Snow Day

There's nothing like getting the snow day call the night before.  Then when you wake up at the same time as usual the next morning, you know you can spend the day in your bathrobe.  Which I am doing.

It has been awhile since my last post.  Almost 8 months.  Now I'm listening to Christmas music in the living room with my husband in his chair next to me and the dogs keeping watch over the yard from their perch on the back of the couch.  The Christmas tree is in its corner, the Charlie Brown Christmas scene is on the piano, and my snowman latte mug is sitting on the table next to me, in serious need of a warmup.

I have traveled a long road since that April day.  But I should probably change the name of this blog--again--because the road doesn't seem like a dead end anymore.  It is more of a long road with no end in sight.

I still venture out, but Emily Dickinson's life of isolation more and more seems like a safe, sheltered option.  If I didn't have a job, I might be spending a lot more time in my bathrobe.

It is odd that the times I am away from my computer, my mind is racing with things to write, and when I sit down with some time to put them down at last, everything has melted away.  I take satisfaction from knowing that at least I sat down with the intention of saying a few things.  Even taking the time to make the attempt is a step forward.  Mostly, though, the things I'd like to say shouldn't be posted.  How funny.  My wish is to share my thoughts with others, but I find my thoughts too private to share.  Emily had it right when she put her feelings in mysterious poems that said things without saying them.

Well, this post is going nowhere.  I appreciate your congratulations on my little step of progress, but I will not waste your time further.

Sunday morning

It's a lovely day down my road.  I mowed the lawn yesterday so everyone can see the dandelions more clearly.  I've been reading John Adams and was impressed by how John and Abigail wrote so steadily to each other when they were apart and saved their letters.  The biography made me think more highly of Washington and Adams and less highly of Jefferson.  Now I'll have to read a biography of Jefferson and see if I change my mind.

Saturday Mike and I had a great afternoon and evening in Ann Arbor.  We did some shopping for Michael's birthday, and then headed to Ann Arbor.  It was funny--we both could have napped before leaving for our day in Ann Arbor, but didn't.  When we went through some slow traffic, I got sleepy and dozed off for the last few minutes of the ride.  Upon reaching the parking garage by the theater, we agreed that it would be nice to just sit there and snooze for a while.  I told Mike as we finally walked toward the bookstore that it must be a real sign of getting old, when you drive to Ann Arbor and have to take a nap before you can get out of the car.   We split up for a little shopping.  I found some tops at Orchid Lane, and Mike browsed at the bookstore.  When I joined Mike at Borders we found a few beginner books for Michael's birthday gift.  Then we had coffee at Biggby's and played Scrabble on our travel game.   I have won three out of our four most recent games, but if you went back through all the little Scrabble score sheets we still have tucked in the game, Mike would be the overwhelming winner.  That guy has a strategy for everything.  I tend to just make whatever move is dictated at the moment, but Mike is always thinking ahead.  After a string of resounding defeats,  I started inviting him to each game by saying it was time for me to whip his ass again in Scrabble, but of course the opposite would always happen.  Yesterday, however, I actually was in the process of whipping his ass in another game when David Chapel walked in and sat down with us.  David was on his way to perform in an orchestra concert, but didn't seem too pressed for time.  We had a nice little visit.  Then I finished whipping Mike's ass in Scrabble, and we went to the show.  It does wonders to win once in a while.  I enjoyed the thrill of victory for once, while Mike experienced the agony of defeat.  (In case that sounds like gloating, I'm just adapting an old Wide World of Sports opening line--it just happens to fit quite well here.)

After our coffee and Scrabble game, Mike and I went to a wonderful musical at Performance Network in Ann Arbor.  They did Little Shop of Horrors, and it was the best.  The singing was awesome, the set was excellent as always, and all of us in the audience walked away just raving about it.  I'm still singing the songs!

Then Mike found the Tigers baseball game on XM radio for the ride home.  We switched the game on TV when we got home, and I don't know if they won or lost, but that was how we ended our day.  John and Abigail have letters to each other; Mike and Becky have a record of all their Scrabble games.  To each his own.  I'm glad we're not fighting the Revolution!

Moving On

They say it's always darkest just before the dawn, but this morning seems to be bearing that out.  I was awake over an hour ago, and watched the moon sliding past the trees on the west side of the house.  It lit up the clouds and outlined the leafless branches of the trees that line the road.  It was almost bright enough to walk around outside without a flashlight--not that I would do that on such a cold morning.  Since then I've been browsing through old emails and just now looked out to see that the moon is completely gone and it's really dark.  So there you go.  I'm not talking about my personal darkness today, just making an observation about natural occurrences. 

I had intended to grade some more writing when I got up at 4:30 or so.  Instead I brewed some coffee and sat down in front of the computer.  Big mistake when there is grading to do.  Then I thought I'd just try a new post.  My imaginary followers have been complaining that they miss me.

Mostly I've been thinking about my kids, and their challenges.  My daughter is at the beginning of her teaching career, has a fine husband and two sweet boys, and is experiencing similar frustrations with the best-laid teaching plans that don't reach every student.  We agree that compare/contrast essays are the worst to teach!

My oldest son has a fine wife and two sweet kids, two bachelor's degrees and a job he'd like to trade in for something more interesting and fulfilling.  The job, not any of the other things in the list.  He's had an interview without a subsequent job offer, which is hugely disappointing.  I remember those days of resumes and interviews and long waits for a phone call which never comes.  But someday, the phone will ring and the job offer will be there.

My middle son has a fine girlfriend and a little apartment and a bachelor's degree and a job as a waiter.  He, too, is going through the resume and interview time of life.  This is such a tough time to be looking for a job.  I guess we'll have to take the advice of the billionaire who spoke at his graduation, who advised the students who couldn't find a job to just start their own businesses.  I wonder if the billionaire was close enough to the graduates' faces to see their looks of amazement and amusement.  Who has the money just fresh out of college to start up a business?  Sometimes when you've lived a life of privilege, you truly don't have a clue what challenges most people face.

My youngest son has a fine girlfriend and an apartment and 3/4 of a bachelor's degree and a maintenance job on campus.  Resumes and interviews are yet to come for him.  He's enjoying being a student--realizing that before long he'll be out of the cocoon and moving along into the world.  He experienced a bit of the world's reality in an internship for a congressman last summer.  Answering the phones and talking to constituents can be quite informative to say the least.  And yet that life will be ahead of him, presumably.

So all those challenges, all those daily hurdles to leap, and my kids are out there learning to make those leaps.  I spent so many years in the bleachers, cheering them on when they were in school.  Now I'm still in the bleachers, still tempted to get up and walk across the field and deal with the people who don't know how to call the game right.  But I wait, and watch, and hope that each of my kids sees a way to keep going, to keep playing, and to enjoy the game while they're at it.

At a Loss

Every time I see the pictures, I wish I could be a better person.  I wish I could break through the wall and make the right connection and be someone who was welcome and not so threatening.  Everything I try fails.  I try to think positively and hope and try again, but nothing works.  I have the odd compulsion to hide.  That's so strange.  Why hide?  No one would look for me.  That's really kind of funny.  I would be tucked away in my seclusion and everyone else's life would go on as normal, because you don't miss someone who's invisible to you anyway.

And It's Getting Better

Nothing like a gourmet pizza to make the day seem brighter.  I went out and got the ingredients for my daughter-in-law's recipe for chicken pesto pizza.  We enjoyed the pizza while watching the State game.  I wish the outcome for that had been better, but sitting down to watch the game with Mike is just a life-is-good kind of time.

The only thing that could make it better would be--a snow day tomorrow!  And, of course, there's Mike's observation that 87.5% of people think I'm okay!  Hey!  There's a pleasant thought! I can feel my self-esteem issues clearing up already.

Okay--I really have to grade those papers.  (Go, snow!  Go, snow!)

Morning Dawns

Life after sleep is much better.  I went to bed and finally slept, but woke up early this morning and finished viewing all of the King Kong documentary footage.  I won't have the class time to show all of it--and shouldn't, anyway--but I can find selected spots and show them to my students and fill in the gaps a little bit.  Amazing how almost all of the old special effects methods are used on that film along with the latest technology.  I love seeing the creative people who devoted years of their lives to that project talking about what it involved and what it meant to them.  If I hadn't been such a chicken when I was younger, I might have found myself involved in some way with film or theater, most likely backstage or behind the camera.  I enjoyed my contact with theater in school, but I could never see myself making a living at it, so teaching was the safe thing to do.

Ah, well.  I made the choices that I made, and life down my road is mostly pretty good.  And this morning the sun is shining on clean snow in my yard.  Life feels better in the daylight.

White snow shines lovely, soft as felt.  But I've a date with the treadmill belt.  And miles to go before I'm svelte.  And miles to go before I'm svelte.

Insomnia

I've tried reading until I'm tired, but I finished the book and still can't sleep.  The Pilot's Wife is one of Oprah's books.  A compelling read.  I wouldn't want to spoil it for anyone who hasn't read it yet, so I'll not give away the ending.  Anyway, I finished that book and actually felt tired.  I was pretty sick at school today with a headache, and it just wore me out.  I felt so miserable that I considered finding someone to cover my last couple of classes, but I needed to explain how to write one of the paragraphs of an essay I'd assigned, so I stayed.  But the day just wore me out, so you'd think that now I could sleep.  However, my sleep patterns defy logic.  I think I'll have some wine and blog my worries away.

As I read other blogs, I feel hopelessly inadequate trying to put together one of my own.  My thoughts seem too dull most of the time.  I once considered myself a witty person.  I could make people laugh.  Now I seem to just listen to the conversations around me and hope that the others at the lunch table don't mind if I chime in a thought from time to time.

Are you depressed yet?  Keep reading, you'll get there.  I should rename this blog the Debbie Downer Road.  Writing is supposed to be therapeutic.  Perhaps my subsequent blogs will have a lighter tone, but the musings of an insomniac are not likely to be very bubbly. 

I did enjoy my ride this evening, taking our youngest son back to school.  As Mike and I drove back home, I watched the sliver of a moon follow our car.  I thought of the little song my mom used to sing:  "I see the moon and the moon sees me; the moon sees somebody I would like to see; God bless the moon and God bless me; and God bless the somebody I would like to see."  I used to sing that to myself when I was homesick, thinking about my loved ones looking up at the same moon from many miles away.  There was something comforting about that thought.  Missing my mom isn't as overwhelming as it used to be.  I can think of her now and remember things, and her absence is just a reality that is there.

Good things from the week--getting some kudos from parents at conferences.  And finding a great place to listen to jazz on Thursday nights.  I may become a regular at that place.  The problem is trying to stay awake past 9:00.  Ironic that I get sleepy on a school night, but can't sleep now.  Okay--stop and get the wine.

There wasn't much left in the bottle of Las Perdices syrah.  I love just the smell of it--and to think I never used to enjoy any red wines.  This stuff is great.  That's another good thing from the week--the wine tasting Monday night.  I learned a new trick in savoring wines.  You take just a sip and hold it in the front of your mouth, and then inhale.  Kind of hard to do without drooling, but it really makes the flavor pop.  It also may keep me from sucking down the entire glassful at blazing speed. 

I collected a few paragraphs that I brought home with me to get a head start on grading.  Most students won't have theirs ready until Monday, and a fairly large contingent won't have their paragraphs done even then, but I hope I can make myself get through these first few so I have a bit of a headstart.  I plan to collect one body paragraph, the intro, and maybe the conclusion so that students have some guidance on each bit.  The joy of teaching literature that I love is dimmed immensely by the torture of reading bad writing.  I would like to find and strangle the person who taught these students the old saw of  "tell them what you're going to tell them, then tell them, then tell them what you told them."  Nothing like bad writing which is also redundant.  It actually could be a cure for my insomnia.

Still not sleepy.  I'll bet you wish I would drop off to sleep before I write another line.  Sorry, the therapy continues.  I'm sitting in a dark room, sipping wine at each pause, hearing only the hum of the furnace and the drip of a faucet in the kitchen.  The moon must be hiding on the other side of the house.  There's no light on the snowy yard.  Even the neighbor's mercury light across the road seems dimmer than usual.  Fortunately for you, dear reader, I have run out of thoughts, as I usually do in rather short order.  I may finish watching the Peter Jackson documentary on the making of King Kong--deciding how much of it to show my film study class.  A few more clips on special effects and a bit more time for their projects, and the marking period will be done.  A new batch of students awaits.  Their joy cannot be contained.  As yours cannot at my ending this blog.  Good night/morning.

Lazy Day

Thanks for coming down my road for a visit.  I'm having a day off, and finally putting something on this blog.  I signed up for this ages ago, and yet have not posted a thing until now.  This is the story of my life--yearn for time to write, and yet find myself unable to put a word on the page when I have the opportunity.  I think this will be a blog that benefits the writer and probably will find no readers.  That will be a step taken, at least.  If writing is therapy, I think it's time I tried it.

It's a quiet day on my road.  The snow is still white and even all around.  Three deer picked their way through the woods behind the house a little bit ago.  The injured doe, the one that limps around the yard sometimes, was not among them.  I wonder what's happened to her?

I'm feeling fairly roundly rejected today.  I've tried to reach out to someone again, and I'm waiting for a response.  I don't really expect one.  Reaching out hasn't been very successful in the past.  I suppose I should give up, but I keep sending lame messages trying to break through.  It's probably just upsetting things more.  I'm upset, anyway.  I feel like an idiot.

I'll just have to forget about it.  I just won't expect anything to happen, and if it does, I'll be pleasantly surprised.   I have friends to enjoy for comfort.  We're going to a wine tasting tonight.  Good company for a good evening.  And here ends my first blog.  Thanks for reading.