Anatomy of a Dream
I just finished Grey's Anatomy. Usually don't watch, but I picked up quick. Reminded me of a conversation I had with a mentor/friend a few weeks ago. Both of her parents died within this last year. She's older herself and single. Always has been. Usually it's an encouragement.
This time around when I bumped into her at Meijer and asked how she was doing, she saidsomethign to the effect of:
"Meg, it's a new level of hell. Usually, I don't mind being alone in my house. But right now it's empty. At least my sister has someone to hold her when she wakes up crying at night."
Pray for her.
Pray for the fear it inspires in me.
Lost
I can remember my phone number from the first house I conciously lived in. I can lay out the back yard of that house. I can remember my high school boyfriend's phone number. I can remember my grandmother's zipcode. I remember the license plate number of my first car.
But I just found out I lost something.
I loaded Google earth last night. David and I wandered around the earth for a while. He ended up in south Africa. I asked him to go to Zimbabwe for me (I was putting on makeup to go to the pub night). He did and told me I could probably find the rooftop restaurant I talk about.
Today I opened it up. I found Strachen's. I teared up. Then I looked for the Univeristy of Zimbabwe, figuring I could probably find my apartment building.
But I was wrong. I couldn't even be sure I found the university.
So I went to Egypt, hoping to find the school or my apartment. I couldn't do either.
I grieve for Zimbabwe in a way I do not for Egypt. They were and are too different to fit into a catagory together. It's still a bit suprising that they inhabit the same continent.
There's an activity that I did last week and every year with my classes in the Our Town unit. I ask my students to draw a map of their towns--the things that mean home and well being and routine and
LIFE to them. In the end, we discuss the issue of memory and impression as opposed to documentation and fact. No one could ever follow those maps, but I think that's not important. Instead, all the important things coexist right next to each other, safe and real. All the rest falls away.
I usually don't mind that loss. I like the effect of softening. I think God gave us a gift when he allowed us to be forgetful. But today it aches a little.
There's no real way to quite communicate the feeling you get when a neighbor child shows up at your door holding your cat and one of your favorite bras and tells you she found one playing with the other in her yard.
Aren't you glad I shared?
Drama Drama Drama
I’ve been wandering around all day singing a snappy little tune I’m making up as I go that basically centers around the word “drama”. So far I have successfully rhymed it with “llama” and “mama”. I have unsuccessfully rhymed it with “yeah ma”, “yehaw” and “so wha?”.
For those of you who did not know, drama formally comes in several types besides the straightforward comedy and tragedy. There’s farce, melodrama, burlesque (with attached subgroups), fantasy, romantic comedy, satire and comedy of manners. These are designations not to be worried about in our circle unless you’re me or my student.
But then there’s the daily dramedy of life. That’s drama/comedy ( a slashie if you will, but the drama does not turn into an adjective and leave me with a dramatic comedy. Just so we’re clear) I have no idea who said it originally but Jonathon Blough intro’d me to it in high school--I love this quote; “Life is a comedy to those who think and a tragedy to those who feel.” And I do both so therefore my life is a dramedy.
There’s the high school drama that must be lived through. Half the tiem I hav eno idea why they’re crying or kicking things and they can’t express it so I say something vaguely comforting and go on.
There’s the Our Town reading in English class.It’s amazing and somewhat refreshing that Thornton Wilder wrote something that’s supposed to be boring for us to read instead of it just turning out that way.
There’s the drama of the now-cast spring plays. I so wanted to use all the talent we had. But it just wasn’t possible.
There’s the drama of school politics, sports and the impending big game against Okemos tonight.
There’s the drama in the drama department of J. having too much to do and too little patience to do it, D. taking on a Great Lakes class in addition to both plays, quizbowl, two personal classes and her usual teacher job, M. being hospitalized for the next month to get over stress and me trying to refuse to live at the pace they’re making standard.
And then there’s my actual drama class. They’re great this semester. But I must get the guys to quit attempting to sit on each other every time we move to sit on the floor. Odd that they’re the least dramatic part of all of this.
I’m sure there are other bits here of drama out there as well, but that’s enough from The Stage & The School today. But if it really is all a stage and I am merely a player I wonder what the next act will hold?
Things end and things begin. It’s strange how certain things make me feel safe but at the same time limit me. I watch my housemate preparing for her wedding and am simply shocked she has the time. I went to see a movie last week on a weekday and was shocked at the time it took to recover the lost hours.
I’ve always battled with Martha-ness and finding my significance in activities, but that’s not really the bigger problem---I like activity, action, being on the go and having worthwhile things to do.
But then I burn out. I have no time for the important because the urgent start crowding in.
I even miss my god.
And I start to say no. And I feel a little lost for a while. And I have to resist adding something to fill the now-empty hour.
And then it starts to feel good. I get caught up on things. I have more energy and patience.
But there’s still a part of me that thinks I should be doing more with these few hours I have on earth.
Every nine moths I live a year in nine months. When I’m on with the job, I’m on and God help me if I lose focus for two minutes in front of a bunch of high schoolers.
Every summer I feel the days stretch out like velvet in sunshine and remember I don’t have to choose to live at that pace.
But I do. I’m an addict going back for the high. A thrill-seeker looking for the next rush. I’d be bored out of my skull in most jobs.
Friends did something kind last week. They helped and allowed me to bow out of more responsibility that I can handle. They helped me move toward the door and wonder what’s next. It wasn’t real until I saw it in print today.
There’s still so much. Dropping this one thing will not lessen my work or my commitments drastically, but it’s a step.
Maybe I’ll finally manage to take that pottery course this summer.
You Have To Be Carefully Taught
"You've got to be taught
To hate and fear
You've got to be taught
From year to year
It's got to be drummed
In your dear little ear
You've got to be carefully taught.
You've got to be taught to be afraid
Of people whose eyes are oddly made,
And people whose skin is a diff'rent shade,
You've got to be carefully taught.
You've got to be taught before it's too late,
Before you are six or seven or eight,
To hate all the people your relatives hate,
You've got to be carefully taught!."
-Oscar Hammerstein, 1949 "South Pacific"
Ok, last time I tried to write something with more than basic surface coverage it disappeared like Elijah in the desert. You won't need your life jacket for this one, but hey, it's not a mini-list.
So I’m ok. But tired. God and I are arguing again. What’s with a kindergartener shooting another one? Why am I on my fourth pill and still no relief from pain? What’s up with kids just skipping exams?
These are the moments I do wonder a bit about the nature of life in relation to God and eternity.
And I don’t type this because it’s popular to be annoyed by idiotic Christian bumper stickers, but as a testimony to the impulse control the spirit must be growing in me. Yesterday I was behind a Plymouth Voyager—standard sunk-into-suburbia type with soccer mom.
Then I read the bumper sticker: Read your Bible. HOMOSEXUALITY is an ABOMINATION. Homos don’t go to heaven. Protect our families.
How’s that for Christian love?
These were stacked in a neat little paragraph with black print on yellow plastic. Visually obnoxious and just not a good addition to my day.
So the question on everyone’s mind—did she floor it and ram the crap put of her Malibu? No, I turned a corner and ran over the curb. Kinda a little victory.
This added to the racial slurs on the walls in the bathrooms lately is enough to make me wonder just how far we've come since the sixties.
Anyway, auditions are up again. I'm ready to audtion for something myself, but where would I find the time? That reminds me. I should be in bed. Night.
Weekend is done. On to SECOND SEMESTER!
Exams are done & nearly graded.
OH! OH!OH! My MA came in the mail on Thursday! Unexpected but very, very welcome!
Munich is very very violent. And not all that good.
I went to a blues fest in Covington. Met a guy named Poodle. Very large. Very drunk. Really hates his name. He's an SOB--Southern Ohio Biker.
I need a haircut.
Wenslydale is wonderful. Especially with apricot gel and water crackers. And Hawaiian pineapple wine.
Ack! My phone is dead!
Ding-dong the phone is dead.
Which old phone?
The wicked phone!
Ding-Dong the wicked phone is dead!
Um, this may be a problem.
Popcorn sticks in your teeth, popcorn sticks in your teeth....
Anybody but me know that song?
I'm still at work, bound and determined to get through today's exams an be preped for tomorrow's before I leave. And I do want to leave. I have a strong desire to be at bible study and talk Phillipians tonight.
But the microwave (ah! popcorn!) and refridgerator (ah! lean pockets!) attached to the science room attached to my classroom make it possible for me to cocoon here intermidably.
Ah, the joys of walking into the copy room and finding not only does the copier still work, but there is also a whole box of lined paper (the good kind, not newsprint) waiting for students to write essays upon.
Anyway, no snow days this week and I bit it twice before getting in the car on Tuesday (yep. I'll admit it. Right off the edge of the driveway into the neighbors' PT Cruiser), so I'd best get off my five minute break and back to the 10th grade poster projects (which I must say turned out quite well!)
Perhaps I shall sleep sometime. Perhaps not.
I LOVe my coffee, I Lurve my coffe, I Loaf my coffee, but really....
"One should always store coffee beans in a glass, air-tight container. Air and moisture are coffee's principle enemies. Glass is best because it doesn't retain the odors of the beans or the oils, which could contaminate future beans stored in the same container. A mason jar with a good lid works well. If you use glass, make sure the container is not exposed to light, as sunlight can also reduce freshness.Buy only what coffee can be consumed in a week to a week and a half from the time it was roasted. This is the only way to have truly fresh coffee.
'Do not freeze coffee for regular storage. There are two key problems here. One, the freezing will damage some of subtle tastes in the coffee and two, when the coffee is taken out the container will sweat, exposing your coffee to moisture. If you must store coffee for an extended period of time divide it into small portions that you can use in a week or less. Take out one week of coffee at a time. This will help to reduce the damage to the coffee. For long term storage freezing is better than storage at room temperature. One last item to be cognizant of when freezing coffee is to make sure that is stays dry in the freezer.
"My advice to you would be try to buy the freshest beans you can find (preferably roasted within a day or two of your purchase date) in smaller quantities that can be used in a week or less.
"If you must store coffee, break your purchase into the amount you will use in one week or less. Keep one container out for immediate use and store the rest in individual one week allotments in sealed canning jars in the freezer.
"Remove beans from the freezer the day that your old stash runs out so that they will be completely thawed when you need them the next day. This will help to keep moisture problems caused by moving the beans in and out of the freezer to a minimum.
"
If there is not a roaster convenient to you you should consider taking up home roasting as a hobby. It’s not at all difficult and can save you a few dollars while improving the coffee you drink. When you are replacing your coffee every few days with coffee fresh out of the roaster then storage becomes less of an issue."
Good Lord! I've been doing it all wrong! I thought I could just toss the pound in the freezer with a chip clip on it!
I wonder how Amy will take to the industrial roaster that's being delivered to our basement today. Maybe it'll lower our heating bill.
Mid-winter Blahs
I just wrote a really great entry that would have led you into the deepest workings of my mind (they're kinda vanilla scented), reviewed two books, talked about my reskinned knees, paint colors, birth control psychosis, chocolate chip raisin cookies, Steve Sommerlot's message, the fact nobody seems to be able to put an exact date on my grandparents' February birthdays, hockey and two year olds.
You would have laughed. You would have cried. You would have felt the need to dance the polka.
But my Microsoft Word crashed. There were no survivors.
So you will be left with nothing more than this:
Cool stepping stones
Give way
To uncut grass
And this:
Beyond a darkened doorway
Light
And possibilities
And this:
Silence
Is the language
Of some hearts
And this:
Streaking colors
Naked sky
Night adjourns
And this:
Lined faces focus
Lined paper accepting ink
Lines written
And finally, this:
Meg's Haiku
Are small
Pieces of poo
And now you are enlighteneder than you were when you were five minutes younger.
Drama Night
There's just soemthing about beign backstage in the night of a performance, hissing at a teenager in four-inch heels "If you walk, open that door, shift your weight or otherwise make that clicking sound again I will drop your grade for this project 10%. Be polite or at least just BE QUIET!" that makes me wonder if I'm really such a nice lady after all. It still surpises me that they don't process that standing in the dark where they are blind to the audience does not make the audience deaf to them.
But really it went rather well. Four performances, under an hour, some seroiusly screwed up lines but some great saves and one trio just nailed it. Love my job.
Exams are here. I shall spend next week's afternoons speedreading in-class essays and hopefully utilizing the scantron (I think Drama and Theatre Production are getting a fair amount of scantron T/F and multiple choice this term. They'll be happy and I won't have to wonder why they still try the little TF symbol. You know--the one that could be either but your teachers decided was neither back in fourth grade. Yeah, one always tries. But I don't have to give him or her credit for it.)
I think I'm going in at four tomorrow to enter grades and catch up. Thank heavens I only do that a couple of times a term. But that means it's beddy-bye time. Wonder if the fuzzy little nocturnal creature is ready to turn in or if I should warm up the gel footwarmer thingies..... hm... 'night.
Jury duty doesn't quite work for me. I teach. I teach high schoolers. One cannot simply run out of the room and be done for the day.
Heck, unless I've got a pretty good fever going (post-nasal drip optional) and someone I know to sub, I aviod being absent from class. I really think it's more trouble to be gone than to be there.
Anyway, to on to the long, rambling, story that may or may not have a point or moral depending on your level of sleep deprivation and ability to read scatter graphs.
I had Jury duty the week before Christmas. This was the rescheduled date from Parent-Teacher conference week. Missing thouse would have been...unwise and unpopular.
Nevermind. This could have interesting points but not really. I'm bored.
Ohio.
Ohioians are freakin' weird about football. Buckeye fans just kinda annoy me, but it was rather frightening to be around in Cincy with the Bengals doing some sort of playoff that they hadn't done in fifteen years. Heck, even the suburban houswife-y relator was even talking about digging out her silk Bengals scarf for the occasion. Everyone was wearing tiger stripes as if PETA had brainwashed them and lauched a massive "Save the Tigers" campaign. And me without a stitch of orange in my suitcase.
And what the H-E-Double-Hockey-Sticks does "Who Dey!" mean? Is it a comment on the fact that the other team is unknown compared to tiger power? Is it just fun to yell? Is it one word of a lost language? Has all of Cincinnati suffered closed head injuries?
I'm Sorta Back
So. It's Friday. In a few minutes I'll be showering and heading away again in a few minutes. I miss Riverview.
It's been an interesting break. Subjects I'm ruminating on and will expand on at a later date:
A) Should I paint my room or move to another state (or out of the country for that matter)?
B) Air travel is expensive and often inconvenient but that's put in perspective when I consider traveling by wagon train.
C) It wasn't food poisoning.
D) I really enjoyed the symphony in GR on New Year's Eve. But I still miss people.
E) I miss people. I'd hoped to see more this week.
F) My butt is going to be royally kicked by the job until about April.
G) Thank God for Himself. I'd be severely screwed up (and possibly clinically depressed) with Him.
H) I am not a naturally industrious person. But I get my crap done.
I) Cat farts are vicious.
Snapshot from Christmas Dinner
Scene: Christmas dinner everyone is around the table getting ready to eat off the fine Bavarian china of my now-deceased gram. Grandpa is taking pictures while food is passed. Aunt Karol and Uncle Chuck have been there for a week, Tonna and Greg are just happy to see their lovely daughter.
Aunt Karol: Would you like some stuffing?
Vic: Hell yeah. (takes a bite of potatoes) You know I knew a guy that drew birds out in.... one of those states out east.
Meg: Really?
Vic: It was like those birds you guys got out there in Idaho. Where's my camera?
Chuck: Around your neck.
Vic: What are those birds called?
Tonna: Hawks?
Chuck: Eagles?
Vic: No no no. The ones that dive!
Meg: Hawks...ospreys...eagles..seagulls?
Tonna: Owls?
Greg: Owls?
Vic Hell no!
Karol: The stuffing has mushrooms in it.
Tonna: The mushrooms really add a little something to it.
Vic: What? You guys have pictures drawn by that guy. Two of them.
(Adult children and grandchild all look at each other)
Vic: Where the coffee?
Karol: I'll get the coffee.
Vic: They're big birds.
Chuck: big bird? yellow guy.
Meg: Vultures?
Greg: Condors?
Vic: They perch on telephone posts out in Idaho!
(Tonna and Greg look at each other, dumbfounded)
Tonna: Osprey? Owls?
Meg: Crows? Grackles?
Chuck: Red Wing Blackbirds!
Karol: Pass the turkey Greg. We have turkey.
Chuck: It's not a turkey.
Vic: Then what the hell is it?
Karol: (with sigh and roll of her eyes) The bird you're talking about isn't turkey. This is turkey.
Tonna: It's very tender.
Meg: Please pass the salt...Ducks? Cormorants?
Vic: You guys have pictures of them! He drew them!
Tonna: Oh, the eagle and the owl.
Vic: Yeah yeah, I think it was an osprey. You still got the pictures of the eagle and the osprey? Those were good drawings. Very detailed.
Greg: Yeah, yeah, we've got those!
Meg: Where?
Tonna: (to Greg) But the osprey is an owl, right? The osprey is an owl. It is an owl?
Greg:(nods) Yeah. I think so.
Tonna (to Meg): It's an owl.
*Coversation takes an abrupt turn.*
Vic: I have a poster of Sigmund Freud. It's a good poster. (holds up hands) about this big. You've been in that house about how long?
Meg: year and a half. (smiling) Are you freudian?
Vic: hell no! I wouldn't follow his stuff if...
Tonna: only drug he believed in was a 7% solution of cocaine.
Conversation continues.
I love my family.
