Sunday, November 15, 2009
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Robert Johnson art on Etsy
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.
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.
Friday, November 13, 2009
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!
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.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
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.
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.
Sunday, November 08, 2009
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.
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.
Friday, November 06, 2009
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...
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.
Wednesday, November 04, 2009
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.
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.
Sunday, November 01, 2009
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.
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.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
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....
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....
Friday, October 23, 2009
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.
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.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
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....
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....
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
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.
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.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
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.
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.
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.
Friday, October 16, 2009
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....
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....
Thursday, October 15, 2009
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.
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.
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