Up for Air

I'm staying home this Thanksgiving, to come up for air. I made a concerted effort to do a better job with the word "no" this school year, and I can't say that it's helped. If I made a list, here, of the things I have said "no" to so far this school year, I wouldn't be able to live with the guilt, so I won't. And here's the kicker: It doesn't seem to have helped me feel less busy, or more accurately, overwhelmed.

I have a couple of theories concerning this phenomenon:
First, I'm an anxietal goofball when it comes to teaching. I was talking to my sister about this and said I seriously have to wonder what's wrong with me in that I live alone, have no obligations to young children, husband, or anybody but me for that matter, and I can't seem to keep up. I live like a slob half the time and commit cleaning frenzies the other half; I reduced my possessions, hauling untold loads of the stuff to the thrift store last summer, and I consider myself generally low maintenance. So on the home front my responsibilities are few. But I find myself very frequently mired in a ton of school work and am constantly obsessing about my students and my teaching.

Isn't she wonderful? She cares so much! Um, well, the truth is, not so much; I honestly want to care less. I think being less neurotic about all of this would be better for my students and a healthier way to conduct the business of my life. Once, when I was training to become a teacher, I was obsessing in the way that I do, and my boyfriend said, "Rox, it's not rocket science." Obviously I was offended, because I remember those five little words to this day, but moreover, he was right! Rox can make rocket science out of teaching. God knows what the state of my mental health would be had I actually become a rocket scientist, but there's little danger of that, considering my next theory:

Isn't there some principle relating to available space and the expansion of matter? Go ahead and take a moment to grieve the decline of general knowledge among public school teachers; then give the system credit for guiding me to a major in English rather than physical science. But I digress. What I mean to say is it seems that saying "no" has only created more space to fill with guilt and other matters of teaching.

So, on this Thanksgiving, one item on my gratitude list is the four days I have to come up for air. Other things are (in no particular order) :
The glimmer of hope concerning the mid-term election results and Rumsfeld's "resignation"
My daughter Kara and her new husband Charley
Nature
The love of family and friends
Naps
Books
Cotton

> WARNING

PRAIRIEHOMIE is radioactive. Wear protective clothing at all times.

Tuesday, September 12, 2006

Still Here

I haven't posted for a very long time. I guess it's quite evident that summer's over and "school brain" has set in. This happens. It takes awhile for me to get back into school...then it takes awhile to get my life back when I'm back into school. So, for the time being, I come home, sit, and stare for a half-hour or so, then try to get a walk in, then hit the books: grade books, lesson plan books, text books, books that contain meeting notes- arrrrrrrrrrgh!

I love my job, I really do.

I'm still here. And I'll be back, as soon as I can eat, sleep, THINK about anything other than school.

Sorry, Joe

I haven't posted for awhile, and I wonder if anyone noticed that in my last few posts I made an effort to stay away from politics. Anyone? I know there are those who are political and those who aren't, and the constant discussion of political issues can bore the face off of those who aren't. It's hard for me to understand this, as I find the subject the single most relevant aspect of life in our democracy, not to mention that I find it endlessly fascinating. I follow politics the way some people follow sports, or Hollywood, and I'll be the first to admit I feel superior about it, because I know politics actually MATTERS- ha!

So, I have something to say about Ned Lamont's victory over Joe Lieberman in the Connecticut Democratic primary:

I'm glad Lamont won. I'm glad that he beat the guy who is seen as "reaching across the aisle" to Republicans. If it's true that he won solely on his antiwar stance, I'm glad for that too. I'm glad Americans (or at least Democrats) are taking a stand against a failed military effort that has killed thousands of people for reasons that are still a mystery to most of us. I don't want my party to continue to be represented by a senator who votes to cut estate taxes for multimillionaries while the administration continues to spend billions on this war and our health care system is broken, our schools are underfunded, middle class earnings are falling, and huge corporate subsidies continue while the poor and elderly are largely ignored.
I want a Democrat who IS a Democrat, and Lieberman hasn't been acting like one lately. Republicans say the Democratic party doesn't have an agenda, that we don't know what we stand for; well I'm a Democrat who does know. Call me an idealogical polarizer, better yet, call me a bleeding heart liberal because, proudly, I am one. I'm a Democrat who knows what I want from my country and my party, and if Ned Lamont's primary victory sends a message to my party about that, sorry Joe, but I'm glad you lost.

Good and Gracious Gobbles

I did a few hours of volunteer work yesterday with the kind people at the beautiful ARC Retreat Center. One of my tasks was to help prepare Gazpacho for the next day's crew. This stuff smelled so good, I wanted to stick my face in the vat and slurp. I'll share the recipe, if you promise to check out their web site:
www.arcretreat.org

They publish a cookbook that can be obtained through the site. It contains the recipe below and also the one for their Cucumber Gazpacho. I was treated to lunch there, and it was served. Delicious!

ARC Gazpacho

4 c tomato juice
2 c fresh diced tomatoes
1 med cucumber. Peeled, seeded, and diced
2 scallions, minced
½ c onions, finely minced
1 green bell pepper, minced
4 coves garlic, minced
Juice of 1 lime
Juice of ½ lemon
1 t salt
½ t pepper
2 T. wine vinegar
1 t tarragon
1 t basil
½ t ground cumin
¼ t Tobasco
2 1/2 T. olive oil

Combine, chill, and serve to 6 people
From St Martin’s Table Cookbook

A Crooked Path

Today is my birthday, and I mostly agree with the statement I heard somewhere that by about 11, we should get over the idea that our birthday should be a big deal. I'd change the age in the statement to 21, and make an exception for moms, as we moms reserve the right to celebrate every one of the birthdays of our children.

A friend and I were having a conversation about aging and I told him how grateful I am that I lived as long and I did before having a single worry associated with my own aging. I can't remember ever having a birthday when I became depressed about reaching another milestone. Not at 30, not at 40, not at 50. Of course I would observe the struggles of old folks, and my heart would go out to them, but for some reason I didn't personalize those struggles until I saw my mom suffer, shortly before she died. Is this a sign of a calloused heart or clueless denial? Beats me. I hope not.

After Mom's death, for the first time ever I thought about how I would manage growing old and infirm and how it would impact the people who love me. It was depressing. It's not that my mother's death was the first experience I'd had with illness and infirmity in someone close to me; it wasn't, but it was the first time I witnessed it so closely in someone truly elderly. And she was my mom; I'm sure that had a lot to do with my feelings about it.

Today, I'm not depressed, I'm celebrating middle age- I like it! But, as I mark another milestone, I'm reminded of a couple of poems by Friederich Holderlin:


At the Middle of Life

The earth hangs down
to the lake, full of yellow
pears and wild roses.
Lovely swans, drunk with
kisses you dip your heads
into the holy, sobering waters.

But when winter comes,
where will I find
the flowers, the sunshine,
the shadows of the earth?
The walls stand
speechless and cold,
the weathervanes
rattle in the wind.



and this excerpt from "The Course of Life"

You too wanted better things, but love
forces all of us down. Sorrow bends us more
forcefully, but the arc doesn't return to its
point of origin without a reason.


Upwards or downwards! In holy Night,
where mute Nature plans the coming days,
doesn't there reign in the most twisted Orcus
something straight and direct?


This I have learned. Never to my knowledge
did you, all-preserving gods, like mortal
masters, lead me providentially
along a straight path.


The gods say that man should test
everything, and that strongly nourished
he be thankful for everything, and understand
the freedom to set forth wherever he will.

One Single Thing

This, from today's New York Times:

From 2002 until this year, NASA’s mission statement, prominently featured in its budget and planning documents, read: “To understand and protect our home planet; to explore the universe and search for life; to inspire the next generation of explorers ... as only NASA can.”

In early February, the statement was quietly altered, with the phrase “to understand and protect our home planet” deleted. In this year’s budget and planning documents, the agency’s mission is “to pioneer the future in space exploration, scientific discovery and aeronautics research.”

David E. Steitz, a spokesman for the National Aeronautics and Space Administration, said the aim was to square the statement with President Bush’s goal of pursuing human spaceflight to the Moon and Mars.

But the change comes as an unwelcome surprise to many NASA scientists, who say the “understand and protect” phrase was not merely window dressing but actively influenced the shaping and execution of research priorities. Without it, these scientists say, there will be far less incentive to pursue projects to improve understanding of terrestrial problems like climate change caused by greenhouse gas emissions.

Can this administration do one, single thing that doesn't piss me off? Words do matter, Mr. President, and although you can't seem to express yourself as though they do, it's apparent from this omission that somebody in your posse gets it.

This is sinister and outrageous. ARRRRRRGH!

Garrison Keillor Knows His Lutherans

My sister sent me the following Garrison Keillor essay and it rang so true with me, I just have to post it. I adore Garrison Keillor; he gets me. And as for singing with Lutherans, I did it for a very long time, as I was raised Lutheran.

For the formative years of my life in my small Iowa town, there were two locations for most of the activity: church and school. I sang my heart out in both places. Singing was my thing. I sang pop music with the "swing choir", classical and operatic pieces for competition, folk music with my guitar, hymns, chorale music, show tunes, you name it. My best friend, who is a very talented pianist, and I performed as a duo, mostly at school functions and for her father's company parties. As a young wife and mother I sang every song I knew to my child, and annoyed my husband by singing in the car so much and so loudly he would turn off the radio and glare at me. Sometimes I hardly noticed.

But I don't sing any longer; I've ruined my voice with cigarettes. It's one of the self-inflicted tragedies of my life, and I really don't wanna talk about it.

The Lutheran thing. My mother was German and my father Norwegian, so I was a Lutheran. Period. I can't claim to be a Lutheran now, but in my town people were mostly either Catholic or Lutheran. There were two Catholic churches, the one on the west side of town for the Irish and the one on the east side of town for the Germans. There had to have been people there with Eastern European roots (didn't there?), but there was no sign of them when referencing the Catholic churches. There were two Lutheran churches, the Missouri Synod and (at that time) the American Lutherans . The Missouri Synods were "strict", and I distinctly remember feeling lucky to have avoided the straightjacket of being born Missouri Synod- ha!

By the way, there was one Jewish family in town. ONE. They owned a market, and people would actually refer to it as "Eddie the Jew's" as in, "there's a good buy on rump roast this week at Eddie the Jew's." Must have been a real treat to be them in that hotbed of diversity.

So, here's the Garrison Keillor essay on singing with Lutherans, and some other interesting Lutheran "facts". Many of them fit my life as a Lutheran to a T.


SINGING WITH THE LUTHERANS
by Garrison Keillor

I have made fun of Lutherans for years - who wouldn't, if you lived in Minnesota? But I have also sung with Lutherans and that is one of the main joys of life, along with hot baths and fresh sweet corn. We make fun of Lutherans for their blandness, their excessive calm, their fear of giving offense, their lack of speed and also for their secret fondness for macaroni and cheese. But nobody sings like them.

If you ask an audience in New York City, a relatively Lutheranless place, to sing along on the chorus of Michael Row the Boat Ashore, they will look daggers at you as if you had asked them to strip to their underwear. But if you do this among Lutherans they'll smile and row that boat ashore and up on the beach! And down the road!

Lutherans are bred from childhood to sing in four-part harmony. It's a talent that comes from sitting on the lap of someone singing alto or tenor or bass and hearing the harmonic intervals by putting your little head against that person's rib cage. It's natural for Lutherans to sing in harmony. We're too modest to be soloists, too worldly to sing in unison. When you're singing in the key of C and you slide into the A7th and D7th chords, all two hundred of you, it's an emotionally fulfilling moment.

I once sang the bass line of Children of the Heavenly Father in a room with about three thousand Lutherans in it; and when we finished, we all had tears in our eyes, partly from the promise that God will not forsake us, partly from the proximity of all those lovely voices. By our joining in harmony, we somehow promise that we will not forsake each other.

I do believe this:
People, these Lutherans, who love to sing in four-part harmony are the sort of people you could call up when you're in deep distress. If you're dying, they'll comfort you. If you're lonely, they'll talk to you. And if you're hungry, they'll give you tuna salad!

The following list was compiled by a 20th century Lutheran who, observing other Lutherans, wrote down exactly what he saw or heard:

1. Lutherans believe in prayer, but would practically die if asked to pray out loud.

2. Lutherans like to sing, except when confronted with a new hymn or a hymn with more than four stanzas.

3. Lutherans believe their pastors will visit them in the hospital, even if they don't notify them that they are there.

4. Lutherans usually follow the official liturgy and will feel it is their way of suffering for their sins.

5. Lutherans believe in miracles and even expect miracles, especially during their stewardship visitation programs or when passing the plate.

6. Lutherans feel that applauding for their children's choirs would make the kids too proud and conceited.

7. Lutherans think that the Bible forbids them from crossing the aisle while passing the peace.

8. Lutherans drink coffee as if it were the Third Sacrament.

9. Some Lutherans still believe that an ELCA bride and an LCMS groom make for a mixed marriage.

10. Lutherans feel guilty for not staying to clean up after their own wedding reception in the Fellowship Hall.

11. Lutherans are willing to pay up to one dollar for a meal at church.

12. Lutherans think that Garrison Keillor stories are totally factual.

13. Lutherans still serve Jell-O in the proper liturgical color of the season and think that peas in a tuna noodle casserole adds too much color.

14. Lutherans believe that it is OK to poke fun at themselves and never take
themselves too seriously.

15. You know when you're a Lutheran when: It's 100 degrees, with 90% humidity, and you still have coffee after the service.

16. You hear something really funny during the sermon and smile as loudly as you can!

17. Donuts are a line item in the church budget, just like coffee.

18. The communion cabinet is open to all, but the coffee cabinet is locked up tight.

19. All your relatives graduated from a school named Concordia.

20. When you watch a "Star Wars" movie and they say, May the Force be with you, you respond, "and also with you".

21. You actually understand those folks from Lake Wobegon, MN.

22. And lastly, it takes ten minutes to say good-bye.

So STOOPID it Hurts

Have you ever felt so embarrassed for someone that it almost hurts? Ever had that feeling for a complete stranger? It probably has something to do with our egos, feeling that somehow someone's behavior is reflected back on us, but I prefer to think it's our compassionate natures kicking in. It's no secret that I don't like our president, and might even take a tiny bit of pleasure seeing him embarrass himself, but when I read about the following, I actually winced.

Lots of people have probably heard that Bush said the word "shit" to Tony Blair when the mike was on after a dinner at the end of the G8 summit. And he did some kind of weird neck massage thing to Germany's chancellor, but, in my book, the worst was an exchange that took place at that same "shit" dinner. This is where my wincing comes in. Read this section of a post from the Democratic Undergound, and see if you don't feel the same excrutiating unease:

"So the president said "shit" and couldn't hold a conversation without stuffing his face. We've all done it. But what's as concerning to me, if not more, was the manner by which the president spoke with his fellow world leaders in an unguarded moment caught on tape. Hint: Like an idiot. When asked by someone, most likely an aide, something about whether or not the president wanted a prepared statement to close the meeting, Bush replied, "No. Just gonna make it up. I'm not going to talk too damn long like the rest of them. Some of these guys talk too long."

Then, the president shifted his conversation to, quite likely though the exchange wasn't on camera, Chinese President Hu Jintao. "Gotta go home," Bush said. "Got something to do tonight. Go to the airport, get on the airplane and go home. How about you? Where are you going? Home?" Continuing, Bush added, "This is your neighborhood. It doesn't take you long to get home. How long does it take you to get home?"

Though the reply was inaudible, Bush then said, "Eight hours? Me too. Russia's a big country and you're a big country." As the Washington Post indicates, it's at this point that the president apparently brought someone else into the exchange. "It takes him eight hours to fly home," Bush said, telling a server that he wanted a Diet Coke. "It takes him eight hours to fly home. Eight hours. Russia's big and so is China."

Russia's big and so is China? Just gonna make it up? Is he, as Cenk Uygur said, a third grader? Do you feel a lot safer knowing that you voted for a man whose idea of tableside conversation is asking world leaders how long their ride home is and marveling at the size of their countries? "

Oh George, too bad you didn't grow up in my household, where we learned that when in an unfamiliar social situation, use basic good manners and SHUT UP. Because it's better to be viewed as quiet and perhaps uncomfortable than stupid and too stupid to know you're stupid.

And this is my president. Ooooooooooh ouchie!

Crazier and Crazier

The following is taken from an article on the Forbe's magazine web site, and I also just read that Lou Dobbs reported it tonight:


The State Department said Monday that it will ask Americans to pay for rides out of Lebanon that include chartered vessels.

"What we have to do in a situation like this is, we have to go out on an emergency basis and rent vessels," Burns said. "That's what we're trying to do ... We do that on behalf of American citizens. We're not quite sure how many of these Americans will come out."

House Democratic Leader Nancy Pelosi objected to billing evacuees.

"A nation that can provide more than $300 billion for a war in Iraq can provide the money to get its people out of Lebanon," Pelosi said in a statement.

Just when I think I've seen the limit of nuts from this administration, they show me I haven't. Yes, people, truth is stranger than fiction.

One of These Days, Alice

I've posted about this in the past, but it's still happening and I'm stuck about how to deal with it. There are people in my circle of family and friends who have very different political beliefs from mine. I think they're wrong, or misinformed, often buying into ideas against their own self-interests, and I take the opportunity to tell them so... if they "start it." Or if I'm asked. By "starting it" I mean if they spout their opinions, I take my turn and spout mine, but I don't steer the conversation toward our differences, lecture out of the blue, or forward emails that circulate among my fellow lefties. Mostly because I love these people and prefer to focus on what keeps us close rather than what might divide us. I'm nice like that.

However...it bothers me that some of my contacts send me emails (usually forwards) that are blatantly political, and so obviously not "me" that I can't help but think they're trying to make a point. Ick. Because I'm nice, I let it be. I delete the mail without a response and focus on the other things they send: cute pictures of family babies or pets, funny commentaries about the silly things we all struggle with, regardless of our politics, inspirational messages, stuff like that.

Why? Because I really don't want to create a problem where there doesn't have to be one: I think there are enough polarizing divisions between people in this world, and I don't believe for a second that a forwarded email is going to plant any kind of seed or better yet, magically turn them into believers.

I do send an occasional reminder that I have a blog and invite people into conversation here, but, as you can see, that's pretty much ignored by everyone- ha! And that's okay, I blog because I like to write and I want to practice what I preach to my students about writing for practice and pleasure. To me, writing a blog is different than forwarding a mass email. If they want to start a blog and take the time to write about what they think and how they feel, I think they should show the world their chops.

So, I sit here and wish they'd stop it with the forwards, feeling angry about their lack of consideration, wondering why they haven't considered how they'd like it if I turned the tables and started forwarding them my "stuff." Believe me, I could load 'em up with material that would argue against the shallow thinking contained in those forwards and rage against their hate machine, but I don't. Though sometimes, just to soothe my wounded ego, I concoct a fabulous response and dream of reigning supremely victorious over their inboxes. How passive-aggressive, what a whimp. Maybe, but I'm supposed to be the peacenik here, and I prefer to think of it as maintaining good relations between those of us who should be loving and caring for each other.

But one of these days, Alice, one of these days...

I Rest My Case

Remember this from my post about the movie The Devil Wears Prada:
What she left out, no doubt due to her own cluelessness, were the prayers of the proles who page through Vogue in the dentist’s office, hoping that what we’ll find invading the racks in “our stores” in a year or two will be anything at all that’s comfortable and wearable, as in made of fabrics that don’t make us squirm with itchiness or cuts that don’t bind at our generous hips.

This is an actual picture MSN ran for an article about a recent fashion show in Paris, Milan, or one of those fashion Meccas. What in the world might trickle down from this little number? Ha! Although there are days in teaching where the blinder effect pictured here might come in handy, and it definitely wouldn't bind at the hip.

More $$ for War; Less for Education

I know reprints can be boring, but this one from Daily Kos is too important not to post (the red highlights are mine):

Tue Jul 11, 2006 at 07:16:21 AM PDT
The House of Representatives committee report on the Elementary and Secondary Education Access and Opportunity Bill shows how deeply flawed the Bush Administration's priorities are, and demonstrates an agenda in line with cuts for EPA libraries, diaried here.

The bill ELIMINATES entirely Education Technology State Grants, cuts NCLB, special education, civic education, and so much more. Read on...
mbzoltan's diary :: ::

Education Technology State Grants are eliminated ($272 million in 2006 and $496 million in 2005). NCLB authorized $1 billion to help teachers make the most effective use of classroom technology. These education technology grants help schools, universities and technical colleges share classes through regional and statewide distance learning networks, provide online professional development for teachers, and assist schools in keeping up with ever-changing technologies. Schools in AR, AZ, DE, MD, MI, MN, MO, ND, NH, OR, VT, and WI are especially impacted by the bill's elimination of education technology grants because their states do not have dedicated funds for technology.

So nearly 25% of all states have no back-up funding for educational technology. They will lose all ed tech.

In FY 2005 the Education Technology State Grant program provided nearly half a billion dollars for equipment, training, networking, and bringing public schools and universities up to date so that their students could be competitive. Many school libraries depend on technology to provide students with access to important databases and networks as well--plenty of libraries have cut back on print purchases in favor of electronic purchases and database subscriptions, to help broaden access to a wide array of materials. ELIMINATING the funds for technology and training that allow for this is an anti-intellectual and anti-scholarly approach, much in line with cuts to EPA libraries.

The bill cuts the federal share of IDEA to 17 percent. Congress promised to pay 40 percent of the costs of educating 6.9 million students with disabilities under the Individuals with Disabilities Education Improvement Act (IDEA). Instead, the federal share will continue to decrease from 18.6 percent in FY 2005 and 17.8 percent in FY 2006 to 17 percent in FY 2007. An additional $1 billion would be needed to restore the federal share to its FY 2005 level.
Have a child with an IEP (individual education plan, for students with special needs) or a 504 (similar plan but for students with issues like food allergies, ADHD in some states)? Your school district will receive less from the federal government under this proposed budget, while stress on the schools to perform to NCLB standards remains high. In 1975, when President Ford signed the Education for All Handicaped Children Act his signing statement included great skepticism about whether the federal government could/would meet the act's requirements. Under the act, the federal government would pay 40% of all special needs costs for students who require special education.

The federal government has never, since 1975, paid 40%. But the proposed FY2007 budget lowers the number to 17%. Every year the % goes down--in 2004 it was 19%. All while schools undergo budget crises.

School Counseling, which expands elementary school students' access to counseling services, is cut $12.7 million (36.5 percent).

We're at war. Special needs are at an all-time high in schools. And the federal government is planning to cut school counseling services by more than one third.

And finally, my favorite :
Civic Education, which teaches students about the Constitution and democracy, is cut $4.1 million (14.1 percent).
An uneducated populace cannot complain when the government guts their civil liberties, because they don't even know what rights they have.

Delish!

Looking for a simple, delicious summer dinner? Have I got a recipe for you!

I did a run to Trader Joe's recently. It's 50 miles one way, but keeps me satisfied in the small-town world of grocery shopping. I love Indian food, and like some of their frozen meals. Not even close to India Cafe in Iowa City, but good enough to help me through these lean times. I got some good advice on cheeses from a friendly shopper, and couldn't resist the olive tapenade... but, I digress.

Fresh seafood is very expensive here, so I took a chance and bought some small, frozen Albacore steaks and prepared them using this simple recipe I found at http://www.whfoods.com/ :

15 minute Seared Tuna with Sage
Ingredients:
1 lb tuna cut into 4 pieces
2 medium cloves garlic, pressed
2 TBS finely grated or minced lemon rind
1 - 2 TBS fresh lemon juice
2 TBS finely minced fresh sage,
1 TBS finely minced fresh parsley
¼ cup chicken or vegetable broth
pinch red pepper flakes
salt and black pepper to taste
Prepare all the ingredients and have ready to use.
Rub tuna with 1 TBS fresh lemon juice and season with salt and black pepper.
Preheat a stainless steel 10-12 inch skillet over medium heat for about 2 minutes. Cook tuna on each side for about 1½ minutes. This is our (Stove top Searing) cooking method. Remove from pan, and place on a plate.
Add rest of ingredients to pan in order given, and cook for about 1 minute. Pour over tuna and serve.

I added a generous splash of 2-buck Chuck Chardonnay (It's $3, here, but still a steal for wine that I like, and tho I'm no expert, it seems to please those with more refined tastes too) to the chicken broth, but otherwise, I prepared it exactly as the recipe says (I'm a compulsive recipe doctorer). It was incredibly easy and absolutely yummy.

While I'm at it, I'll mention that I served it with greens dressed with this easy recipe given to me by my friend Susan. It's a goodie:

Put 2 Tbs. sugar in a small bowl (I've also used Splenda and it works fine)
Drown the sugar with balsamic vinegar
Add a generous squeeze of Dijon mustard and stir
Add olive oil (about a quarter cup or so?)
Shake or stir it all together; add more of any ingredient to suit your taste
Toss it with greens

I've also used this to dress cabbage with some sunflower seeds thrown in for crunch for a light slaw- way yummy!

A hint regarding the tuna dish- if you're serving this to someone you want to impress, check your teeth before smiling adoringly; that parsley sticks-ha!

The Moooovies

Yesterday, a couple of friends and I went to The Devil Wears Prada, and I left the movie entertained and actually chilly in the 90-degree Minnesota heat. Nothing wrong with that. But my liberal bleeding heart had some thoughts I’d like to share. First, I’ll point out that I fully realize saying the words “fashion” and “Rox” in the same sentence would usually involve an oxymoron. But yes, Rox chose a movie about the fashion industry. So, taking that into consideration, my thoughts:

To me, the Andrea character looked quite well put together and perfectly adorable in the interview outfit her peers at the magazine laughed at. And when she was called fat for wearing a size 6, as a woman who believes my body looks its best at about a 14, don’t get me started. But maybe that’s because I haven’t seen myself in anything smaller since junior high, and then just barely smaller.

I think the majority of women are hip to the lies in this movie, and I understand that’s the point of the story. It only takes Andrea a short time with the vacuous, evil Miranda, the predictable screwing-over of a co-worker and her friends, and a startling glimpse at her boss sans make up and perfectly coiffed hair momentarily crying over a divorce, to go crawling back to her regular clothes, her sweet boyfriend, and a job at a newspaper. All’s well that ends well.

I did have to wonder, though, if Miranda’s lecture about the cluelessness of women who pride themselves on not caring about fashion was supposed to invite us to dip into the Koolaid. Her pointing out that decisions made by designers in the world of high fashon trickle down to the racks in department stores and become sucked up by the grateful masses was lost on me. What she left out, no doubt due to her own cluelessness, were the prayers of the proles who page through Vogue in the dentist’s office, hoping that what we’ll find invading the racks in “our stores” in a year or two will be anything at all that’s comfortable and wearable, as in made of fabrics that don’t make us squirm with itchiness or cuts that don’t bind at our generous hips.

And speaking of squirming, the scene in which Andrea’s friend gratefully snatches up the Marc Jacobs freebie also got to me. Sure, I’d happily take a free designer handbag, if it were tossed my way, and if that makes me a hypocrite, so be it. But I think it was at this point in the movie that the price of these things was mentioned. By my math-challenged calculations, if women who actually pay for these things were willing to forgo just one adrenaline rush that comes from such an acquisition, they could buy something like SEVENTY of the $20 bags my supermarket offers for donation to our area food shelf. SEVENTY!!! Sure, sure, I realize there’s no telling how much money these fashionistas may already be donating to charity, unbeknownst to me, but I can’t get over the idea that there are a hell of a lot of bags of groceries sitting on shelves in the California Closets of America’s McMansions- wow!

Not to get all hoity-toity, but has anyone noticed that the movies in “mainstream” theaters these days are mostly, well….boring? Now I realize it isn’t practical for the five-screen theater in Cambridge, Minnesota, to cater to a select group of film fanatics, but I certainly don’t consider myself to be one of those. I’m having a lot more fun sharing a Netflix subscription with my friend Heidi and trading discs and conversation about what we find there. But heck, it’s good to get out and see something on the big screen, and even better to play the critic here. Go see this movie, and let me know what you think.

Road Trippin'

I just returned from Michigan, where I helped celebrate my brother Steve's 50th birthday. It was the first long driving trip I've done by myself. I went "up over the top," across Wisconsin and through the UP along Lake Michigan. At 50, I now wonder why it took me so long to discover the joys of road tripping alone. It took time and a good reason for the urge to manifest itself.

My sister expressed trepidation when I told her I was driving. Ronda's my sensible, motherly sister, and she and her husband were flying out. I love her dearly, and though our birthdays are only 11 months apart, we have always been very different from each other. She was a "good child"- polite and ladylike, straight A's in high school, then directly onto college, followed by hard work as a nurse, with an eventual masters and career in hospital administration, married 25 years to her doctor husband. A solid citizen in every sense of the word. She's also a wise woman and a good sport. She seemed to understand when I explained that the fear of allowing my circumstances to limit me by doing only the things that are most comfortable and convenient far outweighs any trouble I might encounter along the way. Becoming an old lady who sits around waiting for something fun to happen is not what I have in mind for the rest of my life. My oldest sister told me when she and Ronda discussed my trip, Ronda said, "You know she's going do exactly what she wants to do anyway." That's probably closer to the truth of why she eventually agreed with me- ha!

I took different routes each way. I explored the UW campus, found a decent Indian restaurant, and took an hour-long bath listening to polka music in Green Bay, walked the boardwalk along Lake Michigan in Manistique, looked for pretty rocks on the sand dunes, drove the Tunnel of Trees Highway, crossed the Mackinac Bridge twice, ate a Pasty on the Iron Range, and lost count of the number of pretty lakes and rivers I saw in Eastern and Central Wisconsin. Sandwiched in between were long walks with my sister Arliss in her town of Bellaire, nibbles of freshly-smoked late trout my brothers-in-law caught on a fishing excursion, and cuddling with my brother's six-month-old granddaughter whose huge, round eyes and naturally smiley face make her a double for the Bob's Big Boy kid. I wondered who else might me reflecting on the terror of war as military jets screamed over the bay in a Traverse City air show. I ate way too much party food, drank wine with my sisters, and slept in four beds that made me grateful for my perfectly fat, comfy futon mattress at home.

As I returned, Bev and Laverne, two of my elderly neighbors, were picking raspeberries from the bushes behind our building. Last night Bev brought me a slice of berry-topped, homemade angelfood cake. She encouraged me to help myself to the berries on the bushes, as there plenty out there, and when I said I had never picked raspeberries, she told me to tug gently, and they'd fall into my hand if they were ready. If not, they were meant to be left for the next picker. I thought about this as a metaphor for lots of things. This morning, I hopped out of bed, threw my flannel shirt on over my pj's, and 20 minutes later I had a bowlfull. Another new experience, right in my back yard.

As I write this, I'm reminded of William Blake's poem "Auguries of Innocence." The most familiar stanza is this:

To see a world in a grain of sand,
And heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour.

But my favorite is this one:

Joy and woe are woven fine,
A clothing for the soul divine.
Under every grief and pine
Runs a joy with silken twine.

Sometimes life seems complicated, confusing, and sad; fears and worries threaten to consume, but when I tug at my comfort zone and gratefully accept what falls into my hand, I find luscious adventure and...joy!

Books!

I just finished Mark Edmondson's book Why Read? and am reading David Denby's Great Books, about his returning to Columbia in later adulthood to experience reading and discussing the works he studied as an undergrad. All the while, I ask myself how I can translate what I'm learning from this reading to the high school classes I teach (English 9 and Creative Writing). These are the things I have the luxury to ponder during the summer, when not confronted with the daily realities of teaching. Are you buying this justification for my long summer vacations? I can hear the masses (masses? at this blog? okay then, the few) saying, "Wouldn't if be nice if we all had such time to reflect on the function and practice of our jobs?"
To that I say, " Yes! It would!"

Edmundson's book proposes that reading and a study of the humanities is especially important for those who find themselves living in a culture where they can't find a good fit for their sensibilities and have a vague idea that there's something more out there than the value systems their education, religious training, families, and early experiences have transmitted to them.

In many ways, I'm so Midwestern I reek of hard work, endless stretches of corn rows rustling in the August wind, and Lake Woebegone stoicism. And I'm proud of it. In many ways, I feel fortunate to have been raised in my family, in a little Midwestern town, with my particular set of experiences. But....I'm recalling the reader's history I wrote for my Teaching Lit professor, in which I described reading as a lifeline for a curious girl from a small Iowa town, a dedicated, short-on-cash young mother with a desire to know the world better, and then a forty-something college student with a love of learning and a dream to teach.

Edmunson's book takes a scholarly approach to the topic, but in this unscholarly blog I'd like to say that my experience proves he's right. Reading shaped me every bit as much as corn fields, Sunday school and motherhood, and continues to do so.

As for Denby's book about revisiting the discussions of texts he read as a student, if you've been reading this blog you know that should I ever hit the jackpot and free myself from having to earn a living, I will selfishly set out to do exactly that. Yes, he writes mostly (but not entirely) about reading the dead, white, male writers of the Western world who have shaped thought for centuries, and I mostly agree it's high time all the other thinkers had a crack at our minds. But I'd settle for Denby's experience any day, and for now, I'll do my usual thing: read about it.

A friend of mine knew someone who thought life mostly sucked, and the salvation in this miserable existence was knowing there are so many great books yet to be read. Between the two of us, when life went sour we'd laugh and say, "Thank god there's books!"

I'm pretty sure we were only half joking.

Curriculum Writing

I've been working on writing curriculum the past few days and think I may be onto something. Being a lazy public school teacher who spends summers surfing the internet on your tax dollars, I give you this:
http://www.comedycentral.com/motherload/index.jhtml?ml_video=62629

We Will Not Be Silenced

Check out this video:

Fiction and Nonfiction

I finished teaching the summer class that prepares 8th graders for the high school, so the school year is now over for me. I thought I'd do more blogging when I wasn't spending my evenings reading student writing, but it doesn't look that way, does it? I can't explain why I've been reading more and blogging less, except to say I am getting closer to the bottom of my stack of must-reads. What luxury!

At the risk of sounding like all I do is spend my free time sitting on my butt reading or watching t.v. (this is only partly true), I'm driven to mention a forum I watched yesterday (hey- I was cleaning out the kitchen junk drawer!). Cspan covered the annual conference on the progressive movement and the internet sponsored by the DailyKos blog. Generally, the forum addressed the idea that the blogosphere is now doing the job that the press is supposed to be doing.

One of the participants was Joe Wilson. To summarize, Joe Wilson is the man who outed our president for lying to us when he used the nuclear threat as a rationalization for making war on Iraq. Bush told us Iraq had attempted to buy yellow cake uranium from Niger in order to create nuclear weapons. Joe Wilson published an op-ed essay in the New York Times which said this was not so. And Joe would know, as he was the Foreign Service official who had been sent to investigate those very claims. King George did not take kindly to this and in turn, someone in his court retaliated by outing Joe's wife, who was working as a U.S. CIA operative. Today, the evil Karl Rove received word that he will not be indicted as a blabbermouth, but Scooter Libby, the former chief of staff to the Vice President, has been. To understate it grossly, this act compromised national security and decimated the lives of a couple who had spent years in service to the United States. Need anyone ask why stories of political intrigue aren't in my stack of must-reads? Why bother with fiction when the truth is stranger?

For me, the most riveting presenter at YearlyKos was Larry Johnson, a proclaimed conservative and former state department CIA analyst and counter-terrorism expert who said simply this:
When George Bush, Dick Cheney, and Donald Rumsfeld asked the CIA if there was any proof of a relationship between Saddam Hussein and Osama Bin Laden, the CIA told them "No." And when they asked the CIA if Iraq had attempted to acquire uranium from Niger, they were told "No." These men lied when they used these scare tactics to convince congress and the American people that their desire to wage war on Iraq was justified. And they knew it. When they were caught and rationalized their lies by saying they had been given faulty intelligence, they were lying. And they knew it.

Our president turned up in Iraq today, looking quite smug about the recent "success" there. Karl Rove spoke at a dinner last night and advised Republicans to make no excuses for the invasion of Iraq. While the war rages on, the US/Coalition forces body count is at 2,722, untold thousands of Iraqis have been killed along with countless numbers of those maimed and wounded on all of the many "sides" of this war.

I'm not feeling the success, and I wouldn't know where to begin to make excuses for the behavior of my government. This is no lie. And I know it.

Pink gets it

I saw this video on the web today, and though it would probably be considered "inappropriate" for school, I wish I could show it to my classes. There is definitely pressure on girls to act like, or be a "stupid girl."

It's increasingly difficult for young women to accept themselves in a culture in which the standards of beauty focus on being seen in the correct skimpy clothes, complete with over-priced accessories, push-up bras, high heels, tons of makeup, artificially enhanced hair, and a body shape that defies what most of them can begin to accomplish with anything less than extreme dieting and a boob job. Behaviors that accompany this tend toward downplaying their intelligence, acting "sexy," and an it's-all-about-me attitude. I see plenty of girls who resist this pressure, but not without their share of angst. It takes a lot of self-confidence to be okay with being your unenhanced self, smart, and kind and compassionate, when one looks around and sees who's getting most of the attention and seems to be having most of the fun.

Preaching about this will get a teacher nowhere. Even for those who are repected by kids, it's tricky not to come off as one who just doesn't get it when it comes to issues of their culture. As a member of the don't-trust-anyone-over-30 generation, I understand this, therefore, I hope this video gets lots of airplay, and the girls who aren't "stupid girls" get that they are valued for their strength, intelligence, and self-knowledge, knowing that Pink does.

Here's a link to the video:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ar6bhinHVh4

Leonard, You Devil

Tonight, I listened to Terry Gross interview the great poet and songwriter Leonard Cohen on public radio. At 72, the guy's still got it. Terry would ask him some inane question regarding what he was thinking or feeling when he wrote a poem or lyric 30 years ago. Without sounding bored by her inane question or fudging some ridiculous story, and without a trace of animosity in his voice he'd answer that he didn't have any recollection of what he was thinking at that time. And she'd giggle, a very Terry sort of giggle. He charmed her; but then, what woman has escaped the charms of Leonard Cohen? He laughed a lot too, the pithy chuckle only a man of a certain age with many charmed giggles under his belt can produce.

I didn't know he recently spent time in a Buddhist monastery and is an ordained Zen monk. He read a new lyric related to the experience that contained some killer lines. Hearing him read with his wonderful, gravelly voice inspired me. I added his biographical documentary, "I'm Your Man," to my Netflix list, but it's "saved," as it hasn't been released. It looks like a goodie.

Here's my feeble stab at a Cohenesque lyric:

The Western Side of Blue

The sky is fading slowly on the western side of blue,
In rankled ribbons reaching out to hold a lonesome hue.
I guess I wasn't meant to know what it means to be you,
And the time has come to go back home again.

I told myself I'd know the place to write the story's end,
Inside the book of longing for a lover and a friend,
When suddenly there seems to be a funeral to attend,
And the time has come to go back home again.

Home is where reality's dark visions come to roost,
Home is where the dread comes rushing in.
I'm fighting not to take my life to that unholy hour
To hear the slow, indentured hum of self-destructive sin.

Perfecting reinvention has become a dying flame,
To feel the burn is ever more absurd.
I hold my marker close and let the others play the game
While listening for consolation's solitary word.

To approach qualifying as a decent Cohen imitation this would need to resolve itself in several more verses, but I quit at four, as I'm no Leonard Cohen. I'm glad he is.

I Love School

Yesterday, we high school teachers helped those at other schools in the district get ready for construction work that will take place this summer. I worked for several hours moving boxes and furniture and wrangling garbage. It's the kind of work that erases all bitterness about having to make student loan payments at age 50.

My journey to college is a long, complicated story of missed opportunities and poor decisions, the result of which is a splendid, now 30-year-old daughter, and a lot of experience checking groceries, framing art, and performing office tasks. I spent 10 years as a medical office manager, for which I was paid a ridiculously low wage and, get this, offered no medical insurance. Hence, by the time I got to the university at 41, I really wanted to be there. I agonized over whether to begin my studies at the local community college, where tuition and expenses would be considerably cheaper, or go for the complete university education I longed for. Here's how my decision-making process functioned in this instance:
A slip of junk fluttered from my car insurance bill offering back-to-school scholarships of $5,000, $2,500, and $1,000 to hopefuls who could explain, in a limited number of words, why they wanted college. I wrote my essay and decided that if I got any of the three offerings, it was a "sign" that I was to follow my dream and shoot for the university. I got the $2500. So I loaded up the truck and moved to university. Bigger school, junky car.

The University of Iowa offered me a full-tuition scholarship based a 23-year-old ACT score, no money in the bank, and my promise to maintain a 3.5 gpa. I was given decent PELL grants (remember decent PELL grants?) and a part-time job in the university payroll office, thanks to a dear friend whose uncle ran the place. She liked me and also wanted my low-wage office job (thank you, thank you, sweet Michelle). Despite my good fortune, being a "nontraditional" student (wtf kind of label is that?) has its financial disadvantages, even compared to kids whose families can't afford to help much. No riding the coattails of parents' health insurance, or car insurance, nothing to do but stay and spend summer earnings on high u-town rent. No free laundry or going home for long periods of freeloading in general. As a result, I'm now a 50-year-old teacher with six years of experience and a student loan to outdo most of my 30-year-old colleagues. Not pretty.

But I'm not complaining, I can't begin to express what my time at the university did for me. Not here, not in a thousand words, probably not in a War and Peace-length tome. Besides, I learned that if I die before I finish repayment, the loan is cancelled, freeing my daughter from the burden of an encumbered estate. This discovery is making grad school more and more attractive.

If I win the lottery, I'm going to pay off my student loan and spend the rest of my life weaseling my way into the great universities across the country, starting with UC Berkeley in the West, and finishing up in the East Coast institutions of the Ivy league, crouched under a desk. Because I'm certain I wouldn't meet their admission standards, and I'm not legacy anything, even with a gazillion bucks in my bank account. When I get too old to army-crawl in and find my seat on the floor, I'll play the age card, feeding on the pity and authority complexes of liberal professors who wouldn't dare to damage their reputations by ejecting an elderly, earnest, note-taking grandma-with-Marxist-leanings for her refusal to conform to the restrictive policies of the man. For insurance, I'll use my lottery windfall to slip each of them a gift certificate for a lifetime of meals at the best vegan restaurant in town. But I digress...

Yesterday, when I was doing the exhausting work of the decent people who were my supervisors for the three measly hours I spent doing their jobs, I wondered how my life might have turned out, had I not taken the chance to further my education. Instead, I'm a grateful teacher with student loan angst and a lottery dream. Cuz I love school.

Golds 'n Steins

Not long ago, Russ Feingold attempted censure over the wiretapping issue but was largely ignored.
Now, Dianne Feinstein says this about the latest news of countless NSA wiretaps: "We are on our way to a major constitutional confrontation."
Gee, Dianne, ya think? Where have you been?!?!
Wait; where have WE been?!?!? Maybe we can stand having our elections manipulated, maybe we can watch congress authorize the continuation of huge tax cuts for the uber rich, maybe we can even stand being lied to about Iraq, but this is getting creepy....

New Boyfriend

For those of you who read the post mentioning my failed relationship with Cesar Chavez, the one that didn't work out because he is dead, I would like to announce that I now have a new boyfriend. His name is Stephen Colbert. You can see video of the moment I fell in love with him at this link:
http://c-span.org/

scroll about half way down the page to the video/audio heading and click on:

Comedian Stephen Colbert at White House Correspondents' Dinner (4/29/2006)

The success of this relationship may also be on shaky ground, solely, I'm sure, because he's married. But he is alive. I think I'm making progress.

Hermes Hurled

Speaking of literature, check out this, one of my favorite blogs:
http://www.bookslut.com/blog/

Then scroll down to this link:
There is no God.
Lordy.

DOO your part

Hey everyone, it's Poop for Peace day! Check out this web site, and be sure you do your part; you'll feel so much better for it!
www.poopreport.com/Peace

Kids These Days

Yesterday, I got an email asking me to sign and forward a petition to the president (of all people), which would require kids in schools to say the Pledge of Allegiance every day. I didn't read the email until early evening, as I was busy doing things working people do on Saturday, but by the time I did read it, there was another one in my mailbox, chastising me for not signing, or at least forwarding the original.

Now, I love my country as much as the next citizen, maybe more, for all the chastiser knows, and I don't have a problem with kids saying the pledge, but I have a problem with being judged because I didn't immediately forward the thing, and I think I'm going to leave a child behind on this one. I'm already the clothing police, cell phone police, gameboy police, ipod police, cigarettes, drugs and alcohol police, and the closest thing to a mother some of the kids I teach have; I'm gonna pass on requiring a bunch of surly ninth graders to stand and "prove" they love their country at 8:20 every morning. I can't remember ever saying the pledge in a high school classroom, and I think I turned out fine.

Believe me, the pledge is the least of our worries in schools. I'd be more interested in petitioning for students' parents to have jobs that pay a living wage while their companies' ceos make millions and the people who can afford to invest heavily in company stocks pocket huge sums of tax-free cash. Let's pledge to give them all health care, instead of bloating the bank accounts of health care corporations; let's give them new text books, instead of sucking up school budgets with the costs of administering redundant tests, leaving the poorest kids in the poorest schools further in the hole; let's give them class sizes under 30, so if they aren't learning, they'll get noticed and helped; let's give them a school that's heated to above 67 degrees in the Minnesota winter, instead of refusing to control skyrocketing energy costs; let's fully fund IDEA so special education isn't viewed as an albatross that sucks resources from kids who really need an education; let's provide counselors- one of my students wrote about standing in line behind a parent to smoke meth before she went to school in the morning- our school has TWO counselors for 1600 kids, cut back from three because our dear governor promised no new state taxes. Of course this only forces higher property taxes, so schools in areas with poor tax bases suffer more, but Pawlenty stands there with his shit-eating grin, boasting that he's kept his promise.

Let's give our kids models in government who aren't playing golf at St. Andrew's on the taxpayers' dime, gerrymandering voting districts so they can win, propping up illegal lobbying, leaking classified secrets to further an ideology, sending kids off to fight a war based on lies, breaking laws because they don't like the checks and balances our constitution provides, stuff like that.

Before signing a petition asking the president to make students and teachers in beleaguered schools pledge their allegiance to our republic, let's start with HIM. And while they're at it, whoever wants to pray in school has my permission to get on their knees and beg for something to happen that puts an end to this nightmare. I won't be requiring either of these things, I'll be busy teaching and policing and mothering, so when the youth of America turn out to be a bunch of fascist heathens, feel free to blame me.

Hammered!

A news alert from the Washington Post just landed in my mail box. It says Tom DeLay won't seek re-election in November. Sometimes might doesn't make right. Ain't it grand?

"To greed, all nature is insufficient. " Seneca.

Sprung

It has been a weird winter, but I suppose things are always weird, in one way or another. Over the past several months I've experienced twists in my relationships with people who have been in my life for years- the kinds of occurrences that challenge my perceptions of myself and others and change the landscape of our lives. I'm not much of a fan of drama, so frankly, I avoid it. I know this about myself and have been accused of being afraid of confrontation. I choose to believe I'm preserving my mental health, but I realize others don't always see it that way.

Part of being a teacher in a high school is living with the knowledge that dramas are unfolding every moment, many times right before my clueless face. This is usually fine with me. I care deeply about my students, but getting sucked in is detrimental to learning, in many ways; the sheer numbers of people I come into contact with could have me spending the better part of my school life in the vortex, if I become overly enmeshed. After all, somebody has to stand in the front and get on with the business of pronoun agreement. Could be this has a numbing effect and has transferred to other parts of my existence.

The kids have coined a term they use to describe people and situations that are heavy on the drama: Emo. What used to be called drama, and people formerly called drama queens are now simply labeled "emo."

Lately, life has been way emo. Complications, misunderstandings, slights, difficulties and issues (my own included, I'm not claiming immunity here) have come knocking at my door with brute force. My "let it be" mantra seems to be failing me, and I'm struggling to keep my head clear and my heart in the right place.

In the midst of this, I'm looking for a way to experience spring with all its real and metaphorical pleasures. Bring on the green mist that envelopes leafing trees, the robins, crocus, sunshine, smell of clean dirt, clothes flapping on the clothesline, the freshness and purity of spring rain, and the rush of the trout stream. The new starts, rebirth, growth and bright visions of the future. Gimme some spring!

Ready or Not, mostly Not

My mother died on Sunday, March 12, at 3:40 a.m. I haven't really felt like writing about it until now. It has taken some time to digest my thoughts and feelings. Mother had entered the nursing home on Wednesday, March 8, and I arrived Thursday, having only planned for a long weekend visit. As it turned out, I drove into my home town that Thursday afternoon, went straight to the nursing home and didn't leave for more than a short time until she died. What occurred there was an intensely personal experience I will never forget.

When I arrived, Mom knew me, knew I was there, and from the moment I kissed her hello, I felt she was in the very last stages of her life. My sister from Michigan arrived the next day, as she had also planned a visit, and of course my sister Ronda, my mother's rock and best friend, was there all the while. I can never repay Ronda for the loving care she provided for my mother in the last months of her life. She also provided a model that enabled me to be with my mom in a way that I can be sure she knew, in those last hours of her life, that I loved her.

Driving home after the days that followed, I distinctly remember having the thought that with my mom gone, I now represent the oldest generation in the family, the group that's "in charge." I married very young, had my daughter at 20, and spent the years following her birth working my butt off to keep body and soul together and trying my best to be a good mother. I didn't attend college until I was 41, and have only recently started a real career. Having all that other stuff to do earlier, sometimes I feel I've just barely begun to figure out who I am and how I'm supposed to "turn out."

Good grief. I don't feel half wise or experienced enough to be in charge of much of anything, but time doesn't wait for us to be ready, it just moves forward and the chips fall.

Sometimes I feel like a motherless child.

artiste ersatz

If I could paint, I would make this picture:
the figure of a woman, slightly bent over,
having recovered (found? discovered?) something,
an unrecognizable piece.. of what? a lump, (clump?).
the sky is gray, only a hint of light.
she's holding this whatever carefully, in both hands, close to her
and looks as if she's breathing shallow, tentative breaths,
(or holding her breath).
her face is still, her eyes slightly focused, or blank, Sphinx-like;
and out of this thing she is holding, there is a barely recognizable....
shoot? sprout? tendril? root?
of the palest
green
possible.

Reading Reading Lolita

Recently, I finished the book Reading Lolita in Tehran. In this book Azar Nafisi, a literature professor, tells the story of her life in Iran during the Islamic revolution of the late 70's. She uses her experience teaching the works of Nabokov, Fitzgerald, James, Austen, Bellow and others to help explain her reactions to the changes occurring in the country. The book makes clear that in the modern era a religious ideology supported by reactionary people can gain mass and insidiously erode the civil rights of a troubled, though relatively progressive monarchy, to the point where it becomes an unrecognizable shadow of itself. In fits and starts, sometimes in bold leaps, at other times in barely recognizable increments, the disgruntled people of Iran allowed a revolution to occur which failed them, as it stripped the country of its former secular identity.

No matter what one thinks of the Western literary canon as a standard for great literature, or one's feelings about the U.S. meddling in the affairs of a vulnerable state in order to further its own end, this book is an important record of the way freedoms can be diminished and then obliterated when religious ideology is allowed to insert itself into government.

Scary, and a little too much foreshadowing for my comfort.

Being There- virtually

I have been reading blogs on another site, and they are very different from mine in that the bloggers' topics tend to be more personal; problems are presented, advice traded, this sort of thing. Though the postings are read by hundreds (number of views are tracked and presented on the blog), there is a core group who actually initiated friendships by reading and responding to each others blogs, and this group seems to have created a nice little community of people who care about and support one another and have a good time in each other's company on a mostly virtual level. These people live all over the country, all over the world, actually. From what I have read there, they are a thoughtful, interesting, diverse and broad-minded group of people. This is probably the point at which I should say that I only read the posts and responses; I don't post there or respond to their postings. I'm a lurker, not an active participant, not because they have excluded me, but because I haven't taken the initiative to join the conversation.

It's interesting that though many of us think of maintaining friendships through face-to-face contact, these bloggers seem quite content to befriend each in the "virtual" realm. Although I've seen a few of them make reference to talking on the phone, and some have even met in person, it seems they mostly communicate by writing and responding to each other through their blogs. At first glance, it might seem a bit unnatural, especially to those of us who haven't lived our entire lives with the internet as an ever-present medium. But I can assure you, being a high school teacher, young people don't find the idea of doing a great deal of their communicating through new technologies strange or unnatural at all. What may seem less authentic, and perhaps inferior, to some of us because it is "virtual," is in fact complete reality to hoards of teenagers. And I think it's important to remember that for a very long time, before the telephone and convenient travel that's a given to nearly everyone now, people maintained longstanding friendships through snail mail and very infrequent face-to-face contact.

Remember pen pals? Round robin letters?

Another thing I've noticed among this blogging bunch is that there is a certain ambivalence about it all. From time to time they discuss whether blogging is or is not beneficial, whether the amount of time they spend blogging is inordinate, whether it's healthy, addictive, has improved their quality of life, that sort of thing. Responses to these posts vary from those who enthusiastically state that their blogging is an important and valuable part of their lives, to those who seem less convinced, to those who say they have simply got to "cut down" because the time they spend blogging keeps them from participating in the real world, pursuing other interests and hobbies, and has an isolating effect, although they all seem to have interesting jobs, rich intellectual lives, and friends outside of their blog buddies.

So, what do you think? Are friendships formed and maintained through blogging simply a new way of meeting people and being together? Then there's me, who only participates by reading their posts and responses- the virtual version of a wallflower :)

Kristina Borjesson

In between correcting student essays, I watched tv today. There were two programs that particularly impressed me, both of them on Cspan. Right now I can't remember if they were on "regular" Cspan, or Cspan 2, Book tv. I'm not good at keeping track of that sort of stuff.

The first was a program on the media with Kristina Borjesson. She's a journalist who's fed up with the bs mainstream media is feeding us and the lack of responsibility to journalism present in the "news" today. She was once a producer at CBS, but either left under pressure or was shown the door (give me a break, those essays can be distracting) for being, um, honest. Now she works independently.

She said so much that I agreed with and was so engaging; you really had to be there. For all her knowledge and experience, she seemed so approachable. She laughed, right out loud, about Robin, the dolled-up beauty that does the boring, tow-the-line morning show on CNN. I can't tell you how many times I've thought about how the package for a newsperson in mainstream media, the women in particular, seems to be a lot more about presenting a sexy chick with slick sound bites than real news. I loved her for laughing at CNN's Robin and her frivolous presentation of the news. But then I'm evil.

There was something Borjesson mentioned, a minor thing really, but it was so important to me. She was talking about activism and the small things everyone can do to voice their opposition to this mess. I was astonished to hear that the first time she had ever called her congressperson was just two years ago! She talked about feeling nervous and a little silly making the call. Her. A big shot journalist with tons of knowledge and lots of experience expressing her ideas and challenging the man. Then it hit me. She is me, and you, and all of us. Because (and I hate to admit this) the first time I ever called my congressperson was only a few years ago. And I was nervous, really nervous. I'm not big on the self-confidence thing, and I was sure I would sound inarticulate, ignorant, or be challenged in some way that I wouldn't be able to handle. But it didn't happen. The call went rather well, and the experience made it easier for me to call the next time, and more and more often in the ensuing years. It did the same for her. She said so. I loved her more for admitting all of that.

Point is, we are not so different from one another. Even big shot journalists have their moments of fear and trepidation when speaking truth to power. But the point really is we can all do this. We all have a telephone, the numbers are easy to locate, just check the website of whoever you wish to contact, and make that call. It's the least we can do. It's OUR government, these people are working for US and it's our responsiblity to voice our support or dissent. And there's nothing to it; it's easy. It really is.

Kristina Borjesson is a courageous journalist doing important work. Her book of collected essays is called Into the Buzzsaw. Check it out at www.paraview.com/borjesson/



The second program was an inspiring discussion between Walter Mosely and Harry Belefonte. But long blog entries are boring, so they say. I'll stop now and blog about that later.

The Arabs are Coming, The Arabs are Coming!

The ports will be managed by a company in the UAE, and everyone's got their pants in a knot. First, W said he would veto any legislation attempting to block this transaction. Now, he says he didn't know. These days, they don't even bother to spin a rationale, they just spew and let the chips fall. It's all in a day's hard work for Dubyah and his pals. After five years of fearmongering, no one can tell me they're at all surprised by the reaction, but it no longer matters.

How's that for arrogance and absolute power?

All is Vanity

Yesterday, we had a farewell gathering at school for a member of our staff who is being sent to Afghanistan. He would have had reached his 20 year mark in the national guard in May, retiring with full benefits, and they snatched him up for an 18 month deployment.

I team-taught with this guy my first year, and we were as different as night and day. He taught civics, and I often cringed when he'd speak about his ideas of democracy. His subtle promotion of the military didn't sit well with me either. But at this gathering, he cried when he introduced his wife and three children, and I saw fear in all of their faces. I cried too, at the futility of it all. I thought of the countless little gatherings like ours, happening all over the country, and of the innocents everywhere who would never have the opportunity to say their last farewells.

I cried again, when I walked out of school. There was a van from a television station outside. I thought that was odd until someone in the parking lot told me a young man from our little town, 23-yr-old Andrew Kemple, had been killed in Iraq. The media was looking for a story.

I'm so sick of all of this. I hope George Bush, Donald Rumsfeld, and all of their neocon cowboy buddies spend eternity facing the anguish they have caused with their senseless warmongering. So stick that in your surveillance files, boys. An angry American? You bet I am.

Love

It's all we need. Happy Valentine's Day, everyone.

Freyed

That James Frey lied in his book, A Million Little Pieces, is old news. People are tired of debating whether Oprah is the b**** we always knew she was, or a hero for admitting she was wrong in her initial defense of this guy. After all, admitting fault is something we rarely see these days, even if it did come in the form of a sanctimonious dressing down of that poor, cornered sap. I wonder if he thought Oprah invited him on her show for a second appearance to further defend him, and instead he found himself in the Court of Queen Oprah. I have to admit, part of me was secretly tickled pink to think this guy had to answer to the diva of all divas for his silly lies.

I didn't watch Oprah relieve herself on national tv, but I was watching Larry King when she called to defend Frey originally. Am I naive to believe it was spontaneous? Was I sucked in, imagining some screener pooping his pants, arms waving a frantic signal to a producer, mouthing, "It's HER!!!", while the reg'lar folks whose calls to the show were cued rotted in telephonic purgatory? Oprah waits in line for no one, and if you don't understand that, Bub, you aren't alive in America. And surely if the call was planned, she would have come off just a teensy bit more thoughtful as she pronounced Mr. Frey innocent on the grounds of adding value to the lives of readers in her book club. If I hear Oprah offer up "redemption" by way of her book selections one more time, I think I'm gonna hurl.

My daughter and I were discussing Frey's situation, and I was merciless regarding a writer's obligation to refrain from making things up when selling a work as nonfiction. We agreed, but Kara was generous in her evaluation of him as a human being (our little Court of Queens had now been called to order). We agreed that sometimes real life just isn't good enough, and we all have our means of making it better, or at least different; some go to obviously damaging lengths in their efforts to do so. Duh. She joked that Frey may have recovered from his need to enhance life chemically, but hadn't completely recovered from his need to make life more than it is, or was, that exaggerating the reality of his struggle in a sphere so public as a bestselling book was a sure sign that he still had some "work to do."

Don't we all have "work to do"? And yes, we should be generous to all of humankind, if for no other reason than we may, some day, find ourselves in the Court of Queens. Still, I'll be damned if I'll spend 5 minutes searching for truth in James Frey's work of nonfiction that's fiction. That's too "real life" for me.

Garden State

I watched Garden State again recently. Wonderful movie. There's a song in it, by Colin Hay, that just freaking tears me up. You have to hear him sing it to really get it, but the lyrics alone are enough to throw me into a fit of sorrow:

I drink good coffee every morning
Comes from a place that's far away
And when I'm done I feel like talking
Without you here there is less to say.

I don't want you thinking I'm unhappy
What is closer to the truth
That if I lived till I was 102
I just don't think I'll ever get over you.

I'm no longer moved to drink strong whisky
'Cause I shook the hand of time and I knew
That if I lived till I could no longer climb my stairs
I just don't think I'll ever get over you.

Your face it dances and it haunts me
Your laughter's still ringing in my ears
I still find pieces of your presence here
Even after all these years.

But I don't want you thinking I don't get asked to dinner
'Cause I'm here to say that I sometimes do
Even though I may soon feel the touch of love
I just don't think I'll ever get over you.

If I lived till I was 102
I just don't think I'll ever get over you.

Circle of Life

My 86-year-old mom is very ill as I write this. Her heart is failing, but she hangs on to life. She told me yesterday she's not afraid to die. It's complicated to have a conversation with someone who knows the end of life is near, and when it's your mother, it becomes even more complicated. I think of myself as a person who's quite straightforward emotionally, yet I catch myself wanting to contradict her when she talks about her death. I come so close to saying things like, "You're a strong woman, Mom, you will be around for quite awhile." But I don't, because we both know that would be dishonest. And I wonder how it feels to be her, to be in the place where people no longer say those things.

I'm a great aunt again too, and my brother Steve is a grandpa! My little brother Steve! Anna Ruth was born today. She's named after my mother. I wonder if, when my mom sees a picture of her, she will think this baby Anna was born to take her place on Earth.

Little Anna's got some big shoes to fill.

I'm That Guy

I just finished watching "Sideways," (She's just now seeing Sideways? Yup.) and guess what? I'm Miles! Yes, everyone seeing a movie tends to identify with a character, that's what we're supposed to do if the writing's any good, but boy, did I get this guy. He's kind of pathetic, in a much-cuter-than-I-am sort of way, but I get him.

Okay, so I'm not a wine geek, I don't vacillate between tasting and guzzling, I don't steal money from my mother on her birthday. But I forgot, yes, FORGOT my mother's 86th birthday today. She's been on my mind so much lately, I've been talking to her on the phone a lot because her health is failing, and I call often to check in. Don't ask me how I forgot the birthday, just did. Freud would have a field day.

I also haven't had a novel rejected three times. Only because I haven't written one.

I teach English, though, and I can definitely relate to feeling that sometimes, no matter how hard I try to walk a reasonably straight line, mind myself so as not to get into trouble, treat people with decency and respect, and do the right damn thing, life just goes.......Sideways.

What a world

Remember when it was cool to be "wired"?

There is an interesting article in today's Washington Post about the ways we control the demands that communication technology places on our lives. Interviewing several people, most them far more "connected" than I am, the writer discovered the various, quirky rules people impose to control the demands this technology places on their lives. One man said he takes no communication devices onto the golf course; another woman said she stopped taking her Blackberry to bed after it caused a relationship with a boyfriend to break apart. I thought, "Good grief!" A researcher calls the seemingly irrational rules we make for using these gadgets a "neo-Amish pattern. " In the same way that the Amish have very specific and, in the view of many outsiders, very inconsistent rules for using modern conveniences, the rest of us have developed rules for using digital media.

Then, I realized I have some similar rules of my own:
I don't do personal email from work.
I have voice messaging and caller id on my line at home, and I use it. I don't pick up when it isn't convenient, or when I don't feel like talking. Even calls from friends. And it makes me feel a little selfish, at times.
I had call waiting 15 years ago, when my daughter was a teenager. Being a vigilant mom, I never wanted to miss a call from her for any reason, but after she left the house I got rid of it. The last thing I want to do is juggle two calls when the service will take a message.
I have a cell phone, but it's one of those pay-as-you-go jobs. I rarely use it when I'm not traveling, and mostly as an emergency phone.

I don't have a laptop, a Blackberry, an i-pod, or a Treo. I've never sent a text message or taken a picture with a cell phone. I don't walk around with any kind of plugs in my ears. I have to admit, my budget has kept me from buying and using any of those gadgets, but I think that may be a good thing.

I do spend my fair share of time at home on the internet, and within the past year I switched to DSL because I got tired of receiving phone messages that said, "You must be on the internet again..." even when I was out living a real, rather than virtual life. So I'm not claiming any high ground here.

We all mitigate the demands of these technologies in various ways. I am fortunate I don't have a job that asks me to be on call at all times. I do my share of work at home, but it's a solitary endeavor that doesn't ask me to be in touch with anyone but myself when I do it. I live alone, no spouse, no kids, no need to negotiate the ins and outs of their technology wants or needs. I only deal with my own standards when it comes to this stuff. I'm lucky.

Have you imposed any rules on yourself regarding your use of technology? Do tell!

Stare Decisis

I was watching the Alito hearings on C-span and the repetition of this term with regard to precedent in law suddenly had me singing the following ( in my head anyway), to the tune of Don McLean's "Vincent."

Stare, stare decisis
Paint your questions blue and grey
Alito's never gonna say
He longs to get his hands on Roe v. Wade...

It must be the cold medicine.

Blawked

I haven't died or crawled under a rock (yet), I've just stopped blogging for awhile. I think I'm blocked.

I'm coming down with a cold. The second one this season. This almost never happens, as I usually have one per school year. And I had it. Last month.
My students are behaving nicely. They are discussing, responding, listening, reading, writing, working, and learning (I hope!).
My mom's health is failing, and that's bumming me out.
The sun has actually shown its sweet face for two entire days in a row!
My love life is completely down the tubes. Unless we count my crush on Cesar Chavez. Which doesn't seem to be working out, as he's deceased.
My daughter is a healthy, happy, productive member of society.
My hair is stupid.
I have funny, warm, smart, loving, and tolerant friends.

That's the long and the short of it. The good and the bad. Upside downside. Pleasure and pain.
I, like the Democrats, will be back. Stronger and wiser.
With any luck at all.