I cook every day, though, and take care of my husband and child. Follow me to wordpress and maybe I'll take care of myself over there.
Thursday, April 8
Rolling Over
I'm not a very disciplined person, but I'm tenacious as hell. I know what I'm good at, and what I care about, and what makes me happy, but I'm piss poor at writing about it any more these days. It's like I expect an audience. I'm a huge fan of scapegoats, though, so I like to blame my conditions. I realize that if I were truly an artist I'd write with a burnt match on an ironing board (like the lyrics to "Whipping Post" were penned by Greg Allmann). If I had discipline I'd write every day instead of playing solitaire on my computer, or wii, or watching Buffy. If I had discipline I'd also be on time for things.
Thursday, October 8
Life in the Woods
Mike was updating the Netflix queue with films to watch that would put us in the Autumn spirit. We're in such a tropical location that we find ourselves missing certain rights of fall passage. We even miss football, a sport we don't watch on our own, but with friends every weekend during the fall.
"What movie reminds you of fall?" he asked me while I read.
"Dead Poets Society," I answered without pausing. My response caused me to look up from my book and wonder at myself. He had been adding scary movies to his queue and I knew that he was looking specifically for Halloween-spirited films. If he had asked me what movie reminded me of Halloween I might have responded differently, but for some reason he used the word "fall". That word happens to be on of the exact tags I have put on my memory-box which holds Dead Poets Society.
In college I always watched it at the beginning of the fall semester (and at the end of the spring I would watch Reality Bites). The film is about being dissatisfied with the status quo and living (fighting) for what we love and find beautiful. As a student I never grew tired of re-learning this lesson. I walked back into my classrooms each fall with a genuinely renewed sense of passion for poetry.
It was easy, though, with the professors I had. Dr. Summerlin once said that she believed the English department was the heart of the campus, and by heart she meant "life-source". Without them there would have been no dancing to "Let's Get It On" on campus property! The dean of students was ready to expell any number of us, but we were vouched for. The dean knew who to blame, and he knew he couldn't.
Mike watched the film last night for the first time. The private school reminded him some of his college experience. He was reminded of all the science and military life that essentially encouraged status-quo. Of course, there is a scale of excellence and success in the status quo, but not for one who marches to the beat of his own drummer. The thing with him, is his Drummer is real persistent scoundrel and no matter what attempts have been made to shut him up he keeps pounding his unique beat and Mike keeps wandering off on his own.
This is where I met him, while he was marching to the beat of this Drummer. It's the most tenacious percusionist I've met, and Mike watched last night's movie and embraced his drummer. We don't want to get by; we want to suck the marrow.
We want to live deliberately. Love deliberately. Parent deliberately. Even if mistakes are made we made them with conviction.
"What movie reminds you of fall?" he asked me while I read.
"Dead Poets Society," I answered without pausing. My response caused me to look up from my book and wonder at myself. He had been adding scary movies to his queue and I knew that he was looking specifically for Halloween-spirited films. If he had asked me what movie reminded me of Halloween I might have responded differently, but for some reason he used the word "fall". That word happens to be on of the exact tags I have put on my memory-box which holds Dead Poets Society.
In college I always watched it at the beginning of the fall semester (and at the end of the spring I would watch Reality Bites). The film is about being dissatisfied with the status quo and living (fighting) for what we love and find beautiful. As a student I never grew tired of re-learning this lesson. I walked back into my classrooms each fall with a genuinely renewed sense of passion for poetry.
It was easy, though, with the professors I had. Dr. Summerlin once said that she believed the English department was the heart of the campus, and by heart she meant "life-source". Without them there would have been no dancing to "Let's Get It On" on campus property! The dean of students was ready to expell any number of us, but we were vouched for. The dean knew who to blame, and he knew he couldn't.
Mike watched the film last night for the first time. The private school reminded him some of his college experience. He was reminded of all the science and military life that essentially encouraged status-quo. Of course, there is a scale of excellence and success in the status quo, but not for one who marches to the beat of his own drummer. The thing with him, is his Drummer is real persistent scoundrel and no matter what attempts have been made to shut him up he keeps pounding his unique beat and Mike keeps wandering off on his own.
This is where I met him, while he was marching to the beat of this Drummer. It's the most tenacious percusionist I've met, and Mike watched last night's movie and embraced his drummer. We don't want to get by; we want to suck the marrow.
We want to live deliberately. Love deliberately. Parent deliberately. Even if mistakes are made we made them with conviction.
Thursday, June 25
I want to be a Good Mommy
Though recently I've confirmed my calling to be a teacher (see previous post), it's no longer supposed to be in a University classroom, not just now.
April 21st is when Mike and I learned we are expecting our first child!
This has my mind all over the place trying to figure out what do I do first? Then what? Can our home support infant life? I'm glad our dear Creator gave me first a womb to protect the child while we prepare our hearts and minds for parenthood, and then that the Creator gave me breast milk to feed the child perfectly for the first six months while I figure out other details of parenting.
But this time next year, when my Capricorn December baby is six-months-old we will begin to seek food options beyond the boob.
One year doesn't seem long enough! I'm a healthy eater -- no enriched, bleached grains here, no hydrogenated oils or refined sugars anywhere in my home, and I receive my produce from the local CSA (Community Supported Agriculture providing locals with food grown organically on neighboring farms; find yours here: localharvest.org) -- but I also love brie and wine for dinner! (oh, how I miss thee...).
The first few months I'll probably do what my mother did and use an old-fashioned hand-mill at the table where I grind instant baby food from whatever I prepared for dinner! My husband will get used to me cooking without salt, I'm sure, until baby gets those chompers...
Today, though, I discovered inspiration that makes me EXCITED about children's food, and ANXIOUS to begin! I almost don't want to wait eighteen months to learn how to prepare the delightful Bento Boxes, I just might have to make them for Mike and me!
At I Love Obento they sell all manner of Bento Boxes. If you've never explored this lunch-box that puts the "fun" in "functional" then here's some photos for you from blogger Bento Anarchy:
The Japanese are immaculately artful in their food presentation. They truly understand the pleasure-centers triggered by eating, and do not neglect the visual aspect of enjoying a meal. In the above pictures you can see Asian foods, such as soba noodles, as well as whatever-you-cook foods such as peas and hot-dogs. These cuter-than-a-SnackPack lunches seem like a treasure-trove of enjoyment for both me and my child! How stimulating to play with food this way!
By creating new designs we could introduce new ingredients. Then my babe won't be eating peas and carrots, but flowers and birds and pirate faces!
Looking at these seems a little intimidating, I'll admit, but the first site I listed, "I Love Obento" has tools, boxes, books, and photos to teach.
Mike and I used to make sushi and spring rolls together pretty frequently when we lived on the coast, and seeing this website just pulled in our Child to this wonder-world of beautiful food.
Most exciting is knowing that my own Child's imagination will drive most of the Bento creations.
I can't wait to meet you!
April 21st is when Mike and I learned we are expecting our first child!
This has my mind all over the place trying to figure out what do I do first? Then what? Can our home support infant life? I'm glad our dear Creator gave me first a womb to protect the child while we prepare our hearts and minds for parenthood, and then that the Creator gave me breast milk to feed the child perfectly for the first six months while I figure out other details of parenting.
But this time next year, when my Capricorn December baby is six-months-old we will begin to seek food options beyond the boob.
One year doesn't seem long enough! I'm a healthy eater -- no enriched, bleached grains here, no hydrogenated oils or refined sugars anywhere in my home, and I receive my produce from the local CSA (Community Supported Agriculture providing locals with food grown organically on neighboring farms; find yours here: localharvest.org) -- but I also love brie and wine for dinner! (oh, how I miss thee...).
The first few months I'll probably do what my mother did and use an old-fashioned hand-mill at the table where I grind instant baby food from whatever I prepared for dinner! My husband will get used to me cooking without salt, I'm sure, until baby gets those chompers...
Today, though, I discovered inspiration that makes me EXCITED about children's food, and ANXIOUS to begin! I almost don't want to wait eighteen months to learn how to prepare the delightful Bento Boxes, I just might have to make them for Mike and me!
At I Love Obento they sell all manner of Bento Boxes. If you've never explored this lunch-box that puts the "fun" in "functional" then here's some photos for you from blogger Bento Anarchy:
The Japanese are immaculately artful in their food presentation. They truly understand the pleasure-centers triggered by eating, and do not neglect the visual aspect of enjoying a meal. In the above pictures you can see Asian foods, such as soba noodles, as well as whatever-you-cook foods such as peas and hot-dogs. These cuter-than-a-SnackPack lunches seem like a treasure-trove of enjoyment for both me and my child! How stimulating to play with food this way!
By creating new designs we could introduce new ingredients. Then my babe won't be eating peas and carrots, but flowers and birds and pirate faces!
Looking at these seems a little intimidating, I'll admit, but the first site I listed, "I Love Obento" has tools, boxes, books, and photos to teach.
Mike and I used to make sushi and spring rolls together pretty frequently when we lived on the coast, and seeing this website just pulled in our Child to this wonder-world of beautiful food.
Most exciting is knowing that my own Child's imagination will drive most of the Bento creations.
I can't wait to meet you!
Thursday, May 14
Life Without Connections is Not Living
Last semester I felt alienated at the front of the classroom. My students filed in, absorbed or deflected my knowledge-flinging, and then filed out. The occasional hand-raise would result in a student confirming or protesting an assignment. After a month or so I began to feel the rotting sensation that comes from lacking human contact. I felt like a moldy peach at the front of that classroom. An ineffectual, moldy peach.
Midway through the fall I remembered that the happiest I've been in a job was when I worked as a writing tutor at The Citadel. There was no grading, no paperwork to bring home or lessons to plan, I only had to meet with one freshman after another and guide them in their individual writing needs. Each appointment took an hour, which allowed us to fully explore the possibilities. But it went far beyond the writing assignment quickly.
I only worked with freshmen at The Citadel, who are known only as Knobs, and called by their last name. This is a part of the military system where they learn to excel in rank through leadership, but only after starting out at the "bottom". The transition they all were making was more heightened than the average college freshman, and so often their papers reflected this change. I read very many papers about boys' mothers -- something I never read from my civilian-school students! Discussing papers quickly turned to discussing their personal lives in this transition. Since my then-fiance was a graduate, I understood the lingo and organization at The Citadel, so they spoke openly to me about every situation they needed help with.
Soon I was a counselor, and it did actually help them become better writers. One student would come even without writing homework, simply to talk.
Thinking back to this, I decided to restructure my tactics this semester. I needed to be involved in my students' lives for my sake as much as theirs. The front-of-the-classroom chief used to be a model I aspired to, but it's so lonely up there. I had no idea to whom I was speaking, or whether my words were even heard. This semester I wanted to know my students' minds so that I could adapt each day to developing their particular needs in learning.
The first change I made was to arrange my tables into groups, so that there was no real "front of the class". There were four groups of tables around which my students sat facing each other. No one could so much as roll their eyes without another classmate being aware of it. Each group developed a personality, and inevitably brought each person out of their shells. Students worked together in their groups daily, and I could give short instructions at the beginning of class, then float from group to group with my individualized attention. It was an amazing way to break-down a classroom of 24 students!
The next change I made was to regularly email my students. They came to me with so many of their questions, then.
By the end of the semester I was not simply a teacher of writing. In fact, the writing became secondary again, just like it had at The Citadel. I helped two students seek counseling when their personal lives drove them to despair. I wrote references for two other students to receive jobs and funding. And at the end of the semester I got a baby gift from a young lady who wrote me a note telling me that I am "that professor" whom she will never forget.
My mind immediately went to Dr. Rahamut and the desire I felt to emulate her in my professional life. Her door was always open and she was always available. I could not be who I am without the people who gave freely of their time for me. Without the leaders who took time to know me, I would likely be a very selfish and morose individual. All I want to do in teaching is to equip my students with tools to excel in whatever they attempt, and often times their personal lives need to be addressed in order for the tools to make any sense to them.
It meant the world to me to get that card, because so often I can only hope that one day my students will sense an impact I made on their lives. It is not often that one can give feedback so quickly.
This makes me happy that I have been able to tell my mentors I love them.
From Charlie Wier, to Janet Rahamut, to Alan McClung I have been given a prime example of how to guide.
Now how do I get paid to do this, again?
Midway through the fall I remembered that the happiest I've been in a job was when I worked as a writing tutor at The Citadel. There was no grading, no paperwork to bring home or lessons to plan, I only had to meet with one freshman after another and guide them in their individual writing needs. Each appointment took an hour, which allowed us to fully explore the possibilities. But it went far beyond the writing assignment quickly.
I only worked with freshmen at The Citadel, who are known only as Knobs, and called by their last name. This is a part of the military system where they learn to excel in rank through leadership, but only after starting out at the "bottom". The transition they all were making was more heightened than the average college freshman, and so often their papers reflected this change. I read very many papers about boys' mothers -- something I never read from my civilian-school students! Discussing papers quickly turned to discussing their personal lives in this transition. Since my then-fiance was a graduate, I understood the lingo and organization at The Citadel, so they spoke openly to me about every situation they needed help with.
Soon I was a counselor, and it did actually help them become better writers. One student would come even without writing homework, simply to talk.
Thinking back to this, I decided to restructure my tactics this semester. I needed to be involved in my students' lives for my sake as much as theirs. The front-of-the-classroom chief used to be a model I aspired to, but it's so lonely up there. I had no idea to whom I was speaking, or whether my words were even heard. This semester I wanted to know my students' minds so that I could adapt each day to developing their particular needs in learning.
The first change I made was to arrange my tables into groups, so that there was no real "front of the class". There were four groups of tables around which my students sat facing each other. No one could so much as roll their eyes without another classmate being aware of it. Each group developed a personality, and inevitably brought each person out of their shells. Students worked together in their groups daily, and I could give short instructions at the beginning of class, then float from group to group with my individualized attention. It was an amazing way to break-down a classroom of 24 students!
The next change I made was to regularly email my students. They came to me with so many of their questions, then.
By the end of the semester I was not simply a teacher of writing. In fact, the writing became secondary again, just like it had at The Citadel. I helped two students seek counseling when their personal lives drove them to despair. I wrote references for two other students to receive jobs and funding. And at the end of the semester I got a baby gift from a young lady who wrote me a note telling me that I am "that professor" whom she will never forget.
My mind immediately went to Dr. Rahamut and the desire I felt to emulate her in my professional life. Her door was always open and she was always available. I could not be who I am without the people who gave freely of their time for me. Without the leaders who took time to know me, I would likely be a very selfish and morose individual. All I want to do in teaching is to equip my students with tools to excel in whatever they attempt, and often times their personal lives need to be addressed in order for the tools to make any sense to them.
It meant the world to me to get that card, because so often I can only hope that one day my students will sense an impact I made on their lives. It is not often that one can give feedback so quickly.
This makes me happy that I have been able to tell my mentors I love them.
From Charlie Wier, to Janet Rahamut, to Alan McClung I have been given a prime example of how to guide.
Now how do I get paid to do this, again?
Wednesday, May 6
As a Linguist, I'm licensed to judge
This is why I never have had any desire to speak French: it's so annoying! The nasality of vowels combined with all the superflous consonants make it the biggest pain-in-the-ass language of all time. I'd rather learn to speak in clicks. Just try pronouncing the example sentence; it's bound to piss you off.
Merriam-Webster’s Word of the Day
embonpoint \ahng-bohng-PWANG (the "ng" is never pronounced, but the vowels are nasalized)\
noun: plumpness of person : stoutness Example Sentence The judge was a man of stately embonpoint who walked with a heavy step as he entered the courtroom.
Merriam-Webster’s Word of the Day
embonpoint \ahng-bohng-PWANG (the "ng" is never pronounced, but the vowels are nasalized)\
noun: plumpness of person : stoutness Example Sentence The judge was a man of stately embonpoint who walked with a heavy step as he entered the courtroom.
Wednesday, March 11
Search
Give me community!
For years I've been struggling to find a place to snuggle up to and feel a part of. My mind expands out into the environment and seeks companionship - to become a part of the collective - but has been met with cold looks. For years I have longed for the feeling I received when crossing the Ped Mall at Lee U: encounters with friends, associates, teachers, campus staff, acquaintances, crushes, ex-roommates, and long-lost freshman-year friends. Each one playing a separate role as I pass them and exchange an individual greeting, like an inside joke or a reminder of a project; possibly (likely) a hug. I could easily find 20+ hugs between in the ten minutes between classes. My schedule was blocked in a way that kept multiple plates spinning, but all the plates were interlocking (try and visualize that). One class project connects to the club event which coordinates with getting the band to play which involves people from work. We were a community!
In New York I had meaningful work as the Household Manager and Childcare Provider of a wealthy lawyer-couple. But it was their community, and not mine. I was given no credit for the contribution I made (until this past summer; thanks Mr. C.) because I was not the person who hired me. Mother's with nanny's still take credit for their children. My room was the size of a pantry (because I think it once was). I went back and forth between the tight quarters of the house and the vast sea of bodies in Manhattan. Neither lent much comfort during that year. I just didn't have enough time.
In Indiana I just began tasting community, only to have to uproot myself when my program turned against me. There was a bar there, though, where the bouncer knew me and recognized when I hadn't been in a while. It was a "townie" bar and before I approached, the bartender would have my drink ready. It was a place I could arrive to without reservation or phone calls because I knew who would be there on Saturday. There was another joint for Friday. And Thursday. But the mid-west just isn't for me. My blessings unfurled in the form of Love and the Lowcountry: just what I needed!
When I moved to Charleston my fiance had a roommate, and he found me a room to rent from a classmate of his. In the beautiful creekside town-home where I kept my things, I never was given space. I had to keep all my things in my bedroom, or else my roommate would unceremoniously push them in there when I was away. At Mike's apartment I was always welcomed, but it wasn't mine. He and his roommate had their whole system and I had no territory.
Finally we wed! For two blissful years I kept a home, and had my place. It was the first time in four years I had been able to entertain! I love filling my house with people. But I knew it was only to last two years. It's hard to be newly weds and socialites. Just as we were leaving, we began to feel a part of the community. Just as we were leaving was when we could walk through the farmer's market or the French-quarter art-walks and encouter a variety of people we knew.
Then it was gone. Columbus gave me a department to work in, opportunities for volunteering, and a few friends. I'm beginning to feel a connection here and am excited about the first warm-weather barbecue by the pool! But I must not forget that it will probably be the last barbecue by the pool. Here. It's just time to move again.
I have not been unhappy for the last seven years, but part of me has been unfulfilled. Part of me that needs community has been unsatisfied for so long. I realize that may have become the theme of this blog, but I can't refrain from articulating this acute desire I have. It's so rare that I can identify my desires in the first place!
So I'm going to try and translate this into my whole life. For years I felt that I needed to always be a part of a university in order to feel the way I felt while I was attending one. In the real world, though, I'm observing that people do work and live together in concert within their communities. They advocate and vote and petition and plan. They work on a project connected to the club event which coordinates with getting the band to play which involves people from work.
Previously I wanted to be a part of a university to feel this sense of community, so I picked my favorite subject and plowed forward. But it's not the subject I want to commit my life to, but the environment I'll be in while using that subject. I don't want to be a linguist forever; I want to work at a university (specifically, I had wanted Lee University) and become involved in all it's functions, but that requires an advanced degree.
This seems a little backwards to me now, though. I don't want to study something so that the side-effect of my degree is a career I want. There must be a more direct way!
This thought isn't entirely completed, but I'm at the end of words now.
For years I've been struggling to find a place to snuggle up to and feel a part of. My mind expands out into the environment and seeks companionship - to become a part of the collective - but has been met with cold looks. For years I have longed for the feeling I received when crossing the Ped Mall at Lee U: encounters with friends, associates, teachers, campus staff, acquaintances, crushes, ex-roommates, and long-lost freshman-year friends. Each one playing a separate role as I pass them and exchange an individual greeting, like an inside joke or a reminder of a project; possibly (likely) a hug. I could easily find 20+ hugs between in the ten minutes between classes. My schedule was blocked in a way that kept multiple plates spinning, but all the plates were interlocking (try and visualize that). One class project connects to the club event which coordinates with getting the band to play which involves people from work. We were a community!
In New York I had meaningful work as the Household Manager and Childcare Provider of a wealthy lawyer-couple. But it was their community, and not mine. I was given no credit for the contribution I made (until this past summer; thanks Mr. C.) because I was not the person who hired me. Mother's with nanny's still take credit for their children. My room was the size of a pantry (because I think it once was). I went back and forth between the tight quarters of the house and the vast sea of bodies in Manhattan. Neither lent much comfort during that year. I just didn't have enough time.
In Indiana I just began tasting community, only to have to uproot myself when my program turned against me. There was a bar there, though, where the bouncer knew me and recognized when I hadn't been in a while. It was a "townie" bar and before I approached, the bartender would have my drink ready. It was a place I could arrive to without reservation or phone calls because I knew who would be there on Saturday. There was another joint for Friday. And Thursday. But the mid-west just isn't for me. My blessings unfurled in the form of Love and the Lowcountry: just what I needed!
When I moved to Charleston my fiance had a roommate, and he found me a room to rent from a classmate of his. In the beautiful creekside town-home where I kept my things, I never was given space. I had to keep all my things in my bedroom, or else my roommate would unceremoniously push them in there when I was away. At Mike's apartment I was always welcomed, but it wasn't mine. He and his roommate had their whole system and I had no territory.
Finally we wed! For two blissful years I kept a home, and had my place. It was the first time in four years I had been able to entertain! I love filling my house with people. But I knew it was only to last two years. It's hard to be newly weds and socialites. Just as we were leaving, we began to feel a part of the community. Just as we were leaving was when we could walk through the farmer's market or the French-quarter art-walks and encouter a variety of people we knew.
Then it was gone. Columbus gave me a department to work in, opportunities for volunteering, and a few friends. I'm beginning to feel a connection here and am excited about the first warm-weather barbecue by the pool! But I must not forget that it will probably be the last barbecue by the pool. Here. It's just time to move again.
I have not been unhappy for the last seven years, but part of me has been unfulfilled. Part of me that needs community has been unsatisfied for so long. I realize that may have become the theme of this blog, but I can't refrain from articulating this acute desire I have. It's so rare that I can identify my desires in the first place!
So I'm going to try and translate this into my whole life. For years I felt that I needed to always be a part of a university in order to feel the way I felt while I was attending one. In the real world, though, I'm observing that people do work and live together in concert within their communities. They advocate and vote and petition and plan. They work on a project connected to the club event which coordinates with getting the band to play which involves people from work.
Previously I wanted to be a part of a university to feel this sense of community, so I picked my favorite subject and plowed forward. But it's not the subject I want to commit my life to, but the environment I'll be in while using that subject. I don't want to be a linguist forever; I want to work at a university (specifically, I had wanted Lee University) and become involved in all it's functions, but that requires an advanced degree.
This seems a little backwards to me now, though. I don't want to study something so that the side-effect of my degree is a career I want. There must be a more direct way!
This thought isn't entirely completed, but I'm at the end of words now.
Wednesday, February 11
Inertia
Is it just February?
As the Jayhawks "Tailspin" spins on repeat here in my office I feel spoken directly to. I cannot push myself to move! These essays need grading, taxes need filing, anything-but-facebook needs checking... I proceed at the rate of inertia every winter. Sometimes I can perform very minimally-required physical tasks. I continue to scrape by, but the hours come wooshing past in these fever-induced hallucination-style waves that leave me with chills. I feel as though I am almost literally trying to send brain-waves to my extremities - by power of thought - so that I will move.
Movement is the only thing I'm not capable of. There is so much to do. So much to read!
I have essays to read and grade.
Books on linguistics to read in case I restart a program when we move.
Books about places we may move to.
Books about lessons to plan while I'm teaching.
Books about babies after the teaching is done and the move is settled.
It's got to just be February, because this shouldn't be this hard.
As the Jayhawks "Tailspin" spins on repeat here in my office I feel spoken directly to. I cannot push myself to move! These essays need grading, taxes need filing, anything-but-facebook needs checking... I proceed at the rate of inertia every winter. Sometimes I can perform very minimally-required physical tasks. I continue to scrape by, but the hours come wooshing past in these fever-induced hallucination-style waves that leave me with chills. I feel as though I am almost literally trying to send brain-waves to my extremities - by power of thought - so that I will move.
Movement is the only thing I'm not capable of. There is so much to do. So much to read!
I have essays to read and grade.
Books on linguistics to read in case I restart a program when we move.
Books about places we may move to.
Books about lessons to plan while I'm teaching.
Books about babies after the teaching is done and the move is settled.
It's got to just be February, because this shouldn't be this hard.
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