Hands in Mud

I took my first pottery class tonight.  It was everything I was hoping it would be, once I actually managed to find it.  The local community college offering the class is a labyrinth composed of many little buildings and many winding halls within those buildings, so it took me quite a while to find the ceramics studio.  When I got there, the instructor hadn't started yet, and I was able to catch the whole class.

I watched the teacher go through the process of centering the clay and forming an object.  Then, we got the chance to try it ourselves tonight if we wanted to.  Since that was why I was there, I got some clay, headed to a wheel, and literally tried my hand at it.  To my great amazement, and I think, the amazement of the instructor, I got the clay centered fairly quickly on my first attempt.  I'm sure it was beginner's luck, but it felt so natural.

I had more trouble pulling it up.  I got a cylinder built, but it's not the loveliest thing you've ever seen.  For the first time I've ever done it, though, I don't think it's too bad.  Maybe with some glaze on it, it won't be utterly disreputable.

This is everything I hoped it would be.  I could have done it all night, just me and the wheel, pressing and shaping, forming and reforming.  It's like a meditation.  As I watched my hands pressing into the center of the clay, I felt my stress draining down that same center, spiraling away.  I can't wait for next week.  The instructor said he's going to teach me to throw bigger vessels since I have large hands and long fingers that will enable me to reach and pull them.  Maybe these hands are not just organ-playing hands and wildly-gesturing-while-I'm-talking hands.  Maybe they're pottery hands.  I hope my beginner's luck holds.

If I Could Just Keep This in Mind...

"If you're not ready to die, you're not ready to live."  ~ quoted by the pastor speaking in my church tonight.

This is the essence of life.  Strip away everything else, and this is what it's all about.  If you can wake up every morning and be calm and content with the idea that today might be your last, if you can lay your head down on your pillow and close your eyes with no fear at the knowledge that you might not open them again to a new day, then you are ready for anything.

Think about what you are freed from.  Think about how much time we spend in fear of our tiny, fragile, finite little lives.  Think about what we deny ourselves, what experiences, what joys we shy away from.  If we were truly ready for the end whenever it came, if we held the peace of that readiness within ourselves, if we knew without doubt what came next, then we could step out into all the moments of wonder, terror, and magic that life places before us daily and look at them, drink them in, make them a part of ourselves. 

The fear of death becomes the fear of life.  We wrap ourselves in so many layers of protection trying to keep out the Grim Reaper that we insulate ourselves from everything else in the process, and we find, to borrow and adapt some words from Thoreau, when it comes time to die that we have not really lived at all.  Understanding comes too late in those brief moments at the end, and those who have allowed fear to prevent life wail and clutch at the could-have-beens.

We're told that we cannot add even one minute to our lives by worry, yet we continue daily to fret and struggle, to plan and to prevent, to try to paddle against the flowing river of the inevitable.  Instead, we should be paying attention to the scenery along the banks of this incredible mighty river as we go past, enjoying the ride, even the patches of whitewater, trusting that at the end of it all, all will be as it should be.  This sort of perfect peace is possible.  We just have to reach for it and get our pitiful little matchsticks paddles back inside the boat.

Tesla

"The scientists of today think deeply instead of clearly. One must be sane to think clearly, but one can think deeply and be quite insane." ~  Nikola Tesla

I love Tesla.  He is one of the most fascinating people I've ever read about, hands down.  More and more, I believe he could do most if not all of the things he said he could do. I think he would have been so deeply and wonderfully amazing to know for his sheer eccentricity, although he would undoubtedly have been horrified by the two sets of earrings I wear in each ear, and so he probably wouldn't have talked to silly old me, anyway. Science is finally starting to catch up to him only now, almost a century later. 

This quote, however, worries me just a smidgen.  If you know anything about his life, you may wonder as I do which camp he fell in. You may also wonder which camp he believed he fell in.  Was he delivering this line straight or with some of his tongue-in-cheek irony?  Oh, how I wish I could have been there to ask.  Again, though, teasing Tesla isn't probably the sort of thing that is polite. 

We recently passed the anniversary of his death, Jan. 7.  This greatest of the inventors died penniless and alone in his hotel room.  Every time I think about it, it makes me sad.  That great man, the one who made so much of our modern life possible and who believed that those inventions should belong to everyone while Edison was hoarding and profiteering, passed away unnoticed and almost unmourned. 

There's a museum now in his native land, and the scientific community that shunned him in his life now claims him as one of its heroes.  I guess sometimes scientists are like artists and poets, not receiving their due in their lifetimes if they are too much the visionary. 

The Problem With Trying to Be Somebody Else

Almost all absurdity of conduct arises from the imitation of those whom we cannot resemble.~ Samuel Johnson

Longing

Today, I wish I were in Kyoto.  The day here is gray and cold, and a solid sort of rain has been dripping off my roof all day.  On FaceBook today, Ito En, the company who bottles and imports the green tea I love so much, posted a small blurb about the annual new year tea ceremony held at one of the great temples in Kyoto, and as I stared out my winter window at the drizzle here, I wanted to be there so much it was a pain in my heart. 

A friend of mine lived a year in Kyoto, went to school there.  He took a map of the city, and during that time, he made it his goal to visit every temple and shrine and cross them off his map as he went.  I can think of far worse ways to spend a year.  I would be happy just sitting in a tea shop on the Philosopher's Path and then strolling up to Kiyomizudera every day in a leisurely and habitual meandering. 

I miss Japan.  I miss the gray-tiled roofs.  I miss the bicycles and the smell of diesel.  I miss the t-shirts with their dubious English slogans.  I miss the sound of the crossing signal that was two blocks away from my little apartment.  I miss mikan and proper sencha and donburi bowls and pottery everywhere and the joy of a people who incorporate the practical and the beautiful into the useful everyday.

Part of me also knows that some of what I am longing for is just otherness.  That "not-here-ness" that other cultures, other parts of the world have always makes my soul happy.  I love seeing the grand diversities and the things we all hold common at the heart of this little sphere we call home.  In truth, I know there are ways other than going back to Japan to sate this need.  I could probably satisfy part of my desire if I could just get out of this place for awhile. 

And yet, as I look around my house at all the things I brought home with me, all the precious bits and pieces of that life, I want to stretch my wings and fly away to those impossibly ancient streets with nothing but a heavy coat, an empty notebook and my red pencil, a copy of Basho, and a pocket full of yen.  I'm sure somewhere, there's a seat waiting for me by a sunny window or looking out at a cloudless, starry sky. 

Good Things That Happened Today

Because sometimes it's good to commemorate the good stuff....

(Not presented in order or rank, and not intended to imply that these things are comparable in  importance)

1)  I finally got a case of unsweetened Japanese green tea.  ItoEn OiOcha, you ROCK.  I have to dole it out a bottle at a time when I want to go suck it down like oxygen, but it's there, chilling in my fridge. 

2)  We have a snow day tomorrow.  We almost didn't.  The almighty powers that be first announced that the students would have the day but not faculty and staff.  I was trying to figure out how I might be able to ski in over a couple of iced-over bridges if I had to when they revised their earlier statement and magnanimously decided we could all stay home.  How nice.

3)  Somebody called and woke me up when my alarm failed to go off this morning.  My BlackBerry is dying, and I use it as my main alarm clock.  Apparently, it thought it was playing its wakeup tone to beat the band, but no sound was coming out of it.  ANOTHER battery-pull moment....sigh.... The phone call kept me from one of those awkward "I-need-a-sub-'cause-I'm-dumb" moments.

4)  I saw four of my wonderful former students today and got to talk to them my whole lunch period.  It was so good to see them and hear how they're doing with college life.  I love it when I get to talk to my students again.  This bunch is extra special, perhaps because I had them for two years.  They're all finding their way toward such wonderful and exciting things, and getting to sit and talk with them again was a refreshing treat.

5)  I signed up for my pottery class today.  Monday night, I will have my hands in clay learning to form things from earth, water, and fire.  I can hardly believe that it's finally going to happen.  I hope these hands have aptitude for it.  Even if they don't, at least I will have the satisfaction of trying.

6)  I had a perfectly ripe pear today.  Bartletts are my favorite pears, and they are hard to get at that perfect moment of ripe.  They go off so fast.  The one I took in my lunch today was at that moment where it was still a little firm but perfectly sweet and juicy.  I had it this afternoon during my planning period for a snack.  It finished the day off wonderfully.

Despite a few moments of frustration, it was a very good day.  I'm off to enjoy more of it.  If you happened to be a part of making a very good day for me, thank you very, very much.

Shakespeare Always Says It Best

Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none. -- All's Well That Ends Well -- Shakespeare

Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close

I just finished Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close by Jonathan Safran Foer.  I've had it on my shelf waiting for over a year now, and I should have read it before now.  It really is a remarkable book.  I don't want to give away plot points because I hate it when people do that for me, but it revolves around a boy named Oskar Schell who lost his father in the 9/11 attack.  He goes on a quest to find the answer to a mystery, the lock for a key, and that quest is absolutely magical.  There are echoes of Hamlet in it, and that work is referenced several times by name.  I suppose that's to be expected in any great tragedy of fathers and sons.  There are also moments of magic and wonder in it, too, as well as deep grief and beauty, as the story of Oskar's grandfather becomes woven into the story in unexpected ways. 

I never know what to think whenever a book is hyped and praised as much as this one was.  Frequently, I am deeply skeptical because some things become "media darlings" because of PR campaigns or certain celebrity's endorsements (cough -- OPRAH-- cough), but this one deserved all the credit it got.  I'm still digesting all the ways it was wonderful, from the inclusion of all the visual elements in it, some of which are, quite frankly difficult to look at, to the storyline itself.  It gently brings many hard issues up and deals with them in ways that I think are respectful but not soft.  That's so very, very hard to do, to look at things as emotionally-charged as this issue is and still be able to tell a story that pulls the reader in so compellingly.

I will reread this one, but it will probably be a little while.  Even though it's not a huge tome, it didn't take me long to read it.  It will, however take me quite some time to finish letting the echoes of it die down.

The Last or the First

I'm sitting in a quiet living room writing what will either be my last post of 2009 or my first post of 2010 depending on how long it takes me to type it up.  The house is clean, or cleaner, anyway, and the only sounds now are the distant hum of the dryer finishing up a load of towels and the purr of the cooling fan for the CPU on the two laptops I have running, one I'm using and one I'm updating.  It's peaceful.

As is usual for me, I have all my candles in the living room lit to meet the new year with light.  I am trying to bring my thoughts together to focus on what I want for the new year, as close to making new year's resolutions as I ever bring myself.  This year, however, things are more shrouded in mist and mystery than in previous years.  What do I want 2010 to be?  Well, perhaps it would be good to think of different areas of my life and approach it from that method. So...

Home --  In the area of home this year, I'd like to spend more time in mine. I want to come home earlier so it doesn't seem that I live in my classroom.  I'd like to see my family more, do more with them.  This is going to mean putting forth some serious effort on my part to prepare meals, etc., but it will be worth it.  I don't get to see everyone that often, and I miss them.

Friends -- I want to do more with my friends, too.  I don't know that saying that I will see them on a regular basis is a realistic thing.  Our lives are so complicated now and in many cases we are now so far from each other than it is simply not possible to do things together on the spur of the moment.  I do know that I want to try to make sure that I see them more than I have done this year.  The past two years have been bad ones for that, and I know that a great deal of the reason for that lies with me.

Job -- I don't know what to write here.  I am most confused about this area.  I guess I want clarity and stability here, even if that stability paradoxically comes from complete change. 

Creativity -- I want the the wellspring of my creative soul to be cleaned out and to flow again.  I think about the artesian well that sits on our property.  From time to time, it silts in and has to be dug out.  Right now, stress, lack of time, and every other conceivable thing are silting up my creative output in every area: writing, crafting, even dreaming it seems.  Somehow this year, I want to enable that clear cold water to bubble up and give life back to my life again. 

Love -- (and as I just saw the clock change, Happy New Year to You) -- I find myself with no wishes and no plans here.  How odd.  I've been told for years now that when the right one is ready, he'll come along.  Perhaps that's true.  If so, then nothing I do will hurry that moment.  It may also be true that there is no "right one" hovering in the wings for me.  That thought doesn't scare me like it used to, to be honest.

The silence has been broken by my neighbor's random firecrackers.  The new year and new decade are officially here.  It will be interesting to look back in a year to see if any of these things have made a difference.

Getting Ready for 2010

I'm using the big laptop to blog this tonight, and I've forgotten what it's like to do stuff on a screen other than my little netbook.  It's sort of odd to be able to see everything so large...

Anyway, I'm trying to finish up the cleaning and preparations for the new year.  I got the tree down and out, packed away my Santas and nativities, and the only things that are left are to vacuum (that most hated of chores) and to run a couple of loads of laundry.  I want to meet the new year with everything tidy. 

It's hard to believe that this will be 2010.  It seems only yesterday that everyone was freaking out over Y2K and the potential end of everything.  It is, indeed, unreal that ten years could possibly have passed this fast.  What have I been doing?  Is it a good sign that it has gone in such a rush or not?

In this past ten years, I have been in Bloomington and Toyohashi, I've been abroad and home. I've been in Japan, Ireland, England, Wales, and Thailand.  I've been through some very frightening medical situations and two major surgeries.  I've taught at three different schools.  I've bought a car, acquired a mortgage, and started retirement savings and life insurance accruing.  It's been a busy ten years.

I can't imagine what the next ten years will bring.  I could never have dreamed all the things, good and bad, that were the fruit of the last ten. 

Words vs. Deeds

"What you do speaks so loud that I cannot hear what you say." ~ Emerson

The Sound of Madness

This song has been stuck in my head for three days now.  It is just on the verge of literally becoming the sound of madness for me.  The very first time I heard the lyrics on the rock station I tune in early in the morning from a far-away college town with a real rock radio, I liked it.  The reminder that the "darkest hour doesn't come in the night" and "when are you gonna wake up and fight...for yourself" are powerful indictments of self-pity.  Since I frequently sympathize with the guy wailing, "I created the sound of madness, wrote the book on pain," and get tired of people using their individual crap-situations as a reason not to do things, not to push forward, not to try, I guess that might be part of the draw of this song for me.

Girls' Day Out

I got to go out to lunch with one of my oldest and best friends.  Our mutual lives and schedules keep up from seeing each other except in passing, so it was wonderful to have a day to go and do.  We went to a Japanese restaurant in town I hadn't been to before, and the food was wonderful.  They actually have some of my favorites on their menu, and I got to have tonkatsu and green tea ice cream today.  I didn't do the whole sushi thing today, but their sushi looked good, too.  I have a feeling I'll be spending more time there in the future, for the green tea ice cream, if nothing else.  I could have made a meal of it.  I get absolute cravings for it....

My friend and I wandered around T.J. Maxx (one of the world's most dangerous stores) and then came on home.  More than anything, we caught up and talked.  I have missed so much just being able to spend time with her, hear her point of view on things, hear what's going on in her world.  It's not that we live that far away from each other, even; it's just that things have gotten so incredibly complex that finding the time to get away and do something has gotten almost impossible.

I hope she and I will have time to do this more often.  Even if we don't go have a fancy girls' day out, we need to see each other more than we do.  I hope I can find a way to make it happen.

The Ghost of Christmas Past

When my parents came for Christmas brunch, I wasn't really in the mood.  The house wasn't clean like I wanted it to be.  I've been so dizzy over the past week that getting up and getting things cleaned hasn't been easy or felt very good.  I'd slept late, so I was late getting the food prepared, and I hadn't gotten my tablecloths laid or any of my decorative stuff on the table, either. 

I got everything together, though, and it was okay.  We had a good meal, and it came time for presents to be given and opened.  When I picked up the first little gift bag and reached down inside, I pulled out an object that was immediately familiar but that I had never expected to see again:  Penguey. 

As a very small child, I had a whole set of floating toys, a penguin, a whale, and a seal, that I played with during the summers in those brightly-colored plastic pools they still sell at Wal-Mart, and in the bathtub during the rest of the year.  I haven't thought about them in years.  I guess I had just assumed they had been long-lost along with all the other things of childhood.  Imagine my surprise to look down as see Penguey smiling blithely up at me from the red and green Christmas tissue paper! 

Mom had found him when she'd been out in the yard working recently.  He'd popped up from under some leaves, explaining his rather dark and tatty condition. He's been scrubbed with everything we can find, but the white of his belly will probably never be white again.  He is still soft, though, and his blue color and yellow beak are still visible, incredibly.  Not bad for something very nearly as old as I am that's spent almost all its life in Mississippi's harsh climate.

I got several wonderful things this Christmas that I really love.  I was blessed with presents that I asked for and things that were useful, beautiful, and adult-oriented.  However, probably the thing I will remember the most about this Christmas is actually the unexpected return of this tiny visitor from my past.  I smile every time I look at him.

Push

I just finished reading Push by Sapphire.  I had seen the previews for the film Precious, and I was curious, so yesterday when I was at our local bookstore, I grabbed a copy when it caught my eye.  Last night about 11:30, I opened the front cover after I got through doing something else, intending only to glance at the first page and put it down.  By 2:00, I was about 2/3 of the way through it.  I only stopped then because I needed sleep.

It's not an easy read in the sense that it's light-hearted and fluffy.  The subject matter is, quite frankly, heartbreaking.  However, I am going to put this on my list of books people should read because of how that harsh reality and brutal content is dealt with.  The main character, Precious, comes from a background that makes most people's ideas of hell look like pastel paintings edged with tatted lace.  And Sapphire does not let you forget for a moment that her character is immersed in a reality that is horrifying on a daily basis.  

The beautiful part of the book, though, is that the brutality of that reality does not crush Precious.  There are times when it very nearly does, and I think that was nicely done, too, very realistic.  God knows there are situations that nobody is strong enough to endure alone, pressure points too great for even the strongest of souls to stand up under, and this character experiences some of those.  Ultimately, though, she transcends in spite of it all.  That is why I like this book.

I know it has been compared to The Color Purple.  If it hasn't, it will be.  It does, in fact, compare itself to that work.  In Precious, I see literary echoes of Celie, of the abused survivor who finds her own voice and her own life.  I think maybe she might be a Celie in the present, despite the novel being set some twenty-five years ago.  Her environment and her conflicts, some of them, anyway, are things Celie in her time and place did not have to face.

This is a novel that will stick with me.  I can't say that it is going to be entirely a pleasant companion, but I think it is important that I have read it.  I can also say that at the end of the work, I was proud and hopeful.  It's not often I can say all of that about something I've read, really, so I am rather glad I grabbed Push yesterday.  It was a whim that paid off.

Kokeshi doll Vulcan inspired custom by temple7e on Etsy

Okay, so I'm still on my Spock kick. What can I say? He's tall, he's wicked smart, and he can both mind-meld with you and knock you out with those lovely hands. Sigh....

Um, anyway, here is another interesting interpretation of one of my favorite imaginary men. In fact, if you are a fan of kokeshi, this maker has several interesting variations. Kokeshi were one thing I never started collecting while I was in Japan, I guess because I'm not much on dolls to start with, but I do appreciate the variations and the history. Enjoy!

Kokeshi doll Vulcan inspired custom by temple7e on Etsy

Logic Quote

Logic merely enables one to be wrong with authority. ~ Doctor Who

New Look, Again

I get bored with the way backgrounds look pretty quickly.  I change out my computer wallpaper and screensavers at least seasonally, frequently more often than that.  I guess it's only natural, then, that I get tired of my blog's look, too, and redecorate here.  The dots got old fast.  Also, I wanted something fast-loading that won't (you should pardon the phrase) suck when I look at it on my iPod and BlackBerry.  Hence, this new, exceedingly minimalist edition of the blog.  I think it will make me happier, at least in the meantime.  If you personally don't care for it, remember that it is like the weather.  Wait, and sooner or later, it will change....

Vintage Holiday Imagery

I'm cruising around looking for vintage holiday imagery online since my head is too fuzzy to let me do what I need to do right now, which is get up and clean my house intensively.  I am searching for New Year stuff since I have plenty for Christmas.  I found this postcard, and it intrigued me.  Look at the symbolism. 

Its obvious appeal to me is the dancing fool bit, of course, but it also drew me in with the absolute menace of the Time figure.  He's much more like the angel of death than usual.  Notice the way he's leaning on Earth and encompassing it with his sickle. Yet, his face is gentle, almost compassionate, loving.  I would love to know what year this one came out. 

The message might still stick, though.  We might do well to remember that Time is still leaning over us maybe more than ever.  I say this not because we should "eat, drink, and be merry" but because we should be conscious every day that we need to rightly count them and appreciate them because we don't know how many of them we have.  To go back to my precious Transcendentalists, we need to be seizing whatever days are put in front of us.  Sooner or later, Time will have to stop leaning and raise that sickle, no matter how amused by our capering he may be. 

New-to-Me Thoreau Quote

The price of anything is the amount of life you exchange for it. ~ H. D. Thoreau

This made me stop and think hard, as Thoreau always does.   Crap.  There are some things in my life that I am paying far too high a price for right now.....

Hello, Hello

Hello, hello (¡Hola!)
I'm at a place called Vertigo (¿Dónde está?)
It's everything I wish I didn't know
 ~ from "Vertigo" by U2

The world continues to spin at inopportune moments.  Yesterday was a good day, and I thought this was done.  I drove to school, I took my classes on tours of the new ninth-grade building, a trip that involved many trips up and down stairs, and I only felt dizzy a couple of times.  I even went to a holiday party last night, and I did okay there, too. I guess I'm making up for it today in abundance, though, because I can't seem even to look across the room without the room tilting and spinning. 

I'm trying to keep a sense of humor about it, though.  It's a little like being on a roller coaster, only I didn't have to go stand in a big stupid line.  There is always that. I have my own personal theme park with all the danger rides I could want in my head.  All I have to do to "take a ride" is sort of tilt my head or stand up....  Whoo-hoo!

Really.  This needs to quit.  I need it to stop.  I don't want to be a disabled person, and that's the way this is heading.  I need to be going to the grocery store right now, and I can't.  I don't want other people to have to cart me around or do for me.  Therefore, the amusement part needs to shut down for the season.  I have other things to attend to at this time. 

We'll see how far logic and firm determination get me with this....  I'm going to take an Anti-Vert.

Worth Thinking About

The men who really believe in themselves are all in lunatic asylums.  ~ G. K. Chesterton

You Spin Me Right Round, Baby

The past two mornings I've awakened with horrible vertigo. In fact, in the shower this morning it was so bad I thought I was going to pass out.  Today it has gotten progressively worse throughout the day until finally, this afternoon, I wound up having to teach my last class from a chair. 

I had the last check on my knee today, and I decided that after it was done I would go across the street to see my GP about the dizziness.  I assumed it was attributable to an inner ear infection.  That would be simple to clear up, something requiring only a shot, maybe, a round of antibiotics.  I guess I should have thought about my medical history a little longer first.

They took my temperature, measured my blood pressure, and checked all the other usual vitals.  All fine.  They looked in my ears, my nose, my throat.  Nada.  They drew blood and ran a quick analysis.  Nothing.  There is no reason for the room to be doing this hellish square dance every so often. 

The possible causes are not fun.  Stress, a new form of migraine, Meniere's Disease, and simple repetitive baseless vertigo were all mentioned.  Well....YAY!  I mean sign me up for some and/or all of that right now, please.  'Cause I don't have enough specialty medicine issues in my life. 

I am to give it about two weeks, and if it's still going on, then I'm to go back so they can refer me to a specialist.  I am so hoping they don't have to do that.  I don't think I can stand another ride on this particular merry-go-round.  It would be so nice if this was something that just went away on its own and could be chalked up to weirdness.

I have some anti-vert here on the table, and in a few minutes, I'm going to take half of one and sleep.  I'm tired.  Really, really tired.  I wish I could just be normal.  It would be such a nice change.

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.