Debates and Structured Class Conversations: The "Goblin Market" Edition

We've had a great week in my English 102 classes.  We've been discussing "Goblin Market," but in a slightly different way.  Before we started, I went over a variety of possible interpretations, and then I gave them a chart.  I said that as we went through the poem, they'd fill in the chart with specific information to support an 3 possible interpretations of the poem:  gender relationships (which would include the lesbian interpretation of the poem), spiritual/religious, and economic.

We went through the poem, with me reading parts of it and pointing out which parts would go in the chart.  Often I had to say, "You should be writing this down."  At the end, I had them write a paragraph that told which interpretation was the one that made the most sense to them, and that paragraph needed quotes from the poem.

So far, so good--we've analyzed the poem, we've made notes (and perhaps learned how to take notes), and we've written some analysis that used quotes from the poem to support the analysis.  In the past, I would have stopped here and spent some time wishing that students would talk more, that we could have more of a conversation, less of a lecture.

This time, on the last day, I got to class early and put 8 half pages of paper on the walls around the room.  On each page, I had a possible interpretation of the poem:  male-female relationships/love/sex, lesbian male-female relationships/love/sex, drug addiction, religious/spiritual/good vs. evil, prostitution, economics, it's just a fairy tale, sisterhood (which could be in the feminist sense or the sibling sense).  I had students leave everything on their desks and circulate around the room, standing at the page of paper that had the interpretation that they most supported.

We did some shuffling so that no one was on a one person team.  I gave them 10-15 minutes to prepare an informal presentation about their interpretation, including page numbers.  They could use the chart they created and the daily writings about the poem and any other notes.  We would listen for holes in the argument, but it wouldn't be the kind of intense debate they might have seen in times of elections or by high school debate clubs.

It became clear that the happy ending was going to be a hole in the argument for almost every position, so each team addressed the happy ending in a separate presentation.  I was pleased to hear great conversations as the teams prepared their presentations--and not only great conversations, but lots of flipping back and forth in the book as they looked for ways to support their ideas.  They brought in the kind of information that 19th century readers of the poem wouldn't have had, like addiction and recovery methods, and they used sexual lenses for interpretation that previous generations wouldn't have had, using ideas like hook up culture and closeted relationships.

In one class, two students arrived very late, just when we were getting ready to do the presentations.  So I made them judges.  They took careful notes and gave great feedback (positive and enthusiastic) to each team.

In each class, some students stayed after the end, both to talk to each other and to talk to me.  There was an enthusiasm for the poem that might not have been there had we not been in small groups.

I'm not a small group person overall, but I'm trying to overcome my aversion to it.  I'm trying to see it as a different way of having in-class conversation.  In fact, I'm wondering if we shouldn't have some sort of small group exercise as part of every module.

Poetry Inspirations: First Troy, Second Troy, Invasion Anniversaries

We have reached the time of the semester when I wake up in the middle of the night thinking about all I have agreed to do, all of my various obligations.  I know that I will get it all done.  I always do, and in past semesters, I've had even more on my plate.

I feel something shifting in me, something that says that maybe I should start saying no to more things.  Or maybe I just need a better calendar system so that I have a better sense of what I'm saying yes to--or maybe I need to get in the habit of saying, "I'll get back to you on this request when I've checked my calendar."

I am feeling that grouchiness that comes when I have papers to grade and I feel my poet self hollowing out.  I've been feeling uninspired.

Happily, I keep a blog.  Yesterday I went back to February of 2022, not looking for inspiration, but trying to remember the exact date when Putin invaded Ukraine (it was Feb. 24).  I found this post which answered my question and led me to the second blog post which inspired a poem yesterday morning.  It was this insight specifically:  "I am a middle-aged woman with arthritic feet and limited ability with weapons. I am not going to be the freedom fighter/spy who defeats Vladimir Putin; I do not have that level of skill or beauty."

Here's the first stanza of what is still a rough draft:

"I will not be the woman
who wins this war.
I have no skill with weapons.
I cannot kill the bloodthirsty dictator
after I seduce him,
I was never that kind of beauty.
No ships will burn
because of me,
no second Troy."

I felt inordinately proud of that last line of the first stanza, that allusion to the Yeats poem.  Does it work?  Is it too much?  I don't know yet.

I'm just happy to find that my poetry brain is still working in the background, as I make my way through each day's tasks.

The Morning after the Ash Wednesday Before

I took a selfie this morning that captures my post-Ash Wednesday morning situation:

There are the ashes from last night, still on my forehead, and because my lipstick that remained from last night was blotchy, I did give my lipstick a freshening.  There's the alb on the sofa because I need to wash it to make sure that the ashes from last night come out (pre-treated, not too worried).  There's the book for my Lutheran Foundations class that I'll attend by way of Zoom in half an hour.  There's the labyrinth lap blanket that my home congregation in Florida gifted us when we moved to North Carolina.

Ordinarily I'd be in Spartanburg by now, getting ready to be on Zoom in my office.  I have structured my classes so that on some weeks, I have conferences, and I can get a later start.  I knew that this morning would be a time I'd be happy to have given myself this break, and I am.

Instead of getting ready and being on the road by 7 a.m. this morning, I got to go on a walk and hear birdsong.  I was struck by how long it's been.  I've been walking, but not at times of the day when lots of birds are singing, the way they are at sunrise.

Yesterday was not a day with much downtime.  Often I thought of the Paul Simon lyric from "One Trick Pony":  "all of these extra moves I make, and all this herky-jerky motion, and the bag of tricks it takes to get me through my working day."

But I do feel very fortunate in that all the aspects of my working life feed both my brain and my soul--it has not always been this way.

Trolls in the Forest

Yesterday we went to see the trolls at the local arboretum:

I couldn't resist posing with the above troll:

If I was captioning this picture, I'd say this:  "You'd think a woman who spent the last week teaching Christina Rossetti's 'Goblin Market' would be more cautious about strange creatures in the forest."

I'd been hearing about this exhibit since it first arrived back in November, but I never heard that it had a closing date until last week.  The weather last week was far from perfect:  chilly and windy, which made it feel even chillier.  We thought about Saturday, but decided that there would be crowds.  So we went yesterday, the last day of the exhibit.

It was more crowded than I expected, but it was manageable.  Every troll had a small crowd around it, but we were all respectful of the fact that everyone wanted a chance to take a picture.

I was impressed by the variety of ways to get to the trolls.  Some of them were along paths in the woods, which were less accessible to anyone with mobility issues.  But half the trolls were in the garden area along paved walkways.

It was a delightful adventure, and I wish we'd had more time and warmer weather.  In short, I wish I had gone earlier.  But I'm glad to have had the opportunity and happy that my walk in the woods was in search of trolls.

Tuesday Scraps: Texting Mix-ups and Passings and Other Goblins

Yesterday, I was surprised to discover that I hadn't written a morning post for this blog.  On Sunday, I also didn't write a morning post, but that's normal for a Sunday where we leave for Bristol at 7 a.m.  So let me collect some bits and pieces here:

--If you came here looking for a Shrove Tuesday/Mardi Gras post, head over to this post on my theology blog.

--I have been looking at rough drafts, as I've been doing when I don't have a new poem bubbling up.  I am surprised by how many poems came from the bushel of apples I bought in October.  In the future, when I deliberate the wisdom of buying apples in bulk, let me remember how many ways those apples fed me.

--When I heard about the death of Robert Duvall yesterday, I was surprised.  I thought he had already died.  As I've read about his career, again, I was surprised.  I didn't realize he got his start by playing Boo Radley in Too Kill a Mockingbird; I didn't realize he was in the film.  My favorite role of his will always be Gus in Lonesome Dove, but I admire so many others too.  In the past year, we watched Tender Mercies, and wow, what an amazing performance.  The variety of what he was able to do/create/convey across his career is what impresses me most. 

--This morning comes the news of Jesse Jackson's death.  I voted for him in the South Carolina primary in 1988.  It felt like we were on the cusp of something amazing, and that feeling has come and gone several times since.  I would love to feel that feeling again, like we're on the cusp of something amazing which is good, not that dread that we're on the cusp of something amazing that is a threat to our existence.

--I noticed that the daffodil which was about to bloom in the early January warmth did not die in the ice and snow of later weeks--and now, it's in full bloom with a few friends.  It seems like a metaphor, and  it is, but I don't know that I can do anything new with it.

--I have been having SUCH a GREAT time teaching Christina Rossetti's "Goblin Market"--what a perfect poem for teaching (and reading).

--I've been having trouble finding a space in my schedule for a daily walk--it's part scheduling, part the weather which makes me want to stay inside.  Yesterday I took a pair of socks and sneakers to the office, and at 11:00, I set out for a walk around campus.  This solution won't work every MWF, but for the next few weeks, I'll keep the shoes and socks in my office and try to get more walking in during the day.

--Yesterday, my spouse and I had a texting mix-up.  I asked if he had made it to the grocery store to pick up the wine we were bringing to a neighborhood gathering.  He texted back "No but u can."  He meant to text "No but I can."  I texted back, and fumed all the way home.  Happily, the mix up was resolved, but it was easy to see how it could have blown up in all sorts of ways.  Easy and scary.

Writing Life, Olympian Life

If you came here hoping for a Valentine's Day post, head over to my theology blog to read this post.  Last night I made a quick grocery store trip and was flabbergasted by how many armloads of flowers were at every end cap.  Valentine's Day has never been my favorite holiday, at least not how it's actually practiced.

If you came here hoping for an Olympics post, I have nothing for you.  I am not watching the Olympics being broadcast now; winter sports have rarely held my attention.  I've been more interested in summer Olympic games in the past, but in 2 years, will I watch?  I have no idea.  I remember being enthralled by the 1980 Winter Olympics, but that was because one of my best friends was breathless about it all.  I remember following the progress of the U.S. hockey team in the 1980's, me and the rest of the world.  In 1980, I was also fascinated by speed skating, but I've never been interested in figure skating--or in gymnastics, which seems an equivalent in the summer Olympics.

Yesterday I was thinking about how being an athlete is unlike being a writer.  I watch the Olympics, and I have no illusions that I will ever be at that level, and worse--the window for that level of skill is tied to youth.  With writing, I can continue to improve.

I thought about this off and on throughout the week, as I have walked from my office to my classrooms and observed clusters of students who are talking about their creative writing.  I don't think these projects are for a class.  I think they're just students who like to write and have found each other.  I love the building where most humanities classes are taught.  It was built 15 years ago, so it's a very different building than any other building where I've taught.  There's more natural light, for one thing, and less decay.  The common area has spaces for informal gathering/studying, spaces that look like a small living room, spaces that look like a kitchen table, and two tables of barstool height, with higher chairs.  There's a charging station beside one of them, and plenty of plugs throughout the common space.  There are some backless couches that look like waves outside of each classroom.

Some of the students hang out as they wait for classes to start, but other students hang out all day.  As I overhear conversations, I feel inordinately happy.  There's the creative writing discussions and the students helping each other in a variety of classes.  There are students scrolling through their phones, and others staring at laptops, but more often than not, they're interacting.

As I walk back and forth, I sometimes feel wistful, sometimes nostalgic, sometimes sad about how long ago my own undergrad days have become.  I can also be prone to the sadness of feeling like I haven't lived up to my potential.    Yesterday I laughed at myself a bit--I can still keep working on writing projects, and I can keep doing it deep into old age, barring some kind of injury.  In terms of athletic prowess, I'm not going to be skiing ever again; fear of breaking a bone is just too much of a deterrent.

Happily, I'm fine with that.  I didn't like skiing when I did it in my younger years, so no great loss.  Aging must be much more difficult if what brings one joy is not something one can do with an aging body.

A Typical Thursday, a Good Thursday: Seminary in the Morning, Teaching in the Afternoon

Yesterday was a whiplash inducing kind of day, but not in a bad way:  I left the house early to get to my office to be ready for the Lutheran Foundations class that I'm taking at United Lutheran Seminary by way of Zoom, I attended class, and then I took care of the teaching responsibilities that take much of my weekday life.  

The class was surprisingly interesting.  I say "surprisingly," because it was about the creeds; discussing the creeds is not why I wanted to go to seminary.  But it was a good way to spend part of the morning, as I wrote about in this post on my theology blog. 

One of my former students reached out to me to see if she could interview me.  There's a class that's requiring students to interview someone working in a field that interests them, and she's interested in teaching.  In a closing essay for the Creative Writing class that she took with me, she said that I had inspired her to think about teaching as a career, and she's still thinking about it.  It was a great conversation.

I had a similar conversation a few weeks ago with a student who was interested in how one has a writing career.  It, too, was a great conversation, although I felt I had less to offer.  But through the course of the conversation, I was reminded that I'm perhaps more successful than I might think.  And frankly, just continuing to write is a success.

My classes went well--great poem creating in my Creative Writing class, good discussion of "A Very Old Man with Enormous Wings" in my English 102 class.  I did return home feeling very tired.

Happily, I was able to take it easy.  We are watching The Good Place, after delighting in A Man on the Inside.  Yes, we are often late to these things.  I remember watching an early episode of The Good Place and not tuning in again.  The people seemed odious in a way that they don't now, if I watch more than one episode at a time.  I did a bit of sewing, which also helped me feel settled at the end of the day.

I was hoping to have a sermon written at the end of my morning writing time, but alas.  I've got a page and a half, and I'm at the point in the sermon writing process where I feel blah about it.  Happily there is still time.

But first, let me attend to my Friday teaching responsibilities.

Using the Story of the Wise Men to Teach Allusion

At the beginning of the term, I didn't know that I was going to use the story of the wise men in the Gospel of Matthew so frequently.  In this blog post, I've written about my use of the text of Matthew, which include translations, Biblical storytelling, and poems rooted in the text.  I plan to do something similar with my Advanced Creative Writing class today.

Tuesday I created something new for the class, something I didn't use in my English 102 class (although I might in the future).  We talked about the use of allusion, how it can work, and how it likely won't.   For example, if I name a character Herod, that's a name that comes with serious baggage, and I need to make sure that's what I want.  I talked about the passage in Matthew 2:18 that they might see in discussions of genocide in the Middle East, about a voice is heard in Rameh, Rachel weeping.

I gave them the following exercise as a way of thinking about allusion.  It provided some interesting pre-writing, and it was a good way of talking about allusion.

----

For today’s Daily Writing, you don’t have to actually write the story, although you can. What I want is a description of characters and plot for a story that you might write.


But here’s the twist: you must include at least one item from each of the three lists as part of the story you would create.


List 1: Plot

--a journey to a different land

--noticing something different in the sky

--a person in charge without the best intentions

--information delivered in a dream

--travelers show up unannounced

--sudden departures


List 2: Symbol


--a distant star

--gold, frankincense, and/or myrrh

--scholars who study the sky

--prophecy

--murder of children


List 3: Assorted


--scholars from a distant land

--weeping women

--prophecy fulfilled or otherwise

--people who are left out of the story who want a chance to have their say

South Florida Friend, Gone Too Soon

I had the kind of Tuesday afternoon where I did not have a scrap of extra time, between teaching my two classes, getting handouts ready for Wednesday classes, and commuting back to my house in the mountains.  I'm glad that I didn't have time to do internet wandering, so that the bad news could come later in the day, when I could sit and digest it.

I got home to discover that a good friend in South Florida, Stacy Wolfe, had died unexpectedly on Thursday.  She was only 58, and I don't have details about the cause of death.  Her spouse posted on Facebook that she "passed away unexpectedly" which could mean so many things.  I realize that the cause of death really doesn't matter--that's just me, wanting to tell myself that it was a freak occurrence, when the reality is that death is coming for us all and often much too soon.

I met Stacy when I joined the faculty of The Art Institute of Ft. Lauderdale back in 2002.  All of the non-technical faculty shared an office space of cubicles, which was not as grim as it sounds.  She taught a variety of science classes, and I was impressed with how she made the subject come alive for students.  She always organized at least one snorkeling trip per quarter for students, and I was in awe of her ability to coordinate these field trips.

We were also neighborhood friends, eventually moving to the same square mile in the historic district of Hollywood, FL.  It would not have occurred to me that we could afford the house we bought if it hadn't been for other people with similar incomes in our friend group who were doing it.  

We often went for a morning walk, although it could be hard to coordinate walking with our two schedules.  During the pandemic, when our lives changed radically, she and I went for a pre-dawn walk several times a week.  We shared our knowledge about what was happening and what was likely to happen.

We socialized in a variety of settings with a variety of people:  neighbors, scientists, and colleagues from work (and former colleagues, as we started to find other jobs as the robber barons who bought the school started to strip the school and lay off everyone in orchestrated waves).  She was a great dive buddy, always calm and can-do and unfailingly kind.

Those qualities also made her a great friend, one who will be missed by many people, including me.

 

Teaching from the Buddhist Monks Who Are Walking for Peace

 Like many, I've been moved by the Buddhist monks who are walking from Texas to D.C. for peace.  I even talked about them in a sermon in early January, as something giving me hope.

Today they'll be at the National Cathedral, and I'm not sure of their time in D.C. beyond that.  It's hard for me to imagine any officials from the federal government meeting with them, the way that state governing people along the way have, but I'm willing to be happily surprised.

In this post on Diana Butler Bass's Substack, she gives the monks' answer to why they are walking.  I want to make sure I have this, should I want to find the words later, so let me post them here:

"Some people may doubt that our walk can bring peace to the world — and we understand that doubt completely. But everything that has ever mattered began with something impossibly small. A single seed. A first mindful breath. A quiet decision to take one step, then another.

Our walking itself cannot create peace. But when someone encounters us — whether by the roadside, online, or through a friend — when our message touches something deep within them, when it awakens the peace that has always lived quietly in their own heart — something sacred begins to unfold.

That person carries something forward they didn’t have before, or perhaps something they had forgotten was there. They become more mindful in their daily life — more present with each breath, more aware of each moment. They speak a little more gently to their child. They listen more patiently to their partner. They extend kindness to a stranger who needed it desperately.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

And that stranger, touched by unexpected compassion, carries it forward to someone else. And it continues — ripple by ripple, heart by heart, moment by moment — spreading outward in ways none of us will ever fully witness, creating more peace in the world than we could possibly measure.

This is our contribution — not to force peace upon the world, but to help nurture it, one awakened heart at a time. Not the Walk for Peace alone can do this, but all of us together — everyone who has been walking with us in spirit, everyone who feels something stir within them when they encounter this journey, everyone who decides that cultivating peace within themselves matters.

One step becomes two. Two become a thousand. A thousand become countless. And slowly, gently, persistently — not through grand gestures but through ten thousand small acts of love — we can help make the world more peaceful.

This is our hope. This is our offering. This is why we walk.

May you and all beings be well, happy, and at peace."

First In-Person Monday of Spring Term

This morning, instead of my usual morning ritual of frittering away gobs of time by internet wandering, I got right to work on my first paper for my Lutheran Foundations class that's due on Thursday morning before the class meets.  It's not a complex paper, only 750 words, but I need to submit it on Wednesday, since I don't have much time on Thursday mornings.

And now, I have a rough draft--hurrah!

I feel similarly about this paper as I felt about the short Luther paper that I wrote for my Church History class in February of 2023.  I remember feeling pleased with the paper on Luther and sacraments, but I wasn't sure it was what my professor had in mind.  Happily, in 2023, the paper was what my professor wanted.  Hopefully that will be the case here too.

Soon I will head down the mountain to Spartanburg Methodist College.  It's the first Monday that I'll be on campus since November.  For spring term, classes started on Tuesday and then we had the following Monday off for the MLK holiday.  The past two Mondays have been snow days.  And now, here we are. 

Of course, I've been meeting those classes in person on Wednesdays and Fridays, so it hasn't been like I haven't seen those students.  But it still seems worth noting.  A colleague at SMC tells me that in all his years at the school, over 35 years, they've never had as many snow days as they've had this year.  I believe it.

I predict that this kind of weather is going to be the norm as we continue moving through the 21st century--not the snow itself, but the fact that past performance will NOT be a predictor of future performance.

Let me get myself in gear.  This Monday won't teach itself.

Sermons, for Youth and for Adults

This morning, in addition to finishing the revisions to my sermon (posted here on my theology blog) on Matthew 5:  13-20, I made a big bowl of popcorn.  I left some of it unsalted and put it in sandwich bags.  I salted the rest and made more bags of popcorn.  

I'm not crazy about all the sandwich bags, but it's the easiest way for me to do my youth sermon on salt without getting popcorn all over the place, the way we would if I just passed around two big bowls.  Plus it minimizes germ spreading--no hands in the same bowl of popcorn.

As I divided the popcorn, I thought about seminary, about my Foundations of Preaching class.  In that class, we had a lot to do in a very short time, so I don't fault the professor for not talking about children's sermons much.  I'm glad that I'm old enough to have seen plenty of examples of both good and bad children's sermons through the years.

We haven't been together in the physical space as a congregation since January 18--what a winter it has been, and we may get wintry weather next week-end too.  I'm glad that today's sermons (both the youth and the adult variety) feel solid.

Winter Weather and Writing Prompts

I am happy to report that my car now has a new windshield wiper motor.  It cost a pretty penny, almost $1,000 to get the part and have it installed, but it's far cheaper than buying a replacement car.  So far, in the past two months, I've spent a lot on this car, but it's still far less than buying a replacement car.

Yesterday I headed down the mountain in the newer car, the Nissan Rogue, the car we bought when the December flood of 2019 destroyed the other Prius that we once had.  When I got up in the morning, there was a dusting of snow and nothing falling through the air.  By the time I left, the driveway and neighborhood road were covered, and there was a lot of snow blowing through the air.  There were moments when I wondered if I had made a mistake, but the interstate seemed clear of snow and ice, and I decided that I was safer continuing on to school and heading home later in the day.

Much to my surprise, later in the morning it was also snowing in Spartanburg, snow that wasn't in the forecast.  It was the best kind of snow, big flakes, but nothing sticking.

Before yesterday, I had planned a snow/winter weather theme for my Advanced Creative Writing class, and having snow drifting by the window was the perfect touch.  On Tuesday, I read Dave Bonta's Poetry Blog Digest, on his Via Negativa site, as I do most Tuesdays.  He linked to this post by Kristy Bowen, which concluded with ten wonderful poetry prompts for winter.  They're the best kind of prompts, the kind that work not only for poetry but for all kinds of creative thought.

I put each prompt on a slip of paper and had them put the slips of paper face down on their desks.  Every five minutes, they turned over another slip and wrote for five minutes.  At the end of five minutes, they could keep going, or they could turn over a new slip.  

They were all writing on laptops, which was fine with me, although I did realize that I had no way of knowing if they were really working on prompts.  But from observing them, they did seem engaged, and they did turn over slips.  At the end of the process, I had them select one line from their writing and put it on a blank slip--and then I read all the slips as one poem, an interesting experiment.

I did a variation of the writing too, although since I was the timekeeper, I couldn't lose myself in my writing the way I might have.  I did come up with some interesting lines that I hope to continue to work into a unified poem. 

By the time I got on the road to drive home, the sun was shining, and while it wasn't warm, I wasn't afraid that the roads would freeze--it's the best kind of winter weather, the kind that doesn't disrupt but does inspire.

Broken Wiper Motor, Broken Newspaper

Yesterday was a very strange day.  I headed down the mountain to Spartanburg Methodist College, reflecting on the fact that we have yet to have a full week of class meetings this semester.  The gas station a mile from campus had gas for $2.39 a gallon, far cheaper than gas in North Carolina; I amuse myself by keeping track of these differences as I drive between North Carolina and South Carolina and Tennessee each week.

As I drove away from the gas station and waited at the traffic light, I decided to try using the windshield wipers.  They swiped up and stayed there.  Hmm.  I had hopes that it might be an easy fix, turning the car off and on, so I tried it once I got parked at campus.  Nope.  My spouse had hopes that it was a matter of waiting for possibly frozen stuff to thaw, so I a few hours later, I trooped back to the car and tried the wipers again.  Nope.

I decided to hope that the rain in the forecast wouldn't be falling when I drove home, and happily, I caught a break there.  I drove back to Arden, straight to my mechanic, with a windshield that was grimy (lots of snow melt droplets from the road) but navigable.

It was no surprise to learn that I do need a new motor for the windshield wipers.  What was a surprise is that it's hard to find.  My mechanic said, "That's one of the problems with these older cars."  I would have thought a windshield wiper motor was fairly standard, and my car is only 12 years old, a 2014 Prius C.

Earlier in the day, I said that I hoped the motor wouldn't cost thousands of dollars, as recent car repairs have cost me.  But I didn't anticipate that I wouldn't be able to find a motor at all.  And it's possible that the Toyota dealership will be able to supply what the car needs, that the mechanic was just explaining why it took hours for him to call me with a progress report, and perhaps preparing me for the cost to come.

It was also a day where news broke about the layoffs at The Washington Post.  I've been a subscriber for a long time, and before that, The Washington Post was one of the first newspapers, and really, the only newspaper that shaped me, as a writer, as a citizen, as a reader/thinker.  This batch of layoffs is not the first.  The paper is a shadow of its former glory.  But I'm no longer sure it's worth what I pay for it, and I think I'm still getting an educator discount rate.  

When my credit card was compromised, I had to update various automated bills, and The Washington Post was one of them.  I was surprised by how much I'm paying a month, and now I'll be getting even less.  No Books section?  Really?

I'll wait and see; some of the writers I like are still there.  But still, it's like the difference between seeing through a grimy windshield and a clean one.  For my whole lifetime, The Washington Post helped me see more clearly; I'm not convinced that will still be the case going forward.

Another Week, Another Tuesday Snow Day

I have the gift of another snow day.  We didn't find out that we would have today as a snow day until 4:30.  As I said before, as an administrator, I understand.  It was good to see what the rate of melting would be.  As the afternoon went on, and more Spartanburg public schools announced they would be closed today, I thought we would be having remote learning today.

My first thought:  I am determined not to squander this snow day.  But let me be fair to myself.  IYe haven't squandered the past snow days.  I just haven't gotten as much done as I hoped--and honestly, that's my mental state most days.

I feel lucky as an English faculty member.  It's easy for me to create remote assignments.  I have lots of flexibility, in terms of what needs to happen in a given semester.  I know that colleagues in other departments must be frustrated by having to adjust again and again.

I do want to be intentional today in getting my gradebooks created for my in-person classes.  I use Brightspace, as do most of us at Spartanburg Methodist College.  I use the LMS for other things too, mainly as a place to post announcements and handouts.

I hope to go for at least one walk today, or maybe several short ones.  

Yesterday I made it up to Dedication Altar and down to the lake.  I was struck by all the shades of neutral colors and swirls on the lake's surface, like it was some map I couldn't read.

Of course, my mind went to all the scenes in all the books and movies about people falling through the ice.  I had heard the various public safety advisories that no lake in North Carolina is safe enough to walk on, regardless of how frozen it looks.  This lake at Lutheridge did not look safe at all; I could hear and see water gurgling underneath.

We may get more snow tomorrow, but it won't be like this past week-end's snow.  The weather forecast could change.  Let me stay alert.

The Downside of a Snow Day Cancellation

Despite it being a snow day, I feel a bit scattered this morning.  I was hoping we'd get a morning notification about tomorrow morning, but that decision won't come until afternoon, when the school's Emergency Operations team sees how the melting proceeds throughout the day.  My administrator self understands.  The me who wants to plan the rest of the week wants the information now.

I will try to settle in here soon and get some of the work done that I need to have done.  For my in person classes, I need to do the final setting up of course shells.  It's not as pressing a matter in the early part of the term, but I do use the LMS to record grades, and this week, I'll have the first work that needs to be graded coming in.  I also need to create some assignments. 

I know that the sensible thing would be to assume that we need to report back tomorrow and get the work done.  Or another sensible thing:  decide that my Tuesday classes will be remote regardless.  But I would be happier if the whole campus shut down.

Snow Day: The Fluffy Snow Variety

I woke up this morning with a house at 67 degrees.  That's not an unusual overnight temperature for the inside of our house, but when there's a threat of power outage, we don't turn the thermostat down at night.  Last night, it was set at 70, so I felt a bit alarmed to find our inside temp below the thermostat.  I decided to have the oven do its self-cleaning cycle, which usually heats the house up so much that I rarely want to do it.

I also turned on the ceiling fan that's set to the winter cycle.  In the living room/kitchen part of the house, we've got a vaulted ceiling, so in some ways, I wasn't surprised that the space is cold (our bedroom was so warm we were sleeping on top of the covers).  But it made me anxious.

Happily, the inside temperature is now back where I set it, and I set it a few degrees higher, at 73, just to see.  The oven is over halfway through its cleaning cycle.

We've had a night of wind, which has also made me anxious.  I will always wonder if I would be as anxious as I am when the winds pick up had we not been here for the remnants of Hurricane Helene.  Before the fall of 2024, I thought that all trees stayed upright unless something unfortunate happened, like a lightning strike or an insect infestation.

But let me write about more pleasant things.  Our snow day yesterday was delightful.  

The snow was light and fluffy, as promised.  Mid-morning, I decided that I wanted to take more of a walk to see the winter wonderland for myself.  I bundled up but then I decided to add my winter jacket on top of this winter coat; I added it less for reasons of protection from the cold than because I wanted an easy access pocket for my phone.

The snow was at least 3 inches when I went out, but it felt deeper.  There was a set of tire tracks on the road so I walked beside them.  I thought about going on a longer walk, but the wind was picking up, and the temperature was already in the low 20's, so I decided to be safe.  I was more worried about slipping and falling and breaking a body part than I was scared of frostbite.  I took a selfie before I went inside:

I also took a closer picture of the front of our house.  I always love this Christmas card look (well, the way it would look like a Christmas card if I moved the trash can at the side of the house):

I spent much of the rest of the day cooking.  On Friday, I bought a whole chicken at the grocery store, and then three hours later, my spouse bought a whole chicken too.  So we cooked one of them on Friday, and then we cooked the second one yesterday, along with roasted potato chunks and carrots.  We made some chicken stock out of the bones, and then I made a chicken pot pie, which turned out to be a bit more like a chicken veggie soup with some puff pastry on top.  The sauce will be thicker today.  I also made snow cream.

I used the snow off the top of the table on the deck.  Before I collected it, I mixed milk and half and half and sugar and a bit of vanilla extract.  I'd like to make more today, but the snow is not as clean.  It has tree debris, not the other kind of dirtiness.  The picture below shows the snow in its more pristine state:

It was a good snow day, but I'm a bit concerned about the aftermath.  How long will it be before the roads are clear?  I'm guessing that it will probably take until Tuesday or Wednesday when the highs get back into the 40's.  Classes are already cancelled for Monday, and I'm hoping they'll be cancelled for Tuesday too, since I am unlikely to be able to make it down the mountain.