What a beautiful thing to have been given for Christmas.

Drafted

So last night when I showed up to warm up for evening services, our music director and an assortment of others were playing various stringed instruments in preparation for special music. I suddenly found myself drafted to be the vocal segment. Our choir director is stealthy and subtle that way. All of a sudden, one just sort of finds one's self in front of the congregation holding a microphone a little uncertain of how one got there.

I actually like to sing. I sing all the time in my car, in my house, in my classroom when all the students are gone at the end of the day. I sing going to work and while I'm cleaning the house. It's a different thing, though, to stand up in front of the whole church, even though it's composed of people I have known all my life, and sing. I get so nervous.

These songs were some of my favorites, though, and that helped. I sang "What Child Is This?" and "Silent Night", my two favorite Christmas songs, and we also did "Joy to the World", too. I don't know about the quality of the music I produced, but the feeling and the sentiment were certainly there. Since the Psalms simply say that God wants us to make a joyful noise, hopefully God was pleased.

Harry Dresden, Wizard

Okay, so I'm about seven years behind on discovering this series, but I did at last find it, and I'm really enjoying it. The Dresden Files by Jim Butcher is one of the most original series of fantasy that I've picked up in a long, long time. I can see echoes of other things in it, as is to be expected, but not unpleasant echoes. It's an original world Butcher has made with appealing characters, and although I'm only four books into the series, I really like what he's done with them so far.

My dad has been raving about this series for a long time now, but I've just had too many other literary obligations to pick up a new series. Also, to be quite frank, most of the new authors I've picked up in the last five years or so have been less than stellar. They've either been wholesale rip-offs of the grandmasters of yore (and dime store copies at that), or so trite and predictable that I could see what was coming before I'd finished the first page. Butcher's work is neither. It's a pleasant cross between a sort of magic-meets-the-real-world fusion and mystery, a mix I find pleasing. I also like the ways in which he develops Harry Dresden, his main character, and the world of magic.

All in all, it's a nice diversion. I'm ripping through the series, and even though I'm pretty far behind, I'm hoping to get through the series during the holidays. I'll finish up book four today, and at the rate of about a book a day or two, I should be through what's been published before I go back to school. I desperately needed a break from Faulkner, Shakespeare, and dystopia. Thank God for Harry Dresden.

Christmas Shopping

Today was a day of finishing up the last bits of Christmas shopping. I spent the better part of the day going from one part of town to the other, but I noticed a difference this year: people weren't frothing at the mouth and trying to kill each other. It was nice. I don't know if this is because it's not yet Christmas Eve or if some miraculous transformation has swept over Podunk, but I really appreciated it. Checkers were personable, people were wishing each other Merry Christmas, shoppers held open doors for one another, people standing in line were courteous and waved each other ahead, and even drivers waiting to pull into moving traffic were allowing other cars out ahead of them. I kept feeling like I was in some sort of Christmas movie instead of the snarling mass of hateful humanity I had left the house expecting this morning, but I am genuinely and truly grateful for that surprise.

Christmas shopping shouldn't be something that turns people into Satan's little helpers, and if it does that to them, then I think they should probably just go home for a little while, or get everything online. To me, going shopping for Christmas gifts is a little stressful because I am always teaching right up until the last minute, but I actually enjoy trying to find things I think the special people in my life will like and use. Of course, there are a couple of them that I can NEVER find anything for, but that's what God made gift certificates for, after all.... I'm sure not everybody today was wearing angel wings, and I'm sure that had I stayed in town on into the late afternoon, or if I were to go back Monday, some of the politesse would have worn away, but for now, all I can say is it was awful nice to see some of the Christmas spirit alive and well even in the institutions of commerce.

More Interstate Angst

So today as I was driving home minding my own business, a guy in a big green Dodge pickup in front of me apparently had forgotten the first and most vital rule of hauling anything in the bed of a truck: tie it down. I was letting my parents know I was on the way home when I had to yell and throw down the cell to swerve.

A queen or king-sized box springs and at least part of the metal bed frame the green Dodge genius had used to try to hold it down with blew out of his back end, spiraled up into the air, crashed into the middle of the two lanes of the west-bound interstate, and caused all manner of swerving and problems. Fortunately, nobody was immediately behind him. I was one of the closest, and I was probably four car lengths behind, so I had plenty of time to evade the flying mattress parts, but it was a scary moment. I wasn't at all sure the thing wasn't going to stay airborne and crash through my windshield for a few minutes, and then when it finally touched down, it sort of went end-over-end, and I wasn't sure where everybody else was going to go.

The metal bits were like shrapnel, and I think one lady might have run over some of it. I couldn't tell what happened. I just swerved left into my part of the median and kept going. There was no place to stop, and it was a good place to get run over by the 60 mph traffic. I hope there were no big accidents after I made it through, but I'm going to be surprised if there weren't. After I cleared it, the box springs were laying in the other lane mostly obstructing it and the five o'clock rush hadn't quite gotten started. The guy in the truck took an off-ramp, so hopefully he was going back to clean up his mess. Maybe next time he puts something in the back of his truck, he'll also tie it down.

Highway Patrol

This afternoon on the way home, I watched the dynamics on the interstate with amusement. The powerful dark gray highway patrol cruiser slid into the flow of traffic just ahead of me, and instantly the 80-something mph traffic became 65-ish mph traffic. The trooper was just sort of gliding along in his own little world as they are prone to do, but behind him, the traffic began to stack up. Vehicles that usually blow me off the road raced past, saw the distinctive shape and color of the trooper's car, and hit their brakes.

It was like an ocean documentary. I felt like there should be a voice-over. "The great white shark cruises majestically, unconcerned with the small fish that dart around it. It waits for larger prey. All those around it, however, are acutely aware of its presence...." It was too funny.

Eventually, the highway patrolman got tired of hanging out with the regular speed limit folk, and he did what I'd love to do: hit the gas on that big engine and took off with no fear of anybody ticketing him. Once he was gone, all the little fish resumed their frantic forward motion. It was interesting to watch while it lasted, though.

Happiness Is....

After a long and particularly satisfying day of time spent doing things I enjoy, I present the following list. It is by no means exhaustive.

Happiness is....

1)waking up snug in a feather bed on a cold winter morning and listening to the wind howling out side...and knowing you don't have to get up unless you want to.

2) spending an afternoon reading in a comfortable chair replete with an quilt and one or more cats.

3) the smell and taste of oranges as you peel them with your hands, a delightful mess. They just don't taste as good daintily quartered by a knife.

4) the sound of snoring dogs on the couch.

5) knowing there are only three days left until Christmas vacation.

6) getting on the scale and watching the numbers continuing to get smaller and smaller every time I do.

7) wandering aimlessly in a bookstore without time constraints and then having a copy of the new Greg Iles novel waiting for an all-night-read-a-thon (thanks again for the tip, AC).

8) being told recently by some students that they felt like they were learning in my classes.

9) eating homemade pizza off my Santa Claus dishes.

10) driving up to my house and seeing it all aglow in Christmas lights.

There are more, but right now, these are the ones to list. God is good.

A General State of Weariness and Confusion

My head is confused, partially because of good old Topamax, partially because of end-of-semester stress, and partially because of a strange situation in which I suddenly find myself. The situation is one of those things I keep telling myself to simply put on the shelf and watch from a distance to see what develops, but I've never been very good at that kind of thing. No patience, you see....

I keep mentally grabbing it up again and again and toying with it in my head, turning it over and over until the corners are wearing off it, but nothing about the situation is really getting resolved. I find myself sitting at my desk when I should be grading papers, and I'm suddenly aware that the situation has thrust vine-like tentacles into every part of my consciousness and that I haven't really processed a word of the paper in front of me for the last paragraph. It's a huge effort of will to beat it back into a corner of my mind and make it stay there for any length of time. About the time I get my mental discipline together, the source of whole problem shakes everything up again by adding some little tidbit to the puzzle, and then off I go, trying to sort all the pieces out again. This may just drive me crazy before I figure it out or before it goes away on its own.

Mercifully, the holidays are a mere three days away, and then I can hide out here at home, see my far-flung friends, and generally recharge batteries that are running dangerously low. Perhaps with some rest and distance the puzzle will actually turn out to be like one of those little word finds from grade school instead of a translation exercise involving Latin, Sanskrit, and hieroglyphics.....

Too Darn Hot

Now I've got the Cole Porter song going around in circles in my head....

It really is. It's mid-December, and today I think we hit 80 degrees. This is insane! I finally gave up a few moments ago and switched the central unit back to a/c. I'm tired of being hot. The summer was bad enough; it's officially winter, and I want some cold winter.

Now, let's not take this as an invitation to the gods of arctic cold to stride in. I'm just tired of wondering if I should wear sandals and crops to work in December. Where's our Christmas-y weather?

The Quote that Sums Up My Life

If you haven't found something strange during the day, it hasn't been much of a day.
- John A. Wheeler

If this is true, then every day of my life is a banner day.....

Uneven

Only the mediocre are always at their best.
Jean Giraudoux

I'm trying to take comfort in this quote. Lately, I feel like I've been up and down. Today was a perfect example of insane ups and downs. Maybe all Mondays are uneven.

The day started with my eyes flying open at about 4:30 for no readily apparent reason. I guess I shouldn't have taken that long nap yesterday afternoon. I tried and tried to go back to sleep, but eventually, I just gave up and got up to start the day.

Once I got to school, I had some copies to run, but when a colleague of mine ran the first copy of the day, the machine lit up like a Christmas tree and jammed in every location. He and I looked at each other in something like shock and spent the next fifteen minutes buried inside the machine searching for the elusive (and in my opinion, imaginary) fragment of paper that the copier kept registering as hiding somewhere deep within the recesses.

I believe the copier was just lying in wait for the first soul unfortunate enough to lay a piece of paper on the glass plate. The overuse has made it into a sentient beast, and now, in our hour of greatest need, it lies, predatory and silent in the early morning hours purring to itself softly, contemplating what mischief it may cause for the one who approaches it first. Other days, I think it plays "eineey-meenie-mineey-moe" to pick its target. On the other hand, I might be tired and paranoid about the machinery....

The day continued to much the same mix of hectic situations broken by moments of frantic grading as I am trying to get everything completed for the end of term. By the time seventh period arrived, I was exhausted, but I felt as though I had accomplished a lot. Maybe with a few more days, some of the unevenness will level out.

Topamax Again

One of the worst things for me to adjust to with the Topamax has been the problem of what it does to me when I try to do "online" processing tasks like reading or sight-reading music. For some reason, if it's not a piece of literature or music that I'm familiar with, I don't seem to process as fast as I used to. There's a delay or lag that never used to be there.

It's much worse with music than with simple reading, perhaps because of the added step of converting the notes to a motion of the hand. Last Sunday night, during one of the hymns we were doing, the notes on the page simply stopped making sense. They were like a Rorschach test, and I literally couldn't recognize a single note on the page. I started shaking, and it only lasted a few measures, but it seemed like an eternity. I finally found a chord that I recognized and was able to get back into it, but I was shaky the rest of the service.

I stumble a lot more with my reading than I used to as well. I hate that because reading aloud is such a big part of my job, too. I just do the best I can with it and go on, but these two things together have really been profoundly difficult for me to deal with. My doctor tells me that they are just natural functions of my brain chemistry adjusting to the medicine, and that some of the symptoms should go away as time progresses.

In truth, some things have gotten better. Many of those early symptoms of weariness have gone away. I only forget words occasionally. The migraines are certainly better. This one big obstacle remains. I just hope it goes away, too. I can't stand the thought of having to stop playing. It's been a part of my life for 25 years now, and to lose that would be profound.

Doodling and Distracted

I have a lot on my mind lately, some good things, some bad, so tonight's special meeting of the class-that-never-ends didn't bode well for my concentration. Although I love the class and I adore the teacher, I loathe the piece of literature we're working on right now, Spencer's tiresome epic The Faerie Queene. I keep praying Redcrosse will just get his sorry act together or that Una will get a spine and a sword.

I spent most of the four-hour block of class doodling and writing instead of listening. I couldn't focus on Una's perilous quest. I certainly didn't care about it. I hope I can get my thoughts collected before tomorrow night's marathon and final six hour bout with it. If not, I guess I'll kill more trees.

Tranquility

I spent most of the evening walking through the woods on some property we have far, far back in the woods on dirt roads looking for a Christmas tree. My parents have decided to sell timber, so this year, we are all going to get timber from that land before the crews cut all the little trees with the big ones.

The light was lovely through the trees. We still have beautiful colors despite the fact that it's December. I walked through the twilight and the old, old roads in country so deep there was no people noise at all anywhere. It was perfectly peaceful.

After dark fell and we failed to find "the tree", we drove down to one of the lower pastures of the property to look at a project my parents have going there. The sun had faded, but that deep indigo blue remained. There is no light pollution from any source there, so it's a perfect place to go to watch the stars. I could have stood there for hours, even with the night coldness creeping in. I hope I'm going to have lots of time to spend there during Christmas.

Wonderful Weekend

This weekend has gone fast, but it's been wonderful. I have been planning it for a month, and it came together perfectly. Another person was able to take care of the bulletin at the church for me, so I had the weekend off from that, and I had all day yesterday to do two things in Jackson that only come around once a year.

The first part of it was the Chimneyville Crafts Festival. I look forward to this show every year. Just walking around and looking at the amazing talents and innovations of the craftspeople is a lift to my soul. I wish I had the time to try to develop the amazing skills they have. It's a sea of beauty. The textures of the silks, glass, wood, wool, silver, jewels, and my favorite, the pottery, beg to be touched, stroked, lifted, and admired. By the time I was halfway through the show, I felt glutted with beauty, and my tiny pittance of a paycheck was long gone.

Several of the items I bought this year were actually things I had seen last year and craved for a whole year because either I couldn't afford them last year or because somebody else beat me to the purchase last year. There is a lady who makes the most wonderful handknit felted wool hats, and last year I had looked at them, but I walked away without purchasing the one I had my heart set on to "think about it." Of course, when I came back, it was long gone. This year, I took no such chances, and I have the best black hat to show for it.

The second half of my wonderful Saturday was an evening of ballet with my best friend and her mom and aunt. We went to see The Nutcracker. It wasn't the most fabulous production I've ever seen. They did a couple of things that really annoy me, the chief of which is to tinker with the music to "modernize it", but just getting a break to go to see ballet with my friend made it all wonderful. The parts of the production with the professional dancers were great. It made me nostalgic for the performances in Indiana. I miss being able to see ballet and opera on a regular basis just for the joy of seeing and hearing beautiful things, so this weekend was a rare treat for me.

The weekend has wound up being a short one because of all the extra things crammed into yesterday, but I really wouldn't have had it any other way. It's been a long time since I took any sort of even mini-trip like this to refresh myself. While I was in Jackson, I saw at least two other things there I want to go do during the holidays. Maybe my friend will be able to have some more time during her family's holiday schedule where her husband can keep her kids another day, and we can go take another culture day together. Even if we don't get to do it again, I'm so glad that we did this weekend. It's made all the difference in the world.

Hit or Miss

If you're wondering where I've been, the simple answer is BUSY. Wednesday night I had my six-hour night class, and Thursday night I had my normal night class. I wrote the final for that class, and I still am not quite sure how I did.

There were four prompts total, and they were whoppers. I picked the two I was most comfortable with, and produced two hefty essays in the space of about an hour and fifteen minutes. The medicines kept making my thoughts go kablooey, so I'm hoping that everything was coherent. It's entirely a hit or miss situation. I produced eight full pages for the professor, so it was either a grand slam or a grand mess. I hope I'll know soon.

If I can finish up the last few projects for the other class, I'll be done for this semester. Then, I'll only have one more to go, and I'll be done, done, blessedly done with these night classes. As enjoyable as it's been to expand my mind and understanding, to be a student instead of a teacher again, having to do the coursework on top of teaching responsibilities has been tough. I'm kind of looking forward to being able to come home in the evening with nothing more taxing ahead of me than reruns and laundry.

More on the Migraine Front

I went to see my neurologist today, and this just keeps getting stranger and stranger. What I thought was a side effect of the medicine, moments of extreme disconnectedness, are actually a part of my type of migraine. They are migraines without pain.

I've never heard of that. I didn't know that was even possible. I thought a migraine, by definition, included the pain part, but apparently they encompass a whole range of other factors, too, including the "depersonalization" I experience, that feeling of being suddenly separated from what's going on. He's calling it, at least on the paperwork, a "migraine equivalent." I guess I always have to be different....

The doctor said that having the pain part gone with the Topamax is a good step, and that most people continue to improve gradually for up to six months of taking it. I've only been on it about a month so far, and things have gotten a lot better. I only get the headaches or "moments" now when I'm very stressed, and they're not nearly as painful as they used to be. The other medicine he gave me helps me to alleviate most of the pain that remains if I can take it fast enough, too, so maybe I'm finally headed for a solution, no pun intended.

I'm stepping up my medicine for the last time (hopefully) starting tonight, but he said that the side effects shouldn't be as strong this last time. I'm hoping that this will be the last week of being so far off my game and that normalcy, such as it ever is for me, can return. I'm tired of feeling like a debilitated person.

They did take about 12 vials of blood for labwork today after I left his office. He wanted to check various things to make sure that the Topamax isn't causing adverse chemistry changes in my body and that it will be safe for me to resume some other medications that I was taking for another doctor. I gave the phlebotomists a story to tell over lunch.

I hate needles with a passion, and to have to sit there with a needle in long enough to let them fill twelve vials was an effort of great will for me. I got a firm grip on the table in front of me, refused to look behind me where my arm was stretched across another table having the blood taken, and just took deep breaths until it was done. I think they were scared I was going to fall out, but I've done this a lot in my lifetime of various bizarre medical crap, so I know by now how to "be a big girl" and give blood without running away and hiding under or behind various pieces of medical equipment, which is what I'd truly like to be doing instead.

Once the results of the blood work come back, the last big piece of the puzzle should be in place, at least for now. I just keep thinking that everything is going to hit equilibrium at some point. I'm tired of riding the pendulum swing back and forth. I need a little peace and stability.

Rainy Evening

I've written about it before, but the sound of rain on a metal roof is truly one of the most soothing sounds in the world. It's been so dry here, and we've needed the rain to clean and refresh everything, but there's the simple spiritual soothing of being warm, dry, and flannel-pj-clad on a cold and rainy night in late autumn.

Nights like this throw my mind back to nights in Japan when I'd have to ride my bike home in rain. I had a rain suit that kept the worst of the wet out, and I managed to varying degrees of success the art of riding a bike while holding an umbrella, but really nothing helps when you have to ride a bike in the rain. The cold damp drops creep into the bones, the cars full of warm dry people race past, and by the time you can get home, it feels like you'll never be warm or dry again. I would go up the three flights of stairs to my little apaato, turn my tiny heating unit up, and stay in the shower and the deep Japanese bath until I felt myself start to feel less like a block of ice and more like a human being again. Sometimes, I can still feel that chill, like the last bits of snow that stay in deep shade and don't melt.

Having lived through nights like that help me appreciate these other nights, these nights of central heating and easy dryness. When I stepped out of the church tonight, I had only steps to go from sanctuary door to the door of a four-wheeled sanctuary from the rain, and as I watched the leaves drifting down from almost-bare branches in the light of my high beams, I was grateful not to be on that silver five-speed bike trying to get home on a dark November night.

New Fridge

Today about 11:00, two delivery men, after disentangling their truck from the cedar tree next to my house, brought a lovely stainless steel, French-door, freezer-on-the-bottom refrigerator to my house and set it up. This replaced a refrigerator that had been in the house since I was a child. I'm guessing the old one is more than twenty years old. It's been a part of this house for as long as I can remember. There have always been a jug of sweet tea and a block of cheddar cheese in it along with whatever other common daily foods and holiday delicacies have passed through it.

I felt ridiculously sentimental to see the old thing loaded up and rolled out. Even though its time had definitely passed and it had started to leak cold water on my floor on a regular basis, somehow it felt like a member of the family leaving. If it hadn't come down to the point of my worrying about coming home to a dead refrigerator, I probably wouldn't have changed it out, but there are some things that it's better to be proactive with.

The new one looks great, and for the first time, I don't have to bend over to see what's in the fridge. I can simply open the door and look. Being so tall, I was always having to just about crawl into the old one, especially when it came to the crisper drawers. This new one has clear drawers and shelves which I think will be good for helping me remember that I have things like apples and carrots before they get nasty.

I find myself just walking through the kitchen and looking at it or just going by and opening one of the doors. I'm sure this fascination will pass, but it's nice to have something new and reliable. I guess every twenty-five years or so, every appliance is entitled to retirement.

Top Five Wishes for the Holidays

As I'm thumbing through magazines and facing the monumental task of trying to figure out what the heck to get my family and friends for Christmas, I was sort of facetiously making a list of what I want for the holidays for myself. If anybody is looking for a gift for old Cygnus this year, here are my top five:

1) Plane Tickets -- To where you ask? Any-freakin'-where-not-here, and that includes central Alabama, eastern Minnesota, Northern Alaska, and other non-touristy destinations. Actually, if the fairy godmother was coming around with the magic wand, I think I'd like tickets to either England or Japan. Right. I'm sure she'll get right on that.

2) A Dodge Charger -- loaded, dark blue, a minimum of chrome, with the BIG Hemi, please. Go ahead and stuff the glove box full of cash for the inevitable speeding tickets, too, probably.

3) Diamond studs -- No chips for me. I want at least a half carat per ear. If I can't get a ring on the finger, I'll wear those diamonds in my ears.

4 and 5) I'm willing to use up two positions on the wishlist for this one last impossible dream: The mythical tall, smart, funny, faithful, Christian guy who reads, speaks at least one other language, likes to travel, and is possibly even from another country altogether. If Santa can swing this one, he can keep all the other stuff on my wish list.

Emergency Room

There's something about going to the hospital that suspends reality. Time stops. No matter whether one is inside for a few minutes or a few days, that same feeling of dazed disorientation has to be overcome.

Mom called me yesterday about 8:00 to say that she was feeling nauseous and had been hurting off and on the night before with what the doctor had told her was probably a kidney stone. She felt like she needed to go on to the emergency room to get checked out, so I went and got her. We spent the next six hours in one of Podunk's big medical facilities waiting on results.

They did x-rays, scans, EKGs, and ran all manner of tests only to tell her that they thought it was some sort of deep muscle pull caused by her doing too much heavy labor in the yard, something that of course, she's right back out there doing today. Her nausea abated, and by the time we stumbled out into the parking lot again, things were fine. Sitting in that tiny exam room was surreal, though.

Mom and I did have a chance to sit and talk for awhile. It seems like it takes some sort of crisis for us to do that these days, which is not a good thing. After everything was over, we had lunch in the hospital cafeteria, and I took her home. I got back home by about 3, but it seemed like I'd been gone for days. We always have some weird stuff during Thanksgiving. I hope this is it for this year.

Top Gear

I have become hooked on Top Gear. If you've never seen it, it's on BBC America, and although it's primarily a car show, it's also hilarious. They do some huge project each week involving a bad idea and motor vehicles. The two episodes tonight had a convertible minivan that wound up catching fire when they took it through a car wash and homemade limousines. I've also seen episodes where they did amphibious vehicles and a tractor competition. It's a riot. Their projects almost never work, and the results are almost always guaranteed to be disasters. I also love the speed tests. They have some of the world's fastest cars being tested. I'd love even to stand near some of those cars just for the adrenaline rush. Just looking at them on the screen makes my little muscle car loving soul drool. Basically, if you like cars and humor, check out Top Gear. You won't be unamused.

Casablanca

TCM really did me in tonight. They had The Philadelphia Story on and then followed it up with Casablanca, so it's after midnight, and I'm still watching. Both movies are favorites of mine, but has there ever really been anything that compares to Casablanca?

I'll never forget the first time I saw it. IU had a free film series called City Lights that showed classic movies on the big screen, and my friends and I used to go see them. I got to see several wonderful old films that way, and Casablanca was one of them. I wish Podunk would revive its wonderful old movie palace downtown and show some of these great films there. Seeing Casablanca on that big screen, as is the case with any film, really made a difference.

There have been too many wise words written about it for me to add anything worth saying except my admiration. Every time I see it, the film just gets better and better. It's like a gem held in a strong light; facets sparkle and come to attention as it turns.

One of my favorite moments in the film comes when the German troops are singing some anthem loudly in Rick's while all the other patrons are very silent and sad. Then suddenly, Lazlo hurries down the stairs, strikes up Rick's band into the French national anthem, and and the entire cafe rises and sings. As the camera pans across the faces, tears are in their eyes, even the eyes of the cafe girl Yvette who has been dating a German officer. Eventually the Nazis are completely drowned out, and they stop singing altogether. It's a powerful moment.

Uh-oh....TCM just announced the next film: North by Northwest. I need sleep, but it's Cary Grant and Hitchcock......

Beowulf's Backside

I had a chance to see Hollywood's new attempt at interpreting Beowulf yesterday, and my feelings are a little mixed. There were, as I expected, several glaring inaccuracies, omissions, conflations, and a heaping helping of juvenile sexual references and crudities. I didn't really expect them to stay true to the storyline.

Hollywood can't seem to do that anymore, no matter what the story at hand. Every director has to put his fingers in the pudding, for some reason. Never mind the fact that the piece of literature in question here has been doing fine on its on merit for more than a thousand years. I'm sure some twenty-first century visionary best knows how to jazz it up. I always wonder at the pure hubris of the motion picture folk sometimes when it seems as though the most popular and lasting interpretations of most literature-to-film productions are the ones that stay closest to the originals. Take the Lord of the Rings series, for example.

Anyway, descending the soapbox and coming back to the matter at hand, it was an entertaining little bit of fluff. I enjoyed it. I don't think I can use much of it in class because there was too much flesh for the classroom, including lots of Beowulf's derriere in the fight scene with Grendel and, of course, the much-advertised naked-golden-Angelina-Jolie monster.

The creators of this particular screen play, one of whom was Neil Gaiman, an author I love, also decided to explore themes I didn't particularly find present in the original epic. While it bothered me a little at first, after thinking about it more, I find myself increasingly liking the direction they took the story. It's less about invincible heroes and more about peeling back the curtain to look behind the legends. It's not my beloved epic poem, but I think it's okay in its own right. Maybe for our time of flawed figures, it's more important for us to peel away that curtain to look than to look at the cloth of gold time has drawn across.

A Good Man Gone

Today during 7th period, I got a message from my mother that one of my former teachers had passed away. Since my mother was a teacher, too, I grew up in the halls of a high school. Her colleagues were a part of my childhood memories and the halls of that school were my playground. I remember this man not just as a teacher but also as a part of that childhood, always present in his room across the building from my mother's. Even once I had graduated, whenever I would go back to visit or to see Mom on my way home from college, he was always one of the people I'd go by and visit with.

I just sat at my desk and cried. It's hard for me to believe he's gone. It seems like I just saw him yesterday, like I just talked with him in the halls of that other school a moment ago, and today I was told that he's gone for good. He was about Mom's age; they started teaching at about the same time and taught for about the same length of time, so he wasn't an elderly man, but cancer is no respecter of age, as we all know.

He had retired from the school where I had known him for so long, but he had gone back to work again, as it seems so many retired teachers do, and the last I'd heard of him, he was happy with it. He was one of those life-long teachers who I think of as being "called" to the field because of his great passion for sharing the knowledge that he loved with his students. Today the world is just that much darker for that much passion and concern being gone from it. He will be missed by those who know what it is to have been his students. He was a good teacher and a good man.

A Quote

Just found this and am putting somewhere where I won't lose it...

"Develop an interest in life as you see it; the people, things, literature, music -- the world is so rich, simply throbbing with rich treasures, beautiful souls and interesting people. Forget yourself." -- Henry James

Mothership

I ordered this about a month ago after seeing that it was coming out while I was cruising around iTunes one day. It came yesterday, and this morning, I drove to school listening to "Heartbreaker". Ahhhh.....

I love all kinds of music, really. I listen to just about everything except rap, but sometimes, there's nothing that will do except Led Zeppelin. I haven't had it in my CD collection for a long time, though. I haven't wanted to just buy one CD because I like so many songs, and funds haven't been sufficient in the old budget to spring for the box set. When I saw that Mothership was coming out, I was thrilled.

I know many music aficionados sneer at the "greatest hits" collection, and in truth, there are some bands whose every disc I own, but for the most part, I just like to have a collection of great songs by an artist that I can rip to my iPod or throw in the CD player. If I have every track from an artist, that's usually because I've been getting every album as it came out. It's true that there are a couple of songs that I do wish were present in this collection that are not, but that's what iTunes is for, after all....

I've made myself a nifty little playlist that's made up of three hours of the Stones and Led Zeppelin, and tomorrow afternoon once all my little darlings have headed back to their respective domiciles, I'm going to crank it so loud it shakes the mortar from the bricks, clean up my room, water my plants, unplug my electronics, and peel out of the parking lot to the blissful freedom of Thanksgiving holidays.

Utopia

I'm currently reading Thomas More's Utopia for a course I'm taking, and I'm wondering why I never took the time to read it before. So many of the ideas in this small book appear elsewhere, especially in their dark forms in dystopian literature. It's amazing how very closely the dark universes of 1984 and Brave New World take the ideas in Utopia to their ultimate conclusion if the base precept is that mankind does not really have his fellow man's best interest in mind.

It's curious how many systems have tried to incorporate portions of Utopia. I can definitely see shades of Communism in it, as I can also see ideas that politicians are still suggesting about the best way to run education, government, and trade. My favorite quote so far has been one related to politics, and paraphrasing without the book in hand, it says something to the effect of, "they never allow anyone to obtain an office who campaigns for it." As we stand in the aftermath of state elections and on the precipice of national ones, I rather like that idea....

I'm Sure It Seemed Like A Good Idea At The Time...

Today, the delightful weather called me out of the house, so I decided to go to town to pick up some things to take care of some repairs around the house. I ventured in to our new Bed, Bath, and Beyond and spent WAY too much money along with what must have been most of the rest of Podunk, and then I went on to Lowe's to get some fluorescent tubes for a fixture in my laundry room and some other things.

While I was in Lowe's, I noticed Christmas has erupted full-force. I toured the aisles even though I feel a bit queasy doing it before Thanksgiving because it's become a sad fact that if you wait until after Thanksgiving, some things get hard to find. Go figure. I figure someday we'll have to start getting things for Christmas January 1st.

I looked up at the displays on top of the shelves, and I saw the inflatables. There were reindeer, Santas, and something I'm not quite sure I've ever seen before, an inflatable nativity scene. This is the one that gave me pause. I'm not a big fan of the inflatables anyway. I figure Roux would have a grand time shredding them into colorful ribbons all across the yard. The figures in this one, though, had frighteningly little chubby faces and a big fan blowing air into them all the time.

I guess it's great that the religious aspect of Christmas is "catching up" to the Santa aspect in popular decor, but I'm not sure that plug-in, synthetic fabric, light-up baby Jesus and wise men is really the answer to putting the right focus back in Christmas. I guess maybe anything that turns hearts and eyes back to the birth of hope and love has some redeeming qualities, even if it requires electricity.

Broken Pottery

As I was driving in to school the other morning, I was listening to the radio, and one of my favorite songs came on, Casting Crowns' "East to West". There's a line in it that says, "Jesus can you show me just how far the east is from the west / ‘Cause I can’t bear to see the man I’ve been / Rising up in me again".

That song is powerful on many levels, but on that particular day my mind had been drifting to pottery, partly because we're coming up on the season of crafts fairs and pottery is my number one purchase at those. Probably another reason pottery had come to my mind is that the song just before ended with a few bars of an old hymn, the sound of which made me think of "Have Thine Own Way, Lord", one of my favorites.

We all have dark secrets that we hide. We all have internal flaws. The combination of those two songs and the image of pottery along with my recent teaching of Hawthorne drew my mind to the pottery festivals of Japan. Before a potter would sell a teacup, he or she would gently thump the cup or bowl to make sure it rang true. A whole, unflawed cup or bowl would chime softly. If there was some hidden imperfection, instead of a musical sound, a dull chink was heard instead. The flaw killed the musical purity of it. A potter who was proud of his or her craft would refuse to sell the flawed piece, and it would wind up as a reject headed for a pile of shards somewhere.

I always felt so sorry for those flawed cups and bowls. In truth, there were times when I wanted to go from stall to stall and buy them to give them a home. You see, I identified with them. I have always figured that if God were to give me the "thump" test, there's no way I'd ring pure and true. I wish I could say that I'd chime with a note that would bring joy to his heart, but I think it's far more truthful to say that I belong on the pile of shards. I'm just grateful that God is the master potter who can recreate flawed pieces and find a use for me despite these flaws, maybe even because of them.

Black Veil

Today I taught Hawthorne's "The Minister's Black Veil" and I decided to wear Father Hooper's veil in class. Even with Halloween being around, finding a long black veil wasn't possible, so I had to improvise. I used a sheer curtain panel and draped it artistically. I think I looked a little like a pleurant.

It was fun. Since I have that class first period, I put it on before the first period bell and stood hall duty in it before class began. I wish I'd had a camera in the hall taping the reaction of the students who weren't coming in my classroom. It was hilarious. Of course, all my students know me well enough by now that they were completely unphased. I am, after all, "that weird teacher" and in my classroom, I suppose, all things are possible. I like to think that I'm giving them things to talk about when they have their high school reunion.

Hawthorne is a favorite of mine, but The Minister's Black Veil is a true favorite. The physical expression of the internal reality that everyone has something to hide is as real today as it was then. It goes back to that quote by Issa that I love so much about walking on the roof of hell picking flowers. Today I thought about my own "black veil" that hides all the things I don't want the world to see, not necessarily hidden sins, but hidden secrets, things from the past. I wish I could lay it aside as easily as I slid my makeshift black veil off at the end of the period today and all those memories with it. Unfortunately, as Father Hooper understood, some things aren't quite so easily hidden, forgotten, or put aside as that.

Have It Your Way

Does anybody remember the old Burger King jingle about having it all "your way"? That was back in the day before the big shiny plastic-headed scary man showed up. I think, though, it was the start of something....

Today, I was forced from my warm cocoon on the couch with the latest Greg Iles paperback and a snoring 65-pound pit bull to go out and forage for cat food and supplies to make it to pay day. After counting pennies and finally just using the stinking credit card (hey, who's NOT in debt these days, right?), I was backing out of the Wal-Mart parking lot when a song I didn't like came on the radio. I automatically switched stations. No joy. The next station I picked was also playing something that wasn't one of my instant all-time favorites.

I found myself a little irritated. Now, granted, the Topamax seems to be making irritation a lot more frequent that it should be for me, but to get irritated over the radio? And then it hit me. I'm used to my lovely little iPod, and a world full of music programming tailored just for me.

As I drove home, radio firmly off, I starting thinking about how many things we customize to our individual wants and desires now. Of course fashion is an expression of taste and all the many shades of it, including hair and accessories, but we can now order our cars customized straight from the factory. We can get laptop computers in a rainbow of colors. There are "skins" to cover graphing calculators (I saw this on a late night voyage to Office Max) to keep them from being mundane tools. We have cases for cellphones and iPod which we can then load with graphics, videos, and music of our own choosing. We can instantly "demand" practically any movie ever made from Internet providers. For the most part, any food we have the slightest craving for (except umeboshi, of course) can be had with a little effort.

Is this good? I am the first to jump on the customize it bandwagon. I own very few things that I have not in some way "tweaked" to mark as my own. I think it's important to be able to express individuality and creativity. I'm just wondering if maybe, just maybe, we're not getting just a wee bit....dare I say it?...spoiled? If we are, is that a bad thing?

MRI

Yesterday was my MRI. I came home when 7th period started, and I took my Xanax about 30 minutes before the test started.

I really can't tell you much about it after that. Xanax is some serious stuff. I remember riding in to the hospital. I remember being fascinated by bright colors and saying some really stupid things. I remember being rolled up into the machine and having a plastic grille put over my face, but I didn't feel any fear at all.

The machine wasn't at all like I remembered. It wasn't a huge confining metal tube this time. Whoever redesigned it had a brain apparently. It was still a tight space, but just knowing that only my head was inside it made it better. Of course part of that may have been the fact that I was flying somewhere out in space on the Xanax, too, and wouldn't really have cared if they'd set me on fire. I barely even flinched when they put the dye IV in, and my fear of needles is the stuff of legend.

I'm glad it's over. If I can just somehow adjust to the Topamax (I stepped up the dose last night, per orders), then I might finally be able to get on top of this thing instead of being ground to a fine powder beneath it.

Stupamax

Today I had to play the organ for our church's Homecoming Sunday since our regular organist had guard drill this weekend. That would have been enough stress, but when I arrived to practice, the sanctuary was full of people so I couldn't practice, and my music director forgot to tell me about one of the choir specials I needed to be able to play. I immediately felt those twinges that in the past have meant a migraine is about to descend from above like the hammer of the gods.

No headache came. Instead, I suddenly had a Topamax moment instead. The lights had pretty little halos surrounding them that shimmered. The notes on the page, when my mind was actually conscious of scanning them, were meaningless spots of printer's ink. My hands, thank God, moved independently of my stricken brain, and as far as I know, everything went well. Everyone seemed to like the offertory, the only portion of the service other than prelude and postlude where I perform alone, so God got me through another one.

After the service, my aunt, our pianist, came over to talk to me, and she found out that I was taking Topamax. She also takes it, and she gave me the most appropriate name for it that I've yet heard: Stupamax. It makes me feel stupefied and act stupidly, so I think that's my new favorite name.

I have a theory about the drug that I'm going to fly by my doctor next time I see him. It seems like anytime I would normally be having a migraine, I get the "stupids" instead. I don't know if that's just a coincidence, or if that's the way this is going to work. Maybe it's just revealing the stupid that was hiding behind the thin veneer...who knows?

Because I'm such a technophile, I tend to make analogies equating my brain to a computer quite frequently. When the Topamax kicks in, it feels like my brain has "too many windows open" or something. Today, the image of a little pop-up warning me that my virtual memory was running too low kept threatening to make me giggle in the middle of the sermon while I was staring at the sparkly chandeliers in the sanctuary.

I'm trying to have a sense of humor about this, but sometimes, especially days like today when mental acuity was needed, it's really not all that funny. Although, I guess if you were watching me weave back and forth on the organ bench, it might have been quite a laugh.

Living with Topamax Part I

I say part one because I foresee this being a running series....

When the alarm went off this morning, I almost could not even drag myself out of bed. My body refused. It simply refused. I managed to crawl across the bed to the phone and called Mom to check that she was up and let her know that I was, our morning ritual, but as soon as I hung up the phone, my eyelids slammed shut again.

I finally made it in to the shower, but the overwhelming sense of exhaustion remained even after the hot water started to flow. Toweling off, I was tired. Brushing my teeth, I was tired. Getting dressed, I was tired. Driving to work, I was probably a danger to myself and others as I fought to stay awake.

There's no reason other than the Topamax for this. I was up til 11 last night, but that can't explain the way I felt. That also can't explain what came later.

Around 10:00, my brain just quit for the day. It packed up its workbag, flipped off the light switch, and went home for a long weekend. Unfortunately, I had to flail around and try to cope with teaching without it. My students were kind, but I hate having to even ask them to be kind because I am weak. Let me tell you now, there's nothing quite as disquieting as having your mental facilities cut in half and knowing it. I felt like everything I was trying to do was being done underwater in a strong current. Words and names for things went missing, a symptom I have whenever I have a really bad headache.

My doctor warned me that I might have the tiredness and some of the same types of processing issues that the migraines themselves bring as my brain chemically adjusts to the Topamax, but my LORD, I am only taking the lowest dose right now. If it's going to get worse in a few days when I step it up to the next dosage, somebody is going to have to nursemaid me to keep me from walking into traffic and forgetting where I live. I hope I adjust soon...

The Beauty of Books

I just got back from my night class, and I am struck afresh by how much I love reading and literature. We're doing Absalom, Absalom! by Faulkner, and there is almost everything in the world in that novel. It's a wonderful work.

We spent the evening looking at specific passages from the novel and doing close analysis of them. While I know that probably sounds like one of Dante's Inferno levels for many people, for me, it was great. Too often, I'm the one doing all the "heavy lifting" for a work, so when I get to sit with people who enjoy the reading as much as I, it's a special sort of refueling.

Books make that communion possible. The amazing thing about them is that they make that communion possible between any two people from any backgrounds anywhere in the world as long as both of them have read the same work. I've talked with students from all over the world about the ideas in To Kill a Mockingbird, and even though that novel is set in the Deep South of the past, even modern Japanese college students can feel the power and talk about the connections they feel.

This aspect, more than the fantastic escapism, more than the portals to new knowledge, this power to unite, even briefly, even casually, is the best part of books. Through our reading of them, we can learn not just about ourselves, but we can bridge the gaps that are all too large and common in our modern world with simple conversations. How wonderful!

Migraines

I went to see a neurologist today about my headaches. It seems that in addition to all the other bum genes I inherited, a "migraine gene" seems to be one of them. My grandmother had them, but they mostly skipped Mom. Isn't it wonderful to be the generation to which the random gene skips?

The doctor was very nice. I wasn't sure what to expect, but he was actually a double major with English in his undergrad. That's so very rare. He had two really interesting things to share about links between literature and neurological conditions that I had never heard before, so of course I had a good time. Anytime I can learn something new, I'm pretty much happy. Maybe that's a coping mechanism, but through the years and through the medical experiences, a decision to just look at it all as a source of education has helped.

He gave me a prescription for a migraine prevention med to take daily, and I'm to have an MRI Tuesday. Just the thought of being rolled into that tube distresses me. I'm very claustrophobic. He's given me some Xanax, something I haven't ever had before, so I imagine that I won't care what they do to me. The last time I had one, I was only in up to my chest so they could get images of my knee. I remember it sounding like about a million of those windup monkeys playing tin drums. Maybe if I can just keep that image in mind, it won't be so bad.

Well, tomorrow is Parent Teacher Conference Day, and I'm sure that's going to be a barrel of laughs, so I am headed off to bed.

Homecoming Week

This is our school's Homecoming Week. That means that all normalcy goes right out the window and insanity prevails. Today was Halloween Day in the week of dress-up days. We had costumes both tacky and creative all over the place. I had a mime, Raggedy Ann, a Ninja Turtle, Mario, and Death all in first period.

Tomorrow is "Wacky-Tacky" Day, which, for the past two years at least, the students have largely interpreted to mean they need to come to school looking like something dragged in for questioning from the Vegas Strip. They couldn't understand why the administration wasn't in favor of calling it, even unofficially, "Pimp and Ho" day. No, I'm really not kidding. They honestly couldn't see anything wrong with the idea of being called a pimp or "ho" even in jest.

I fail to see what any of this has to do with the idea of Homecoming. Mostly, it's just a pre-Halloween week of costumes. The only day that has anything to do with the actual idea of our school is the final day, a dress up day for our school colors.

Why can't there be some events designed to focus on the tradition and history of the school, or even some sort of welcome given to the classes of yesteryear who return? Instead, like so many other things that started out meaningfully, it's turned into a meaningless week-long debauch.

I try to tell myself not to be such a grump about it, but I really wish there was more focus on school pride and less simple rebellion against the dress code. There ought to be something to make us all proud to be from Podunk. Then Homecoming might be something worth remembering.

Taking It All Back Again

Two weeks ago, I went to see my doctor because I had my usual sinus crap, and his nurse took my blood pressure. Without posting the gruesome numbers here, let's just say it was running high. Not quite "Oh my God, you're about to explode" high, but close. This isn't the first time it's spiked high. I had problems with it in grad school based on diet and stress. I cut back my salt and exercised and it responded beautifully. It also spikes high when I am fighting one of these colds from hell, so I wasn't really worried.

Last week, I went back, and it was still high. Usually, it goes down after a round of antibiotics. Equilibrium is restored, and my body goes back to business as usual. Not this time, though. The life I am living has finally taken its toll. The words hypertension and medicine were mentioned. I wanted to bury my face in my hands and cry. Is there never a break?

I met with a dietitian Wednesday. She was a very bouncy older lady who wears and understands the value of wearing Birkenstocks, so once I got over my initial wariness and she stopped talking to me like I was a person of subnormal intelligence (something I find almost all health care providers do, at least initially), we got along fine. I have to cut my caffeine back to one soda a day (ONLY ONE DIET MOUNTAIN DEW!!!!!), I'm to cut my salt radically, and I am to lose weight.

Normally, this would have put me into a spiral, but to tell the truth, all these things are just symptoms of something much larger. I have done the very thing that the AP trainers warned me not to do. I remember the very first trainer I ever worked with telling me that nothing burns a teacher out faster than AP, that we as new teachers needed to make sure that we gave as much time to having a life outside the classroom as we did crafting and sculpting our lesson plans. I haven't done that.

What I have done is stay too late, sleep too little, eat very poorly and with no attention to the food, sit behind my desk until it gets dark, drive home, and fall down knowing that the next day is going to be a photocopy of the one just finished. I know this sounds negative, but I really don't mean it that way. I love what I do. I couldn't go do it if I didn't. It's just that I've been burning my fragile little birthday candle at both ends with a blowtorch, and the reserves that I once had have melted into vapor and smoke.

I don't take care of myself physically. I don't read for fun. I don't watch movies to relax. I don't see my friends or email the ones who live too far away. I don't have people over for dinner. I haven't produced any new poetry in over a year. I have been so busy submerging myself in trying to be the best teacher I can be that I've almost lost all the other aspects of who I am. This bout with my blood pressure has been sort of a wakeup call for me.

I need to reconnect to the things that are important. I need to take the time to do things that don't have anything to do with my teacher self. I need to try to repair the damage I've done to my relationships with my friends by my inattentiveness and all-consuming absorption. I need to heal the imbalance in my physical self before the problems I'm having become lasting and potentially debilitating ones.

Therefore, from this point forward, I'm taking it all back again. I need to turn around and find my way out of the place I'm in now before all hope of navigating a new path is gone. I don't know if I can change these things now, but I intend to try. Maybe the effort itself will be something that changes me for the better.

The New Shelfari Widget

As you can see, I've added the newest edition of the Shelfari widget to my site. Ain't it cool? (Yeah, I know it's not grammatical. So what? I'm off duty.) I love the new design. I like that it shows a rotating assortment of books and that I can pick what shelves I want it to pull from. The graphics are pleasing, too. To me, it's just another nice update from a service that's getting better all the time. Thanks, Shelfari.

Recently....

I haven't written much lately, but hopefully I'll be able to return to a more regular blogging schedule. There's been too much going on lately, and the sinus infection turned into bronchitis, so I've been coming home and sleeping a lot lately.

I've also been fighting a virus on my computer. I am more or less losing that battle. I need Technology to come and take care of it for me. My meager techno skills are insufficient to get this thing off my machine. I have done it damage, but I know it's still lurking waiting to strike again.

On that topic, why the (insert an appropriate word)do people sit around and make these things? What kind of sick freak does that? What's the point? I could sort of understand, if not condone, spyware. At least I can understand the point of it. The little wastes-of-space who send malware out just to mess with people ought to be ground slowly to powder between two large stones, starting with the toes. I can just see them, closeted in their rooms, pushing up their glasses, heavy metal posters coating the walls, giggling in their little cracking, pre-pubescent voices.

What I want is a program that can trace these things to the source and annihilate an offender's computer in a spectacular fireball of doom. I want a message to appear on the screen about 5 seconds before that that says, "This is because you're a stupid little (again, insert a word of your choosing) who deserves to have your backside kicked up around your ears. Go get a life." That would be worth engineering. Technobuddies of mine, especially L, don't you want to make me one of those?

Actually, I know that's not possible, but just the thought of the look of awe and horror on the face of whatever little (word, word, word) caused me to have to fight my computer to accomplish basic tasks the last three days makes me very happy.

More CI

The one good thing, if there were any good things, about being sick this weekend was that I watched almost all of the 6th season of Law and Order CI while I was incapacitated on the couch. That show just keeps getting better and better. I am really looking forward to the coming season and the fact that the season will be on USA so I can see it.

My favorite episode was one of the last ones I saw. Goren's father may or may not be a serial killer. That would explain a lot, wouldn't it? I love the way the characters keep getting deeper and more complex.

Well, I have things I'm supposed to be doing, and soon it will be bedtime. I have done okay today, all things considered, but I'm pretty wiped out. I probably needed one more day in the bed.

Sick

If you're wondering where I am and why I haven't written lately, suffice it to say that I have the sinus infection from hell. Mostly, I'm just sleeping. In the meantime, it appears most people are looking for Elvis Pez, Dr. Who YouTube, Beowulf Boasts, or the Sutton Hoo helmet and sword anyway based upon my hit counter's information....