A Very Satisfying Day

I'm listening to rain on the rooftop, and two of my three cats are edging ever closer to me, surreptitiously trying to get on the blanket or my legs without my noticing.  This is no mean feat for animals weighing 8 and 12 pounds, respectively.  However, Pearl, my largest and furriest cat, has powers of stealth that are inexplicable, so probably in a few minutes, there will be a giant pile of grey fur purring contentedly and weighing me down like a living boulder.  Let it be.  It's a good day for it.

Odd that today should be a day for any kind of contentment.  It's a Monday, and they are usually frightful with the ending of the leisure of a weekend and the return to activity in a regular week.  I think it was that it was such an unusual day, one that actually allowed me to get things done.

I stayed after school today until 6:45 and graded like a madwoman.  The papers have stacked up waist-high, and I needed to get some peace about that.  I graded something like twelve sets of papers today.  I still have several left to do, but this got it down to where one more afternoon of intensive work will get me caught up.  I want to leave for the break with everything graded and recorded.  I don't want anything hanging over me during the holiday, no guilt, no nagging worry about stuff in the workbag.

Another reason today was so nice, though, was because two of my wonderful former students dropped by.  I love it when the ones who are gone come back.  I didn't get to talk to either of them very much, which I regret.  I wanted to chat with them, but of course, it just wasn't possible.  Maybe another opportunity will arise.  One was on his way to a fabulous adventure and the other came by as my class was starting.  It was just so good to see them. 

I realized that I hadn't seen one of them for about five years.  He was in my very first AP class.  He's in graduate school now.  That part of it is somehow still messing with my mind.  How is it possible that anybody I taught is now in grad school?  Wait....doesn't that make me....um....old?  Well. Yes.  Yes, it does. 

But you know what?  That's perfectly fine.  I am content with it.  When these brilliant ones I am teaching come back to me as Dr. So-and-So, I'm going to just smile with tranquility.  It's all going to be good.  At least if I'm old, I will have something about which I can be happy.  They make me happy.  Knowing they're out there stretching those rainbow-hued wings, flying and soaring, becoming, that makes these worn old grey/black raven feathers of mine very satisfactory indeed.

Getting in the Spirit of Things

I have had zero Christmas spirit this year.  Those of you for whom I am not a faceless entity may be surprised by this since I am usually all about all holidays in all their forms. I have not put up a Christmas bulletin board.  I have not put lights up on the house.  I could not seem to make myself get a tree.  I have barely been able to bring myself to do the minimal changing of the string of lights and garland I have around my classroom door for all the holidays from Halloween to graduation. 

I could blame it on a great many things, but I won't go into the depressing list.  I should have known better, really.  I should have made myself do it over Thanksgiving even though it was the last thing I felt like.  I started to, but it was so much easier to keep putting it off, and the next thing I knew, the holiday was gone and school was upon me like a rabid tiger.  Now that I'm sitting here looking at everything out and on display, I feel silly for not putting forth the effort sooner. 

I got my tree in about fifteen minutes this afternoon at the place we've been getting our trees from since I was very young.  I don't have to have a moment of epiphany with the trees.  That's always been Mom's thing.  I knew which one I wanted pretty quickly, so I got it and got it home fairly fast.  I got it in the stand and everything myself (of which I was proud), and as I was decorating it, I felt the first faint glimmerings of the Christmas spirit as I pulled my collection of Shiny Brights out from under the daybed in the library where I store them.  Something about the delicate and lovely silvered glass and the fact that I am simply the latest person to share their history of holiday joy stirred whatever it was inside me that has been beaten down, grumpy and dormant this year. 

My mood continued to improve as I put some of my favorite Santa ornaments on the tree.  I have some that I look forward to seeing every year, and I always make sure they get pride of place where I see them first thing as I come into the living room from different doors.  There are always a couple I forget about, and it's a nice surprise to rediscover them in the box. 

In addition to the tree, I also set out my two Christmas collections, my old-world Santas and my nativities.  I have been collecting the Santas since I was in high school, I guess, and I have enough of them to fill the top of my piano.  I don't even put all of them out anymore.  Some of the big fancy fabric ones I save back in case I need to do a frilly table somewhere.  As I unwrapped the Santas, again memories came with them.  There are several of those I actually made when I worked at a decorative ceramics business during my undergrad days.  Others have been gifts from friends and family members. 

The nativities are a more recent addition started by one I made when I worked at that ceramics business.  I started adding others to that one, and now I have a fairly large collection of those, too.  That collection made me cry tonight.  One of the pieces I have in it came from a lady in my church who passed away this past year, and I had forgotten it was there until I had opened the box and saw her name on the tag I had kept with it.  I could see her again for a moment, and it was both beautiful and painful.  That piece has pride of place this year.

I still have several things left to do.  I need to get some lights up outside, although I have decided that I am NOT going to do what I usually do and wrap all the columns of my porch with lights.  It looks great, but it takes a million years to put up and take down.  I will probably just put some around my side entry where they'll be cheery for guests and for me when I drag my weary self in at the end of my ridiculous days.   I also found a gorgeous set of vintage poinsettia curtains Granny had in storage, and I'm trying to get some storage stains out of them right now.  Regardless of whether or not I can get them pristine, they're going up in my kitchen.  They're of the same vintage as my beloved luncheonette cloths and my Shiny Brights, and they ROCK.  

I am slowly filling my house and my heart with Christmas.  It feels good.  I had missed it, really.  I love Christmas.  I always have.  It would have been sad if I allowed everything else that has been going on to kill it off for me again this year. I guess it was really just a case of doing it and allowing the sweetness of it to fill me like the fragrance of  fresh-cut cedar or the light from a candle glowing in the window, driving out the darkness.

The New Jo-Ann, or Hello, Welcome to Our Store. I'll Be Hoovering Your Wallet Now

I had dinner with Mom last night, and afterward we decided to go to the new craft store in town, Jo-Ann.  I've been wanting to go for awhile, but I haven't had a chance to get in there.  It was so nice to have a craft store.  Granted, it's a small one; we don't get large stores here, but they have fabric, paper, yarn and everything wonderful to make things.  I was so happy.  The only thing I could have wished them to have that they didn't was stained glass stuff, but I pretty much knew they wouldn't handle that.  It's very specialized, and I am lucky that Hobby Lobby in Jackson carries any of it, really. 

I have a problem when I go in craft stores, though.  Every single thing looks good.  This is the same problem I have in book stores.  I walk up and down the aisles thinking, "You know, I could do something with that," or, "I haven't done that in so long.  I should really get some supplies for it and do a project this weekend."  Into the cart go all kinds of goodies....  By the time I got to the checkout, I had quite an impressive assortment of odds and ends in the basket.  I gritted my teeth and handed over my card.s  Oh well.  At least I have something to keep me occupied now. 

Tom Gauld's Noisy Alphabet

I've been laughing at this for the last fifteen minutes, particularly F is for "Foom." There's something about that that just tickles me.  All these onomatopoeia are wonderful.  The art is fantastic, too.  I found this piece through a website called Neatopia, but it's actually housed on the artist's personal site.  I encourage you to go see more of his stuff. It's all good.  And, remember, no matter how bad a day you're having, at least you haven't gone "FOOM" yet... (snicker)

What Were They Thinking? Or, Good For You, Sir.

As I was going to work this morning, the news summary came on, and I heard, amongst other little tidbits, a blurb about a 90-year-old Medal of Honor recipient who is being attacked by his Homeowners' Association because he put up a flagpole without their permission.  I had two immediate reactions. 

First:  What the....?  What kind of uptight jackasses (pardon my lack of class just this once, won't you?) go after one of the last WWII vets because he wants to fly a flag?  I mean, okay, yes, the fact that he fought in WWII does not make him a nice person, a saint, or mean that he is easy to get along with.  However, I DO think it just might warrant a wee tiny bit of respect.  Even without the medals.  Even without the fact that he also fought in Korea, too.  And was decorated in that war as well. 

Second:  Old guy (and I say that with all the respect in the world), go get your gun.  I will stand with you in your yard, and we will keep your flag flying.  Because I mean, MAN.  Just because some uptight people who want everybody's doormats to match are having an apoplectic fit does not mean you don't have the protected First Amendment right to fly a symbol of our nation. 

I hope he gets to keep his flag.  In fact, I hope a bunch of people show up at his house and put up one of those flags like they have at the car dealership downtown, one of those flags as big as a football field.  I hope everybody for three states can see it.  I hope every morning when it's hung a university marching brass band comes out and plays a medley of the National Anthem, "Stars and Stripes Forever", and "You're a Grand Old Flag" complete with cannonade and big, big cymbals. 

It just hacks me off.  The whole concept of Homeowners' Associations do in general.  If a person buys land, s/he should be able to have gnomes, flamingos, and rusted-out cars if they by-frak want them, especially if they don't attack passers-by.  I understand about lowered property values, etc., blah-blah-blah, but a lot of what HAs are about is elitist nonsense, too.  This is a perfect example of a battle that didn't have to happen.  This is a perfect example of a time when humanity should have ruled, when respect for age and accomplishment should have overruled somebody's need to live in vanilla suburbia.  This gentleman will be a part of our past, sadly, before too long.  Shouldn't we appreciate him while he's here?

Strength Required

So often we think that the thing that requires the greatest strength on the part of an individual is to bear our personal struggles silently, stoically, all the jagged edges hidden behind the mask and tucked away where nobody can see the wound can heal.  Sometimes, though, there are fractures of such magnitude that we can't just cover it over and wait for the distant light of morning.  Sometimes strong and silent just isn't strong at all.

There is a greater strength required of us on occasion, but it comes with a pain even sharper at first than that of the wound.  We have to admit that we aren't capable of doing it all ourselves, that we aren't all-powerful, all-capable.  We have to lay down both our weapons and our shields, lay down our pride, and reach out to somebody to ask for help. For me, there is no action more frustrating, no lesson that is harder to learn.  In fact, I still have to remind myself constantly that it is not a weakness but an incredible act of trust and strength to reach out to another and allow all those who love me to help me when I cannot do it myself. 

I think I should be able to do it all myself, you see.  I don't want to burden anybody else. It's my responsibility.  I don't want to take time, really, to have to ask anybody else to work me into their busy schedule, and I know all my friends already have so much on their plates... All of these excuses regularly appear in my rationale for trying to stumble along under my own power long after I know that I should have called for reinforcements.

The temptation is always to wait one more day, try to do one more task, try to keep one more juggler's ball in the air, but the simple truth is that sometimes I can't.  Sometimes none of us can.  Wisdom comes when we realize that we need somebody else before we drop all the balls, fail at all those tasks and reach out ahead of time for a hand to stabilize us.  And those hands are everywhere.  Even at our darkest moments, those hands are all around us if we look for them.  Some of them are friends we've known forever, people who are only a phone call away.  Some of them are people put into a specific location for just that one moment of our need, that hand in place for that one emergency grasp and rescue. 

When we can learn to recognize our own breaking point and do the hard thing, sacrifice our own vanity and pride to reach out before we reach it, we actually become stronger.  We forge stronger bonds between ourselves and those we love.  We teach ourselves humility, that most vital and bitter of all the lessons.  We also save ourselves from ourselves; we keep our hands off the steering wheel when it's better not to drive, and sometimes that's the only choice to make.  All strength is gained through some work, something given up, something given away.  

Sam Clark Dragon

Here he is in all his glory. Hopefully I will soon have a home for him more befitting his stature than guarding my DVDs.

Chimneyville Crafts Fair

Today, my best friend and I went to Chimneyville.  I look forward to that show all year long.  The things that people can do, the sheer raw creativity accumulated in that one building never fails to give me a lift.  It's a feast of inspiration for my own feeble talents, and just such a wonderful place to look and talk and see.  I never have enough money to get what I want.  I would need thousands....  There are so many gifted artists there, and I want a little something (or a not-so-little something) from most of them.  Eyes and fingers are drawn to the play of light and color, to the loveliness of wood, pottery, glass, metal, jewels, and fabric.   Every conceivable artform is there, and each exhibitor is a master of his or her craft.

Today, I visited the three artisans I always go to, but I only bought from one of them this year.  I loved everything I saw from them, but I just decided this year, I wanted something different.

For the past three years I've been going to Chimneyville, there's been a potter I've wanted a piece from, but I've never been able to get one of his pieces because either the one I wanted was always gone by the time I made my circle of the show and got back to his booth or because I simply didn't have enough money.  Today, though, I was ready.  I got a dragon today from the very talented Sam Clark, and I love it.  His dragons have the most wonderful expressions.  They always look like they're extremely clever and up to something, just as a dragon should be.

I want so much to take him to my classroom, but I'm afraid he will meet an untimely demise if I do that, so I will find a place among my Japanese dragons and maneki neko for him to live.  I think he'll feel right at home here.  Maybe next year, I will be able to bring him a sly-smiling friend to whom he can tell his dragon secrets.

Christmas Music

I've not been in a very festive mood yet this year.  I've put up almost no decorations, gotten no tree, decked no halls.  This morning, though, I dug out my cd case of Christmas music and took it to school with me.  As I rolled down the driveway, I popped in one of my very favorite discs, Third Day's Christmas Offerings cd. 

Every year, the cds take me by surprise.  The music was so good.  I found myself singing before I got on the interstate.  By the time I was in town, I was in full song, and my mood was lifted.  I was contemplating Christmas and feeling cheery.  It was a nice way to start the day.

Christmas music has such a wonderful effect.  It helps me reach for the holiday long before my heart is ready.  Whether it's Elvis or Oh Holy Night, I need it at this time of the year.  It's too hard to balance all the other pressures with the joy that is supposed to be present.  The sweet notes of those precious, seldom-heard songs twining through crowds and hectic activity remind me about what I'm supposed to be focused on.  It's a much-needed reminder and lift.

Today

Today, I had a day.  It was a day like I haven't had before.  I'm not talking about one full of minor irritations or petty nonsense.  I'm talking about a D-A-Y, an adrenaline-spiking, heart-wrenching, soul-crushing day.  If it seems like I'm being vague, you're right.  And it's going to continue, so keep reading or click out.  You choose. 

At the end of today, I felt like sitting on my floor and running my fingers over the patterns in the tile, looking for connections and meaning in the chaos of little broken dots that appear there.  But I didn't. Instead, I wrote a poem that might be the best thing I've written in months.  Instead, I turned out the light, closed the door and locked it securely and left.  Instead, I went to Dollar Tree and walked around in a daze, bought colored paper clips and PEZ, a Diet Coke and some holographic tissue paper.

If tomorrow is like today was, I think, quite frankly, I'm going to lose whatever shreds I have left of my poor befuddled mind.

T-Shirt Arrives

My "Attack of Literacy" shirt arrived today.  It's even better than I had hoped.  The graphic is huge and the printing quality is probably the best I've ever seen on any shirt.  I am blown away.  I want to wear it to school tomorrow, but I can't figure out a way to fit it into teacher dress code.  Maybe if I throw a staid blazer of the top of it?  It's fantastic.  It has just become, along with my trusty Howlin' Wolf festival shirt and my Dr. Who tee, the garment students are most likely to sneak up and find me wearing in bookstores and Wal-Mart when I can actually not have to wear my Teacher Person armor.  Yay!  Thank you, Threadless.  I will definitely be getting more stuff from you.

Science and Magic

It's easy to believe in magic when you're young.  Anything you couldn't explain was magic then.  It didn't matter if it was science or a fairy tale.  Electricity and elves were both infinitely mysterious and equally possible - elves probably more so.  ~Charles de Lint

I love this quote.  It reminds me of another one that I've always found equally intriguing, "Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic," by Arthur C. Clarke.

 

One of the primary human characteristics is the desire to explain, explore, deconstruct.  We are curious little critters, and if you give us a mystery, we will work our fingers raw trying to pry it open and figure it out.  We need to know, in fact.  Our species has a very decided fear of that which we cannot process out and categorize.

This, ironically, is coupled with the desire to believe in something.  All men worship gods, every culture, every time period, every language and land.  We seek after something infinite, something larger than ourselves, something to fill that innate need inside.  All the way back to the very beginnings of time, belief is as ingrained as invention and exploration.

Are these two separate facets?  Do science and magic really have irreconcilable differences?  I know lots of people think so, but I never have.  I have always seen them as brothers.  We are seeking to know, we were gifted with that drive to learn and classify to help us see reflections of that which can never be fully understood at all.  The world we see and know is the prism splitting the pure white light of the divine into a rainbow of the visible and comprehensible.

I think we forget sometimes that science is not an end unto itself.  Too frequently, I think our particular culture has replaced the respect for the divine with our love of curiosity, the tool has become the focus instead of the purpose for which it was forged.  Perhaps we do know now more than we ever have before, but when we look around us at the magnitude of what is left to discover, I think the sheer wonder of the magic needs to creep back in.  I think we'd be better off for it.

The Brindled Cow

So today's animal adventure started about three o'clock.  It seems so many things start about three o'clock.  I don't know why.  I guess if things started early in the morning, they'd finish up in a normal fashion and there wouldn't be all this...stress and tension...overnight.  Never let it be said Life isn't a raving Drama Queen.

Anyway, I got a harried call from my father asking if I could go to our vets and pick up meds that were being prepared as we were talking.  Of course I could; I was just watching TV and being lazy.  I put on shoes and an old sweatshirt and made a flying trip in to town, the second time in three days I've been to the vet's office.  Right now, it is not a place with happy memories for me. 

I picked up the stuff and a very odd looking tool used to shove really huge pills down a cow's throat and came back home.  I took the meds to Mom and Dad's house and walked up the hill to the barn to find that they'd corralled one of the brindled heifers.  She's in bad shape.  We spent the next ten minutes putting a rope around her neck and medicating her.  Then she laid down and the real problems began.

We tried and tried to get her back up on her feet, but she weighs about 400 lbs.  Four hundred pounds of weak and uncooperative angus are not very easy to manipulate.  Mom finally managed to irritate her to her feet by continuing to try to feed her until she got tired of it and got up to get away from it.  She stood for about ten minutes and then she slowly folded back down again.  Although she seemed a little more alert, she didn't get up again.

She was pitiful.  I petted her and soothed her as best I could for awhile longer, but eventually, I just came home.  There's nothing else to do now.  Either she will recover with the help of the medicine or she won't.  I don't think she's going to survive.  I am getting awfully tired of death.

Decisions

Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds. ~ Oppenheimer on the day of the Trinity nuclear test, quoting from memory the Bhagavad Gita


The vet woke me this morning at 7:00.  I'd only been asleep about four hours because I read all night last night, a blissful holiday night of devouring books.  I could tell from her voice that the news wasn't good, and I woke right up, crisis giving me the ability to cast off my usual morning fog. 

Yesterday's cat was injured and was so feral and wild that just to try to treat him would require major medicine and sedation that might kill him in the process.  He can never be returned to the wild and will never domesticate.  Their recommendation was to put him down humanely.

I've never made a life-or-death decision over anything larger than an insect in my whole life.  I have three cats of my own who are, in the way of ridiculous single women, as dear to me as little furry children.  I love all animals, even that feral black male tom who clawed and spat all the way to the vet yesterday in his temporary imprisonment and pain. 

I told them I would call them back, and I got off the phone and cried.  I knew what the right thing to do was.  Had I found it in the woods yesterday in agony and unable to live, I would have gotten Daddy to ease it from this world to the next because that would have been the right thing to do.  It is not right to let anything suffer needlessly because of personal weakness or squeamishness. 

This felt so different, though.  Maybe it was because he hadn't been torn open.  I know he was injured, and badly, too, or my vet would not be recommending this course of action, but I still had to think.  I did, however, have to decide quickly.  They had to have my decision fairly fast to know how to procede.

As I said, I knew what the right thing was.  And even though I feel like a part of me somehow died when I made the phone call, I know that what I told them was the right thing to do for that animal.  We'll go get him tomorrow and bury him here with my own departed ones.  He was never mine at all until this last, but at least I can make sure that the leaving of this life is as merciful and as full of honor as I can make it.  The rest of it I will just have to live with somehow.

Spock Monkey

Do I really even need to say anything to go along with this?

 Spock Monkey by TheSockDrawer on Etsy

One More Thanksgiving Quote

For, after all, put it as we may to ourselves, we are all of us from birth to death guests at a table which we did not spread.  The sun, the earth, love, friends, our very breath are parts of the banquet.... Shall we think of the day as a chance to come nearer to our Host, and to find out something of Him who has fed us so long?  ~Rebecca Harding Davis

A Thought for Thanksgiving

Gratitude is the sign of noble souls.  ~Aesop

Star Trek Spock Cell Phone Charm/Keychain by iKtizo on Etsy

Speaking of Star Trek and my fondness for Spock...  I found this cute little thing on Etsy as I was surfing around tonight.  Isn't it amazing what people can make?  This seller has the whole Enterprise crew, Superman, Batman, and others, too, in this same cute style.  Now if only my Berry had a keitai charm bracket....

Star Trek Spock Cell Phone Charm/Keychain by iKtizo on Etsy

The New Star Trek

I watched the new Star Trek tonight, courtesy of Netflix (yeah, I finally sent back those two movies I've had sitting on the TV for three months...).  I am still processing it, and I think I want to watch it again before I send it back.  It wasn't what I was expecting.  I liked it a lot.  I thought it was well done.  I liked the casting, and I'm always a fan of alternate universe settings.  Some of you know that very well (LOL).  I liked that the characters were basically who they were always supposed to be despite the externals.  I think that's important to do in AU.  The fundamental core remains although the expression of it may be different because of the forces that shape it.  That's the fascinating thing about AU. 

One thing I really liked was the whole Spock/Uhura thing.  It is such a, if you'll pardon the phrase for a minute, "logical" paring.  It made me happy.  But then again, you know how I am about the tall smart guys.  I've always been much more about Spock than Kirk myself....  Sigh.

I don't know if they're planning on turning this into a whole AU series or if this was a one-film experiment.  Regardless, I enjoyed the adventure.  I may even go so far as to buy the DVD.  It was nice to go back to the beginning of the franchise again and do some things fresh and new again, to enjoy it in a new way, and to see all the "accepted canon" flung joyfully out the window and really make me pay attention to get the storyline.  We wound up in the same basic place in the end, but the getting there was the fun part.

Animal Issues

I was trying to read today when I heard my little dog barking frantically.  When I went outside to check out what was going on, I found that the dogs had treed a large black cat which made the mistake of coming down when it saw people.  Roux gave chase into the woods, and Mom (who was down for a visit) and I tried to follow to see if we could prevent Roux's destroying the cat.  Ultimately, we were able to get Roux out of the woods, and we tracked the cat down as well deep in the woods near the creek. I don't know if it ran there or if Roux dragged it there.

It was very much alive, and after navigating the woods with my knee, Mom and I used a large bathtowel, a two-front approach, welding gloves, and a lot of distraction to capture it.  There were no visible wounds, but I could tell that Roux had gotten her mouth on it.  That means she did "the shake" with it probably, and that's devastating.  Roux herself came home with her face cut to ribbons, so this tom gave as good as he got.  He is very large, and if Roux had not shut her eyes, he'd have blinded her on one side.  I crated the cat and took him to my vet.  I still don't know the outcome since he had to be calmed before he could be worked with.

My knee is twinging, Roux is exhausted and sore, and I don't know how Warrior Prince the Cat Lord is.  It has just been a very long day.  I hope this is my animal day for this holiday.

A New Telling of the Canterbury Tales

I was at Borders today sitting in a comfortable if worn leather chair and luxuriating in the joy of being in a real bookstore when I looked up at the tier of books that lines the top of the store. A blue and white cover with a curving ribbon caught my attention, and I glanced at it again to read The Canterbury Tales and Geoffrey Chaucer. I couldn't see anything more than that, but my curiosity was piqued. I had been looking for something new for The CT for awhile since it is one of the major works I teach, but I haven't found anything good for some time. I asked one of the guys who works there to get a copy down, and I was delighted to see that the book was a newly published retelling of the Tales.

I cracked the cover with no little trepidation because retellings go one of two ways, either a fantastic rediscovery of a beloved work or a complete destruction of the same. I've read all the way through the introductory notes, the general prologue and am almost done with the Knight's Tale, and I am finding this version very readable, very much in keeping with Chaucer's voice, and delightful in its own way. Is it going to replace the music and bright wit of Chaucer's own heroic couplets? Well, duh, no. What could? Is it something that I can use to expand the experience for pleasure reading for myself and for comprehension assistance for students who struggle? Oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah.

It was a lucky find, brought on by a simple stray glance. I'm going to savor this trip to Canterbury. It's always such a good trip, after all.  If you're interested, you can check it out for yourself, at amazon at the link below:
Amazon.com: The Canterbury Tales: A Retelling (9780670021222): Peter Ackroyd: Books

Silly Thoughts While Watching The Prisoner (Vintage)

Is it wrong, really, really wrong, for me to want a Rover for my own private use at school?  I think we could take care of a number of our discipline problems at school with one.  Forget security and high speed chases.  Just push the button, call an orange alert, and RAAAAAWRRRR.....  It would even helpfully take them downstairs to the office when it caught them. 

Yeah, I'm almost positive it isn't a good thing to want one of these.... Next thing you know I'll be carrying an umbrella and wanting "Information"....

Attack of Literacy!

Oh, I love this shirt. I've been waiting on Threadless to reprint it, and today I got an email that said it was finally back in stock. Yay! I know I'm a literary geek, but even we lit geeks have to have fun somehow, and this is the "funnest" lit geek thing I've seen in awhile. The shirt's designer made a key for the authors depicted in this design, and I found it in his comments about the shirt. It's amazing how many authors of classic literature he managed to squeeze in to this one graphic. See how many you can find.

"Attack of Literacy!" - T-shirt by Joshua Kemble

e e cummings print

e e cummings the heartfelt print by amandaatkins on Etsy

I adore Cummings. His poetry is sometimes complex, like walking a maze, requiring a meditation and concentration to reach the center. Not all his pieces are twisty this way, but all of them are so gloriously full of him. While I as a writer don't chose to emulate his innovation with syntax and punctuation, I pray for the day my work can capture my heart as fully as his did his own. Think I'll go take my nightly dose of cold medicine so I can breathe (the sickness rages on), and end this day with some Cummings before I drift off.

This piece of art is on Etsy.   If you like it, you may click the link above and grab it...if you're fast.  I may beat you to it.  This one, I can actually afford.  There's a companion piece for T.S. Eliot, too.  

Pretty Little Ginkgo Plate

Ginkgo are my favorite fall tree. The delicate leaves always remind me of ladies' fans. I also remember cool fall days riding my bike down the alley of huge golden ginkgo on the Aidai campus, wind rustling them into a cascade of beauty all around me. This little tray is a lovely reminder of that. Might have to get it on payday if it hasn't been snapped up by then.

Pretty Little Ginkgo Plate Yellow by sumiko on Etsy

Changes (Dresden Files, Book 12)

So I'm cruising through amazon as I do whenever I'm not doing something else online, and I stumble across this in my recommendations. I clicked it to see when it was coming out (not until April) and to see what the blurb might be. Four words caught my attention: Dresden has a child. What the....? Oh, tricky Jim...what have you done now? And how could you possibly be so cruel as to make me wait five months for it? I can only pray he's written a ponderous tome this time because my only complaint ever with the Dresden Files is that they're always over too soon. I've already got this in my amazon cart. Now I just have to figure out how to be patient until it gets here.

Amazon.com: Changes (Dresden Files, Book 12) (9780451463173): Jim Butcher: Books

Another Reason to Love My Kindle

I just downloaded and installed the Kindle for PC app today, and it makes my Kindle-ing experience just that much richer.  I think it was a necessary addition. In many ways, it reminds me of  iTunes, and I think it is the piece that 's been lacking (if anything has been) from the use of the device.  I like that I can use my netbook as an ereader now, too.  Lots of people who are on the fence about Kindles can try out the joy of the ereader with the Kindle iPhone and PC applications and see what it's all about.  Once they get the Mac platform up, I think everybody will be pleased.  If you haven't tried it yet, I encourage you to do so.  It's free, and there is an entire universe of free books out there just waiting for you to devour.  All the Kindle apps will synch across devices, so if you start reading on your phone during a waiting room visit, grab ten minutes during lunch on your computer, and then retire for the evening with your Kindle it will keep your place marked for you.  Love it, love it, love it. 

Sick, Of Course

It's Thanksgiving, so of course I must be sick.  It started coming on yesterday, and right now, I just want to breathe.  Ick.  Hate this.  Hate that I wind up spending every holiday recovering.  Ick. Ick. Ick.  Time for a dose of Nyquil and then bed.

From Voyage of the Damned

The Doctor: Right then, follow me.
Rickston Slade: Hang on a minute. Who put you in charge, and who the hell are you anyway?
The Doctor: I'm the Doctor. I'm a Time Lord. I'm from the planet Gallifrey in the Constellation of Kasterborous. I'm 903 years old and I'm the man who is gonna save your lives and all 6 billion people on the planet below. You got a problem with that?
Rickston Slade: No.
The Doctor: In that case, allons-y.

I swear, David Tennant must have had so much fun playing this role just because he got to say stuff like this periodically.  Where else do you get to say stuff like this with a straight face?  I am going to miss him in this role.  He was so funny, geeky, sweet, and perfect.  I hope the new guy can live up to it.

Dying from the Lack

I talked to a student of mine today who has no idea what he wants from his future.  No plan.  No goal.  No dream.  He's not alone.  Too many of my students from year to year are sitting passively or, worse yet, hopelessly. 

How do you teach somebody to have a dream?  It breaks my heart, crushes me totally, to see these beautiful people sitting there like broken butterflies waiting for some end when they should be just now starting to soar upward.  Why don't they know how talented and capable they are?  How did it come to be that so many of these lives seem to have ended almost before they've begun?

I want them to know that the entire world is theirs if they will just reach out their hand for it.  I want them to have a dream in their heart and chase it fervently, relentlessly.  I want them to take Joseph Campbell's quote, "Follow your bliss" and carve it into their hearts as a mantra, a maxim, as map.  I want them to hunger for something, anything instead of just hanging their heads and accepting whatever is tossed to them or thrown at them.

I wish I knew how to kindle that fire. I wish I had a magic wand to wave over them.   I wish I could hold them or shake them, preach to them or beg them and help them find it.  Ultimately, though, I don't know if anyone can give it to another person.  I think every person has to discover that spark inside him or herself and nurture it or it can't grow at all.  I will continue to lead them as far as I can and tell them how wonderful they are, but I still wish I knew a better way.

Final Thoughts on the New Prisoner

Whoa.  I just finished up the new Prisoner on AMC.  THAT took a hard left turn and went places I didn't expect....  It actually was quite good and ultimately quite in keeping with the original despite the different tone.  While it won't replace the original series in my affections, I think it was really well-done.  I need to see it about three more times to go back and get everything that was going on.  It was very much like LOST in that respect, that only in the final moments do all the little bits and pieces finally mesh.  I still can't believe how it ended.  I did not see that coming at all.  Of course, it's nicely set up for a series now.  I don't know if they'll put it into production, or if they can maintain the level of intensity with a weekly that they've had with this six-hour mini.  One can only hope, I guess.  I'd like to see the continued fallout from tonight's events.  If you watched it, I'd love to know what you thought....

Mikan

I got a bag of mikan yesterday at the grocery store, and I am trying to pace myself.  It's hard, though.  Such sweet, juicy goodness is hard to resist. 

Mikan and green tea always remind me of autumn in Japan.  I always used to keep a big bowl of them on my coffee table and when the air turned cool, I'd make tea in my favorite beautiful blue-green teapot and peel and drink.  The sweetness of the mikan helps to offset the bitterness of the tea.

I love the pungent smell when they're peeled, too.  It is somehow sharper and better than a regular orange.  The way it hangs in the air and fragrances my fingers after the fruit is finished is an added pleasure.

The Freaky Pre Chick

And not to over-post today, but what the heck is it with that chick from the Pre commercials?  Does she scare anybody else?  I know I tweeted about her when those commercials first started airing, and then she went away for awhile.  Now she's back again with her messed-up, semi-psychotic Mona Lisa-esque happiness over her stupid phone.  She's just abnormal, too still, or too tranquil or something.  I know I'm not alone in this one.  They have stopped showing the one where the "voices" talk to her, I think.  I guess that's something, at least....

AMC's Prisoner

I'm about an hour into the new version of The Prisoner on AMC, but I don't know yet how I feel about it.  So far, I am not sure about it.  They seem to be weaving in elements of LOST somewhat, but it's not nearly dark enough yet.  For one thing, there isn't that candy-coating on this place that hides the malice.  That was such an essential part of the original series.  It was what made the original so creepy.  They're also not letting McKellan live up to his true evil potential yet.  He has within him Richard III and Macbeth, so I know he's got some serious badguy chops.  They need to let him loose.  I hope this is going to get better as it goes.  Otherwise, it's going to fall into that category of things that came sooooo close but missed the mark.

OMG. (Excuse the text language, but this IS a mobile post...). I have a frippin' BANJO in my car... Run! And cover your ears!

Robert Johnson art on Etsy

This piece by Kevin Bradley is fantastic. I would have it if I could figure out any way to afford it. The work in the wood cut is amazing, and of course, I love that it's Robert Johnson. If you are a blues fan and are more "flush" than I, head over to Etsy at the link provided here and snap one of these limited editions up. Maybe I'll come over and drool over it sometime.

Testing out the mobile service

Imagination

I imagine, therefore I belong and am free.
Lawrence Durrell

This entry is for L & L who were my tree-climbing-go-cart-driving-wild-yahoo-co-conspirators on all the adventures of our childhood, for A and C who continue to be my partners-in-crime and Wonder Women (even if we don't fly that much anymore), and for H who won't read this but whose red cape brought all of it back to my mind.

Something turned my mind back over the days of my childhood and the joys of imagination recently, and it's been like discovering an old box of pictures tucked up in a forgotten corner of a closet. I've been thinking about all the long summer days, all the games, all the things we used to do when we were little, and I've had sort of a permanent smile on my face the past couple of days over it.

The tree where our monkey swings once hung is a memory now. It died long ago, and Katrina felled the husk of it. Only an uneven place remains in my front yard to mark the spot where so many pleasant hours of fun were spent. I can still remember, though, as if the pecan tree's verdant canopy still shaded that ground, my cousins and me playing there. Those swings were planes, wings, and flying horses for us, and we spent untold hours there. The heavy marine-grade nylon ropes had to be replaced routinely because we wore them out so frequently.

We took from somewhere the idea that we were medieval knights, got some of my grandmother's heavy walking sticks from her collection in the house, and did aerial combat with them. Joust was one of our favorite games, swinging through the air and clashing the walking sticks together like swords or lances, depending on our whims. We did that for years....until one of our parents happened to see it. I think it was my Dad. Needless to say, he wasn't best pleased.

Looking back on it, a lot of our favorite games were a little dangerous. Climbing the big magnolia that still sits at the end of my driveway wasn't dangerous, but tossing the "grenades" of the cones definitely was. Some of the things we did with the old golf cart, the go cart, and the four-wheeler probably qualified, too.... The time my friend decided she was Wonder Woman and jumped off the china cabinet in her living room definitely counts. She did get airborne, though, for a splendid minute. It almost offset the moment of unconsciousness that followed....

Whatever we were doing, whatever the risk involved (or however blissfully ignorant of it we were), I remember those times as days of glorious joy. I remember sailing through the yard on bikes transformed into motorcycles, Roman chariots, western horses, space vehicles, and the cars from the Dukes of Hazzard sometimes with a blanket tied around my own neck to make a cape if the fantasy called for it (and sometimes if it didn't, because hey, who doesn't look good in a cape?). I remember taking every single extra quilt my grandmother had and turning the front bedroom into a giant tent/castle/fort in which each one of the three of us had our own highly-contested, organized, and decorated zone. During the long summers, we were Egyptian gods, Dr. Who, and Star Wars characters. We taught ourselves hieroglyphics and Germanic runes. We explored Native American legends from all over North and South America, picked out Apache names for ourselves, and tried to learn how to use bullwhips. We ransacked every library in our reach to feed whatever our current obsession happened to be at the time.

I believe I am a better adult because of those days of wonder as a child, and not just because I have so many beautiful memories to turn over in my heart like light-filled jewels. I found interests then that I continue to pursue now, and I also became aware of the world as a place of amazing and interesting things if only I would look for them. I think all of us, all of my friends who used to go with me on those voyages of exploration in our backyards and backrooms, continue to enjoy the world of fantasy, too, continue to enrich our lives with our own dreams and the dreams of others. We may not be running through the yard with our walking sticks clashing or our Wonder Woman Underoos on these days, but we're all still free, as Durrell says, because we can imagine.

The Smell of Print

So I'm out of every conceivable thing here at the house except for the necessaries (cat/dog food and toilet tissue) and I really should have gone to Wal-Mart after school today. I just could NOT face it. Just the thought of having to push a buggy up and down the aisles made me shudder. So I didn't.

Instead, I went to what passes for a bookstore here in town and meandered up and down the aisles. I went in there with a specific book in mind. I hardly ever go in otherwise. I get almost everything I want bookwise from Amazon because I frequently get frothing mad at our local store for not having what I need/want when I need/want it. Today, however, was different. All I really found myself wanting was to be surrounded by the soothing presence of books.

Ever since I was a tiny child, the presence of books has been a comfort to me. I remember my mother going into the mall to do major shopping in the large chain stores and taking me to what was then Bookland. She'd drop me off with firm orders not to leave the store, and I'd happily spend hours sometimes browsing and reading while she did whatever had brought her to the mall in the first place. I was seldom done when she returned.

Libraries are the same kind of refuge. During my undergraduate days, I would often just go up to the stack tiers and hunt very old magazines to see what things looked like then even if I didn't have a research project going for the delight of discovery and the peaceful feeling of all that collected "knowing" surrounding me. Of course, sometimes the stacks weren't the world's safest or most peaceful place, but probably the less said about the freaks the better....

There's really nothing like a book, nothing like the weight of it in the hand, the delightful ruffle of the pages under the fingertips. Even though I love my Kindle and love reading with it very much, I think if all the books were gone from the world and all we had left were e-texts, something very precious would be gone. I would miss the physical delight of opening a cover, rustling those leaves. Some works just demand being held in my hands, it seems.

I bought too much today as I always do. I can no more turn away an interesting-looking book than I can a pitiful-looking animal or a needy student. They all call out to my basic nature, I suppose. I have a shelf now in my sun room full of "to read" books. I have big plans to plow through some of them tomorrow including my new one. What a pleasant thing to have to look forward to for a weekend!

Geek Gear

When I finally got home tonight, a little brown box was waiting on me. I didn't quite squee, but it was a very near thing... My latest treats from ThinkGeek had arrived. I have been driving my cat nuts with the Star Wars lightsaber laser pointer ever since. Sigh. You know what? Some days, life is just good.

In all seriousness, I love ThinkGeek. They have stuff I've never seen anywhere else that is fun, geeky in ways even I never thought to ask for, and actually useful. I have found some tools there that I would absolutely cut somebody if they tried to make off with because they are so well-thought-out. Of course, mostly, when I'm shopping from their site, I find myself more drawn to the fun stuff than the practical things....

An example of this, other than the aforementioned laser pointer, would have to be my USB plasma ball. It is one of the neatest little desk gadgets I have. I love it, and my students seem to find it amusing as well. I've always wanted one, and this one runs right off my big USB hub. Of course in that same order, I also bought a Zilla multi-tool so I could feel all righteous about it... "Um, yes. The plasma ball is just...um...an extra..." Riiiight.... Which one do you think has gotten more use so far? Hmm.....

I try to ration myself on the site. I'm eternally grateful they're not a retail store or oh, how the money would fly from my pitiful grasp. Ah, well, at least there is finally a place catering to folks like me. And long may our geek flags fly.

Teacher Stories

I just got home from a meeting, and during the course of the evening, many tales of past teachers were exchanged. These were told with great zest and detail. Impersonations were witty and well-done. And, without exception, the stories were farcical, pitiful, or horrifying.

Great God in heaven, if nothing else is ever granted to me, please don't let me wind up as one of these stories.

I mean, sure, not every student is going to like me. I know for a fact that stories about me exist. I have too many mannerisms (the flying hands I can't talk without, the large vocabulary I fling about, the pauses when I speak caused by my migraine meds, etc.) not to be copied facetiously. This in and of itself is just a part of teaching high school and not something I worry about, actually.

What I don't want to become perceived as is what I heard going around the table tonight. I heard tales of teachers who belittle, teachers who criticize, teachers who tear down and destroy. I heard tales of teachers who hit, teachers who insulted, and teachers struck at the very inner heart of their students. I kept thinking, "Oh please don't let there be a student somewhere telling something like this about me..."

I wonder if the teachers who starred in those tales knew they were like that. Did they know that they were being callous, cruel, and damaging? Would they care?

I hope that if I'm this way somebody will tell me. Otherwise, I guess I'll just hope the stories are fond ones.

Refuge

I want to take a day off and just drive. I don't know to where. Just get in the car one morning with a full tank of gas and point it in a direction and be surprised when it stops by what surrounds me. The idea of that kind of discovery is incredibly appealing right now. I'm tired. Everything that surrounds me feels like it is a battle, a struggle, a cruelty, or a lost cause, and my shining armor is getting more than a little dented and my sword is dull. I need a place of refuge in which to hide for just a little while to pick myself up again.

Tonight, I chose "It Is Well With My Soul" for my offertory just for the pleasure of feeling those chords sing up through the organ and through my tendons and marrow. I had all the stops set on the organ, and it was as majestic as our organ can get. I don't know if anyone else in the church was moved, but it was a soul-deep prayer from me, and a petition. Right now, there is a whole lot that is not "well with my soul," but with that song, I pray that it can be, that I can learn for it to be again.

As with any time I play that song, my mind went back to my beautiful friend P. who plays the piano with such amazing passion and skill. I thought of his arrangement of the hymn, and for a moment, I wished I could just curl up under his piano for awhile, catlike, and hide there, become somehow detached from everything except the music for just a little while until things felt like they were less insane or ridiculous. Maybe then my head wouldn't hurt so much....

I guess nobody really gets to run away, though, in the real world. The ties that hold us bind us stronger than steel cables, more surely than straitjackets. There's really nothing to do for it but take another Maxalt and get some sleep.

Dancing in the Dark

We've been having major electrical issues at school the past three days, and we've been without electricity for the better part of those days while the students were there. It's been odd. The whole campus hasn't been dark; two of the three main buildings that comprise our campus have been fine. The biggest and oldest section has been the one that hasn't had any power because one of the main breakers has gone bad suddenly. It went bad Wednesday about 3rd period, and we've been dealing with on-again, off-again outages since then.

At first, it was frustrating because of the shifting of lesson plans, but by the beginning of the second day, it was just amusing. There was no point in getting upset. After all, it wasn't something that was happening on purpose. They had crews down there trying to fix it pretty much constantly for the past three days, and somebody said they even flew some guru in from the coast. (I don't even want to think about what that means is actually wrong with the electrical in our beloved old building...)

The kids were all good, at least in my class, anyway. I don't know about elsewhere. For what I teach, electricity is really sort of optional. It's nice, but hey, as long as we can see, we're good. We raged on. I know some of the other classes, particularly our computer classes, didn't have that option, though, so I hope everything will get patched up this weekend.

This week was a challenging one, and one that really stretched everybody's flexibility to the maximum. Maybe this means we're due for something really nice as a surprise soon. This is what I keep telling myself, anyway...

The Prisoner

For my payday splurge this month, I bought the box set of the original series The Prisoner. I'm going to dole them out bit by bit until I the new AMC series premieres. Along with Dr. Who, The Prisoner, is one of the series that I remember from my childhood. I don't think I ever saw all the episodes, and I know I didn't see them in order. I remember being perpetually confused by it, but I think that is one of the hallmarks of the show, actually.

I watched the first one, "Arrival," tonight, and it is strange and wonderful. I had forgotten just how weird a place The Village really was, how much sinister stuff was hidden under than bright candy shell. It's a perfect example of a dystopia, really, and I might use it this year when I teach my dystopian novels.

I'm looking forward to seeing all of these originals and then seeing what AMC can do with their remake of the series. It's always risky when something old and beloved is redone, but I love Ian McKellan, and if anybody can pull of that sort of jovial and threatening demeanor that Number 2 is supposed to have, he's it. We'll have to see if Jim Caviezel can handle the brooding rebellion essential to Number 6. If so, it should be a good show.

Home Early

For about the last week, I've been staying at school late for one thing or another, as late as 7:00 the last few nights. Today, I just decided to pack it in and come home before the sun went down. It was great.

I had to walk out and leave a big pile of stuff in my room that I'll need to catch up on tomorrow at some point, but it was somehow such a relief to lock that door on it and walk away. It was almost like going on vacation, somehow, just the stacking of papers on the desk and getting out before housekeeping turned out the lights on me.

I'll go in a little early tomorrow, stay a little late, but I know I'll be happier and better off for not pushing it unnecessarily this afternoon. There's no need to be chained to that desk every second of my life.

Indecision

I'm writing this through the hazy filter of Maxalt after a sudden migraine, so if it doesn't make sense, that might be part of the cause. I probably can't blame the Maxalt for everything, though...

I'm very tired right now, tired, frustrated, and confused. I'm busy, and as long as I'm working, I'm fairly happy, but that's no great surprise. The students always make me happy. If I look away from them for five minutes, though... Everywhere things are bad, bad and, it seems, tenaciously determined to get worse....

I don't know what I'm going to do. Germany hovers in the back of my mind like something with broad wings looking for a place to land. Is this what is supposed to be next for me? Am I supposed to stay here? Do I just need to take a long vacation and sleep? What is making me feel this constant stress and pressure?

I hate the not-knowing-what-to-do. I could bull-in-the-china-shop this, but that's one shoddy approach to take to one's future, I've always thought. Maybe it just reaches a point where you have to and pray that when all the little pieces of crockery settle, you can live with the pattern they make.

On the other hand, maybe this is an exercise in patience and faith. Maybe I'm going to be shown the way if I keep looking for it. I have been before.

The thing I fear is that I AM being shown the door and that I am not realizing it, that it's going to close and that I'm going to be standing here in a situation where the water is rising all around me and there will be nothing left to do but go under. I fear that I'm really supposed to be somewhere else, and that by staying here, I'm actually doing the wrong thing because this place is home, is comfortable, is known.

I heard a song on the radio the other day from Matthew West called "The Motions" and the lyrics in part read

I don't wanna go through the motions
I don't wanna go one more day
without Your all consuming passion inside of me
I don't wanna spend my whole life asking,
"What if I had given everything,
instead of going through the motions?"

This is almost pure Thoreau, of course, but it's always been a philosophy of mine. I found myself sitting in the car in a parking lot, and I had to ask myself in my current frame of mind how long it's going to be before I might wake up one morning and be just going through the motions. I couldn't bear it. I couldn't live with myself if I did.

So now the question is stay or go. Find a way to refresh this life somehow or move on to another somewhere else. And the agony is that I just can't get any clear sense of what the right thing to do right now is. Maybe that in and of itself is my answer. Maybe if it really were time to spread my wings and fly away, then I would know it with the clearness of a silver bell ringing. I just don't know.

The Zen of Cleaning

My house has been getting steadily worse over the past couple of weeks, floors needing the steam cleaner and the "real" mop instead of the Swiffer, piles of stuff everywhere needing sorting, recycling needing to be taken to what passes for a recycling center around here, books needing to be reshelved where I've pulled them down to read this or that or where I've finished reading them, and of course, the incredible and unending mess caused just by having pets. I've been sick the past couple of days, but today I felt much better, and I decided that today was a good day to clean the house. I threw the rugs in the washing machine, rolled out the heavy-duty vacuum, and got at it.

Just doing the carpeted floors with the heavy-duty vacuum and steam cleaner takes about three hours, but I usually hate to do it. Just getting all the equipment out and assembled is cumbersome. The vacuum is a Rainbow, so it uses water, too, and so just filling the reservoirs, changing the water, cleaning, and so forth gets old fast, but today, I didn't mind. I just wanted the house clean.

There was something meditative, too, about just clearing my mind and moving the machines back and forth across the floor. I wasn't responsible for anyone else's progress. I didn't have to fill out any forms or paperwork on it. I could just track my progress by the wet carpet and the dirty water pouring down the drain.

I still have a lot to do; there are fixtures to scrub and the big mop job still hasn't been done in the kitchens and baths because I ran out of energy. I'll finish it up tomorrow and have the satisfaction of starting the week with a really clean house. Who knows? Maybe this spurt of domesticity will extend so far as to cooking something as well. I don't know...that might be taking things too far....

Alive, If Not Kicking Very High

A short post and then to bed. The crud has got me. I am feeling much better tonight, but yesterday, I slept all day except for brief forays into consciousness to dose myself, drink something, and fall back down again. I dragged myself into town last night to help set up for a service project the organization I sponsor was doing, and I'm glad I did that because it was nice, but I am kaput now.

I went to school today, and since it was Friday, a day of vocabulary quizzes and finishing up the week, I was okay. I hope after a weekend of rest I'll be back at whatever it is that passes for top speed for me. So far, I haven't been to the doctor yet, so I'm happy with that, but I'll have to see if something moves in on me now that the cold is gone. Keep your fingers crossed for me....

And now, to bed. I can hear it calling me softly. The various and assorted animals around are already being bad influences. Roux is snoring on the other couch in that blissfully abandoned way that only pit bulls are capable of. I think I'm going to go see about finding some blissful abandon (although I don't think I snore...how the heck would I know, really, though?) of my own. Tomorrow will be full of cleaning and (sigh) grading.

Putting the Ick in Sick

I feel like I got hit by a truck. Help. I was sniffly yesterday afternoon, and by the time I got up this morning, it had morphed into a full-blown nastiness. By lunch, I was wanting to hole up under my desk and die. Now, I'm ensconced on my couch and drifting, full of Dayquil and misery.

I hate being sick. It just, to use some perfectly blunt language, sucks. This time, though, I decided not to do what I usually would. I decided to go ahead and just arrange for the substitute today before I left school. Normally, I would have waiting until in the morning to make the command decision about the sub, but I feel so crappy today and tomorrow's agenda includes something that does not require my presence in any way, form, or fashion, so I decided to take the day to try to beat this thing down.

I hope a day of sleep will kill it. If not, I'll have to load up and go sit in the clinic until they can shoot me and give me a prescription for some antibiotics. Oh, how I do so hope to avoid it....

Mockingbird

I got an email yesterday asking me to be a part of a panel discussion happening before a performance of a play version of To Kill a Mockingbird at our local performing arts center. I agreed to do it, and much to my surprise, I managed not to make a total fool out of myself.

The play performance was quite good. I wasn't sure what to expect when taking a beloved work of literature and making something for the stage of it. The key scenes were there, and many of the best lines were preserved. It felt like Mockingbird, most importantly, so I think it was a success.

It amazes me how important this book has been to so many people and how many people view it in so many different ways. Just during our panel discussion, I could tell that there were those who viewed it as a religious experience, as an important piece of literature, as something that captures a slice of the change from childhood to adulthood, as something that preaches a doctrine. I, like everybody else, have my own philosophy of what the book is and does, but I'm pretty sure I've talked about it in a previous posting, so I won't go through that again here.

There was one lady who had a signed first edition there tonight. She had come by it through marriage and accident, but still.... It was neat to see Harper Lee's signature on it, especially since she's not doing massive signings anymore. She had a great story, and part of the wonder of the evening was everyone standing around telling Mockingbird stories. This book always pulls everyone together that way.

Johnson's Quote on Learning

"Mankind have a great aversion to intellectual labor; but even supposing knowledge to be easily attainable, more people would be content to be ignorant than would take even a little trouble to acquire it." ~ Samuel Johnson

I wish he weren't right about this. I wish I could Pollyanna up and say, "No! People are constantly looking for knowledge and questing for truth!" However, being a believer in the truth, I can't quite lie to myself about this one that much, can't quite twist it into the positive. Johnson was a curmudgeonly old dog, and much of what he said sets my teeth on edge; I think of him as a "glass decidedly half empty" sort of fellow. Though it breaks my heart, I have to concede this point to him. Most people really don't want to know.

I guess I can understand it somewhat. It's not always comfortable to know something. It causes the world to shift and stretch sometimes when something new is learned. You can't always go back to looking at a person or a place, a group or an event, in the same way. The surface illusion is shattered and all the things that were hidden down in the quiet still depths come roiling up to the top, like a foot stepping in the silt of a clear pool. What richness can come from that, though, once a person gets used to the changes! And not every change has to be a bad one...

I keep thinking about Prometheus bringing that holy fire down from the mountain, the price he paid for it, the sacrifice always associated with knowledge. Today, would mankind even look up at the burning brand, or would they continue to huddle in the darkness and cold when the Titan descended? Worse yet, if he didn't sing and dance for them, amuse and entertain them, would they be the ones to punish him, cast him out?

I keep thinking of how everyone says things were better "in the good old days." I wonder if that was ever true. Clearly, Johnson thought people as a lump whole were fairly uninterested in knowing during his time, and he by frak lived in a period called "the Enlightenment." If he was writing this then, when were these "good old days" in which everyone was studious, everyone interested in learning, in knowing? I suspect they are as much a myth as the Titan who defied Olympus to bring down the gift to man.

I suppose now, as then, those embers of the holy fire have to be tended by the few who see their value, whose eyes are caught, entranced by the flickering light of its jewel-like coals. Those who value learning and knowing are like Prometheus, I guess, willing to brave any punishment to seek it out, to keep it alive, whether it's isolation from the culture as a whole, the inability to keep up with financial obligations, or whatever other eagle waits circling above. It's ironic to me sometimes, ironic and overwhelmingly heartbreaking, that so many are warmed and provided for by the very thing they eschew, that they shut themselves outside its true radiance and allow themselves to be satisfied with only a faint reflection.

Germany

It's been showing up everywhere lately, in a poem I liked, in a book somebody suggested I read, in the play I'm teaching to one class of my students, in the flag hanging randomly off the back of the SUV I passed on the interstate: Germany. Tonight after choir practice, I was talking with someone who recently returned from a year of military service there. She told me about how much she had enjoyed her posting and that they are currently seeking teachers for the school associated with the base she was on. I could make money and teach in a place where there was history surrounding me again, where I could indulge my need for the past along with getting a paycheck that might actually pay all my bills for once. The thought is a little intoxicating.

I think they would want me. I should have the qualifications. I have two degrees that would make me appealing. I have a U.S. teaching license, have taught high school for six years, have been department chair for three, and have taught AP for four (or is it five now? it's all running together on me...), so I think I am probably as desirable candidate as anyone else would be. I'd be at least qualified enough to try it, let's put it that way.

I am in a quandary. I like what I do now, where I am now, and the thought of packing my boxes and closing the door for the last time on that classroom makes me uneasy and sad. However, I know it is possible to stay in a place too long, to cling to something because it is comfortable and known when you should let go of it and leap out into the unknown to see if your wings will hold you. I also know that as recently as last week I was tempted by an ad for a new school opening in Turkey....

I wish I had someone I could really talk to about this, someone who understood and could guide me. I can't think of a single soul, though. Granted, it's not your everyday sort of situation, but still...I wish there were someone. My parents will not want me to go. They never do. Mostly, they see this sort of thing as an insurmountable impossibility even though I've done it before.

I guess I will sit and think now, brood, ruffle my feathers a little, shuffle my feet and the possibilities. I don't know what the outcome will be. I need some time before I decide whether or not it's time for the chapters of my life to change again.

Couch Naps and Other Signs of Being Old

Lately, I have the best of intentions of getting all sorts of things done when I get home in the evenings. There are books to be read, stories to be written, papers to be graded (okay, maybe not...let's get real), housework to be done...the list is virtually endless. However, once I sit down on my couch to eat dinner, suddenly, I am pulled into a vortex of sleep, and the next thing I know, it's 11:30 or so and time to drag myself free and go to bed for real.

I'm getting old. Really, really old. This has to be the reason.

Or maybe it's the frakkin' Topamax. I don't know.

I think it's age. I'm showing other signs, too. Every day when I look in the mirror, added to all my other marks of beauty are an increasing number of streaks of silver. Those amuse the hell out of me. I remember vividly when my mother's hair started to go gray, and how it seemed to freak her out. I am just hoping that if mine does go that it goes like my grandfather's did. He had a gorgeous platinum silver mane. Of course, he started out with jet black hair, so I think we have a bit of a difference in initial material going here.... Regardless, I won't be coloring mine. Maybe people will quit asking me if I'm a student instead of a teacher if I go much grayer.

Well, the couch is about to consume me. I am going to go ahead and migrate to the bed for the night. Sad, this. It's Friday night, and my big plans involve a book translated from another language and a ridiculously early bedtime, and I'm actually sort of excited about it. I think I might need to get a life....

Patterns

Rainy, gloaming Mississippi always triggers something in my memory that feels like Ireland. It makes the raven feathers of my soul ruffle and long for flight. Even now as we slide from summer to autumn, there is still a greenness that lingers, and when the misty rain veils it, it shimmers with the same look I saw when I was overseas. I wonder if this is why so many Irish immigrants wound up in this area, if they saw something of home in these plains and hills, something that satisfied them.

Of course, my friend T. from Japan always laughs and says that all places on the earth feel the same because all places on the earth are on the earth. Their fundamental sameness comes from their linking. We had that conversation bouncing down a beach road in his small SUV when I remarked that that particular corner of Japan looked a lot like a part of Costa Rica I'd been in.

I wonder if places are familiar because they really do share similarities or because we seek the comfort of the known in situations where things are different or strange. I sort of like the idea of the world being cut out of big strips of the same thing sometimes. It's oddly comforting. I also like the idea of traveling to different places and seeing what other cultures did with their version of our environment.

I'll continue to look for the little pools of other places I've been in the places I am now for whatever reason they appear. It's a way to live those trips again if nothing else.

HA!

"Sometimes I think the surest sign that intelligent life exists elsewhere in the universe is that none of it has tried to contact us." ~ Bill Watterson

Thinking about the Truth

This is the Noh mask for Raiden or Ikazuchi, the personification of Thunder.


I am not afraid of the pen, or the scaffold, or the sword. I will tell the truth wherever I please. ~ Mother Jones

I was musing in my car as I was driving home today about what would happen if we all simply told each other what we were really thinking most of the time. Would anybody still talk to anybody else? And if we're thinking these things, why aren't we acting on them?

There is a certain type of person who is forever asking me, "What are you thinking?" They then proceed to sit and stare at me like I am some sort of divine guru out of whose mouth jewels of wisdom are about to fall. It's creepy as all get out. I feel like a sideshow performer. It's sort of like, "Hey, give the monkey a banana and see if she'll do another trick." I don't know why these people seem to get such a huge charge out of this, exactly. It seems that I don't quite see things the way everybody else does, maybe, and that's amusing to some. Maybe it's a bit like paying your fifty cents and going inside a funhouse or something. Who really knows?

What I usually do is get sort of flustered, find a way to turn the conversation down a side alley, and do either the verbal version or the physical version of running away. After all, my thoughts are my own very private universe, and it's not really any of their damn business, is it? There are very few people I know well enough to open my truest self up to; most people get the equivalent of a Japanese Noh mask. Is that a dishonesty? It's not "not-me" that they see; it's just perhaps just not the fullest version of me. Everybody is this way, I'm sure... Right?

What I want to do when I'm asked that question lately, though, is smile my most dangerous smile and take off the gloves, the mask, and just answer them. "What are you thinking right now?" Hmm...well, let me just tell you. I'm thinking about how hard it is not to reach up and slap you. I'm thinking about how much I'd like to be at home on my couch reading a good book instead of trapped here in this conversation with you. Conversely, it might be something more pleasant: I'm thinking about what his lips might taste like, feel like pressed to mine during a first kiss or what the view looks like right now from the dancing balcony at Kyomizuydera. It could be really nothing at all, in fact. I'm thinking I have to go to Wal-Mart and get cat food or I'm going to have really angry animals at home tonight. I'm thinking the air has gone out of that stupid back tire again. So rarely is the truth provocative or even mildly interesting....

There are times, though, when telling the truth about what one is thinking is critical. I spent too many years holding back my true feelings about things, thinking for some reason that I was not entitled to express those feelings, that I didn't have the right to those emotions, particularly the ones related to being angry about things or upset. If something made me mad, I tucked it away. It was my fault. I did it. If somebody hurt my feelings, I turned it inward. It took me a long time to learn that everybody has a right to tell the truth sometimes, and that truth may involve being legitimately, righteously hacked off about something. It took me a long time to see that telling that truth was a better way of dealing with something that trying to shove it all in a box inside me and ignore it.

I try to live my life by the quote at the top of this entry now. I don't run around bashing people over the head with "The Truth" like a club, but if you ask me, I'm pretty much going to tell you, yes, even if the answer is about that kiss or the cat food I need from Wal-Mart if I know you well enough. If not, you may have to settle for the Noh mask smile. That is another kind of truth, and while you may not find it satisfying, I guess sometimes you should probably just consider yourself lucky and move on.

Migraine Attack

Yesterday I was sitting at my desk trying to get some work done before the end of the week when it felt like someone struck me across the back of the head. I was talking to one of my teacher friends at the time, so luckily I wasn't alone, but it was horrible.

Almost immediately, the Topamax kicked in and so instead of screaming in pain, I was floating outside my body. I don't know which is worse. As always with my headaches, I lost words and started sounding like a three-year old trying to string sentences together. All light became my enemy and my room was way too hot. All I wanted to do was lie down on the tile floor and die.

I managed to get to the drawer where I keep my Maxalt and take one of them, and even though I hate the way they taste and the completely disconnected way I feel after I have to take one, I will say this for them: if I get to them fast enough, they work. I stopped feeling as if the back of my head was being pounded out and started just feeling numb.

I couldn't drive at all, so I was basically trapped at school. Even as impaired as I was, I aware that I shouldn't try to drive. I've done it before, mind you, but as bad as that was yesterday, I couldn't have made sense of the traffic around me or of the basic machinery of running the vehicle. I hate that. I hate the stupification of the headaches. They make me so dependent on others, something I almost never am, something I loathe being.

I called my mother and fortunately she was still in town even though she gets off work earlier than I do. She was able to come and get me, and so I toddled downstairs from my classroom to the waiting minivan with all my stuff like a good little preschool child. I hate these headaches. They take everything from me, my words, my independence.

I came home and got in the bed. Cats, of course, spotted a prone figure and piled up with me, warm and comforting, and since I was inexplicably cold, it was nice. I slept about three hours, got up for awhile to read and eat a comforting bowl of grits, the only thing that didn't sound nasty, then I went back to bed.

Now, after a long night's sleep, everything seems to be reset. Maybe the system is ready for another month of pain-free operation.

My greatest wish for these headaches is that I could find a medicine that wasn't almost as bad as the disease. The Topamax makes me so forgetful, makes me forget names of people and things, and the Maxalt, when I have to take it, shuts me down almost completely. I guess this is all to keep me humble, to remind me that I'm not Wonder Woman after all, and I should just bear it with patience. That's hard for me, though. I'm not known for my patience. Maybe this is my chance to improve.

Seven Hundred Posts

This is my seven hundredth post as a blogger. I suppose I should commemorate this auspicious event in some way, hang a sign, post a banner, put up an interesting picture or something. Maybe.

To tell the truth, until I got ready to post, I didn't even know this one was number 700. I can't believe I've had seven hundred things to say. That's kind of hard to believe.

This little space has been good to me, though. It's been a helpful outlet, and as I look back over the past few years with it, I can see several changes in myself since I first started writing. It's always good to see that kind of thing if nothing else.

As my blog turns 700, I am glad I kept writing it when I considered shutting it down two years ago. I think I really would have missed it. (And Heavens only know what all those poor people constantly searching my blog for Beowulf's Boast would do...)

Used Up

Today I feel used up, like a crumpled piece of notebook paper left under a desk after the last bell, like an empty box of Kleenex waiting to be discarded, hollowed out, useless, everything that was good in me taken, consumed, only the shell left. I know it's a phase that will cycle, but while I'm in it, it's a horrible place to be.

Indifference and apathy are like big heavy boots crushing my spirit, and I don't have the requisite reserves right now to spring back from it. I know better than to focus on it, know better than to let the few distract me from the many, and yet.... I need to recharge somehow; I just don't know how. It's so hard to keep pulling rabbits out of hats sometimes.

I'm just tired. Maybe sleep is the answer. Maybe a night of rest will fix all that's wrong.

Gwendolyn Brooks Poem

This is by Gwendolyn Brooks, and as with many of her wonderful poems, it fills me with that ice-cold fever and admiring longing that makes me wish I'd come up with it myself.


To be in love
Is to touch with a lighter hand.
In yourself you stretch, you are well.
You look at things
Through his eyes.
A cardinal is red.
A sky is blue.
Suddenly you know he knows too.
He is not there but
You know you are tasting together
The winter, or a light spring weather.
His hand to take your hand is overmuch.
Too much to bear.
You cannot look in his eyes
Because your pulse must not say
What must not be said.
When he
Shuts a door-
Is not there_
Your arms are water.
And you are free
With a ghastly freedom.
You are the beautiful half
Of a golden hurt.
You remember and covet his mouth
To touch, to whisper on.
Oh when to declare
Is certain Death!
Oh when to apprize
Is to mesmerize,
To see fall down, the Column of Gold,
Into the commonest ash.

I Love Lucy -- Charm School

I'm watching an I Love Lucy marathon, and currently there's an episode I've never seen, The Charm School. While I don't like every episode of Lucy, this one is making me laugh non-stop. Lucy and Ethel are trying to become classy and upper-class women by going to a school to learn "charm." You can just imagine...

I can't take Lucy all the time, but sometimes I'm just in the mood for it. I have my DVR set to keep five episodes recorded at all times so when I do feel like it, I have it ready. Tonight it's perfect for relaxing, for unwinding my tired brain. Maybe it will help me fight the effects of the full moon so I can sleep instead of staring at the ceiling, or, if I do sleep, maybe this gentle slapstick will keep me from having such bizarre and disturbing dreams.

This Is a Test, This Is Only a Test

I’m trying the Windows Live Writer software just now, so there’s no telling, really, how this post will turn out.  I am deeply skeptical of all things Windows makes.  However, if this works, it might be useful in certain situations where I don’t have internet access but would still like to blog.  Of course, I guess I could just cut and paste from a word processing document like a normal person, but hey, here’s a gadget and you know how I am about those.  Anyway, I do have other things to do tonight, and I know when I push the post button and this doesn’t go, I’m going to be frustrated and distracted, so I think it’s about time to end here.  Get ready for the “big scream”…..

Keeping Life in Perspective

Humor is a reminder that no matter how high the throne one sits on, one sits on one's bottom. ~Taki

The Postman Always Rings Twice

There's no thief like a bad movie. ~Sam Ewing

I'm watching the noir classic The Postman Always Rings Twice. I have never seen all of it because the only time I tried to watch it on TCM, my satellite dish was still in its old location and a heavy rainstorm came in causing my reception to disappear right at the end. In my foraging in Sam's yesterday, I found a four movie collection with The Maltese Falcon, Dial M for Murder, The Big Sleep, and this in it.

TCM has been putting these collections out periodically for awhile now, and this is the second one like it I've bought. I LOVE them. The other one has Philadelphia Story and Bringing Up Baby as two of the four movies on it. How great is that? They are so affordable. For what one movie usually costs on DVD, I can get four, and all four are always gold-standard films. I guess they're not "new theatrical releases," but really, who cares about that? Give me Bogart and Bacall or Hepburn and Tracey any day of the week over Saw VI. Really.

This time the weather won't stop me from seeing the end. I understand that it's a real doozy. When I'm done, I may put in Philadelphia Story. I haven't watched it in a while, and just talking about it makes me want to see it again. It's a good night for a mini-movie festival in the old living room.

Conflicting Desires

I need be writing. I have a work waiting to be finished and people who are waiting to read it.

There is a full moon outside, though, an October moon, and I want to be dancing, playing, throwing all my obligations to the stars above, letting them fall wherever they will on the dewy grass.

If you were to come and find my hidden house tonight, you would be able to hear the stereo long before you actually saw the building. It's one of those nights. I'm cranking through a new playlist on iTunes called "Bouncy." I think that pretty much says all that needs to be said. God bless the Brothers Gibb and all the derivations that the iTunes Genius and my own machinations can make from them.

Maybe reading is what I need to do. I've got a good new book. I can go sit in my library in the moonlight by the open window and watch the deer play in the pasture and read with the stereo going in the living room. This, of course, is the very lovely thing about living out in the middle of nowhere; you can play your music as loud as you like and nobody will call the cops....

As for the writing...well...it will get done. Just not tonight. I have no taste for it just now, and if I do it now, all will end badly. Better to wait instead of do it when I don't want to. Those who are waiting can just think of it as a patience-building exercise, I guess.

It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown

I was at Sam's this afternoon buying the huge bag of dog treats needed to placate my savage beasts and all the little niceties of life I can only seem to find there when I stumbled across a digitally-remastered copy of the Charlie Brown Halloween special with the Great Pumpkin in it. It made me smile, and I threw it in the cart along with the enormous ream of colored paper and the little containers of ruby-red grapefruit I was also purchasing.

It's been years since I watched this one, but I remember it being a part of my annual Halloween rituals when I was a child. Like Linus himself (who I always identified with for some reason), I too waited on the Great Pumpkin, except of course, mine was on network TV. I don't know if it even still comes on, but I hope that it does. I like to think that kids today aren't growing up deprived of that sweet special and its message about hoping and dreaming even when your dreams don't make sense to anybody but yourself.

Today that message was especially poignant for reasons I won't go into here, so I was really glad to see that bright orange DVD box. I think I'm going to throw a Halloween party for my grown-up friends, something silly and informal, and we can all crash here in the living room and watch Linus wait for the impossible to somehow work itself out.