A friend is in training to be some sort of massage therapist. He needs people upon whom to practice and my back was a bit sore, so I volunteered.
The technique was a new one to me, but not unpleasant - it has something to so with muscle layers and activating muscles which aren't doing their job. Most of it was fine and actually quite interesting - until we got to my ribs. Something about moving the muscles in the ribs made my knees feel terrific and I could feel my lower back relaxing... and then he got to rib #9. OUCH!
I often go months without thinking about my ribs - but two days later, rib #9 aches and aches and aches. If ever I volunteer again, rib #9 is strictly off limits. On the other hand, my back and knees still feel terrific.
I did finally knuckle under and make the phone call to the vet. The technician with whom I spoke asked all sorts of questions about why I thought Sam might have arthritis (good) and about his daily activities. I've been keeping a casual log of his activities and limitations, which helped. At the end, the tech warned me that X-Rays and blood-work would be required, and was I prepared for the additional expense? Damn straight I am; this is Sam we're talking about.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Monday, August 25, 2008
A Sam update
It's been a long, hot summer, so Sam hasn't taken many trips in the car. Like most dogs, he loves the movement and scenery. Sam has never been one to hang his head out the window, but he does love to watch the world go by. Add to that Sam's obligation to supervise the mistress at all times, and my car's interior is generally covered with a protective layer of fur.
He was excited about taking a short ride to the bank - but I had to boost him in and out of the car; he simply couldn't handle the leap. I think the time has come to talk to the vet about an appointment and some pain management. His quality of life is still high; I am safe from the backyard squirrels and Sam is still more than capable of casting a disdainful glance at the terrier next door.
He was excited about taking a short ride to the bank - but I had to boost him in and out of the car; he simply couldn't handle the leap. I think the time has come to talk to the vet about an appointment and some pain management. His quality of life is still high; I am safe from the backyard squirrels and Sam is still more than capable of casting a disdainful glance at the terrier next door.
Friday, August 15, 2008
wise words
In the spirit of "what I wish I'd written" - Harriet has written a terrific post about why college and encouraging a "life of the mind" matters. The whole post is terrific, but I've stolen (sorry, H!) the bit that I thought most wonderful.
This morning, I came across an editorial Charles Murray wrote a couple of days ago in the Wall Street Journal about how college is a waste of most people’s time. In terms of quickly moving people into the work force, Murray is probably right. But it seems to me that he has missed the point of college altogether. Maybe the humanities do not train you for specific job skills, but the study of arts and culture and history have other effects on both the way we think and problem-solve and also on the way we view the world and others in it. And then there are the intangibles of the experience of being a college student, being away from home and finding your way in the world in a sort of halfway-house for adulthood. I had a sheaf of report cards with stellar grades and loads of A papers that I could have saved. But those are nowhere to be found. Instead there are pictures of the people and activities that meant most to me, the detritus of my existence then, all serving to conjure up the parts of me that stem from that time and place. A poet friend of mine used the phrase “this carrying life” to describe the way our lives are encoded in the smallest fiber of our being. These are the paper remains of my carrying life, reminders of that which I carry with me everywhere. And sometimes it takes an old friend to remind you of how you came to be.
This morning, I came across an editorial Charles Murray wrote a couple of days ago in the Wall Street Journal about how college is a waste of most people’s time. In terms of quickly moving people into the work force, Murray is probably right. But it seems to me that he has missed the point of college altogether. Maybe the humanities do not train you for specific job skills, but the study of arts and culture and history have other effects on both the way we think and problem-solve and also on the way we view the world and others in it. And then there are the intangibles of the experience of being a college student, being away from home and finding your way in the world in a sort of halfway-house for adulthood. I had a sheaf of report cards with stellar grades and loads of A papers that I could have saved. But those are nowhere to be found. Instead there are pictures of the people and activities that meant most to me, the detritus of my existence then, all serving to conjure up the parts of me that stem from that time and place. A poet friend of mine used the phrase “this carrying life” to describe the way our lives are encoded in the smallest fiber of our being. These are the paper remains of my carrying life, reminders of that which I carry with me everywhere. And sometimes it takes an old friend to remind you of how you came to be.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
more on Sam
Sam is still moving stiffly, but now that the weather has (thankfully!) cooled off, he's a bit more spry. A couple of friends have recommended some pain killers, so I'll need to start looking for them. The challenge will be getting pain killers into Sam.
The heartworm pill is easy, as it looks and (apparently, I haven't tried this personally) tastes like kibble. Getting other meds into Sam has always been a challenge. He's never been one for having pills coaxed down his throat, and when mixed with peanut butter, he simply licks up the peanut butter. (NO fool, my dog.) The only approach that seems to work is to grind up the pill and mix it with applesauce. Given that I am generally only about 25% awake when I give Sam his breakfast, this could pose certain difficulties for me.
Meanwhile - I'm cynical about Edwards and his affair, addicted to late-night Olympics and highly amused by the student who complained to the dean about me. I'm "unreasonable" because I deducted points from her essay because she didn't proof-read. The dean was much amused too, and told her so.
The heartworm pill is easy, as it looks and (apparently, I haven't tried this personally) tastes like kibble. Getting other meds into Sam has always been a challenge. He's never been one for having pills coaxed down his throat, and when mixed with peanut butter, he simply licks up the peanut butter. (NO fool, my dog.) The only approach that seems to work is to grind up the pill and mix it with applesauce. Given that I am generally only about 25% awake when I give Sam his breakfast, this could pose certain difficulties for me.
Meanwhile - I'm cynical about Edwards and his affair, addicted to late-night Olympics and highly amused by the student who complained to the dean about me. I'm "unreasonable" because I deducted points from her essay because she didn't proof-read. The dean was much amused too, and told her so.
Wednesday, August 06, 2008
beloved dog
Alison once observed that some people blog about specific topics, while others of us simply blog about whatever is on our minds. I'm afraid that I fall very much into the second category; blogging gives me a chance to write down whatever is most on my mind.
However, that having been said, I strongly suspect that a certain topic is going to come to dominate my posts over the next chunk of time.
I live with a dog. I don't know, and probably never will, if Sam picked me out at the animal shelter or if I picked him. There are times when he drives me bonkers. There are times when he finds me frustrating. I am probably closer to him than most of the human beings I know - he is my friend, my pal, my hot water bottle, my alarm clock, the source of most of what needs to be vacuumed up each week...
In the last few months I've been confronted with the reality that Sam is not only no longer young (maybe 12?) but that his arthritis is starting to slow him down and to restrict his activities. He still feels entitles to his spot on the sofa, but I need to help him up and down. He still protects me from the squirrels in the yard, but he needs to go outside late at night or else we both regret it...
Sam may yet have years of defending me from wildlife - but it's hard to accept that my companion is slowing down. Anyway, I'll probably be blogging more about this as time goes by.
However, that having been said, I strongly suspect that a certain topic is going to come to dominate my posts over the next chunk of time.
I live with a dog. I don't know, and probably never will, if Sam picked me out at the animal shelter or if I picked him. There are times when he drives me bonkers. There are times when he finds me frustrating. I am probably closer to him than most of the human beings I know - he is my friend, my pal, my hot water bottle, my alarm clock, the source of most of what needs to be vacuumed up each week...
In the last few months I've been confronted with the reality that Sam is not only no longer young (maybe 12?) but that his arthritis is starting to slow him down and to restrict his activities. He still feels entitles to his spot on the sofa, but I need to help him up and down. He still protects me from the squirrels in the yard, but he needs to go outside late at night or else we both regret it...
Sam may yet have years of defending me from wildlife - but it's hard to accept that my companion is slowing down. Anyway, I'll probably be blogging more about this as time goes by.
Friday, July 25, 2008
food, food, food
I grew up with The New Yorker in every bathroom. Like many kids, I started by skipping the articles and just looking at the cartoons. Eventually I discovered the articles and fell in love with Anthony Lane.
My favorite bit though, hands down, are the restaurant reviews. "Tables For Two" looks at places I will never visit, and not just because i hate New York City, and is always witty. Furthermore, the critics mention food I've never heard of, prepared in ways I cannot imagine - it's such a wonderful flight of fancy. "Vacherin with coconut, mango marmalade and passion fruit emulsion" - I have no idea what this might be, but it does sound interesting, no?
My favorite bit though, hands down, are the restaurant reviews. "Tables For Two" looks at places I will never visit, and not just because i hate New York City, and is always witty. Furthermore, the critics mention food I've never heard of, prepared in ways I cannot imagine - it's such a wonderful flight of fancy. "Vacherin with coconut, mango marmalade and passion fruit emulsion" - I have no idea what this might be, but it does sound interesting, no?
Monday, July 21, 2008
a monday ramble
Busy weekend on the Internet - lots of student questions, problems, concerns. One of my college professors referred to her job as being "in loco parentis" which (I think) is Latin for "I'm away from my parents and you're a stand-in, so please help me by listening to what's going on and be a kind ear."
I keep a cheat sheet on this - OK, check with A to see how the broken leg is doing, has S's father gotten out of the hospital, don't mention boyfriends to N, did D lose his house, etc. I don't know if I help at all, but we all need a good vent now and then.
I'm struck by how quickly the "sandwich generation" has passed down the age line. I assumed that one started grappling with children and aging parents maybe in the late forties or fifties, but what with my aging students, the economy, and job loss, more and more of them are writing essays about American history as they try to feed children and not strangle the parent who is now living in their basement.
The Great Depression brought out the worst in many people, but the best in others. People learned frugality, mutual responsibility and not to be too proud. Can Americans do this again? Can we set aside our SUVs and plasma tvs to sav our credit card balances?
Enough profundity.
I keep a cheat sheet on this - OK, check with A to see how the broken leg is doing, has S's father gotten out of the hospital, don't mention boyfriends to N, did D lose his house, etc. I don't know if I help at all, but we all need a good vent now and then.
I'm struck by how quickly the "sandwich generation" has passed down the age line. I assumed that one started grappling with children and aging parents maybe in the late forties or fifties, but what with my aging students, the economy, and job loss, more and more of them are writing essays about American history as they try to feed children and not strangle the parent who is now living in their basement.
The Great Depression brought out the worst in many people, but the best in others. People learned frugality, mutual responsibility and not to be too proud. Can Americans do this again? Can we set aside our SUVs and plasma tvs to sav our credit card balances?
Enough profundity.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
point of view?
I woke up in the middle of the night and simply couldn't get back to sleep. After a while I gave up and turned on the radio. Indianapolis NPR plays BBC World Service at night and it's generally 1) interesting (oh, that Colin Firth interview!) and #2 eventually soothes me back to my pillow's charms.
I came in halfway through the piece, so I have only a hazy understanding of what precipitated the narration, but the story involved two scientists and the reporter roaming around on an island, studying various kinds of amphibians to see how many of them had become infected by a fungus. All animals collected were swabbed in a variety of, er, personal areas as well as the stomach, and then released. At one point they found a certain kind of newt (salamander? are they the same?) and in my drowsy state, I started to wonder how it felt in that moment.
"OK, here I am, minding my own business, looking for a meal - oops, I've been picked up by a large creature, all right, better prepare to be someone else's meal - wait, what's going on? What on earth - ew! Hey! If I'm not going to be your next lunch, don't touch me there! Oo! Oo! That tickles!"
I came in halfway through the piece, so I have only a hazy understanding of what precipitated the narration, but the story involved two scientists and the reporter roaming around on an island, studying various kinds of amphibians to see how many of them had become infected by a fungus. All animals collected were swabbed in a variety of, er, personal areas as well as the stomach, and then released. At one point they found a certain kind of newt (salamander? are they the same?) and in my drowsy state, I started to wonder how it felt in that moment.
"OK, here I am, minding my own business, looking for a meal - oops, I've been picked up by a large creature, all right, better prepare to be someone else's meal - wait, what's going on? What on earth - ew! Hey! If I'm not going to be your next lunch, don't touch me there! Oo! Oo! That tickles!"
Friday, July 11, 2008
As The Wrench Does Not Turn
One of my cherished childhood books (still one I regard with great affection) is a copy of Babar and His Castle. Did I mention that it's entirely in French? When it comes to foreign languages in general, not just French, I do reasonably well with learning nouns and adjectives and the verb bases, but I fall to pieces when matters get more complicated. This probably has a lot to do with the fact that I never learned to diagram sentences, but no matter.
I have read and reread this book I don't know how many times. I know enough French that I get the jist of the story (the pictures help) but as to specifics I'm a bit vague. I just look through it, enjoy the ambiance and smile.
This is how I feel about the NPR show Car Talk. (Sorry, no link, I'm lazy.) I know just enough about cars to get a general notion of what's going on, I enjoy the banter and silliness and when I don't understand a term, I can just blip on by. I'm a fairly faithful listener, even when the topic under discussion is hopelessly over my head... kind of like the plu-perfect tense.
Thus I was very excited about watching the first episode of the PBS series "As the Wrench Turns", a cartoon supposedly about the wacky adventures of the Car Talk hosts. I ended a truly wonderfully funny phone chat so that I could watch it. I poured myself a glass of perfectly good wine, called the dog over, and prepared....
My time would have been better spent digging out my old verb flashcards from grad school.
The concept of spoofing PBS fund drives was sound enough, and the guys' voices as as amusing as ever... but the execution was dull, the supporting cast extraneous and in my humble opinion, the show is a dismal failure. There wasn't even enough promise to it that I would be willing to give it a second chance. (sigh) This is too bad.
Now I must return to the moral qualms about whether or not I can watch the new episodes of "Dog the Bounty Hunter" in good conscience.
I have read and reread this book I don't know how many times. I know enough French that I get the jist of the story (the pictures help) but as to specifics I'm a bit vague. I just look through it, enjoy the ambiance and smile.
This is how I feel about the NPR show Car Talk. (Sorry, no link, I'm lazy.) I know just enough about cars to get a general notion of what's going on, I enjoy the banter and silliness and when I don't understand a term, I can just blip on by. I'm a fairly faithful listener, even when the topic under discussion is hopelessly over my head... kind of like the plu-perfect tense.
Thus I was very excited about watching the first episode of the PBS series "As the Wrench Turns", a cartoon supposedly about the wacky adventures of the Car Talk hosts. I ended a truly wonderfully funny phone chat so that I could watch it. I poured myself a glass of perfectly good wine, called the dog over, and prepared....
My time would have been better spent digging out my old verb flashcards from grad school.
The concept of spoofing PBS fund drives was sound enough, and the guys' voices as as amusing as ever... but the execution was dull, the supporting cast extraneous and in my humble opinion, the show is a dismal failure. There wasn't even enough promise to it that I would be willing to give it a second chance. (sigh) This is too bad.
Now I must return to the moral qualms about whether or not I can watch the new episodes of "Dog the Bounty Hunter" in good conscience.
Saturday, June 28, 2008
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.
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.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
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.
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.
Monday, June 16, 2008
$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?
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?
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
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.
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.
Monday, June 09, 2008
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.
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.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
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.
Based upon these words, I conclude that this afternoon Indiana will be hit by its first tidal wave in centuries.
Monday, May 26, 2008
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.
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.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
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.
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.
Thursday, May 15, 2008
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.
This is a second day of cold and rain and I'm still smiling.
Thursday, May 08, 2008
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.
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.
Tuesday, May 06, 2008
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.
"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.
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