Sunshine and Mountain Dew

Today, I packed up my workbag, and waiting for the grindingly slow progress of the clock hands toward 3:30. A small herd of students had sworn they were coming in to do makeup work (we're in the eleventh hour, so suddenly, everyone is in a state of panic), but nobody had shown up by 3:15, and I blew out my candle, shut down my computer, hoisted my ponderous bag, and bolted for the door.

It felt almost sinful to be leaving that early. Other teachers were still working in their classes; the sounds of the extended day students echoed in our high-ceilinged old halls. Sunlight streamed through the window so rich and so good that it almost had a taste as it flooded the central hall.

I moved down the stairs as fast as my stiff knees would allow, darted through the office, and then I was out into the parking lot. There were still cars there, and again, the feeling of doing something illicit through me. I put my PT Cruiser into reverse, rolled down my windows, cranked my Todd Agnew cd, and put the pedal down.

When I got home, again I marveled at the sheer luxury of being home in the daytime. I loosed Missy, she promptly took off to explore the privet hedge, and I got out a seldom-used plastic Adirondack chair.

Sitting beneath the bare branches of the chestnut tree in my backyard, I indulged in a Diet Mountain Dew and the first few chapters of A Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovitch. My bottle tree caught the golden afternoon sun, the windchimes rang softly, Missy and Yelldo intermittently gave me doggy kisses, and Granny's daffodils shone in Wordsworthian glory. I felt peace descend like a winged spirit, and all the tiredness that has been plaguing me for the past week melted away.

It was a brief interlude, but a vital one. I needed those peaceful moments alone at home more than I had realized. Tomorrow, when the students are apathetic, when another unreasonable demand on my time is made, I will have the soft daffodil-scented warmth of today to carry me through.

Missy

 

Here she is, at long last. It was a rainy trip to Birmingham, but other than the rain, it went very smoothly. The very first thing she did when I got out of the car was to run up, put her paws around me, and kiss me on the cheek. She's so cute and so loving!

I will get to more actual blogging soon. Now, hopefully, we can find a rhythm and routine. I'm tired, but it's a good tired. 

The Ides of February

Whooo-hooo!!!! I got the news today that I have been accepted by one of the Pit Bull Rescue groups, and a lovely red-nose pit mix named Missy is going to become a part of my family. I have to figure out the logistics of getting her here (she's in TN, currently) and the timing (I hope Spring Break is going to be okay), but it's official!

This experience has been a mixed thing. Some of the groups I've talked to have been so kind and encouraging, even if there were barriers (mostly distance) to my adopting one of their dogs. A couple of the groups have been downright rude, though. I guess they probably have a lot of email to sort through, but when a person is legitimately trying to adopt an animal, that sincere wish should at least be acknowledged with an automated email.

Back to Missy.... She's beautiful, and the rescue society lady says she's good with other dogs and playful. I am excited for Yelldo. He has been so sedentary since Britta died. He needs a friend to play with. I think, once we get over the shock of new dog in my space, he's going to have a good time.

You can see a picture of Missy on the PBRC rescue site. Click here to go straight to Missy. You may need to scroll down a bit.

Well, I'm off to an afternoon of "dog dreaming." I am going to Wal-Mart tomorrow to start getting presents for her. It's so amazing that she's finally going to be mine!

eHarmony II

Well, I have entered the world of eHarmony, and I have to say that I'm still feeling a little odd about it. I have met a nice guy that I'm writing emails to, and that's a good thing, but I'm still in the weird phase of this. No funny tales to tell yet, but I'll keep everybody posted.

Snowy Saturday

That's right...snow. We've had flurries off and on today. I can't express how odd that is to those of us who live in Mississippi. Any trace of snow is cause to press one's nose up against the window and make preparations better suited to an eight-foot blizzard than a dusting of white. Bread and milk become scarce commodities, people drive at absurd speeds, and children cling to the radios in silent prayer for those most blessed of words, "Schools are closed today." If there is even a fraction of an inch of accumulation, tiny muddy snowmen appear like mushrooms on porches, in driveways, and wherever else the meager amounts of snow can be scraped together.

My dog, Yelldo, has had a wonderful day. He has been in various stages of unconscious sprawl on the leopard print furry blanket on my couch. Every once in awhile, he rolls, opens his eyes minutely, sighs deeply, and wiggles in bliss. Even getting him to go outside to take care of the call of Nature has been an effort today. I don't much blame him.

I spent the day watching one of my favorite film noir movies, Laura. It was a good day for old movies. I also watched IU play basketball. We lost. I was proud that we came back from such a great deficit, but it was sad anyway.

After watching, I got a burst of energy and tidied some of the mess here in the house up. There's a lot I can't do until I get the flooring back in the kitchen, but the word has come that next week is the week the installers are coming. Maybe by next weekend, I'll have my washer and dryer running again and get my refridgerator out of my living room.

There's really nothing else to tell. It was just a peaceful, if cold and snowy, Saturday.

Fear and eHarmony.com

Computer dating is fine, if you're a computer.
Rita May Brown

I did it. I sucked it up, typed in my credit card information, and joined eHarmony. I have a curious blend of feelings about the whole situation.

Part of me is relieved. Finally, I've gotten off my posterior and taken what will hopefully be a positive step toward finding somebody I can stand. I have good luck with finding things on the computer. After all, eBay and amazon have been good to me over the years. Whenever I've wanted something that I couldn't find locally, the magic of the internet has always come through for me.

Part of me is scared to death. What if there aren't any matches for me? What if I get an email from Neil Clark Warren saying they're refunding my money because they can't find anybody suitable? What if there ARE matches for me? I am hopeless with men. Truly, truly, hopeless. That's how I have gotten into my current situation after all.

Part of me wonders about the possibility of finding true love online. Despite the propaganda in You've Got Mail and every eHarmony TV commercial, I wonder if this is a good way to meet people.

As Eleanor Roosevelt said, "You must do the thing you think you cannot do." I am tired of just wishing for somebody, and I don't know any other step that I would be willing or able to take right now. Sooooo....here we go. Maybe it will at least provide interesting anecdotes....

The Gentle Art of Procrastination

One thing that's good about procrastination is that you always have something planned for tomorrow.
Gil Stern

This is a record...three postings in one day. Can you tell that I have reams of papers waiting to be graded?

It's amazing how appealing all other things become when I have papers to grade. In fact, I really cannot get any work done here at home. That's the main reason I stay at school so long each day; I know that saying, "I'll do it tonight at home" is just a big lie. It's not even a good lie. Nobody else is fooled, and I certainly know myself well enough not to believe it.

Through the years, I've gotten myself into all kinds of jams because of procrastination. I'll never forget the all-important paper in grad school I neglected to even start writing until 1:00 a.m. the day it was due. I think I spent most of that time procrastinating by playing a game on the computer.

Today, so far, I've gone to town with my dad for lunch, wandered around our local home improvement store aimlessly, refilled bird feeders (the feathered pigs are cleaning me out), looked over two or three well-thumbed catalogs, put away laundry, and of course, blogged. I keep telling myself that in thirty minutes, I'm going to get serious and get the work done. In reality, next thing I know it will be midnight and I'll just write it off and go to bed.

I think I'll try to break the cycle. I'm going to finish this off and start work on the handout my AP kids will need tomorrow. On the other hand, the house could use a general tidying, and I think Yelldo needs a bath....

The Is of the Thing

The Is of the Thing

This is a blog started just today by a friend of mine. If you're looking for some good reading, I recommend trying his site.

Picture

I promised this shot quite a while ago, but today was the first time the weather was clear and I was home/not sick, etc., enough to get it. I'll try to include some of my cameos later. This is my bottle tree. If you look carefully enough, you can also see Friedrik the Gnome lurking on an old tree stump. He keeps the daffodils tended and the bottle tree upright with Gnome Magic. That's the only explanation for why the wind we had last week didn't knock the whole affair over.

Looming on the Horizon

Do not regret growing older. It is a privilege denied to many. ~Author Unknown

Live as long as you may, the first twenty years are the longest half of your life. ~Robert Southey, The Doctor

My thirtieth birthday is coming in a few days. Why thirty should matter is beyond me. It's just a number, and, I'm assuming anyway, no great revelation or change will happen when the clock strikes twelve on that day. Somehow, though, I find that I'm not where I thought I would be at thirty, and I am disconcerted. I wonder if anybody ever gets where they thought they were going. I wonder if anybody who does is ever happy there.

I am by no means unhappy with my life. Of course, there are a couple of things I wish were different, but that's just a part of the human condition.

I wish, profoundly wish, that I could have found a man to share my life with by now. I haven't had the best of luck with that. In fact, it's been about two years since I even met anybody I found remotely interesting in that department. What I'm looking for simply doesn't seem to be around here. I'm not sure why. I don't know if it's the locale or something in the water, but my ideas don't seem to mesh well with those of most men I meet. I am still looking, but I am thinking I'm going to have to look elsewhere.

Pushing that aside, I can't believe I've had some of the experiences I've had. Ten years ago, I never dreamed I'd have had the chance to travel to Costa Rica, Japan, Thailand, England, and Ireland. I never would have dreamed I'd have lived abroad, leaving home and family to pursue a job that fell into my lap and changed me forever. I would never have predicted that I would have met people from all over the world and worked with them, teaching and learning at the same time. It's been such a blessed thing so far.

I don't think I'm going to rush out and buy a Dodge Charger (probably not, anyway) or have plastic surgery or a wild fling with a college guy or any of those other mid-life cliches, but I am very reflective right now. I guess I'm in the process of adjusting all those childhood assumptions to the adult realities. It's strange. I'm not the person I thought I'd be (married, couple of kids), and I might never become that person. I've stopped taking it for granted that I will find a mate, and due to health issues, I stopped taking the babies for granted years ago.

Yet, despite these "missing pieces", there's a remarkable peace with things. I don't want to settle, but at the same time, I hope I'm going to enter this decade with a bit of dignity, not grasping and clawing after my fast-fading youth. I am hopeful that this decade will be every bit as full of pleasantly unexpected good things as the last one was. I guess I will just put the panic attacks off until the next big milestone looms on the horizon.

Under Pressure

"When in panic, or in doubt, run in circles, scream and shout." -- R. Heinlein

Today was a day-long conference to work on realigning our English curriculum. I was so exhausted at the end of it that I could hear the humming dullness inside my own skull. I stopped meaningfully processing information a full hour before the meeting ground to a halt.

What we were doing was both important and valuable, but I thought I would go crazy before I could get away. I am excited that we are making changes in our curriculum, but I am so stressed out right now, that I can hardly bear the touch of a feather.

I have three sets of AP papers ungraded and four sets of regular papers that have to be graded. I haven't entered lesson plans in what seems like a hundred years. I got a message from the teacher support team leader that says I have to remediate, document, and meet about every student who was failing my class at semester.

I wanted to curl into a little ball under my desk and cry. How can we be expected to keep all these balls in the air? In fact, we've gone way past just juggling balls...they've added swords, flaming brands, and big fish. (Perhaps, an odd choice, but that's the image that sprang to mind.)

Once again, I talked with my mom and she brought me chicken strips and strawberry cobbler, five-year-old soul medicine, and I feel better. Tomorrow, I'll just work until I get it done. I might need more cobbler tomorrow, though....

Recovery

Diseases of the soul are more dangerous and more numerous than those of the body. ~Cicero

Today, I have a voice. It's the first day since Wednesday that I don't have moments of fade out or whisper. I haven't been sick like this in years, I think. I really can't remember the last time I had laryngitis.

The medicines the doctor gave me to "clean everything out" included a dose pack of steroids. I hate them. He gave me the painful horse dose in the hip before I left, and then prescribed these oral doses as well. Now, I am awake at absurd hours watching bad movies from the 80s, listening to music in celebration on Mozart's birthday, and feverishly crafting or shopping eBay.

Last night, I designed, cut, foiled, and soldered a stained-glass suncatcher of Psyche. I finished her about 3:30 a.m., and I am going to have to go back to it and touch up. Looking at it this morning, I can't even remember all the steps. I remember this period of incredible, almost humming, energy pouring through me after taking that last "bedtime" dose of those pills, but other parts of the process are a blur.

I am also healing from losing Britta. There are those, I have no doubt, who will question whether or not the loss of a dog, especially one who had not been a part of the family very long, could cause long-term pain.

Just today for the first time I could walk around and fill my birdfeeders without looking for her. Just today, filling out an application to start the process of seeking a pit bull to adopt didn't make me want to cry. I still miss her, but I think the worst of the darkness that has surrounded me since she died is starting to dissipate. I am hoping that this soul-sickness will give way to the golden keeping of the good and the sharing of the love she gave me with another needy dog.

I still find it hard to talk about the accident. I still can't easily accept the consolations of others. As is so often when the topic is something that hurts so much, I don't want to talk about it. I don't know how to explain it. I suppose the easiest way to think of it is that it's still too near, too sacred for me to be able to talk about with anything other than pain. I can only hope that this, too, will be something I can recover from in time.

Now, I am going to try to go get some sleep. The rain outside should help lull me. Tomorrow will be a new day, and I will get up, get dressed, and face whatever comes. I might even have a voice with which to address those issues. I don't know when the full recovery will come, but I am grateful for the progress that has been made.

Silent

Yesterday I was hoarse. Today, I have completely lost my voice. I went to the doctor after school, and the doctor told me to come home and be quiet for two days.

It's odd how many important conversations spring to mind when you're told not to talk. It's also ironic how many people suddenly want to have long talks.

I hate the fact that I'm going to have to miss two days of school. I know this is a quack, quack deal, and I need to just enjoy it, but I am still irked at getting even farther behind with Hamlet. Granted, most of one of my AP classes was going to be gone tomorrow anyway, but still...

I guess it just feels like cheating to me somehow. I always feel like if I can get up in the morning without visible means of life support, I should be at school working. I know the building isn't going to fall in, and my kids won't be any worse than they'd be for anybody else's sub, but it's a part of my Type-A personality. For two days, my private domain is going to be out of my control. It's not an easy thing to accept.

Still, today showed me that I can't just force myself through it. I should have stayed home today, but my formal evaluation was supposed to have happened today. It didn't for various reasons, but all day long, I was sucking down hot green tea and eating Halls trying to get even a Mickey Mouse voice to come out. I lectured and had a good class for both my APs. My regular tenth graders were writing today, anyway, so I didn't have to talk much. By the end of the day, I was exhausted from the effort at getting out little bits of sound, and, of course, all the wild pantomime that was a part of getting any message across.

I am going to try to focus on the fact that I have two days to get caught up with things both school-related and otherwise and not worry about what's going on at school. For better or worse, it will still be there when I get back, after all...

Week End

Clocks slay time... time is dead as long as it is being clicked off by little wheels; only when the clock stops does time come to life.
William Faulkner

I survived another week of secondary education, and I am now comfortably ensconced in my rocking chair watching sitcom reruns.

I am about to luxuriate in my weekend. The school week is so hectic with grading, preparation, and all the ridiculous crap that floats in unexpectedly.

I have big plans. I am going to read a book or two, watch some old movies, play with my dog, and generally do nothing. I'll come back and blog about it later. :) Won't you be on pins and needles waiting for *that* post.

Wherever you are, gentle readers, I hope you enjoy the end of your week, too.

Cameos

Discoveries of archaeological sites in Italy and Egypt renewed an interest in the classics that influenced cameos of the Victorian Era. Motifs included gods and goddesses from mythology and other subjects related to them, such as Bacchante maidens adorned with grape leaves in their hair, the Three Graces, who were the daughters of Zeus, and Leda, a woman shown feeding Zeus and more.
from the website http://www.victorianbazaar.com/cameos.html

I have become interested in cameos lately. I don't think realized that there was a symbolism to most of them. I am not sure that I ever noticed that they were anything but little portraits of women in old-fashioned garb.

My interest started when I was researching the myth of Cupid and Psyche. Some source or another stated that the Victorians used the myth as a decoration for cameos, symbolizing love triumphant. Intrigued, I went to eBay and started exploring.

I noticed that Psyche wasn't the only mythological figure that appeared. Daphne was there along with Athena, Diana, Ceres, Eros, Venus, the Maenads (Bacchantes), Hebe and Zeus....the list is practically endless. Each of these figures had a meaning for the Victorians. A woman wearing a Bacchante was very subtly advertising herself as a "wild" woman since the Bacchantes were devotees of wine, passion, and song.

I wonder how long it took a Victorian lady to dress everyday when practically every piece of clothing had a symbolism. What if you had an off day, got dressed quickly, and threw on something inadvertently lascivious? I don't think I would have done well in that world. I'm not nearly careful enough about clothing.

That being said, I do enjoy the "hidden meanings" behind these ubiquitous pieces of jewelry. A 1970's resin Three Graces my parents gave me for Christmas is a nice symbol for good cheer, beauty, and festivity. I have managed to get a nice shell Diana for myself (protector of animals, goddess of the moon, etc.), obtained a very nice Terpsichore (muse of Music) for my mother, and just today won an auction for a Psyche (the soul).

This will probably end my collecting. They are beautiful, but my LORD, they are costly on a school teacher's budget. Psyche is the one who started this quest, anyway. I will enjoy being able to wear her image, she who represents the soul, and I'll know, even if nobody else does, what she means.

Rain

Let the rain kiss you. Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops. Let the rain sing you a lullaby. ~Langston Hughes

Early this morning, long before dawn, it started raining. I struggled awake and, stupefied by sleep, started to get up to put the pans down in my bathroom to catch what I not-so-fondly call "the waterfall."

How nice it was to roll over, pull the covers back up to my ears (disgruntling cats along the way), and simply enjoy the sound of rain on the tin roof of the back part of the house. There were no leaks, no rivers, no pots to catch the drips. Rain has become an outdoor issue once again, and the peace I felt was absurdly transcendent.

It's such a relief not to have to arrange a barrier of towels and dishpans whenever clouds dot the sky. I can go away from the house with the sort of confidence one is supposed to have when one lives indoors. It's a small victory, surely, but it's one that's been a long time coming for me.

Total Chaos

I am sitting in my usual blogging spot, a rocking chair in my living room, and my refridgerator is almost close enough to touch. My dining chair currently serves as a cat perch at my shoulder, and I spent most of the day breaking down and emptying my bedroom closet. Life has GOT to get back to normal soon.

The man who is doing the repairs on the house is wonderful. I feel so confident now. Apparently, the whole thing was about to fall down. He's put in beams and insulation and floors. There are no longer crazy slopes to my kitchen floor or living room. It's a nice feeling.

As nice as it is to see these changes happening, I wish I could wake up tomorrow and not see my washer and dryer in my living room. Normalcy needs to return. Maybe by weeks end, I'll have linoleum and everything can move back to its usual place.

Shattered, Broken, Gone

"Playing in the fields of the Lord" -- epitaph on Britta's grave marker

I haven't written at all this week. In fact, I have just been going through the necessary motions with day-to-day life this week. On Monday, Britta was killed by a car.

I had been to Wal-Mart to pick up yet another big bag of dog food and I got home after dark. No graceful beast bounded across the yard to welcome me. At that moment, I knew. I called, hoping that she was off in the woods, although she was always waiting for me after dark. I listened, hoping against hope to hear that tiny musical jingle of her vaccination tag, but the only sound was that of the wind through the dead January tree limbs.

I got a flashlight, drove my car down to the road so I would have the headlights to see by, and started looking. I checked the ditches and the edge of the woods, but I didn't see anything, and for a few minutes, I started to hope. I even hoped that maybe somebody had taken her. At least that way, she'd be alive somewhere.

I called Mom and Dad who came down to help me. We looked and called and walked for about thirty minutes, and Dad found her. She'd been hit and was beside the road in a spot I had missed. They wouldn't let me see her until they'd wrapped her in a towel, but Mom was able to offer me the cold comfort that at least her death must have been quick.

She must have followed me to the road when I left for work. There's no other reason why she'd have been there. She never went to the road unless I was there, either leaving or coming in. She didn't chase cars; she was afraid of them.

My heart is broken. I know I only had her for a few short months, an accumulation of weeks, but I feel as though all the joy in my life has been shattered along with her poor brave body. Every time I look out the door, I expect to see her quizzical look. Today, I went about my Saturday routine, filling birdfeeders and tidying up the yard, and I had to sit down. Last weekend, I did the same thing with her playing and nuzzling me every step of the way. Today, the sky was the same bright blue, but there was no Britta to enliven me.

There's no more to say. She's buried out near the barn, and Mom made her a marker from an old metal barrel lid. I couldn't go out there until Thursday afternoon. When I saw the inscription, it was perfect. That is the way I am going to try to remember her, in full bound, racing across the yard...pure joy personified.

Mythology

I'm very taken by mythology. I read it at a very early age and kept on reading it.
Roger Zelazny

One of the first books I remember checking out of the library was a beautifully illustrated book about ancient Egypt. I can still remember the drawings. I was immediately hooked. I spent most of my summers reading about the gods and goddesses, learning how to write truly pitiful looking hieroglyphics, and dreaming of going to see the pyramids.

My early fascination with mythology never went away. Instead, it expanded to include other cultures. I love Greek and Roman mythology. Not as much as the Egyptians, but I have really enjoyed rediscovering the details of the myths as I have been teaching my AP students this year. My recent trip to Ireland got me digging into Celtic mythos. When I lived in Japan, I read book after book about Shinto gods and their folklore.

My favorite characters are spread among all these groups. I have always liked Thoth, the Egyptian god of magic and writing. The combination of those two areas under one deity intrigues me. I like the idea that writing is a form of magic. Another favorite comes from the Celts. I am intrigued by the Morrigan, the Battle Raven, the goddess of war and passionate love.

There are three Greco-Roman goddesses I find appealing: Diana, Athena, and Psyche. Diana, chaste goddess of the moon, protector of animals, is a figure I can identify with. I admire Athena, goddess of wisdom who burst from fully clad in armor from her father Zeus's head. The story of Psyche and her quest for true love with the god of love is probably my favorite myth.

I don't know what it is about these tales that draws me. Maybe it's the magic. Maybe it's the fact that cultures long gone and drastically different from my own had the same problems and the same quest to understand the world around them. In any case, I, like countless others before me, enjoy dusting off these old tales and exploring them in these modern times.

Two Collars, A Harness, and a Fitting

Today was hectic. I got to school for our work day and Mom called to say the builders were here and that Britta had to be chained. She came down to take care of it, and I told her that if Britta slipped the collar, she should call me and I'd come try to do something. Thirty minutes later, I got a call. Not only had Britta slipped the regular collar, she'd also slipped the choke chain.

I hastily left school, drove to the local Wal-Mart, bought two harnesses, and sped home. Britta and Mom were waiting when I got home. We had a three little bears moment (this harness is too small...this harness is to big... etc.), and I strapped her in. When I left, she was fussing and leaping about four feet straight up in the air.

This, apparently, was a strategy to loosen the buckles on the harness. Mom called right after I got back to my classroom to tell me Britta had slipped out of the new harness twice.

Now, the websites all warned me that pit bulls are escape artists. They are determined to the point of obsession. When they focus on something, they do whatever is necessary to obtain it. She, apparently, decided that being on the end of a chain wasn't on her agenda for the day. It was amazing. It had to have hurt. She ran the length of the chain and threw herself into the air to get out of this stuff.

Even though the construction crew eventually was okay with her being out, I have to have some way to restrain her just in case. Our local pet supply store has really great, knowledgeable people who work there, so I came home, loaded up Britta, and drove in to the store. She now has a very "bad dog" looking black leather harness which, in theory, she can't get out of. We'll see.

It was just tiring. Having to run back and forth between town and home all day wore me out. I did manage to get most of my preps for the week done, but, as usual, I have a hundred other things to get done.

This probably isn't very coherent, but I've been up 18 hours so far. I am going to go to bed, I think. Tomorrow, the kids return....