Oh, One More Thing

I also realize that I at some point probably need to transcend the silly crushes on fictional characters that I seem to have developed recently. I get that. But really, I was only half serious in the first place.

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.