1. Well, if the Spurs are going to be like the 1969 Celtics, they are off to the right start! They have made it unlikely that they can win the Western Conference finals series after giving up a twenty point lead tonight and losing to the Lakers. It's going to be fascinating to see if they can regather themselves and come back Friday night with a brave effort and knock off the Lakers. I was at once disappointed tonight in the Spurs, but very impressed, as always, with how the new and mature Kobe Bryant led the Lakers from so far behind to victory.
2. My student Ryan has great ideas and is a smart guy, but he has problems envisioning how his thoughts and ideas can take shape in an essay. He came to my office today. I gave him some advice about how he could write his essay about his mother's sense of self-worth is attached to her job and how Ryan thinks one's sense of self-worth should come from within, not from a job. I'm keeping my fingers crossed for him.
3. I had another "get to know you better" conversation with Trisha today. She has a teenaged son who has cerebral palsy and I inquired into his condition and learned more about what his challenges are and how his condition manifests itself in his day to day life. He's very fortunate to have Trisha as a mother. His father is devoted to his well-being, too. I say it all the time: I'm not sure how my students do it, how they face the difficulties of their lives away from school and manage to excel in their studies at the same time. I admire Trisha a lot, along with so many of my other students.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Three Beautiful Things 05/20/08: Weeping Camel, Prying?, Sky of Stone
1. I'll find out when we meet again on Thursday what my students thought of it: I showed the documentary film "The Story of the Weeping Camel", a magnificent Mongolian story about a nomadic family on the Gobi Desert and their efforts to reunite a mother camel and her colt whom she has rejected. It's a luxuriously slow movie, giving us a full experience with the rhythms of nomadic life and with the strength patience requires.
2. Maybe I pry too much. I become deeply interested in my students, especially, I think, my composition students because their writing is so much more personal. Last night I learned more about one student's unsettling ultrasound results of her current pregnancy, about another student's pastor father, why another student moved to Oregon a few years after his father died, how another student's mother has been in ICU and in and out of hospital care since suffering gall bladder trouble, and there's more. I hope if my interest and care passes the boundaries of privacy, my students will let me know.
3. This evening, my WR 122 class began our discussion of Sky of Stone, and I was very pleased with how my students recognized the way Coalwood, West Virginia, supposedly a idyllic company town, was, in reality, a town curbing freedom, one where not only the mine, but the citizens, were owned by the mining company.
2. Maybe I pry too much. I become deeply interested in my students, especially, I think, my composition students because their writing is so much more personal. Last night I learned more about one student's unsettling ultrasound results of her current pregnancy, about another student's pastor father, why another student moved to Oregon a few years after his father died, how another student's mother has been in ICU and in and out of hospital care since suffering gall bladder trouble, and there's more. I hope if my interest and care passes the boundaries of privacy, my students will let me know.
3. This evening, my WR 122 class began our discussion of Sky of Stone, and I was very pleased with how my students recognized the way Coalwood, West Virginia, supposedly a idyllic company town, was, in reality, a town curbing freedom, one where not only the mine, but the citizens, were owned by the mining company.
Monday, May 19, 2008
Three Beautiful Things 05/19/08: Sophie, Spurs, Susana
1. I participate in a very low key mentorship program through the University of Oregon. All it requires of me is to talk with a student for a half an hour who thinks she/he would like to someday teach in a community college. I met Sophie Grow today at Espresso Roma and we talked for two hours. I enjoyed listening to Sophie tell me about her life and her studies and I enjoyed responding to the questions she posed. I was happy she experienced me as enthusiastic and positive about my work.
2. The San Antonio Spurs impress me in the same way the Celtics of 1969 did. That Celtics team was aging, but battle tested. Like the Spurs, they always had someone come up with a big play, whether on defense, the boards, or scoring. No one thought the 1969 Celtics would defeat the Lakers in the championship series, but they did, with guile and persistence. They were a team that knew how to grind. I think the Spurs are similar. The Spurs knocked off the Hornets tonight and now they face the Lakers, a younger and athletic team. I'm eager to see if the Spurs can, like the '69 Celtics, pull of the unlikely and beat the Lakers.
3. I asked my students to write a challenging essay this week in ENG 1o9. They are writing essays about how the mad character, Susana, can be seen as the central character in Pedro Paramo. I read the first wave of essays that came into my email box tonight, and what a pleasure to see these students rise to the challenge and write insightfully and eloquently about Susana.
2. The San Antonio Spurs impress me in the same way the Celtics of 1969 did. That Celtics team was aging, but battle tested. Like the Spurs, they always had someone come up with a big play, whether on defense, the boards, or scoring. No one thought the 1969 Celtics would defeat the Lakers in the championship series, but they did, with guile and persistence. They were a team that knew how to grind. I think the Spurs are similar. The Spurs knocked off the Hornets tonight and now they face the Lakers, a younger and athletic team. I'm eager to see if the Spurs can, like the '69 Celtics, pull of the unlikely and beat the Lakers.
3. I asked my students to write a challenging essay this week in ENG 1o9. They are writing essays about how the mad character, Susana, can be seen as the central character in Pedro Paramo. I read the first wave of essays that came into my email box tonight, and what a pleasure to see these students rise to the challenge and write insightfully and eloquently about Susana.
Dream Last Night
I'd been cast in a play. It was a Shakespeare play, but not one I recognize now that I'm awake. I was at rehearsal, three weeks before our play opened and I'd missed every rehearsal up to that point. I wondered if I'd been kicked off the cast. I wasn't. I didn't know my lines so I had to read from the book, but every time I tried to read my lines, I couldn't find my place. Every effort I made to be a part of the play was futile. Rehearsal was in a house in Kellogg up a hill. When I went to start my car, I'd left my lights on. The battery was dead. Dickie Costa needed a ride. I kept trying to find a place in my car where I could roll it downhill so I could start the car with compression. It was snowing. No one had jumper cables. I could move the car Fred Flintstone style, with my feet. I got the car to the front of a Chinese restaurant. Dickie was waiting for me, the snow starting to cover him. I rolled the car downhill, popped the clutch and turned the key and the car started. I woke up.
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Three Beautiful Things 05/18/08: Walking Snug, Essays, Celtics
1. I took Snug for a walk today and he didn't growl and snarl and spit and leap up in the air and try to wrestle free from his leash when he saw a dog across the street. This is an improvement.
2. My WR 122 students had the option to write an essay exploring how their family history as affected their own attitudes about and relationship with work and with jobs. These essays were superb. So were the ones where students defined and explored what writer Mike Rose calls emotional intelligence in the workplace.
3. I listened to the Celtics and Cavs on the radio as they squared off in game 7 of the Eastern Conference semi-finals. For years, I was a Celtics fan and I rooted for the Celtics out of habit today. Truth be told, I haven't warmed up to this team. I don't know what it is. It might just be the curse of thinking everything was better when I was young and that there will never be teams like the Celtics I loved all through the 1960s, 70s, 80s, and on into the 90s. You know, it's never felt like Celtic basketball since Rick Pitino coached them and since they left the ancient ruins of the Boston Garden.
2. My WR 122 students had the option to write an essay exploring how their family history as affected their own attitudes about and relationship with work and with jobs. These essays were superb. So were the ones where students defined and explored what writer Mike Rose calls emotional intelligence in the workplace.
3. I listened to the Celtics and Cavs on the radio as they squared off in game 7 of the Eastern Conference semi-finals. For years, I was a Celtics fan and I rooted for the Celtics out of habit today. Truth be told, I haven't warmed up to this team. I don't know what it is. It might just be the curse of thinking everything was better when I was young and that there will never be teams like the Celtics I loved all through the 1960s, 70s, 80s, and on into the 90s. You know, it's never felt like Celtic basketball since Rick Pitino coached them and since they left the ancient ruins of the Boston Garden.
Recurring Dreams
I have two recurring dreams. I might have written about one of these before, but it puzzles enough that I'm writing about it anyway.
I dream about playing golf a lot. It's always the same situation, but in different locations. I try to hit a golf shot and some obstacle is always in my way. I have to hit a drive through a slightly opened window or there's a structure in my way. Sometimes it's a tree.
I also dream about golf courses. They are always a combination of different golf courses I've played or seen on television, so that the golf course in Pinehurst, Idaho is combined with Indian Canyon in Spokane which is combined with Liberty Lake. The courses are impossible. In this one dream, the landing area for my second shot on a par 5 was a little isthmus surrounded by a stinky lagoon.
In none of these dreams do I hit a successful shot. It's like I've been sentenced to a purgatory of impossible golf shots.
The other recurring dream I have involves going from one place to another and in order to get there I have to walk through a stranger's house.
I didn't think much about this dream when I first had it a few months ago. I was in Kellogg, on Market Street, and I walked in the front door of someone's house and a couple were seated in the living room and I told them not to worry, I was just passing through, and they nodded, watching television.
Two nights ago this dream took an odd twist. I was out walking on a closed highway and over a bridge that had been closed with grass growing though its unused cracked asphalt. I looked down a trail just off the bridge and as far as I could see was lush jungle vegetation on both sides of a hiking trail and the trail was brightly lit with lights located near the ground.
Once I crossed the bridge, I had to enter a stranger's house to get where I was going. I opened their back door, started through the kitchen, and as I strolled through the living room, reassuring the residents that I was just passing through, I suddenly realized I was packing a bag of golf clubs that rattled with my every step.
When I dream these dreams, I can hear a voice in my conscious mind say, "Here we go again."
I dream about playing golf a lot. It's always the same situation, but in different locations. I try to hit a golf shot and some obstacle is always in my way. I have to hit a drive through a slightly opened window or there's a structure in my way. Sometimes it's a tree.
I also dream about golf courses. They are always a combination of different golf courses I've played or seen on television, so that the golf course in Pinehurst, Idaho is combined with Indian Canyon in Spokane which is combined with Liberty Lake. The courses are impossible. In this one dream, the landing area for my second shot on a par 5 was a little isthmus surrounded by a stinky lagoon.
In none of these dreams do I hit a successful shot. It's like I've been sentenced to a purgatory of impossible golf shots.
The other recurring dream I have involves going from one place to another and in order to get there I have to walk through a stranger's house.
I didn't think much about this dream when I first had it a few months ago. I was in Kellogg, on Market Street, and I walked in the front door of someone's house and a couple were seated in the living room and I told them not to worry, I was just passing through, and they nodded, watching television.
Two nights ago this dream took an odd twist. I was out walking on a closed highway and over a bridge that had been closed with grass growing though its unused cracked asphalt. I looked down a trail just off the bridge and as far as I could see was lush jungle vegetation on both sides of a hiking trail and the trail was brightly lit with lights located near the ground.
Once I crossed the bridge, I had to enter a stranger's house to get where I was going. I opened their back door, started through the kitchen, and as I strolled through the living room, reassuring the residents that I was just passing through, I suddenly realized I was packing a bag of golf clubs that rattled with my every step.
When I dream these dreams, I can hear a voice in my conscious mind say, "Here we go again."
Saturday, May 17, 2008
Three Beautiful Things 05/17/08: Lilacs, Blogs, Sandwich
1. Deke and I used to have a lilac tree in our back yard, but had to take the aging beauty out. This evening I was walking Snug and suddenly lilac perfume intoxicated me as I walked by a neighbor's yard.
2. I haven't done a blog tour for quite a while and I enjoyed reading blogs like In Search of Walden and The Dubya Blog and others and was reminded of their good humor and excellent writing.
3. It's just Albertson's brand beef salami, but when I put it on sourdough bread with some Albertson's brand extra sharp cheddar cheese and some mustard and drink an ice cold Diet Pepsi, I feel blissful.
2. I haven't done a blog tour for quite a while and I enjoyed reading blogs like In Search of Walden and The Dubya Blog and others and was reminded of their good humor and excellent writing.
3. It's just Albertson's brand beef salami, but when I put it on sourdough bread with some Albertson's brand extra sharp cheddar cheese and some mustard and drink an ice cold Diet Pepsi, I feel blissful.
Sourdough
I went to the store today and one of the things I purchased was a loaf of sourdough bread.
I've been on a weekend sandwich kick. Deke isn't eating bread these days so I buy a loaf and I buy a cheap pack of beef salami and some extra sharp cheddar cheese, throw them together with a smear of mustard and wash it down with Diet Pepsi.
I've been helping teach a course in American Working Class Literature and all the reading we've been doing and the films we've watched have made me hungry for the sandwiches I used to carry to the Zinc Plant. These sandwiches were not made from sourdough bread, but the sourdough bread takes me to another part of my life in Kellogg.
I don't remember how Mom got going with it, but she either made or purchased sourdough starter. She kept it in the fridge and on the weekends, usually Sunday morning, Mom made sourdough pancakes.
Today when I bit into my beef salami, extra sharp cheddar cheese, and mustard sourdough sandwich, I suddenly was back at the kitchen table and it was before Sunday school and Mom was making sourdough pancakes. They might even have been buttermilk sourdough pancakes. That just popped in my head.
Mom made silver dollar pancakes on her an electric grill. I loved to butter them and pour Aunt Jemima syrup over them, or Mrs. Butterworth. I like the idea that I poured buttered syrup over buttered pancakes.
Silver dollar pancakes were fun because when I went to Sunday school I got a kick out of telling my friends or my Sunday school teacher that I had eaten a dozen pancakes for breakfast. I had also eaten sausage and eggs and had a couple or three glasses of milk.
Why I thought my pancake breakfast eating prowess was such a big deal, I don't know. I suppose I was always looking for a way to impress my friends and my Sunday school teacher.
I developed a love for sourdough. Sourdough is not only delicious, but it always transports me back to Sunday mornings, getting ready for Sunday school, and the pregame NFL show coming on the television. By the time I got home from church, it was often time to watch John Brodie, Abe Woodson, and the San Francisco 49ers, Dad's favorite team.
I don't remember the last time I ate sourdough pancakes. I'll have to eat some soon and take a trip back to those sweet Sunday mornings in Kellogg.
I've been on a weekend sandwich kick. Deke isn't eating bread these days so I buy a loaf and I buy a cheap pack of beef salami and some extra sharp cheddar cheese, throw them together with a smear of mustard and wash it down with Diet Pepsi.
I've been helping teach a course in American Working Class Literature and all the reading we've been doing and the films we've watched have made me hungry for the sandwiches I used to carry to the Zinc Plant. These sandwiches were not made from sourdough bread, but the sourdough bread takes me to another part of my life in Kellogg.
I don't remember how Mom got going with it, but she either made or purchased sourdough starter. She kept it in the fridge and on the weekends, usually Sunday morning, Mom made sourdough pancakes.
Today when I bit into my beef salami, extra sharp cheddar cheese, and mustard sourdough sandwich, I suddenly was back at the kitchen table and it was before Sunday school and Mom was making sourdough pancakes. They might even have been buttermilk sourdough pancakes. That just popped in my head.
Mom made silver dollar pancakes on her an electric grill. I loved to butter them and pour Aunt Jemima syrup over them, or Mrs. Butterworth. I like the idea that I poured buttered syrup over buttered pancakes.
Silver dollar pancakes were fun because when I went to Sunday school I got a kick out of telling my friends or my Sunday school teacher that I had eaten a dozen pancakes for breakfast. I had also eaten sausage and eggs and had a couple or three glasses of milk.
Why I thought my pancake breakfast eating prowess was such a big deal, I don't know. I suppose I was always looking for a way to impress my friends and my Sunday school teacher.
I developed a love for sourdough. Sourdough is not only delicious, but it always transports me back to Sunday mornings, getting ready for Sunday school, and the pregame NFL show coming on the television. By the time I got home from church, it was often time to watch John Brodie, Abe Woodson, and the San Francisco 49ers, Dad's favorite team.
I don't remember the last time I ate sourdough pancakes. I'll have to eat some soon and take a trip back to those sweet Sunday mornings in Kellogg.
Friday, May 16, 2008
Three Beautiful Things 05/16/08: Metaphors, Assertive, You Are My Sunshine
1. I read my ENG 109 students' papers on their understanding of how metaphors take what is familiar and makes the familiar strange as a way of rearranging how we see things, of disrupting our usual perceptions. Their essays were stellar and I was very proud with how well they explained themselves and illustrated their insights with poem's and stories and film we've been studying.
2. Snug wants me to be more assertive with him so he knows better what to do. He needs my direction and today I did just that for him and I could see his face look more secure and happy.
3. I showed the film "You Are My Sunshine" to my students today and I think the story of the 1972 Sunshine Mine Fire and the way the survivors talked about it had a moving impact.
2. Snug wants me to be more assertive with him so he knows better what to do. He needs my direction and today I did just that for him and I could see his face look more secure and happy.
3. I showed the film "You Are My Sunshine" to my students today and I think the story of the 1972 Sunshine Mine Fire and the way the survivors talked about it had a moving impact.
Sibling Assignment #63: Silver Valley Voices
Silver Valley Girl assigned this week's sibling assignment and it's pretty straightforward:
What is it about telling people you were born and raised in Kellogg that gives you a sense of pride?
InlandEmpireGirl's post remembering the good times is here. Silver Valley Girl's will be coming before long.
Kellogg and the Silver Valley has dominated my instruction the last two class meetings in the American Working Class Literature/Research Writing course I help teach.
Wednesday I read a paper I wrote about coming to need the poetry of Richard Hugo as a way of sorting out what I experienced growing up in Kellogg. Today I showed the film "You Are My Sunshine" which unfolds the story of the 1972 Sunshine Mine Fire with interviews with survivors of the fire.
I can hear myself speaking with pride in my voice as I talk about being from Kellogg, even as many of the things I talk about, the danger, death, pollution, disasters, and other dark things, color my stories and insights.
Today, I've been haunted by "You Are My Sunshine". I've watched the film at least ten times and each time the way the miners, and some others, talk about the mine fire unsettles me. On a day to day basis, I work with highly articulate, highly educated fellow instructors. Regularly, I hear polished speech, advanced vocabulary, conversation that is stimulating and genuine.
What unsettles me is that the voices of the miners are the voices I listened to all through my youth and that I slowly left behind after I was nearly killed in the Zinc Plant and as I pursued college degrees.
Today I was proud to know that the essence of my being is rooted in the men's voices of the Silver Valley.
How can I describe those voices? How can I describe the emotion that wells up inside as I hear these men speak?
Here's the best I can do.
My experience working in the Bunker Hill Zinc Plant was that I was in the midst something larger than I could understand and that had the power to injure, or even kill me, at any moment. And I wasn't underground. I've never worked underground.
My sense, though, when I read stories and books about mining and as I listen to miners speak in person or on film, is that to go into a mine is to enter into the most powerful of all natural environments. It is going into the heart of gravity. The earth is shifting, buckling. Men are in tunnels and gravity is always pulling down. That means nature's force's inclination is to pull down the roofs above the miners. Rocks burst. The hard rock is stubborn and must be blown loose with explosives and powerful drills.
Moreover, going into the depth of nature is to tunnel into heat. With technological genius, the minding industry has devised ventilation systems to combat the heat, but miners often work beyond the reach of these systems.
The miners' voices in "You Are My Sunshine", as well as the deeply lined looks on their faces, were colored by awe, by trying to talk about an incomprehensible fire in a work place defined by natural forces always just beyond human control.
Their voices were proud without being in the least bit haughty; they were courageous without being defiant. Their voices spoke of expertise. They knew the mine. At the same time, they spoke of things that were so far beyond understanding that there was bewilderment, a kind of humility, a respect. Sometimes their sentences were jumbled; often they were searching for how to say what they had experienced, not out of a lack of intelligence, but because when it comes to talking about men being killed in a mine, there really isn't polished language for it.
What I'm trying to say is that I could always hear this tone in the voices I grew up with. I didn't understand it at the time, but as I remember hearing the men in my life talk, I now believe that the mine or the plant or the smelter or the phosphoric acid plant was always in their voices.
I am proud of these voices I grew up with and as I grow older I understand more deeply all the time that we all live in a world beyond our comprehension, and that when I can hear my own voice colored by this humbling fact, I realize I came by this knowledge and my voice very honestly.
What is it about telling people you were born and raised in Kellogg that gives you a sense of pride?
InlandEmpireGirl's post remembering the good times is here. Silver Valley Girl's will be coming before long.
Kellogg and the Silver Valley has dominated my instruction the last two class meetings in the American Working Class Literature/Research Writing course I help teach.
Wednesday I read a paper I wrote about coming to need the poetry of Richard Hugo as a way of sorting out what I experienced growing up in Kellogg. Today I showed the film "You Are My Sunshine" which unfolds the story of the 1972 Sunshine Mine Fire with interviews with survivors of the fire.
I can hear myself speaking with pride in my voice as I talk about being from Kellogg, even as many of the things I talk about, the danger, death, pollution, disasters, and other dark things, color my stories and insights.
Today, I've been haunted by "You Are My Sunshine". I've watched the film at least ten times and each time the way the miners, and some others, talk about the mine fire unsettles me. On a day to day basis, I work with highly articulate, highly educated fellow instructors. Regularly, I hear polished speech, advanced vocabulary, conversation that is stimulating and genuine.
What unsettles me is that the voices of the miners are the voices I listened to all through my youth and that I slowly left behind after I was nearly killed in the Zinc Plant and as I pursued college degrees.
Today I was proud to know that the essence of my being is rooted in the men's voices of the Silver Valley.
How can I describe those voices? How can I describe the emotion that wells up inside as I hear these men speak?
Here's the best I can do.
My experience working in the Bunker Hill Zinc Plant was that I was in the midst something larger than I could understand and that had the power to injure, or even kill me, at any moment. And I wasn't underground. I've never worked underground.
My sense, though, when I read stories and books about mining and as I listen to miners speak in person or on film, is that to go into a mine is to enter into the most powerful of all natural environments. It is going into the heart of gravity. The earth is shifting, buckling. Men are in tunnels and gravity is always pulling down. That means nature's force's inclination is to pull down the roofs above the miners. Rocks burst. The hard rock is stubborn and must be blown loose with explosives and powerful drills.
Moreover, going into the depth of nature is to tunnel into heat. With technological genius, the minding industry has devised ventilation systems to combat the heat, but miners often work beyond the reach of these systems.
The miners' voices in "You Are My Sunshine", as well as the deeply lined looks on their faces, were colored by awe, by trying to talk about an incomprehensible fire in a work place defined by natural forces always just beyond human control.
Their voices were proud without being in the least bit haughty; they were courageous without being defiant. Their voices spoke of expertise. They knew the mine. At the same time, they spoke of things that were so far beyond understanding that there was bewilderment, a kind of humility, a respect. Sometimes their sentences were jumbled; often they were searching for how to say what they had experienced, not out of a lack of intelligence, but because when it comes to talking about men being killed in a mine, there really isn't polished language for it.
What I'm trying to say is that I could always hear this tone in the voices I grew up with. I didn't understand it at the time, but as I remember hearing the men in my life talk, I now believe that the mine or the plant or the smelter or the phosphoric acid plant was always in their voices.
I am proud of these voices I grew up with and as I grow older I understand more deeply all the time that we all live in a world beyond our comprehension, and that when I can hear my own voice colored by this humbling fact, I realize I came by this knowledge and my voice very honestly.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Three Beautiful Things 05/14/08: Hugo, Pedro Paramo, Controlling Snug
1. I wrote a paper/lecture several years ago entitled "On Needing Richard Hugo". It explores my experience growing up in Kellogg and how the poet Richard Hugo has been pivotal in helping me figure things out. I read the paper today to Margaret and my Working Class Lit/Research Writing class and we had a very good discussion about it.
2. I keep digging more deeply into Juan Rulfo's Pedro Paramo and I'm eager to get to class at 8 a.m. tomorrow and discuss it more with my students. It's a beguiling, confusing, magical, depressing, tragic story, filled with questions and longing.
3. I've decided to seek out help giving Snug more training. He has these occasional outbursts of aggressiveness and I want to see if I can help him stop doing this with professional help. He's a very sweet dog almost all the time, but he is terribly uneasy around dogs he doesn't know and acts out in other isolated situations and he'll be happier and I'll be more relaxed (as will Deke) if I can help him get these outbursts under control.
2. I keep digging more deeply into Juan Rulfo's Pedro Paramo and I'm eager to get to class at 8 a.m. tomorrow and discuss it more with my students. It's a beguiling, confusing, magical, depressing, tragic story, filled with questions and longing.
3. I've decided to seek out help giving Snug more training. He has these occasional outbursts of aggressiveness and I want to see if I can help him stop doing this with professional help. He's a very sweet dog almost all the time, but he is terribly uneasy around dogs he doesn't know and acts out in other isolated situations and he'll be happier and I'll be more relaxed (as will Deke) if I can help him get these outbursts under control.
Saturday, May 10, 2008
Sibling Assignment #62: I'd Be Gene
I assigned this prompt to me and my sisters. It's pretty simple: "If you could act in the movies like anyone, who would it be and why?"
You can find InlandEmpireGirl's wonderful homage to Sally Fields here and Silver Valley Girl will post hers, I'm sure, once she's done skiing with John Kerry and Bruce Willis at Sun Valley.
I've been cast in four plays since 1995 and each time I was cast in a minor role. Being able to play a small role means focusing intensely on the gestures and speech that the character will express in a brief amount of stage time. If the character is to be memorable and believable, those gestures must be performed with energy and efficiency.
If I could act like one character actor in the movies, it would be Gene Hackman. But, Gene Hackman is a leading actor, too. He brings the discipline and efficiency of drawing a character memorably and believably that if often thought of as a character actor's forte to leading roles, making his performances unforgettable and, for me, inspiring.
I'm not going to try to explore the whole of Gene Hackman's career, so I'll point out two of his leading roles that epitomize, for me, his acting.
In between directing the first two Godfather movies, Francis Ford Coppola directed a jewel of a film, The Conversation. It's the story of an audio surveillance expert, Harry Caul, played by Gene Hackman.
Harry Caul works as private investigator. I guess he'd be called a private ear. The work has deadened him. He claims indifference to the things he hears and the tapes he makes. His concern is with his art, not with the content of his art.
This indifference carries over to his private life. He lives alone and the only intimate contact he has with anyone is with a lover he has sex with on occasion. It's not passionate sex. It's functional. It has little content and gives him little joy.
The content of his work has affected him, though. He's paranoid, walled off, as if he's living a life under surveillance himself, so he gives little of himself to those who work with him, let alone his lover.
But, as The Conversation develops, we witness Harry Caul unable to keep his distance from the content of one conversation he's recorded. Gene Hackman portrays the slow dropping of Harry Caul's veil, as gradually Harry Caul can no longer bear the pressure of his isolation and he gets involved in the details of a case he's investigated, beyond electronic eavesdropping.
Harry Caul confronts a deep existential crisis. The man he has presented to the world and the man he has believed himself to be turns out to be add odds with who he is when faced with a situation that he cannot distance himself from. The situation, however, deepens his paranoia, painfully portrayed as the movie comes to its enigmatic and unsettling conclusion.
I've acted, but I've never been a basketball coach.
I fantasize a lot about coaching basketball. In my daydreams, I picture myself as Coach Norman Dale, as portrayed by Gene Hackman in Hoosiers.
Hoosiers could have been a cliched movie as it documents the improbable rise of Hickory High School's boys' basketball team from rural obscurity to state championship in Indiana.
Gene Hackman's performance keeps it from being a cliche. As in The Conversation, Hackman plays an outsider, a volatile coach at the end of his tether, who is hired at Hickory as a favor from the principal, old old friend of Norman Dale's. Dale's volatility cost him his collegiate coaching career and he's in Hickory, in part, to redeem himself.
Hackman creates Norman Dale as a man who carries the indignities of his past, but who will not bend to the will of the people of Hickory and coaches the Hickory team with methods the Hickory citizens regard as insane. But, Dale is a tender man. Hackman's Dale rides his players hard, imposes strict rules and disciplines them hard. At the same time, he opens his heart to his players, draws upon deep intuition, and wisely knows when to be soft and minister to his players' insecurities and difficulties.
Hackman took what could have been a sterotyped ex-military basketball coach and creates a character of passion not only for basketball, but for serving the players and people of Hickory.
Hackman's Norman Dale ministers to others, but he's not sentimental. When he reaches out to the town drunk, former Hickory basketball star, and father of a current Hickory player, Shooter Flatch and tries to help him dry out by making him his assistant coach, it's vintage Hackman. Norman Dale disguises his compassion by offering Shooter the position in an indirect way, as if he really needs assistance, when, in fact, his purpose is to help Shooter regain dignity and possibly reconcile with his son.
I think of all the roles I've seen Gene Hackman play and I'm astounded by his versatility and breadth. But most of all, it's his dependability and his solidness that impress me.
His characters come alive from the inside out and Hackman does what the great character actors do: he dives deeply into his characters, gives them physical life and a full indentity, and always makes them memorable.
You can find InlandEmpireGirl's wonderful homage to Sally Fields here and Silver Valley Girl will post hers, I'm sure, once she's done skiing with John Kerry and Bruce Willis at Sun Valley.
I've been cast in four plays since 1995 and each time I was cast in a minor role. Being able to play a small role means focusing intensely on the gestures and speech that the character will express in a brief amount of stage time. If the character is to be memorable and believable, those gestures must be performed with energy and efficiency.
If I could act like one character actor in the movies, it would be Gene Hackman. But, Gene Hackman is a leading actor, too. He brings the discipline and efficiency of drawing a character memorably and believably that if often thought of as a character actor's forte to leading roles, making his performances unforgettable and, for me, inspiring.
I'm not going to try to explore the whole of Gene Hackman's career, so I'll point out two of his leading roles that epitomize, for me, his acting.
In between directing the first two Godfather movies, Francis Ford Coppola directed a jewel of a film, The Conversation. It's the story of an audio surveillance expert, Harry Caul, played by Gene Hackman.
Harry Caul works as private investigator. I guess he'd be called a private ear. The work has deadened him. He claims indifference to the things he hears and the tapes he makes. His concern is with his art, not with the content of his art.
This indifference carries over to his private life. He lives alone and the only intimate contact he has with anyone is with a lover he has sex with on occasion. It's not passionate sex. It's functional. It has little content and gives him little joy.
The content of his work has affected him, though. He's paranoid, walled off, as if he's living a life under surveillance himself, so he gives little of himself to those who work with him, let alone his lover.
But, as The Conversation develops, we witness Harry Caul unable to keep his distance from the content of one conversation he's recorded. Gene Hackman portrays the slow dropping of Harry Caul's veil, as gradually Harry Caul can no longer bear the pressure of his isolation and he gets involved in the details of a case he's investigated, beyond electronic eavesdropping.
Harry Caul confronts a deep existential crisis. The man he has presented to the world and the man he has believed himself to be turns out to be add odds with who he is when faced with a situation that he cannot distance himself from. The situation, however, deepens his paranoia, painfully portrayed as the movie comes to its enigmatic and unsettling conclusion.
I've acted, but I've never been a basketball coach.
I fantasize a lot about coaching basketball. In my daydreams, I picture myself as Coach Norman Dale, as portrayed by Gene Hackman in Hoosiers.
Hoosiers could have been a cliched movie as it documents the improbable rise of Hickory High School's boys' basketball team from rural obscurity to state championship in Indiana.
Gene Hackman's performance keeps it from being a cliche. As in The Conversation, Hackman plays an outsider, a volatile coach at the end of his tether, who is hired at Hickory as a favor from the principal, old old friend of Norman Dale's. Dale's volatility cost him his collegiate coaching career and he's in Hickory, in part, to redeem himself.
Hackman creates Norman Dale as a man who carries the indignities of his past, but who will not bend to the will of the people of Hickory and coaches the Hickory team with methods the Hickory citizens regard as insane. But, Dale is a tender man. Hackman's Dale rides his players hard, imposes strict rules and disciplines them hard. At the same time, he opens his heart to his players, draws upon deep intuition, and wisely knows when to be soft and minister to his players' insecurities and difficulties.
Hackman took what could have been a sterotyped ex-military basketball coach and creates a character of passion not only for basketball, but for serving the players and people of Hickory.
Hackman's Norman Dale ministers to others, but he's not sentimental. When he reaches out to the town drunk, former Hickory basketball star, and father of a current Hickory player, Shooter Flatch and tries to help him dry out by making him his assistant coach, it's vintage Hackman. Norman Dale disguises his compassion by offering Shooter the position in an indirect way, as if he really needs assistance, when, in fact, his purpose is to help Shooter regain dignity and possibly reconcile with his son.
I think of all the roles I've seen Gene Hackman play and I'm astounded by his versatility and breadth. But most of all, it's his dependability and his solidness that impress me.
His characters come alive from the inside out and Hackman does what the great character actors do: he dives deeply into his characters, gives them physical life and a full indentity, and always makes them memorable.
Three Beautiful Things 05/10/08: Book of Brevity, Magic Realism, Mike Rose
1. I've been teaching a book of short short stories, sometimes called microfiction, sudden fiction, and other names. They are kind of a combination of prose poem and short story, but rarely over a page long. The stories I've been teaching are all from Latin America and were translated by one of my fellow teachers, Jose Chaves. Jose came to my class and talked about the background this genre emerged from and listened as my students shared their insights about the stories.
2. The stories often explore a dimension of reality known as magic realism. It's a way of writing stories that treat the realm of dreams and the absurd as if the incongruities and fragmented nature of dreams and the absurd live with us all the time. I want to strike the words "as if". Dreams and the absurd are always with us and these stories magnify that reality.
3. My WR 122 students have been reading the writing of Mike Rose and are doing a great job understanding Rose's thesis that we need to look at manual labor and recognize the multiple intelligences hard labor requires, even though it is common to regard blue-collar work as performed from the neck down.
2. The stories often explore a dimension of reality known as magic realism. It's a way of writing stories that treat the realm of dreams and the absurd as if the incongruities and fragmented nature of dreams and the absurd live with us all the time. I want to strike the words "as if". Dreams and the absurd are always with us and these stories magnify that reality.
3. My WR 122 students have been reading the writing of Mike Rose and are doing a great job understanding Rose's thesis that we need to look at manual labor and recognize the multiple intelligences hard labor requires, even though it is common to regard blue-collar work as performed from the neck down.
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Three Beautiful Things 05/05/08: Essays, More Limbo, Old Laughter
1. I spent much of the day reading WR 122 essays, many of them about what our work teaches us, others about the merits of free thinking and the downfalls of closed-mindedness. Meeting with this class is a pleasure every Tuesday and Thursday evening and reading their insights, stories, and reflections made this day one of sweet labor.
2. Margaret opened the floor for discussion of Limbo today and our students verbalized their many experiences with what expectations they have grown up with regarding the world of work and social status; comments ranged from the proud to the puzzled to the bemused to the heartbroken.
3. The Deke and I have had a long-standing joke between us about a couple of musicians here in town, and, lo and behold, they have popped up in her life again and gave us some grist for laughter this evening.
2. Margaret opened the floor for discussion of Limbo today and our students verbalized their many experiences with what expectations they have grown up with regarding the world of work and social status; comments ranged from the proud to the puzzled to the bemused to the heartbroken.
3. The Deke and I have had a long-standing joke between us about a couple of musicians here in town, and, lo and behold, they have popped up in her life again and gave us some grist for laughter this evening.
Monday, May 5, 2008
Three Beautiful Things 05/04/08: Breezy, Limbo, Surreal
1. Walking the neighborhood with Snug and we were welcomed by a pale blue, slightly cloudy sky, warmth, and a tempering cool breeze.
2. It's been about a year since I first read Alfred Lubrano's book Limbo: Blue-Collar Roots, White Collar Dreams. While I don't enjoy the feeling of being in two world and often feeling out of place in both, I do enjoy his articulation of this experience and I enjoy the self-examination his stories and reflection inspire in me.
3. I've started to re-read my fellow instructor Jose Chaves' Book of Brevity, a collection of micro-stories (flash fiction) he translated from Spanish into English. The stories are from several countries including Mexico, Chile, Uruguay, and others. They are mind bending stories, told as jokes, parables, allegories, dreams, and other forms that explore life by means other than realism. It will be fascinating (I hope) to see what my students make of them!
2. It's been about a year since I first read Alfred Lubrano's book Limbo: Blue-Collar Roots, White Collar Dreams. While I don't enjoy the feeling of being in two world and often feeling out of place in both, I do enjoy his articulation of this experience and I enjoy the self-examination his stories and reflection inspire in me.
3. I've started to re-read my fellow instructor Jose Chaves' Book of Brevity, a collection of micro-stories (flash fiction) he translated from Spanish into English. The stories are from several countries including Mexico, Chile, Uruguay, and others. They are mind bending stories, told as jokes, parables, allegories, dreams, and other forms that explore life by means other than realism. It will be fascinating (I hope) to see what my students make of them!
Sunday, May 4, 2008
Education and Salvation
Marla, a Survey of World Literature student, wrote an insightful essay about Etienne, the central character of Zola's Germinal. She argued that Etienne's devotion to reading and self-education might have been motivated, in part, by his desire to overcome the bleakness of his days as a boy and the alcoholism he inherited.
Her point hit home for me. It took me back, in particular, to my sophomore year at North Idaho College and the years that followed at Whitworth College (now University) and my graduate school years at the University of Oregon.
Although my outward expression may have seemed to belie it, I entered college very insecure, especially regarding my inward self and my understanding of the social world around me. Everywhere I looked, young people my age and little older seemed to know how to get on socially and seemed to have knowledge and and understanding of things I was clueless about.
I felt sheltered and naive, and I can't say it was because I came from Kellogg. I knew Kellogg and Wallace and Mullan and Sandpoint and Post Falls and, of course, Coeur d' Alene kids who were more worldly. They seemed to have secret knowledge. They were (much) more experienced sexually and had partied (much) more than I, and the Christian kids had a depth of experience with the spiritual life that it had never occurred to me was even possible.
I felt inferior. Very inferior. I was especially confused about what it meant to be a Christian and, on different plane, very confused and awkward regarding women and did not/would not become sexually active.
The other place in my life where men were talking about experience far out of my range was at the Zinc Plant. These men hunted, gambled, talked about motorcycles and snowmobiles, had served in the military; some were dopeheads; others cared for and drove muscle cars.
I didn't hunt, gamble, or recreate with motorcycles or snowmobiles; I wasn't a vet; I didn't do any dope, though I started drinking a lot; my car was a 1969 Volkswagen bug. Not much muscle.
My only special knowledge related to sports, but I was starting to get really interested in school.
Over my first two years of college, I began to regard formal education as my way to overcome my social deficiencies and my failures with women, not to mention my theological ignorance.
I really thought that if I learned all I could about human nature and the human condition, I could overcome my lack of sophistication and, above all, could succeed in relationships, and, ultimately, in marriage.
I really thought that if I could meet and get together with a woman with a similar love of learning, where would read poetry and theology and novels together and become students of human nature, that would be the way to overcome my inherent deficiencies, including my dark mood changes and unpredictable and irrational temper.
Like Etienne, I lived in a fantasy world, informed by great ideas and beauty. I grew passionate about history, art, literature, theology, and the study of human nature.
In the same way that Christians sought salvation in the church, I thought I was finding social, marital, and personal salvation in my studies.
By the time I was in the midst of graduate school, my obsession with this road to salvation became so seductive that I spent most of my time reading and writing papers. I rarely took breaks. I resented visitors. If I went to a movie with my wife or if her family came to visit, if these things pulled me away from studies, I panicked inside, afraid that I wouldn't get a paper done or not pass an exam. I was committed to overachieving.
I feared I would lose my salvation.
The fantasies deepened. I thought the only thing wrong with the world was that others didn't know what I knew. I began to think if more people would study Shakespeare, and understand his wisdom, or would read Death of a Salesman and understand its warnings, or plunge into comedy and understand it promises and hopes, then they would find what these stories had to say and the world, and my personal relationships, would change for the better.
It was intoxicating, much as Etienne's readings about social revolution intoxicate him.
For me, the word that governed my thoughts was "transformation". I thought that others didn't understand that literature and history and theology could transform one's life, and so I pursued my vocation as a teacher with zeal, with the idea that I could be an instrument of transformation.
I felt the same way about marriage, that regardless of tensions, my bouts with depression, and my tendencies toward withdrawl, that if my wi(ves) and I understood life the way it is portrayed in great literature, we could both avoid and overcome the pitfalls of failure.
Little to none of this has or does work out.
I still love to read, study, and write. I still get intoxicated and still find myself wishing or believing that by the power of intellectual will problems can be avoided or overcome and family rifts and social situations can be solved.
But my thirty-five year belief in this kind of salvation is falling away.
I look back at my history of delusions and feel foolish and know old habits are hard to break. It's true that what I thought would lead to success in my life outside of reading and thinking has been largely a failure breaks my heart.
I will probably always be a romantic in my core approach to life, but at least my failures in this way of pursuing success have been tempered and maybe I'm starting to mature.
Her point hit home for me. It took me back, in particular, to my sophomore year at North Idaho College and the years that followed at Whitworth College (now University) and my graduate school years at the University of Oregon.
Although my outward expression may have seemed to belie it, I entered college very insecure, especially regarding my inward self and my understanding of the social world around me. Everywhere I looked, young people my age and little older seemed to know how to get on socially and seemed to have knowledge and and understanding of things I was clueless about.
I felt sheltered and naive, and I can't say it was because I came from Kellogg. I knew Kellogg and Wallace and Mullan and Sandpoint and Post Falls and, of course, Coeur d' Alene kids who were more worldly. They seemed to have secret knowledge. They were (much) more experienced sexually and had partied (much) more than I, and the Christian kids had a depth of experience with the spiritual life that it had never occurred to me was even possible.
I felt inferior. Very inferior. I was especially confused about what it meant to be a Christian and, on different plane, very confused and awkward regarding women and did not/would not become sexually active.
The other place in my life where men were talking about experience far out of my range was at the Zinc Plant. These men hunted, gambled, talked about motorcycles and snowmobiles, had served in the military; some were dopeheads; others cared for and drove muscle cars.
I didn't hunt, gamble, or recreate with motorcycles or snowmobiles; I wasn't a vet; I didn't do any dope, though I started drinking a lot; my car was a 1969 Volkswagen bug. Not much muscle.
My only special knowledge related to sports, but I was starting to get really interested in school.
Over my first two years of college, I began to regard formal education as my way to overcome my social deficiencies and my failures with women, not to mention my theological ignorance.
I really thought that if I learned all I could about human nature and the human condition, I could overcome my lack of sophistication and, above all, could succeed in relationships, and, ultimately, in marriage.
I really thought that if I could meet and get together with a woman with a similar love of learning, where would read poetry and theology and novels together and become students of human nature, that would be the way to overcome my inherent deficiencies, including my dark mood changes and unpredictable and irrational temper.
Like Etienne, I lived in a fantasy world, informed by great ideas and beauty. I grew passionate about history, art, literature, theology, and the study of human nature.
In the same way that Christians sought salvation in the church, I thought I was finding social, marital, and personal salvation in my studies.
By the time I was in the midst of graduate school, my obsession with this road to salvation became so seductive that I spent most of my time reading and writing papers. I rarely took breaks. I resented visitors. If I went to a movie with my wife or if her family came to visit, if these things pulled me away from studies, I panicked inside, afraid that I wouldn't get a paper done or not pass an exam. I was committed to overachieving.
I feared I would lose my salvation.
The fantasies deepened. I thought the only thing wrong with the world was that others didn't know what I knew. I began to think if more people would study Shakespeare, and understand his wisdom, or would read Death of a Salesman and understand its warnings, or plunge into comedy and understand it promises and hopes, then they would find what these stories had to say and the world, and my personal relationships, would change for the better.
It was intoxicating, much as Etienne's readings about social revolution intoxicate him.
For me, the word that governed my thoughts was "transformation". I thought that others didn't understand that literature and history and theology could transform one's life, and so I pursued my vocation as a teacher with zeal, with the idea that I could be an instrument of transformation.
I felt the same way about marriage, that regardless of tensions, my bouts with depression, and my tendencies toward withdrawl, that if my wi(ves) and I understood life the way it is portrayed in great literature, we could both avoid and overcome the pitfalls of failure.
Little to none of this has or does work out.
I still love to read, study, and write. I still get intoxicated and still find myself wishing or believing that by the power of intellectual will problems can be avoided or overcome and family rifts and social situations can be solved.
But my thirty-five year belief in this kind of salvation is falling away.
I look back at my history of delusions and feel foolish and know old habits are hard to break. It's true that what I thought would lead to success in my life outside of reading and thinking has been largely a failure breaks my heart.
I will probably always be a romantic in my core approach to life, but at least my failures in this way of pursuing success have been tempered and maybe I'm starting to mature.
Three Beautiful Things 05/01-03/08: Intelligence, Sky of Stone, Living Poetry
1. My WR 122 class is focusing on the subject of work. We are focusing right now on the multiple intelligences present in what's often referred to as semi-skilled or unskilled labor. We are reading parts of Mike Rose's The Mind at Work. Christine electrified our class discussion with her comments about her father's work as a logger and her experience being from a logging town, Oakridge, from a working class family, and attending Lewis and Clark College, a privileged private school in Portland.
2. In this class, we are going to study Homer Hickam's magnificent memoir Sky of Stone. I read it yesterday to prepare for teaching it and this story of Hickam, after his freshman year at Virginia Tech, working in a coal mine and learning about the social and political underworld of Coalwood, West Virginia was invigorating and deeply insightful. I highly recommend this book. It's tender and Hickam's self-exploration is at once penetrating and forgiving.
3. In ENG 109, students chose and read aloud the Neruda Odes that had captured their imagination and interest the most and I loved hearing these Odes come alive in the reading voices of my students. Their choices were wonderful and those students who read aloud presented the poems with passion and commitment to the beauty of the poems.
2. In this class, we are going to study Homer Hickam's magnificent memoir Sky of Stone. I read it yesterday to prepare for teaching it and this story of Hickam, after his freshman year at Virginia Tech, working in a coal mine and learning about the social and political underworld of Coalwood, West Virginia was invigorating and deeply insightful. I highly recommend this book. It's tender and Hickam's self-exploration is at once penetrating and forgiving.
3. In ENG 109, students chose and read aloud the Neruda Odes that had captured their imagination and interest the most and I loved hearing these Odes come alive in the reading voices of my students. Their choices were wonderful and those students who read aloud presented the poems with passion and commitment to the beauty of the poems.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Three Beautiful Things 04/29/08: Neruda, Class Buzz, Students Travel the World
1. I love teaching poetry. Today my World Lit students and I worked on a couple of Neruda Odes together and I could feel vitality coursing throughout my body and I'm hoping the poetry came alive for my students, too.
2. Tonight my WR 122 students read essays they had written aloud in groups of three and four and the room buzzed with students reading, talking with each other, laughing, and just enjoying themselves. I was out of the picture, temporarily irrelevant. These are my favorite times in the classroom, when the students take over and listen to and enjoy each other.
3. Today was great conversations with students day: about the Women's Center, travel to India, good times in Mexico, hiking in Alaska, living in the country just off Mohawk Road, travel across the country on Greyhound. None of these things were about me. It was my students telling me stories about their lives and concerns in casual conversation.
2. Tonight my WR 122 students read essays they had written aloud in groups of three and four and the room buzzed with students reading, talking with each other, laughing, and just enjoying themselves. I was out of the picture, temporarily irrelevant. These are my favorite times in the classroom, when the students take over and listen to and enjoy each other.
3. Today was great conversations with students day: about the Women's Center, travel to India, good times in Mexico, hiking in Alaska, living in the country just off Mohawk Road, travel across the country on Greyhound. None of these things were about me. It was my students telling me stories about their lives and concerns in casual conversation.
Monday, April 28, 2008
Three Beautiful Things 04/28/08: Donut, Snug Improves, Etienne's Conflicts
1. I needed some extra time this morning to get myself together and my team teacher, Margaret, got class going. The extra time allowed me to stop by the cafeteria for a cinnamon donut and that little bit of sugar sweetened my whole day.
2. My adventures playing ball with Snug continue. He's starting to understand gravity better and his timing is improving and he snatches the ball out of the air more often, but still provides plenty of comedy, biting at the ball, chomping on air, and clumsily recovering and picking up the ball off the ground.
3. I read more student essays on Germinal today and some of my students' work made my jaw drop with their deep understanding of the conflicts that churn inside of Etienne, turmoil we, as readers, see and understand, but that Etienne himself has little understanding of himself.
2. My adventures playing ball with Snug continue. He's starting to understand gravity better and his timing is improving and he snatches the ball out of the air more often, but still provides plenty of comedy, biting at the ball, chomping on air, and clumsily recovering and picking up the ball off the ground.
3. I read more student essays on Germinal today and some of my students' work made my jaw drop with their deep understanding of the conflicts that churn inside of Etienne, turmoil we, as readers, see and understand, but that Etienne himself has little understanding of himself.
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Three Beautiful Things 04/27/04: Germinal, West and East, Strolling
1. I read and graded essays all day today. They were wonderful papers. My World Lit. students are wrestling with the fatalistic Zola novel, Germinal. It felt risky assigning it. Would my students read a 500+ page novel about coal miners striking in France in the 1860's? Many did. Class discussions have been vibrant and their papers have been right on the mark, many animated by enthusiasm for Zola's close to the bone grittiness, dark as it is.
2. My WR 122 students are learning about how to expand their critical thinking by thinking non-dualistically and copiously. We are looking at how traditional Western thought and Buddhist thought overlap and merge with their commitment to seeing the world as fully as as possible, from as many different perspectives as possible. My students essays reflecting their understanding of this overlapping and their examples of thinking this way themselves were fully of vitality.
3. Snug and I took a leisurely stroll around the neighborhood after I finished grading papers and the fruit blossoms around the neighborhood nearly intoxicated me.
2. My WR 122 students are learning about how to expand their critical thinking by thinking non-dualistically and copiously. We are looking at how traditional Western thought and Buddhist thought overlap and merge with their commitment to seeing the world as fully as as possible, from as many different perspectives as possible. My students essays reflecting their understanding of this overlapping and their examples of thinking this way themselves were fully of vitality.
3. Snug and I took a leisurely stroll around the neighborhood after I finished grading papers and the fruit blossoms around the neighborhood nearly intoxicated me.
Three Beautiful Things 04/26/08: Fresh Air, Blogging, Justine
1. As documented below, Snug and I went on a comfortable and comforting walk in Hendricks Park.
2. You can also scroll down, and see that I broke my blogging losing streak and finally got back to posting again and got caught up with Sibling Assignments.
3. Justine wrote me a late night email telling me she was struggling with her essay that's due on Tuesday and all of her thoughts and ideas for the essay were terrific. I think she might just write a very solid essay!
2. You can also scroll down, and see that I broke my blogging losing streak and finally got back to posting again and got caught up with Sibling Assignments.
3. Justine wrote me a late night email telling me she was struggling with her essay that's due on Tuesday and all of her thoughts and ideas for the essay were terrific. I think she might just write a very solid essay!
Saturday, April 26, 2008
Sibling Assignment #61: Where I'm From
InlandEmpireGirl assigned this week's Sibling Assignment. Take the poem Where I'm From by George Ella Lyon and do your own version of where you are from. InlandEmpireGirl's poem is here and Silver Valley Girl's here. InlandEmpireGirl posted the original poem during National Poetry Month a year ago. You can read it here.
Where I’m From
Perhaps I’m not from tie dyed socks or tofu burritos
Or long haired boys high in rainbow buses
Or hoppy handcrafted Extra Special Bitters
Brewed beneath the High Street Pub –
And perhaps I’m not from recycling barrels
Or downtown protests of the War in
Or sold out nights with Yo Yo Ma or Mama Mia.
And perhaps I’m not from Serene Reflection Meditation
Or midmorning tailgate martinis,
Fresh grilled Oregon King Salmon with lemon couscous salad;
I never knew paprika on home fried potatoes,
I’m not from a mint condition first edition of Catch-22 at Black Sun books,
Or Bee Kissed Lip Balm, Higher Power TropicalTrail Mix,
Or wildcrafted Elephant’s Head and Angelica Root.
No, I’m from cadmium dust, sulfur air, blasting caps,
Anodes, cathodes, ingots, bars, pallets of zinc, mountains of slag, and flues.
I’m from Rooster, Goose, Dogfoot, Fanner, Igor, Barney, and Lars;
From
I’m from Jamborees, Freeze-orees, Spelling Bees, Fish Feeds,
Prom queens, Elks queens, blue jeans, and flatulent Jeremiah Bean.
I’m from sleeping out, sneaking out, camping out, and lashing out;
Mays and McCovey, Mantle and Maris, Koufax, Drysdale, and Ford.
I’m from a silly millimeter longer,
You’ve come a long way, baby,
You can take
I can’t believe I ate the whole thing.
I’m from pot roasts, rump roasts, pork roasts,
New pants and shirts in the fall,
Baseball cleats, basketball shoes,
Golf clubs, bikes,
Christmas trees,
Gobs of gifts,
A house that was always warm.
I’m from parents who held me,
Kept me in line,
Drove me where I needed to go.
Obama Sweeps Eugene in a Landslide
The Democrat's presidential primary is approaching in Oregon and I am 100% undecided as I try to decide between Clinton and Obama. I'm not even sure how to decide. I might have to dig out the Ouija board.
But, stand anywhere in downtown Eugene or south of downtown, and within seconds you are bound to see the ubquitious Subaru Outback, festooned with the mandatory Obama bumper sticker. You'd think I'd be more persuaded.
A Walk in Hendricks Park
Mild spring weather broke out today in Eugene. Snug and I leaped in the Honda and glided out to southeast Eugene to the wooded Hendricks Park. This time of year, Hendricks Park is renown for its rhododendrons and azaleas. Alas, the trails winding through these bushes is off limits to dogs, so Snug and I headed the opposite way, into the woods:
The trees stretched eyes upward. Sometimes, though, things closer to the ground caught my eye. I liked the way the sunlight highlighted this wee fern growing out of this tree's trunk:
I also enjoyed delicate wildflowers:
Of course, moss covered logs and trees throughout the park:
Ivy also smothered logs and stumps:
Most important, beyond flowers and trees and moss and ivy, Snug enjoyed himself:
The trees stretched eyes upward. Sometimes, though, things closer to the ground caught my eye. I liked the way the sunlight highlighted this wee fern growing out of this tree's trunk:
I also enjoyed delicate wildflowers:
Of course, moss covered logs and trees throughout the park:
Ivy also smothered logs and stumps:
Most important, beyond flowers and trees and moss and ivy, Snug enjoyed himself:
Friday, April 25, 2008
Three Beautiful Things 04/25/08: Teaching Talk, Dan's Retirement, Wobblies
1. Our English department spent time in discussion about different aspects of our teaching life. It's rare. Most of the time when we meet we talk about college business and almost never about classroom teaching and the pleasures of our discipline. It's a shame that institutional life is usually so uncertain that the governing of the institution demands so much attention.
2. We devoted time during our day together to honor the distinguished teaching career of Dan Armstrong. He and I were hired into our full-time positions on the same day in 1990 and started our full-time work in January of 1991. We have had offices next door to each other for many years and have grown close over the years. I'll hate to see him go, but I'm ecstatic for Dan that he will move into his retirement life and live his life at a slower and more relaxed pace.
3. Our Working Class Lit/Research class watched a compelling documentary this morning, "The Wobblies", a series of interview, archival footage, and other forms of film examining the short, but passionate history of the Industrial Workers of the World.
2. We devoted time during our day together to honor the distinguished teaching career of Dan Armstrong. He and I were hired into our full-time positions on the same day in 1990 and started our full-time work in January of 1991. We have had offices next door to each other for many years and have grown close over the years. I'll hate to see him go, but I'm ecstatic for Dan that he will move into his retirement life and live his life at a slower and more relaxed pace.
3. Our Working Class Lit/Research class watched a compelling documentary this morning, "The Wobblies", a series of interview, archival footage, and other forms of film examining the short, but passionate history of the Industrial Workers of the World.
Sibling Assignment #60: Accomplishments At Sixty Years Old
For Sibling Assignment #60, Silver Valley Girl assigned the following task:
I realize some of us are closer than others, but, never the less, what are 10 things you would like to accomplish by the time you celebrate your 60th birthday?
Silver Valley Girl's hopes are here and InlandEmpireGirl's are here.
My first response to Silver Valley Girl's question is, very honestly, I don't have the slightest idea. Very, very honestly, my mind doesn't work this way. I am not goal oriented nor do I peer very much into the future with accomplishments in mind. I've never been very good at this. BUT, I signed on to these Sibling Assignments, so I am going to do my best to list ten things I'd like to accomplish by 12.27.2013.
1. Dark as it sounds, I'd like to be alive and healthy. I never know if the damage caused by the gas I inhaled at the Zinc Plant in 1973 is going to assert itself and become a cancer or something. The meningitis I suffered in 1999 has reduced my kidney function by 70%. So far, I've not experienced further decline, but I wonder how long my kidneys will stay at this level of function and keep me going well.
2. I want to keep coming back to Kellogg as often as possible and enjoy my mother while her health remains sound and enjoy my sisters and my friends in and around Kellogg. It's one of the deepest joys in my life to have free time in the summers and come back home and be where I think I belong.
3. I'd like to finally read Charles Dickens' novel Bleak House. I've started it several times and have always become distracted and I'd like to tie myself down and finish it.
4. I'd like to learn to use my current camera, and maybe future cameras, more fully and have a better understanding of what is possible in taking pictures with a camera.
5. I'd like to continue to learn as a teacher and continue to try new things and continue to mature as a teacher. At my age and with my experience, it can be tempting to fall back on classroom practices I've always employed, but at the age of 54, I continue to teach new books, focus my courses differently, design new assignments, and stay fresh and stimulated.
6. I took a drive in 1992 that I called the Richard Hugo tour. I traveled to many of the towns his poems are set in and walked the routes that some his poem's follow in those poems. I'd like to do that again and visit some of the small towns I didn't go to before.
7. In January, I found out that I live fairly close to Kellogg, Oregon. I've lived in Oregon for almost thirty years and I never knew about Kellogg, Oregon. I must go there and see what the other Kellogg looks like.
8. I've never hit a slot machine jackpot. I'd like to.
9. Harlan County, USA is a documentary film I am deeply moved by and I have a strong urge to travel to Brookside, KY where the movie happens and explore that part of Kentucky and on over to West Virginia and see the scraped off hilltops, a result of hilltop mining.
10. I'd like to find a joint here in the Eugene area comparable to Smelterville's Johnny's Bar or the Kingston Exxon station where guys get together every morning for coffee. I'm afraid that here in Eugene this will be the hardest thing on this list to accomplish. At these places in the Silver Valley where guys get together, they've know each other for decades, from when they were young.
I realize some of us are closer than others, but, never the less, what are 10 things you would like to accomplish by the time you celebrate your 60th birthday?
Silver Valley Girl's hopes are here and InlandEmpireGirl's are here.
My first response to Silver Valley Girl's question is, very honestly, I don't have the slightest idea. Very, very honestly, my mind doesn't work this way. I am not goal oriented nor do I peer very much into the future with accomplishments in mind. I've never been very good at this. BUT, I signed on to these Sibling Assignments, so I am going to do my best to list ten things I'd like to accomplish by 12.27.2013.
1. Dark as it sounds, I'd like to be alive and healthy. I never know if the damage caused by the gas I inhaled at the Zinc Plant in 1973 is going to assert itself and become a cancer or something. The meningitis I suffered in 1999 has reduced my kidney function by 70%. So far, I've not experienced further decline, but I wonder how long my kidneys will stay at this level of function and keep me going well.
2. I want to keep coming back to Kellogg as often as possible and enjoy my mother while her health remains sound and enjoy my sisters and my friends in and around Kellogg. It's one of the deepest joys in my life to have free time in the summers and come back home and be where I think I belong.
3. I'd like to finally read Charles Dickens' novel Bleak House. I've started it several times and have always become distracted and I'd like to tie myself down and finish it.
4. I'd like to learn to use my current camera, and maybe future cameras, more fully and have a better understanding of what is possible in taking pictures with a camera.
5. I'd like to continue to learn as a teacher and continue to try new things and continue to mature as a teacher. At my age and with my experience, it can be tempting to fall back on classroom practices I've always employed, but at the age of 54, I continue to teach new books, focus my courses differently, design new assignments, and stay fresh and stimulated.
6. I took a drive in 1992 that I called the Richard Hugo tour. I traveled to many of the towns his poems are set in and walked the routes that some his poem's follow in those poems. I'd like to do that again and visit some of the small towns I didn't go to before.
7. In January, I found out that I live fairly close to Kellogg, Oregon. I've lived in Oregon for almost thirty years and I never knew about Kellogg, Oregon. I must go there and see what the other Kellogg looks like.
8. I've never hit a slot machine jackpot. I'd like to.
9. Harlan County, USA is a documentary film I am deeply moved by and I have a strong urge to travel to Brookside, KY where the movie happens and explore that part of Kentucky and on over to West Virginia and see the scraped off hilltops, a result of hilltop mining.
10. I'd like to find a joint here in the Eugene area comparable to Smelterville's Johnny's Bar or the Kingston Exxon station where guys get together every morning for coffee. I'm afraid that here in Eugene this will be the hardest thing on this list to accomplish. At these places in the Silver Valley where guys get together, they've know each other for decades, from when they were young.
Sibling Assignment #59: Kindness
I assigned this sibling assignment to acknowledge April which is National Poetry Month. My sisters and I were to post and poem that is important to us right now. InlandEmpireGirl posted her poem here and Silver Valley Girl posted her poem here.
Here's the poem I selected and a few comments:
Nye's vision of kindness is that it's grounded in loss. It's a good thing. Otherwise, kindness would never prevail. Our lives are filled with suffering and loss, and if we only extended kindness when our lives or the world were in a happy state, we would rarely be kind.
Indirectly, this poem also speaks to the refining and chastening nature of suffering. It's a mystery. Suffering has an inexplicable power to move us to see the suffering in others, to share in that suffering, and extend compassion. Nye's word is kindness.
My hope, in reading this poem, is that I have the capacity to translate my disappointments and pain into kindness. Honestly, I know that I am a source of difficulty for others at times. I am grateful when the suffering or discomfort I have caused is returned with kindness.
Nye says it so well: "it is only kindness that makes sense any more." Indeed. Why should we extend our misery or sorrow to others, when kindness "goes with you everywhere/like a shadow or a friend".
Here's the poem I selected and a few comments:
Kindness |
Naomi Shihab Nye |
Nye's vision of kindness is that it's grounded in loss. It's a good thing. Otherwise, kindness would never prevail. Our lives are filled with suffering and loss, and if we only extended kindness when our lives or the world were in a happy state, we would rarely be kind.
Indirectly, this poem also speaks to the refining and chastening nature of suffering. It's a mystery. Suffering has an inexplicable power to move us to see the suffering in others, to share in that suffering, and extend compassion. Nye's word is kindness.
My hope, in reading this poem, is that I have the capacity to translate my disappointments and pain into kindness. Honestly, I know that I am a source of difficulty for others at times. I am grateful when the suffering or discomfort I have caused is returned with kindness.
Nye says it so well: "it is only kindness that makes sense any more." Indeed. Why should we extend our misery or sorrow to others, when kindness "goes with you everywhere/like a shadow or a friend".
Sunday, April 6, 2008
Three Beautiful Things 04/05/08: Tigers, Jayhawks, Vanessa
1. ncaa.com makes the NCAA basketball tournament games available live and without charge. I watched today's games. In game #1, I was for UCLA, but was so impressed with how Memphis dismantled the Bruins that my inner rooting mechanism for the Bruins kind of died and I watched the Tigers with astonishment.
2. Likewise, in the second game, the Kansas Jayhawks stunned me. I'm not sure how much time had elapsed when the Jayhawks were up 40-12, but, for that stretch of time, I hadn't seen such amazing basketball played for a long time. I didn't think any team at any time could bulldozer North Carolina the way Kansas did in the first half. My jaw dropped. And dropped. And dropped.
3. What a pleasure it was to see Vanessa working the customer service counter at Albertson's. Vanessa was one of my students in my winter Survey of World Literature course and she wrote papers expressing her amazement that ancient literature could speak so clearly and immediately to her life and concerns in the 21st century. It was fun to talk with her and to remember her insightful and enthusiastic writing.
2. Likewise, in the second game, the Kansas Jayhawks stunned me. I'm not sure how much time had elapsed when the Jayhawks were up 40-12, but, for that stretch of time, I hadn't seen such amazing basketball played for a long time. I didn't think any team at any time could bulldozer North Carolina the way Kansas did in the first half. My jaw dropped. And dropped. And dropped.
3. What a pleasure it was to see Vanessa working the customer service counter at Albertson's. Vanessa was one of my students in my winter Survey of World Literature course and she wrote papers expressing her amazement that ancient literature could speak so clearly and immediately to her life and concerns in the 21st century. It was fun to talk with her and to remember her insightful and enthusiastic writing.
Saturday, April 5, 2008
Three Beautiful Things 04/04/08: Igby, Backyard Polo Grounds, Chris Llewellyn
1. I watched an unusual movie this evening: "Igby Goes Down". It's a blistering, cynical, morose, dark comedy about a 17 year old boy played by Kieran Culkin who leaves his privileged but psychologically and emotionally damaged home and moves in with a heroin addict who is his godfather's lover and becomes lovers himself with a Bennington college student only to have his detested older brother take her away from him. And there's more. Susan Sarandon, Bill Pullman, Jeff Goldblum, Ryan Phillipe, Claire Daines, and Amanda Peete all play significant roles beautifully.
2. If you've seen the famous catch in Game 1 of the 1954 World Series that Willie Mays made, back to the plate, deep in center field, over the shoulder, than you know what kind of catch Snug made today when I tossed the tennis ball high, it took a huge bounce, went near the fence, and with his back to me, Snug snagged the ball and stopped, pivoted, and brought the ball back. As if they were fans at the Polo Grounds, the Corgis went wild.
3. Poet Chris Llewellyn wrote a series of haunting poems exploring the The Triangle Shirtwaist Company Fire of March 25, 1911, and our students read some of these poems aloud and I heard them in unsettling ways I'd never heard them before.
2. If you've seen the famous catch in Game 1 of the 1954 World Series that Willie Mays made, back to the plate, deep in center field, over the shoulder, than you know what kind of catch Snug made today when I tossed the tennis ball high, it took a huge bounce, went near the fence, and with his back to me, Snug snagged the ball and stopped, pivoted, and brought the ball back. As if they were fans at the Polo Grounds, the Corgis went wild.
3. Poet Chris Llewellyn wrote a series of haunting poems exploring the The Triangle Shirtwaist Company Fire of March 25, 1911, and our students read some of these poems aloud and I heard them in unsettling ways I'd never heard them before.
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Three Beautiful Things 04/03/08: Louise, Louise, Lola
1. I love it when a writer of keen intellect and elegant prose turns out to be, herself, an elegant, gracious, and keenly intelligent person. Today Louise Steinman, author of The Souvenir, visited Lane Community College and spoke movingly about the story of unearthing her father's WWII letters after he died in 1990 and how the discovery of a Japanese flag he had brought home from the war led Steinman to travel to Japan to return the flag to the family related to the Japanese soldier whose name was on the flag. I wrote Three Beautiful Things about this book back in September, 2007, here.
2. I was invited to a luncheon with Louise Steinman and was asked to invite three of my students. Marla, Teresa, and Alex all beamed to be in Steinman's company. It's no wonder. Louise Steinman listened intently to the students' own stories about family members who'd been in combat, as well as their comments about their lives. She valued the students, respected them, and helped them see that greatness is as much a matter of spirit as it is in achievement through publishing.
3. It was a movie to challenge the senses with its frantic pace and techno throbbing soundtrack, but my World Lit class seemed enthralled and excited by our viewing of Run, Lola, Run at 8:00 this morning. It's a hypnotic study of love, chance, and the way the slightest occurrence can result in the direst of consequences, but alter that occurrence very slightly and the consequences can be considerably sweeter.
2. I was invited to a luncheon with Louise Steinman and was asked to invite three of my students. Marla, Teresa, and Alex all beamed to be in Steinman's company. It's no wonder. Louise Steinman listened intently to the students' own stories about family members who'd been in combat, as well as their comments about their lives. She valued the students, respected them, and helped them see that greatness is as much a matter of spirit as it is in achievement through publishing.
3. It was a movie to challenge the senses with its frantic pace and techno throbbing soundtrack, but my World Lit class seemed enthralled and excited by our viewing of Run, Lola, Run at 8:00 this morning. It's a hypnotic study of love, chance, and the way the slightest occurrence can result in the direst of consequences, but alter that occurrence very slightly and the consequences can be considerably sweeter.
Saturday, March 29, 2008
Three Beautiful Things 03/29/08: Ready for Spring, Slot Play, School Days
1. I finally finished my course calendars and each syllabus for my spring courses. I'm not teaching any of my courses the way I have in the past and it took a lot of concentration and imagination to figure out how to proceed this spring. I'm relieved. Figuring out these courses has weighed heavily on my mind ever since I got winter term grades submitted on Tuesday.
2. Having finished my calendars, I went on spring break this afternoon and drove with Snug to the Three Rivers casino near Florence and played and played and played and came out twenty bucks ahead. Things were hopping, especially when the karaoke contest started and it felt good to be in a place buzzing with so much fun.
3. I went to Silver King Elementary my first two years of school. Ponderosa Pinings posted a picture of our second grade class on her blog and today Wucky sent me pictures of each of his Silver King classes, minus the third grade. That was the year of a big strike at the Bunker Hill and his dad went to Wyoming to work until the strike ended. These pictures stir a lot of memory and feeling in me.
2. Having finished my calendars, I went on spring break this afternoon and drove with Snug to the Three Rivers casino near Florence and played and played and played and came out twenty bucks ahead. Things were hopping, especially when the karaoke contest started and it felt good to be in a place buzzing with so much fun.
3. I went to Silver King Elementary my first two years of school. Ponderosa Pinings posted a picture of our second grade class on her blog and today Wucky sent me pictures of each of his Silver King classes, minus the third grade. That was the year of a big strike at the Bunker Hill and his dad went to Wyoming to work until the strike ended. These pictures stir a lot of memory and feeling in me.
Three Beautiful Things 03/28/08: Press, Work Songs, Wildcats
1. Snug does this thing that InlandEmpireGirl tells me her springers have always done: he lies down in bed with me, arches his back toward my lower or upper legs, and presses himself against me. It's great. His pressing against me is a comfort.
2. I'm getting close to figuring out a small research project for my WR 122 course. For eighteen years previous I've been teaching this course, research has not been a part of it. Now it is. This old dog is having to learn some new ways of doing things. I'm getting there.
3. I started the Davidson/Wisconsin game thinking I was for Wisconsin. I admire Bo Ryan, their coach. I enjoy their lock down defense and patient offense. It wasn't long, though, as the game progressed when I turned turncoat and got caught up in the magic of the Davidson Wildcats and I completely enjoyed how they dismantled the Wisconsin Badgers. I honestly don't see how they can get past Kansas, but. . .
2. I'm getting close to figuring out a small research project for my WR 122 course. For eighteen years previous I've been teaching this course, research has not been a part of it. Now it is. This old dog is having to learn some new ways of doing things. I'm getting there.
3. I started the Davidson/Wisconsin game thinking I was for Wisconsin. I admire Bo Ryan, their coach. I enjoy their lock down defense and patient offense. It wasn't long, though, as the game progressed when I turned turncoat and got caught up in the magic of the Davidson Wildcats and I completely enjoyed how they dismantled the Wisconsin Badgers. I honestly don't see how they can get past Kansas, but. . .
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Three Beautiful Things 03/27/08: The Say Hey Dog, Calendar, I Found It!
1. When I throw the ball for Snug and Maggie and Charly, Maggie can always snag it the ball out of the air. Snug is almost always out of sync. Today, one time, the ball took a high bounce and the usually awkward Snug snared the ball before it hit the ground. My heart swelled.
2. I spent most of the day figuring out the course calendar for the class MBayless and I team teach. Her part of the course is American Working Class Literature and mine is Composition: Research and it's been an endless quest for me over the last twenty-three years of teaching research of trying to figure out a way to move my students through the process of research and writing in a disciplined and productive way. It's the hardest course I teach, but I keep coming back to it, ready to tackle its challenges again.
3. I found my DVD copy of Harlan County, USA. I thought it was lost, but now it's found and it raised my spirits significantly to have found it!
2. I spent most of the day figuring out the course calendar for the class MBayless and I team teach. Her part of the course is American Working Class Literature and mine is Composition: Research and it's been an endless quest for me over the last twenty-three years of teaching research of trying to figure out a way to move my students through the process of research and writing in a disciplined and productive way. It's the hardest course I teach, but I keep coming back to it, ready to tackle its challenges again.
3. I found my DVD copy of Harlan County, USA. I thought it was lost, but now it's found and it raised my spirits significantly to have found it!
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Three Beautiful Things 03/26/08: Pizza, Gambling, Silver Valley Business
1. Adrienne, Patrick, the Deke, and I were going to have some Mongolian bbq tonight, but Adrienne had been studying all day and didn't want to go back out of the house so we had pizza. Unbeknownst to me, the others ordered my favorite: Canadian bacon and pineapple and another pie of my second favorite, pepperoni. Combined with freezing cold Diet Pepsi, this meal had me in junk food heaven.
2. My gambling buddy Ed called from Kingston and it looks like he'll be coming to Oregon in a couple of weeks for a weekend of casino hopping. Oh, man! This will be one fun weekend!
3. I had a cool email exchange with Atmospheric Idaho Escapee Ruminations about business people in Kellogg and Pinehurst on the heels of my post (look below) regarding the Furniture Exchange and Don and Pat Elfsten.
2. My gambling buddy Ed called from Kingston and it looks like he'll be coming to Oregon in a couple of weeks for a weekend of casino hopping. Oh, man! This will be one fun weekend!
3. I had a cool email exchange with Atmospheric Idaho Escapee Ruminations about business people in Kellogg and Pinehurst on the heels of my post (look below) regarding the Furniture Exchange and Don and Pat Elfsten.
Sibling Assignment #58: Furniture Exchange and Rollfast Bicycles
The next sibling assignment comes from InlandEmpireGirl: "Pick a local business in the Silver Valley during our growing up years. Share a story that happened to you while being at that business." InlandEmpireGirl takes readers back to Stein Brother's IGA, here, and Silver Valley Girl will be posting her entry as soon as possible.
Over the Christmas break just past, Don Elfsten, one of Kellogg's most beloved store owners died. For longer than I've been alive, the Furniture Exchange has been a fixture in Kellogg and Don Elfsten started the business. It's now run by his son, Pat.
Mom has always loved and trusted the Furniture Exchange. Her houses walls are painted with paint from the Furniture Exchange. We've worn out couches, hide-a-bed sofas, recliners from the Furniture Exchange and when they go out the door a new one from the Furniture Exchange comes in.
Our Zenith televisions, study desks, dining sets, kitchen stoves, refrigerators, all have come from there.
Now Pat has a garden spot at the Furniture Exchange. Last summer Mom's deck was covered in starters. Where'd they come from?
The Furniture Exchange.
The only product the Furniture Exchange sold that I really cared about was bicycles.
Don Elfsten carried Rollfast bicycles. They were sturdy, not very expensive, and the brand name always worked for me.
When I jumped on my Rollfast, it was like I had boarded P. F. Flyers on wheels.
If P. F. Flyers would make me "Run Faster and Jump Higher", a Rollfast had me screaming at the speed of sound up Mission Ave, down Utah, and back home up Cameron where we lived.
I don't have a particular story about going to the Furniture Exchange to buy. a Rollfast, but I do remember my most memorable ride.
I was in the fourth grade.
Bruce Walker's dad hadn't died yet, so he hadn't moved to Joplin.
The freeway through Kellogg was being built and was nearly finished. The road, however, had not been surfaced so the on and off ramps and the freeway itself was smooth dirt.
I have no idea why in the fall of 1963 no one cared that Bruce Walker and I rode our bikes east and west on the dirt freeway.
No one was working.
We had a freeway to ourselves.
We rode fast and laughed, not the laugh of getting away with something, but the laughter of pure joy that we could be on our one speed Rollfast bikes from the Furniture Exchange, no stop lights, no stop signs, no cars, no other bicycles.
It was just us.
It was the best bike ride I've ever had.
Over the Christmas break just past, Don Elfsten, one of Kellogg's most beloved store owners died. For longer than I've been alive, the Furniture Exchange has been a fixture in Kellogg and Don Elfsten started the business. It's now run by his son, Pat.
Mom has always loved and trusted the Furniture Exchange. Her houses walls are painted with paint from the Furniture Exchange. We've worn out couches, hide-a-bed sofas, recliners from the Furniture Exchange and when they go out the door a new one from the Furniture Exchange comes in.
Our Zenith televisions, study desks, dining sets, kitchen stoves, refrigerators, all have come from there.
Now Pat has a garden spot at the Furniture Exchange. Last summer Mom's deck was covered in starters. Where'd they come from?
The Furniture Exchange.
The only product the Furniture Exchange sold that I really cared about was bicycles.
Don Elfsten carried Rollfast bicycles. They were sturdy, not very expensive, and the brand name always worked for me.
When I jumped on my Rollfast, it was like I had boarded P. F. Flyers on wheels.
If P. F. Flyers would make me "Run Faster and Jump Higher", a Rollfast had me screaming at the speed of sound up Mission Ave, down Utah, and back home up Cameron where we lived.
I don't have a particular story about going to the Furniture Exchange to buy. a Rollfast, but I do remember my most memorable ride.
I was in the fourth grade.
Bruce Walker's dad hadn't died yet, so he hadn't moved to Joplin.
The freeway through Kellogg was being built and was nearly finished. The road, however, had not been surfaced so the on and off ramps and the freeway itself was smooth dirt.
I have no idea why in the fall of 1963 no one cared that Bruce Walker and I rode our bikes east and west on the dirt freeway.
No one was working.
We had a freeway to ourselves.
We rode fast and laughed, not the laugh of getting away with something, but the laughter of pure joy that we could be on our one speed Rollfast bikes from the Furniture Exchange, no stop lights, no stop signs, no cars, no other bicycles.
It was just us.
It was the best bike ride I've ever had.
Sibling Assignment #57: Writing Vivaldi
This week Silver Valley Girl gave the sibling assignment.
Listen to this piece of music: Vivaldi’s "Concerto for Violin", and write what you hear. InlandEmpireGirl's remarkably imaginative and experimental dive into poetry is here and Silver Valley Girl's post will be coming before too long.
If you'd like to listen to Vivaldi's piece, click the music notes on the panel below the screen on the player posted above.
I hear melancholy.
I hear longing.
I hear dignity.
I hear resolution.
This piece triggers memories from twelve years ago when I began to spend a lot of time with Benny's mom.
Since Benny is a Downs Syndrome guy and autistic, he has a great need for routine, for regularity. Much of the time I spent with Benny's mom was at their house.
Benny's mom and I listened to a lot of instrumental classical music. Benny's mom checked a lot of music out from the public library where Benny loved to go and pick out books and movies and she recorded much of this music and she and I often lay down together and listened, and did little more than let the music have its impact.
Benny was often in his bedroom watching a video, rocking and laughing, enjoying life on his terms and his mother and I would be in the living room enjoying life on our terms.
Ultimately this relationship did not work out. Memories of it remain, though. So does the longing. I felt melancholy and longing for things to work out when it started to be obvious we would go our separate ways.
In Vivaldi's piece, the emotion is resolved as the composition ends.
It never works that way in life itself. Vivaldi lets us imagine resolution and gives us a sense of how it feels to experience the resolution of melancholy.
I've never known such resolution. Things were never resolved between me and Benny's mom and so while the feeling up to the end evokes feelings I had in the last several months of our relationship, if the music were true to my life, the piece would shatter at the end, notes scattered all around, and the music would leave me unsatisfied.
I like the Vivaldi piece the way it is. It's good for me to feel sadness resolved musically, even if it never is in actual life.
A Week of Beautiful Things 03/19-25/08: Final Grades, Emptiness is The Way, Adrienne Stays, What in Life Endures
1. My time has been dominated for a week now with reading final exams and final composition essays and computing the final grades for winter quarter. This is made particularly time consuming because I email my students comments on their exams and their essays. I try to keep teaching right up to the last second, I guess, hoping that things I say on their final work will help them as they move beyond this current course to other courses and as they keep thinking and examining themselves. The beauty of this time is related to the the sorrow of this time. On the one hand, it's remarkable to see how much students can learn and produce over a ten week course of study; on the other hand, it's a brief amount of time. So much is left undone and I see so much promise for further learning. It's hard to let go of each quarter's students and our enterprise together.
2. In Survey of World Literature, I began most of our class sessions by reading chapters from the Tao te Ching. By the last day of class, I had read it all to my students. I love the Stephen Mitchell translation, (read it here), much like I love Coleman Barks' translations of Rumi's poetry. The translations are simple, poetic, and accessible. One of my students emailed me this morning, saying, "Thanks for everything you taught me in class. I have learned to not feel so bad when I feel 'empty.'" Ahhh. That's the Tao speaking through him. In the Tao, emptiness is not a state of lacking, it's a state of being receptive. It's necessary. Listen to chapter 11:
but it is the center hole
that makes the wagon move.
We shape clay into a pot,
but it is the emptiness inside
that holds whatever we want.
We hammer wood for a house,
but it is the inner space
that makes it livable.
We work with being,
but non-being is what we use.
3. Adrienne continues her stay, but will be flying back to West Point, NY tomorrow. She's a graduate student, studying to be a librarian at Syracuse University, most through online courses. She's been in devoted student mode the last few days, working hard to meet paper deadlines and to keep herself on task, despite being away from home. She's remarkable with her energy, determination, intelligence, and discipline. I'll never forget the joy that rose in my heart when the Deke told me Adrienne was starting this program. She was born to be a librarian and, particularly in the digital age, she will serve her library patrons, in whatever context, very well.
4. Lastly, and then on to other writing. During the past ten to eleven weeks of teaching I've spent a great deal of time working with ancient literature and ancient ideas about life. I teach Thich Nhat Hanh's Buddhisht text, Being Peace in my composition course because I think the Buddhist ways of understanding the nature of reality help students better than anything else to generate thoughts and ideas for writing; likewise, I have my students study the ancient rhetorical trope copia as a way of thinking more fully and fruitfully. In my literature course we read Gilgamesh, much of The Odyssey, The Ramayana, Antigone, and poetry by Rumi, T'ao Ch'ien, Tu Fu, Li Po and selections from the Japanese classic anthologies, and The Manyoshu and The Kokinshu.
If you are still reading this post, you might be thinking that this all seems distant, impractical, purely academic in the worst sense of the word. Dead.
Hardly. The chief joy I experienced this quarter was that my students began to understand that in many ways there is no such thing as ancient, in the sense of gone or past. These literatures, in their exploration of ethical dilemmas, pride, mortality, the heart's longing, the right ways to live, the world of nature, love, and the many other dimensions of being human, were contemporary and unfolded wisdom to us all and these literatures became the means by which my students wrote deeply self-examining essays as they looked at their own experience as part of the unending continuum of enduring human experiences.
No wonder, now that grades are in and the quarter is over, I'm so happy.
2. In Survey of World Literature, I began most of our class sessions by reading chapters from the Tao te Ching. By the last day of class, I had read it all to my students. I love the Stephen Mitchell translation, (read it here), much like I love Coleman Barks' translations of Rumi's poetry. The translations are simple, poetic, and accessible. One of my students emailed me this morning, saying, "Thanks for everything you taught me in class. I have learned to not feel so bad when I feel 'empty.'" Ahhh. That's the Tao speaking through him. In the Tao, emptiness is not a state of lacking, it's a state of being receptive. It's necessary. Listen to chapter 11:
11
We join spokes together in a wheel,but it is the center hole
that makes the wagon move.
We shape clay into a pot,
but it is the emptiness inside
that holds whatever we want.
We hammer wood for a house,
but it is the inner space
that makes it livable.
We work with being,
but non-being is what we use.
3. Adrienne continues her stay, but will be flying back to West Point, NY tomorrow. She's a graduate student, studying to be a librarian at Syracuse University, most through online courses. She's been in devoted student mode the last few days, working hard to meet paper deadlines and to keep herself on task, despite being away from home. She's remarkable with her energy, determination, intelligence, and discipline. I'll never forget the joy that rose in my heart when the Deke told me Adrienne was starting this program. She was born to be a librarian and, particularly in the digital age, she will serve her library patrons, in whatever context, very well.
4. Lastly, and then on to other writing. During the past ten to eleven weeks of teaching I've spent a great deal of time working with ancient literature and ancient ideas about life. I teach Thich Nhat Hanh's Buddhisht text, Being Peace in my composition course because I think the Buddhist ways of understanding the nature of reality help students better than anything else to generate thoughts and ideas for writing; likewise, I have my students study the ancient rhetorical trope copia as a way of thinking more fully and fruitfully. In my literature course we read Gilgamesh, much of The Odyssey, The Ramayana, Antigone, and poetry by Rumi, T'ao Ch'ien, Tu Fu, Li Po and selections from the Japanese classic anthologies, and The Manyoshu and The Kokinshu.
If you are still reading this post, you might be thinking that this all seems distant, impractical, purely academic in the worst sense of the word. Dead.
Hardly. The chief joy I experienced this quarter was that my students began to understand that in many ways there is no such thing as ancient, in the sense of gone or past. These literatures, in their exploration of ethical dilemmas, pride, mortality, the heart's longing, the right ways to live, the world of nature, love, and the many other dimensions of being human, were contemporary and unfolded wisdom to us all and these literatures became the means by which my students wrote deeply self-examining essays as they looked at their own experience as part of the unending continuum of enduring human experiences.
No wonder, now that grades are in and the quarter is over, I'm so happy.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Countless Beautiful Things: 03/11-18/08: Adrienne, Poetry, Music, Life and Death
1. Adrienne extended her visit by a week and it's been wonderful having her home again.
2. When I assign my students Japanese and Chinese poetry of the early centuries A.D., I always wonder how it will go. For starters, many students find poetry difficult and I always wonder if this ancient poetry will just seem too remote. A majority of my students loved it. Honestly, when my Survey of World Literature students love this poetry it's among the most gratifying experiences I have as an instructor. I find this poetry wise, elegant, witty, irreverent (at times), and philosophically satisfying and when other students do, too, I enjoy feeling the bond of enjoyment.
3. My WR 122 students all do a presentation of music they love at the end of class and write a short essay bringing us into their experience with this music. Their tastes in music is remarkably eclectic: Tool, Carrie Underwood, System of a Down, Dave Brubeck, The Proclaimers, Jennifer Lopez and Mark Anthony, Bob Marley, Kenny Chesney, Radiohead, Tom Waits, Lynard Skynard, AC/DC, The Asylum Street Spankers, The Statler Brothers, to name a few, and their experiences with this music range from driving eleven year boys to a baseball tournament in Lincoln City to a daughter calling a octopus tentacles testicles to the challenges to a young marriage of moving from Springfield, OR to Orange, CA. My students and I hear music we normally wouldn't listen to and learn a great deal more about each other.
4. My 10:00 class demanded that I write a music project essay and I wrote about the euphoric experience of being gently rocked between life and death while in the hospital with meningitis in 1999 and how music by The Oysterband brings back memories of that mortal and mystical time.
That's all for now. My life over the last week has been and will continue to be dominated by paper grading. Maybe I assign to much writing for my students. Maybe I have too many students. I don't know! But, I have a lot of work to do and I'd better get back to it.
I'll be back here soon.
2. When I assign my students Japanese and Chinese poetry of the early centuries A.D., I always wonder how it will go. For starters, many students find poetry difficult and I always wonder if this ancient poetry will just seem too remote. A majority of my students loved it. Honestly, when my Survey of World Literature students love this poetry it's among the most gratifying experiences I have as an instructor. I find this poetry wise, elegant, witty, irreverent (at times), and philosophically satisfying and when other students do, too, I enjoy feeling the bond of enjoyment.
3. My WR 122 students all do a presentation of music they love at the end of class and write a short essay bringing us into their experience with this music. Their tastes in music is remarkably eclectic: Tool, Carrie Underwood, System of a Down, Dave Brubeck, The Proclaimers, Jennifer Lopez and Mark Anthony, Bob Marley, Kenny Chesney, Radiohead, Tom Waits, Lynard Skynard, AC/DC, The Asylum Street Spankers, The Statler Brothers, to name a few, and their experiences with this music range from driving eleven year boys to a baseball tournament in Lincoln City to a daughter calling a octopus tentacles testicles to the challenges to a young marriage of moving from Springfield, OR to Orange, CA. My students and I hear music we normally wouldn't listen to and learn a great deal more about each other.
4. My 10:00 class demanded that I write a music project essay and I wrote about the euphoric experience of being gently rocked between life and death while in the hospital with meningitis in 1999 and how music by The Oysterband brings back memories of that mortal and mystical time.
That's all for now. My life over the last week has been and will continue to be dominated by paper grading. Maybe I assign to much writing for my students. Maybe I have too many students. I don't know! But, I have a lot of work to do and I'd better get back to it.
I'll be back here soon.
Monday, March 10, 2008
Three Beautiful Things 03/10/08: Conversation, Chinese Poetry, Essays
1. The Deke and Adrienne and I sat at the dining room table and had an intelligent and probing conversation about stuff going on in our family.
2. Some of my Survey of World Literature students are finding the poetry of T'ao Chi'en, Li Po, and Tu Fu inspiring and insightful.
3. It won't last long, but I am essentially caught up in my paper reading and grading. Soon an avalanche will bury me, but, for now, I can breathe easily.
2. Some of my Survey of World Literature students are finding the poetry of T'ao Chi'en, Li Po, and Tu Fu inspiring and insightful.
3. It won't last long, but I am essentially caught up in my paper reading and grading. Soon an avalanche will bury me, but, for now, I can breathe easily.
Revisit: The Healing Powers of Snug the Joiner
Here's a picture of me on stage filling the role of Snug the Joiner as Lion. Snug is roaring.
Sunday, March 9, 2008
Three Beautiful Things 03/09/08: Royal Visit, Daffodils, Ball
1. The Deke's daughter (my stepdaughter), Adrienne, is visiting for the next week. She's here from West Point and her presence back in our house livens things up. It's also wonderful to see what a fine woman Adrienne is, so intelligent and mature.
2. Snug and I took a beautiful walk on this gorgeous spring-like day in our neighborhood and I took pictures of daffodils, but blogger is being obstinate and I can't upload the pictures. Maybe Blogger will be cooperative later tonight or tomorrow. (The photographs are posted now. Scroll down to my next post. For now, Blogger only allows the uploading of one image at a time.)
3. Snug, Charly, and Maggie have found a way to play ball together. Snug gets the ball and when he runs it back to me, Charly and Maggie are his energetic, smiling escorts. It's a great deal they've worked out, without tension, with each dog's role clearly defined.
2. Snug and I took a beautiful walk on this gorgeous spring-like day in our neighborhood and I took pictures of daffodils, but blogger is being obstinate and I can't upload the pictures. Maybe Blogger will be cooperative later tonight or tomorrow. (The photographs are posted now. Scroll down to my next post. For now, Blogger only allows the uploading of one image at a time.)
3. Snug, Charly, and Maggie have found a way to play ball together. Snug gets the ball and when he runs it back to me, Charly and Maggie are his energetic, smiling escorts. It's a great deal they've worked out, without tension, with each dog's role clearly defined.
Daffodils on March 9th
I promised in an earlier post today that I'd walk Snug and take some photographs. Here are a couple I took with Snug tugging on his leash, eager to move on.
Sibling Assignment #56: Healing Powers of Snug the Joiner
Because Silver Valley Girl and family have been playing Moliere's farce, "The Miser", at the 6th Street Theater in Wallace (Center of the Universe), I assigned me and my sisters this topic: "Write about an experience you have had in the theater that made you a better person."
InlandEmpireGirl wrote about how special she felt portraying Mother Goose in kindergarten, here and Silver Valley Girl sees her life in the theater as a spiritual experience, drawing her closer to God, here.
You can also check out pictures of the 6th Street Theater production of "The Miser, here and here. What's more, you can read InlandEmpireGirl's glowing review, here.
I look happy in this picture, don't I?
I was really happy.
This picture was taken at the Blue Door Theater at Lane Community College during a break in rehearsing our Spring, 2005 production of "A Midsummer Night's Dream". I was playing the role of one of the story's rough mechanicals: Snug, the Joiner. Snug, in turn, is cast as Lion in the play-within-the-play that the rough mechanicals give to the nobility to end the play, and, in this picture, I am wearing my lion headdress.
The year 2005 started terribly and was a continuation of a terrible 2004.
In July, 2004 my stepdaughter, Molly, was terribly burned in a camp stove fuel accident. Although the accident was not life-threatening, Molly suffered serious burns to the upper part of her torso, her neck, and the backs of her arms. She was admitted twice in the Burn Center in Portland, once for attention immediately after the accident and again following skin graft surgery which came about three weeks after the accident.
Even before Molly's accident, I had sought medical help for headaches and fatigue. Throughout the spring of 2004 and on into the summer, I'd been sleeping long hours and had headaches I couldn't shake.
In December, once the fall 2004 school term ended, I visited another doctor and it became clear what ailed me: my blood pressure was very high and I had lost 70% of my kidney function, most likely a result of the bacterial meningitis I had contracted in November 1999, and it was evident that I was suffering from clinical depression. I'd been down this depression road before, but the stakes seemed higher now.
About six weeks later, in February of 2005 , I went on a wonderful outing. Friends of mine from Kellogg were traveling to Lincoln City to spend Super Bowl weekend and spend some time on the Oregon Coast and I drove up on Sunday to meet them, play some games at the casino, and spend the night.
I had a great time.
Driving back to Eugene on Monday afternoon, however, I fought and fought against fatigue. I figured the problem was from staying up too late. I pulled off the road, slept for a while, and resumed my trip home.
I arrived home around three in the afternoon and fell right into bed, slept through dinner, slept through the night, and when I tried to wake up to go to work on Tuesday morning, I couldn't get up.
I was under the grip of depression. I'd never felt worse. By Thursday, the Deke took me to the emergency room at the hospital. I was released from ER and I saw a psychiatrist the following day. Things were dark.
Not long after this episode, Sparky Roberts asked me to audition for a couple of roles in "A Midsummer Night's Dream", which was already in rehearsal, but two cast members had left the cast.
With the Deke, I deliberated and deliberated whether I should take on a project like this given all the trouble I'd been having with fatigue and given how frayed I was after the episode with depression I'd had shortly before.
But, I decided to go for it.
I thought it might do me a lot of good to be a part of a theatrical cast.
I thought it might do me a lot of good to take on a role that might get me outside of myself.
I underestimated how much good playing the role of Snug, the Joiner would do for me.
Shakespeare's Snug is a good chap. He's a little bit slow minded and he's frightened of acting. His heart is very good and his aim, above all, is to please.
It really did me good to have long periods of time, both in rehearsal, and especially in performance, when I was not my depression suffering self and could be this good chap Snug.
Snug became a favorite of the cast and his portrayal of Lion was, for many, an unforgettable moment in the play.
It was healing to be this guy, to create such a likable character and to embody his simplicity and his moment of courage when he overcomes his fear and plays Lion to the best of his ability.
Shakespeare's genius in creating the play-within-the-play is that while the performance is farcical, the effort of the rough mechanicals is so sincere, so genuine, so eager to please, that it's touching to the nobility and to the theater audience.
Something that had been constricting and constraining my spirit cracked open when I played Snug. I could actually feel myself breathe more freely and laugh more fully and feel more deeply. The camaraderie I enjoyed with the cast, men and women much younger than I, opened me up to music, movies, books, and ways of seeing the world that enriched me, made my world seem at once fuller and lighter.
It was one of the happiest phases of my life, a great relief, and I have the theater to thank for it.
Not only did it temporarily lift my spirits, this phase inspired me give my dog his unforgettable name!
InlandEmpireGirl wrote about how special she felt portraying Mother Goose in kindergarten, here and Silver Valley Girl sees her life in the theater as a spiritual experience, drawing her closer to God, here.
You can also check out pictures of the 6th Street Theater production of "The Miser, here and here. What's more, you can read InlandEmpireGirl's glowing review, here.
I look happy in this picture, don't I?
I was really happy.
This picture was taken at the Blue Door Theater at Lane Community College during a break in rehearsing our Spring, 2005 production of "A Midsummer Night's Dream". I was playing the role of one of the story's rough mechanicals: Snug, the Joiner. Snug, in turn, is cast as Lion in the play-within-the-play that the rough mechanicals give to the nobility to end the play, and, in this picture, I am wearing my lion headdress.
The year 2005 started terribly and was a continuation of a terrible 2004.
In July, 2004 my stepdaughter, Molly, was terribly burned in a camp stove fuel accident. Although the accident was not life-threatening, Molly suffered serious burns to the upper part of her torso, her neck, and the backs of her arms. She was admitted twice in the Burn Center in Portland, once for attention immediately after the accident and again following skin graft surgery which came about three weeks after the accident.
Even before Molly's accident, I had sought medical help for headaches and fatigue. Throughout the spring of 2004 and on into the summer, I'd been sleeping long hours and had headaches I couldn't shake.
In December, once the fall 2004 school term ended, I visited another doctor and it became clear what ailed me: my blood pressure was very high and I had lost 70% of my kidney function, most likely a result of the bacterial meningitis I had contracted in November 1999, and it was evident that I was suffering from clinical depression. I'd been down this depression road before, but the stakes seemed higher now.
About six weeks later, in February of 2005 , I went on a wonderful outing. Friends of mine from Kellogg were traveling to Lincoln City to spend Super Bowl weekend and spend some time on the Oregon Coast and I drove up on Sunday to meet them, play some games at the casino, and spend the night.
I had a great time.
Driving back to Eugene on Monday afternoon, however, I fought and fought against fatigue. I figured the problem was from staying up too late. I pulled off the road, slept for a while, and resumed my trip home.
I arrived home around three in the afternoon and fell right into bed, slept through dinner, slept through the night, and when I tried to wake up to go to work on Tuesday morning, I couldn't get up.
I was under the grip of depression. I'd never felt worse. By Thursday, the Deke took me to the emergency room at the hospital. I was released from ER and I saw a psychiatrist the following day. Things were dark.
Not long after this episode, Sparky Roberts asked me to audition for a couple of roles in "A Midsummer Night's Dream", which was already in rehearsal, but two cast members had left the cast.
With the Deke, I deliberated and deliberated whether I should take on a project like this given all the trouble I'd been having with fatigue and given how frayed I was after the episode with depression I'd had shortly before.
But, I decided to go for it.
I thought it might do me a lot of good to be a part of a theatrical cast.
I thought it might do me a lot of good to take on a role that might get me outside of myself.
I underestimated how much good playing the role of Snug, the Joiner would do for me.
Shakespeare's Snug is a good chap. He's a little bit slow minded and he's frightened of acting. His heart is very good and his aim, above all, is to please.
It really did me good to have long periods of time, both in rehearsal, and especially in performance, when I was not my depression suffering self and could be this good chap Snug.
Snug became a favorite of the cast and his portrayal of Lion was, for many, an unforgettable moment in the play.
It was healing to be this guy, to create such a likable character and to embody his simplicity and his moment of courage when he overcomes his fear and plays Lion to the best of his ability.
Shakespeare's genius in creating the play-within-the-play is that while the performance is farcical, the effort of the rough mechanicals is so sincere, so genuine, so eager to please, that it's touching to the nobility and to the theater audience.
Something that had been constricting and constraining my spirit cracked open when I played Snug. I could actually feel myself breathe more freely and laugh more fully and feel more deeply. The camaraderie I enjoyed with the cast, men and women much younger than I, opened me up to music, movies, books, and ways of seeing the world that enriched me, made my world seem at once fuller and lighter.
It was one of the happiest phases of my life, a great relief, and I have the theater to thank for it.
Not only did it temporarily lift my spirits, this phase inspired me give my dog his unforgettable name!
Sunday Scribblings: Experimenting Without Drugs
With the arrival of 2008, I thought I'd experiment with not taking the medicine I take to treat my mental health problems.
I don't think I ever thought I would quit taking this medicine forever, but I longed for the range and immediacy of feeling I experienced before coming under the care of these medications. I also longed for the technocolored and wildly erratic dreams I have when I miss a day or two of taking these medications. I longed for a month or more of such dreams.
Without my medication, I do have a wider range of feelings. I'm more alert to beauty, more sharply touched by poetry, more delighted by things my students say: I laugh more heartily and am more easily moved to tears. When not taking medicine, I feel at liberty to have a few alcoholic drinks and I enjoyed a beer and few rum and cokes over the course of these few weeks.
On the other hand, without my medication, I'm grouchier. I snap at students who displease me in ways they haven't heard before. On medication, I'm slow to anger, so slow it rarely happens. Off medication, I'm quick to anger; I do not and cannot roll with things that annoy me and I see my world through a much darker cloud. I feel inferior. I experience things said to me as condescending and my desire for compliments and need for reinforcement from others increases. Off my medication, I think too much about death.
I never think about taking my own life, but I think a lot about death being a comfort.
It confuses me that I experience the world so much differently from within myself outwardly on medication than off.
Predictably, I wonder what's real. Are my grouchiness, snappiness, anger, and sense of being inferior legitimate feelings of outrage? Am I more in touch, when not medicated, to aspects of my marriage, my work, and my relationships with others that are unjust and that ought to be pissing me off? Or are these diseased responses? Ill reactions? And how about pleasure? Without medicine, things give me more pleasure. Is this a diseased response?
Am I healthier when medicated because things don't bother me so much, my emotions are tamer, things are less dramatic, I feel less pleasure and have less access to pleasure, and I don't feel so inferior?
Is living in the midrange of feeling, with little experience toward the extremes the definition of sound mental health?
I don't know.
A week and a half ago I decided to take my medicine again and I'll stay with it. Even if it's not the "real me", I think it's better for my family and students and fellow teachers (and for Snug) for my temper to be more even-keeled. I think it's better to think occasionally about death, but not have it crowding my mind a lot. I think it's better to not be on guard and defensive, not to feel like others are being condescending toward me, or treating me as inferior. It's likely they aren't.
I seem to have decided that the sacrifice of stronger pleasure is worth it. I'll exchange hot salsa for medium or mild. It still tastes pretty good.
About ten days ago, when I started taking my medicine again, my system experienced quite a shock. It was all I could do to get to work in the morning and once I returned home, I went to sleep. I didn't write in my blog, my first gap of more than a couple or three days since I started blogging.
I know my work in the classroom suffered for about a week. The transition has been difficult, but I think I've made it.
My experiment with going off my medication is over.
My ten day absence from my blog is over.
It's time to take Snug for a walk and take some photographs!
I'll post them later.
For other Sunday Scribblings on experiments, go here.
I don't think I ever thought I would quit taking this medicine forever, but I longed for the range and immediacy of feeling I experienced before coming under the care of these medications. I also longed for the technocolored and wildly erratic dreams I have when I miss a day or two of taking these medications. I longed for a month or more of such dreams.
Without my medication, I do have a wider range of feelings. I'm more alert to beauty, more sharply touched by poetry, more delighted by things my students say: I laugh more heartily and am more easily moved to tears. When not taking medicine, I feel at liberty to have a few alcoholic drinks and I enjoyed a beer and few rum and cokes over the course of these few weeks.
On the other hand, without my medication, I'm grouchier. I snap at students who displease me in ways they haven't heard before. On medication, I'm slow to anger, so slow it rarely happens. Off medication, I'm quick to anger; I do not and cannot roll with things that annoy me and I see my world through a much darker cloud. I feel inferior. I experience things said to me as condescending and my desire for compliments and need for reinforcement from others increases. Off my medication, I think too much about death.
I never think about taking my own life, but I think a lot about death being a comfort.
It confuses me that I experience the world so much differently from within myself outwardly on medication than off.
Predictably, I wonder what's real. Are my grouchiness, snappiness, anger, and sense of being inferior legitimate feelings of outrage? Am I more in touch, when not medicated, to aspects of my marriage, my work, and my relationships with others that are unjust and that ought to be pissing me off? Or are these diseased responses? Ill reactions? And how about pleasure? Without medicine, things give me more pleasure. Is this a diseased response?
Am I healthier when medicated because things don't bother me so much, my emotions are tamer, things are less dramatic, I feel less pleasure and have less access to pleasure, and I don't feel so inferior?
Is living in the midrange of feeling, with little experience toward the extremes the definition of sound mental health?
I don't know.
A week and a half ago I decided to take my medicine again and I'll stay with it. Even if it's not the "real me", I think it's better for my family and students and fellow teachers (and for Snug) for my temper to be more even-keeled. I think it's better to think occasionally about death, but not have it crowding my mind a lot. I think it's better to not be on guard and defensive, not to feel like others are being condescending toward me, or treating me as inferior. It's likely they aren't.
I seem to have decided that the sacrifice of stronger pleasure is worth it. I'll exchange hot salsa for medium or mild. It still tastes pretty good.
About ten days ago, when I started taking my medicine again, my system experienced quite a shock. It was all I could do to get to work in the morning and once I returned home, I went to sleep. I didn't write in my blog, my first gap of more than a couple or three days since I started blogging.
I know my work in the classroom suffered for about a week. The transition has been difficult, but I think I've made it.
My experiment with going off my medication is over.
My ten day absence from my blog is over.
It's time to take Snug for a walk and take some photographs!
I'll post them later.
For other Sunday Scribblings on experiments, go here.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)