a double requium

I'm sorry, Thea. I blame myself.

We spent so much time together - years, really. Even when I didn't understand you, you never let me down. During the marathon sessions of trying to write a dissertation, you stood by me. Together we struggled through many an adversity. I spent more time with you that I have with many people.

If I hadn't tried to install a new operating system, your hard drive never would have melted and we'd still be together. Bill Gates had to go and come out with a new version of Word, so I needed the new system... curse you, retired Mr. Gates, for forcing my over-worked computer to collapse.

I do feel like I have lost a family member - and, yes, I did name my computer.

On a more serious note, I have just learned of the death of a human. I never knew "Jane" well, she was just one of those people who was always there when I was growing up, in this case, at church. Jane lived to be in her nineties (she left the choir after sixty years) and truly was the quintessential little old lady. Plug in every stereotype and Jane fulfilled it, and she was lovely - could quite possibly have been a Miss Marple on the side.

She outlived everyone - her obituary lists cousins only; I don't know if she was an only child or just outlived all of them and no one had any children.

What I loved about her obit is that in addition to the usual details, it lists her best friend. Now, I know that many folks will look at this and make assumptions about her sexuality. She wasn't. I love it that the friend made it in anyway.

dog follow-up

All right, so $80, 000 a year to house the dog, leaving $110, 000 for other expenses.

Let's say $10, 000 for physical needs such as shots, dog food, cable television (Animal Planet, of cousrse!) and various garments. This means someone is being paid $100, 000 a year to take care of a dog. Where do I apply?

Dave Barry wrote a column years ago about coming down with what he called "Martian Death Flu." He described one symptom as being able to feel the individual air molecules bump against you. I don't have the 'flu, but I do have a cold that has given me the same symptom. Still, were I making $100, 000 a year to walk, pet and otherwise tend a dog, I'd get over it.

I miss Dave Barry's weekly pieces. Oh I know, he has a blog, but most of it is links to other Internet sites.

$190, 000 a year??!!

Leona Helmsley's dog's keepers estimate that $190, 000 is more than enough to keep the dog fed, clothed, housed and in good medical health per year.

Now, I am enough of a capitalist to believe that the late Mrs. Helmsley should be allowed to spend her money in any fashion she desired so long as it is legal. This is certainly legal. It also costs more than a Harvard degree, would pay off many mortgages and be a nice drop in the bucket for many charities. Much as I love and value Sam, board him at a slightly more expensive facility and buy him top of the line dog food, treats, shampoo for those smelly moments... $190, 000?

a secret revealed

My mailman is a very nice fellow named Rusty. Our conversations are generally limited to exciting topics such as the weather and the amount of mail I recieve in a given day. I am confident that I am the only person on his route who reads People Magazine and The Journal of American History. For five years we have maintained a nice, if very distant, relationship.

Yes, I see and speak to my mailman at least once a week.

This morning, however, was different. As Rusty handed over the usual pile I said something like, "poor Shania Twain" as her marital problems have been on the cover of People for weeks. To say that Rusty is upset about Twain's personal life is like saying that the Pacific Ocean has a few fish. Rusty is appalled at what has happened, thinks that the "other woman" is not only evil and awful but "really ugly, how could you leave a woman like Shania for her? What is he thinking?" Rusty expressed these views and several others on the subject with a passion truly beyond my descriptive abilities.

Nice to see someone who is always so professional (and I mean that, truly) reveal just a crack of what makes him tick.

a cubit, I used to know what a cubit was...

Remember my last post about tidal waves? It turns out I wasn't too far off. Large portions of Central and Southern Indiana are now underwater. The pictures on the news are quite graphic. NPR even included the story in their "top of the hour" news round-up, complete with a report from the Bloomington affiliate - the reporter interviewed someone in Owen County, when's the last time that happened on NPR?

It's odd to think of interstates closed due to water when the sun is shining so brightly. I can only imagine what a mess rebuilding will become - everyone's financial resources are already strained, but infrastructure is essential.

I would be remiss in not noting Clinton's suspension of her campaign. I do not envy Obama as he tries to select a running mate. There are a great many reasons why he might choose HRC, and great many reasons not to choose HRC. I spoke with someone this weekend who is confident that whether the president is McCain or Obama, both are destined to die in office, so the VP candidate matters more this year than ever before. I'm not sure about that, but teh choices certainly will be interesting.

weather forecast

The sun is shining, there are a few puffy white clouds in the sky, the dog has successfully treed four squirrels and there's a wonderful smell on the breeze.

Based upon these words, I conclude that this afternoon Indiana will be hit by its first tidal wave in centuries.

Memorial Day

One of my favorite historical photos comes from a 1973 issue of Life Magazine. I first saw it in my AP US History textbook and couldn't stop looking at it. The picture is of a POW finally returning home. We can't see the soldier's face - he could be anyone. What we can see are his four chilren and his wife, running, running, running toward him, arms outstretched, clearly delighted, thrilled, overjoyed.

It's not often that I advocate a position held by George Bush, but today I make an exception. He suggests that all Americans take a moment at 3:00 PM local time to pause, reflect and ponder (or words to that effect) upon those who have served, those who have died, those who bear physical and emotional scars.

Put down the home improvement project, let the coals on the grill burn for a moment and stop sending me all of those e-mails about honoring service, patriotism, support our troops, amazing battles - I've heard 'em all and taught many more - and just pause. Think movies, think of family or friends, just think generally, but take that moment.

misery loves company

It's been a rough few weeks at lemming headquarters - nothing to blog about, just one of those times when everything builds up and gets nasty. (Evil student is not going to like their final grade, but I can prove that it's the grade earned.)

Then I learned that a neighbor is the latest victim of foreclosure and has experienced several other personal set-backs that make my life look downright tranquil and calm. Perspective is good. I have much for which to be grateful.

Poetry month got me trying to remember all of the bits of verse which I was either required to memorize or memorized along the way for other reasons. "The world is too much with us, late and soon" was for 12th grade British lit. I've managed to reconstruct it. Now I'm working on a piece by Edna St Vincent Millay which I memorized because I was in a play, one which had nothing to do with poetry. I had to spend 20 minutes on stage, reading a book, while all sorts of other activities happened around me. "All right, let's be practical with this time and learn a poem," thought I and so I did. I think I have about 2/3 of it and more comes back every morning in the shower.

I have a mind which remembers poetry. I have a body that can walk and reach and move. I had a reasonably nutricious dinner. I have a dog who was prepared to defend me from an earthquake. Life could be a whole lot worse.

few things are better

Driving to work on Tuesday - sun shining, a light breeze, the flowers smell terrific, the road construction is done, I'm not running late and Aretha Franklin comes on the radio.

This is a second day of cold and rain and I'm still smiling.

all but the shouting

Well, that's that. No more phone calls, no more mailings and the CNN camper is no longer parked downtown - Indiana has gone back to being a backwater. I got to cast a presidential vote that actually counted for something, but now it is back to the mundane dross of life; I will vote in November, but it won't matter. I do wonder how many of the votes for HRC came from crossovers who think that #1 she will be easier to defeat in November or #2 that she'll get elected, mess matters up and then a "real" Republican will get the nomination in 2012. I probably shouldn't say this too loudly.

I get to cover all sorts of wonderfully depressing topics today in my classes so, naturally, it is grey and wet. As a recovering English major, I will occasionally get random fragments of poetry stuck in my head, at which point I am then obligated, as per the terms of my student loan contracts, to determine the full text. For years, I struggled to find the poem with the phrase "when it is cold November in my soul" only to learn, eventually, that it is actually from a novel I thoroughly loathe: Moby Dick. Well, at least that's one brownie point for Melville. (For the reacord, I've read lots of Melville, all of it under duress.)

It's not a "cold November in my soul" but it feels that way outside. Sam has absolutely refused to set the smallest fraction of his being past the door.

my little bit of history making

I woke up at 5:45. Bed was deliciously warm and comfortable.

"Hmmm..." thought I, sleepily. "The polls open in 15 minutes. I'll go back to sleep now and vote this afternoon." Then I remembered Joe's experience in the Great Gambier Voting Line of 2004 and jumped out of bed. No shower, just sweatshirt and jeans and off -

My polling place comprises several precincts. There's never a line. Never. I have voted at all hours of the day (though never 6:05 AM) and there's never a line. The place was full . Naturally part of this was due to Joe - admit it, Joe, you had something to do with this - as each precinct had only one functioning voter machine out of four.

There was an elderly man who could barely walk, a little confused by the technology, but determined. The woman ahead of me in line knew she would be late to work, but felt that voting should come first. Unusually for my polling place, I wasn't the youngest voter in the room. Most of us under-forties were clad in the same general attire, but enthusiastic.

Only took 45 minutes.

I'm sure that many of the people in the room were Republicans. I'm going to pretend that most of us were voting Democrat. This is Hoosier History that has nothing to do with basketball or fried brain sandwiches. This is awesome.

scorecard update

Mailings:

Obama: 2 more
Clinton: 1 - the first one yet

Phone Calls:

Obama: 1
Clinton: 1

Can you tell I'm psyched? Does it show? At all? Nah, probably not. I'm a very quiet and subtle person when it comes to anything involving history, and this is historic damnit!!!

Indiana will go back to being an unnoticed backwater when this primary election ends, our citizens laughed at as hicks and denigrated as in-bred fools, but for a few precious days, even the BBC has sent reporters here. There's been a CNN camper parked downtown for days with reporters constantly standing outside and taping whatever it is that they tape in those segments.

Now then, what do I wear to the polling place...

a scorecard

As of 10:30 Saturday Morning:

Phone Calls:

Clinton: 1 - very nice older lady, we had a great chat
Obama: 3 - they have an organizational edge in my book because they made sure that I knew when the polls opened and closed and where my polling place was located

Mailings:

Clinton: 0
Obama: 12

Visits by Jehovah's Witnesses: 1

I cannot even begin to tell you all how psyched I am for Tuesday. Indiana hasn't mattered since 1968. (For the moment, I am choosing to forget about RFK and just be excited.)

six and six

At this point I have been tagged by so many people that I cannot list all of them here, but I do promise to follow the rules and leave a comment on all of your sites.

1) I am terrified of heights to the extent of being unable to move. I've had to be carried off ladders and led off of catwalks.

2) I once played the role of the princess in "The Princess and the Pea." This involved spending 40 minutes in total on a bed ten feet tall without any railing. (I still have a piece of it.) How did I manage this? I had a friend on the unseen side of the bed who spent the entire time I was up there smiling, giving me a thumbs up, waving, and generally being supportive. Wouldn't have gotten by without him - thanks Gio, wherever you are.

3) I have a terrible weakness for soy sauce, even on odd foods, such as mashed potatoes.

4) For a month the arrow keys on my keyboard have not functioned. My tab key has not worked for two years. My caps lock key died about 18 months ago. Needless to say, I have a new keyboard, but it is still sitting un-opened in the box.

5) John Bellairs is one of my favorite authors. He's deliciously creepy and throws in all sorts of little historical references - and you need to know your history to get them. Hannah Dustin doesn't get a lot of attention in history class.

6) If given thousands of dollars toward a plane ticket and other travel expenses, I would head straight to Wales.

for the record

#1 - I got mail today from the Obama campaign. I got a phone call from the Clinton campaign. My vote matters! It's not principle,it's not just - to hell with just, candidates actually want my vote!!!!

#2 - This poetry thing is getting far bigger than I ever imagined.

if everything happens that can't be done
e.e. cummings

if everything happens that can't be done
(and anything's righter
than books
could plan)
the stupidest teacher will almost guess
(with a run
skip
around we go yes)
there's nothing as something as one

one hasn't a why or because or although
(and buds know better
than books
don't grow)
one's anything old being everything new
(with a what
which
around we come who)
one's everyanything so

so world is a leaf so a tree is a bough
(and birds sing sweeter
than books
tell how)
so here is away and so your is a my
(with a down
up
around again fly)
forever was never till now

now i love you and you love me
(and books are shuter
than books
can be)
and deep in the high that does nothing but fall
(with a shout
each
around we go all)
there's somebody calling who's we

we're anything brighter than even the sun
(we're everything greater
than books
might mean)
we're everyanything more than believe
(with a spin
leap
alive we're alive)
we're wonderful one times one

two earthquakes

#1 - the human mind is goofy. I woke up to the bed, walls, ceiling moving - and Sam, on all four paws and ready for anythng needed in defense of his mistress. He fell off the bed, but continued to survey the surroundings and general vicinity for the source of the danger. "oh, Sam, it's only an earthquake," I said, and went back to sleep.

90 minutes later, on the other hand, I actually woke up.... "OMG Sam, it was a ^*&(*&%$#%^*&()(*&%^*& earthquake?!!!"

5.2 on the Richter Scale.

#2 - an e-mail came today, out of the clear clue sky. "Prof lemming, you have forgotten me " like hell I have, you have no idea, "but you changed my life in ways gjlkjjlkrty."

I what?!!

To hell with that, you nomiated me for my first teaching award. All I did was offer you advice on a few papers. OK, I did talk to you after class, but all good teachers do that, right?

You wrote to my chair. I didn't do anything special, nothing unusual, but you thought it was special. I can recite parts of that letter from memory. You think that I have forgotten you? Not even an earthquake would make me forget you.

confessions of a history geek

Not even of a history major, just a history geek...

I had a class today which I could have done 95% of the top of my head when I was 17. Oh yes, there are nuances, facts, figures which I'm sure (I hope) were refined during the 10, 000 years I spent in graduate school. At the same time, I did 28 minutes straight without once looking at my notes. It's nice to be competant occasionally.

The latest poetry wasn't chestnuts - it was just awful. Why do people have the idea that all poems have to rhyme?

At my undergraduate institution, you had to complete a senior comprehensive exercise in your major to prove that you had actually learned something in four years. My exact memory of what happened after I passed is a tad vague. I do however vividly remember standing with a group of other English majors and shouting this at the moon.

(excerpt)

we're anything brighter than even the sun
(we're everything greater
than books might mean)
we're everyanything more than believe
(with a spin
leap
alive we're alive)
we're wonderful one times one.

-ee cummings, "If Everything Happens that Can't be Done"

confessions of a recovering English major

With one painfully boring exception, I loved my English classes in college. I majored in History because I knew I could do it well; I majored in English because it meant I got credits for reading novels and poetry. Hey, it seemed a good idea at the time, even if it meant that I wrote about five bazillion papers in four years. For this I am still making student loan payments.

It also means that when I listened to "Prairie Home Companion" spoof English majors on Sunday, I instinctively started to think about post-structuralism and its relationship to gender identity and deconstructionism.

Anyway, this is apparently National Poetry Month or some such because people keep sending me poems. These are normal, rational-seeming folks, and it is nice to see what gets sent my way... certainly a break from the usual dross of life.

I'm noticing something, though - almost all of the poems (upwards of 20) are old chestnuts. There's nothing wrong with "Two roads diverged in yellow wood/ and sorry I could not travel both" it's just that even as a freshman in college I was sick of it. Wordsworth's poem about daffodils is terrfic, but again, it's so over-used and repeated.

Now. I'm not arguing that we should all memorize "The Man From Snowy River" (up the Australians!) or that "Dulce et Decorum Est" doesn't make me cry (it does) but Frost and Owen and Dickinson and their kin did write other pieces.

P.S. There's a bumper sticker that says, "If You can read this thank a music teacher." (Then there's a few bars of Beethoven.) Official thanks to the teacher who first walked me through Paradise Lost.

advice to tech support

The phrase "oh yeah, this happens all the time" is not reassuring.

Nor is "we have no idea why this happens."

Lie to me. Tell me that it has to do with the orbits of the moons of Jupiter if you must, but please pretend that you understand why my computer is behaving in a strange way for the umpteenth time.

Oh, and P.S. do not take it as a compliment that everyone on my floor has your extension on speed dial.

more politics

Thanks to all for the feedback about my HRC/ BO comparison. I had no idea my random musings would generate such passion.

I don't want my vote to be cast "just" about the war. I knew (and know) far too many poeple who based their vote four years ago solely on 9/11 and a conviction that only GWB had protected us from it happening again. Do not underestimate the conservativeness of Indiana. John Kerry carried Marion County (aka Indianapolis) in 2004, but he and Gore are still the subject of scorn and derision here in the land of the Hoosiers. Being a left-leaning liberal sort of carbon based life form in Indiana is not an easy matter and we tend to be quiet about it. While the pre-varicating drives me up the wall, it does force me to really think through, think through carefully, what I believe, what I support and how to live it. Bear in mind that I live and work alongside people who wish that GWB could serve a third term.

Plus I teach history, so I'm probably waaaay too caught up in the historicity of the moment. Call it an occupational hazzard.

I did do some serious reading this morning about the candidates - their positions on issues other than Iraq, long-term hopes and allegiances, etc. I'm heartened that both BO and HRC have prioritized health care, though after living through the early 1990s, I'm not sanguine. Obama can be as independent as he likes, the insurance companies have scuttled health care reform before and will do it again.

On a happier note, a quote for the day:

She refused to bebored because she was not boring.
-Zelda Fitzgerald