Administrator Week: Getting Ready to Greet a New Term

It has been a week full of work, but in a good way.  It has been the kind of week where each day brings its tasks, a steady pace, enough to keep me on task but not so much to make me feel overwhelmed.

We begin a new quarter on Monday, so this past week has been one of getting ready.  The most obvious way we've been doing that is our new student orientation:  one on Thursday night for the night students and one on Friday, the larger one, for the day students.  At yesterday's orientation, we had no male students.  We have incoming male students to be sure, but a much smaller proportion than we might once have.

My school offers degrees in the health care assisting professions, along with an AS in Business, so the absence of men should not surprise me.  Plus, I know the statistics about who is going to college in the U.S. and who is not.  Still to see a room jam packed with only female students did surprise me.

We had two days of faculty development, and I led them, so they were both tiring and inspiring.  I love the faculty and their continued enthusiasm and great ideas.  Most of our faculty are adjunct, but unlike my last campus, they have always been adjuncts at our campus, so there's not the strange dynamic of people who have lost full-time status but are still expected to participate at previous levels.  There's not the low morale and the lack of trust.  There's not the fear.

All these events have involved food, which has involved planning and shopping.  Yesterday I was reminded that I should do some shopping for myself.  There are many reasons that I have not restocked the fridge, mainly ones of tiredness and laziness.

Yesterday, I arrived at work expecting to eat some of the food left from new student orientation that I had left in the fridge the night before--precisely a slice of pizza or two.  It was gone.  So I subsisted on the rest of the V8 juice that I had stashed away, a donut, 5 donut holes, and some pretzels.  Not the best fuel for an intense day, but I made it work.

I have not made my life easier, in some ways, by watching the Ken Burns and Lynn Novick documentary on the Vietnam War each night.  I have not gotten enough sleep.  But the experience has fed my soul in many ways and inspired me.  I am thinking of those of us who work in higher ed as being part of a similar mission.  We have higher ups who are sometimes looking out for those of us here on the ground, but often decisions are made from far away, in Washington or in other places.  We are trying to win hearts and minds in the middle of an ever-changing landscape.

Or perhaps my poet brain is making comparisons that stretch too far.  But I don't think so.

A Limping Return to Creative Life

For several weeks, I've been resigning myself to the idea that I may not get much writing done this fall.  I've lost the month of September, after all.  Because of the disruptions of the hurricane, my online classes will require more intense grading for the next few weeks. 

Yesterday was the first day I caught a glimpse of my creative self returning.  I opened some of the short stories that I had been writing in August. I wrote a sentence or two.  I found my way back into the story that has an animation instructor meeting her friend at Mepkin Abbey.

In the shower, a few lines of something that could be a poem came to me.  We spent time with the book of Jonah on Sunday, so that's the inspiration for these lines:

You thought you were so special
that the digestive juices
of the big fish would not dissolve you.

I thought of all the other big fish in literature, especially Moby Dick.  I thought about all the apocalyptic novels and short stories that have one person left.  This week, I've been watching the Ken Burns and Lynn Novick documentary on the Vietnam War, with its piercing images.

By the end of my shower, these lines were in my head:

For everyone who survives to tell
the tale, there are countless, nameless
others swept to sea.

Now I just need a few stanzas to go in the middle.

My short stories are part of a linked collection--the link is the for-profit arts school in South Florida where they all work.  This morning, I thought about creating a short story that's inspired by Tim O'Brien's "The Things They Carried"--O'Brien read part of the story to close last night's last episode of the Vietnam War documentary.

I found the story online; I hadn't read it before.  The first O'Brien story I read was "How to Tell a True War Story," but I knew about "The Things They Carried."  When I read the story this morning, it was both familiar, but with chunks of text that I knew I hadn't read before.

Part of me despairs:  I have so many ideas and so little time to develop them.  But part of me feels triumphant.  My creative self is not dead!

Hostages of All Sorts

I've been living with this strange kind of time layering, where elements from the 70's keep intruding in my 21st century life.

I haven't been getting enough sleep, because I've been staying up to watch the Ken Burns and Lynn Novick Vietnam documentary.  I've been captivated by the storylines about the POWs, and the increasing American awareness of these captives.  The show gave one sentence to the POW bracelet.

I wonder what became of my bracelet.  Somewhere there's a photo of a Christmas in my childhood, and my sister and I are wearing our POW bracelets.  I have a memory of going to Maxwell Air Force Base to see a plane of POWs return, but I've always wondered if my brain just claimed the popular culture footage of the return as something I experienced.

This morning, I did a Google search.  There was a plane of POWs that came to Maxwell AFB.  And going to the base to welcome the captives home is an activity my family would have done.

As I was researching, I listened to yesterday's edition of Fresh Air, which had an interview with creators of The Deuce, the new TV show about Times Square, back in the 70's, where prostitutes worked, just before the porn industry was about to transform us all.

Near the end of the interview, David Simon says, "We don't sell anything without using the tropes of pornography. We don't sell beer or cars or blue jeans without in some way referencing a lot of what has become normalized imagery and normalized culture through the ubiquity of pornography over the last 50 years. It's been a long time. It's been half a century that this stuff has been in the ether. And you know, in the same way that early pornography certainly took a lot of its tropes from mainstream film and played with them, it's gone the other way. And now I mean I think, you know, everything from fashion to music to regular cinema - the pornographication (ph) of America has been profound."

He goes on to say, ". . . you don't have a multibillion-dollar industry operating every year and not have it transform the way we think about ourselves and each other. And I don't think anyone's got a good handle on the depth of that. I think it's happened so fast, and it's been so unexamined, so without any - I don't think anyone's examined it with any degree of seriousness. I'm not sure we know what we've built."

I wonder if he's right--surely some academic somewhere has published a serious book.  I'm not sure I have the stomach to read such a book.  I'm not a Puritan, but I do mourn a certain lack of privacy that has come with our current age.  I hate how some of these images colonize my brain and refuse to leave.

It's an interesting juxtaposition to listen to that interview while thinking about Hugh Hefner, who just died.  I confess that I was first aware of him in his later years, where he aged, but his female companions didn't.  I don't think of him as a free speech pioneer, but as a creepy old man.

I heard a brief news story on NPR that reminded me that Playboy devoted page space to much more than naked females.  Hefner was committed to fiction in a way that many publishers never were.

The mainstream porn of my youth seems so tasteful now compared to what I occasionally stumble across.  In my early morning monitoring of Hurricane Irma, I came across some very explicit pictures of penetration; talk about strange juxtapositions!  Eventually, the site monitors took them down.  I'm glad I never saw such photos in my younger years; they'd have made me very afraid of sex, not because they were violent, but because they were so very explicit.

How strange to come to this, to saluting Hefner for his trailblazing ways, while also hating elements of this free wheeling society he helped create, a brave, new world where I stumble across pictures of sex on a weather site, a world where we are all prisoners of a different war.

Flattery in a Time of Hurricanes

Maybe there's something about Tuesday nights.  I have had some strange encounters these past two weeks.  If I was a character in a Flannery O'Connor short story, I'd have had a different ending (perhaps the writing prompt for which I've been yearning?).  But I'm me, unable to figure out how the story will end or if it has already ended or if there's anything there at all.

I came home early yesterday to be sure I was on time for the insurance adjuster, the next necessary step in filing a claim.  Of course, the adjustor was running late, but that was fine with me.  I prepared a statement of all of our losses and loaded photos onto a data stick that the adjustor could take with him.

I got a lot of grading done while I was waiting for him.  By the end of last night, I was finally caught up with my grading--and we'd had our visit from the adjustor.

As I sorted through the photos, I was reminded of all the damage--and as I showed the adjustor around, I was worried that he won't stress the damage.  But he has the pictures.

He kept telling me what a beautiful house I have and how he loves these old houses.  I felt a bit embarrassed about the disheveled state of the house but reminded myself that I haven't had electricity for a whole week yet, and I have been focused on other projects than the vacuuming and the food shopping and all the other tasks left to be done.

It was when he exclaimed about the beauty of our flat roof that the situation began to seem surreal.  He told me about other flat roofs he's seen, roofs with peeling paint and huge pools of water.  He said, "Your roof has clearly been cared for."

My spouse has spent days talking about how the whole thing will need to be replaced, how the elastomeric seal is trapping moisture.   I spent part of yesterday mopping up water from the roof leak over the laundry room.  And here is the insurance adjustor waxing euphoric about the state of the roof.

The adjustor finished up just as it got dark.  I thought about last week, as I sat on the porch, waiting for my spouse to come home from teaching, hoping that I would hear an FPL truck.

A pick-up drove slowly down the street--the guys inside looked like they might be looking for an address.  I went into the front yard and said, "Are you from FPL?"

In retrospect, it was stupid.  If I was a female character in almost any mainstream movie, I'd have just sealed my doom.

The guys said, "No, we're a tree service.  Do you need any work done?"

I said, "No.  I need my power restored."

The guy driving the truck said in a sultry way, "The power's on at my house."

His buddy shot him a look, and he said, "If you wanna come over and watch the kids or something."

It was awkward.  I thought of many things I could say, none of them quite Mae West enough.  Instead I said, "There's a lot of trees down a few blocks that way.  Maybe you'll find work there."

They drove off, and I spent a few minutes castigating myself for giving away too much information and leaving myself and the house vulnerable.  Luckily, I am not a character in a Flannery O'Connor short story.  I do not need to be taught a lesson about God's grace by suffering some horrible violence at the hands of everyday thugs and creeps.

I finished last night by watching the next episode of the Ken Burns and Lynn Novick Vietnam documentary--we're up to the late 60's, to Nixon, to society unraveling.  It's not a peaceful way to end the day, as I see so many similarities to our own polarized time.  So far, I'm not learning a lot that I didn't already know, but it all feels important, and it's compelling storytelling/film making and so, I watch.

It seems a metaphor for much of life these days.

Ghosts of Septembers Past

My thoughts are full of Septembers past.  Let me capture some of those thoughts here.

--Today, the insurance adjuster arrives.  We have already begun making nebulous plans about what must be done to preserve and restore the cottage.  Even though we're not sure what we want to do with the space, we need to keep it as a cottage, so that our property value doesn't take a hit.

I am reminded of September 2013, when we raced towards a November date where our friend would move into the restored cottage or find another place to live.  In September, I wasn't sure we could get it done.

--This is a week where some of my friends are away on vacation--and I am thinking of past Septembers when I took quick trips to the mountains to do retreat planning.   I would return with apples and jars of jams and honey.  I miss the apples and the time away, but I'm glad not to be driving.

--Last year we'd be getting back from our trip to Arizona--what a wonderful trip.  A year ago today, I went for an interview that ultimately led to my current job.

--In 2009, we went to Indiana for my spouse's family reunion.  The reunion itself was overwhelming, with all the family members assembled.  But I really enjoyed the smaller reunions that happened throughout the week-end.  We finished around a fire pit on a cousin's property, watching the sun drop, feeling the temperature drop too.  The Indiana contingent talked about their dread of winter, and I was reminded that eternal summer, with its drawbacks, might be preferable.

--Even longer ago, in 1998, when we first moved down here, we rented part of a triplex. One September morning I came outside for my morning run, and my landlady, who lived in one of the other parts of the triplex, was enjoying her morning cigarette. She smiled at me and said, "The weather is changing. Can you feel it?"

I had to confess that I didn't. She said, "It's subtle. Once you've lived down here awhile, you'll see it."

One morning last week the air was slightly cooler and slightly more dry, and I thought of that conversation.  But the next morning, the air was back to humid and warm, like the inside of a mouth.

First Fall Week-end

A week from today it will be October--actually, a week from yesterday it will be October.  I feel like I have lost the month of September, and in many ways, I have.  I am also missing the more traditional elements of autumn:  a chill in the air, a trip to a pumpkin patch or an apple orchard, a occasion to wear a cozy sweater.

Yesterday, the neighbor's bottlebrush tree mocked my desire for fall.  We heard a crack, and a quarter of the tree fell on the car and the motorcycle.  I want autumnal elements, not a literal fall.  Luckily, my spouse and I were able to back the car out of the driveway (me), while lowering the chunk of tree (spouse).

I'll go back to appreciating the gumbo limbo leaves drifting by--while trying not to worry that it means that the trees have suffered damage.

But let me also remember the times that I spent with friends, times I might not have had if we hadn't had the hurricane disrupt the month:

--we evacuated to the house of friends further inland.  We helped them finish securing their house, and we had plenty of time to sit and play cards, to work on some sewing projects, to cook together.

--One set of neighborhood friends invited us over for a meal that I'd traditionally expect on New Year's Day:  beans, cornbread, and greens.  It felt appropriate for the week where the hurricane wasn't as bad as we feared.

--The next night, another set of friends had us over for taco salad. 

--We had another Saturday dinner at the evacuation house, but this time, with more friends, since the storm had passed.  We compared notes, and I loved the story of the woman who decided to use the downtime to sort through stuff in a shed, only to discover that she had a generator that she didn't know she had.

Now that we have power restored, we won't all see each other as much.  We must get caught up on various tasks of restoration and catching up with our clients and classes.

I spent much of yesterday catching up on the recent Vietnam documentary.  On Thursday, it was downright jarring to turn on the evening news to hear about the latest Korea developments, and then switching to an old MASH episode before switching to the Vietnam documentary.

Yesterday, we took a break and walked to the marina.  It was a sobering reminder that we had indeed endured a big storm:  there are still several boats that are partially sunk at the far end of North Lake.

And yet, there was also the boat that came by blaring John Denver's "Country Roads."  We don't hear much John Denver drifting across the Intracoastal.  We smiled and sang along.

This morning I will skip spin class one more time in the interest of getting some of my grading done.  Maybe by the end of the week, I will feel more like myself.  Maybe I will be ready to greet October.

The Weariness of Life in a Hurricane Prone Zone

Friday night, I awoke to the sound of rain coming through the laundry room ceiling into the coolers that my spouse set up as the crisis was evolving.  Because it happened soon after I fell asleep, I was useless--I am that kind of person who sleeps hard for 4 hours and then can't sleep well again. 

My experience with hurricanes has led me to expect that we will be discovering damage for months to come.  The thought of it exhausts me.

We spent yesterday going back and forth to Home Depot to get materials to try to patch the roof and to work on the swimming pool, which at the end of the hurricane looked murky and dark green, the kind of place where we would expect to see an alligator surfacing.

And then, this morning, the rains began, and the roof is not fixed, despite my spouse's efforts to patch it.  We will call a roofer tomorrow.

We are educable, after all.  After Hurricane Wilma, we had a leak that lasted for years while my spouse tried to fix it.  Finally, we called a roofer who was able to find the leak--amazing what one misplaced nail can do.  We ended up just having the roof replaced, since it was going to need it soon.

Now we have a flat roof.  It will be interesting to see what the roofer recommends.

We have been having many discussions in the wake of this storm.  I am worried about how our insurance rates may increase in the wake of the storm.  I expect that many of the insurance companies who recently began to insure in this state again will decide to pull out.  I expect that our rates may increase by 20-50% in the next year or two, and a 100% increase within 5-10 years will not surprise me.

When/if that happens, we will not be able to afford to stay here.  We might be able to absorb a 20% increase, but more than that makes our situation precarious.  We are both in the education field, not medicine, not law, not finance.  We can only take on so many more part-time classes, even if they are available.

The other thing that makes me tired is the knowledge that we could get all of this fixed, and in just a few weeks, be facing another storm.  We could have a storm every year--or we could go 12 years between storms.  If you lived in most parts of the US, you might suffer something like a tornado, and you could be mostly sure, statistically, that you wouldn't have to suffer that again.  With hurricanes, we can't.  If I knew I'd get this all cleaned up and fixed and then we'd be OK, that would be different than this sinking feeling that this could be my life for awhile, depending on wind and currents and storms coming off Africa and such.

This knowledge comes along with the knowledge of my aging body.  Yesterday, as we made our to-do list and our shopping list, my spouse said, "In my younger years, I'd have been halfway through this to-do list already."  We are not in our younger years.

In fact, some days I feel ready to pack it all up and head for the old folks' home--but the deaths during Hurricane Irma show that those places may not be safe either.

In the end, I remind myself that we are lucky to have the options that we do.  We have insurance, along with money in the bank so that we can make repairs.  We had part of a tree fall on our car this morning, two weeks after the storm, but I was able to drive out from under it.  We have electricity.  Our lives will get back to normal, and if normal becomes unsustainable, we can make other plans.

Many other people will not be so lucky.