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'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?
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.
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.
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
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.
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.
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!
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.
I've said that many times before, and it's always been true, but never to this degree. Each day is consumed with teaching full time, keeping my online selling business rolling, and working to get my next story completed to publish online. I'm also trying to be a decent human being, a task at which I feel I often fall short. But I try to be kind, and considerate, as much as I am able. Even when I'm pulled in many directions and there aren't enough hours for all my obligations and so I have to cut out sleep and down-time for myself, I try to be kind and polite to friends.
However, my wish to be pleasing and kind does not give anyone license to treat me as a doormat.
People who want to see the worst in the world are guaranteed to find it. People who go around spoiling for a fight will, likewise, always find one or drum one up. I would never claim to be perfect, but I'm doing the best I can, here. Two people in recent times have come to my door spoiling for that fight. I didn't let them walk all over me, and yet I didn't engage in nasty personal attacks.
Indeed, I feel sad for their desolate states, that they should hold our friendship so cheap that they would try to turn their angst at others/the world/life's unfairness into a fracas with me.
Not sorry, I simply don't have time for that. I wish you all the best. Thanks, but no thanks. Not interested. I will help you if ever I can, I hope to always be kind, but I'm disappointed. And with that, I have no more time to think about this.
I don't mean to put words in Johnny Rotten's mouth, but I never believed that his classic punk anthem "God Save the Queen" was actually railing against her, personally, even when he said "she ain't a human being". Yes, he literally said that, but the song was about a government and society that was seemingly indifferent to the struggles and suffering of its citizens. It was a song about the loss of hope, a sense of utter futility. Much of the punk catalogue is of/by/for the recognition of that very bleak perspective. Here is a quote from the video interview I've linked at the bottom of the page:
"That is a song of question. It is not an assault on any human being."
England of the 1970s was bleak in many ways. The UK was still recovering from WWII, with the food rationing that went on well into the 50s. Elizabeth II was a handy countenance at which to lob the petard that calls out an indifferent government that purports to represent all her citizens. I get where he was coming from when he wrote that song, even if I disagree with that oversimplification of the situation.
Then again, I wasn't there, so who am I to tell anyone there what they lived through? I respect his right to express this in a way that he saw fit.
On his website, John Lydon posted the following statement regarding other former members of his band The Sex Pistols who are reissuing merchandise and music related to their anthem "God Save The Queen" in an attempt to cash in on the death of Queen Elizabeth II.
John Lydon wishes to distance himself from any Sex Pistols activity which aims to cash in on Queen Elizabeth II’s death. The musicians in the band and their management have approved a number of requests against John’s wishes on the basis of the majority court-ruling agreement.
In John’s view, the timing for endorsing any Sex Pistols requests for commercial gain in connection with ‘God Save The Queen’ in particular is tasteless and disrespectful to the Queen and her family at this moment in time.
John wrote the lyrics to this historical song, and while he has never supported the monarchy, he feels that the family deserves some respect in this difficult time, as would be expected for any other person or family when someone close to them has died.
However I may disagree with him on this or that point, I think better of him for disavowing an attempt to make money at the moment when so many people are mourning the death of a beloved sovereign.
There have been many times he defiantly called out people in the public sphere who were horrid and exploitative, such as when he accused British tv presenter Jimmy Savile of abusing the young fans who came to his pop music TV shows. Lydon was met with shocked silence and was shunned for many years afterwards. After Savile died in 2012, many people came forward to say they'd been abused by him. It's ironic that Lydon was the lone voice who dared to speak out against the popular personality. He is a man of strong character in a world of changeable folk who simply run with the tide.
As for exploiting the idea of the old Sex Pistols classic, I've seen him perform as P.i.L. (Public Image, Limited) many times, and I have never once heard him perform any of the tracks from the Sex Pistols. I think he's far more intelligent than most people recognize. He has a strong moral code, is plain-spoken and unapologetic. This looks like strong character to me.
I respected him before for his integrity. I'm not calling him a saint, but I think he'd be mortified at that accusation, too. I'm not saying that I agree with everything he's ever done. What I'm saying is that in this moment, I admire him a little bit more. And he is so good-natured. "Anger is an energy," but it matters how we use that energy. John Lydon sets a great example.
I began this blog on September 16, 2002. I wanted a creative outlet, and this seemed a good way to go. Oddly enough, I'm thinking back to that time, and remembering that I was feeling depressed as we were one year out from 9/11/2001. It was a challenging time in a changing and less-certain world.
Some years I've blogged more extensively than others, but it's good to have a place where I can park ideas, or mark important moments. It's interesting to cast forward and consider how the world will change in twenty more years. Or one. In any case, I hope to make the best of however many years or weeks or days are left to me. :)
______________
Queen Elizabeth II died on Thursday, 8 September. She was a remarkable human being, and a unifying influence for the English people and people in Commonwealth nations around the world. She was a jolly decent lady who always put her duty first. I pray her son will model his reign on hers.
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This year has been so brutally hot (yesterday was in the mid-90s) that it was startling to leave the house this morning in 66 F comfort. Also, my Prairie Sage-- which I call my harbinger of Autumn-- was blooming this morning. I noticed yesterday the spikes of buds looked too ready too soon, but there they were this morning, blossoming and full of sass. This is two weeks earlier than when they bloomed last year. Make of that what you will.
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My job is going well, and I'm loving the work. My office is big with tons of bookshelves. I had to build a heavy course from scratch at the last minute, so I've been taking time to get settled in, but it is coming along. I'm doing a little more fluffing of the arrangement every week. It should be in order by mid-term, hopefully. It's amazing that three full weeks already have passed. I'm hopeful for the progress of my students.
First week of the semester went well. Oddly enough, one of my students is child of an acquaintance from town, so that is kind of neat. It feels like it is going well, and I'm so thankful for the job in general, and in particular that I'm doing the very job and at the very school that I would have chosen for myself. Meanwhile, I still have my fiction writing and online auction stuff bubbling away on back burners. I'm insanely busy-- I keep referring to it as chainsaw juggling-- but I obviously like being TOO busy. I will take it. This is all moving in the right direction. I expect to take an actual day off on Saturday or Sunday next week, a novelty.
Since I was a relatively late hire, I have only even been in my office for 11 days, and it was a mad scramble to get my ducks in a row in time for class. Hopefully most of the administrative stuff is resolved.
I WILL NOT have an insane beginning to the next semester, though. I plan to begin the template for Spring 2023 schedules this week so they are ready to go prior to the time. Everything I can do now to reduce chaos in the future is time well spent.
I will try to check in again here to give updates. I hope that I'm teaching there again this time next year. That will be a blessing, indeed. :)
