Gorgeous Voice

You may have read my brief commentary on the Four Corners free sampler from Amazon the other day. On it, I found an artist named Sara Tavares. Her voice and acoustic guitar are absolutely haunting. She is from Cape Verde, a nation I am ashamed to say I knew nothing about until I used Wikipedia to correct my ignorance. I recognized her lyrics in some of the songs as Portuguese, one of my favorite languages I don't speak, but I was off about the location of her origin. I'm sure there is also Kriolu, the Cape Verde Portuguese Creole, there, too, but I don't know enough about Portuguese to sort it all out. It's all so liquid and lovely to my ears that it doesn't make an appreciable difference, anyway. I love Portuguese, so I bet its derivatives are beautiful, too. Anyway, check Sara out. Her stuff is gorgeous.

Weather, Again

Seems like I'm blogging lots of storms lately, but if you could just see the one out my window right now, I think you'd agree that it's blog-worthy. Geez....

I stayed at school too long this afternoon trying desperately to get stuff done in my usual fashion, and when I looked up, the lazy sun was gone and the roiling black clouds of destruction were coming over the horizon. I think I'm just going to wait it out here for awhile. I don't fancy trying to drive in all that.

Oh well. I'm sure I can find something to do. I just wish I didn't feel quite so much like crawling under my desk to do it....

Monday

It Monday-ed on me. I feel like I've been beaten up. I wish I had somebody I could come home to, curl up against, feel strong arms hold me. Is it weak to wish for this? Part of me thinks so... The warrior in me thinks I should pick myself up off the floor, wipe the blood and tears off my face and go on.

Sometimes, though, even the blade-wielding battle queen wishes there were an equal, a mate here at the end of days like this, days when I watch people walk off cliffs they'd have done better to avoid, days when I feel like I'm banging my head on the same big rocks to no useful end, days when the sun sets and I can't tell that any forward motion has been made at all, that anything I've done has made one scrap of difference to anybody. I have to say that it would be nice, really, really more than nice, to have that other around to balance me.

I don't know, really. Most of the time, I'm okay alone since it seems that this is my fate, this solitary path. It's just when the Mondays come that the alone seems too much to be asked to carry.

Storm

I'm sitting in the middle of a room full of windows on the second floor of a building in the midst of a fairly impressive thunderstorm hoping I don't get struck by lightning. This is not what I'd call a position of confidence.

Bad weather doesn't, as a rule, scare me, but the other day, I was in this same place and lightning kicked up sparks from some unknown object in the corner, so I'm a little wary. I moved a few things, metal odds and ends I was just stupid to have put so close to the windows, and I think I took care of the lightning rod effect which may actually have just been built-up static electricity rather than a direct strike, but still...

I know I need to recharge my batteries, but I don't think I mean that literally. Let's hope that changing this space around wasn't a huge, electrifying mistake on my part.

Planets

An application I've been having tremendous fun with on my iPhone touch is Planets. It's a stargazing application, but it does a lot of other things, too. It shows information about the planets and their moons, will tell you moonrise and set, sunrise and set, and also has a map showing what's currently the daylight and dark including the lights of the world via a satellite map of the globe. It's amazing. If you are interested in astronomy or just curious and have an iPhone or iPod touch, you might check it out if you don't already have it. I plan on taking mine out to my country shack when our rainy season clears out a bit more and spending some time reacquainting myself with the constellations.

Star Wars

Can I make the ultimate geek confession? I think the end of Return of the Jedi, the battle between Darth Vader and Luke and the subsequent destruction of the Emperor as Vader turns away from the Dark Side are some of the finest moments in film. Okay, so maybe it's not Casablanca or Cary Grant carrying that glowing glass of liquid up the stairs in Suspicion, but there is something so powerful about this scene.

The mythology layered in is a huge part of it. The myth of the young hero coming to confront his fallen father, coming to complete the quest that has taken him from boyhood to adult awareness, that has allowed him to test himself and pass, is wonderful no matter in which version it appears. That this story is actually the story of two men striving for definition has always fascinated me.

As much as I always liked Luke growing up, Vader was always my favorite. If you've read here much, you know I always love the monsters, anyway, and Vader was probably the first one of these to catch my attention. I love that at the very end, he gets a chance to redeem himself, to step away from all his bad decisions and be, at least for a brief moment, the man he was meant to be.

While I'm not one of those who run around espousing the "Jedi religion" or anything too crazy like that (at least not about Star Wars, anyway), I have always thought this is part of the message of Star Wars, that the possibility for redemption and change always exists, and that it can cause profound change when it happens, not just for the individual but for everyone connected to him or her as well. It's a powerful message, and one I personally believe to be true. I guess it's one of the reasons I always watch the films and why I have so many little Darth Vader doodads. Well, that and the fact that they're just so darn cool...

A Wonderful Free Thing

I stopped by Amazon to pick up an mp3 this morning, and while it was downloading, I started looking at their free music samplers. Lots of them I have absolutely zero interest in, but I found two that I love: Verve Vault Presents Rhythm, Strings, and Cool Breezy Jazz Sampler and the Four Quarters Sampler of "world music" a term I hate but a sound I find captivating. These are very nice little collections for no money whatsoever, and they work fine in iTunes. Love you, Amazon. Gracias.

What’s the Difference? » Geek vs. Nerd vs. Dork

God, I love words. I love the history of them, the way they change and grow. Language is funny and fun. Here's a little Mental Floss article that entertained me.

What’s the Difference? » Geek vs. Nerd vs. Dork

Magic

I think I said I'd put this up. I still don't know if I like it. It is still evolving...I just added a line as I put it up on the blog, and I might well take it out again next time I do something with it. I may stick this one back on the back burner for awhile. Comments are welcome.

MAGIC

I’m going to conjure you

write your secret name
in sacred symbols
three times
bind it with scarlet and silver
put it under my pillow
stroke my fingers over your knotwork
in the still and silent hours

Don’t be fickle or cruel
in those moments when
the moon spills over
the world breathes
lying listening for
the rustle of wings

Amused half-cat-smile
cerulean archangel eyes
Curl those hands in invitation

The oldest magic
will bind us together
breath and soul
even if the stars
fall from the sky
tonight

One Last Post Tonight

...before I go do other things. I wrote a poem today, my first new poetry in awhile. I may put it up here in a couple of days. I think my written voice is changing. It's strange. I guess if things don't change, they die, but I don't know if I'm entirely comfortable with the evolution. Maybe it's not supposed to be a comfortable process, the becoming.... Maybe I just need to get away for awhile, get some fresh water into the pool. That's always helped in the past. Maybe I just need a good swift kick. That couldn't hurt, probably, most days.... Who knows? I am just unsettled by the difference.

The Beauty of Technology

I am constantly amazed by what technology allows me to do. I have almost a whole season of Warehouse 13 on my DVR right now, and I don't even know how much David Tennant-y DW goodness is waiting from Sunday's all day BBC-America goodness for me to enjoy at my leisure. Since TV frequently stinks or bores me, I adore this thing and can't understand for the life of me why I waited so long to get one. It's so nice not to have to worry about how long I'm gone so that the few shows I do actually care about following are waiting on me when I can get around to them.

My iPod touch is also a thing of loveliness. Apple just makes nice stuff. I am having so much fun with this little gadget. I am trying not to be tacky and run around stores and so forth with it in my ears, but I have to say it's tempting. Having all my music in one place constantly makes me happy, and the apps that Apple has allow customization on an epic scale, which is absolutely right up my alley.

Of course, my little netbook still fascinates me. I mean, it fits in my freakin' purse. How nifty is that? I love it when tech tools are powerful and small. It makes me smile. Huginn is in fact the thing I'm using right now to blog this...

A future gadget I'm interested in is the tablet Apple is coming out with. It also looks like a thing I would love. If it does half of what they say it will, it will probably go on my drool list. Maybe I can add it to my geek stash in the future, to this list of beautiful technology that makes my life better and easier.

Guys on the Porch

Each day when I come home from school, there are some older men on the porch of a certain house I pass playing a game, either checkers or cards, on a small table. Something about them warms my heart. I love that they're always there. I love that they're on the porch playing, not in a back room, not in an air conditioned kitchen somewhere. Most of all, though, I love how happy they always look. They're intent in their game in the few seconds I spend with them as I wait at the light or pass steadily by if it happens to be green, but they smile, they clap when one of them makes a great play, and the fellowship they share is tangible. It makes me want to pull over and see if they'd let me join them for a little while. It seems as though it would be a very worthwhile way to spend an afternoon.

Frisky

I've got energy this evening, the kind I usually associate with the full moon. I got a lot done at school this afternoon, braved the insanity that is Wal-Mart, and am still bouncing. I need a playmate.

I don't know what's going on. I've been tired for the last two weeks. Maybe it's been trying to get my body in the school routine. Whatever it is, I'm glad it's abated. I have to catch up here, and I have some...other writing...to do, too.

Right now, it's off for some red beans and rice, though. Food actually sounds good for the first time in about a week, so NOM!!!

Old Arguments

I heard the old When Harry Met Sally argument revived the other day that men and women can't be just friends, that there always had to be more going on than this between them. I hear this all the time, but I don't think it's true. I wonder where it even started.

I've had lots and lots of male friends who were just friends. When I think of it, I would say that some of my very best friends have been guys, and as far as I know, neither of us in the friendship were pining away with love or desire. (Of course, there were one or two cases where things did go completely to crap, but....)

Now it may well be true that friendships between the genders are different somehow than the ones forged between members of ones own gender. I am more comfortable telling my guy friends some kinds of things and my girl friends others. My guy friends tend to share my geek streak more than my girl friends do. I've held on to most of my girl friends over the years, and while I still think highly of those guys, I don't see them much anymore now that we're all rotating into the "family years."

I just refuse to believe that you can't have a guy friend, that the relationship is always somehow doomed. I have always rejected that. I have to rely on my own past experience here and say that premise is a false one. I may be an oblivious, cerebral, and detached Aquarius who frequently has to have certain elephants in the room pointed out to her, but I think I would have noticed if they were dying for love of me, surely....

Nanci Griffith

And when he dies he says he'll catch some blackbird's wing
And we will fly away to heaven
Come some sweet blue bonnet spring
-- from "Gulf Coast Highway"

I got to see one of my all-time favorite artists in concert last night. Nanci Griffith came to our local performing arts center. She was every bit as good as I had hoped she'd be.

I almost missed it. I forgot about the concert until the night before. I got on FB and my friends were talking about going, and the local center, which I follow on FB, had a post about the pre-show social and goings-on. I started kicking myself hard for letting school eat my soul again and make me miss something I really wanted to do. I was able to call yesterday and get a left over ticket, though, and it really worked out pretty well because I got one of the released artist's tickets, so I was sitting in very, very good seats.

Nanci was delightful. I can't get over the fact that she used to be a kindergarten teacher. I didn't know that until I looked at the program last night. It fits, though. I could see that in her.

Every song she sings, whether it's one she wrote or one she chose, has words that take my breath. They are all songs that make your brain and heart engage. I admire and respect her so much for that.

She's been a favorite of mine since my freshman year of college. The guys at the Wesley got me hooked on her when we went on a missions trip that first summer. I have so many memories from that trip hooked to specific songs. It was lovely to hear her sing them last night.

I wasn't the only one who felt that way, either. The gentleman who was sitting next to me introduced himself, and he and I were practically bouncing with happiness together the whole night. From the time she started singing the first number, we just looked at each other and grinned. At one point, he leaned over and said, "Have you ever been to a concert that you had to stop yourself from singing through so hard?" I wanted to laugh because I know had just had that same thought as she did "Listen to the Radio" which starts out with what one of my friends from Indiana used to say was the sweetest lyric in all of music, "I am leaving Mississippi in the evening breeze...." I think half the theater was bobbing heads and patting legs to keep from belting it out with her. I love shows like that. At the end, we shook hands and he said, "It was nice to sit next to another real fan." And you know what? It really was.

I've got the music going on iTunes right now, and I'm sure I'll be overdosing on it through the next few days. It was a great evening. She said she'd going to come back, and while most of the artists who come to our little jewel box do return, I hope she really will. I look forward to another evening with her.

ARGH Days

Technology was the foe today. All the cables were too short. The wireless connection kept dropping at the least convenient moment. All the ethernet ports in my room have mysteriously died. The screen and projector in my room are facing the wrong way. My laptop is acting suspiciously. Everything conspired to make me frustrated and off-balance.

By now, I should have learned to let these days go with grace and a chuckle. Instead, I was frazzled by the time I got to second period. Once again, I'm doing my juggler-at-the-edge-of-the-abyss routine, and I have to stop trying to do every blessed thing in the world myself. It's such an arrogance. I'm home and tired, too tired to enjoy the things I most wanted to do tonight, of course. I'm going to work on some writing I want to do anyway. I've got the White Stripes cranked up to an obscene level. Maybe I can borrow some energy from Jack.

What I Need

...is somebody who has a good strong talented pair of hands. And who is willing to use those hands to get the knot from between my shoulder blades. I have a ball of muscle that is absolutely sore to the touch at the base of my neck. Stress does this to me. It is one of my least favorite of my body's little tricks.

The only person I've ever known who could get all the knots and kinks out was a wonderful guy I knew in college. Him, I should have married just for his hands.... He could start at the nape of my neck and work all the way down my spine without hurting me as almost everybody else who's ever tried to work my back has done. I was a big old puddle of happy goo when he was through. Yep, I should have packed him up and brought him home. Now, all these years later, I have pain and no graceful long-fingered friend to help me. Sigh...

Benten

I got my new iPod touch today, and I'm in the process of upgrading the OS and getting it tweaked out. The touchscreen is taking some getting used to since I'm a BlackBerry girl, but it's unbelievably lovely.

In keeping with my habit of naming my object after their function, I have decided to call my iPod Benten after the Japanese goddess Benzaiten, goddess of music, poetry, learning, art, and patroness of children. I'm looking forward to many happy hours with this new little pagan deity in my pocket along with Thoth (my Kindle) or alone.

Stepping Out on the Ledge a Few More Inches

Our local group of writers has an open mic night at a local coffee house, and one of my colleagues is a regular reader there. I've thought about going since I first heard of it, but something's always interfered, classes or knee or something. She brought it up again Friday while we were standing around waiting for a copier to be free, and I think I'm going to go.

I've only ever read my poetry publicly at the awards ceremonies for the competitions I've been in and at a writers' night we had for our students and staff at the school, so this will be another really big stretch for me. My first inclination is to just go and listen, in fact. I know, though, that if I don't throw myself off that cliff, I will lose my nerve and lose a chance to fly.

Of course, there will be some pieces that I definitely will NOT be reading. Some stuff will have to stay in the notebooks here at home. There are some cliffs I'm not ready to throw myself off no matter how amazing the flight down might be....

Back to the Future Trilogy

I bought the Back to the Future Trilogy today. I see the films occasionally on this cable channel or the other, but it's been a long time since I've seen any of them whole and without any commercials. It's one of my favorite 80s series, and it's a great light break for tonight. I have always loved the idea of that one definitive moment of courage that changes a person's whole life, love the transformation for Marty's downtrodden dad at the dance. The other installments of the trilogy have great messages, too, but the first one will always be the best to me.

The New School Year

Our new school year is off and running. (It seems like all I do is write in cliches, lately...oh well...) My kids are going to be a good bunch this year, and everybody just has the most positive attitude. It's wonderful. I feel better about this year than I have for a long time, not because of the people in my class (they're always quality) but because of the atmosphere outside it. I hope that it holds, that this feeling that all things are possible remains. We can do an awful lot with this.

Loss

One of the great ladies in my church passed away Thursday. She was a combination of many things to me, a fan of my rough and sometimes terrible organ playing, a friend, one of the few people left who remembers my paternal grandmother and called her "friend", someone who lived in Japan once as well and could share recollections of life there as a gaijin outsider, and the sister of my beloved music teacher. It's such a cliche to say that you never think about the last time you see someone being the last time you're ever going to see them, but that's all I've been able to think about these last two days. I didn't see her often enough, and now there are no more chances to tell stories, give hugs, or play songs. Every time I play, that pew will be empty, empty, and all those links are broken.

Old Hymns

Meant to blog this last night....

I played with our substitute pianist last night because our usual night pianist, one of my very best friends, was out of town. Since our sub isn't used to playing very often, we did some very old traditional hymns that everybody knows, and it was wonderful fun.

I love to play old hymns. Don't get me wrong. I enjoy all church music from stuff with loud guitars to stuff with loud banjos right up to stuff with loud pipe organs. It all makes me happy, and I think it all makes God happy, too. I know not everybody enjoys every type of music, but to me, it's all wonderful stuff. There's just something about playing and singing those old, old hymns, though, that moves me.

I don't have a blazing musical talent. I have friends who do, and what they can do with instruments humbles me. I will never forget as long as I live hearing one of my gifted pianist friends play his arrangement of "It Is Well with My Soul." That simple old song glowed like stained glass struck with the rising sun. It's a song I've always loved, a song I used to sneak up to the chapel at the university I attended for my undergrad and play on the piano there late at night when I felt bad. Of course, when I played it, it never sounded like his version. If anything should ever happen to me, I want him to play that at my funeral.

"Angel Band" is another one of those old hymns that affects me that way. I still remember my grandmother crying whenever it was played in church because it reminded her of her own mother. It was in due time played at her funeral, and whenever I hear it, I can hear my Granny's voice singing it. Someday, I am going to get the courage to sing that at church. Maybe I won't screw it up....

There are so many other lovely old songs that I also love, but one I frequently play for prelude is "In the Garden." I figure probably 75% of the congregation isn't paying attention to what the organ is doing anyway, and it makes me tremendously happy to hear the King of Instruments purr through that song. Playing it is a bit like singing it in many ways. It just feels good to walk the baseline in the chorus and imagine the words coming true.

Even as I continue to find new songs that I enjoy and add to my repertoire, I will always hang on to these oldest loves of mine. I know I'm never going to be a fantastic concert organist, but maybe if they're played with love and happiness, that will be enough.

...And Still No iPod

Another side effect of the unpacking has been the fact that I still haven't found my iPod. I was hoping that I would locate it in and amongst the flotsam and jetsam of my room, but as each box has been unpacked and discarded in the hall, there has been no little black pouch. I don't know what genius thing I did with it in my befuddled state at the end of last year, but I must have truly lost it.

I will wait until the end of tomorrow when all the boxes are truly unloaded, just so it doesn't turn out to be one of those O. Henry ironic things, "Oh, huh, if you'd just unpacked that one last box," but I have to try to figure out what to do now. Do I want to get an iPod or do I want to get an iPhone? I am a hardcore BlackBerry junkie, so I am loathe to relinquish my Berry for the iPhone even though they look like fun, but they have more storage for less money than most of the iPods I want. Grr...why can't my sweet little red square Nano just be in a box? I miss it so much.

Dragging

The past few days have been an all-out race to get my classroom ready. Every time I've turned around there has been ONE...MORE...BOX. I think that when I dream, I see ONE...MORE...BOX. I am coming to hate corrugated cardboard. Why, oh why, do I have so much crap in my room? I can't possibly use all that stuff, can I? I have looked at stuff as I've unboxed it, and thought about each item, but unfortunately, yeah, I do use it all, or at least I will at some point. Sigh.

The room is coming together, but I am just about shot. I finally got some of my personal stuff in today, and I think I only have two boxes left. I still have to paint my speaker's stand and get it in, a major job, but maybe tomorrow will be the day I can close my door at the end of the day and leave without feeling like I'm sneaking away from the scene of an accident.

Moving Back In

Our school has been in renovation all summer, and we can now move our stuff back in. Yesterday was the first time I've seen my classroom since the remodeling began, and I was a little nervous about what it would look like, what the school as a whole would be like now. Our building is quite old, built in the early decades of the last century, and it has a solidity and old-fashioned presence that I was afraid might have been lost.

The renovation is wonderful. Everything that was tattered and ragged has been refreshed, and nothing that makes our building warm and charming has been removed. The floors are lovely, the lowered ceilings both reflect more light and hide the ugliness of conduits and duct work that was exposed before, and all the woodwork had been refurbished.

In my classroom, the floor has been replaced with light-colored tiles, and the effect is startling. My classroom has lots of windows, so there has always been a lot of light, but now, with this new floor, the space looks so much bigger. It's wonderful. I spent three hours yesterday trying to rearrange the big pieces of furniture to decide where they should go. I think I have the basics in place now. All that remains is dragging all the many, many boxes here at the house back to school.

It's good to see the place looking so nice. I hope that when our students return, they will take pride in what they see as well. Maybe this can be a fresh start for all of us, the start of a strong new era for our school.

Following Eleanor's Advice

You gain strength, courage and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You are able to say to yourself, 'I have lived through this horror. I can take the next thing that comes along.' You must do the thing you think you cannot do.
Eleanor Roosevelt

The sky is orange fading to red, and I am full of a quiet joy. The past few days, I've been following Eleanor's advice in a small way, and I feel like I've discovered new wings to fly.

Sometimes it's so hard to face fears, so hard to do the things that really matter to me even when they are small steps, things that nobody else would even care about. When I get to the edge of whatever it is, and I look down at that sheer drop, I want to cling to the status-quo, keep my wings furled and folded even though my heart is longing for the sky. The fear of failure keeps me mute, still.

Now that I've had my little taste of flight, though, I don't think I'm going to be able to fold my wings again. That's the thing about flying; I think it's addictive.

Thoughts on Imagination

Perhaps imagination is only intelligence having fun. ~George Scialabra

The Novelty of It All

This weekend, I got an unexpected gift from my uncle. He gave me a check when I went to see him. The money was only a tiny portion of what he actually gave me, though. It just keeps rippling forward. I don't know how to express the fullness of what he actually handed me Saturday.

He handed me the ability to walk into the business office of the hospital today and walk out without the albatross of debt around my neck. I didn't pay all the accounts off, but I paid off four out of the five hospital accounts that had sprung up in their arcane and hellish billing since my ACL surgery. I practically skipped out to the parking lot I felt so good. Instead of spending months staring at ever-increasing stacks of paper and trying to figure out how to rob Peter to pay Paul, I actually might be able to pay it all off.

I even had enough money to go to the grocery store and buy something other than survival rations for once. I walked up and down the aisles, bought refills for my air freshener, and got two kinds of ice cream sandwiches. Luxury, luxury, luxury.

The last thing I'm going to do with my gift is get a DVR, something lasting to keep. I've been wanting one for a long time because I am so rarely home to watch the things I enjoy. It seems I am always leaving when the things I want to see are coming on. It's also the case that with this, I can remember his gift every time I use it.

The gift was a gift far beyond just simple money. He gave me relief from the things that were presently plaguing me and comfort and enjoyment for the future. I am so grateful to him. I feel more relaxed right now than I have in months.

The Power of Words

"The basic tool for the manipulation of reality is the manipulation of words. If you can control the meaning of words, you can control the people who must use the words."
Philip K. Dick

Another Argument for Jeans

No one has ever had an idea in a dress suit.
Sir Frederick G. Banting

Lava Lamp Screen Saver

Lava Lamp Screen Saver - Free software downloads and software reviews - CNET Download.com

Don't ask me why because I am not remotely interested in explaining, but I got on a lava lamp kick the other day. (Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know kitsch is my life....) I found this screensaver, and it is really actually very nice. I am planning to order the full version later on, but the freeware was something I thought those of you who also appreciate the...um...finer things in life...might want to check out as well. The link above will take you to CNET, home of safe downloads. Enjoy, and you might let me know what you think of it, too, if it made you smile.

A Sudden Pain

What do you fear in yourself? What do you watch yourself for, dread to see, flinch away from? Is it a tone of voice, a gesture, a pattern of behavior? Maybe you have a temper, an addiction, a weakness that you can't fight quite hard enough or long enough. You're having a perfectly good day, and then suddenly the shadow moves across the sun. You stumble, only a half-step if you're lucky, a graceless sprawl if you're not. There's a moment of disorientation, blood on the palms of the hands or a skinned knee if the fall was a serious one, and that sudden pain of knowing regardless of whatever physical signs remain. That inner pain is worse, actually. The scars carried inside are always worse than the ones left on the outside because you know what they came from, something for your mind to worry itself against like a tongue against a sore tooth. After the fall comes the excruciating process of dragging yourself up again and rebuilding your careful guard against that slice of darkness which will, for a time at least, be content to recede.

The Five Most Interesting Imaginary Men

I'm more random than usual today. Who knows what backwash of energy in the neurons prompted this list, but here you have it, the official Dancing Fool List of the Top Five Most Interesting Imaginary Men, in no particular rank order:

*) Mr. Darcy -- Any literary chick worth her salt would have to include Darcy. He has probably ruined more women for real men than any other imaginary man out there. I wonder if he smirks smugly about this to himself. Probably not. He is, of course, above such things. The traits that put Darcy on this list for me are the fact that he does have such deep feelings that he fights so hard to contain, channel, and figure out. He's not a perfect man, Lord knows. He's arrogant, stubborn, and sarcastic. When he realizes that he is in love, though, he genuinely examines himself and while he remains much the same man he always was (nobody wants a doormat), he is willing to bend some when Lizzy does, too. It's a beautiful thing.

*) Dr. Who -- Sheer, raw intelligence and knowledge of worlds and more worlds coupled with madcap humour and adventure, and in the later regenerations, good looks that will absolutely melt your eyes out. If you're curious like me, could you resist the lure of the 900-year-old man in the blue box who could take you to worlds you've never seen or back to see the pyramids being built? Of course, don't do what all his companions lately seem to do and fall in love because there are some fairly nasty commitment issues at hand, the abjectly broken heart of a soldier who is the last of his kind because of his own actions, and there is always the risk that you will be possessed, kidnapped, or killed, but hey, every relationship has its little pitfalls, right? As long as you are just along for the ride, "What could possibly go wrong?"

*) Marshal Marshall Mann -- Rock steady, strong, funny, and smart, but you know, you just know that if it were necessary, this guy would be able to destroy anything put in his path. It's in his eyes behind the gentleness and the sparkle of the humor and in the angle of his body in certain situations, even when he's not holding a gun. He's a man who enjoys knowing things for the sheer joy of turning over the information in his head and playing with it. He can hold his own verbally and physically even with the best of them, and it's always fun to watch him give at least as good as he gets. He's not a sidekick; he's a balancing force, equal and opposite to his partner, and although he is not as loud and flashy as she, it would be a real mistake to assume that he's the lesser because of that.

*) Harry Dresden -- Complex layers of power, lack of self-awareness, self-deprecating humor and intelligence make Harry one of my favorite imaginary men. Those around him see him so much more clearly than he sees himself. He has power to break open creation in his hands, and he constantly tempers that power with restraint, goodness, and dry wit, much more than he ever manages to give himself credit for. Although it seems he is always put in situations that have no solutions without wounds, he strives for resolutions that will only wound himself and the ones who started the trouble orignally. Of all the series I read regularly, The Dresden Files are ones I will buy in hardback and pre-order just to see how he's going to make me laugh and cry, sometimes at the same time, in his next adventure.

*) Det. Robert Goren -- Quirky brilliance, the ability to analyze any set of information given and find connections, a passion that simmers almost always under control, and a seemingly endless base of background experiences and interests make Goren fascinating to me. There is an air of the feline to Goren, both in the way that he deals with interactions with other people and in the way that he sets traps for unwary criminals. The rare explosions of temper are feline, too, big-cat-feline-pushed-too-far dangerous. He's been a favorite of mine since the very first time I watched Law and Order: CI for both his inability to be just like everybody else and the fact that he just doesn't need to be like them, either. As the seasons have gone by, the darkness that hovered in him has blossomed, and Goren has had to deal with things that would destroy most people. And maybe, just maybe, he's been destroyed, too. That's part of the appeal, part of what breaks my heart in some episodes even while I'm shaking my head in others trying to figure it all out.

Here they are, then, my favorite fictional fellows. If you have some of your own, you might post a comment and let me know.

INFJ

I took a FB Myers-Briggs this morning (and don't you know that was the very pinnacle of accuracy?) and came out INFJ again. Every single brush with every permutation of Myers-Briggs I've ever encountered has resulted in my being INFJ. Apparently, INFJs are very rare composing about one percent of the total population. (Lookit, I'm a unicorn!!!)

I am unsure if I believe that the depths of any human being can be plumbed by using a test, no matter how many psychoanalysts have been tinkering with it over the years. However...I have to somewhat uncomfortably admit (using a split infinitive, no less) that a lot of this information in this summary from Purdue sounds an awful lot like me.... Well, you always did KNOW I was a little different. Now you know why. If you'd like to know just how much, click the link and read away....

A Fantasy on Why My Car Might Have Cost $536.00 to Repair

The Cruiser went to the shop for a day of needed repair, and the bill, when I got it back this afternoon, was about $536.00. The notations on the printed invoice showed that actual parts were only about $45.00 of the total bill. Everything else was labor. This then is my attempt to inject a bit of levity as I try to imagine how a part worth $45 might have needed that much labor to install. (I am, for the record, completely, totally, and utterly, in the wrong freakin' business....)

1) They had to use specialized equipment to shrink the mechanic to one fifth his normal size enabling him then to crawl inside the vehicle and do the repair that way. No regular-sized mechanic can do this repair.

2) Special tools had to be crafted by the gang of fairy elves they keep on staff just for repairs of this nature. These tools can only be used once and are forged of starlight and the tears of maidens during rituals that take hours and hours on nights of the full moon. This was of course included in the huge labor total.

3) Time actually had to be slowed to allow the repair to be done. Since it was the "timing chain" that had to be replaced, a temporal shift was necessary, and although the rest of us weren't aware of it, they worked for four frantic days to ensure the chain that keeps all of time and space from collapsing in on itself was properly in place so the universe could be safe again.

4) Seventeen sanctified holy men fasted and prayed for thirteen days in preparation for this repair, chanting over the tools and purifying them with water drawn from a deep mountain spring untouched by human hands. The sweat and fervor of their dedication ensured that the old timing chain could pass from this world into the next without causing harm to anyone else and also with a sense of peace and accomplishment that will allow it to come back in its next incarnation as something higher and better, perhaps a master cylinder or a fuel pump. This, though, was not a part of the bill. The cost of cooking for the celebratory meal they will feast upon tonight was the labor charge.

5) Timing chains are wily, and they don't easily or gladly relinquish their position. The damage a timing chain can do makes a Bengal tiger look friendly and cuddly in comparison. They have to be hunted, stalked, knife-between-the-teeth, and one wrong move could mean total annihilation for an entire team of crack mechanics no matter how well they have been trained or equipped for the chase. Really, who could put a price on such a dangerous mission?

And...although I could go on, I think I'll stop there. At least I laughed. That's something I suppose. It was an expensive giggle though....

Geekery

I've been on Mental Floss most of the day raising my Geek Quotient. I cannot get enough of that site and magazine. They have the most fascinating stuff, most of it probably not really useful to me in day-to-day life, but all of it terribly, terribly satisfying to me somehow. Every drop of new knowing I have helps me understand the world and my place in it a little better, helps me maintain my sense of wonder in the face of the badness and darkness that crowds in all too often around us.

Put me in any situation where I can learn, and I'm happy. I'm like a nesting raven, picking up the shiny bits of knowledge to tuck into my well-feathered nest. They can be any old thing, truly valuable diamonds or just fancy shards of mercury glass, really. I've even managed to turn some situations that were decidedly not fun (getting fingerprinted so I could be employed as a teacher, having various surgical procedures done) into things I could tolerate by forcing my mind into knowledge-gathering mode. You see, I can deal with just about any-damn-thing if I can get away from the nasty real of it and start looking at it like an exercise in expanding my universe.

I'm looking for a like-minded mate, a geek guy who can enjoy the quirks of this world and find treasure everywhere. I'd love to have somebody like the character Marshall from USA's show In Plain Sight (see the photo at the top, as so wonderfully and gently played by Fred Weller). He's just geekalicious, a person who enjoys knowing everything, has a sense of humor, is strong, honest, and sweet to boot. (Of course, he's fictional. I think we all know "Marshalls" aren't really running around out there free-range. I guess he can be filed under Imaginary in the GEMINI acronym....)

This proposed guy can be from any tribe of geekdom; I don't care if he spends his moments engrossed in Viking literature, doing complicated things with the computer, or watching DW reruns. As long as he loves and longs to know, this is what matters most. This is the heart of all things geek, what every one of us knows is the secret joy of our obsession.

In the meantime, I will continue to read my National Geographic and Mental Floss, enjoy the tweets from the Smithsonian branches and the National Archives (oh, I could have just LIVED in those museums for the rest of my days....), chase electronic rabbits, pursue odd hobbies, and accumulate the unusual objects and knowledge that make my silly little heart go pitter-patter.

A General State of Badness

What do you do when someone you love hurts you? What is the best course of action to take? Do you just suck it up, hold it in, hide it deep, and smile through it? Should you rage and scream, cry and show the bloody wounds in hopes that somebody will sew them up? What's the recommended protocol for survival?

I can see both sides of this issue all too clearly, so as much as I want to cry and throw a temper tantrum, I suppose the current situation is something I brought on somehow myself. I can't say I'm not confused about it still, and I can't say that this horrible logical seeing-of-all-the-sides helps it not to hurt any less.

I also don't know how to let go of my pride and try to fix this. Or even if there is a way now to fix it. There have been hairline fractures for a long time, and apparently, with stress, those fractures have split open wide. I suppose even the strongest stone cracks given enough pressure.

All I do know is that I'm hurt, tired, and oh-so-ready to run away....

The Big Empty

In addition to doing lots of nothing today, I watched a biography of Bette Davis, one of my very favorite actresses from Hollywood's heydays. I learned much that I didn't know before, but as with many of my favorite artists and authors, the thing that struck me most about her life was the singular alone-ness of it.

Certainly, she was married four times, and certainly she had a life filled with men and friends, but it always seemed to me that something kept her separated from finding that true kindred spirit that could have made her deeply satisfied. In the end, even her own daughter was mean-spirited and cruel. I cannot imagine how deeply that cut hurt, especially since she herself gave up so much of her own life to be a daughter who cared for a demanding mother.

Why is it that the ones who are most talented seem to wind up being the ones who are most isolated and alone? That seems so unjust. Is there no happiness for the people who are just that little bit different, who refuse to walk down the most common path? Why do they wind up so often standing in the heart of the Big Empty, smiling for all they're worth, but really miles away from everybody else?

Granted, frequently these authors or actors, these artists of all kinds are trying to reach out into the stars and pull down worlds that this one just isn't quite ready for yet, or they're making destructive decisions, but I still can't help but be so sad when I think over the lives of the ones who have brought me so much happiness and how much sadness they had themselves. Do they have to be isolated just because they aren't quite like everybody else? Unfair, unfair, so very unfair....

Does creativity require heart's blood to make its gaudy blossoms bloom? This isn't the first time I've had this little philosophical conversation with myself. I've read all kinds of quotes about what makes great art, and about half of them seem to agree that it comes from some kind of willing emotional self-immolation, that those who create have to be willing to become masochists of a kind, that people who create are in some way fundamentally broken right from the very start. Maybe this is what causes that isolation and ultimate and lingering sadness.

As I watched the biography today I was seized with the desire to write a letter or take the hand of a very strong lady who would never have needed such compassion from me anyway, and tell her how wonderful I thought she was. Just a note or the quick squeeze of the fingers in a gesture of support, the way you would do with a friend who was having a particularly bad day, looking a little worn or a little lost. I often feel this stupid urge whenever I watch one or read about my favorite people, and sometimes I just wish I could be there to hug whomever it is tightly to me and tell them that they are loved and cherished. It's a silly desire, I know, and dangerously full of poetry and imagination. But because I know just the tiniest bit about standing around in the gray edges of the Big Empty (I haven't the talent to ever get to the heart of it), my heart breaks for them.

But Would Anybody Want to Hear It?

I've written some new stuff, and I really want to show it to somebody and get some feedback. I don't know, however, if it's any good. There's one piece that I think needs to go right straight in "The Drawer." There are a couple of others I have hopes for, though, and I wish I had somebody I could scurry to in the dark of night and slip the pieces of paper under the door, fervently looking left and right, and then run away again. Maybe I could be like Emily and pluck roses from my shrubs, tie poems around them, and hand them out to my friends. Unlike Emily, though, I lack the power to channel the fire and majesty of the universe's soul through my pen. I am writing, but really, does anybody want to hear it?

What Kids Can Do

Therapy this morning. My regular therapist was out because there was a Swine Flu scare at her daycare which caused her to have to go take her preschool daughter to get tested for exposure to the virus.

I keep thinking about how scary it must be to have a little one sometimes. There are diseases like Swine Flu and that virus that is apparently everywhere and can kill kids (one of my friend's children had it and survived, but it was scary), there are the unexpected biological twists like extreme asthma, life-threatening allergies, and seizures (again, I have friends dealing with all these issues), and then there are the everyday things like the broken arms, fevers, runny noses, and the never-ending injuries children do themselves and others. It's terrifying.

Fortunately, and this is just based on observation, it seems that children are remarkably resilient. I know once I saw one literally run face-first into a brick wall, fall down, sit up, and then run off after his friends again a few moments later. (Of course, he was always something of a special case....legendary, really....) I don't know if I'll ever have one of my own, don't know if I'll ever come any closer than this surreptitious watching of my friend's children out of the corners of my eyes, but children will never cease to amaze me with what they can take in stride, what they can recover from. I guess this is one of God's graces to us when we're too small to take good care of ourselves. He gave us the boldness to explore the world so we can learn and a body that can then rebuild itself when those lessons are hard ones.

I hope my therapist's daughter is okay. I don't want to think about any child having to be seriously ill; having been that perennially-sick child hooked up to machines, poked, prodded, and operated on long ago myself, I hate the thought of any child in a hospital room.

So I Suppose I'm an Artist Then....

"Any clod can have the facts, but having opinions is an art."
Charles McCabe, San Francisco Chronicle

Fortune Cookies.

unFortunate - Something common will happen to you in an undetermined amount... Check out this page to custom make your own fortune cookie slips. This one is one of my favorites.

Old School Dr. Who

Amazon had a BBC video sale on last week, and I splurged. I got two more Dr. Who DVDs for my Tom Baker collection, and I watched one of them tonight. I haven't seen Planet of Evil in years. All I remembered of it was the black pool and the outline of the creature in technicolor. It was good. The jungle scenes were just as impressive as they were reported to be, and as always with these episodes, I'd forgotten so much from when I saw them as a child.

I am such a classic DW fan. The storylines were really creative, and the world the writers created had great richness to it. Even though the special effects were so low-tech and every spaceship was so obviously put together from old vacuums (something I actually love), the stories were mostly solid. Real thought had gone into creating worlds, creatures, problems, and plots. Unity was maintained. Today's writers could take some hints from DW. After all it has been for 45+ years.....

For me, the old school will always be the best. You will never be able to beat the sheer camp of the "plaything of Sutekh" or seeing the same wonderful BBC actors playing minor characters over and over in different episodes. No amount of CGI or big-budget wardrobe will replace the cheesy wonder of "space age" wardrobe choices circa 1975. Nobody else will ever be Tom Baker running around in that scarf with that particular persona. As much as I have adored David Tennant in the role, and as good as I think he's been in the storyline of the Doctor who is living in that part of the character's history, whenever someone says, "Doctor Who" to me, curly hair and unpredictable behavior always come to mind.

I enjoy the new series, too, to be sure. The writing has the same qualities that drew me to the original, especially the thoughtful planning of the four-season arc that ended recently. I don't know what it will be like when the eleventh Doctor takes over the role, but I hope that it will continue to amuse and open those worlds for the imagination to play in and for generations of new writers and thinkers to spread their wings in as well.

As I expand my collection and rediscover the mythology of the series, I am grateful again to have these DVDs. My old cassettes, diligently recorded from our local PBS affiliate so many years ago when they showed the series, have long since deteriorated, so each time I sit down to watch one, it's familiar, yet mostly new again, too. As I wait to see what happens as Tennant steps down, I can enjoy the glory years of the series and dream of looking out my own front door to see a blue police box waiting for me someday.

De Stijl

I haven't blogged this disc before, and I really should have, I guess. It's late, it's "spinning" in iTunes, and I'm blown away by how much I love some of these songs. I've been listening to it all day, driving here and there doing errands, and each time it's rotated through, I find something else to appreciate.

The blues songs such as "Death Letter" make me want to dance and drive too fast (not at the same time), sure indicators of good blues to me. Anything that makes me want to throw my head back in the car, sing at the top of my lungs, and flirt with a traffic ticket is good music.

One of my favorites for the sweetness of the words is "Apple Blossom." The whole song, music and lyrics are perfect to me. They're exactly what I'd like someone to say to me sometime, full of love. I love the slightly out-of-tune piano in the background, too. It reminds me of something old-fashioned for some reason.

In the same way, I love "Truth Doesn't Make a Noise." I could be that girl in that song for so many reasons. I just haven't ever found anybody who felt like the writer of that song about me. Even though the song is short, it's powerful to me. This is the music of true romance, as in warriors taking up arms to defeat insurmountable opposition. (This may be because I am an English teacher and I see archetypes hiding under every shrub and bush.) I appreciate the genuine emotion and, as always, the stripped-down power of the lyrics.

Well, as far as reviews go, this one is by far the least technical and sophisticated ever written, I'm sure. Even by my standards, it's pretty weak. I just didn't want to forget to at least mention how much I'm enjoying this music at this specific moment.

Wasn't That Unexpected?

I got up this morning with a day's worth of little chores on my checklist. I got my hair cut first; I'm back to a shorter, more shaped cut a la Indiana. I scheduled appointments for "back to school," including a manicure my parents are treating me to as an indulgence.

After I left the salon, my next "to do" items were both at the car dealership, scheduling two long-overdue major maintenances and trying to get a burned-out turn signal replaced. Of course, nothing is ever simple, and after a two-hour wait, the turn signal turned out not to be burned out at all. During the time the car was sitting up while I was recovering from my knee surgery, apparently a rat had lunch on the wiring leading up to the turn signal, and now it will have to be rewired.

This wasn't what I wanted to hear, but the news was somewhat softened by the incredibly cute mechanic who came out to deliver it. Despite the fact that it's the place I usually get my oil changed, I've never seen him before, and I would remember. The funny thing is that he wasn't really any of the "types" that usually catch my eye, dark eyed where usually it's the blue ones that snag me, bearded where I usually go for clean-shaven, and a little shorter than me when I usually have a huge issue with that. I don't know what it was. It was unexpected and nice, especially in light of the impending repair bill when the part comes in and I have to go back to get it fixed next week at the regular dealership service center. I guess if the bill is too shocking, I can always walk over to the quick oil change section and see if I don't feel better with some cute-guy-therapy. (I'm also thinking they have lots of luscious Dodge Chargers on this lot, too. If we could just put these two things together somehow....wicked, wicked grin....)

Taking Care of Business

I'm in an Elvis-y mood tonight, as you can probably tell from the title...

Anyway, after sleeping almost all day yesterday and until about 10:30 today because of feeling so horribly yesterday, I got up today with plenty of energy to take care of some long-overdue work. I called BellSouth and DirecTV about service issues I'm having and got those two things lined up for repair, and then I started the monumental effort of cleaning this house. Since perfect strangers will be coming to the house to do things, Southern Guilt dictates that the house must be clean. Never mind that it never looks like this at any other time of the year/week/will not look like this thirty minutes after they leave....

I swear, even though I know it's probably not a needed expense, if I could somehow squeeze it into my meager budget, a cleaning service would be the first luxury I'd spring for. I hate having to do heavy cleaning by myself. The little stuff is bad enough, fixtures, vacuuming, and whatnot, but the big cleaning, steam cleaning, bucket mopping, dusting, furniture polish, etc., is a nightmare. If I had the money, I would gladly, happily, gleefully give it to somebody else for the privilege of getting out of this stuff or even having help. Maybe this is why people have kids? (just kidding...don't throw things...)

I don't do it nearly as often as it probably needs, just to be honest. Once the school year gets rolling, I just try to keep a path through the house so the piles don't fall over and crush me or the animals, and survival becomes the order of the day. During the school year, in fact, I don't even want people to come in the house because it's such a horrid mess.

Right now, it's a little better than half done. I got the heavy vacuuming and steam cleaning done today, and that's one of the worst of the big jobs. Tomorrow, I'll start the day with the mopping and get the worst of what's left done first, and then everything that's left will just be finish work. I'm just grateful I've got enough flexibility back in my leg to allow me to do all this myself now and enough energy to be able to take care of my business myself. When it's all done, I'll be able to sit back and bask in how nice everything looks for the five minutes it lasts until a cat and/or a dog mess it up.

Rain and Tired

I feel ick today. I woke up feeling bad, and I almost didn't go to therapy. Perseverance won out, though, and I dragged myself in. It took longer than usual today because she added new exercises. Since I was feeling so nasty, I don't think I did as well as usual. Everything was so hard today. I could hardly do all my reps. I left feeling drained and weak.

I came home, ate whatever I pulled out of the freezer first, and fell asleep on the couch for a couple of hours by accident. When I woke up, I still felt horrible and was stiff from sleeping on the couch to boot, so I got up and went to the sunroom to sleep more comfortably. Yoda apparently wasn't feeling well herself today because she came and curled up next to me, something the Empress of Cats never deigns to do, and we slept the day away.

Rain fell, I woke up sporadically, and dozed back off, and finally got up in time to feed all the animals and myself again. I've been up a few hours now after watching a movie, and I was hoping that I was cycling out of the nastiness, but now I think I'm going to turn in for the rest of the night. A migraine seems to be brewing, and maybe if I sleep it won't strike. I hate feeling like this. Maybe tomorrow will be better.

Changes

Yeah, you're in the right place. I just redecorated a little. Have no fear....

Chesterton Quote

The doctrine of human equality reposes on this: that there is no man really clever who has not found that he is stupid. -- G.K. Chesterton

Philosophy for Living, Rife with Irony

Dream as if you'll live forever. Live as if you'll die today. ~James Dean

Another quote, and yes, before you ask, I'm on a quotes kick. I was browsing through one of my favorite sites looking for something specific when I stumbled across the Cummings quote in the previous entry and this one. The supreme wisdom and heartbreaking irony of this one deserved a brief comment, though.

What does it really mean to live as if you'll die today? It certainly means to take advantage of all those little opportunities we all too often let go, the chance to do the thing that requires courage, daring, stepping outside our routine or our perception of our regular self. Too often, I think we fail to appreciate the brevity of our time here. This quote puts it into a tidy perspective.

I think it also needs to mean, though, living in a way that recognizes the incredible wonder of life, the preciousness of everyone we're surrounded by, and the relationships that connect us. It should also mean making sure that there is no unfinished business, that peace is made, both with our fellow man and with God so that when it comes time to step away from this place we can dust off our hands, job finished, and move on to what comes next.

I think about the image of James Dean as the eternal Rebel in the leather jacket, and I think about how he died in a twisted mass of metal, and I wonder which definition he embraced and what it ultimately meant to him.

Another Cummings Quote

To be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting. ~e.e. cummings, 1955

This one will be going up in my classroom somewhere this year. The man just said everything well.

The Reunion

It is indeed ironic that we spend our school days yearning to graduate and our remaining days waxing nostalgic about our school days. ~Isabel Waxman

And so I went. Of course it wasn't as simple as all that....

Yesterday my phone rang about 8:00, and Mom and Dad decided that they wanted to go in for an early breakfast in town as family eat-together-thing. I managed to get my sleep-deprived brain together since I'd gone to bed some time after 2:00 am, and got up and dressed. We went in, forded the masses at Cracker Barrel, and had the traditional log-rolling breakfast. All meals at Cracker Barrel will enable you to roll logs, after all.

When I got home, I let Roux and Yelldo out and started working on cleaning out my closet. About 5, when it was time to get ready for the reunion, there was still no sign of Roux. I went out looking for her and thought I heard her yelping in the woods. This prompted a massive 45 minute search in the deep woods, hills, and hollows behind my house. She eventually came up covered in mud but otherwise okay, and I came back to the house with a sore knee and very little time to get ready for the reunion.

I did get ready and go, though. It was really good. Only a small portion of our class was there. We were a really small class to start with, and I know there were a lot of people who had other big obligations this weekend and couldn't make it. There were some people who I was really hoping were going to come but didn't, and there were people there who I haven't seen since graduation. There were a couple of surreal moments, as I suppose is to be expected, but on the whole I think for a class that graduated quite literally in the middle of a thunderstorm, we managed to escape without any damage.

It was wonderful to see everyone and also to meet everyone's spouses. To me, it was as nice to see who everyone finally wound up with as it was to see them personally again. It was sort of like seeing finished paintings, if that makes any sense.

It also astonished me how much we all still looked like us. I don't know why that was a surprise, but it was a bit. I mean, I look in my own mirror at least when it can't be avoided, and I know that face hasn't altered that much over the years, but I guess I thought for some reason 15 years would make us look different. It really didn't. Maybe we were getting a little gray in the hair or a couple of little lines. Maybe we were a little more...um...curvy... than we used to be in some cases (okay, my case), and certainly some of our guys had come into their own since graduation, always to be expected since teenage girls usually have it mostly together while their male counterparts usually still have quite a ways to go yet, but nobody was radically different.

I also enjoyed talking with everyone and finding out what everybody was doing. We have really high number of teachers in our class. I wonder what conjunction of stars reigned over the year of our birth that caused that curse to befall us all.... I was so proud to hear what everybody was doing. We have small business owners, professionals, people who have incredible talents and skills, and all from our one little class.

The whole time I was there, I was viewing the reunion through dual lenses, those of a member of my senior class and those of a senior class teacher. I kept thinking of my seniors, the ones I've taught already and the ones who are upcoming, and seeing bits and pieces of them in the faces and situations that surrounded me. It was an odd sort of duality. I wish for all my darlings the kind of connection we still have after fifteen years.

I don't know if we'll do a reunion at twenty. I hope so, and I hope that even more of our far-flung classmates will come. If I can come to one and survive it, I think anybody could.

So, Anyway, Yeah, I'm Going

I talked, or rather texted, with my best friend last night, and she convinced me that I could handle the reunion. I am still not quite sure about it, but I think that I'm going to try. At least she'll be there for moral support.

I tried to figure out what I'm going to wear, and the whole time I was sorting through clothing, I was more or less hating the cliched nature of that activity. Part of me really just wants to put on old jeans, whatever t-shirt happens to come to hand when I reach into the closet, my Chacos, and go. And yes, I would, of course, have my hair pulled up into the ubiquitous ponytail...

Another silly part of me wants to find the vampiest, trampiest items in my wardrobe and combine them in odd ways. Curl all my hair into ringlets. Wear a lot of blue eyeshadow (I think I'd have to buy some of that...) and Cleopatra eyeliner. Find some fishnet hose. Get out those really, really big silver hoops I have and some of my grandmothers' old costume jewelry. See if I can balance in heels without my knee giving out. You know, that sort of thing. I have a very warped sense of humor these days, and just the thought of going in like that amuses the hell out of me. "Hey, y'all. It's me! Have I changed much?"

In reality, I will undoubtedly look just exactly like what I am, "the schoolmarm." It's okay. I can pull that costume out of the closet with relative ease. It's socially acceptable, it's fairly tidy and modest, and I'm comfortable in it. I wear it about nine months out of the year, anyway....

Pie and Casserole

Sleep 'til you're hungry, eat 'til you're sleepy. ~ Unknown

Today, I went to PT and did a grueling hour and a half of work on my knee. I upped my reps and weights, and by the time I was done, my knee felt like Jell-O. I make more progress every time I go. I stayed on the Rocker board for a full five minutes today and then did twenty squats. I think I'm going to get one of those things just to keep around the house for fun while I'm watching TV. I get a kick out trying to keep it absolutely still, and I have often wondered if I could balance on one foot with it at all.

When I got home, I went and got groceries. I bought stuff to cook with for the first time in a long time. This afternoon, I made easy key lime pie with that Real Simple recipe that I like so much. I always forget how much it makes. It fills two crusts and then there is always a little bit of filling left over. What to do with those leftover spoonsful? Hmm.... Or perhaps the sound to make is, "Yumm..."

The pies are currently firming in the freezer, and for dinner, I made a favorite Mexican casserole. It's an old recipe that's extremely easy, and even though I'll have leftovers for days, it was great actually to stand at my stove and prepare food again rather than microwave something.

In a little while, I'll go and slice one of the pies. I may also break out my cheap copy of the Goonies I picked up from the sale bin at Wal-Mart. It has been a peaceful and good day full of simple little things.

I Knew I Loved E. E. Cummings

"I'm living so far beyond my income that we may almost be said to be living apart."
- e e cummings

Blue

Sadness is almost never anything but a form of fatigue. ~Andre Gide
"Oh, had I wings I would fly away and be at rest..." "Ecstasy" Traditional Spiritual

Blue again. Shimmering in my ears are the notes of Ella and Billie to accompany the rain falling outside. It's not the rain that brought this on. I love the rain.

Maybe it's the upcoming reunion, my 15th. I've almost decided not to go, and since it's Saturday, I think I'm about out of time to change my mind. I can't bear the thought of having to have the same brief conversation about being single with no kids over and over again with all those married and fecund people and seeing that blank, vaguely pitying stare. No matter what I think of the choices I've made in my life, I just know it's not going to quite measure up to four hours of that. I have no pictures of my toddlers to show off. I have no "precious" stories to share about toilet training or pregnancy. I don't even have an engagement ring or a steady boyfriend to take.

I need to get out of here. More and more, I feel the bars of my cage pressing down on me, especially when I hear from friends living in other places. Only my job and my family keep me here. I just keep staring up at the sky, ruffling my feathers in frustration and indecision and pretending that I don't remember what it was like to fly.

Learning Lincoln

Be sure you put your feet in the right place, then stand firm. ~Abraham Lincoln

This year marks the bicentennial of Abraham Lincoln's birth. Until I went to Washington at the end of last month, I really didn't pay much attention to Lincoln. He was just another one of those presidents we learned about in school, a carving on a coin or a drawing on a bill, flat, cold, and without much interest. Yes, granted, he was the leader for our country in one of its greatest times of crisis, but for whatever reason, possibly for the very reason of those early school lessons in which we were exposed to him and to Washington as almost cartoon-like, mythic icons instead of real individuals, I've never wanted to know more about the man behind the caricature.

When I went to Washington, I had the chance to visit Ford's Theater. We didn't get to take the guided tour, but while I was there, I sat in the lobby for quite some time waiting for the tour to begin (because I was on crutches and couldn't stand up in the line outside with the rest of my group). In the lobby, one of the artifacts on display is the coat Lincoln wore the night he was assassinated. It was made by Brooks Brothers, and it has an elaborately embroidered inner lining. For some reason, that coat was the beginning of my interest in Lincoln.

I started thinking about him getting it as a gift, and what he thought about that eagle pattern on the interior. I wondered if he'd paused when he was getting dressed and run his fingers over the pattern and thought about the war that was just over. I wondered if he'd been happy to be able to go out to the theater with his wife and just enjoy it without the horrible burden of ongoing battle looming behind him like a blood-soaked spectre. In that moment, the cartoonish image of an overtall man in a stovepipe hat became somehow a real person to me, and I wanted to know more about him.

Since I got home, I've seen two specials on the History Channel about him, and I'm also reading a really wonderful biography about him simply called Lincoln. The more I know about him, the more I admire him. He was an extremely complex man, which, I suppose, is probably something of a "duh" statement, but as I learn, I feel both admiration and sympathy for him at different times in his story. It is compelling.

I look forward to continuing my new line of research. I feel that learning about him is a way of learning more about the country as a whole as well, something I need to do. It's time now as an adult to put away the childish understanding of my nation and its past and try to understand it more fully.

Huxley Always Knows

"Happiness is not achieved by the conscious pursuit of happiness; it is generally the by-product of other activities."
- Aldous Huxley

Windchimes

I love the sound of windchimes. As long as I can remember, they've been a part of the soundscape of my life, a sound I've associated with safety and comfort. We never had them at my parents' house because repetitive noises of that type drive my father crazy. The windchimes of my childhood were always the ones hanging on my Granny's and my Nana's porches.

I remember those endless summer afternoons and evenings sitting in rocking chairs talking and watching the day fade out while whatever slight breezes there were stirred the metal, glass, or ceramic chimes into song. The simple notes mixed with the tree frogs and other country night sounds. Whether I was sitting and talking with family or alone and reading, they made the backdrop for peace and serenity.

When I went to Japan, I was delighted to find that windchimes were a part of the summer culture there, too, beautiful glass ones painted with scenes, china and porcelain ones shaped like maneki neko, and cast iron ones shaped like temple bells or whimsical animals. I collected enough of those to keep my tiny apaato filled with wind music, and I brought them home. Most of the fragile glass ones are gone now, but I still have enough of them left to stir good memories when the sound in Mississippi breezes.

I now have chimes hanging from three of my four porches. I also have placed one here on this blog, just in case you haven't noticed the gentle chiming. I am keeping the music alive, tranquil and sweet.

Bitstrips: Skully Appears

Bitstrips: Skully Appears

A web 2.0 tool that I'm playing with. Interesting possibilities for school assignments. Not hard to use, and it comes out looking nice, my example aside.

Lunge

And, yes, I know that most people won't care, but it's a big deal to me. If you're looking for earth-shattering philosophy or words of divine inspiration, you've been in the wrong place for quite some time now....

Today, my therapist added yet another new motion to my recovery: the lunge. This was the first time I've made this motion since I did my last yoga class back in February. The lunge is a critical motion for me. It gave me endless problems in fencing, not being able to reach full fluid extension and recovery without having a hitch in my movement. It is also part of several very common and wonderful-feeling yoga poses. I have to admit I was nervous. Those last few yoga classes if I did any sort of lunges, particularly the Warrior poses, my knee would lock or weaken despite all my best efforts to control it. I can still remember the burn and the pain, that disgusting clicking feeling inside. It was one of the main indicators that told me I had some serious problem going this time.

When the PT told me that I was going to be lunging, I was afraid it would fold under me even though I knew it shouldn't. What a wonderful feeling when it bent strong and steady and pushed back firm and trustworthy! Although it is still sore when it's the off-leg, I now have real confidence that I'm going to be able to do yoga again. It's the difference between being told you can do something and then actually having it proven through doing it yourself.

The PT pushed me hard today. More new exercises were added, my weights on all the machines were increased, and I upped my reps on some things. This added to the lunges left my knee tired and tingling when I left the gym. It was all worth it. I left with a smile and private laughter in my heart. I am really, truly, actually going to make it back from this after all.

The Musical Velvet Elvis

Songs to accompany your voyage into kitsch,

Whispering on Twitter

A couple of my very favorite authors and musicians lurk about on Twitter. I both love and hate this. If you follow my Twitter feed at all, you know in addition to the totally useless things I write about (going to vacuum the floors now, oh look! have found apples in fridge, etc.), I also like to tweet about what I'm listening to or reading about at the moment, sort of a review in 140 characters or less. It's awfully hard to do that comfortably when you know the person you're writing about is sort of standing in the corner listening....

I ran into this the other day when I finished Good Omens. My first response was to tweet loudly and long about its merits, but then I remembered that Neil Gaiman is practically the King of Twitter. His followers are legion. I shuffled my feet (metaphorically), made some sort of weak comment about how much I liked it, and saved my commentary for the safer backwaters of blogland, this shallow pool where no one but you and I, gentle reader, ever wades.

I haven't always been this cautious. In fact, when I first joined Twitter and was discovering its vagaries, I was also reading American Gods for the first time, and I was tweeting the lines I liked best. Imagine how stupid I felt when I found out that @neilhimself had several thousand avid followers running around out there.... I shut up pretty fast. I felt like I was caught talking about somebody at a party and was overheard. Not that I was saying anything but good things, but still. It was unnerving.

There are several musicians I love that I had the same experience with. I was tweeting along about how I liked this one or that one, and bam, there they were.... I have gotten almost gunshy about the whole system. In one way it is an amazing chance to interact, even in the shallowest of ways, with creative people whom one admires. And that's something I'd very much like to do.

However, this is where the shy (as in socially inept, not the previously mentioned gunshy) comes in, even over a computer buffer, and especially once I know I've been caught out talking like some starry-eyed worshiper (which, in most cases, unless Elvis shows up, I think I can say I am not), I just don't know what to write. I can't imagine anything I type being useful, interesting, or amusing to those Twitter Titans, and I feel sort of embarrassed about being there. It's exactly the same feeling that drove me out of a concert hall before I could even get my copy of Punch signed by Chris Thile and company, but that was real life. Ah, but talking about the unreasoning weirdness I feel about asking another person to scrawl his or her name across an object may be a subject better left for another blog....

Well, I'm off to take one last tour of the Twitterverse before bed. I will skulk through quietly, wading gently, and making as few waves as possible. I don't think anybody will even know I'm there....probably....surely....right?....

Speaking of Poetry

I've been writing lately. Little trickles in the desert sand, not the torrent of true inspiration I'd love to feel. I've gotten three things down on paper. One and a half of them need to be thrown out. I'll put them in the notebook to chew over. Maybe something good can come of them if I turn them over in my hands long enough and wear away some of the stupidity and rough edges. My notebook as a giant rock tumbler, I guess....

One of them came out pretty well. It still needs considerable revision, but the ideas in it don't make me want to pack in my pens and swear off writing for the rest of my life. I need an editor so badly, somebody who I can share this stuff with who can tell me what's crap and with whom I can bounce ideas back and forth until some of these poor broken-winged birds can heal and fly again. I've got some things that aren't terrible, but again, I really need somebody else's eye, somebody I can trust.

Maybe one day I will make it to that meeting of poets in town. I'm not sure that's what I'm looking for, actually, but maybe it's a place to start.

The Beautiful Poet Boys

God save me from the beautiful poet boys, especially the ones who swing a guitar or other instrument in their hands. I swear, I think they're sent just to distract and destroy me. This fascination is rooted in my love for intelligent men. There is nothing sexier than a smart man. Add to that native attractiveness a gift with words and music, and it's lethal. However, there is always a sadistic twist to these guys that I flee in my saner moments. There is no such thing as a healthy, functional relationship with a beautiful poet boy, especially the musical ones, because, apparently, they have all been screwed up beyond all reclamation by somebody else. They also usually seem to be looking for somebody else to screw them up further, are flinging themselves sacrificially on the altar of some great pyre to some woman who doesn't even notice or who gets a kick out of it. Maybe this is because it makes for good poetry and/or lyrics? I'm not quite sure of the philosophy there.... I'm going to develop my own version of the sign of the cross for this particular brand of temptation, my own lucky charm to ward them off. Since I'm a screwed-up poet girl (who can lay no claim to the title beautiful) myself, I think this is the best scenario all around.

Good Omens by Gaiman and Pratchett

I finished reading Good Omens by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett today. I've had it on my "to read" shelf for about six months now, I guess, bought sometime after I finished American Gods. With school finally being out, time to read things not related to teaching has returned, and I started it Saturday and finished it today. I loved it. As always, the writing was flawless, but as one might expect with the addition of Pratchett to the mix, the humor was even more present than usual. I frequently found myself laughing out loud, not something one would expect given the subject matter.

I read the articles at the end of the novel about how it was written, and I found myself thinking about how much fun the two of them must have had working together on the book. There are rare pairings in music and literature when really gifted people get together and just play for the love of it, just tinker around to entertain themselves, and sometimes we mere mortals down here on the ground get blessed with the results.

I'm not trying to romanticize authors and musicians; I know they are people who have to get up and deal with all the issues of life, mundane and serious, but they also do things the rest of us don't or can't. They create these wonderful pieces of beautiful stuff that they are then kind enough to share. I think that's a fabulous thing, personally, and I'm really grateful to them for taking the time and effort to do it, especially because I don't believe even for half a minute that creating the things they do, despite the fact that it may look effortless in the finished product, is an easy thing.

Good Omens is one of those lovely things Gaiman and Pratchett were nice enough to share with the rest of us. I know I'm going to reread it repeatedly, and I'm looking into getting it in my traveling library on Kindle. I don't know if I'll ever be able to present my copy to get it signed or if I'll ever have to hold it together with string, duct tape, or place the water-damaged pages in a large ziplock bag, but rest assured, it's loved nonetheless. If you haven't tried it yourself, find out more about it by clicking here.

School Supplies

Often, when I am reading a good book, I stop and thank my teacher. That is, I used to, until she got an unlisted number. ~Author Unknown

I have often thought that one of the key reasons I became a teacher is so I could keep buying notebooks, pens, pencil pouches, and other spiffy school tools every year. The beauty of the first clean page of a new notebook is a lovely sight to me. I have more colorful and decorative ring binders than even the most industrious of filers could fill.

There's just something cheering and somehow hopeful to me about walking down that aisle of unsharpened pencils and unbent folders. Each new eraser and sharp crayon is a wish for a good school year, for a student to find his or her path, for the love of knowledge to be kindled and fanned to flame. I guess that may be an awful lot to expect out of a plastic pencil bag or a package of pens, but from those small tools and symbols of my trade, I think great miracles can happen. Maybe it's a little like a magician and a wand....

Life Is a Highway

The car has become a secular sanctuary for the individual, his shrine to the self, his mobile Walden Pond. ~Edward McDonagh

I did my first driving over the past three days. Today was my first trip to town as I took myself in for therapy, and I felt as proud of that short jaunt as any teenager leaving the house without supervision for the first time. Two days ago, I got out in the late evening and drove around Podunk to test my reflexes and ability. I even drove over to a small town near here to get a fast food burger and enjoy the feel of the vehicle on the road again.

None of that compared with being independent in truth again today, though. I got up on my own schedule (and was, of course, almost late without the goad of making sure I wasn't keeping someone else waiting), and when I was ready, walked out, cranked up my own vehicle, and drove to the hospital. I found a parking place rather than being endlessly dropped off like an invalid, and walked in. I had a set of car keys to keep up with in a meaningful way instead of just to open the door when somebody else dropped me off home. It was good.

I had almost forgotten how much I enjoyed cranking up my stereo and turning the Cruiser into a flying karaoke machine. One of the local radio stations had a "Flashback Lunch" full of great old songs, and on the way home, I sang and sang. It's good that nobody could hear me, probably, but it was great fun. Most music is better when it's loud (at least when you're happy, I guess).

While it may seem like a lot to be placing on just being able to drive, it's amazing what just having that one thing back gives to my quality of life as a whole. Now I don't have to be such a burden to everybody else. If I need something, I can go get it. If I have an appointment, I can keep it without having to disrupt my entire family's day. It's nice to feel like a grownup again instead of like that hellish pseudo-preteen state I've been stuck in since I had to stop driving. It's reinvigorating.

Crutch-Free

I'm listening to the re-released Thriller album and getting ready to do some heavy-duty reading. Today is the day of MJ's memorial, which I totally missed seeing because I had PT this morning and spent the day in town. I guess I missed a landmark event for my generation, but I prefer to remember the music.

I am more than willing to have sacrificed my viewing time in any case because this morning my PT cleared me, albeit reluctantly, for walking without a crutch. For the very first time since mid-February, I don't have to have any form of support, no cane, no crutches, just me to walk around. It's intoxicating. I want to jump up and moonwalk around my living room, but that might be pushing it just a little bit right now.

My PT is picking up, too, exponentially. Today, the therapist put me on a rocker board as a new exercise, and I had to laugh a little privately. I think she and everyone else expected the big tall goofy girl to fall down with that, but it wasn't all that hard after doing tree pose on one foot for so long. I miss tree pose, too... Some of the other new exercises kicked my butt, though, and my knee is telling me about it now. I have new things to do at home, and I will keep working through.

Most importantly for me, though, is that I was also cleared to drive. I didn't jump off the table and turn cartwheels, but mentally, I was howling with unholy glee. Freedom, ladies and gentlemen. Sunday night trips to Newton for an unhealthy but delicious treat after playing the organ. Road trips to Jackson to see my best friend. For that matter, grocery runs to Meridian just to walk up and down the aisles of Wal-Mart and stare at plastic bottles of Diet Mountain Dew. Anything, anything, anything but being trapped here on the hill like a burden on others. Bring it. I've been more than ready for awhile now. I'm going to hook up my little iPod shuffle, crank my stereo and fly down the road like a bird rediscovering healed wings....

Well, MJ and I are going to have a night of reading as I await tomorrow to start all my new range of motion. I find myself much more patient now that I know I can do things. Just knowing the cage door is open is keeping me from throwing myself against the bars so much, I guess.

Things Not to Do

Restless, restless.... Midsummer is come and gone. The moon is almost full. I'm trapped again in this house waiting on clearance to be able to drive, and the joke of that, of course, is that even when it comes, there's nowhere to drive to anyway....

Schemes and ideas that certainly fall into the category of "Things I Shouldn't Do" flicker across my bored brain like flashes of heat lightning. I think about writing a letter to somebody I haven't written to in years, breaking that wall of conscious silence. I have an address; I just haven't felt compelled to use it. There hasn't been anything to say. Is there now, or is it just the humidity, the boredom, the almighty press of the living summer stirring the bottom of that settled pool up and muddying the waters? Leave it alone, leave it alone....

But what if I don't want to? What if I wanted to write that letter? What if I wanted to do one of the other things on that list of reckless things, too? Would the world grind to a halt, really? The simple truth of it is that not one other person in the entire universe would care, I might get an interesting story out of it, and at least I would feel like I had done something other than walk to the door looking north and stare, walk to the door looking south and stare, walk to the door looking east and stare.....

Restless, restless.... The moon will be up and full in a couple of hours. My satellite is out; the constant error message says it's looking for a signal. I am tired of reading. I guess I'll have to figure out something to distract myself with, or I really will wind up doing something unwise after all.

Longing

Spending last week in Washington has reawakened those longings I try so hard to keep dormant or dead. I really did like what I saw there, and I didn't expect to. The city felt livable, navigable, and the sheer luxury of being able to get on the Metro and arrive at the ridiculous wealth of one of the many free museums almost made me lightheaded. It was like a feast of fairy-tale proportions, and I've been starving for a long time now.

Just the architecture alone made it worth it. I could have taken my Nikon and spent days walking and shooting the details on common buildings without ever approaching anything like a national monument or historically-significant building. There was such a great blend of styles and a preservation of buildings that pleased me.

From the time I got off the plane, there was the wonderful sound of other languages everywhere. This, of course, is no surprise in the nation's capital, but it was wonderful to me to see other languages written, to hear them spoken, and to see restaurants and services catering to other cultures. I wanted to take time to quietly explore all of them and revel in it.

History, too, was an ever-present friend. It was impossible to turn the eyes or take a step without it tapping me on the shoulder or whispering in my ear. Things and places I'd heard about all my life suddenly were laid out before me like jewels on display. Again, there was far too much there to take in during a casual excursion such as mine. It needed a much deeper exploration.

And what shocked me, ultimately, as I got on the plane to leave, was how much I wanted that deeper exploration. I wanted very much not to be leaving Washington at all. I know that living in a place is never the same as vacationing in one, and I certainly heard enough "natives" complain about it while I was there, but I can't help but thinking that at least for a little while, I would have enough to dazzle me that no matter how bad it was, the positives would outweigh the rest.

A Song for the Fourth

I heard this song today in a mix of songs put together by NPR. It came from a Ken Burns documentary soundtrack, the one for The War. It is melodic and lovely, but the lyrics are what set it apart from the other songs I listened to today in the five-hour playlist. It is a powerfully thought-provoking song about what it means (or perhaps, should mean) to be an American.

It reminds me a little of Kennedy's famous "Ask Not" speech in its focus on giving back and giving of one's best to the nation. It's beautiful in the elevation of its sentiment. We live in times in desperate need of grand sentiment and of the fulfillment of and dedication to those noble ideals. What if we did all give our best to our nation, to our fellow man, to each other? Can you imagine what changes could happen here if we lived this way? It's something to consider as we celebrate the birth of our nation and its future.

Reading Of The Declaration Of Independence : NPR

How long has it been since you've really listened to or read the words of the Declaration of Independence? For me, I have to say that I haven't read it or paid much attention to it since whatever my last history or government class was ended. That's a shame. NPR has an annual tradition of reading it as the Fourth approaches, and I think this is a beautiful thing because it brings our attention back to those reasons why we became a nation, the very serious and dangerous issues the founders of our nation were willing to lay their lives on the line to fight against for us. If you haven't heard or read it lately, I encourage you to click the link below and take a moment on this holiday weekend to refresh your appreciation of our nation. Reading Of The Declaration Of Independence : NPR