Settling into a Seminary Schedule

All of my seminary classes are up and running, and it's hard for me to remember that we've only been in session for a few days.  I'm at that stage of the semester where I go back to course shells several times a day, just to make sure I haven't missed anything that's due this week.  I haven't settled into the rhythm of those classes yet.

I've had a few moments where I've thought, oh my goodness, what have I gotten myself into--how will I ever get all of this done?  But I know that I will get it all done.  I won't have much free time, but that's O.K.

Yesterday, I had two ENGL 100 classes with an in-class writing day.  I got a book read for my Missional Church class while they were writing.  It will be that kind of term, with me snagging every scrap of spare time so that I get everything done, and so that I have some time for the other events I have planned, like Quilt Camp.

At the back of my mind is fear of illness, both my own and illness in loved ones.  But if that happens, I'll remember that I have options.  I feel fortunate that I am not in my first year of seminary.  I know a bit more about how it all works, and I have the good will of my professors.  I likely always had that good will, but it was harder for me to know/trust that fact when I was in my first year.

Let me shift my writing time to getting a sermon pulled together for tomorrow.  I want to get a rough draft done before heading out for brunch.  We're going to the house of my mom's cousin near Charlotte and then back this afternoon.  It will be one of the last times that I schedule a Saturday like this one--until December, that is.

It's good to remember when I feel overwhelmed, that this schedule is only for a term.  It's good to remember that it's good to get these last required seminary classes completed when they're in a modality that works for me.

Composition Class and Observing Trees

Yesterday, we had a great session in my English 101 class.  

We spent the first 20 minutes outside, walking and stopping to observe 3 trees.  I gave them an observation form to fill out, with the focus being on the three trees:

--Where is it? Could you create directions so that others of us could find it?

--Describe the leaves/needles:

--Describe the bark, the trunk, the branches, the ground around the tree:

--How much taller than you is the tree?

--Feel free to take pictures.

It seemed to go well.  Some of my students seemed a bit perfunctory in their approach, but most fully entered into the assignment.  It was more hot and humid than I would have liked, but that experience will make a great contrast to later in the term.

Students will choose one tree to monitor.  We will do a few more excursions through the semester to see how the tree changes.  We will write about it.  We will see if we can write clear instructions so that the rest of us can find the tree.  We will write about our history with trees and nature and people who write about nature.  The research essay will compare the different ways of talking about trees (children's book, TED talk, science paper, and a work they choose for themselves).

This assignment is rooted (see what I did there?) in my discontent of last year.  I thought I had good ideas for English 101, ideas that had worked before, but they no longer worked.  Or they worked, but they seemed incredibly boring.  I couldn't answer the question, "Why are we even doing this?"  My students, most of them, were so disengaged that they didn't even ask the question.

Is it really important, this observing of trees?  I have no idea.  But it's something different for me, and it does train students in good writing practices.  In our time of rapid climate change, I could make the argument that observing the world around us and preserving those memories is more important than writing about a social change we'd like to see; if I never read another paper about why pot should be legalized, it will be too soon.  My hope is that they will have a chance to develop analytical skills, and I think this research paper approach is better than the ones I've tried before (and if I end up being disappointed, that won't be a surprise--the research paper is the bane of my English teacher existence). 

Yesterday worked--it gives me hope for the rest of my ideas.

Texts and Teaching

Last night, I ordered desk copies of the Norton Anthology of American Literature.  My department chair loaned me hers, but it's an 8th edition, and we're now up to the 11th edition.  When I first looked at my chair's copy, I thought it was odd that it didn't include much from the 21st century.  Now I understand--it was published in 2012 or so.  (Update:  it's actually the 6th edition, with a 2002 copyright date)

I am thinking about different approaches to the nonfiction writing class that I'll teach next term.  Here's the course description from the catalog:  "This is a writing-intensive course that provides students with a foundation for composition in various nonfiction genres. The course includes nonfiction genres such as personal essays, memoirs, travel writing, biographical profiles, blogs, user guides, grant proposals, case studies, and infographics. Students will plan, create, workshop, and revise nonfiction documents and effectively learn to incorporate the foundations of storytelling into nonfiction writing in consideration of their purpose, audience, medium, and genre."

It's rare in my teaching life that I've had this level of control.  I've rarely been able to choose textbooks--I've felt lucky when I had a choice between three.  I understand why, from an administration stand point.  Less choice means an easier time for other parts of campus:  the bookstore, the folks who pay attention to accreditation, and even perhaps the folks in admissions.

I'm trying not to feel sad about how long it has taken to have the kind of academic job that I dreamed of having when I first started grad school.  I'm trying to remind myself of how much opportunity I've had in my jobs before this one, opportunities I might not have had if I had been in a more traditional school.  For example, I've taught a lot of creative writing classes, even though I don't have the academic degrees that would let me do that at traditional schools.

I was comparing spring schedules with a colleague yesterday, and she asked about my creative writing background.  I said that my Ph.D. was in British Literature, but my publications have been mostly creative writing.  And as I look back on what I've been writing, I'm struck by how much of my writing is the kind of writing I'll be teaching.

I am leaning towards having a text for my English 102 students.  At Spartanburg Methodist College, students pay a flat fee that covers all of their textbooks.  The fee doesn't change, even if I don't assign a text.  When I taught the class a year ago, it was fun at first finding the texts.  Then it got a bit exhausting.  So I ordered some exam copies when I was ordering the American Lit anthologies.

In some ways, this part of the process is one of my favorite parts of teaching:  dreaming about what might be possible, thinking about practical approaches.  I'm trying to savor it while I have it. 

Peach Chutney and Poems

I don't have as much time for writing this morning--I spent some of my writing time making a peach chutney for dinner tonight.  

I am remembering the first time I made a chutney--there was a recipe for a complete Indian meal in Mollie Katzen's The Enchanted Broccoli Forest Cookbook, and I tried the whole thing.  It was a revelation, the way different flavors combined in a way I had never tasted and would never have thought to put together.  It was long ago, and we didn't have Indian restaurants in Knoxville, Tennessee where I lived.  The most exotic food we had was Chinese, and it wasn't exactly authentic.

This morning's chutney making has led to an interesting poem that I'm in the process of writing:  peaches that cling, a woman who has dropped her youngest off at college, the passing of the seasons, the growing up of children.  It may be done, but there may be more, so I'll let it rest and see.

I am amazed:  two solid poem ideas in two days.  I have spent much of the summer wondering if I can even call myself a poet anymore.  I have written down a line or two each week, but that hardly makes me a poet.

Here is the first stanza of this morning's poem:

Her last child dropped off for the first
week of college, she returns to peaches
past their prime and pork chops at their pull
date. She chops the onions for chutney
and lets the tears come.

Let me lace up my walking shoes and let this poem continue to percolate.

The Happiness of My English Major Heart

Yesterday was a day that made my English major heart very happy.  I began with a great class teaching ways to write an introduction to my English 101 class at 9.  Yesterday our writing center opened for the semester, but it's the beginning of the term, so no one came in to help.  I brought a book with me, and I was happy for the chance to read a chunk of it.

It's a book for my seminary class called "The Rest of the Story:  Parables and Parallels."  We're reading Robert Alter's The Art of Biblical Narrative, which is more literary analysis than anything else, the old-fashioned kind, a deep dive into a text--in this case, the text is the Bible.  As I was reading, I thought about how long it had been since I read a book that was such straight ahead literary criticism.

After class, my department chair stopped by to talk to me about what kind of creative writing I do. I gave my usual answer (in brief: poetry now, because it’s short, but I used to write short stories and novels). The question was actually a warm up to what kind of creative writing classes I’d be comfortable teaching but what she wanted to know was whether or not I could teach creative nonfiction. I said yes, of course. Later I looked up the course description, and as I hoped, it’s a catch all description for all the types of writing that don’t fit other places (like blogging!). I felt thrilled and even skipped a bit on my way to the printer.

Later my chair said, “I still have questions for you.” I made sure to go to her office before she left, and she asked me about my experience teaching literature. Long story short, she wants me to teach an American Lit survey class, the second half, which is the half I like better. Hurrah!

She said, “This way, with the creative nonfiction class and the American Lit class, you can get to know some of our English majors and upper class students.” From what she said, it sounds like the rest of my schedule will be 102 classes.

When I accepted the offer of a lectureship, I thought it would be mostly writing classes, mostly first year Composition classes, and maybe if I was lucky, I'd get an English 102 course.  My schedule for Fall has been two English 101 classes and three English 100 classes--again, I thought it was a harbinger of what the year would bring.

The thought of a literature focused spring term would have been enough to make my English major heart happy, but seminary class last night gave me one last gift.  We did a guided exercise in the class that meets by way of Zoom every Monday, "Stories of Power," which is different than the one that is having us read the Alter text.  One of the professors put a Bruegel painting on the screen, without telling us the title.  She asked those of us who knew what it was not to ruin the surprise.  

We talked in detail about the painting, and when she revealed the title, "Landscape with the Fall of Icarus," we talked about the myth.  She asked who knew the story, and I waited before I raised my hand.  Could it really be possible that no one knew the myth of Icarus?

Then we talked about the two poems that reference the painting, the William Carlos Williams poem, "Landscape with the Fall of Icarus," and the poem by W. H. Auden, "Musee des Beaux Arts."  We did a very close analysis of the Auden poem, which was such a treat.  I'm used to being the one teaching it, not the one absorbing it.  It's a very different experience--but both to teach it and to be a student are such joys.

I even got an idea for a poem of my own to write, a poem told from the perspective of the sister of Icarus.  Here are the first lines:

My father made creations
out of whatever he had on hand:
scraps from the lumberyard,
spare parts, wax, feathers.

I look forward to seeing how this poem develops--one more treat for my English major heart.

How Quickly We Go from Waxing to Waning, from Flourishing to Fading

Today I go for a walk again, but unlike last week, I won't have the company of the moon, at least not the grandeur of the moon that we had last week.    We had clear skies, which we don't always have, and I had my cell phone, so I could attempt pictures.  

I don't have the best phone, so I can't take the best pictures, as was evident, when I took pictures of the moon when it was a few days past full (and the full moon pictures aren't that great either--not sure how to get rid of the reflection underneath the moon):

This line came to me:  "How quickly we go from waxing to waning."  I thought about the trees, which are beginning to look a bit bedraggled, even as they are preparing themselves for their autumnal regalia, and this bit came to me:  from flourishing to fading.  I liked the way the whole line went together:  How quickly we go from waxing to waning, from flourishing to fading. If I could come up with a 2 syllable word that also starts with an f and means flourishing, that would be better, I know, but I haven't yet.

I snapped some additional pictures to go with it, and I was happy with how the snowball bushes came through, even in the pre-dawn light.

I've been trying to make that line into a poem.  It came to me on the morning after the Democratic Convention, but I'm in no mood to write a political poem.  It seems much better as a poem about a woman at the far edge of midlife (the edge that is closer to old age), and yet, I don't really feel like exploring that either, at least not yet.  It could be your basic nature poem, but the world has so many of those, and I'm not sure I can contribute a new angle--although that writing prompt appeals to me:  write a nature poem that says something about the passing of the seasons and the phase of the moon, but in a brand new way.

So I've written it down, and we'll see if more lines come forth to join it.  Maybe it's time to return to my abandoned lines document and see if that approach jiggles something loose out of my brain.

A Week of Good Walks, Good Books, Good Food

Here we are, at the end of week 2 of my onground teaching, the end of week 1 of my online teaching, and the day before seminary classes start.  And the work of being a Synod Appointed Minister goes on.  Let me collect a few snippets I don't want to forget.

--I have had such beautiful morning walks.   

I do wonder if I will miss seeing autumn leaves as they change colors.  Maybe I'll take two walks a day!  I don't want to give up the early morning ones, because I know that the best way for me to exercise is to get it done first thing in the morning, before the events of the day take over.

--On Friday, two of my students were talking with each other about how surprised they are that writing is coming easily.  This overheard conversation was at the end of an unstructured class with time to write and after two weeks of a variety of pre-writing exercises.  One of them talked about the exercise with a table full of objects that I described in this blog post.  He said, "There was some serious ju ju in those things on the table.  I wrote for 15 minutes about a mayonnaise packet!"  Hurrah!

--I've been enjoying my very early morning walks.  I do wonder if I will miss seeing autumn leaves as they change colors.

--Yesterday I went to the farmer's market in Mill's River, and I was surprised by how many trees are turning.  But if you look at the bigger picture, you only see green.  There is a larger lesson here.

--I made cupcakes for the community picnic.  I no longer have a muffin tin, but I did have some cupcake liners.  I did a bit of researching and decided to try using 3-5 paper liners in a sturdier pan.  And it worked!  I made a chocolate batter for the cupcakes (recipe here).

--I am almost out of powdered sugar, so I needed something different to top them.  I made a caramel glaze from a Smitten Kitchen recipe.  It was so easy!  I was surprised that I had the 1 cup of cream.  I added 1/2 C. brown sugar, 1 T. syrup and brought it to 210-215 degrees, which I measured with the instant read thermometer.  Then I added 1 T. of vanilla, stirred again, and put a pool on top of each cupcake.

--The community picnic was amazing, with such a diversity of dishes.  I was happy with the selections that had plenty of beans and veggies.  I ate the most wonderful cantaloupe and the not quite as wonderful watermelon.  I ate two full plates--worth every calorie!

--Even more nourishing was the chance to catch up with neighbors, some of whom are here infrequently.

--I ended the day as it began:  with baking.  I need pumpkin bread for my sermon today, so that's what I made.  I felt a bit tired and grumpy, but glad to get it done.

--A friend and I sent photos of what we're reading.  Here's the book I'm most excited about:

It's the same author who wrote The Fate of Rome: Climate, Disease, and the End of an Empire, which was one of the most riveting academic books I've ever read.  

The weather was beautiful, and so I took my glass of wine and went out to read on the deck.  Late summer, low humidity, a book on plagues, and a glass of wine--perfection!

--But this book, even though it has a 1998 copyright date, also fed my soul this week:

Soon my reading time will be devoted to seminary work, so I cherished last night's reading even more.