Two days in a row? Reallly?

 Yes, I'm posting two days in a row. 

The weather has been unusually wet this year. We can thank El Niño for this state of affairs. This means that some of my wilder plantings in the yard are thriving more than usual, since I harden my plants to be water-thrifty. Oddly, my Texas Star hibiscus comes back every year and usually puts out a few dozen canes. Last year it only got to about 6' tall because I was too stingy with the water perhaps. I would typically expect the canes to be 5 or 6 inches by June 1, but they are now 3 and 4 feet tall. This year should be a doozy for this specimen. 

My catmint is thriving. It has a mild catnip effect, so feral cats do hang around my porch for some reason. I'm not a cat person, as I'm at least mildly allergic to them, but I love that they are around keeping the rodent situation in check around town. If the weren't here, we would surely have many more rattlesnakes and copperheads in town, so I'll take the cats any day.

I'm thinking of many improvements I'll make to my house, but now I'm also casting ahead on what to do about the outside. My house is a 1931 Sears Kit House in Craftsman style. It's a little bungalow that originally had clapboard exterior over which a taste-impaired individual slapped some vinyl siding probably in the 1980s or so. I'm not sure how much of the original clapboard might be salvageable under there, and I'm sort of thinking about Hardie board siding. I like the idea that it's a durable, stable product that is not plastic, and would not need painting within my lifetime. ;) For now, though, it's fun to think of the possibilities. More on that later. 

Have a great day. 

What an excellent Summer this will be!

 Just a quick note this evening, and a brief one at that. 

I will do a tremendous amount of writing this Summer. I have so much to do, so the fires are burning and I'm on a mission. I'm working on getting my house in order, including the flowerbeds and other outdoor matters. However, I MUST finish a short story I've been working on for a bit, and I need to compose the next Mabel novel. I'll get there. Much to do.

My house is a huge mess. I don't have piles of pizza boxes and pop bottles everywhere, but I do accumulate things. Since the semester ended, I've been doing intensive cleaning jags every few days, in which I tackle a more deep-cleaning type of task. I have(or at least I had) paper glaciers on every horizontal surface. Sometimes, they calve. The sad element of them is that I can date them by the unopened mail therein, from Spring 2019, when Dad died. So I'm clearing it up, knowing that Dad would want me to not let my little house turn into Satis House from Great Expectations. It's been so easy to be checked out of it, though, as I had school and writing on which to focus. Now I have to face it down and bend it to my will. 

A young friend has said I can hire him to do some odds and ends in the yard, so that will really help me move the ball down the field. I may post photos as I make progress. I plan to transform the place in the next two years, though. 

The funny thing to consider is that I've lived in 25 different places that I can remember in my life. I count 6 that I remember when I was a child with my folks, then I've moved 19 times as an adult. The previous residence, I had a bad situation with a rude landlady and Dad told me if I found a house I wanted to buy, he'd give me the down-payment. He was so sweet. I found an adorable little house that was inexpensive, and now I've lived there since April 26, 2010. I thought I'd be there for a few years until I got my career off the ground in this little county, and then I'd upgrade to a larger house. The fact that Dad helped me with this one is a sentimental point. As for getting a career off the ground here, I quickly learned that this provincial place hires on different criteria than I was accustomed to in a big city. Go figure. So back to school I went. School was absolutely the right choice. 

Since January, I've been looking for another house in the area now that I'm finished as a student (for now) and have a fairly stable professional situation. However, I recently learned that moving at this time is simply Not Going To Happen, so I'm on my own to get this house in better order. I have many plans for it, so I'm going to chip away at the many tasks before me. 

Watch this space. I'll try and post photos now and again. I'm excited about bringing the house to the state I'd always envisioned for it. :) I'm very excited about the stories that I'll be writing over the Summer. I'm grateful to have a safe and secure home with a modest little payment. The fact that Dad helped me to buy it only makes it sweeter. <3 It's going to be so cute. 

Thanks, Dad. You're the best. 

Welcome to your life.

 May 13 was the first commencement ceremony I attended as a faculty member. It was so different from the feeling of walking into that arena as a graduate, and in many ways, it was so much better. 

I looked around at all the proud families, and I had a sort of meeting of the minds with a granny on the front row near my seat. I hope I run into that beautiful lady somewhere around town in the future. The rest of her family was occasionally excited, but often seemed bored and tired. She, however, never lost her enthusiasm. She was electrified by it and she became the universal embodiment of a Granny for me. She jumped up and cheered when her grandgirl crossed the stage, and I applauded then, too. :)  I admit I thought of my own grandmothers and how they would have been proud of me* in a similar fashion. 

I also looked around and reveled in a room full of people who were gathered for a purely joyous occasion. There was no mention of politics or sports. The day was simply a celebration, entirely sweet, and as short as they were able to muster. 

Some people spend a lot of time and energy slagging off university education**, but the truth is that it's a necessary system in a modern society. Despite my own frustrations with aspects of university, people DO need to go through a series of tests and trials to prove fitness for work, particularly in professional fields of a highly specialized nature, especially medicine. 

Many people don't understand how singular the American university system is. In other nations at college level, once a student has declared a major, their training becomes exclusively relative to that field, be it law, engineering, medical, etc. However, the American system is a more broad degree, and in other countries, at least until recently AFAIK, American degrees have an added value aspect of being generalist in nature. Prospects for a job who have degrees from American institutions have received education on state, federal, and international government, economics, history, literature, writing, maths and sciences, depending on the degree track of the individual. This should, ideally, produce a more well-rounded individual who can synthesize meaning across a wide variety of data. 

A college degree doesn't make a person intelligent. I know many people with degrees who are book-smart and profoundly unwise. My parents didn't go to college, and they are two of the most brilliant people I've ever met, in addition to being incredibly wise. And they made a wonderful life for our family, and provided a beautiful and safe home for us.  Frankly, I'd take wisdom over book-smart any day of the week. I pray that unwise people figure it out before it's all over, but wisdom is something earned, and often hard-won. It doesn't arrive on any kind of schedule, and sometimes it never comes for some people. 

By no means do I believe that all people to should go to college. There's more than one way to have a great life, and a person can have a glorious and prosperous life without stepping foot onto a college campus. However, I think if a person desires the education, or if they need it for a particular career or certification, it can be the making of the person. 

I'm not going to take a poll, but I hope most professors feel as I do about the privilege of teaching at a university. The commencement ceremony is a tiny thing, but it is profound and wonderful. The 700-odd students who graduated that day represented hundreds of thousands of cumulative hours of study, labor, and anxious hope on the part of the students and their families. It's an incredible achievement for a family, and we live in a most precious and blessed moment that a mere common person like myself can aspire to a college education. It's a big deal. I am honored for my humble role in that journey for so many people. I pray I never become jaded about what an incredible thing that ceremony represents.

*My grandmothers were proud of all their grandkids, and I'm not the first to graduate from college. Also, if they had favorites, I was never aware of it, and I'm not suggesting that they would have valued any of their grand-ducklings as superior to the others. Or at least, if they had favorites, I don't want to know about it!

**On the matter of social engineering and professors who waste precious educational time using the classroom as their personal therapy session or to inculcate impressionable young people to the professor's social/political worldview, I believe there will be a day of accountability for all people, and for those who abuse the privilege of teaching children, there will be Hell to pay. I just do the best I can to prepare them for their own future university and professional careers, because I believe that is why they are paying me. People DO have valid reasons to criticize proselytizing in the classroom, but I pray that type of "teaching" is the exception, rather than the rule. Remember that such professors are merely helped along by the many young folk who have have been lovingly pre-lobotomized by Reddit, Tumblr, TikTok, and the like. It bears repeating: Hell to pay.

Carmina Burana was as wonderful as I expected it to be! Make your own kind of music.

 If you get a chance, go hear Orff's Carmina Burana in person. More importantly, if you have the chance, SING in this. Even if you are nervous auditioning, you can do this, and it's a glorious thing. When your section gets to the stratospheric notes you can't reach, then just move your beak, or sing it down an octave and it'll be fine. Trust me.

That performance at the end of April was a tonic for my soul. It may be simply a harmonic convergence of approaching the end of two full semesters of full-time employment, since I was in school full-time for 9 sometimes difficult/grueling years, but it felt like a cosmic "atta girl" for me. I ran into two of the most esteemed faculty in the lobby before the performance, one of whom is from my department. I asked her at school the following week what she thought of the performance and she said it was the most wonderful symphonic performance she had ever experienced. She confessed to me that she and the other professor had worked in their yards all day and after the concert, they admitted they'd each just wanted to take a shower and get into pajamas, but they both ended up being so happy they came. 

I'm vowing to make it out to more classical music performances. Indeed, I'd like to find a chamber ensemble in which to perform locally, particularly Baroque music, and on period instruments, if possible. I would be keen to sing, but I also could play a flute, recorder, or some other similar wind instrument. I'd prefer not to play a reed instrument, but I could do that in a pinch. Wow. Just realized I'm writing this like an application. Anyway. Yeah, so making music is important. 

I'm ecstatic that an opera has been composed of the glorious "The Diving Bell and the Butterfly", which is a book and a French film. I STRONGLY urge you to see the film. Is spectacular, profound, and breathtakingly photographed. Come to that, I need to see it again soon. I also should read the book before the opera. Yes, the world gives us so many opportunities to see performances near and far. 

If you live in a town, find out when the little kids (and big kids!) have their concerts and go see them letting their little lights shine. You'll be best served if you don't indulge the thought of "great music, badly done," but instead see it as a once-in-a-lifetime performance, because every performance is exactly that. No two performances will have the same characteristics, and therein be the magic. <3 See what live music is happening near you. This is the time of year for concerts in the park and such. Make it happen, and I think you'll be richly blessed. 

I just found this marvelous recording of Carmina Burana wherein the chorus, impressively, is entirely off book. Unbelievable. This is a long, complex work, exhausting to sing, and while I know if pressed I could memorize it, but this is an impressive feat. The video says San Francisco symphony chorus, but I don't think that's the group singing here. In any case, this is fantastic. I suspect Seiji Ozawa has a Japanese choir with him. What an excellent performance!

O, Fortuna!

 Singing in a huge chorus with symphony for a performance of Carmina Burana. I can't wait. I've heard it in person twice, but didn't get to participate. The rehearsals have turned into pure joy. It's some very fancy hollering. I just hate the za-za passage, because it's so fast with so many notes and complicated words, but I'll survive it. I'll try to get the vowel correct and the notes, and maybe a consonant or two if I can manage. It feels good to be singing at the top of my lungs. :) 

Then getting all got up in performance gear will be the icing on the cake. Giddy up!

It still hurts, but that is natural. It's going to be all right.

 It's difficult to believe that Dad died four years ago. This week marked that most terrible anniversary. 

The week of March 22 in 2019 was a spate of the most beautiful spring days imaginable. The temperature was perfect and it was sunny, but gentle breezes kept the days from feeling too warm. It was perfect weather for gardening, or just for sitting out on the porch. The loss of Dad in some way put what has felt like a permanent damper on the enjoyment of perfect spring days, March 22, and even Fridays. For four years I've felt like the very best of life was behind me. The parking lot at the post office near my house will always be the place I was when the call came in from Mom telling me that Dad had collapsed and was in an ambulance en route to the hospital, but that it didn't look good and to prepare myself. I fairly flew the three blocks home, threw together my suitcase, gathered a few dresses, some black, and shoes and anything I might need. Maybe 10 minutes later, I was back in my car, starting the engine to leave when Mom called to tell me that they couldn't save him. I remember going back in the house and sitting down and just bawling my eyes out. 

A long time ago, someone told me that people freak out about their own mortality when their parents die, because in some way the parents were a kind of psychological buffer that obviated the need to think much about their own death. The effect for me was opposite: the loss of Dad made me feel less connected to this life. It made me feel much more at ease about the prospect of my own demise. My only caveats are that I don't want my Mom to have to go through losing a child in this lifetime, and I also want my pets to be loved and properly cared for after I'm gone. 

Fortunately for me, I was working on my Master's and I had the freedom to take care of everything that was going on with my classes, so I didn't have the stress of having to negotiate my absences with an unfeeling employer. It was actually quite fortunate that I was running on rails in a way with my degree plan, and it gave me tasks to complete and things to do that in some way kept me occupied even as I was in a traumatized state. 

I think of Dad all the time. It feels so wrong to be in this world without him. I know I am not special and that everyone who loses a beloved parent feels the the loss mightily. I know Dad would not be surprised or disappointed that we all love him and miss him so dearly, but it has dawned on me that he'd be aggravated if I just give up on myself and my own purpose in life. I'm not going to apologize for the way I've dealt (or not dealt) with this grief. I think grief is different for everyone, and we all just have to experience it, and get on with life as best we can. We don't get over it, but we simply learn to live with it.

It would be so easy for me to say that losing my Dad was the worst thing, but there are many far more worse things. It would have been worse to have a terrible father, or no father. It would have been terrible if he'd had a lingering illness that made a man of incredible vitality into an invalid. It would have been worse if I'd not lived into my 50s with my Dad in the world to give advice and to share my joys and comfort me in my times of disappointment. I've been so richly blessed, so I don't have things to regret about my Dad, who he was in the world, or the state of our relationship. The truth is that every kid on earth deserves a father who is so loving, kind, and true. I won the Dad lottery, and no earthly riches could ever compare to that wealth of experience. For that I am grateful.

I've been trying to get my house in order. I'm naturally chaotic, and my things get messy far too easily. I've been sifting through the paper glaciers on tables, and it looks like the real disarray (based on envelope postmarks) dates from (surprise!) March of 2019. It was messy before, but that time is the real moment the whole shebang climbed into a handbasket and went to the place where handbaskets go.

I've had many quiet times at home recently to sort through things and work on cleaning and organizing, and today I was doing just that, listening to things on YouTube as I worked along. A video came on that pricked up my ears. Professor of Rock interviewed Michael McDonald and Kenny Loggins about their hit from 1979, "This Is It". I've heard it in the background many times, but never really listened to it. They collaborated to write the song and kind of wanted to write it as a romantic relationship song, but Kenny said it came into focus for him because at that moment, his father was undergoing a health crisis and having a serious surgery. He said he wrote the song as an encouragement to his father. 

Are you gonna wait for a sign, your miracle? Stand up and fight.

I needed to hear those words, and I needed to hear them today. I feel like Dad put a bug in the ear of the YooToob algorithm fairies to put that video in my queue. Life is not perfect, and it never was, and never will be. It's true that the shine has gone off of many things since Dad is not here to share them, but I keep thinking that I want my beloved family members to make the most of their own lives, even if I check out early. It's nice to know we are loved, but I would never want misery or despair to cloud the days and haunt the nights of my dear ones. I am at peace with my father's destination, and I have blessed assurance that I'll join him there. The outcome is decided, but the middle bit is unknowable, so this will be interesting. He would want me to make the most of whatever time I have left to me.

I'm also remembering the poem Dylan Thomas wrote when his father, a vibrant man, gave up on life after receiving a bleak medical diagnosis. Dylan wanted his father to fight to hang on, to stay here and to not meekly accept that his death was soon, even if it is certain for all of us. 

Dad wanted all his loved ones to make the most of our lives, and he would not want any one of us to give up. I've been sitting on this fence for four years. It's time I hop down on one side or the other, and act more like every day matters. Yes, I'll keep running on rails with my overcommitted life, but I think I can cram a little more living into my days, and maybe jettison a bit of the sadness. I know that the point of life is not to just be comfortable and indulged and spoiled. I've dwelt on the sad truth of this situation for long enough, so what am I going to do now? 

I'm going to live.

Everything's all right. 

And February is flying out the door

 How'd that happen?

This is week 6 of the semester, and I've learned that I'll be employed by my school for another year. HUZZAH! I'm so glad, because I'm really enjoying teaching. Also, I have two classes that are astonishingly good writers, so that makes the work that much easier. One spends SO much more time grading when the papers are badly written. At least, I spend more time on those students, because it's my job to help nudge their writing in a stronger direction. I don't feel like my job is to "weed out" a weaker student. I feel like my job is to help them improve their skills so they can earn the degree they obviously wanted when they signed up to go to school. Honestly, I take a dim view of the weed out concept in general. It's insulting and snobbish. Life is too short to be so hateful and dismissive of others. 

The weather has been strange, and I had a rough headcold that was chased by lingering congestion and a hideous cough that is, frankly, frightening. It makes me feel like I could be on the verge of pneumonia, and I don't need any more of that stuff. Today was my first day back at the gym, and I coughed a little there, but no big coughing jags, so I guess I'm okay to work out. Looking forward to my breathing being back to normal.  

Sorry this is a silly post, but wanted to check in. Will try to post more and better, soon.

Let's get one more post throwed up before February, shall we?

Things have been intense, but good, at school. Moments of happiness have snuck up and startled me as I walk across campus to a lecture or have a great exchange wherein the students are engaged and seem to be learning as well as actually enjoying my classes. I feel so blessed, so fortunate that I had that right place/right time moment that allowed me to step into my dream teaching job at the last moment in Fall '22. Since I'm not tenure-track faculty, I don't have a guarantee of a job from year to year. I am hopeful that I will be offered a job for next year, but I'm also realistic about the space I occupy in the firmament, which is the last-hired. I'm just praying for another year (and possibly others) of riding this wave. If I'd had any idea I'd enjoy teaching at college level, I would have gotten it together decades ago.*

I am teaching some new classes this semester, so it's a bit of a scramble. I do far, far more reading and research, probably triple or quadruple the reading I assign to my students, but it must be done. And I am enjoying the heck out of it. I've spent about 8 hours last week doing research for a 50 minute lecture I'm to give on Monday and part of Wednesday. Worth it. I want to be clear and thorough, so I'm trying to front-load as much of that as possible. 

On the whole, it's been fun finding my way. I like this work, and even as I do this research and my own learning, I find that it's had a galvanizing effect on my own view of things-- I feel my opinions are on the most sound footing of my life. This is a good feeling. 

I will try to write again soon. It's nice to have this tiny little corner of the web to park my thoughts. It's nice to feel optimistic, and to feel that something into which I'm pouring my heart is having a positive impact on one or two students.  Onwards and upwards. 

*who am I kidding? I still would have been the cricket who played all summer. Anyway. Fun to play philosopher, in any case. 

A bumpy start to the year...

    Four people I know or knew died in the last two weeks. Three were elderly, but one was younger than me, a wonderful person in great health, and died in his sleep. The elderly folks were the loveliest and best of people, and will be dearly missed by our church. It's a jarring start to the year, really.  I went down to the Dallas area late last week and had some precious time with Mom. We went to one of the funerals, but I will, sadly, not be able to attend the other three. 

    Meanwhile, Prince Harry is having a very public meltdown in which he has un-dealt-with issues lingering from many sad turns in his life. Many people who were young when they tragically lost a parent can relate to his grief over the loss of his mother. I'm sure that loss was compounded by the very public nature of her passing. But as Lottie says in Enchanted April, "it's important to get on with one's loving." Bad feelings happen in families and friendships, but it's crucial to face those situations, dismiss whatever is petty and may be ignored, and get on with agreeing to disagree, if necessary, and to love each other in spite of those differences. Life is simply too short.

No man is an island entire of itself; every man 

is a piece of the continent, a part of the main; 

if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe 

is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as 

well as any manner of thy friends or of thine 

own were; any man's death diminishes me, 

because I am involved in mankind. 

And therefore never send to know for whom 

the bell tolls; it tolls for thee. 

Olde English Version

No man is an Iland, intire of itselfe; every man

is a peece of the Continent, a part of the maine;

if a Clod bee washed away by the Sea, Europe

is the lesse, as well as if a Promontorie were, as

well as if a Manor of thy friends or of thine

owne were; any mans death diminishes me,

because I am involved in Mankinde;

And therefore never send to know for whom

the bell tolls; It tolls for thee.

MEDITATION XVII

Devotions upon Emergent Occasions

John Donne 

Happy new year, folks!

 Hard to believe, but here is 2023. May it be a better year for good people than was 2022.

School begins two weeks from Tuesday. A fair bit of time during the break has been consumed by unpleasant but necessary obligations. I did get to spend some nice time with friends and family, and that made the holidays more cherished for me. 

This morning I heard from a good friend in Belgium. I asked how all their folks were doing, mentioning I'd heard concerns for a cold winter and scarcity of or phenomenal expense of heating fuel. He said that it's been mild lately. I hope that's not just the calm before the storm. Brutal cold is terrible, I know, but it seems especially hard on the old and the very young. Also, the riots in Paris are troubling, perhaps mostly because they are being called "protests" when they are clearly, you know, riots. Footage of motorists being pulled from their cars and those cars set ablaze is to be found on some outlets online, but not the mainstream ones in the USA, as far as I know. We can't have people distracted from the narrative currently being advanced related to social engineering and all that sort of stuff. The "interesting times" of the Chinese proverb seem at hand, sadly.

Anyway, I spent today cleaning and cleaning and organizing. I have much to do in these two weeks, including a quick trip to Virginia for a writer's convention. I need to hit all the marks every day to make sure I don't drop any of the balls I'm juggling. Mostly, I'm blessed and am making progress, but sometimes, it seems slow, plodding. Not complaining, except for the bullet-train effect of the passage of time, particularly when one has a break from routine. 

All in all, though, as I said in the beginning, I am hoping for the best for all of us. I'm not foolish enough to expect the best, but I feel one should not abandon hope. 

In the words of Samuel Taylor Coleridge:

“If men could learn from history, what lessons it might teach us. But passion and party blind our eyes, and the light which experience gives us is a lantern on the stern, which shines only on the waves behind us.”

I'm not driving blind into dark waters, exactly, but I am trying to learn from mistakes. I don't have control over the rest of the world, and how life will unfold for us as a civilization. I keep hoping that it will correct itself, that what appears mass psychosis in which we celebrate mental illness and vilify people who try to live by a strict and respectful code in life becomes something we're looking at in the waves behind us, disappearing in the rear-view mirror. But in the end, my own behavior is all I can control, and is the only thing for which I am accountable. I pray for self-governance, and to be a help and support to those I love. If I succeed on that score, I'll count myself doubly blessed for having been useful to those I most hold dear. I can't ask for greater than that.

Fast Away the Old Year Passes

 It's incredible that 2022 is nearly done, isn't it?

I am pleased that I posted more on my blog this year than I did on the previous few years combined. Despite the world's troubles, some things have been on the upswing for me, and I'm making my way.

This year was certainly colorful for me, and was a landmark year for closing old stories and beginning exciting new chapters. My emotions teeter between feeling delighted that I completed graduate school, and almost disbelief that the task is completed. Even more amazingly, I landed my dream job teaching at the school that I would most have preferred. I love the faculty and the campus, and not a single day passes in which I don't thank the Lord for blessing me with this job. I think nearly any job besides this one would have been rife with unhappy features for me. As it is, I have zero complaints about my job, and I'm so looking forward to the coming semester, as I'm building two new courses from the ground up. Fun! Particularly the Britlit survey course-- it's my dream subject, and is the course I've always longed to teach. My students seemed to enjoy it, they did well on tests and essays, and a handful are taking the second half of the course with me in the Spring. Wheee!

Another milestone for me was the publication of my first novella, which has been kindly received, generally, and sold well and steadily since September. I have two more novels and a short story cooking on this subject, but the semester and ebay sales kept me busier than a one-armed paper hanger all semester, so I did little writing. I'm hoping to complete the short story this week and get it throwed up on Amazon next week. Fingers crossed. 

I had some precious time with Mom and my siblings at Christmas. We lazed and grazed in the proper holiday fashion. Mom took a crack at making chicken and dressing casserole like Grandma Smith used to make, and it was delicious. I've been thinking about the wonderful, simple feasts that Grandma made. Heaven will be incomplete if it's not full of food cooked by all our grannies. Am I right or am I right? Grandma grew and canned her own green beans, and it is a marvel to me to remember how delicious they were. And my Grandma Bertie's buttermilk biscuits and gravy were toe-curling - I taste them in my dreams. Some day, up yonder...

Dad is part of every thing, and I know always in our hearts and minds as our family gathers. He's the heart and soul of our family, so he continues to bind us, even as we miss him so very dearly. Late Christmas Eve after Mom went to bed, I sat with my brother and sister in the living room watching Kingpin, which Amy had watched many times with Dad. It's a ridiculous movie, a lot of fun, and it was really special to sit there with her and have her say "Dad laughed his socks off at this part" or "he really thought that was funny." Vicariously enjoying how Dad loved the movie was the next best thing I could hope for. Also, I have no need of one, but I want a gold glitter bowling ball. Someday.

I hope you all were warmed and heartened by memories of dear ones, and that you had precious moments with your families. Make the most of every opportunity. 

I may post again before 2023, but odds are that I won't pop back into the blog, so in that case, I hope you have a happy new year, and that 2023 brings health and happiness to all who read this post. Until then, my best wishes to you and yours.

Clickbait garbage articles deriding oldsters.

 

I work to teach my writing students to not make sweeping statements. I'm baffled by the sheer dreck churned out here by one Erika Salen or Sallen-- it was written both ways on the hyperlink attached to the author's name (below). I'm not a baby-boomer, and I'm not her target for derision, but I also realize the only point of articles like this is to get people to hop on their site to scroll through (hopefully, for them!) hundreds of ads. Still, articles such as this aren't well written, are rife with logical fallacies, and their overall theme seems to be that Baby Boomers are stupid and have terrible taste in food. It's going to be fun for them when they're the oldsters. "NO!" they will insist, "we were the COOL ones, and we have great taste!"  Their condescending progeny will tell them how hackneyed and sad they are, because they will have learned how to respect older generations from their own parents, i.e., not at all. 

Impudent upstarts gotta impugn, I suppose. It's really sad what passes for professional writing, of late. I'm too busy now, but I may come back to pick this apart.  The sheer amount of things they get utterly wrong is staggering, perhaps most especially the idea that the 1970s alone were solely responsible for any kind of food suspended in jellies. Hello? Aspic? From times before electricity and modern refrigeration? If one is going to write about historical periods of food production, one should, ya know, do a little research. If only there were some readily available compendium on the history of everything that the author could have consulted for some facts, instead of this judgey screed.

Oh, never mind. What an absolutely ignorant load of twaddle!

Tragically Gross Foods Baby Boomers Wont Let Die – Herald Weekly

Okay, zoomer. "How dare I?"  

You should be in school.

Make a joyful noise.

 To be called the superlative version of anything is a mighty feat. I just have a problem with people saying crappy things about a bunch of kids who dare to get out there and try something despite not being the most polished presentation ever. 

Tonight I watched a few high school marching bands on YouTube and then I had my heart a little dashed by the sight of my old high school band circa Fall 2022. Back in the day, we were a strict military marching style band, and the sloppy masses were corps style, which is pretty much everyone these days. I can forgive the corps style. I can forgive many things, even the spats, but capes? I admit that the capes sort of broke me. 

Then in my feed came this video, which I'm sharing not to mock these kids, but to say good on you for putting it out there. The video has a terrible title, and it's interesting that the video is still on YouTube, but... 

Were these young people the first ones in their school to even have a marching band? Did they have million$ in band booster supports, with luxury transport to and from the game? I think it took a lot of heart for them to get out there. I'll bet they got better and better with each performance. Most likely this was a marching competition (based on the fact that this was during the daytime, and the opposite stands are populated by groups that look like other bands. Competitions are nerve-wracking for young performers, and no one hits it out of the park every time. I say good for McAdams High School Band, and I hope they kept trying.

I guess this rant is simply to say that people are told to "make a joyful noise" and I take that literally. We may prefer if the noise is tuneful, well-rehearsed, and delivered by someone at the top of their game, but most performers have to go through the baby steps of some awkward performances before they get to that polished state. It's great that we have the means to record everything in the world these days, but it's also important to remember that the awkward performances we'd perhaps prefer to forget are still crucial for our development from ugly ducklings to the big sassy swans we're all meant to be. 

I say good on this group of musicians. I hope they went on and got their moves down pat. I hope they showed everyone how to haul off and win, even if they didn't on this day.

Sing quietly along...

 

Fuel to Fire by the exquisite Agnes Obel