A Sense of Direction

So earlier today, I wrote that the planets were in alignment for me. But that's not really it. All of a sudden, I have this renewed sense of purpose about my life. I know what it is that I need to do next, and I feel a committment to what I am doing. And I've been thinking about why this is. It seems strange to me that suddenly, I seem to have more direction about my life and myself and what I need and want to do. But I don't think it's as sudden as it seems. I think as with many things in life (this is one of the great lessons of getting a PhD and writing my dissertation), we work and work and work at something and don't necessarily see the results of our labours (I'm using the British "u" simply out of a feeling of joy about the world and all things British), although the results are there just below the surface. And the results accumulate and accumulate below the surface for a while until the results break through. It's like writing, or like my writing process anyway. I work and work and work and feel as though nothing is getting done, although I'm putting in the time and effort. And then all of a sudden one day *pouf* I have twenty pages written. So it's like that, only in my personal life and my emotional life and my spiritual life. I've written about it in my journal and talked about it with some of you and prayed for direction and wisdom. And now *pouf*: I know where I need to go from here, and I think I know how to get there.

SIDE NOTE: Although I pray for wisdom, I don't claim that I've acctually attained that yet.

Anyway, so what I need to do next is this (well, this is a partial list anyway): I want to start seriously looking for a house. At any rate, I really would like to move from this apartment. So I'm going to contact a realtor this week. I've been browsing online, and there's not a lot in my price range, but I'm going to pursue it. My dad, who is wonderful, is planning to visit in about a month, when I have spring break, to look with me. I'm overwhelmed by the whole process, and I am so thankful that I have a father who is kind, intelligent, financially savy, and generally wonderful.

The other general thing I want to do is this: simply take better care of myself day to day. I'm eating healthier foods; I'm practicing yoga and meditation regularly; I'm praying more regularly; I'm reading my Bible and other devotional kinds of materials. I'm doing it, and the results are nearly immediate.

The third general goal I have is that I want to develop more satisfying personal relationships. This, for me, may be the more difficult of my goals, but it's something that I want to work at. And I do have a partial plan; I need to plan more fully.

I suppose that most of you are not really interested in all this, but I feel so joyful and peaceful and purposeful that I want to share it with the world. Wow! I'm becoming increasingly corny in my old age, and that's fine with me.

I just wanted to say quickly that metaphorically, the planets seem to be in alignment. That is to say, that suddenly and, I think, for a variety of reasons, I am happier than I've been in a long, long time. Maybe it's the whole 1-11 thing (for those of you who don't know, I'll explain later): I cry often, but I'm jubilant, joyful, happy each day.

Ursula LeGuin

I'm taking a break from Augustine (I've read about 1/3 of his Confessions) to reread Ursula LeGuin's Tehanu. I read The Tombs of Atuan last week. I want to say that I think LeGuin is a master stylist, and her Earthsea series, of which these two are a part, is wonderful is this respect. I like The Tombs of Atuan and the other books in the Earthsea cycle, but I love Tehanu. As I've been preparing to teach it this week, all the things I loved about it first time around seem even more significant and meaningful. I suppose that has something to do with who I am this time around.

LeGuin deals with the complications created by relationships between men and women. I'd say that she so much has a grasp on what it means to be female, how it feels to be female, without slipping into stereotype. The way men and women (mis)communicate, how it feels for a woman to age, what it means for a woman to embrace traditional domestic roles: all of these LeGuin deals with skillfully, artfully, and interestingly.

There's so much more I want to say, but I don't know how. (SIDE NOTE: I've noticed recently that I avoid writing about the things that are most meaningful, and therefore most intimate, to me--my faith, for example.) It's hard to find words for these things that seem to get at the essence of who we are.

If anyone is interested in fantasy, I'd certainly recommend the Earthsea cycle.

Another Fictional Character With Whom I Am Infatuated. . .

This is Albert Campion, as played by Peter Davison. In addition to Inspector Morse and Dr. Shepherd, I suspect that I could possibly be infatuated with Albert Campion. Like Morse, Campion is some Brit who solved mysteries. This may demonstrate that I simply watch too many BBC / A&E murder mysteries.

Why is Drennan into these fictional characters, you may ask. Well, as my mother pointed out, they don't leave dirty laundry lying about, they are there when you need them, you turn them off when you don't want them, and you assume that you at least know their character flaws. We pretend that what we see is what we get with these characters. But that's rarely true in real life, she observed. I'm not sure whether I agree or not.

It really is a sad state of things that I am so disillusioned with relationships that I prefer Campion and Morse and Shepherd to many, although not all, of the actual men I encounter. But Campion is intelligent, witty, and dashing. What's not to like?

Dolce Carina, I've though about it, and I have to say that I think Campion kicks Hugh Laurie's butt.

"Balancing Laura Ingalls and Paris Hilton"

This morning, I was sitting in church during the prelude, and in the announcements, there was a handout about an upcoming young people's conference to be held at Covenant. The handout gave brief overviews of some of the activities and lectures, including a lecture titled "Balancing Laura Ingalls and Paris Hilton." This particular talk for females promises to deal with whether we can be modest and godly, yet trendy and stylish at the same time. OK, I'm going to be real honest here; I think this is a worthwhile topic. However, I suspect that dealing with it in this way is not the best way to go about it. Anyway, as the pianist plays away before the service, B. the pastor's wife leans towards me, points at Paris Hilton's name, and says, "Who is this? I don't even know who this is." So, imagine me trying to briefly yet tastefully sum up the significance of Paris Hilton before church. (As a side note, I think that her not knowing who Paris Hilton is speaks highly of B.) So I'm trying to be tactful yet clear, and really, I'm not the queen of tact and discretion.

After discussion Paris briefly, I took another look at the handout, and here's what really gets to me about the whole thing. The woman slated to give this talk on "Balancing Laura Ingalls and Paris Hilton" is named Mary Jo Frump! What could be better? I know that maybe I shouldn't laugh at her last name, although I'm the first to laugh at my own last name. But really, couldn't this be a Saturday Night Live skit?

Abbey Road

I was feeling rather out of sorts, but my solution is to listen to Abbey Road over and over. There's something about the Beatles. And Abbey Road is maybe my favorite, although I also love Rubber Soul. I've loved the Beatles literally for as long as I can remember. When I was a child, I remember Rubber Soul being one of the few cassette tapes that my parents owned, and I would listen to it over and over. John Lennon's death is one of my earliest vivid memories; I was 5 years old.

But Abbey Road is comforting. It's not just that I like the music; it means something to me. But when things are that touching, they defy words. That is, I don't know how to describe how it is that I feel, except to say that I feel better than I did before I let it play over and over.

Augustine: Confessions, chapter 1 and miscellaneous

Since "p dempsey" is kind enough to be interested, here's what I'm thinking about Augustine so far:

I am certainly not an expert on Augustine; however, I suspect that for a variety of reasons, I probably know more than the average "area man." I spent much of this morning so far reading the first chapter of Confessions, in which A. discusses his childhood. And there are several things that occurred to me. I should say first that so far, I'm finding A. appealing on many different levels, and it seems odd that I've never read this work before because it does, in fact, speak to a variety of seemingly divergent interests that I have.

First, A's style very much reminds me of the late medieval English devotional writers. I'm thinking specifically of Julian of Norwich. Like Julian, Augustine uses a discursive, meditative style. He tends to mull over questions and possibly answers rather than expositing a particular argument. But more than that, it seems to me, at least right now, that A, like Julian, tends to say the same thing or ask the same question over and over using different rhetorical approaches, different wording. I suppose some readers find this tedious; I know that in my experience undergrads don't seem to respond to Julian enthusiastically for this reason. But I find this devotional, meditative style effective and even comforting somehow. I realize that A. is trained in rhetoric and spent much of his pre-converion adulthood as a master rhetorician. I realize that he's drawing on this Classical tradition, an academic tradition. Yet something about it strikes me as very natural.

Second, I find it interesting that in this early section, A. presents a particular construction of childhood, one that sees childhood, even infancy, as sinful. I suppose that "construction" is maybe the wrong word, as Augustine would tell us that he's presenting something objective, not constructed. Academically, I'm fascinated by the variety of ways childhood has been constructed and represented in the literary tradition. And I'm finding that A's discussion seems to be deepening my understanding. For many years, critics have argued that childhood was invented after the medieval period (I could give a big academic explanation, but it seem unnecessary here), yet Augustine seems to challenge this assertion in that he does write childhood as unique from adulthood, although it is clearly not an Enlightenment idea of childhood that he's writing.

Third, A. challenges the once commonplace observation by literary historians that the "self" and "interiority" were "discovered" in the 12th century. In grad school I always found this (now mostly outdated) argument silly. Augustine clearly allows for and even embraces the concept of an interior existence that is somewhat separate from one's external physical life. Isn't this really the essence of the Confessions? the idea that one's interior life is meaningful?

Fourth and probably most important, Augustine writes in a way that I'm finding convicting and encouraging in terms of my own spiritual life. (Doesn't spirituality necessarily imply interiority???) It's as though he's aware of my own sin--my pride, my tendency to be overly enamored with literature, my distraction from spiritual things--but also aware of the solution to my spiritual shortcomings. In this early section, A seems to imply that sin is at the root of our unhappiness. I know this is not some big, earthshattering observation that I'm making. And yet, to read A writing about his own experiences is edifying.

I guess that so far, this is just the sort of text I love: one that is intellectually challenging yet spiritually and emotionally nurturing at the same time.

I was just talking to C. on the phone about this. I hope this doesn't make me too neurotic.

Why is it easier to be in love with fictional characters than the real people that we meet? No, really. Am I the only one who feel this way? I decide that I theoretically could be all in love with this or that character that I see on TV or read about in a book. And really, it's the character, not the actor, that I'm all into.

Take Inspector Morse, for instance. I know that he's a fictional character, and I know that he's too old for me, and I know that he's possibly a borderline alcoholic. So he's not really relationship material. But still, I think I could possibly be in love with Inspector Morse. He's smart, well read, into opera, knows a good beer, does cross word puzzles. What's not to like. And he's always looking for women to become involved with and to save from themselves or something. Sadly, the women tend to end up getting killed or, worse, being guilty of murder. And so, of course, we feel sorry for Morse. OK, the more I write, the more I realize how crazy this sounds.


Or then, there's Patrick Dempsey's character, Dr. Shepherd, on Grey's Anatomy. I remember Patrick Dempsey being kinda nerdy in Can't Buy Me Love, which I really liked when I was about 15. So when did he grow up? And his character is totally cool in this unreal, I-wouldn't-really-dig-him-in-real-life kind of way, you know? And he makes being a surgeon seem so exciting. But then I realize that surgeons have to actually touch lungs and kidneys and things, and I realize that I could never do that. But he's hip, he's witty, he pursues the girl. Why don't I meet men like this in real life? And when I do, why aren't they into me? Again, I realize this sounds neurotic. But maybe the best we can do is simply embrace our neuroses. I'm not sure.

What I do know is that imagined relationships seem to be simpler than real ones. Go figure.

Friday I'm In Love

I heart Fridays.

If I were the type to extensively quote song lyrics in my blog, I'd quote that Cure song right now.

For the past two hours or so, I've been at home grading essays. And I just need a break. At least most of the essays, while not brilliant, are fairly interesting. It's mostly a good class. But I'm here writing because I feel as though I need to be connected to the world in some way. Some days it seems as though all I do is sit and read and think about ideas and talk about words. And all of that is fine, but there are days when it seems empty somehow. I don't want my entire life to be just about books; I want there to be more. Right now, I'm not sure that there is much more.

This week, I've been doing kinda a lot of Yoga and Pilates, which is mostly a good thing. On Tuesday, I started a new Yoga class, and so far, it's really wonderful. I'm sure that I mentioned it before, but it's right in the middle of the day on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and it seems like this great relaxing, energizing, centering kind of break. And the instructor seems really good. And Pilates is a good thing too. I don't know; I'm feeling better physically, you know? It's like the kinks and tightness in my muscles are getting worked out or something. It's been too cold to walk lately, which is too bad. But at least I'm doing something. Some people say that it doesn't matter what you do for exercise as long as you do something. I guess that right now my something is Yoga. Maybe those of you who are Yoga practitioners understand, but there's something almost magical about experiencing and really paying attention to one's breathing. "Magical" is the word for it. It is like taking in the positive energy of the universe and relating to it in some way. Maybe it is a way of being connected to something larger; I'm not sure.

Anyway, I suppose I should finish grading that set of essays--only four more to go!

Ok, Just One More of Tombstones

These were from this cool cemetary in Charleston, SC, a fascinating city to visit. I was there last April, when I also went to Savannah.

I especially like this style of tombstone, with the angely / children's faces and the wings.

I know it sounds strange, but cemetary pics make me feel peaceful.

One of the best things about moving to New England has been the cemetaries. There are all these quaint, interesting, old cemetaries around nearly every corner. And they are so unlike the cemetaries in California. In California, it's like all the graves were laid out on a perfect grid. There's this haphazard, overgrown quality about many of the cemetaries here. And they are old, so old.

One of my Favorites

So, while I'm on the subject of cemetary photos, this is one of my favorites. I took it in September 2004 at a local cemetary. What I really love it is the juxtaposition of the toombstones, some of them crumbling, with the blooming tree. I'm pretty sure it's wisteria, but I could be wrong about that.

I find the contrast between plant life and human death interesting.

This is one of my favorite, favorite photos, and it hangs on my wall so I can look at it everyday.

Picture for the Day. . .

Those of you who know me well know that I'm interested in photography and that I like visiting cemetaries. It's nothing morbid. I find cemetaries relaxing, contemplative kinds of places. They are like restful parks without high-strung children. This is a picture that I took last April at the Bonaventure Cemetary in Savannah, Georgia. If you've read Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, a fascinating book, you'll remember the Bonaventure.

Something about this picture captures how I feel right now.

Will the rest of you think it too morbid if I start posting all kinds of pictures of cemetaries and tombstones? I don't think it morbid at all.

Larry McMurtry's The Last Picture Show

I just finished reading McMurtry's The Last Picture Show. I'd never read McMurtry before, with the exception of the first hundred or so pages of Lonesome Dove, which I only just started on the plane last week. But Last Picture Show was interesting. It is in some ways a coming of age novel, and I tend to like those. But here, there seems to be an alienation, maybe even an inability to love or to find love, that goes along with the coming of age. (I'm always excited when my students remember that bildungsroman is the fancy-schmancy term for a coming of age novel!) Maybe it's a book about the whole post-modern sense of alienation. I don't know. But by the end, the characters, epsecially Sonny, feel like they want to be a part of something larger than themselves, but they can't. They can't connect. Maybe this is what resonates with me right now--the wanting to be part of something. Forster would remind us to "only connect." Maybe the very act of my blogging is connecting and being a part of the larger something. I'm blogging because I know that at least Dolce Carina will read this and will appreciate that I'm here and that I'm writing. She's on the bus with me; I know that. (Gosh, here I am turning a post about something else into something about me again!) I don't know. I want to believe that I am a part of something larger. And I guess that deep down, I do believe that. I just get discouraged sometimes.

Anyway, The Last Picture Show had way more sex than I'm really comfortable with--I feel the need to give this disclaimer. But it was an entertaining read. And I think it probably captures something about life in a small town. It's not the most deep, important, moving thing I've read lately, but it was OK.


I did like the film adaptation, which I saw a couple of years ago, and I think that Cybill Shepherd as Jacy Farrow is one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen. Which is really neither here nor there, just an observation.

I have to read some stuff for school, but I think my next personal read will be Augustine's Confessions. How's that for a contrast? Or maybe Augustine is really about dealing with alienation and wanting to belong in this other kind of way. I guess I'll keep you posted (pun entirely intended!)

Miscellaneous

Ok, so I have about 10 minutes before I have to go to a meeting (ick!), and all I really want to do is write. I just got out of a yoga class--today's the first day of a 5-week class. I feel so much better than I did when I got up this morning. This should be a lesson to me.

So I've been thinking about style and my brother and what C. said. And I think really, that I should just dress the way I want to, provided that I don't wear marginally offensive tee shirts to work. For example, you know the one I have that says "Dorks are hot"? Well, not appropriate for work. But really, I mean, I can wear knee socks and fun colors, right? And I can wear all black with very purple lipstick, right? Or Hello Kitty tees. Hey, my students say that they like it when I dress like one of them. I mean really, why can't my uniform be a fun tee shirt, a denim skirt, colored tights, and then just to professional it up a little, a stylish jacket? What's wrong with that? I've toned it down some--my hair is a color that theoretically could be someone's natural color. I don't know. I just want to feel like I'm interesting looking. I don't even go for cute / pretty / attractive anymore; I gave up on that long ago. I strive for interesting. Lately, I just feel like I'm getting more and more boring, as far as my appearance goes, and I don't want that.

So the therapist I fired in October would say that I'm just focusing on the wrong things and trying to get attention for the wrong reasons. But I still maintain that's a gross misjudgment of my character. She actually told me that I needed to get new friends, friends who would apprecaite me for reasons other than my appearance. But I just don't think it's true.

This for Dolce Carina, Calamity Jane, Joybug, and all the rest: Loneliness and Riding the Bus

Ok, so here I am. And it's bed time. And I've had a good day, relatively speaking. I mean, I stuck to my list and did Pilates and read interesting stuff and took a bath and read some more and felt really relaxed. And now it's bed time (or something like it, but I'm still on West Coast time, which would be fine if only I were on the West Coast), and I find myself in spontaneous tears, and I don't know why. And I don't even have the hormone / baby excuse. But, you know, maybe that's the thing. Maybe it's just that I'm lonely. Maybe it's that all day my phone hasn't rung once. I know that I'm being petty. But I'm alone, and I'm afraid. And I don't understand why I can't just be OK ,and I don't understand why no one wants me, and I don't understand what's wrong with me that I'm successful in all the ways that don't really count. But in all the ways that count most, I'm a failure. I don't want to apologize for myself or my past or my feelings anymore, you know? I just want to be OK. And I don't know who started the whole bus metaphor, but I feel like I've been the only one on the bus for a long, long time. And right now, I am not sure that I want to stay on the bus any more.

So there's everyone else with the cute little house and the 2.5 kids, or whatever it is now, and what do I have to show for myself? A stupid piece of paper that says I'm supposedly an expert in something that no one really cares about anyway. And what does the piece of paper entitle me to? It entitles me to coddle / nurture / teach / mentor a bunch of 20-year-olds. And they appreciate me (I think, most of the time), but I give and give and give to all of them all day long until there's nothing left. But I guess it's OK because there's no one to burden with my nothing anyway.

So whatever. I'm just venting because it's better than crying alone for no apparent reason. Maybe I'm over tired. And my one wish for this moment is that there were someone to make biscotti with.

More Pics of My Brother J.

Here's another pictuer of my brother, the Gibb. Ok, ok, so the BeeGees references are getting old. But I like the vintage look. I think that J said something about opening himself up to ridicule by dressing the way he wants to, but I say, go for it bro. I think the world would be a much happier place if we all felt brave enough to pursue our own style.

I used to think that I had an interesting sense of style. I, however, am becoming increasingly conservative in my old age. Mind you, I don't mind the old age part, but I do mind the having to look more conservative or professional or something part. If I'm not careful, I'm mistaken for a student. That happens on the days when I wear something silly, like a Hello Kitty tee. Crap! I've turned a post about my brother into a post about me. But maybe that's OK, because maybe the whole style thing is like genetic. Maybe it runs in the family. I don't know though--our other brother would say that he doesn't share our sense of fashion. Which only goes to show that one man's trash is another man's treasure (inside joke!)

My Brother

Ok, so this is a picture of my youngest brother J. I'm posting this, in part, for his benefit so that he can add it to his MySpace or whatever.

I think he looks way kick-ass here. You'll note that his pants are authentic polyester double knit, and his sports coat is also vintage. I think he looks like one of the Gibb brothers. He's going for that 70s look, I guess.

He's 15, but he looks much older.

More pics of J are forthcoming!

Ok, so I'm just going to say it. . .

Ok, I'm lonely. I admit it. I am lonely, and I am sometimes scared. And sometimes I spend the day, waste the day, feeling anxious for no apparent reason. And here I am in VT, and it's so cold out, and everyone I love is far away. And some days I just don't want to do it any more. I admit all this. And it's OK that I feel like this. And deep, deep down I hope, I hold on to a tiny flicker of hope, that it won't always feel this way.

Insomnia Redux

Here I am, unable to sleep again. However, this time I chalk it up to jet lag. I'm not as frustrated as I might normally be, because I figure that getting up at 5:00 tomorrow morning ought to fix everything by tomorrow evening. Until I'm ready for bed, however, I think I need to write.

I'm frustrated that I can never seem to get as much done as I'd like. It's like I can't quite get my act together enough to decide what changes I need to make in my life. But that's not exactly true. I mean, my act is more together than most, I'd say. Honestly, I tend toward over-organization; I have this overly developed sense of responsibility. I'm not a procrastinator. I never have been. The real problem and the real source of my frustration is that I have unrealistic expectations. It sounds so neurotic when I admit it, but I expect more from myself than I would from other people. I'm not sure why I'm this way, although I could offer a few fairly convincing specualtions. I don't know that it really matters why I'm this way. But the reality that I live with is that I expect more of myself than any one person can reasonably accomplish. But it's frustrating. I don't have a spouse or children; I don't have the obligations that many of my friends have. It seems as though I should be able to do whatever I want with myself and my time, yet so much of it is wasted. Here it is, Sunday night, and I'm frustrated that I somehow didn't do more with my day. I know, I know: I should focus on what I have accomplished today, this week, this month, this lifetime. And yet, there's always the sneaking feeling, just at the edge of my consciousness, that my life somehow should amount to more. I'll be 31 in just a few weeks, and it seems as though I should have more to show for 31 years.

I've been told that my problem is with contentment. I don't think that's necessarily the case. I think that the "problem" I have is that I'm not realistic about my physical and emotional capabilities. I think I'm realistic about the capabilities of others. I would never, never berate my dear friend C., for example, if she were in my position. I'd encourage her; I'd point out all her accomplishments; I'd tell her it was OK not to be perfect and productive and happy all the time. I'd tell her it was normal; in fact, I did tell her it was normaly earlier this evening. So why can't I say and believe those things about myself? It's OK and it's entirely normal to do nothing some days. It's OK to work only 8 or 10 hours a day. It's OK to feel disappointed when disappointing things happen. And it's OK to miss a day of exercise. I'm going to work at telling myself that all these things are OK. I'm going to work at talking to myself the way that I would talk to anyone that I respect and care about.

A Quick Summary of My Trip

Ok, as some of you know, I just returned home from a week-long visit to my family in California. I just wanted to post a couple of quick observations:

One: The weather in California was perfect the entire trip. I think it was in the 70s every day. As a result, returning to Vermont and temperatures in the teens is rather unpleasant.

Two: I have a neice who's nearly five. She says about the funniest things that I've ever heard. More on E. later.

Three: I have a brother who's fifteen. He says the second funniest things I've ever heard. He's recently changed up his style for the better. He's gone from marginally offensive heavy metal tees and baggy jeans to a vintage 70s look with polyester bell bottoms and the whole thing. I think he looks good and admire his fashion sense and the self-confidence that it must take to wear thrift store pants and jackets handed down from dad.

Four: Fifteen year old brother is also a dancer. I saw him performing in scenes from Into the Woods Friday night. He plays the Big Bad Woolf, ha ha. He dances in a number that he choreographed himself. It was very impressive. He wore cool stage make up. He's also a kick-ass actor. I think that teen age boys who can do a good pirouette are pretty impressive.

Five: Spent much of the trip pointing out to my mom men who aren't my "type." Sadly, didn't encounter a single one who is my "type." Does this mean I'm too picky? I'd admit that I'm particular in ways that others would find odd.

Six: started reading Larry McMurtry.

These are just the hilights. More later, if I feel inclined.

MC Hammer has a Blog:

Here's a link to a blog that supposedly is the real MC Hammer's:

http://mchammer.blogspot.com/

Do we really believe this belongs to the real MC? I think it looks pretty convincing. Does anyone remember when MC was on the first season of The Surreal Life with Vince Neil (or is it Neal?) and Webster and Cory Feldmann? Good times. Apparently, MC Hammer is an ordained minister of something or another.

So if MC is blogging, I figure all the cool kids are doing it.

I'm Back Home

"It's snowing. It's snowing. @#* I hate this weather."

Jessica Simpson

I hope this goes without saying, but I'm going to say it anyway.

I am really annoyed by Jessica Simpson. And, really, I don't see what is supposed to be so attractive about her. I really don't get it.

Random

Today I stayed at work later than I might have because the governor was visiting the campus to promote some new plan for funding student aid. Well, it seems to funny to me that the governor can bother to visit such a small campus with so few students. Clearly, I'm comparing this to my California experience where the Governator wouldn't be able to visit a small campus, but then I guess maybe our campus isn't so small by VT standards. You know, we are the largest of the three state colleges. It all seems funny somehow. The high point of the talk was when one faculty member's cell phone rang really loudly, but he couldn't seem to locate the phone in his many coat pockets. He finally had to leave. I would have been embarrassed, so much so that I wouldn't have come back. But not Professor K. He returned about 10 minutes later, during the Q and A time, raised his hand, announced that he was the "idiot" whose cell phone rang, then proceded to ask a question that had already been answered. It was too much.

I'm reading Lloyd Alexander's The Black Cauldron. It's lots of fun. In my class we're talking about the ways in which fantasy draws on various mythic traditions; here Alexander clearly uses Welsh myth. Tomorrow, we're going to look at selections from the Mabinogion. This is such fun--everything I love all at once. Well, most everything I love all at once: fantasy, european myth, medievalism. If only we could throw pasta, chocolate, and red wine into the mix, I'd have reached nirvana. Ok, ok I know that's not really nirvana, not at all. But wouldn't it be lovely? Oh, let's not forget tea and Boston terriers and late night phone calls from boys. Hee hee.

To DVL and sundry others: Yes, I really kinda like They Might Be Giants. Does this make me geeky? Probably. I have a theory that there's about a 5-year age window of people who know TMBG and the rest of the population doesn't know who they are. So, yes, I'm totally dating myself my mentioning my undieing like. However, this changes nothing. And it's all very silly, I know. But I refuse to apologize for it all. In case anyone's interested, my musical true love is, of course, the Beatles. I think the Cranberries are fun. I listen to this cool / whack group called the Medieval Babes as well.

So I know this has all be v. random, and I'm fine with that.

Just a warning: I'll be out of town for a week starting Saturday, so don't be surprised if you don't hear from me. My apologies to those of you who have come to rely on me for your bedtime reading.

Mermaids and Manatees

I know that I should be working at something or another, but I really just want to write. So here I am. What I wanted to say is that I really like mermaids and manatees. I find mermaids and sirens so appealing as mythical characters ("Is mythology true? Like was there a time when people really lived like that? Or is it all just a bunch of myths?"--inside joke). I am entranced by this representation of powerful, seductive females. And I tend to associate water with some sort of female principle. It's like mermaids are these strong, self sufficient females. I'm not explaining this very well. Cixous talks about "the laugh of the Medusa," and I don't pretend to understand Cixous, but I really think that if I were going to write about female power, I'd choose the mermaid or siren as my metaphor, not Medusa, although she's interesting too. There's just more going on here than just a set of stories about mermaids and sirens. I think of Andersen's "The Little Mermaid" (let the record show that Andersen's story has very little in common with the Disney adaptation--my students are often shocked by this). . .anyway, I think of Andersen's story as implying that to become a fully functioning, healthy woman, a man is needed. The Little Mermaid, who significantly does not even have a name, must give up her agency to win the man she loves; she gives up her voice and can walk only with great pain. Yet, it seems that we are to praise her for these sacrifices, sacrifices for "love." Yet she doesn't even get what she wants in the end. She's turned into sea foam with the possibility of gaining an eternal soul, only if the child reader is good enough. I mean, what's that all about? Mermaids / sirens are powerful because they can exist happily enough in a community without men, it seems to me. In Andersen's story, the Little Mermaid's sisters are happy without human men. Oh, I get frustrated when I can't say things the way I intend to. I'll just write the best I can and revise later.

But then we also have the very real manatees. Although they are endangered, I hope they will be around for a very long time. I like manatees quite a lot. In part, I admit I like them because it is thought that when sailors first encountered manatees and other species of sea cows, they confused them with the mythical sirens. In fact, the biological order to which the species belongs is "sirenia," emphasizing this. But manatees are not particularly beautiful, nor do they appear at all seductive in the ways that we might associate with sirens. Manatees are fairly docile, which is probably one of the reasons why they are endangered. They get in the way of boat propellers and are often injured badly. I suppose it would be more accurate to say that humans invade the manatees' territory, creating havoc for the creatures. I know this is silly, but manatees make me think of really big puppies. And they are sea "cows," not bulls or steers. We implicitly associate them with the female. Oh, this isn't going where I'd hoped. I'm not explaining at all in the way I want to. I guess I think of manatees as kinder, gentler mermaids. They are mermaids in their own way, mermaids in our world. That's another reason I like them. It's a way to pretend that the line between so-called fantasy and reality is in fact blurred. To know that manatees exist maybe allows for the possibility of other so-called mythical creatures. I want to believe in mermaids. I know it sounds silly, but I do. And maybe manatees are close enough.

Musings

Ok, so yesterday evening, my mom asked if I was going to post my "musings" on Valentine's Day. I really have nothing to say about the topic (this doesn't happen very often). But here we are. It's the day after V Day, and I have nothing to say, no musings at all.

So I went to work this morning, and 12 hours later I left. And I'm tired, so tired. But coming home seems so very lonely. I just want to talk to someone sympathetic, but there's no one to talk to, not right now. I called my mom on the way home, so I've sorta already used that resource. I don't know. I walked into my dark, crappy apartment and just felt so isolated, you know? And I'm really thankful that Guinn and Polly are here because at least I have them. But I'm so discouraged about feeling distant and isolated and cold. What was I thinking when I moved here in the first place. And now I'm here writing this because it makes me feel a little better, a little less lonely knowing that I can write and maybe someone will read it and care. I guess I just wish that there were more to come home too. Maybe I'm just over tired.

Meetings. . .Arrgh!

I know this isn't a very original observation. I spend way more time each week in meetings than I really want to. I'm on my way to one in just a few minutes. I really hate it. It always feels like such a waste of time. There are so many things I could be doing that would contribute to my teaching effectiveness, but instead I'm stuck in meetings were everyone says the same thing over and over again. Maybe it's naive of me, but I didn't anticipate this when I pursued a career in academia. Dumb! So here I am, spending precious hours in meetings.

Insomnia / Anxiety

I don't know why I feel the need to post this, but there is something comforting about the thought of documenting what I'm thinking and feeling, so here goes. . .

You know the soy latte I promised myself several posts and several hours ago? Well, it turned into a near-fatal decision, let me tell you. I made myself the latte, which seemed like a good idea at the time. But now I'm wanting to start at least thinking about bed time, but I'm all like "Brrrrr." I don't know how else to say it. I can feel the insomnia creeping up on me, and that is making me anxious and panicky. So here I am, on the verge of panic, all because I'm worried that I won't sleep well--another of those self-fulfilling prophecy thingys. I've read recently that insomnia is really about fear that one won't be able to sleep, and that makes sense to me. Again, here I am thinking, "Ok, so I have a big day tomorrow, and what will I do if I can't get at least 7 good hours of sleep? What will happen to me then because I'm going to have to be at work for at least 11 hours tomorrow. Crap! I need to get to sleep right now. If only I can get to sleep within the next hour, it'll be OK." And on and on like that. And I start to worry, although I know it's counter productive, and I'm working myself up into this state of panic. And I feel really stupid about it all, but I don't know how to stop either.

And there's the other kind of insomnia, not the trouble with getting asleep, but the trouble with staying asleep. Therapists tell me that this has to do with dream activity. I guess I get to sleep OK sometimes, but apparently, I dream things that are upsetting somehow, so there it is 2:00am, and I'm wide awake. And I toss and turn for a hour or more. I really hate that. When it happens at, say, midnight, it's a little better because then there's at least stuff on TV, but the one channel I get is off the air for a couple of hours, until 5:30. That I even know this is a testament to my sleep issues. Anyhow, I hate all that. I just want to sleep like a normal person.

Why can't I be normal?

They Might Be Giants

I've already written a lot this evening, but I just wanted to say that I really like They Might Be Giants. And I'm listening to "Particle Man" right now, and it makes me happy. Does this make me truly nerdy? I'm not sure. There's something about their music that makes me feel hopeful. That's probably a sad commentary on either my lack of maturity or more likely my taste in music. Does anyone else even remember They Might Be Giants?

What I've Been Reading

Ok, just on principle, here's a quick update on what I've been reading this week:

1. I finished Beowulf. I know I've said it before, but I really love it. So satisfying in its pre-Christian sort of way.

2. Susan Cooper's Greenwich. Also very satisfying for it's pre-Christian / pagan elements. I think this is my favorite if Cooper's Dark is Rising sequence, a fantasy series that continues to appeal to me. One thing I really am interested in here is that Cooper, for the only time in this series, deals with femaleness / the feminine. And it's fascinating. Arguably, she ends up falling back into very traditional gender roles--woman as nurturer--but I appreciate that she's grappling with this topic in a genre that until recently has focused almost exclusively on the male experience. I like that she allows that maybe there's some sort of femine power that is substantively different from male power. Here I'll show that at heart I am an essentialist, so some of you can take me to task for that. But I do believe that male and female are essentially different in some ways, other than simple biology. And Cooper makes an attempt to explore this in a way that still works for young adults.

3. I've spend much of the past two days reading Atwood's The Handmaid's Tale, but I'm not ready to write about it yet maybe. It does make me think of the ways in which our biology seems to be our destiny. No matter how hard I try to get away from it, I'm still someone who longs for rather traditional male / female relationships in my own life. I don't know. I'm not articulating this well at all, but it does seem to me that the boundaries created by our bodies are real, are more than simple social structures.

Again, I've just displayed that I'm not such a good feminist. And really, I'm fine with that.

Irritable Bowel Syndrome

Ok, I am posting this mostly for the benefit of Joybug because she always seems to enjoy my adventures (or misadventures). And I want to start off by saying that I realize that irritable bowel syndrome (IBS) is no laughing matter, but I also want to say that context is everything. In the words of Jim West, one of my favorite people ever: Context is King. I feel like it's OK to relate this story because it happened in a fairly public forum.

A couple of weeks ago in my picture book class, we were studying Beatrix Potter's Peter Rabbit, and we were looking at the picture of Peter with a full, sick tummy after he's over indulged on carrots, lettuce and the like. So Peter is holding his sides and looks fairly sick. And one student in the back of the room raises his hand and says, "Well, I know how Peter feels, and this picture is very realistic, because I have irritable bowel syndrome, or IBS, and when you gotta go, you gotta go. And I mean it's really bad. And this looks totally realistic, and I can totally sympathize with Peter because I have IBS, and I know exactly what he feels like and what's going through his mind right now."

I didn't know how to respond to that, and believe me, I'm not often speechless. But the whole point about Peter is NOT that he has IBS but that 1.) He's disobeyed his mother and has to suffer and 2.) he stuffing himself with veggies so that should he should he be made into rabbit pie, like his father, he'll be all plumped up and seasoned and stuff. But his medical history is not an issue here. But really more to the point, who volunteers this sort of information in front of 19 of his peers? I'm pretty open about things like that, but it was totally irrelevant. Which, again, illustrates that context is everything.

A couple of days ago, I saw one of the females from the class, and she said, "I couldn't believe that guy said all that about IBS. I mean, his chances of getting a date on this campus have gone WAY down."

Why does this kind of thing have to happen to me?

Update on my pain:

This just in case anyone is interested / worried regarding the pain mentioned in Friday's post:

I went to the doctor. He gave me a perscription muscle relaxant and perscription strength naproxen. It seems to be helping. He also wants me to try physical therapy.

I'm just relieved that he didn't act like it was no big deal and tell me to take a couple of Advil.

I do feel much, much better.

So earlier this afternoon, all I felt like I wanted to do was to watch some TV. I hate it when this happens: I turn on the TV, and I guess I should have known this, but the only thing on, partly on account of I only really get one channel, is golf. Now, I suppose golf is fine and all, but I'm not really interested in watching it. And what really gets me is that it's some tournament in Shell Beach or Carmel or something, one of those courses right on the ocean (is that what "links" referrs to? I can't remember), so not only was it a sport that I wasn't interested in watching, it was gorgeous and near the ocean, and it just made me want to be in California, not stuck here in dumb old Vermont. I shouldn't complain; at least we didn't get the big Noreaster that dumped a bunch of snow on New York City, and at least a week from today I will be in California, maybe on the coast if I'm lucky. Still it was a weird, upsetting kind of disappointment. You know, it's the kind of disappointment that makes me wish I had a big soy latte and biscotti. Maybe I'll make myself a latte, only I think the steamer attachment is clogged up, and it seems like so much trouble to clean it. All I want right now is to be somewhere else. I know that I tend to gripe a lot, but itsn't that what a blog is for? so that I can vent these things in a safe environment, rather than take them out on the people I live with (I guess I should say, "rather than take them out on the dogs I live with" on account of I live alone with the dogs.) Maybe this is my problem--maybe it's just general lonliness. It's true that since moving here, I feel so very far from the people that I care about most and want to spend time with. Sometimes I feel stupid for having made the decision that I have made--to move here and all. But what's done is done, I suppose. We don't usually get second chances, do we? I should stop now and go make that latte before I get all upset.

Have I mentioned that the new iPod is just wonderful? I'm convinced that next weekend, my whole airplane experience will be much better than ususal on account of the whole iPod. I'm actually kind looking forward to it, which is unusual for me. I hate flying and wish I could avoid it. And my method, quite honestly, is to simply get myself to the airport safely and then immediately take a Xanax to sedate me for the whole flying thing. I've had therapists tell me that it has to do with not feeling in control. That may be it. But I think it's more than just that. It isn't just lack of control. I feel clostrophobic, and then I start to have this weird fear of having a panic attack (ironically, that tends to be one of those self-fulfilling prophesy deals. SIDE NOTE: I hate when people, my students mostly, mean "prophet" but write "profit." It makes me want to scream.) Anyway, enough of that. And now about that latte. . .

Oh, the Pain!

Ok, well, maybe "discomfort" is a more accurate word than pain, but my shoulder really, really hurts. I have a doctor's appointment later this afternoon. I wonder if I maybe have a pinched nerve or bursitis or something. I mean, this is more than muscle soreness; it feels like it's in the joint or something. All morning as I was teaching, I kept yelping, "Yow!" and "Ouch, ouch, ouch." I'm sure my students were quite disturbed, but if I turn my arm (of course, it's my right arm, the one I need) just wrong, it hurts a lot. I'll be really frustrated if the doctor tells me to just take more Advil. I've been doing that, and it's not helping very much.

I know I'm kinda whiney, but it's just what's going on with me today.

An Unexpected Bright Spot

Today, I went to a local elementary school and read a book to a class of second graders. This was not something I was looking forward to. I signed on only because I know that the college wants us all to be working on outreach stuff for area schools. And, in part, I felt pressured to participate. Just because I have an academic interest in children's literature and childhood culture, people seem to assume that I'm interested in children and that I'm good at working with them. In general, that's not the case. I mean, I like any particular child well enough if he or she is polite and pleasant to be around, but I'm not a "kid person." ("Kid," I'd like to point out, refers to a baby goat.)

Anyhow, I had planned to go and chat with the children and read them Little Bear, which I'm interested in right now because it's illustrated by Maurice Sendak. But the children were delightful! They were so well behaved and attentive. I was very impressed, and I even ended up enjoying myself. I guess I should have had a better attitude about it from the outset. They seemed engaged and interested as I shared the book with them, and they were all eager to tell me about themselves. They invited me to some sort of skit they are doing tomorrow, something about the planets. Afterwards, several of them asked if they could give me hugs.

It was such a good experience that I even told the teacher I'd be happy to come back another time and read with them.

Grading

I spent most of the day grading essay exams, about 40 of them. Boy, were they ever mediocre. I am not so good at grading, maybe. I mean, I know that no one likes it, but I don't know. I can only handle so much at once. I need like a grading monkey to do it for me. It's really too bad that my dogs cannot assist with grading. I'm sure they'd be good at it, if only they had opposable thumbs with which to hold a writing implement.

Boy, am I ever glad that's over.

Susan Cooper's The Dark Is Rising, II

Ok, after the bath I mentioned in my last post, I finished the last two chapters of The Dark is Rising, by Susan Cooper. I've read this book several times, and I am impressed by several things here. First, this seems to diverge from much fantasy in that a number of domestic scenes are interspersed throughout. And there's something cozily comforting, reassuring really, about the reversion to domestic life. Second, I think that what makes this novel truly masterful, among other things, is Cooper's drawing on pre-Christian, folk religion of the British Isles. This is true, I would say, of the entire series. But she draws on folk religion in a really interesting way, a way that is very different from what we see in Tolkien and C.S. Lewis. As my students observed, Christianity is treated very differently in Cooper's novel than how C.S. Lewis particularly treats Christianity. While never denying the validity of Christianity, Cooper suggests that there's some larger force at work, something that both transcends Christianity and other "religions" yet enfolds them at the same time. While I personally do not necessarily agree with Cooper's religious perspective here, I do find it interesting, specifically in that it is a departure from the writing of Tolkien and Lewis, who have so much defined this fascinating sub-genre of fantasy for YAs (that is, young adults) with which Cooper works. Finally, I find this particular work interesting because it really is about Will Stanton's coming of age; as one student K. pointed out, it's really your typical bildungsroman novel. (Bildungsroman is simply the fancy, literary term for a coming-of-age story, but I was quite impressed that K. remembered the term from a previous class. (SIDE NOTE: One thing I love about my job is that I tend to get many of the same students taking a variety of classes from me. I enjoy working with the same students for longer than just a semester, and we often develop rewarding, interesting relationships. I suppose this is one reason to stay at CSC.) Anyhow, Will's coming of age quest so closely matches what mythologist Joseph Campbell calls the "monomyth" or the "heroic quest." If you are really interested, Wikipedia has useful information on Campbell and the monomyth. T.S. has pointed out to me that the Walker here is an interesting character, and he is. He seems to illustrate this important difference between the forces of good and of evil, here called the Light and the Dark. Specifically, the Light "uses" the Walker, yet cares for him, even allows him redemption when he's betrayed the Light. The Dark, however, simply discards the Walker once he has served their purposes. T.S. also brings to my attention that the Old Ones, the servants of the Light, form a community in a way that the servants of the Dark do not. The Old Ones are never Mavericks, working on their own; rather, they must rely on one another. I have to say that I'm indebted to T. for these useful observations. (T. I don't know if you'll read this or not, but if you do, know that you've helped me think about this book in a new way!) I don't know--I guess that I've just thoroughly enjoyed this novel and wanted to say more about it. I am looking forward to further discussing it in class with my students tomorrow morning.

All I Want Is To Relax

I know it's really kind of silly, but all I want right now is to relax, and I think a bubble bath is certainly in order. I've been feeling really "stressed out" (silly term) lately, so today, I did my Yoga practice for quite a while. And it helped. But now, I'm tired and feeling kinda icky. So I just made a cup of tea, and I think I'll run myself a bath. Reading in the bath is really a big deal in my world. So, in spite of all the work I think I should be doing, I think I'll take a bath and do some of my reading for tomorrow's classes.

I guess it is silly to bother with posting this. But I don't know. It feels like I can be more OK with taking the down time if I tell someone.

Beowulf

Hwat!

I use the above, because it's how Beowulf opens. Excpet it's a different letter, the ash, rather than our "a." It means, roughly, "pay attention," or "behold," but "behold" sounds sillily mangnanmous.

What I wanted to say is that I was in a foul mood about two hours ago. But when I started my glass of wine (this after deciding that life is too short to drink marginally bad wine any longer) and started reading a portion of Beowulf for my class tomorrow, I suddenly felt like a much happier, more likable version of myself. I guess that Beowulf and red wine seem to have that effect on me. The truth is, I find Beowulf endlessly fascinating. There's something satisfying about reading it. I don't know--I guess that I feel like I discover more and more each time I read it; maybe I find it speaking to what my needs happen to be each time I come to it. And I think that is a mark of good literature. I guess that Beowulf just makes me happy in this weird, almost primal way, but it appeals to me intellectually as well.

If anyone's interested, I think Seamus Heaney's translation is ab fab. I know that maybe really serious medievalists would prefer a more literal translation, but I think Heaney is just great. It's readable yet retains something of the structure of the Old English poetry.

I'm Sooooooooo Tired

Ok, I'm so very tired. I was at work for a good 10 hours today, which is fine, but I still have a lot that I feel like I should do. But I just don' know what I have the energy for. And I'm posting only because I told myself I'd post at least something for today. But I have not much to say other than I'm worn out. My classes went well enough today--they almost always do. But I'm just tired and feel increasingly isolated, distant from those I care about most.

Mom, Dad, Cara, Jake, John, Cheri, Emma, Lauren, and everyone else: if you read this, I love you and I miss you all.

Susan Cooper's The Dark Is Rising

I have spent much of this afternoon reading Susan Cooper's The Dark is Rising for my class tomorrow morning. And I'm having a hard time collecting my thoughts about it somehow. I'm not sure exactly what I want to say about it beyond the obvious. I am interested in how religion and Christianity are dealt with in the novel, but I can't really synthesize it in a way that makes sense to me. I suppose that my sense is that in the novel good and evil (here the Light and the Dark) are clearly distinguished, but defy equation to religion generally. I guess that want I'm saying is that in the world Cooper writes, the Light seems to transcend Christianity. What I find strange is that Cooper still deals with Christianity. For example, one central scene takes place in what is clearly an Anglican church on Christmas day (see, the whole English thing is important again). I'm just trying to write my way through my ideas. This is one novel that I had origninally intended to write on in my dissertation, but as my dissertation grew, it was pruned away. My diss was plenty long without having to look at Cooper. Still, I'm interested in her work, The Dark is Rising sequence in particular, and my thought is that I want to start working on an article dealing with Cooper.

Moleskine

Oh, one more thing. I now understand why people are so big on the whole Moleskine thing. Some of you know what I'm talking about. Those of you who don't can ignore this post.

On Blogging (is this part 2? 3?)

So after a month of pretty regular blogging, I want to make some oberservations. Blogging is like screaming into a vacuum, only better. Screaming into a vacuum means that one can say whatever she wants, and there's no need to fear the reactions of others. I mean, vacuum implies that there's no one there to be offended or hurt or scandalized. There's no one there to criticize, so one can say whatever she wants or needs to say that day. And screaming into a vacuum means that it's the act of articulating the thing that is important, because it matters not whether anyone hears and understands. In fact, no one will. So I find this blog deal very liberating. I feel free to just say, "Ok, so here's what I'm thinking and feeling today." Sometimes it's good; sometimes it's crappy. But the very act of saying it and saying it without reservation is therapeutic, is helpful, but most importantly for me, it's a way of knowing. It's a way of discovering and then affirming, "Yeah, this really is what I think, at least right now."

But it's even better than the whole vacuum metaphor because people do actually care. Well, some people do. I know that C. reads what I write. And I assume that sometimes she and others are annoyed by my sanctimonious tone or my whining or my clear self-absorption. But she cares. I can feel this different kind of connection to her, to the world.

So the thing is I'm feeling so liberated to be myself and say what I need to say about the world. But I also feel supported and wanted and loved. Isn't this what most of us want in life? For me, it's certainly a big step towards a healthier emotional state.

Which reminds me, some day soon, I should write about my healthy emotional state. I'm so proud, quite honestly, of the progress I've made. I haven't had a full-blown panic attack in months and months, in spite of extreme stress.

Powell's Julie and Julia

OK, so this book isn't literary particularly, nor is it the story a paragon of virtue. I mean, the four-letter words abound. But there's something to it, to Julie's project.

As I wrote in some other post, this is the story of Julie Powell's year long project of cooking through all of Julia Child's Mastering the Art of French Cooking, in just a year.

But what I've been thinking is that maybe I need a project (as though the last three years of dissertation weren't project enough). But more importantly, it's never too late to learn more about myself and more about contentment.

Apparently Child did not marry until her mid or late 30s, in an age when it must have been difficult for women to find spouses once they'd reached 30. (Have I mentioned that I'll be 31 in March). But also, at 37, and only then, did Child learn to cook and find her vocation. This makes me hopeful. As much as I love teaching and many, many aspects of my life, I still want to believe that I have other options. And I want to believe in the possibility that maybe I'll find a spouse. I don't know. But Powell, by the end of her project, realizes that she has options too. She doesn't have to stay at the crappy job she hates. There are other ways she can choose to live. Maybe the endings of things (of relationships, projects, jobs) are what help us to realize this (see previous post.)

I guess I just need to believe that I'm not stuck.

Endings and Beginnings

Here I am on a Saturday morning, "high" if I can use that word on various meds for my sinuses. Sinus discomfort seems to be a theme of my existance the last week or so. I'm pretending that it's the weather that's bringing this all on. But really, I have to confess that deep down I know it's aggriavted by stress. So please, on account of the meds, ignore any random, digressive ramblings, as well as icky syntax and poor spelling. It's not like I'm the best speller under any circumstances.

I've been thinking about beginnings and endings of things in this important, what-does-it-all mean, kind of way. And as I finished reading Julie Powell's Julie and Julia, a real hoot that does get inspiring in a sick, neurotic way, I was impressed by this observation that Powell makes: "The thing I keep learning about endings is that they aren't a long time coming, and they don't sneak up on you either, because endings just don't happen" (301--don't want to be sued for plariarism). And I kept thinking and thinking about what that means, and I'm reminded of the Semisonic song with the line "Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end." And I've realized that all the endings--break-ups, leaving old jobs, discarding old clothes, finishing a book that one wished never had to end, all the endings, big and small--they are really just opportunities. They open the possibilities that the beginnings, the projects, the relationships had made non-possibilities for a while. What I mean is this, when one is dating someone, let's say, that dating has the very real effect of making dating someone else a non-possibility. But then the break up returns all those possiblities. An acquaintance, a friend of a friend, just finished writing a novel, apparently. And I respect that. It must have taken a lot of dedication. But it seems to me that committing to writing that one novel meant that she didn't have the time or energy for the thousand other novels in her head or for whatever else. But finishing it, sending it off, is and ending and must, I assume, involve a sense of loss, a kind of mourning really. But now all those other possibilities are open to her again.

So I know that using pop-culture references to make my point maybe isn't so convincing. I mean, hey, is Semisonic really an autiority on the business of living? Maybe, probably not. (I guess this speaks to my abiding fascinating with pop culture.) But it's true, right?

The endings, the losses, they hurt, but don't they allow for a rebirth of some sort? Isn't that the lesson of the Phoenix?

People and Things I "Love"

Instead of complaining about this and that, I think it will be more fun to list some of the people and things that I currently am besotted with, have loved at some time in the past, or have high hopes for true love with in the future. One should note that this list is not exhaustive, nor are these in any particular order. So here we go:

1. The Beatles, especially Sir Paul

2. My car (drive a 1998 Ford Explorer)

3. NetFlix

4. New iPod Shuffle

5. NPR

6. The New Testament, especially the book of John

7. C.S. Lewis

8. Really, really good tea

9. The film adaptation of Forster's A Room With a View

10. Men who understand John Donne

11. Camille Paglia

12. Craig and Andrew, who should always be spoken of as though they were one entity

13. Really, really good tea

14. Ravenwood's Zinfandel

15. This great pasta I make with Grogonzola cream sauce and pine nuts

16. Saturday mornings, especially when reading books and baking muffins is in the offing

17. The Sweet Valley High series of novels

18. Masterpiece Theatre

19. Rachel Ray (her recipes make me think I've reached Nirvana, although her personality is rather over the top)

20. Staying in motels that have good cable TV

21. Wikipedia, not the most reliable source of information, but boy is it fun

22. Reading and / or watching TV in bed

23. A really good hair cut

24. Hello Kitty

25. Returning to the church I grew up in

Valentine's Day

Some may think this crude, but I'm going to just come out and say it.

I called yesterday to make an appointment for my annual thing with the gynocologist, and they scheduled me for Valentine's Day. And it's not like I was all looking forward to Valentine's Day or anything. Oh well, at least now I guess I have something "special" to do for the "holiday." But I mean, the indignity of a pap and pelvic exam is bad enough. And Valentine's Day tends to irritate me anyway. Why do all the crappy things have to happen at once? It's like a really bad Woody Allen movie or something.

I will stop now before I lapse into obscene jokes.

Today

Today is crappy and beautiful all at once, you know? It's rained and rained all day, and the wind bites through one's clothes. And I am feeling increasingly something, only I don't know how to name what the something is.

I didn't prep for my morning class, which was A-OK because we ended up having this really fascinating conversation about how C.S. Lewis seems to write sin. And I had a moment in which I felt truly brilliant, not because I was saying brilliant things, but because I kept ask questions until my students were able to say the brilliant things themselves. That's the kind of teacher I really want to be. So that was the high point of my day. And I love my students, every single one of them. I especially love the ones who sign up for multiple classes with me and get all excited about the things I do. I mean, there's just something satisfying realizing that someone else thinks that, I don't know, C.S. Lewis is uber-cool and, more importantly, has something to say to all of us.

Then, this evening, I'm having dinner with some friends A and R. And they are great. R is like the ideal-goddess-Zen mom or something. They have a 2 1/2 year old, then 11 month old twins. And every time I'm there, I'm amazed at how calm--tranquil, really--everything is. R is all into Iyengar yoga, so maybe that's the foundation for her peacefulness. I don't know. I don't have any super maternal urges or anything. But should I ever be a mother, I would be pleased to be even half what she is, you know? And she lets me come by any time, pours me a glass of wine, and we dish about the babies and books and all kinds of fun stuff. Friendship is a really wonderful thing.

And there's so much more I want to say--about feminism, about writing, about teaching, about books, about movies, about the killer chili I made last week, about embodiment (Dolce Carina has been writing about it, but it had been on my mind recently too), but there's never the time to say all that I want to. So I guess that I simply do the best that I can.

News Flash: I think that David Duchovny has finally been supplanted in my affections by my iPod. What a lovely thing life is!

I'm Falling Behind. . .

I'm here to make a confession; I have not been blogging as faithfully as I'd hoped.

My plan, as some of you know, was to blog about everything I've been reading, but it's all gotten away from me somehow. But I'm going to try to get up to date with just a few blurbs about this and that. These are in no particular order. But I want to preface it all by saying that I have the most amazing job in that I get to read and then discuss really fun, exciting, interesting works every week. And now that Sophocles is behind me, it can only get better.

So here's my fun reading: I started a silly, fun, inspiring rather creative non-fiction piece called Julie and Julia. DISCLAIMER: This book is probably offensive to some of my readers. But it's a real hoot. This woman, Julie, is dissatisfied with her life. So she decided that in one year she'll cook everything in Julia Child's Mastering the Art of French Cooking. Some of her meals are successes, some are not. And she fights with her husband along the way, watches friends make really bad (and some good) decisions, but in this project, Julie's life takes on a new sense of completion. As corny as it sounds, she seems to find herself. I've read about 2/3 of it. But it's a good, quick, fluffy sort of read. And in spite of the offensive bits, I can find something there that I relate to.

Last week I skimmed The Hobbit for my fantasy class. I'm rather disappointed that I only had time to skim it, as I love it so. But my notes were sufficient, and I know it so well that teaching it was a breeze. Oh how I love Tolkien. There's something so completely, solidly English about Tolkien, and I find that superbly comforting. I have an acquaintance who wrote her doctoral dissertation on something about the "comforts" of childrens literature. And I suppose that that sense of comfort that I associate with Tolkien is why I do what I do. The Hobbit is homely in the best sense of the word.

Then, as part of the same course, I reread The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. If you read my previous posts, you know that I freaked out about textual variants. But I cannot tell you how unsettling it was. I mean, here's this text that I'd somehow come to rely on--when things get tough, I read Lewis. And it was different! I've calmed down about the whole thing now, but it's still unsettling. But there's so much that I wan to say about Lewis's novel. I think the fundamental thing that so many people seem not to get is the concern, obsession possibly, that Lewis seems to have with English cultural identity. It's so important that the work is set during WWII. And typical English concerns are prominent in the book. Very few people talk about this, yet it seems so vital to understanding Lewis's project. And it's not just Lewis. I'm obsessed with English concerns about cultural identity during the first half of the twentieth century. Lewis is just one of many examples. I won't bore you with all the details, but I'm fascinated.

Finally, this morning, I read the first third or so of Beowulf, one of my favorites. I really should have been a medievalist--that was my true calling, I sometimes think. But (and I guess this makes me not a purist or something) I really love Heaney's translation. This morning, I had two sections in which we talked about Beowulf, and I have to say that there are few things in life that make me happier. Life is good.

So there's my quick update. I'd like to say more, be more analytical. But right now, simply celebrating what I'm doing and what I'm reading seems enough.

My goal is to read more feminist this and that soon. I'm hoping for some Camille Paglia, the "anti-feminist feminist."

iPod Shuffle

Ok, so I'm enjoying my new iPod Shuffle, which is the little, tiny, baby iPod. And I'm in love already! I'm so excited--the thought of being able to take John, Paul, George, and Ring everywhere with me! Really, what could be finer.

Oh, and I can get all my favorite NPR stuff. This is sooooo great!

Nothing to Say

I told myself I'd post something every day, so here I am. But really, I have nothing to say. I'm home sick from work with a migraine. I feel like I could sleep for the next six weeks. But I'm sure I'll feel better tomorrow.

I Think I'm Going Crazy, For Reals This Time

Ok, so I've spent the afternoon and evening obsessing over The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. It totally feels like I'm living a Twilight Zone epidsode. Anyway, I just got off the phone with Dolce Carina, who I love more than anyone else in the world right now, and I ate Stoffer's French Bread Pizza for dinner. The thing about it is this: I've been eating a lot of frozen foods lately, and that's just not like me. I mean, normally, I enjoy cooking, and I consider myself a pretty good cook, but lately I just have like zero appetite, so all I can really work myself up to is a meager salad and / or whatever I can throw in the oven at 350 for 25 minutes. And I'm trying to make myself eat. But really, is french bread pizza and bad Merlot really better than no dinner at all? But I went grocery shopping over the weekend, you know, to stock up on frozen foods so that I'd actually eat something this week. And there I was in the check-out line, and I felt like saying to the guy behind me, the bag girl, whoever, "No, you don't understand. This isn't me. I normally don't eat like this--frozen stuff and Romaine." But I didn't say anything. I felt pretty sheepish though.

But I talked to Carina about it, and she, who is chef extrodinare, made me feel much better about what I was eating. So maybe it's OK after all. I don't know. More than anything, it makes me thankful for friends. I know that I can call her, and that whatever I'm doing, she'll make me feel like I, as a person, am OK. Does that make sense.

So Carina, if you read this, just know that I love you and that you've saved me from insanity, at least for now.

More on Narnia

So I'm really obsessing now. And I can't find anything online (not that "online" is such a good research tool) about textual variants of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe beyond the issue of which order we ought to read the series in.

Does anyone out there happen to know anything about textual variants of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe? This is really bugging me.

As a side note, I found this weird "Narnian Creed" based on the Apostle's Creed, only Narnian terms seem to be inserted. I think it's weird / heresy (and I don't normally throw that word around):

http://www.pford.stjohnsem.edu/ford/cslewis/documents/narnia/Credal%20Elements.pdf

I mean, I get that it's not so much an actual creed but a commentary both on Narnia and the form of the creed. But I still think it's a bit much.

There are lots of crazy Lewis fans (posing as scholars) out there. I don't know. I'm frustrated with the lack of information I've been able to come up with. But if anyone knows anything about this, please let me know!

I'm Having Fits. . . About Narnia

I'm blogging because I'm about to have a fit, and I figured I could vent about it, get my feelings out, and (I hope) go on. I'm reading The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, which I have read many, many times. And I have my old (like 20 years old) copy which I've read and reread and marked up many times when I've taught the book, when I was working on my diss, whatever.

Anyhow, I have a new copy that I was working through, the edition that I'd ordered for my students. And I figured I should "bite the bullet" and go ahead and annotate my new copy (I hate having to work with a new edition) so that my pagination would match what my students have, and thus, class tomorrow morning would go much more smoothly.

Anyway, as I was reading, I started noticing little things that had been changed. Wording was different; one character (Fenris Ulf / Maugrim) even has a different name. This was news to me. In my research and my work on Lewis, I'd never read anything about differing editions of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. And I'm about to have a fit. I said above that little things are different. But they aren't little. I mean what seem to me to be clear references to Norse myth (the character Fenris Ulf, a reference to the "World Ash tree") have been replaced with something else. This to me seems thematically important.

But what really bothers me is why I've been unaware of this until now. Why haven't I read anything about these different versions of Lewis's famous novel? Hasn't anyone done a textual study? Why don't I know about it? I can't be the first person to be aware of this with all the Lewis loonies in this world. So why am I just now noticing this. Goodness, I feel like Oedipa Maas. And I'm about to have a fit. This seems like a big deal to me. Does no one care?

I don't really have time to write, because I have class in 10 minutes. But I'm frustrated. How is it that I work and work and work, yet never seem to accomplish much of anything? Is this just part of the human condition? Or is it just that I'm a perfectionist (which I am; I don't deny it, although I try to somehow moderate this unhealthy tendency.) Can someone tell me why and how it is that I never seem to get enough done?

I've Made my Peace with Joyce Carol Oates

Ok, in spite of my threats to the contrary, I just finished reading We Were the Mulvaneys, and I guess I'm not sorry that I stuck with it (I really love the above picture of Joyce Carol Oates, although it's really, really and old one. There's something beautiful about her.) Anyway, I just wouldn't, couldn't admit that this novel, this one novel, had somehow defeated me, so I finished. And there's something satisfying about that. Maybe it's just me being neurotic, compulsive, but I somehow felt like I had to finish, like I just couldn't let this one long novel get the better of me. Was it a life-changing book? No, of course not. Much of it made me angry. It's really the story of a family, and maybe the central part of the plot is that the teen-age daughter is raped, and her father just can't cope. So what do we do? We treat the daughter as though it's her fault, send her away to live with an old, spinster relative, and never mention her again. And the mother goes along with all of this, for years hinting to the daughter that maybe dad will come around, and maybe you can come home again soon. Of course, that never happens, and the daughter internalizes it all, believes that the rape is her fault, and cannot relate to men in a healthy way. It really kinda annoyed me. I know, I'm the English Professor, and I should be able to make some sort of profound statement about this literary work, but there's nothing profound that I want to say. I just want to say that it made me mad, made me feel sorry for Marianne, the daughter, made me want to throw the book across the room. And I don't think that Oates wants us to be OK with everything that's done to this poor young woman. But I finished it. And I'm somehow glad that I did. I feel as though I've made my peace and can go on to whatever the next book is on my list.

Which reminds me. . .I need to work on that list!

I Can't Believe I'm Posting This

Ok, I'm only posting this because Dulce Carina asked for it. And, naturally, I wouldn't want to disappoint her or anyone else. This is a not very good quality photo of my tattoo. If you can't tell, it's Smaug the Dragon, as drawn by Tolkien. You see, as I was finishing grad school, it seemed like a good idea to get a Tolkien tattoo. I think this demonstrated how nerdy I really am, although I still like to think of myself as a "cool, modern nerd;" I have been tested, you know. This is on my lower back, which explains the poor quality of the photo. I took it myself. Anyway, assuming anyone besides DC is interested, here it is. I absolutely love it, and if I had it to do all over again, I would get the very same tattoo.

The Muppets

Lately, I've been watching The Muppet Show on DVD, and it's really fun because it has this fun "pop up" trivia feature where as one is watching the episode, fun facts pop up on the screen. So really, it's an educational experience. That, of course, is why I'm watching the Muppets; it's all educational. No really, if I am in a crappy mood (which I am far too often), watching the Muppet show makes me laugh. At this point, that's worth a lot. And, really, who doesn't love the Muppets? Who, I ask. What's not to love. Oh here's a fun one: why don't we all list our favorite Muppet and why he or she is our favorite. And hey, you know how I've been on this whole weird anti- / maverick feminist thing? Well, I bet that the feminists don't much like the Muppets. I mean, let's look at female representations here. Well, there's Miss Piggy, and we all know what she's like. I mean, on the one hand, she's kinda kick-ass because she karate chops whoever gets in her way, but really she's superficial and not very pleasant to be around. There's a word for that, but I won't use it here on account of this is a G-rated post. You know who I really like? Statler and Waldorf, the old guys who sit in the balcony and make snide remarks. They're lots of fun. But really, really, Fozzie Bear is my favorite. I guess it just makes me feel better how nothing ever seems to go right for him, and he's always kinda sheepish. I really like that about Fozzie. So, who's your favorite?

My New Favorite CD

So here's my new favorite CD. It's this band called The East Village Opera Company, and they do these cool rock & roll versions of opera songs. You know, so there are violins and electric guitars and drums and keyboards, and it's all quite lovely. One of the best things about living alone is that one can listen to the same CD over and over, and no one complains. I really, really dig this CD right now. I'm especially fond of their rendition of the "Habanera" from Carmen, one of my favorite opera pieces. OK, I admit that I know very little about opera, but I'd like to learn about it. And this CD is really, really great. I wonder of real opera purists would turn up their noses at these pop remakes of opera favorites. I don't really care--I just know that I like it. I always get excited to discover a new CD that I can absolutely fall in love with. And right now, this is it for me. But not to worry, I'm still listening to a healthy dose of Johnny Cash each day. Oh and just think, if I get an iPod, I can take opera and Johnny and the Beatles with me everywhere I go. Really, that would make me happier than I can say. I tend to get really excited about the little things in life. And satisfying music makes me very happy. And right now, I am absolutely besotted with the East Village Opera Company.

Weekly Goals

So here's my commitment to myself regarding my weekly goals.

Each morning, when I get up, I will meditate for 8 minutes, then read my morning devotional.

Each evening, I will read my Bible.

I've been doing these things regularly, and I want to add one more goal to the mix. Each day, I want to do some reading that's not immediately required for work. i.e. prep for class. I also want to spend some time this week creating a reading list for myself. I want to read more that is meaningful and spend less time watching TV. Oddly, because I really only get one channel, one would think this wouldn't be too difficult. Still, I want to spend more time reading each evening, and I want to come up with a plan to implement this new goal.

Gregory Maguire's Son of a Witch

Ok, I'll just come out and say it. I thought this novel was just blah--nothing terrible, nothing great. The issue of sexuality was dealt with in a heavy-handed way, nothing especially interesting or provocative. It seemed forced, predictable. I had high hopes because I loved Wicked and liked Confessions of an Ugly Step-Sister. I hated his Lost, however; it was really bad. I started Mirror, Mirror once, but lost interest.

I guess what I'm trying to say is even if you loved Wicked like I did, you shouldn't get your hopes up for Son of a Witch.

That's my lazy, Saturday evening, pajamas analysis. Not very literary or professional. I guess that sums up my response to the book. There's nothing especially literary to say. And I suppose that's fine, but it wasn't even especially entertaining.

Just my self-imposed obligatory post!

Drennan, the Maverick Feminist

Why I Love Saturdays!

Because I got to sleep in until 7:30

Because when I got up, I went straight to the couch with my cup of tea and read all morning

Because I didn't get dressed at all, wore my jammies all day

Because I didn't have to do anything other than exactly what I wanted

Because I made a really delightful luncheon, just for me

Because I got so much done, none of it related to work

Because I had the time to catch up on correspondance and phone calls

Because I took a long, hot bath and listened to really great music

Because there's something wonderful about watching DVDs and reading novels all afternoon

Because I feel more relaxed than I have all week

What I'm Reading Now

Just a quick update:

Last night, I finished rereading C.S. Lewis's Till We Have Faces. It is absolutely my favorite novel ever, and it has changed my life. I think everyone should read it. I really do. But it's so hard to talk about, probably because I find it so moving and important on a very personal, intimate level.

I've read about 2/3 of Gregory Maguire's Son of a Witch. I just want to say that it's OK, although I don't like it nearly as well as its predecessor Wicked. That's just for the record.

I think I've given up on We Were the Mulvaneys. Maybe it just didn't do it for me--I know many others think it quite brilliant. I'm just not that into it.

My new resolve is to NOT be reading like five books at once. I think that whatever I'm reading for work is fine, plus one fun book, plus one non-fiction something that's supposed to enlighten me somehow. That seems like a good mix. I tend to have lots and lots of books going at once so that I can have something that fits with my mood. But then things seem to somehow get lost in the process. I suppose, however, that if something isn't complling, why should I waste my time? C.S. Lewis said that if he just wasn't into a book by page 50, he didn't bother. And I guess if it's OK for Lewis, it can be OK for me.

Moment of panic: I realize that I'm turing into one of those crazy academics who brings up her research interests in nearly every conversation. I don't mean to be this way. It's just that Lewis so often speaks to whatever it is that's going on! This is not a good sign.