It's time again for our annual poetry competition, and I'm trying to get my entries ready for this year. I think I'm going to take T.'s advice and enter one of my essays from here as well, but I'm having a hard time trying to decide what to do about the poems. I have a couple that I've been polishing although I haven't produced anything new in awhile.
There is one that I feel may be better than anything I've done in a very long time, and I really want to try it in a bigger pool than our local competition, but I don't know how to do that. I wish I had a mentor or an editor that I could ask for advice on this. I think back to my teacher at college, a published and publishing poet, and I long for his guidance.
The first experiences I had in his class were a little traumatic, to be sure. He would mercilessly remove everything that was not good from a poem and help to reshape it. It was like passing metals through a refining fire to remove the dross. After the first shock of not hearing, "Oh, that's so goooood," anymore, though, I came to crave that kind of red pen slashing. If it isn't good, I don't want it in my work. He never tried to make me sound like anyone but myself; he just wanted me to grow into the best version of myself possible. I wish I were in a place now where I could take my stuff back to him again.
I also hope, as I think about it, that I am giving that sort of feedback to my own students. I try to keep his model in mind when I grade. My students, especially my upper-level students, are already so good at writing that they don't need head-patting any more than I did. They need someone to help cut away all that is not gold, to put facets on those rough diamonds. I hope that they can go away from the experience with some new idea about how to be the best writer they can be.
Maybe I will be able to find someone else who can help me. In the meantime, I will make some decisions and try to figure it out on my own.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Saturday, February 14, 2009
A Brush with the Past
Yesterday as a part of the Welty Conference, we went to the Medgar Evers house museum, maintained by Tougaloo College. Even though we were there less than an hour, I cannot get the place out of my mind. The image of the little house in its small lot persists with a tenacity that will not let go.
To get there, one turns off a four-lane strip of badly-kept highway labeled with black and silver signs that proclaim that particular stretch of road to be Medgar Evers Boulevard. It's down an unassuming side street in a neighborhood of modest, fading ranch homes. The lot seems too small to hold so much history or sadness, and even now, so many years later, there is an emptiness to this place that cannot be explained by the fact the mere absence of constant habitation.
The house itself has been restored to its original cheerful 60's aqua paint, something that clashes sharply with the huge historical society dominating the space between the living room and bedroom windows. The black and bronze surface reminds even the most casual eye that this is a place where history turned, where blood was shed, and where a life was taken in hatred.
Our guide for the tour, the archivist at Tougaloo, took us through those last troubled days of Evers' life as we stood crowded together in what had been his living room. Our feet shuffled across the wooden floors he'd been so proud to provide for his family; light filtered weakly through the windows set just a little higher than normal in the safehaven he'd tried to make. We heard the story of how he'd come home from a war to fight others here, a war to make a home for his family in this middle-class black subdivision nestled among the white ones, a war to bring an end to the artificial divisions in his home state based on the color of skin, a war to be accepted when even those he was trying to help saw him as a threat to safety and security.
When the archivist related to us Mrs. Evers' remembrances of the night her husband was assassinated, standing there inside that small room with the 1960's furniture and the piano in the corner, a feeling I cannot describe came over me. The story, so well-known, of the shot from the dark, the bullet that ended a man's life, came into the house, tore through the kitchen, and ultimately landed in the sink, was no abstract history lesson. It was no dusty fact to be cataloged or checked off. It was the stuff of real people's real lives, and I was standing there on the parlor rug, looking at the knickknacks on the shelves and the china breakfront, inserted into those lives, at least in some way. It was all too horrible to tell, too horrible to hear, too horrible to stand in that place, crowded as we were, and not be able to run away from. In that place, not ten feet even from where I stood, a man whose only "crime" had been to try to destroy evil had been slain in the most craven of ways right on his very doorstep with his wife and his children in the back of the house.
We toured through the rooms, looking into the reconstructed image of the Evers family's life. In the tiny kitchen, aqua blue appliances sit quietly, the refrigerator with the hole in the door from the shooting long since gone. In Mr. and Mrs. Evers' room, a cheerful pink chenille spread covers the bed, and a wedding photo sits on top of the dresser. In the children's room, the curtains were a bright colorful 60's animal print, dolls and sock monkeys sat in small rocking chairs, and the mattresses of the beds were on the floor to prevent a stray bullet from killing the occupants of that room in their innocent slumber.
When I got back on the bus, as others were finishing up their tours and comments, I spent time just staring at the outside of the little turquoise dwelling there hidden in the middle of Jackson. It seemed as if were too fragile, somehow, to bear up under the weight of that much sadness. I think a fortress of solid steel would have been more appropriate than plastered interior walls and a black shingled-roof. Those two small steps, one slightly larger than the other, that lead into the entrance from the carport were also much too small a stage for such a momentous event to have occurred upon them. Then again, history rarely happens in places where the setting is suitably grandiose.
I came away from the Evers House Museum with a new sense of urgency about knowing about my state's and my nation's troubled past. I have lived here, barring trips away, all my life, and until yesterday, I had never seen that place. It is a chunk of history as profound in its way as Plymouth Rock, yet it sits hidden, quiet, unassuming in the soft shadows of Mississippi's capital city. What else am I missing? I think I'd better find out, even though it may not be comfortable to know.
To get there, one turns off a four-lane strip of badly-kept highway labeled with black and silver signs that proclaim that particular stretch of road to be Medgar Evers Boulevard. It's down an unassuming side street in a neighborhood of modest, fading ranch homes. The lot seems too small to hold so much history or sadness, and even now, so many years later, there is an emptiness to this place that cannot be explained by the fact the mere absence of constant habitation.
The house itself has been restored to its original cheerful 60's aqua paint, something that clashes sharply with the huge historical society dominating the space between the living room and bedroom windows. The black and bronze surface reminds even the most casual eye that this is a place where history turned, where blood was shed, and where a life was taken in hatred.
Our guide for the tour, the archivist at Tougaloo, took us through those last troubled days of Evers' life as we stood crowded together in what had been his living room. Our feet shuffled across the wooden floors he'd been so proud to provide for his family; light filtered weakly through the windows set just a little higher than normal in the safehaven he'd tried to make. We heard the story of how he'd come home from a war to fight others here, a war to make a home for his family in this middle-class black subdivision nestled among the white ones, a war to bring an end to the artificial divisions in his home state based on the color of skin, a war to be accepted when even those he was trying to help saw him as a threat to safety and security.
When the archivist related to us Mrs. Evers' remembrances of the night her husband was assassinated, standing there inside that small room with the 1960's furniture and the piano in the corner, a feeling I cannot describe came over me. The story, so well-known, of the shot from the dark, the bullet that ended a man's life, came into the house, tore through the kitchen, and ultimately landed in the sink, was no abstract history lesson. It was no dusty fact to be cataloged or checked off. It was the stuff of real people's real lives, and I was standing there on the parlor rug, looking at the knickknacks on the shelves and the china breakfront, inserted into those lives, at least in some way. It was all too horrible to tell, too horrible to hear, too horrible to stand in that place, crowded as we were, and not be able to run away from. In that place, not ten feet even from where I stood, a man whose only "crime" had been to try to destroy evil had been slain in the most craven of ways right on his very doorstep with his wife and his children in the back of the house.
We toured through the rooms, looking into the reconstructed image of the Evers family's life. In the tiny kitchen, aqua blue appliances sit quietly, the refrigerator with the hole in the door from the shooting long since gone. In Mr. and Mrs. Evers' room, a cheerful pink chenille spread covers the bed, and a wedding photo sits on top of the dresser. In the children's room, the curtains were a bright colorful 60's animal print, dolls and sock monkeys sat in small rocking chairs, and the mattresses of the beds were on the floor to prevent a stray bullet from killing the occupants of that room in their innocent slumber.
When I got back on the bus, as others were finishing up their tours and comments, I spent time just staring at the outside of the little turquoise dwelling there hidden in the middle of Jackson. It seemed as if were too fragile, somehow, to bear up under the weight of that much sadness. I think a fortress of solid steel would have been more appropriate than plastered interior walls and a black shingled-roof. Those two small steps, one slightly larger than the other, that lead into the entrance from the carport were also much too small a stage for such a momentous event to have occurred upon them. Then again, history rarely happens in places where the setting is suitably grandiose.
I came away from the Evers House Museum with a new sense of urgency about knowing about my state's and my nation's troubled past. I have lived here, barring trips away, all my life, and until yesterday, I had never seen that place. It is a chunk of history as profound in its way as Plymouth Rock, yet it sits hidden, quiet, unassuming in the soft shadows of Mississippi's capital city. What else am I missing? I think I'd better find out, even though it may not be comfortable to know.
My Birthday
It's 12:09 am, so technically, my birthday is over. I haven't gone to bed yet, though, so it's still rolling as far as I'm concerned. It's just been a wonderful day.
I started planning this birthday informally last year. Last year, I got so sad over my birthday that it took a minor miracle to pull me out of the funk and depression of it. Once I got my head on right again, I promised that this year wouldn't be allowed to do that to me again. Therefore, I started looking for little ways to make sure this year turned into a celebration rather than some sort of wake.
When the program of events for our local theater arrived, I had my first idea. I would make a week of it. Thus was born the idea for the Week of Senseless Indulgences. I went to see Punch Brothers. I got a new yoga mat. I took myself out for meals I like. I bought lots of books and took the time to read them even if other things didn't get done. I left school at a reasonable hour. I made a concentrated effort to analyze why I was getting so stressed out over silly little things I had no control over and that don't matter in the long run anyway. It's been fabulous.
The cornerstones of the entire week, though, were today's Eudora Welty Conference at Millsaps and tonight's frolic with my best friend. The Welty Conference took us to the Medgar Evers home and to Eudora's house before returning to Millsaps to discuss the Welty short story "Where Is the Voice Coming From?" I will blog about the Evers house probably tomorrow. It was more moving than I can tell you, and I want time to get the words and the feelings together before I dive in to that subject. Right now, it's late, I'm tired, and my poor befuddled brain has had too much sugar and too little sleep to handle that subject with the care it deserves.
The dinner with my best friend was wonderful. We talked for hours, about the present and the past. Just getting to be myself again and not having to be someone else's responsible party or teacher was like shedding a heavy winter coat being worn in a hot room. I felt like dancing on tables. It was liberating, renewing, reviving, a cup of water on a wilting plant. I laughed like I haven't laughed in months. Even now, I feel my lips curving into a smile at the memory of some of our conversations. It was healing and good, and in many ways, it was the best birthday present I could have gotten.
I probably could say more, and later I may come back and talk about it again, about this new contentment with everything that has descended with 33, but right now, there is soft rain on the roof, a warm cat at the foot of my bed, and I am weary with laughing. I cannot think of a more enticing inducement to bed than that.
I started planning this birthday informally last year. Last year, I got so sad over my birthday that it took a minor miracle to pull me out of the funk and depression of it. Once I got my head on right again, I promised that this year wouldn't be allowed to do that to me again. Therefore, I started looking for little ways to make sure this year turned into a celebration rather than some sort of wake.
When the program of events for our local theater arrived, I had my first idea. I would make a week of it. Thus was born the idea for the Week of Senseless Indulgences. I went to see Punch Brothers. I got a new yoga mat. I took myself out for meals I like. I bought lots of books and took the time to read them even if other things didn't get done. I left school at a reasonable hour. I made a concentrated effort to analyze why I was getting so stressed out over silly little things I had no control over and that don't matter in the long run anyway. It's been fabulous.
The cornerstones of the entire week, though, were today's Eudora Welty Conference at Millsaps and tonight's frolic with my best friend. The Welty Conference took us to the Medgar Evers home and to Eudora's house before returning to Millsaps to discuss the Welty short story "Where Is the Voice Coming From?" I will blog about the Evers house probably tomorrow. It was more moving than I can tell you, and I want time to get the words and the feelings together before I dive in to that subject. Right now, it's late, I'm tired, and my poor befuddled brain has had too much sugar and too little sleep to handle that subject with the care it deserves.
The dinner with my best friend was wonderful. We talked for hours, about the present and the past. Just getting to be myself again and not having to be someone else's responsible party or teacher was like shedding a heavy winter coat being worn in a hot room. I felt like dancing on tables. It was liberating, renewing, reviving, a cup of water on a wilting plant. I laughed like I haven't laughed in months. Even now, I feel my lips curving into a smile at the memory of some of our conversations. It was healing and good, and in many ways, it was the best birthday present I could have gotten.
I probably could say more, and later I may come back and talk about it again, about this new contentment with everything that has descended with 33, but right now, there is soft rain on the roof, a warm cat at the foot of my bed, and I am weary with laughing. I cannot think of a more enticing inducement to bed than that.
Monday, February 09, 2009
The Way I Wish I Could Resolve to Live
Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover. -- Mark Twain
Sunday, February 08, 2009
The Good Ones
As I'm listening to these two discs, Punch and How to Grow a Woman from the Ground, I find myself snared by the clever lyrics. Snared, in some cases, moved, and, in that place where I try to be honest with myself, a little jealous.
Being a person who is in every way fascinated by words, I enjoy good songwriters. Don't get me wrong; you will also find me blazing down the highway at lightspeed singing along with stuff that has almost no depth at all to it other than "loud" or "happy." Sometimes, I don't want to think or listen intently. Other times, though, I need the wall of sound to resolve itself into meaning, maybe because so much that goes on around me is so frequently meaningless.
There's a danger to the good ones, though. It's the same allure that's always there with my favorite print poets. Where there is genuine craft, there is something generating it, there is a magic shimmering just under a seemingly-calm surface that might pull you in before you even know you've been grabbed, take you on a journey that might be pleasant or painful, but will leave fingerprints on you either way.
Dickinson said, amongst other quotes of hers related to what poetry feels like, "If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry." I have felt that way once or twice in the presence of really good songs or poems. There have been poems that have left me jawdropped, either saying or thinking, "Yes, oh yes. Just so. This is what I've always wanted to say. Now that it has been written, nothing more needs ever to be said about this topic again." Some of them have been so right and keen that the reading or hearing of them was like being struck with a thin, razor-sharp blade in the heart, a moment of perfect pain. What I said on reading those probably isn't fit to print. Still others writhe through the veins like an intoxicant, bringing to the mind a slow, slow smile and memories.
A couple of these songs have this kind of evocative, almost physical, power, too. Track 13 on How to Grow a Woman from the Ground, "I'm Yours If You Want Me," is the auditory equivalent of being pinned to a wall and slowly, lusciously, voluptuously kissed senseless. There is such a raw honesty, self-doubt, and need in the lyrics and that is mirrored in the stripped-down nature of the music that by the time Thile gets the promise at the end, one wonders who ever could walk away? The string quintet on Punch has the same power but with different emotions and to different ends. The music is lovely, but it's the lyrics that are captivating me. These are the words of somebody who had the heart ripped right out of his chest and destroyed but is living on at least to tell the tale.
If these are the genuine article he's showing, if he's doling out little bits of his soul into what he is singing, then I admire what he's able to do more than I can say. My own personal "muse" has been largely silent now for about a year. I don't know if it is because of my schedule (teach, grade, come home, fall down, teach grade, come home, fall down...), because I am not pursuing those things that make the words and the blood flow (for me, love and travel), or because the migraine medicine I'm taking is suffocating said source of inspiration along with keeping me from being able to name common everyday things and focus properly. (Sometimes I feel like a whole team of engineers rewired my brain and did it badly. Maybe it was badly wired to start with, and that was the problem all the time....) Regardless, Thile's lyrics as much as the glorious riot of the group's music are going to keep me coming back to these discs and looking at whatever they come out with in the future. Maybe if I surround myself with that kind of power, some of it might awaken the spark in me, if it still burns at all.
Being a person who is in every way fascinated by words, I enjoy good songwriters. Don't get me wrong; you will also find me blazing down the highway at lightspeed singing along with stuff that has almost no depth at all to it other than "loud" or "happy." Sometimes, I don't want to think or listen intently. Other times, though, I need the wall of sound to resolve itself into meaning, maybe because so much that goes on around me is so frequently meaningless.
There's a danger to the good ones, though. It's the same allure that's always there with my favorite print poets. Where there is genuine craft, there is something generating it, there is a magic shimmering just under a seemingly-calm surface that might pull you in before you even know you've been grabbed, take you on a journey that might be pleasant or painful, but will leave fingerprints on you either way.
Dickinson said, amongst other quotes of hers related to what poetry feels like, "If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry." I have felt that way once or twice in the presence of really good songs or poems. There have been poems that have left me jawdropped, either saying or thinking, "Yes, oh yes. Just so. This is what I've always wanted to say. Now that it has been written, nothing more needs ever to be said about this topic again." Some of them have been so right and keen that the reading or hearing of them was like being struck with a thin, razor-sharp blade in the heart, a moment of perfect pain. What I said on reading those probably isn't fit to print. Still others writhe through the veins like an intoxicant, bringing to the mind a slow, slow smile and memories.
A couple of these songs have this kind of evocative, almost physical, power, too. Track 13 on How to Grow a Woman from the Ground, "I'm Yours If You Want Me," is the auditory equivalent of being pinned to a wall and slowly, lusciously, voluptuously kissed senseless. There is such a raw honesty, self-doubt, and need in the lyrics and that is mirrored in the stripped-down nature of the music that by the time Thile gets the promise at the end, one wonders who ever could walk away? The string quintet on Punch has the same power but with different emotions and to different ends. The music is lovely, but it's the lyrics that are captivating me. These are the words of somebody who had the heart ripped right out of his chest and destroyed but is living on at least to tell the tale.
If these are the genuine article he's showing, if he's doling out little bits of his soul into what he is singing, then I admire what he's able to do more than I can say. My own personal "muse" has been largely silent now for about a year. I don't know if it is because of my schedule (teach, grade, come home, fall down, teach grade, come home, fall down...), because I am not pursuing those things that make the words and the blood flow (for me, love and travel), or because the migraine medicine I'm taking is suffocating said source of inspiration along with keeping me from being able to name common everyday things and focus properly. (Sometimes I feel like a whole team of engineers rewired my brain and did it badly. Maybe it was badly wired to start with, and that was the problem all the time....) Regardless, Thile's lyrics as much as the glorious riot of the group's music are going to keep me coming back to these discs and looking at whatever they come out with in the future. Maybe if I surround myself with that kind of power, some of it might awaken the spark in me, if it still burns at all.
Friday, February 06, 2009
A Poem I Found and Love
I found this in an anthology recently, and I am putting it out here to share with you my gentle readers. I loved this imagery. It makes my soul sing to think about it. Enjoy.
Emily Dickinson and Elvis Presley in Heaven
They call each other `E.' Elvis picks
wildflowers near the river and brings
them to Emily. She explains half-rhymes to him.
In heaven Emily wears her hair long, sports
Levis and western blouses with rhinestones.
Elvis is lean again, wears baggy trousers
and T-shirts, a letterman's jacket from Tupelo High.
They take long walks and often hold hands.
She prefers they remain just friends. Forever.
Emily's poems now contain naugahyde, Cadillacs,
Electricity, jets, TV, Little Richard and Richard
Nixon. The rock-a-billy rhythm makes her smile.
Elvis likes himself with style. This afternoon
he will play guitar and sing 'I Taste A Liquor
Never Brewed' to the tune of 'Love Me Tender.'
Emily will clap and harmonize. Alone
in their cabins later, they'll listen to the river
and nap. They will not think of Amherst
or Las Vegas. They know why God made them
roommates. It's because America
was their hometown. It's because
God is a thing without
feathers. It's because
God wears blue suede shoes.
Hans Ostrom
Emily Dickinson and Elvis Presley in Heaven
They call each other `E.' Elvis picks
wildflowers near the river and brings
them to Emily. She explains half-rhymes to him.
In heaven Emily wears her hair long, sports
Levis and western blouses with rhinestones.
Elvis is lean again, wears baggy trousers
and T-shirts, a letterman's jacket from Tupelo High.
They take long walks and often hold hands.
She prefers they remain just friends. Forever.
Emily's poems now contain naugahyde, Cadillacs,
Electricity, jets, TV, Little Richard and Richard
Nixon. The rock-a-billy rhythm makes her smile.
Elvis likes himself with style. This afternoon
he will play guitar and sing 'I Taste A Liquor
Never Brewed' to the tune of 'Love Me Tender.'
Emily will clap and harmonize. Alone
in their cabins later, they'll listen to the river
and nap. They will not think of Amherst
or Las Vegas. They know why God made them
roommates. It's because America
was their hometown. It's because
God is a thing without
feathers. It's because
God wears blue suede shoes.
Hans Ostrom
Punch Brothers
I just got home from the Punch Brothers concert, the treat with which I kicked off my birthday week Secret Celebration of Senseless Indulgence. I came home from school, actually sat on my couch long enough to eat a meal, got up and put on clothing that wasn't "teacher person" clothing, and went back to our beautiful restored theater for the show.
It felt a bit like making a prison break to get to go back to town at night for anything, much less not be wearing my standard issue "uniform," but it just kept getting better. I somehow managed to get my trusty seat next to the support pole again. Don't ask me how, but every single time I get tickets for this theater, I always wind up in either the seat I had tonight or the one on the other side of this same pole. I'm not complaining; there is more leg room and you don't have to fight anyone for an armrest. I just find it highly amusing. The place seats about 1000. How is it the computer just "knows" it's me? I'm pretty sure I didn't carve my name in the arm or anything....
Anyway, I got to the theater early enough to sit and enjoy the quiet and the beauty of it. For reasons recorded in earlier blogs, I feel a deep affection and almost a proprietary pride in this theater. I have known about it almost my whole life and longed to see it like it is now, so every time I go to see a performance in it and see it so full of life and beauty and hear performers pleased with it, I feel, for no good reason at all, as if someone complemented me on something I had a part in. As I walked up the staircase, I remembered tonight as I always do what it used to look like, and as I looked up into the repainted and gilded ceiling, I had no trouble recalling the strips of paint and paper that once hung there. Just being in that little jewelbox of a place fills me with satisfaction every time.
Once the music began, though, it was more than enough to take me out of contemplation of the furnishings. I had bought a CD of Punch Brothers when I first saw their program blurb in this year's concert listings for our theater. The description of their musical style intrigued me, and after listening to a couple of online clips, I had trusty Amazon send me their latest offering. I have been enjoying it for some time now. Nothing, though, can compare to seeing this group live. I love to watch the interplay between musicians, how they cue each other and sync together, and this group works together so well.
The style of their music pleases me, too. I love it when people take the time to master traditional styles and then innovate. I heard both tonight, and all of it was done well. I heard harmonies dissolve into pools of seeming dissonance only to resolve themselves sweetly at the right moment. I saw a string quintet wonderfully done with instruments more commonly found in other sorts of arrangements. You really have to know what you're doing to pull things like this off, and you really have to love it, too. This group tonight had both qualities.
I only hope we were a good audience for them. I sort of think, as usual, we weren't. We clapped in the wrong places, something I know is irritating from my experiences with my musician friends. I don't think the audience really got how good the banjo player really was, either, because playing the banjo doesn't require or even really allow the same sort of showy hand motions that guitar and mandolin will provide to cue an uninformed audience as to exertion. Our hearts were in the right place, though, so maybe that counts.
All in all, I had a good night. I got their other CD, came away from it feeling better and more like a person as opposed to the dreaded "dead teacher" than I have in weeks, developed a new musical line of inquiry, and, if I'm honest, got to look at a really cute guy (the banjo player) for a couple of hours. Pretty good start to the old birthday week.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Yoga
I have long been interested in yoga classes in a theoretical way. Taking one has been one of those things that looks pretty from a distance, one of those things that I keep saying that I should really check out more thoroughly some time but that I never quite get around to doing. I used to practice on my own in a tiny way through a Gaiam DVD recommended to me by a very yoga-chic friend, and I always found even that small routine very relaxing.
Rifling through the electronic version of our local paper, I came across an add for our branch of one of our state universities. They have decided to offer a yoga class, and it turned out that one of my all-time favorite professors was teaching it. I had to sign up.
The resulting flurry of emails back and forth yielded the information that there should be "space left," something of an understatement since I think there were fewer than 20 of us in the class, but I was still pretty happy to have been included. The class itself was just exactly what I was looking for. I didn't have to feel afraid since my professor was the one teaching, and since many of the people there were beginners, I didn't have to feel self-conscious (any more than I usually do, anyway) or intimidated.
It felt good to use my body again. I am stiff and tight as I knew I would be. I don't know how long it will take all the old rags and bones to limber up again, but since one of my main goals for this is flexibility (along with stress relief), I'm willing to be patient and work on it. Just the doing of it, no matter whether or not I am ever any good at it or not, is a victory for me.
Monday, January 19, 2009
George Orwell Quote
"When one reads any strongly individual piece of writing, one has the impression of seeing a face somewhere behind the page. It is not necessarily the actual face of the writer. I feel this very strongly with Swift, with Defoe, with Fielding, Stendhal, Thackeray, Flaubert, though in several cases I do not know what these people looked like and do not want to know. What one sees is the face that the writer ought to have. Well, in the case of Dickens I see a face that is not quite the face of Dickens's photographs, though it resembles it. It is the face of a man of about forty, with a small beard and a high colour. He is laughing, with a touch of anger in his laughter, but no triumph, no malignity. It is the face of a man who is always fighting against something, but who fights in the open and is not frightened, the face of a man who is generously angry — in other words, of a nineteenth-century liberal, a free intelligence, a type hated with equal hatred by all the smelly little orthodoxies which are now contending for our souls."
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Silver Anniversary
This year marks 25 years of playing a keyboard instrument for me. I had that odd realization recently. It's hard to believe that much time has gone by since I was a small child struggling with my Brownie book and getting shaped erasers for a weekly lesson well-played.
Music is such an ingrained part of my life that I can hardly remember a time when I wasn't playing. I began taking lessons in first grade, and I can still recall walking down the cracked sidewalks carrying my music books to the tiny room in the gym that housed the piano. Later on, I started taking lessons from the lady who was the organist at our church, and she taught me to play the organ as well. Now, I play the organ much more than the piano as the night organist for my church.
The playing gives me so much pleasure, but I don't really have any gift for it. It sounds okay when I play, but the sort of dedication and art necessary to take the playing from performance to power have always been beyond me. I have a friend who has that power, and to hear him play (on the rare occasions our two spheres cross anymore) is to hear what is possible, what should be.
As I look forward toward the future, I will continue to enjoy what I can do in my small way and continue to appreciate the greater gifts of those who have been blessed with them. I am grateful for the richness music has added to these 25 years.
Music is such an ingrained part of my life that I can hardly remember a time when I wasn't playing. I began taking lessons in first grade, and I can still recall walking down the cracked sidewalks carrying my music books to the tiny room in the gym that housed the piano. Later on, I started taking lessons from the lady who was the organist at our church, and she taught me to play the organ as well. Now, I play the organ much more than the piano as the night organist for my church.
The playing gives me so much pleasure, but I don't really have any gift for it. It sounds okay when I play, but the sort of dedication and art necessary to take the playing from performance to power have always been beyond me. I have a friend who has that power, and to hear him play (on the rare occasions our two spheres cross anymore) is to hear what is possible, what should be.
As I look forward toward the future, I will continue to enjoy what I can do in my small way and continue to appreciate the greater gifts of those who have been blessed with them. I am grateful for the richness music has added to these 25 years.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
No Cancer
I got the results from my biopsy, and I'm free of cancer. The telling of it was simple. The aftermath of it was odd. Once the results were told, my doctor started talking to me about options for my future. Most of them were serious, intense, and life-changing. Since I'm not ready to have a baby right now and by myself, the most extreme changes are not going to happen. I can't say I didn't think about it. I just don't feel that's what I'm supposed to do right now.
It's a relief to know that I'm, well, I don't guess I can say healthy, but at least not fighting cancer. Everything else I can fight and endure. It was a good feeling, disturbing conversations about motherhood aside.
It's a relief to know that I'm, well, I don't guess I can say healthy, but at least not fighting cancer. Everything else I can fight and endure. It was a good feeling, disturbing conversations about motherhood aside.
LOST Season 4
I finished season 4 of LOST on DVD last week. I am still pondering where they plan to take the plot arc in season 5 and grinding my teeth in frustration that it is going to take a year for me to get it on DVD. I wish they converted TV as quickly as movies!
In the meantime, I think I'm in love with not only Desmond now, but also with Sayid, too. I know that Sawyer and Jack are the "fan favorites," but Desmond has the whole Odysseus thing going on, and since I've always found Sayid intriguing, seeing him in a tux during season 4 put the frosting on that. So many pretty men on that one tiny island....
Even the villains are good. I have grown to find Benjamin Linus one of my favorite villains ever. He is menacing and dangerous, capable of screwing with anybody's mind, a truly ruthless killer, but also urbane, cultured, and a man with a bone-dry, ironic sense of humor. He gets some of the best lines in the show. Even when he's getting beaten by someone, one always knows that he is going to turn the tables somehow. It's scary.
I'll have to assuage the gnawing curiosity of how they're going to resolve the issue of Locke in a Box (I won't say more in case you're a person who hasn't seen season 4) by rewatching it from the beginning. I haven't done that yet, and I think that knowing all that I do will let me catch a lot of interesting details that I probably missed the first time through. At least I will be ready for the new season when it arrives.
In the meantime, I think I'm in love with not only Desmond now, but also with Sayid, too. I know that Sawyer and Jack are the "fan favorites," but Desmond has the whole Odysseus thing going on, and since I've always found Sayid intriguing, seeing him in a tux during season 4 put the frosting on that. So many pretty men on that one tiny island....
Even the villains are good. I have grown to find Benjamin Linus one of my favorite villains ever. He is menacing and dangerous, capable of screwing with anybody's mind, a truly ruthless killer, but also urbane, cultured, and a man with a bone-dry, ironic sense of humor. He gets some of the best lines in the show. Even when he's getting beaten by someone, one always knows that he is going to turn the tables somehow. It's scary.
I'll have to assuage the gnawing curiosity of how they're going to resolve the issue of Locke in a Box (I won't say more in case you're a person who hasn't seen season 4) by rewatching it from the beginning. I haven't done that yet, and I think that knowing all that I do will let me catch a lot of interesting details that I probably missed the first time through. At least I will be ready for the new season when it arrives.
Playing on Twitter
I love Twitter. I love the concept of people flinging bits and pieces of their lives, everyday trivia and important things, too, into space. I love the concept of people reading these pieces and enjoying them, like picking up shiny copper pennies from the dark sidewalks of cyberspace.
I love the fact that there are people on Twitter who pretend to be Darth Vader, celebrities, politicians, and other fictional entities, that everyone knows that it's fake, and that we all follow them anyway to see what they're going to say. (I personally LOVE Darth Vader's posts.) I love that yesterday was 70's day and everyone changed his/her photo to something appropriate (alas, I missed it because I didn't tune in until too late to get that put together).
It's just fun and fascinating. I don't get on it every day, but when I do, there is always something interesting out there, some bit of someone waiting to be appreciated. It's a lovely idea someone had.
I love the fact that there are people on Twitter who pretend to be Darth Vader, celebrities, politicians, and other fictional entities, that everyone knows that it's fake, and that we all follow them anyway to see what they're going to say. (I personally LOVE Darth Vader's posts.) I love that yesterday was 70's day and everyone changed his/her photo to something appropriate (alas, I missed it because I didn't tune in until too late to get that put together).
It's just fun and fascinating. I don't get on it every day, but when I do, there is always something interesting out there, some bit of someone waiting to be appreciated. It's a lovely idea someone had.
Friday, January 02, 2009
Muninn
Muninn is the name of one of Odin's two ravens, Hugin being the other. Muninn is Memory and Hugin is Thought. Every morning, he would send them to fly across Midgard to gather information for him.
As a part of my continuing love of ravens, I named my new 500 G external hard drive Muninn. I thought it appropriate. I found the Seagate Freeagent I've been looking for on such a sale today at OfficeMax that I bought it early. I wasn't planning on getting the 500 G size, and I wasn't going to get one until next month, but the price cut was tremendous and it came with a free dock. I wound up saving about $80 on the whole deal.
The drive is sleek and lovely. It's currently in its docking cradle in the back devouring the memories contained in my desktop. It has an arc of LEDs on it that softly glows while it works, a gentle pulse of light. I love it when something functional is made beautiful as well. There's really no reason why things can't be both.
I am hoping Muninn is going to be a good solution to the problem of two computers, one at work, one at home, that I've been having. Despite my best efforts to the contrary and frequent emailings, there have been many occasions that the document I need has been the place I'm not. Since Muninn will fit neatly into my pocket and travel with me, maybe there will be less of that now. It won't be quite as amazing as having a raven on the shoulder, but I think it's as close as I'm going to get.
New Look for the Blog
What do you think? I found this new template for my blog, and yes, I know it's a bit ostentatious. However, I like it. It's how I want 2009 to feel. There's something a little old-fashioned mixed in with a great deal of exuberance, and I love the color palette, as well. I took down my Shelfari shelf. I may or may not put it back up. I think everyone who follows me on Shelfari knows my user name there, anyway. If you miss the shelf, you can let me know. If you're interested in looking for a new blog template of your own, try this website.
Thursday, January 01, 2009
Bugs Bunny Marathon
I've been worthless the past couple of days as I've been recovering from Monday. It's been delightful. Today, I watched a marathon of Looney Tunes on Cartoon Network. It's still on, in fact, and I'm getting to see "What's Opera, Doc?" I haven't seen this one in years, and it's absolutely one of my favorites. This is the one with the "spear and magic helmet."
Every time I sit down to watch these cartoons, I marvel at how detailed the backgrounds are and how lovely the art in them is. There is such attention to detail in them. Even the crowd scenes where the doesn't need to be a lot of differentiation in the backdrop is lovingly done. They please the eye in a way that most of the digital stuff I see today just doesn't.
I also love the use of classical music in them. I'll never forget going to see either The Marriage of Figaro or The Barber of Seville at IU and hearing the music that Bugs is using when he's giving Elmer a haircut in "The Rabbit of Seville." The friend I went with and I were cracking up over it, and as I looked around the auditorium, the vast majority of the crowd was making the hand motions like Bugs massaging Elmer's bald pate. It was surreal. Uh-oh...it just came on, speak of the devil... Here comes the very scene....
Maybe it's just the loving nostalgia that comes to all things cherished in one's childhood, but these old cartoons never fail to bring a smile to my face. I have some of them in the big DVD collections Warner Brothers released a few years ago, and whenever I come home and feel crummy, they can always be relied upon to give me a good lift. I'm certainly glad I got to see all of these again today. It's been a great way to relax and recharge.
Every time I sit down to watch these cartoons, I marvel at how detailed the backgrounds are and how lovely the art in them is. There is such attention to detail in them. Even the crowd scenes where the doesn't need to be a lot of differentiation in the backdrop is lovingly done. They please the eye in a way that most of the digital stuff I see today just doesn't.
I also love the use of classical music in them. I'll never forget going to see either The Marriage of Figaro or The Barber of Seville at IU and hearing the music that Bugs is using when he's giving Elmer a haircut in "The Rabbit of Seville." The friend I went with and I were cracking up over it, and as I looked around the auditorium, the vast majority of the crowd was making the hand motions like Bugs massaging Elmer's bald pate. It was surreal. Uh-oh...it just came on, speak of the devil... Here comes the very scene....
Maybe it's just the loving nostalgia that comes to all things cherished in one's childhood, but these old cartoons never fail to bring a smile to my face. I have some of them in the big DVD collections Warner Brothers released a few years ago, and whenever I come home and feel crummy, they can always be relied upon to give me a good lift. I'm certainly glad I got to see all of these again today. It's been a great way to relax and recharge.
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Black and White
I've been glutting myself on black and white film today. I got hooked into an all-day I Love Lucy marathon on TV Land early on, and as I carefully repacked all my Santas and Nativities for another year, I enjoyed episode after episode of that show. I thought I had seen a lot of Lucy, but apparently, I had only sort of hit and missed at it. Today, I saw the famous one where she is stomping grapes amongst others, and I laughed until I had to sit down. It was great.
My second favorite episode was the one where John Wayne was a guest. They were trying to get his footprints and signature in cement to replace a square from Graumann's Chinese Theater that Lucy and Ethel had destroyed somehow. John Wayne fit into the screwball world so easily, and he seemed to be having a great deal of fun. Every time I see him in anything, I always think of my beloved Nana. She loved John Wayne. He was her favorite movie star. Seeing him young and handsome and in his prime on that comedy, I can see why.
I'm now watching Sunset Boulevard again. I've lost track of how many times I've seen this film. I love it. Something about the fact that this is New Year's Eve seemed to demand Norma and her sad delusions. Even though I know this movie inside and out, I'm already enjoying it ten times as much as the other film I watched tonight, Music and Lyrics.
I wonder why the old stuff is always so much better to me. Just the camera angle where Max is playing the organ and his hands are in the foreground with Gillis' angry face in the back is better than any scene in the entire other film I watched. As I look at my collection of DVDs, most of my permanent collection is vintage. Is it that they just made them better then?
Well, Norma just stood up in the flickering projector light, and I think it's time for me to get back to my viewing more in earnest. I hope everyone has a good New Year's Eve.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Survival
I made it. Yesterday's surgery is finally over, and today I can think again at last. Even going through the process of getting ready for the procedure wasn't as bad as I was afraid it would be except for putting in the IV. I never do well with that. I think I do much better than I used to, but I still get so irrationally afraid. I don't know why such a tiny thing should be such a source of uncontrollable fear, but there you go. I won't know the results until Jan. 13th, but just getting through this part that I've been waiting for and worrying over for months now is a tremendous relief.
Today I joined Twitter. I am going to try it out. I think it won't be one of those things I tinker with much, especially if I can't get some of my friends involved with it, but it looks interesting. I like the idea of it. If you haven't seen it, go to Twitter.com.
I'm going to De-Christmas the house today. Now that the looming cloud of doom has lifted, I feel like going and doing again. I wish I had more of my break left to go and do in, but I'll have to make the most of what's left to me.
Today I joined Twitter. I am going to try it out. I think it won't be one of those things I tinker with much, especially if I can't get some of my friends involved with it, but it looks interesting. I like the idea of it. If you haven't seen it, go to Twitter.com.
I'm going to De-Christmas the house today. Now that the looming cloud of doom has lifted, I feel like going and doing again. I wish I had more of my break left to go and do in, but I'll have to make the most of what's left to me.
Monday, December 22, 2008
Laughing in the Face of Disaster
I had to play last night for our annual Carol Request Night service. My friend and fellow accompanist who handles the piano end of things came in while I was playing prelude pieces and offered me a hit of Pepto Bismol. There's nothing quite like request night when you're at best an amateur musician. I laughed and declined, but I can't say it wasn't a good idea.
Once we got started, no one wanted to make a request. My friend and I, who can just barely see each other across the top of the various instruments, just gave each other one of our long, speaking looks. Once people stopped being puzzled by the ability to choose, the requests came in fast and thick. There were at least two that I didn't know at all, and judging from the bemused gaze that my friend gave me in the few seconds that we had while rustling hymnal pages, she wasn't too familiar with them, either. We did a quick bit of sight reading and chord-fudging and got through it, though.
By the time it was over, I felt like I'd been wrung out and left to dry. That's when it was time for me to sing my solo. At least all the nerves I had been saving all day had already been expended. I didn't have much left to get nervous with, and I think "What Child Is This?" came out okay.
Despite all the nerves, it was a good service. It was lovely to hear all the carols sung, and it was wonderful as well to play all of them at once. When it was done, I felt better than I have in a long time. Some of the Christmas spirit I've been missing as I wait for my upcoming surgery flickered into life, and I am working hard to nurture that fragile spark.
Once we got started, no one wanted to make a request. My friend and I, who can just barely see each other across the top of the various instruments, just gave each other one of our long, speaking looks. Once people stopped being puzzled by the ability to choose, the requests came in fast and thick. There were at least two that I didn't know at all, and judging from the bemused gaze that my friend gave me in the few seconds that we had while rustling hymnal pages, she wasn't too familiar with them, either. We did a quick bit of sight reading and chord-fudging and got through it, though.
By the time it was over, I felt like I'd been wrung out and left to dry. That's when it was time for me to sing my solo. At least all the nerves I had been saving all day had already been expended. I didn't have much left to get nervous with, and I think "What Child Is This?" came out okay.
Despite all the nerves, it was a good service. It was lovely to hear all the carols sung, and it was wonderful as well to play all of them at once. When it was done, I felt better than I have in a long time. Some of the Christmas spirit I've been missing as I wait for my upcoming surgery flickered into life, and I am working hard to nurture that fragile spark.
Friday, November 28, 2008
After a Long Silence
I haven't written in a long time, and truth be told, I have been debating abandoning this blog. Ever since last year's incident, it's felt spoiled, and although the one responsible for all that trouble is now in the process of drinking himself into a coma at one of our state institutions of higher learning, I still feel the taint of his having been here like sand stirred up in a clear pool. I have to write somewhere, though, and I don't feel like ending this.
Life lately has been wretched. It seems a pity to come back here after a two-month absence to say that, but I can't lie. Pain and other problems I've been having lately have led my doctor to start running increasingly invasive tests to find out just how desperate my situation is, and so far, things aren't good. The radiologist told me I had "an interesting uterus", my OB/GYN told me that the fibroids have returned and that one of them is the size of a large lemon (why are these things always frickin' fruit?), and now I am in a holding pattern waiting to have a surgical procedure to find out whether the big scary C word will come into play or not.
After I left the radiology with the results of the ultrasounds, I was sure that I was about to face a hysterectomy. Even though I have been trying to steel myself for that possibility since 2001 when I first found out that I had fibroids, I just could not control the waves of grief. My doctor, who is truly wonderful, talked with me about things, and he said there is not a reason, unless cancer is indicated by the biopsy, to take drastic steps right now. However, in his estimate, I probably only have about two more years left if I want to have a family and then the situation will have deteriorated to a point where more drastic measures will have to be taken.
What am I going to do? Two years might as well be fifteen minutes. There's nobody on the horizon. I don't even know where to look. I feel like I'm just sailing through time at warp speed watching minutes of my life tick away with supernatural speed. Everywhere I look, all my friends have found someone, have children, have what they need. Why is it that I'm still alone?
My doctor talked to me about having a baby on my own. I can't say that I've never thought about it, but after a long time of praying and soul-searching, I don't think that's the right path for me. I will need someone along side me. I want someone along side me, too.
I believe that God has a plan for me. Right now, though, it's so excruciatingly hard to see how any of this is "working for my good" or where it's leading me. I lay in the doctor's office drugged and draped on a table for more than two hours two days ago for a procedure that didn't work. Now, I have to go into the hospital during my Christmas holidays to have outpatient surgery to find out whether or not I have cancer. Merry Christmas, ho-ho-ho. It just doesn't seem to end.
Now my mother is on a mission to get me married off, and she's only thinly veiling it in kidding when she starts talking to me about perfect strangers while desert is being served during a church social. I feel like one of those spinster relatives in a Jane Austen novel who the whole family is just a little bit embarrassed by. More than I have in a long time, I feel the need to pack up suitcases and move away, to a place where I don't speak the language, to a place where nobody knows me or my family, to a place where nobody knows or cares that I am a ticking time bomb.
I am trying just to take it one day at a time. If I do that, maybe I can keep this thin clay vessel from shattering into a million tiny pieces.
Life lately has been wretched. It seems a pity to come back here after a two-month absence to say that, but I can't lie. Pain and other problems I've been having lately have led my doctor to start running increasingly invasive tests to find out just how desperate my situation is, and so far, things aren't good. The radiologist told me I had "an interesting uterus", my OB/GYN told me that the fibroids have returned and that one of them is the size of a large lemon (why are these things always frickin' fruit?), and now I am in a holding pattern waiting to have a surgical procedure to find out whether the big scary C word will come into play or not.
After I left the radiology with the results of the ultrasounds, I was sure that I was about to face a hysterectomy. Even though I have been trying to steel myself for that possibility since 2001 when I first found out that I had fibroids, I just could not control the waves of grief. My doctor, who is truly wonderful, talked with me about things, and he said there is not a reason, unless cancer is indicated by the biopsy, to take drastic steps right now. However, in his estimate, I probably only have about two more years left if I want to have a family and then the situation will have deteriorated to a point where more drastic measures will have to be taken.
What am I going to do? Two years might as well be fifteen minutes. There's nobody on the horizon. I don't even know where to look. I feel like I'm just sailing through time at warp speed watching minutes of my life tick away with supernatural speed. Everywhere I look, all my friends have found someone, have children, have what they need. Why is it that I'm still alone?
My doctor talked to me about having a baby on my own. I can't say that I've never thought about it, but after a long time of praying and soul-searching, I don't think that's the right path for me. I will need someone along side me. I want someone along side me, too.
I believe that God has a plan for me. Right now, though, it's so excruciatingly hard to see how any of this is "working for my good" or where it's leading me. I lay in the doctor's office drugged and draped on a table for more than two hours two days ago for a procedure that didn't work. Now, I have to go into the hospital during my Christmas holidays to have outpatient surgery to find out whether or not I have cancer. Merry Christmas, ho-ho-ho. It just doesn't seem to end.
Now my mother is on a mission to get me married off, and she's only thinly veiling it in kidding when she starts talking to me about perfect strangers while desert is being served during a church social. I feel like one of those spinster relatives in a Jane Austen novel who the whole family is just a little bit embarrassed by. More than I have in a long time, I feel the need to pack up suitcases and move away, to a place where I don't speak the language, to a place where nobody knows me or my family, to a place where nobody knows or cares that I am a ticking time bomb.
I am trying just to take it one day at a time. If I do that, maybe I can keep this thin clay vessel from shattering into a million tiny pieces.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Simple Holiday Joy
I was in Wal-Mart two days ago, and I got sucked in by the Halloween aisle. Halloween is still one of my favorite holidays. I guess I'm always going to adore the costumes, the cobwebs, and the candy. It's still several days till payday, so I was mostly relegated to browsing, but I did find one small item I had to bring home with me, a rubber duck with a pumpkin costume on. It was only a dollar, and for the amount of laughter I got out of it, it was very cheap at that price. I threw it in the cart on top of more pragmatic purchases like dog food and milk and headed for the checkout. Sometimes, I guess what is most needed at the end of a very long and trying day is some whimsical bit of childhood, even if it is mostly yellow and squeaky.
Hiatus
I haven't felt much like blogging for the past month, and I certainly haven't had much time to carve out for it, so I've let this sort of fall into the pile of things I don't deal with. There are so many changes and of such massive types at school that they feel like they're consuming me. The revisions to our departmental curriculum are causing me to question everything I thought I knew about what it means to be a teacher and to probe my own practices deeply.
So far, I haven't liked what I've seen very much. While I can't say that I've been doing everything wrong, I certainly haven't been doing things to the level that is possible, and now that we actually have someone guiding us to know what we can achieve, I feel like I need to step up my game considerably. Just the thought of the amount of work involved, though, is staggering. Lesson plans take as long as four hours to complete and produce stacks of paper when they're done. I come home at night feeling as though I've been caught in a whirlwind all day long that has just finally dumped me back at my door so I can fall down in relative peace for a few hours before beginning it all over again.
Many of my colleagues are not taking this transition well. I don't know if they're going to stick with it or not. Some of them are really resisting the change with a vengeance. I can understand that the change is hard, and even now, there are some parts of what we're doing that I don't necessarily agree with, but for the most part, I know that what we've been doing is fundamentally flawed and broken. If it's not working, why on earth would we possibly want to keep on doing that same thing? This new way isn't some outlandish methodology; it looks like what I see coming out of other states and programs across the nation.
My main problem with it isn't the validity of what we're being asked to do; it's with my own inability to juggle everything efficiently. I keep having moments of sheer panic and weariness where I just want to fold my arms, put my head on my desk, and cry. I feel even more like Sisyphus than normal, and I know all too well the feeling of that big, gritty stone as it makes its stately progression down the middle of my back on its way back to the bottom of the hill.
If I can just keep focused on my end goal, the students, and the fact that this year will be the worst of it, I think I can endure. So much will be better once we can get through this first bad year of redesign. We'll have a clear purpose and goal, and we can begin to polish and refine. I just hope that I can get there without running away screaming. Right now, it's a very close race, so stay tuned, folks...
So far, I haven't liked what I've seen very much. While I can't say that I've been doing everything wrong, I certainly haven't been doing things to the level that is possible, and now that we actually have someone guiding us to know what we can achieve, I feel like I need to step up my game considerably. Just the thought of the amount of work involved, though, is staggering. Lesson plans take as long as four hours to complete and produce stacks of paper when they're done. I come home at night feeling as though I've been caught in a whirlwind all day long that has just finally dumped me back at my door so I can fall down in relative peace for a few hours before beginning it all over again.
Many of my colleagues are not taking this transition well. I don't know if they're going to stick with it or not. Some of them are really resisting the change with a vengeance. I can understand that the change is hard, and even now, there are some parts of what we're doing that I don't necessarily agree with, but for the most part, I know that what we've been doing is fundamentally flawed and broken. If it's not working, why on earth would we possibly want to keep on doing that same thing? This new way isn't some outlandish methodology; it looks like what I see coming out of other states and programs across the nation.
My main problem with it isn't the validity of what we're being asked to do; it's with my own inability to juggle everything efficiently. I keep having moments of sheer panic and weariness where I just want to fold my arms, put my head on my desk, and cry. I feel even more like Sisyphus than normal, and I know all too well the feeling of that big, gritty stone as it makes its stately progression down the middle of my back on its way back to the bottom of the hill.
If I can just keep focused on my end goal, the students, and the fact that this year will be the worst of it, I think I can endure. So much will be better once we can get through this first bad year of redesign. We'll have a clear purpose and goal, and we can begin to polish and refine. I just hope that I can get there without running away screaming. Right now, it's a very close race, so stay tuned, folks...
Wednesday, September 03, 2008
Little Bits and Pieces
Lately I feel as if little bits and pieces of me are slowly being nibbled away. As usual, I am overcommitted in every possible way and to every possible group. I spend about 12 hours of every day at school only to stagger home and fall down for a few hours and do it all over again. On the weekends, I try to keep up my church responsibilities, but I start my new week just as tired as I left the old one. How did I get this way?
I wish I could find a balance. I don't know how to regain it. I like everything that I do, and that's what makes it so hard to cut away things. I can't cut away the prep time at school, either, because otherwise I can't get my job there done. I guess I just have to live in hope that the biggest part of the hard labor there is going to settle down some soon so I can catch my breath a bit. Otherwise, I may be headed for a mental health day very early on this year or an honest-to-goodness sick day as my body forces me to take the time it's missing elsewhere flat of my back in the bed in revenge.
I wish I could find a balance. I don't know how to regain it. I like everything that I do, and that's what makes it so hard to cut away things. I can't cut away the prep time at school, either, because otherwise I can't get my job there done. I guess I just have to live in hope that the biggest part of the hard labor there is going to settle down some soon so I can catch my breath a bit. Otherwise, I may be headed for a mental health day very early on this year or an honest-to-goodness sick day as my body forces me to take the time it's missing elsewhere flat of my back in the bed in revenge.
Sunday, August 31, 2008
A Good Weekend
Yesterday, my best friend and I went to the Prairie Arts Festival in West Point. It was a great trip. She and I don't get to do much together. She lives near Jackson, and her life as a teacher with a family of husband and three small children pretty much keeps her running all the time. My life is notoriously hectic as well, so we only see each other a few times a year despite the fact that we really don't live that far apart in the global scheme of things.
We decided that despite the impending Gustav-madness, we were going to load up and go see the Prairie Arts Festival. It was an easy drive, only a couple of hours, and we were certainly both familiar with the area from our college days. Driving up, though, was like taking a trip back in time. The closer we got to the Golden Triangle area, the more it felt like we were back in college again.
We shopped and enjoyed the wonderful artists' works at the Festival, and we decided to go to Starkville when we left. I hadn't been to Starkville in a very long time, and I wanted to go see how the campus had changed. Just being there again and seeing how much has been totally removed was surreal. The university I went to is basically no longer there except in ghost images hidden under or behind other buildings. It's not that it's a bad change, but seeing huge gaping holes or new construction where all the dorms of my college experience once stood was a little weird.
The best part of our trip was just the talking. We talked about all kinds of things, some of which went all the way back to college. Old memories, good and bad, floated up, and it was a pleasure to walk through them together. We ate at Lil Dooeys as the capstone on the day and came home.
Even though the trip took the whole day, I feel refreshed. I think we're going to make it an annual thing. Maybe next year we can even get up there in time for the Howlin' Wolf Blues Festival portion of the weekend. Even if we don't get to do it again, though, it was great this year.
Waiting for Gustav
Over one million people have left the New Orleans area and the Gulf Coast. They've already shut down I-59 South and reversed it. All traffic south of Hattiesburg is now northbound. Once again, we're in that weird waiting phase where everything seems to be holding its breath.
I spent most of today preparing the house for whatever of Gustav we're going to get here in Central MS. Supposedly, we're in for heavy rains and some wind, but Katrina is too fresh in my mind, like the minds of so many others. I have everything stripped down from outside, and I bought bottled water, canned foods, and batteries. It may be nothing but a lot of water falling from the sky, but the memories of fourteen days with no electricity are vivid still.
Cruising around Wal-Mart Friday, I noticed that people were in that state of controlled panic. Carts were full of Vienna sausages and crackers. Bottled water and toilet tissue were gone from the shelves as were C and D cell batteries. Flashlights were completely sold out. Fortunately, I had bought most of my "disaster kit" a long time ago. I just needed a few AAA batteries, and I wanted a clip booklight. I remembered that one of the worst parts of Katrina was trying to read by kerosene lantern.
Today, Dad did some small repairs on my roof, and I mowed my grass. I took down all my windchimes and birdfeeders. I tucked my big lawn chair under a secure porch. When I came home, I put the PT Cruiser under my car shed. My banners are down from the mailbox and the big pole in my yard. Except for a few things on the side of my house, I think I'm about as battened down as I can get. All that's left now is to continue to pray.
I spent most of today preparing the house for whatever of Gustav we're going to get here in Central MS. Supposedly, we're in for heavy rains and some wind, but Katrina is too fresh in my mind, like the minds of so many others. I have everything stripped down from outside, and I bought bottled water, canned foods, and batteries. It may be nothing but a lot of water falling from the sky, but the memories of fourteen days with no electricity are vivid still.
Cruising around Wal-Mart Friday, I noticed that people were in that state of controlled panic. Carts were full of Vienna sausages and crackers. Bottled water and toilet tissue were gone from the shelves as were C and D cell batteries. Flashlights were completely sold out. Fortunately, I had bought most of my "disaster kit" a long time ago. I just needed a few AAA batteries, and I wanted a clip booklight. I remembered that one of the worst parts of Katrina was trying to read by kerosene lantern.
Today, Dad did some small repairs on my roof, and I mowed my grass. I took down all my windchimes and birdfeeders. I tucked my big lawn chair under a secure porch. When I came home, I put the PT Cruiser under my car shed. My banners are down from the mailbox and the big pole in my yard. Except for a few things on the side of my house, I think I'm about as battened down as I can get. All that's left now is to continue to pray.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Self-Reflection
I've been thinking a lot lately about my teaching, about who I am as a teacher and what it means to be one. I've been thinking about what I do and how I do it. This year is a year of great change for my school and my district, so I guess all the snow in the snowglobe has been shaken up thoroughly.
Lately, I have found so much to think about. New approaches, new ideas, new processes seem to surround me this year. It's profoundly hard to go outside my comfort zone so often, but I think it's going to be a good thing for both my students and me in the end. Things that I have done for years in a certain way I now call into question. Are those practices sound? Are they serving my students to the best of my ability?
Today our district brought Ron Clark to speak to us. I hadn't wanted to see him at all. I was expecting something totally unrealistic, someone with his head totally in the clouds, but what I found instead was that he was funny and realistic. I didn't expect that. While I won't be dancing on tables any time soon, I did take some ideas and inspiration from him. It was a good presentation.
This whole year has been like that, crazy and unpredictable. I wonder what we're all going to be like when it's done. If we can survive it, I hope we're going to be better than what we were when it began.
Lately, I have found so much to think about. New approaches, new ideas, new processes seem to surround me this year. It's profoundly hard to go outside my comfort zone so often, but I think it's going to be a good thing for both my students and me in the end. Things that I have done for years in a certain way I now call into question. Are those practices sound? Are they serving my students to the best of my ability?
Today our district brought Ron Clark to speak to us. I hadn't wanted to see him at all. I was expecting something totally unrealistic, someone with his head totally in the clouds, but what I found instead was that he was funny and realistic. I didn't expect that. While I won't be dancing on tables any time soon, I did take some ideas and inspiration from him. It was a good presentation.
This whole year has been like that, crazy and unpredictable. I wonder what we're all going to be like when it's done. If we can survive it, I hope we're going to be better than what we were when it began.
Saturday, August 23, 2008
At Last....
...I got to hear my wonderfully-talented friend's recital. He played at the Kennedy Center, so it was broadcast and archived online. I, not having any form of network TV and no local channels through my little satellite, missed the actual broadcast, but I did just sit down and watch it online through the Kennedy Center's website. You can watch it yourself if you want to by clicking here.
I've known this friend since I was in graduate school at Indiana, and his abilities never cease to amaze me. One of my favorite things during my time there was to hear him play anything. I often said that I would have been happy living in a shoebox under his piano, even if all he ever played was "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star." This recital is one he'd told me about a long time ago, and trust me, it's well worth your time to listen to it. It, like everything else he does, is truly fabulous.
I wish I lived closer to where he is so I could go hear him live. I love to watch him play. He plays with such passion. It's expressed in every aspect of his expression and his body. In a way, though, this medium had things to recommend it, too, because the camera followed his hands so much.
The music he played in this recital is all Brazilian. It was lovely, and there are a few pieces that I wish I had recordings of, or at least had recording of his performances of, anyway. I can't exactly describe what it is about those particular pieces that drew me; probably it was the melancholy nature he talked about. I tend to gravitate toward minor keys and that thread of sadness and longing in music, anyway. It is what draws me toward the blues and to many of the artists whose music I buy repeatedly, so likely it's what I find compelling here as well.
He lectured some between the pieces and gave their history and interpretation, which added a lot to the performance, but also made me smile since I haven't seen him or talked to him in any way other than by email or FaceBook in a very long time. It was good to hear his voice and see him again, even if it was just a one-way thing. I'm glad he's doing so well. More than just about anybody I know, he deserves it.
I've known this friend since I was in graduate school at Indiana, and his abilities never cease to amaze me. One of my favorite things during my time there was to hear him play anything. I often said that I would have been happy living in a shoebox under his piano, even if all he ever played was "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star." This recital is one he'd told me about a long time ago, and trust me, it's well worth your time to listen to it. It, like everything else he does, is truly fabulous.
I wish I lived closer to where he is so I could go hear him live. I love to watch him play. He plays with such passion. It's expressed in every aspect of his expression and his body. In a way, though, this medium had things to recommend it, too, because the camera followed his hands so much.
The music he played in this recital is all Brazilian. It was lovely, and there are a few pieces that I wish I had recordings of, or at least had recording of his performances of, anyway. I can't exactly describe what it is about those particular pieces that drew me; probably it was the melancholy nature he talked about. I tend to gravitate toward minor keys and that thread of sadness and longing in music, anyway. It is what draws me toward the blues and to many of the artists whose music I buy repeatedly, so likely it's what I find compelling here as well.
He lectured some between the pieces and gave their history and interpretation, which added a lot to the performance, but also made me smile since I haven't seen him or talked to him in any way other than by email or FaceBook in a very long time. It was good to hear his voice and see him again, even if it was just a one-way thing. I'm glad he's doing so well. More than just about anybody I know, he deserves it.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Maybe This Is The Problem With Committees
If everyone is thinking alike, then somebody isn't thinking.
George S. Patton
George S. Patton
Interesting Distinction
A nerd is someone whose life revolves around computers and technology. A geek is someone whose life revolves around computers and technology, and likes it!
-- as seen on a Crackberry.com post signature
I am such a geek. I always have been. Not just by this definition, either, although I do fit this one. I even have a pair of tiny studs that say geek. I found them in some accessory shop somewhere, and they are one of my prized possessions. I think they're too small for anybody to read unless they're way, way too far into my personal space for my comfort, but I get a kick out of wearing them.
An example of my geekdom came today. I spent several very happy hours this afternoon cruising blueroomsolutions.com and nancydrewthemes.com getting some very savage new themes for my beloved BlackBerry (who I have named Onesimus, meaning "Useful" and hoping it's not sacrilegious since it's a biblical name) as well as finding old friends on FaceBook and playing a new hellishly-addictive game on there called Scramble. Technology is fun. :) I don't mind being a geek. I figure everybody has to have fun somehow, and this at least keeps me off the streets and out of jail....
-- as seen on a Crackberry.com post signature
I am such a geek. I always have been. Not just by this definition, either, although I do fit this one. I even have a pair of tiny studs that say geek. I found them in some accessory shop somewhere, and they are one of my prized possessions. I think they're too small for anybody to read unless they're way, way too far into my personal space for my comfort, but I get a kick out of wearing them.
An example of my geekdom came today. I spent several very happy hours this afternoon cruising blueroomsolutions.com and nancydrewthemes.com getting some very savage new themes for my beloved BlackBerry (who I have named Onesimus, meaning "Useful" and hoping it's not sacrilegious since it's a biblical name) as well as finding old friends on FaceBook and playing a new hellishly-addictive game on there called Scramble. Technology is fun. :) I don't mind being a geek. I figure everybody has to have fun somehow, and this at least keeps me off the streets and out of jail....
Saturday, August 09, 2008
Machine Curse
This title comes from an old game "back in the day." I can't even remember which one. It was something you could do to another player to make everything in his army turn to absolute crap. Well, I think somebody has done it to me. I am having a run of the worst luck imaginable. I am almost afraid to go outside.
Early in the week, I found out that several things at school had gone to crap unexpectedly. I think they can be fixed fairly easily, but they were the sort of little twists that were just unlucky.
When the insurance adjuster came out to look at my roof Thursday, it turns out that the people who put it on three years ago either didn't know or didn't care what they were doing. Therefore, I have no insurance coverage for the damages inside, and I'm also going to have to have a roofer come out and redo part of the roof to prevent the problem from recurring. I just wanted to sit down and cry. Why is that so many people in this world seem dedicated to no other proposition than "take the money and run?" (No offense to Steve Miller or his band...)
The rest of Thursday was a crapfest of lost items precious to me, jamming copying machines, and pin pricks small and great. Yesterday, I mostly hid here at home in hopes that the Machine Curse would leave me alone. I went to Red Field to relax, and Mom and Dad were going to come up and bring food so we could enjoy the unseasonably cool weather with a dinner before school gets rolling. The next thing I knew, they were calling to tell me that they'd had a major tireshredding blowout on their way up. The tires were brand new. My Machine Curse is spreading. It's scary.
This morning, I got up and let Roux out for her early morning bathroom break, and as I was leading her around the backyard on her leash, I glanced toward my dilapidated barn only to see that it has finally fallen down. I don't know if the Machine Curse gets the credit for that one. The Machine Curse really wouldn't have had to work very hard for that one; one good push would have brought it down.
I am hoping that all this bad luck is cycling out or at least is getting ready for something big and good on the horizon. I keep thinking that we've got to be getting to the end of of this particular tunnel soon. Since I'm going to have to go to the bank and refinance a mortgage to take care of it, the Machine Curse should be propitiated by that. That is, after all, the modern day version of a blood sacrifice, is it not? It will be for me, anyway....
Early in the week, I found out that several things at school had gone to crap unexpectedly. I think they can be fixed fairly easily, but they were the sort of little twists that were just unlucky.
When the insurance adjuster came out to look at my roof Thursday, it turns out that the people who put it on three years ago either didn't know or didn't care what they were doing. Therefore, I have no insurance coverage for the damages inside, and I'm also going to have to have a roofer come out and redo part of the roof to prevent the problem from recurring. I just wanted to sit down and cry. Why is that so many people in this world seem dedicated to no other proposition than "take the money and run?" (No offense to Steve Miller or his band...)
The rest of Thursday was a crapfest of lost items precious to me, jamming copying machines, and pin pricks small and great. Yesterday, I mostly hid here at home in hopes that the Machine Curse would leave me alone. I went to Red Field to relax, and Mom and Dad were going to come up and bring food so we could enjoy the unseasonably cool weather with a dinner before school gets rolling. The next thing I knew, they were calling to tell me that they'd had a major tireshredding blowout on their way up. The tires were brand new. My Machine Curse is spreading. It's scary.
This morning, I got up and let Roux out for her early morning bathroom break, and as I was leading her around the backyard on her leash, I glanced toward my dilapidated barn only to see that it has finally fallen down. I don't know if the Machine Curse gets the credit for that one. The Machine Curse really wouldn't have had to work very hard for that one; one good push would have brought it down.
I am hoping that all this bad luck is cycling out or at least is getting ready for something big and good on the horizon. I keep thinking that we've got to be getting to the end of of this particular tunnel soon. Since I'm going to have to go to the bank and refinance a mortgage to take care of it, the Machine Curse should be propitiated by that. That is, after all, the modern day version of a blood sacrifice, is it not? It will be for me, anyway....
Wednesday, August 06, 2008
Life Rafts and Tidal Waves
I worked registration the past two days, and it never ceases to amaze me how rude people can be to others over things that are nothing. I got "cussed at" more times than I can count because our district now requires two forms of proof for residency verification or because a student was on a list for old fees and could not therefore start registration until the proof of residency was shown or the fee was cleared. For this, people were willing to be obscene. I didn't do it. I didn't make the policy. I didn't even want to have to be the one to tell them, but they surely too it out on me. I hate that.
These were parents of juniors and seniors who have all had students at our school for years. That means that the process of registration is well-known to them, except of course for the new residency requirements. They know that getting through the entire process from Old Fees to Book Pick-Up and final form sign-off can take as long as two hours at peak times. However, every year, we have parents who come in and act as though they should be able to sail through in fifteen minutes. They act as though we have a personal vendetta against them and are trying to deprive them of their livelihood because we can't forward them to the front of a line of three hundred or so other people who have all been waiting in the heat just as they have. They get angry when we tell them that they have to be with their student to complete the forms, that they can't just kick their kid out of the car with a blank check and go. If it were the first time around, I could understand, but if your child has been with us three years.....
It's over for me now, thank God. I only work seniors and juniors. I leave the sophomores, who are coming in for the first time, and the new students and makeup day to cooler heads than my own. I need the rest of this last precious week to recover and rest up. Next week starts our staff development, and then we'll be back in harness for the long haul of our new year with all our new plans and designs in place. I'm excited to see how it goes and am hoping for a great good year.
One good thing from yesterday was seeing my friend. He'd been on a trip to see some of his girlfriend's family in California, and he brought me a gift. It was so sweet of him to think of me, and although I didn't really get to talk to him much in between the unending onslaught of people coming in the door to curse me, just seeing him and knowing that somebody in this world didn't wish me ill was a big boost. Since I've also been trying to wrangle with the insurance issues of getting someone down to look at the roof and my ceilings lately, I have been feeling very overwhelmed. It was like a little life raft put out there for me in very choppy seas. I needed it a lot, but then, he's good at that. It's nice how God works that out.
Well, I'm off to do as much nothing as I can for the rest of this afternoon. This is the last day of it, so I have to make it count.
These were parents of juniors and seniors who have all had students at our school for years. That means that the process of registration is well-known to them, except of course for the new residency requirements. They know that getting through the entire process from Old Fees to Book Pick-Up and final form sign-off can take as long as two hours at peak times. However, every year, we have parents who come in and act as though they should be able to sail through in fifteen minutes. They act as though we have a personal vendetta against them and are trying to deprive them of their livelihood because we can't forward them to the front of a line of three hundred or so other people who have all been waiting in the heat just as they have. They get angry when we tell them that they have to be with their student to complete the forms, that they can't just kick their kid out of the car with a blank check and go. If it were the first time around, I could understand, but if your child has been with us three years.....
It's over for me now, thank God. I only work seniors and juniors. I leave the sophomores, who are coming in for the first time, and the new students and makeup day to cooler heads than my own. I need the rest of this last precious week to recover and rest up. Next week starts our staff development, and then we'll be back in harness for the long haul of our new year with all our new plans and designs in place. I'm excited to see how it goes and am hoping for a great good year.
One good thing from yesterday was seeing my friend. He'd been on a trip to see some of his girlfriend's family in California, and he brought me a gift. It was so sweet of him to think of me, and although I didn't really get to talk to him much in between the unending onslaught of people coming in the door to curse me, just seeing him and knowing that somebody in this world didn't wish me ill was a big boost. Since I've also been trying to wrangle with the insurance issues of getting someone down to look at the roof and my ceilings lately, I have been feeling very overwhelmed. It was like a little life raft put out there for me in very choppy seas. I needed it a lot, but then, he's good at that. It's nice how God works that out.
Well, I'm off to do as much nothing as I can for the rest of this afternoon. This is the last day of it, so I have to make it count.
Sunday, August 03, 2008
It's Almost Time
Since that most wonderful of days, Pay Day, arrived at last, I went to do my pre-school blowout buy. As I wandered through the aisles of school supplies, I actually felt a little spring enter my step. I know that settles the Geek Queen crown ever more firmly on my head, but there you have it. There is something about the sight of piles of clean, new notebooks, boxes of unbroken, sharp-pointed crayons, and packages of bright yellow pencils that cheer my soul. It has always been so.
As I walked through the Wal-Mart aisles and watched the little children with their parents, I knew that the little ones understood this, too. Their parents, for the most part, were simply trying to navigate the sea of carts, peering confusedly at the blurry photocopied lists while pondering the relative merits of the glue stick and liquid glue. The children, though, knew. They understood the magic inherent in the crisp new folder, the necessity of purchasing Crayola crayons, and the satisfaction of finding just the right pencil pouch to hold all one's personal treasures. Their happiness was infectious.
Perhaps it is that all these things, all these tools of the education trade in their unused state, represent a kind of potential. There is a hopefulness in the clean serenity of the first blank page of a legal pad, and a great deal of satisfaction in putting the pen to the page. Anything might come from that action. Any work of greatness or triviality might spring from it.
As I left that section of the store for other supplies, I took the little lift with me. It almost made me wish I'd put a box of sharp-pointed Crayolas of my own in with the copy paper and other grown-up stuff I'd thrown in the cart just in celebration.
As I walked through the Wal-Mart aisles and watched the little children with their parents, I knew that the little ones understood this, too. Their parents, for the most part, were simply trying to navigate the sea of carts, peering confusedly at the blurry photocopied lists while pondering the relative merits of the glue stick and liquid glue. The children, though, knew. They understood the magic inherent in the crisp new folder, the necessity of purchasing Crayola crayons, and the satisfaction of finding just the right pencil pouch to hold all one's personal treasures. Their happiness was infectious.
Perhaps it is that all these things, all these tools of the education trade in their unused state, represent a kind of potential. There is a hopefulness in the clean serenity of the first blank page of a legal pad, and a great deal of satisfaction in putting the pen to the page. Anything might come from that action. Any work of greatness or triviality might spring from it.
As I left that section of the store for other supplies, I took the little lift with me. It almost made me wish I'd put a box of sharp-pointed Crayolas of my own in with the copy paper and other grown-up stuff I'd thrown in the cart just in celebration.
Monday, July 28, 2008
Walk the Line
I watched Walk the Line at long last yesterday. I've had it sitting on the top of my TV from Netflix for a month, but something kept coming up or I wasn't in the mood to sit down and pay attention to something for two hours. I'm glad I did, though. It was great.
I have always liked Johnny Cash, but I didn't really know more than the tiniest bit about his life. The movie filled in some of the big blanks and made me want to know more. I'll order his autobiography and put it on the shelf for future reading. He and his life interest me. That whole period of music history interests me, those musicians who started there at Sun Studios and became the foundation of so much that came later.
The performances in the film were amazing. Joaquin Phoenix was so compelling. I thought he managed a perfect mix of someone who was constantly fighting for the raw edges of daily control and someone who had found the one thing they wanted most. There was tremendous strength in him, but always there, just below the surface, was a great fragility in the eyes, especially when he was with June. There were scenes, especially the scenes between Cash and his father, that moved me to tears.
Reese Witherspoon was also perfect in her role. I always like her in everything I see her in. She always seems to chose roles that are "real" people, and that may be part of why I respect her so much. Her performance in this film made it clear that the love June had wasn't an easy thing and also showed her strength. It was a very complex portrayal and powerful for that reason.
I wound up watching the film twice. I may eventually buy it. I am still thinking about it. The love portrayed on the screen between Johnny and June was not an easy or a comfortable kind, but it was so true. I keep thinking about the scene at the end of the movie where he proposed for the final time and she accepted. He told her that she was his best friend amongst other things, and I think that's probably the truest secret of their love. They were the other half of each other. How else could they have survived everything else that happened? That's what I hope to find someday, my other half, my best friend. I hope it's out there for me like it was for them.
I have always liked Johnny Cash, but I didn't really know more than the tiniest bit about his life. The movie filled in some of the big blanks and made me want to know more. I'll order his autobiography and put it on the shelf for future reading. He and his life interest me. That whole period of music history interests me, those musicians who started there at Sun Studios and became the foundation of so much that came later.
The performances in the film were amazing. Joaquin Phoenix was so compelling. I thought he managed a perfect mix of someone who was constantly fighting for the raw edges of daily control and someone who had found the one thing they wanted most. There was tremendous strength in him, but always there, just below the surface, was a great fragility in the eyes, especially when he was with June. There were scenes, especially the scenes between Cash and his father, that moved me to tears.
Reese Witherspoon was also perfect in her role. I always like her in everything I see her in. She always seems to chose roles that are "real" people, and that may be part of why I respect her so much. Her performance in this film made it clear that the love June had wasn't an easy thing and also showed her strength. It was a very complex portrayal and powerful for that reason.
I wound up watching the film twice. I may eventually buy it. I am still thinking about it. The love portrayed on the screen between Johnny and June was not an easy or a comfortable kind, but it was so true. I keep thinking about the scene at the end of the movie where he proposed for the final time and she accepted. He told her that she was his best friend amongst other things, and I think that's probably the truest secret of their love. They were the other half of each other. How else could they have survived everything else that happened? That's what I hope to find someday, my other half, my best friend. I hope it's out there for me like it was for them.
Repairs Needed
The recent rains here in Podunk have revealed a couple of problems with my roof. Dad fixed them today, but they left their mark. It looks like I'm going to have to have major repairs done on my ceilings.
Right now, my ceilings are this sort of horrible Celotex stuff from the 1970s. Since the leaks opened up, the tiles have discolored, sagged, and are in the process of falling down. I have been too embarrassed to have anyone in the house for a long time because of how ugly they are. I didn't have enough money in the big renovation done several years ago to have them done at that time, and now I'm glad. I can't wait any more, though, so now is the time.
I think insurance is going to cover the damaged parts, and really, my bedroom and my kitchen are the only two rooms without water damage of some kind because of the leaking. I will probably borrow the money to get those two rooms done, too. It's time I don't have to be embarrassed over that anymore, and I think it's better if it all gets done at the same time. Here we go with construction again...
Right now, my ceilings are this sort of horrible Celotex stuff from the 1970s. Since the leaks opened up, the tiles have discolored, sagged, and are in the process of falling down. I have been too embarrassed to have anyone in the house for a long time because of how ugly they are. I didn't have enough money in the big renovation done several years ago to have them done at that time, and now I'm glad. I can't wait any more, though, so now is the time.
I think insurance is going to cover the damaged parts, and really, my bedroom and my kitchen are the only two rooms without water damage of some kind because of the leaking. I will probably borrow the money to get those two rooms done, too. It's time I don't have to be embarrassed over that anymore, and I think it's better if it all gets done at the same time. Here we go with construction again...
Friday, July 25, 2008
Missippiority Complex
Today, I was talking with someone about his job. He works in a nationally-known technology company with branches in several states. The company is currently losing its "best-and-brightest" from its Mississippi location because of worker dissatisfaction. The number one complaint? A worker here in MS makes as much as three times less than a worker with equal skills, qualifications, and seniority as a worker in another part of the country. This inequity is maintained even when workers from other plants are transferred to the MS plant. The company can't understand why this is a problem or why the workers hired here in MS prefer to find other jobs. As I was talking this situation over, I thought this was just a perfect example of a larger problem here in Mississippi, a strange belief held by outsider and native alike that everything here is just a little less valuable somehow because it's from Mississippi.
Outsiders do it all the time. Mississippi, poor backwards, Southern, redneck, racist, illiterate child of the past. Mississippi, dressed in hoop skirts or bib overalls, living in shotgun shacks or decaying antebellum mansions, playing banjo or blues guitar, these elements, these fragments of a larger whole are the caricatures that seem to blind those who don't know her to the truth of a much larger, much broader whole. We're last or next to last on most of the national polls, after all, and stereotypes are comfortable and familiar.
What started to disturb me today was the fact that it seems that too often our own folks believe it, too. When I start to think of the tremendous number of writers and musicians our state has produced, I can't help but wonder why so little has been done to commemorate, honor, and stand up for that. I can name a quick handful of names that alone would be worth a state puffing out its chest in pride, Elvis, Faulkner, Welty, Wright, B.B. King, Howlin' Wolf, Jimmie Rodgers, Tennessee Williams, and that's barely even starting to touch the surface.
While there are efforts honor these talents folks, most Mississippians, just sort of go around shuffling their feet in the dust with their heads down as though we've never produced anything of value. What's wrong with what we make, with what we do? What's wrong with Shearwater Pottery, what's wrong with a Walter Anderson print? What's wrong with a Viking range in the kitchen or a La-Z-Boy chair? What's wrong with a Peavy amp or guitar? Why do we constantly seem to be apologizing for something?
I can't say that we don't have any problems. It would be a lie to say that poverty doesn't exist here, that we don't face education issues, that we aren't trying to find our way in the modern world. But here's the million-dollar question: Who isn't? What state isn't facing poverty, education reform, and questions about how to go forward in a confusing mess of modern political crap? I wish my state would cast off its shy Southern self-deprecation and stand a little taller. I don't care if we're ever like all our sisters and neighbors. We are different, and that's okay. I just want us to be comfortable in that difference and proud of all the good things that we have here.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
The Details
I'm sewing my life together with the details. I know that sounds strange, and explaining why I need to do that right now would be too complex to go into here, and quite frankly, not something I'm sure I want to do. That in and of itself is odd, because I used to come to this blog as an outlet for everything that I needed to think through. I think this somehow became too public last year when some students found it, and now each time I sit down to write about the things that are closest to me, I find that I can't do it anymore here. It doesn't really bother me for my friends to read me, but somehow, what happened last year makes me feel like someone is spying in the windows of my house with a telephoto lens waiting to catch something compromising or ridiculous.
So, without going into details, I feel hollow lately. To combat it, I am frantically filling the time and the emptiness with work. I have spent long hours in my new classroom getting in ready, torn down the old bulletin board in the hall outside my room and mostly redone it, made a million lists of things still to be purchased or done before school begins, and fiddled endlessly with other preschool details such as handouts. I have tweaked and retweaked my BlackBerry to the point that it is radically different almost every day, and I have been on the verge of upgrading its OS to a beta version of 4.5 numerous times until the fear of bricking my Berry stopped me.
The creeping empty can be held back with furious activity. I can hold it back with tv and good books, too, sometimes. As long as the gears in my mind spin on idle, as long as they don't engage, things are okay. I wish I could purge it. I wish I could run out in the yard, throw back my head, howl at the moon, dance in the wet grass, and feel the empty go away, but instead, I fold another load of clothes. Instead of just heading my car off into the horizon and driving until I'm somewhere else, I come back up the driveway and mow the grass, endless circles going nowhere leaving ordered paths behind me.
I feel like a shadow of who I used to be, and I hate that feeling. I look at photos of myself from when I was in graduate school or overseas, and it's like I'm staring into the eyes of another person. I really miss her, too. I wish I knew what to do to get that feeling of wholeness and confidence back. I'm tired of having to fabricate things to keep my mind off the dark corners. I'd rather throw some light into them and drive the shadows away for good.
So, without going into details, I feel hollow lately. To combat it, I am frantically filling the time and the emptiness with work. I have spent long hours in my new classroom getting in ready, torn down the old bulletin board in the hall outside my room and mostly redone it, made a million lists of things still to be purchased or done before school begins, and fiddled endlessly with other preschool details such as handouts. I have tweaked and retweaked my BlackBerry to the point that it is radically different almost every day, and I have been on the verge of upgrading its OS to a beta version of 4.5 numerous times until the fear of bricking my Berry stopped me.
The creeping empty can be held back with furious activity. I can hold it back with tv and good books, too, sometimes. As long as the gears in my mind spin on idle, as long as they don't engage, things are okay. I wish I could purge it. I wish I could run out in the yard, throw back my head, howl at the moon, dance in the wet grass, and feel the empty go away, but instead, I fold another load of clothes. Instead of just heading my car off into the horizon and driving until I'm somewhere else, I come back up the driveway and mow the grass, endless circles going nowhere leaving ordered paths behind me.
I feel like a shadow of who I used to be, and I hate that feeling. I look at photos of myself from when I was in graduate school or overseas, and it's like I'm staring into the eyes of another person. I really miss her, too. I wish I knew what to do to get that feeling of wholeness and confidence back. I'm tired of having to fabricate things to keep my mind off the dark corners. I'd rather throw some light into them and drive the shadows away for good.
Monday, July 21, 2008
BlackBerry Addict
I love my BlackBerry more and more every day. It's really kind of sad. I have been a Gadget Geek for years, and there are so many different ways to customize my Curve and so many things it will do that it is an endless source of fun for me. Yesterday, I actually found a Hello Kitty theme for mine, and I managed to combine childhood and high tech. It was great.
I'm going to put a side panel of some of my favorite BlackBerry stuff on the blog so if any of you are also CrackBerry addicts, you can check it out. I'm also going to put in a video from YouTube (if I can figure out how to do it) because it made me laugh.
I'm going to put a side panel of some of my favorite BlackBerry stuff on the blog so if any of you are also CrackBerry addicts, you can check it out. I'm also going to put in a video from YouTube (if I can figure out how to do it) because it made me laugh.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Nashville Parthenon
While I was in Nashville for the conference, I had a chance to go see the Nashville Parthenon. That was one of my favorite parts of the trip. According to the museum in the base, the structure was built as a part of the Tennessee Centennial celebration and is a to-scale reconstruction of the real Parthenon in Athens. While one never knows how accurate reconstructions of ancient buildings are, this was pretty amazing.
Inside, a statue of Athena was installed sometime in the late 90s. Standing there and looking up at the gilded goddess, I could see how impressive she might have been to ancient travelers who might have come to seek her favor. I've often thought that had I been an ancient Greek, I would have been a devotee of Athena. I admire what she stands for, intelligence, and I've always loved the story of her birth, Zeus and the literally-splitting headache.
Casts of the fragments of what remains of the original border the main hall along with descriptions about where each piece has wound up and what god or goddess each is thought to represent. The inside of the structure was quiet, and it was raining heavily outside. Everyone who came in spoke quietly, and except for the squish of wet shoes and whispers, there was no sound.
All that was destroyed when a stroller came up the elevator. A family of five got off and the youngest, probably only three, was fascinated not with any of the statues or even the big gold thing in the middle of the room, but only with the sound of his shrieking voice echoing off the ceiling. Ack. So much for atmosphere.
While I was downstairs, I bought a small sterling-silver owl pendant. Owls are going to be the symbol for our new small learning community, and since that choice originally goes back to their being a symbol of wisdom associated with Athena, it seemed appropriate to get one at the Parthenon. Whenever I wear it, I can think of my trip and the quiet sanctuary from the rain before the invasion of toddler kind.
Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell
I had this on my shelf for about a year before I took the plunge and read it. There was something about the 800+ page length that just kept putting me off, but I'm glad that I read it. It was great. It wasn't a speedy read, but it was a really richly built world with well-developed characters. In fact, it felt to me like the first of many books. I really hope that the author will continue the adventures.
My favorite character was actually one who did not appear in the pages of the book. I want to know what happened with the Raven King. Bits and pieces of his story were told in the footnotes. In fact, it often seemed at though the book were two or three books put together by the time the ancient magicians appeared in the footnotes. The Raven King fascinated me, though, and his story was far too sparsely detailed.
The whole alternate universe feel of JS/MN was part of the enjoyment for me. I am a die-hard Jane Austen fan, so to have a world that is basically her world, only with magic as a common-place addition, was a wonderful treat. The addition of Lord Byron and other historical heavy-hitters was also delightful.
Admittedly, this book isn't for readers who want what I think of as "flash/bang" fiction. You are going to have to be patient for it. However, I think JS/MN is rich enough and deep enough to reward readers who wade in and swim out into the wonderful world that has been created.
Thieves Again
Our community is walking on pins and needles. Apparently, a gang of thieves has moved in to Podunk. We're rural, and our Sheriff has limited resources for a large county, so it is difficult to catch a small group of people. Since my parents were robbed, many more houses have been burgled. They continue the same pattern of quick break-ins to isolated homes taking small portable items.
There are reports of vehicles the thieves may or may not be using, so now every car that passes the house is subjected to intense scrutiny. As will happen, rumors about this particular person or group are being bandied about, and suspicion shifts. Everyone is jumpy. If this keeps up, someone is going to get killed.
This has always been a pretty safe community. Sure, we have our bizarre Southern rural stuff, some of which is pretty much Flannery O'Connor-esque, but by and large, it's a hold-over from another time. Now, suddenly, we have this bunch of people smashing their way into our homes. One of the worst violations to me was the recent robbery of my pastor's new home. While he and his family were making trips back and forth moving him in, the crooks took the chance to come in and take what they could. My pastor and his wife weren't even completely living there yet, and already they have to deal with that loss of sanctuary. It's not right.
Even though I'm a Christian, I still believe in a form of karma. These people are sowing fear, distress, and pain in our small community. I have to believe that sooner or later it's going to catch up with them. This can't go on forever.
There are reports of vehicles the thieves may or may not be using, so now every car that passes the house is subjected to intense scrutiny. As will happen, rumors about this particular person or group are being bandied about, and suspicion shifts. Everyone is jumpy. If this keeps up, someone is going to get killed.
This has always been a pretty safe community. Sure, we have our bizarre Southern rural stuff, some of which is pretty much Flannery O'Connor-esque, but by and large, it's a hold-over from another time. Now, suddenly, we have this bunch of people smashing their way into our homes. One of the worst violations to me was the recent robbery of my pastor's new home. While he and his family were making trips back and forth moving him in, the crooks took the chance to come in and take what they could. My pastor and his wife weren't even completely living there yet, and already they have to deal with that loss of sanctuary. It's not right.
Even though I'm a Christian, I still believe in a form of karma. These people are sowing fear, distress, and pain in our small community. I have to believe that sooner or later it's going to catch up with them. This can't go on forever.
Wednesday, July 09, 2008
Live from Nashville
I'm in Nashville for a conference. The drive up yesterday was a bit taxing. Most of it was not bad, but right outside of Nashville, I think every highway in the entire nation dumps in to one square mile of interstate, and at about 5:45 p.m., that was not a good place to be. My teacher friend and I made it to our hotel, ate some fairly good Mexican food and crashed. Today, we're going to see some sights in Nashville before going to the "big show" at the convention center. I'm optimistic that this conference is going to be really useful. Everybody I've heard talk about it says that it is. I need a refresher before the year begins.
Saturday, July 05, 2008
Sick Days
I haven't felt well the past two days. In fact, I pretty much just lost yesterday completely. I hate that. I staggered around the house and took care of Roux, but other than that, I just read and slept. So much for a happy Fourth of July.
The animals have all been pleased with my inactivity, though. Cats have been piled up hither, thither, and yon, and the dogs have been sacked out, too. One bit of light comedy has been a cushion I bought for Roux to have for her recovery since she can't get up on the couch in the living room right now. It's cute and soft, but she hasn't shown the first bit of interest in it at all. Dillon and Yoda, however, have a running battle going over it. It's way too big for a single cat, but I guess that makes it ultra-posh for them. Yoda was the first to discover it, but now, if she gets up for any reason, Dillon swipes it. Yoda comes back from getting a snack to find a small ball of stripy fur in the middle of the cushion, much to her eternal disgust.
Tomorrow, I'll have to play for church, so I hope the remnants of this will be gone. I also need to get my car cleaned out and go buy some groceries today. I guess I'll try to fight off the last of the sick lethargy and actually get some stuff done.
The animals have all been pleased with my inactivity, though. Cats have been piled up hither, thither, and yon, and the dogs have been sacked out, too. One bit of light comedy has been a cushion I bought for Roux to have for her recovery since she can't get up on the couch in the living room right now. It's cute and soft, but she hasn't shown the first bit of interest in it at all. Dillon and Yoda, however, have a running battle going over it. It's way too big for a single cat, but I guess that makes it ultra-posh for them. Yoda was the first to discover it, but now, if she gets up for any reason, Dillon swipes it. Yoda comes back from getting a snack to find a small ball of stripy fur in the middle of the cushion, much to her eternal disgust.
Tomorrow, I'll have to play for church, so I hope the remnants of this will be gone. I also need to get my car cleaned out and go buy some groceries today. I guess I'll try to fight off the last of the sick lethargy and actually get some stuff done.
Wednesday, July 02, 2008
A Good Tired
I've spent the last two days moving into my new room. I have entirely too much stuff. It's amazing how much too much stuff I have. I have shuffled, stacked, combined, hung, filed, and thrown away for two straight days, and when I left today, it finally looked like a classroom as opposed to some sort of nuclear site. I'm starting to feel good about it. I'm going to have a lot more space in this room, for one thing, so I will actually be able to group my students and have them move their desks without all of us hurting one another in the process. That's nice. It's also nice to think that I might even have room to put in a small table for tutoring, conferences, and group work. I've certainly never had space for that before.
The best aspect of this new space is that is has windows everywhere. There is so much natural light. I love it. I think the plants will love it, too. There's not a lot of wall space for display in this room because of all the windows, but it's a decent trade-off, I think.
I still have a lot to do. I have to put up bulletin boards and finish up cleaning up all the loose ends, but the very nice gentleman from technology set up the student computer on the desk I brought from home today, and he completely gutted and reloaded my laptop, too, so except for replacing some missing equipment in the room, I'm ready to go. The laptop is working better than it ever has, so I am so grateful for the reload! It's needed it since at least January.
I guess that's all the news, and it's not really news to anyone but me. It's nice to be settled, though.
The best aspect of this new space is that is has windows everywhere. There is so much natural light. I love it. I think the plants will love it, too. There's not a lot of wall space for display in this room because of all the windows, but it's a decent trade-off, I think.
I still have a lot to do. I have to put up bulletin boards and finish up cleaning up all the loose ends, but the very nice gentleman from technology set up the student computer on the desk I brought from home today, and he completely gutted and reloaded my laptop, too, so except for replacing some missing equipment in the room, I'm ready to go. The laptop is working better than it ever has, so I am so grateful for the reload! It's needed it since at least January.
I guess that's all the news, and it's not really news to anyone but me. It's nice to be settled, though.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Weekend (or Gimme the HEMI)
Roux's home. The poor baby has staples in a six-inch line up her leg, and she's getting around in painful slowness, but she's home. The vet said that upon inspection of the injury it appears that her ACL injury occurred because it deteriorated because of natural causes. He said this sometimes happens in dogs and that in the next six months to a year it may happen again in her other leg. He said there's nothing that can be done to prevent it; apparently, it's a genetic issue. As I watch her limp from room to room, I pray that this is all for her. If her other leg goes, I'll do whatever I have to by way of surgery, but it will be so much better if she can recover from this and be healthy and happy.
Friday, while I was waiting to hear about Roux's surgery, I went with my parents to go see my uncle, and we wound up stopping on the way at a car dealership instead. Dad needed a new vehicle. With gas prices going up and the reliability of his 1991 truck going down, it was time. Although I don't think they intended the purpose of the trip to be purchasing a new car, Dad came home in an 07 Chrysler Pacifica. It's big enough for him to fit in and it gets really good gas mileage. We took it north today on the rescheduled trip to see my uncle, and it was very nice. I think he's excited about having it, and I think it's about time. It's the first "new" vehicle he's had since 1981. He was way overdue.
While he and Mom were conducting their business, I was somewhat left at loose ends, so I talked to some of the salesmen, roamed the lot, and drooled over the Chargers. I was standing and staring at their curving loveliness when all the headlights started flashing. I stepped back, a little startled, and one of the salemen stepped out with a handful of keys. He said, "Pick one." I started making noises saying no because I cannot trade cars right now, even though I want almost nothing in this whole world more than a big-HEMI Charger. I didn't want to be a test-drive tease. He just smiled, and said again, "Pick one. You want to drive the red one?"
The red one was a big HEMI R/T package, and it was fine in every way, but it was not the one that made my heart skip a beat. The one that made me want to cry was a big HEMI 08 in a color called Titanium. I smiled at him, and I swear I felt like a kid in a candy store when I pointed at it and I said, "That one. I want to drive that one." He handed me the key and told me to have fun and went back inside.
Oh BOY, did I have fun. I didn't trust myself to test drive it long. Otherwise, I'd still be driving it. That was the second one I've driven, but the other one didn't have a HEMI, and oh what a difference that makes. As soon as I got it around the block and out onto the open road, I just floored it to see what it would do. I swear, it felt like the thing stood up. There was no hesitation, no pause, no sickening moment of waiting for the rush, just pure power and a purring roar from the engine. The RPMs kicked high briefly to meet the immediate demand, and I was doing 85 before I could even blink. I was giggling like a fool and furtively looking around me for highway patrol before sanity returned and I slowed down to a speed less likely to get me arrested. There was almost no traffic on the road, so I slowed down to crawl so I could hit it again to hear it roar and feel it fly. It was so amazing. All I could think was, "I LOVE this car. I LOVE this car!!!!"
The day when I have one of these for my own is going to have to come soon. When I got back to the dealership and parked it, I felt a great loss at turning the ignition off and getting out. I just wanted to keep driving it, not at daredevil, lawbreaking speeds, but at every speed. Maybe the legislature will give us a 200% raise soon and I'll be able to afford one....
Friday, while I was waiting to hear about Roux's surgery, I went with my parents to go see my uncle, and we wound up stopping on the way at a car dealership instead. Dad needed a new vehicle. With gas prices going up and the reliability of his 1991 truck going down, it was time. Although I don't think they intended the purpose of the trip to be purchasing a new car, Dad came home in an 07 Chrysler Pacifica. It's big enough for him to fit in and it gets really good gas mileage. We took it north today on the rescheduled trip to see my uncle, and it was very nice. I think he's excited about having it, and I think it's about time. It's the first "new" vehicle he's had since 1981. He was way overdue.
While he and Mom were conducting their business, I was somewhat left at loose ends, so I talked to some of the salesmen, roamed the lot, and drooled over the Chargers. I was standing and staring at their curving loveliness when all the headlights started flashing. I stepped back, a little startled, and one of the salemen stepped out with a handful of keys. He said, "Pick one." I started making noises saying no because I cannot trade cars right now, even though I want almost nothing in this whole world more than a big-HEMI Charger. I didn't want to be a test-drive tease. He just smiled, and said again, "Pick one. You want to drive the red one?"
The red one was a big HEMI R/T package, and it was fine in every way, but it was not the one that made my heart skip a beat. The one that made me want to cry was a big HEMI 08 in a color called Titanium. I smiled at him, and I swear I felt like a kid in a candy store when I pointed at it and I said, "That one. I want to drive that one." He handed me the key and told me to have fun and went back inside.
Oh BOY, did I have fun. I didn't trust myself to test drive it long. Otherwise, I'd still be driving it. That was the second one I've driven, but the other one didn't have a HEMI, and oh what a difference that makes. As soon as I got it around the block and out onto the open road, I just floored it to see what it would do. I swear, it felt like the thing stood up. There was no hesitation, no pause, no sickening moment of waiting for the rush, just pure power and a purring roar from the engine. The RPMs kicked high briefly to meet the immediate demand, and I was doing 85 before I could even blink. I was giggling like a fool and furtively looking around me for highway patrol before sanity returned and I slowed down to a speed less likely to get me arrested. There was almost no traffic on the road, so I slowed down to crawl so I could hit it again to hear it roar and feel it fly. It was so amazing. All I could think was, "I LOVE this car. I LOVE this car!!!!"
The day when I have one of these for my own is going to have to come soon. When I got back to the dealership and parked it, I felt a great loss at turning the ignition off and getting out. I just wanted to keep driving it, not at daredevil, lawbreaking speeds, but at every speed. Maybe the legislature will give us a 200% raise soon and I'll be able to afford one....
Friday, June 27, 2008
Roux to the Vet
This morning, I got up early, got dressed, and took Roux for a long walk around the yard. She sniffed every blade of dew-wet grass, overturned every brown live-oak leaf, and followed every track left in the yard by nighttime animal visitor in the yard. Her poor back leg trembled with every step, but she was so excited to be outside in the cool morning air that her ears were perked up and she wasn't really paying attention. Yelldo, who'd come out with her, was dancing around, sniffing and exploring happily, getting ready to enjoy another morning of outdoor fun.
When I was sure she'd taken care of her bodily needs, I brought her back in, gathered up my purse and keys, and helped her into the car. She, as she always does, climbed right across the passenger side and into the driver's seat. Once I persuaded her that she couldn't drive, we hit the road. She is always such a good dog in the car, so peaceful and calm. She looks out the window at the passing cars, and she never seems nervous at all. She is always perfectly composed, stately almost.
Today, I just kept petting her and telling her over and over what I've been saying since Wednesday, telling her she'll feel so much better when this is all over and that I swear I'll be back for her as soon as I'm able. I don't know if dogs have memories for things like this, but I believe they do. I worry so much that she will flash back to her life as a shelter dog or to the time when she was in rescue before she had a permanent home, and that she'll think that I've given her up. I know the surgery will be painful for her during and after the procedure, but she's a pit, and a healthy one at that, so I'm not worried so much about her physically. Mostly, I don't want her great big loving pit bull heart to suffer even for one second thinking that I left her somewhere. That's happened to her before, after all.
Now, I'm just waiting by the phone to hear that she's okay after the surgery. Once I hear that, I can begin the countdown to her return to me tomorrow morning. I know all too well the pain of knee surgery, so I am ready to help her start on the road to recovery once she gets home. I just need her home. It's hard to have part of your heart away from you.
When I was sure she'd taken care of her bodily needs, I brought her back in, gathered up my purse and keys, and helped her into the car. She, as she always does, climbed right across the passenger side and into the driver's seat. Once I persuaded her that she couldn't drive, we hit the road. She is always such a good dog in the car, so peaceful and calm. She looks out the window at the passing cars, and she never seems nervous at all. She is always perfectly composed, stately almost.
Today, I just kept petting her and telling her over and over what I've been saying since Wednesday, telling her she'll feel so much better when this is all over and that I swear I'll be back for her as soon as I'm able. I don't know if dogs have memories for things like this, but I believe they do. I worry so much that she will flash back to her life as a shelter dog or to the time when she was in rescue before she had a permanent home, and that she'll think that I've given her up. I know the surgery will be painful for her during and after the procedure, but she's a pit, and a healthy one at that, so I'm not worried so much about her physically. Mostly, I don't want her great big loving pit bull heart to suffer even for one second thinking that I left her somewhere. That's happened to her before, after all.
Now, I'm just waiting by the phone to hear that she's okay after the surgery. Once I hear that, I can begin the countdown to her return to me tomorrow morning. I know all too well the pain of knee surgery, so I am ready to help her start on the road to recovery once she gets home. I just need her home. It's hard to have part of your heart away from you.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Quote on Political Correctness
While on my favorite BlackBerry site, CrackBerry.com, I found this gem as a signature file in one of the forum posts. I had to copy it and share it here....
Political Correctness is a doctrine, fostered by a delusional, illogical minority, and rabidly promoted by an unscrupulous mainstream media, which holds forth the proposition that it is entirely possible to pick up a turd by the clean end. - Texas A&M University Student
Political Correctness is a doctrine, fostered by a delusional, illogical minority, and rabidly promoted by an unscrupulous mainstream media, which holds forth the proposition that it is entirely possible to pick up a turd by the clean end. - Texas A&M University Student
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Twilight
Choke...
Part of me does NOT want to admit that I read these books..... Does it make me a mewling preteen to have read these books? Jeez....
Anyway, because of all the hoopla surrounding the upcoming release of the last volume of the series, I got curious about Stephanie Meyer's Twilight series. I ordered the first one off Amazon with a bunch of other stuff expecting to be underwhelmed but at least culturally literate. When you teach teenagers, you need to at least try to be marginally culturally literate. Most of the time I fail miserably, but this was at least something I could read, so I figured I'd try it.
The first book was not well-written at all. Every thirty-seven words or so, the characters either glared, rolled their eyes, or chuckled. I felt the desire to slap the main character (just can't call her a heroine, sorry) about every fourth page in the hopes that she'd grow a spine or brain in reaction. Yet, somehow, despite all that colossally-ill-written prose, I still wanted to see what happened next. Somehow, I had to know what happened with all the rainy gloom in Forks.
So...I sent away to Amazon for the other two books. When they came, I felt embarrassed as though the UPS driver could see inside the plain brown box and knew what sort of literary crap fiction was inside. I think I would have been less shamed if it had contained an illustrated Kama Sutra. I spent the remainder of the day with Bella, Edward, Jacob, and that terrible writing watching their world fall apart in impossible ways through the two books. I finished New Moon about dinner time and Eclipse about 2 a.m. The good thing about pulp fiction is that you can rip right through it, reading-wise.
When I finished the third book, I started thinking about all the screaming prepubescent hordes who lustfully adore Edward, the vampire love interest in the books. He certainly isn't like any of the fictional vamps I've read in the past. His main personality trait seems to be "control," not something I personally find appealing. His attraction to Bella is based on some prey-drive thing, but her attraction to him is never really explained other than by saying that he's really good-looking and sexy and in to her...and the author says that about every fifth sentence. Their conversations don't ever feel real to me. They are filled with mutual worship and angst instead of real speaking and listening.
Bella does have another love interest, a best friend who shares a lot with her, named Jacob. With Jacob, she does real things (sometimes) and has real conversations. Some of the best writing in the series, some of the most believable characterizations and conversations in the series come from their time together. She seems like she's on the verge of serious commitment to him a couple of times in the course of the series, but always she turns back to the dysfunctional Edward each time he crooks a finger. Of course, all this is tossed in with supernatural stuff like vampires and werewolves, so it does get a bit muddled at times....
I decided that Edward must fill that immature "star-crossed lover" desire that so many teenagers seem to have, that craving for the guy you just shouldn't have, the relationship that is as full of drama as you can possibly make it. I was never really into that, personally, but I saw it in full effect in the lives of some of my friends. They dated guys, I'm convinced, that they never would have given a second look to if the relationship had gone smoothly. As we get older, I think most of us lose that drama urge. Love is hard enough without looking for soap-opera complications on the side.
All in all, I guess this series is okay. It's not the worst thing I've ever read, for sure, and anything that gets people to read can't be all bad. I guess I'm just a little too old to get into a bother over cardboardy control characters. I'm curious enough and OCD enough to read the final book in the series when it comes out. I just don't intend to announce it loudly when I'm done.
Roux's Knee
Roux has been limping worse than usual the past two days, so today, I loaded her up and took her in to see the vet again. I was afraid that she'd reinjured or worsened the existing injury to her rear right ACL. She licked her lips in pain and only yelped a couple of times as the vet moved her leg, but I could tell it hurt her so much. The ultimate diagnosis didn't come as a surprise. She's going to need surgery to correct the torn ligament in her knee.
Roux was so sweet and good the whole time. Everyone always remarks on how beautiful she is, and I am always so proud to be able to tell people that she's a pit because I know that too many people have too many wrong attitudes about what pit bulls really are. The whole time we were traveling, the whole time we were sitting in the waiting room, and then while the vet was seeing her, she just kept looking up at me with that same loving trusting expression. Even when the vet had twisted her leg into a position that caused her pain, when he was done, she stuck her head into the crook of his arm as though he was a refuge for her. How could anyone look at that and see a dangerous animal?
She's going to have surgery Friday morning, and I'll need to crate her up for awhile. This, of course, doesn't mean that she wouldn't be perfectly capable of doing exactly what she's been doing and turn off all the pain to run full out after whatever she wanted if the opportunity presented itself, so I'm going to have to be very careful about keeping her on the leash and watching that she doesn't dash out the door for awhile. I hope that even after Friday's surgery she'll still be able to look up at me with that same love and trust. I know from personal experience how badly knee surgery hurts.
Roux was so sweet and good the whole time. Everyone always remarks on how beautiful she is, and I am always so proud to be able to tell people that she's a pit because I know that too many people have too many wrong attitudes about what pit bulls really are. The whole time we were traveling, the whole time we were sitting in the waiting room, and then while the vet was seeing her, she just kept looking up at me with that same loving trusting expression. Even when the vet had twisted her leg into a position that caused her pain, when he was done, she stuck her head into the crook of his arm as though he was a refuge for her. How could anyone look at that and see a dangerous animal?
She's going to have surgery Friday morning, and I'll need to crate her up for awhile. This, of course, doesn't mean that she wouldn't be perfectly capable of doing exactly what she's been doing and turn off all the pain to run full out after whatever she wanted if the opportunity presented itself, so I'm going to have to be very careful about keeping her on the leash and watching that she doesn't dash out the door for awhile. I hope that even after Friday's surgery she'll still be able to look up at me with that same love and trust. I know from personal experience how badly knee surgery hurts.
Easy Key Lime Pie Recipe
The pie is great. If you want the recipe, check here on the RealSimple recipe page for it. I will say that because I can't seem to find an 8 oz. container of heavy cream or a 6 oz. can of frozen limeade that I doubled the recipe instead by simply buying another pie crust and another can of sweetened condensed milk and making two pies instead of one. Now what will I do with that second pie?
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Elizabeth: The Golden Age
I watched this tonight with my faux Mexican, and I was reminded of why I am fascinated by the Tudors. I loved the first movie, Elizabeth, tremendously. I have it on DVD, and every time I watch it I am a little more impressed with it. I know it's not exactly accurate historically, but it's fairly close, and just to see the period come to life in that way and to gain a window in to how Elizabeth might have felt when the events of her life unfolded is powerful.
The Golden Age had many of the same qualities. The romance element from the first movie was largely absent, or at least highly sublimated, but the history was so rich. Mary, Queen of Scots made her fateful decision and lost her head, Philip II schemed his megalomaniac schemes, cloaked in religious zeal, and the Armada sailed. Just seeing the Armada being built and then the later battle with the fire ships was incredible. Seeing Elizabeth deliver her famous speech to the troops as the Armada approached was also very well-done.
I think, though, the very best moments of the film revolved around the conflict with Mary, Queen of Scots. The actress who played her played Jane Eyre in the BBC/A&E production. I can never remember her name, but she's very good. I never would have thought of casting her into that role, but now that I've seen her in it, I don't think I will ever be able to think of anyone else in it. She carried herself with such perfect composure and regal grace. She was a wonderful foil for Cate Blanchett's Elizabeth, and let's be honest, that wasn't going to be easy to do.
When Mary's plot to assassinate Elizabeth was discovered and she knew her life was basically forfeit, she still maintained her dignity. She went to the block like a queen.
Just as moving was the reaction of Elizabeth. It humanized that whole part of the story. Elizabeth was torn in making the decision to order Mary's execution for many reasons, and even when the decision was done, in the film, she could not watch it. Again, I'm not sure of the historical accuracy of any of it, but it was compellingly played on screen.
I'm glad I finally got to see it. All in all, I liked the first one better, I guess. It would have been hard to live up to it, too, all things considered. I will want this one to show bits and pieces of for the Armada scenes, especially, and I'll definitely want to watch it again.
The Golden Age had many of the same qualities. The romance element from the first movie was largely absent, or at least highly sublimated, but the history was so rich. Mary, Queen of Scots made her fateful decision and lost her head, Philip II schemed his megalomaniac schemes, cloaked in religious zeal, and the Armada sailed. Just seeing the Armada being built and then the later battle with the fire ships was incredible. Seeing Elizabeth deliver her famous speech to the troops as the Armada approached was also very well-done.
I think, though, the very best moments of the film revolved around the conflict with Mary, Queen of Scots. The actress who played her played Jane Eyre in the BBC/A&E production. I can never remember her name, but she's very good. I never would have thought of casting her into that role, but now that I've seen her in it, I don't think I will ever be able to think of anyone else in it. She carried herself with such perfect composure and regal grace. She was a wonderful foil for Cate Blanchett's Elizabeth, and let's be honest, that wasn't going to be easy to do.
When Mary's plot to assassinate Elizabeth was discovered and she knew her life was basically forfeit, she still maintained her dignity. She went to the block like a queen.
Just as moving was the reaction of Elizabeth. It humanized that whole part of the story. Elizabeth was torn in making the decision to order Mary's execution for many reasons, and even when the decision was done, in the film, she could not watch it. Again, I'm not sure of the historical accuracy of any of it, but it was compellingly played on screen.
I'm glad I finally got to see it. All in all, I liked the first one better, I guess. It would have been hard to live up to it, too, all things considered. I will want this one to show bits and pieces of for the Armada scenes, especially, and I'll definitely want to watch it again.
Reengineering Wireless and Key Lime Pie
After a long night of really bizarre dreams, there's nothing like checking your bank balance prior to going to the store and finding that you have $0.76. Really. Seventy-six cents. After I took care of that, I squelched my trepidation, kissed my dogs, and went to town for the first time since last Tuesday's robbery. I was out of practically everything.
My wireless network here at home has been spotty since I moved the router to the back of the house to get it out of the living room, so in an effort to continue yesterday's office cleaning and revamping, I decided I would fix the problem today. Nothing is ever as easy as it seems, though.
The room roughly in the center of my house has very high ceilings. It's the room that joins the two houses that make up the house as a whole. There is a display ledge that is formed by the ceiling of one of the rooms, and that is where I decided to put my router.
I got my ladder and climbed precariously up. I managed not get the router up and myself down without killing myself, a minor miracle, and then I fought with the cords for fifteen or twenty minutes. When I finally got them all hidden behind doors, under rugs and along crevices, I plugged everything in, turned it on, and was pleasantly surprised that, so far, everything works.
This was pleasing, but was by no means the best part of my day. The best part of my day was the easy key lime pie recipe I made with my Kitchen Aid. Mmmm-mmmm. I love key lime pie, but making the real thing is a pain. I love any pie you can dump the ingredients for into a mixer and then pour into a pie crust. I haven't had the actual end result yet as it's still chilling, but I did, um, "clean the bowl" before I washed it, and I have to say the prechilled mix was fine in every way.
I am now going to go make some faux Mexican food and watch a movie. It's been a good day.
My wireless network here at home has been spotty since I moved the router to the back of the house to get it out of the living room, so in an effort to continue yesterday's office cleaning and revamping, I decided I would fix the problem today. Nothing is ever as easy as it seems, though.
The room roughly in the center of my house has very high ceilings. It's the room that joins the two houses that make up the house as a whole. There is a display ledge that is formed by the ceiling of one of the rooms, and that is where I decided to put my router.
I got my ladder and climbed precariously up. I managed not get the router up and myself down without killing myself, a minor miracle, and then I fought with the cords for fifteen or twenty minutes. When I finally got them all hidden behind doors, under rugs and along crevices, I plugged everything in, turned it on, and was pleasantly surprised that, so far, everything works.
This was pleasing, but was by no means the best part of my day. The best part of my day was the easy key lime pie recipe I made with my Kitchen Aid. Mmmm-mmmm. I love key lime pie, but making the real thing is a pain. I love any pie you can dump the ingredients for into a mixer and then pour into a pie crust. I haven't had the actual end result yet as it's still chilling, but I did, um, "clean the bowl" before I washed it, and I have to say the prechilled mix was fine in every way.
I am now going to go make some faux Mexican food and watch a movie. It's been a good day.
Monday, June 23, 2008
Cleaning Up
I decided that today is a cleanup day. I am going to tackle the office today and see if I can't bring some order to the chaos. I want to have some people over for dinner one night, and I certainly need to clear stuff up if I'm going to reach that goal. It never ceases to amaze me how messy one person and five critters can make a house. I hope I can at least get this one room cleaned up today. Here's hoping.
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