Writing Like Whitman, Writing Like Dickinson, Facing the Future

Yesterday I tried something very different in my survey of American Lit class.  Usually my approach is a mix of lecture (animated lecture, but me doing most/all of the talking) and class discussion.  In a writing class, I include more writing and a bit of small group work, but not in the 200 level survey classes.  I had already decided on an exam question which would require them to write 4 lines in the style of either Walt Whitman or Emily Dickinson, so after discussing them, I decided to seize the opportunity for a bit of small group work.

First, I had them do some pre-writing.  I gave them the following prompts:  Describe your favorite place on campus.  Describe your favorite relative's house.  Describe your least favorite place on campus (what is the worst bathroom?  What is the building most in need of a makeover?).  What are the three most interesting things you've learned since January 1?  Describe the weather since January 1.  Look outside these huge classroom windows and describe these trees in winter.  What does sadness smell like?  What is the sound of joy?

Then I asked them to decide if they would rather write like Whitman or like Dickinson--I divided them into small groups of 3-5 based on those answers.  The Whitman groups had to write 4 lines of poetry with 30-40 words per line.  The Dickinson groups had to write 4 lines of poetry using only 5-7 words per line.  The assignment:  write lines for a poem that would be called "Song of Spartanburg Methodist College." 

I gave them about 7 minutes, and then I went from group to group to read their efforts out loud.  I made minimal comments, one comment per group, complimentary--it's not a creative writing class after all.  I tried to make the tie back to the original poet:  "You've captured some of Dickinson's mysticism here."

They seemed to have fun doing it, and I think it was a unique way of talking about poem construction which might give them some insight into why each poet is different, yet important.

We spent the remaining class time talking about Booker T. Washington and W. E. B. Du Bois--a perfect segue to the Martin Luther King holiday on Monday.  I talked about how the thoughts of each led us to the ways we talk about race today, and about our U.S. history.  When we hear people talk about how slavery wasn't that bad, we can trace that back to Booker T. Washington.  When we hear activists talk about how the time for waiting is over and new action is needed, we see that call early on in the work of Du Bois.  As we talked about the men, I made connections to MLK and Malcolm X.  It felt like an important conversation (a conversation that was more lecture, but I am OK with that).

I don't know how many of them feel worried about the future, but I felt like I gave them reason to have hope as they face the future.  I talked about my favorite metaphor, the medieval cathedral builders, who are working on a project that won't be finished in their lifetimes, but they understood the importance of the work.  The nation moves towards a future where more people can flourish, and then we backslide, and then we try again.  

A Week after the Snow

A week ago, I'd be eagerly awaiting snow scheduled for Friday.  A week later, I am eager for the remains of snow to go away.  I live in a neighborhood with lots of big trees and shade, which is usually a plus.  It does mean that we still have lots of snowy areas, which get slushy during the day, and then re-freeze at night.

I assume they are re-freezing.  Two days ago I went out for a morning walk, walked down the street for 2 houses, and then came right back.  I couldn't tell whether I was seeing black ice or pavement on the edges of the slick parts.  I've been doing my daily walking down in Spartanburg, on campus, around my teaching.  It's a good temporary solution, better than my other option which is walking on a treadmill.

I am assuming the snow will be mostly gone by the week-end.  Today and tomorrow, our highs climb into the 50's, and then there will be some rain to wash much of it away.  I'm most concerned with the roads being cleared so that I can walk.  Trail walking isn't part of my daily plan, so if the trails stay snow covered, that won't impact me.

Next time it snows, I should remember to pull out my snow boots earlier.  I missed at least one day of walking the day after the snow, when my boots would have made it possible.  Of course, I also did a longer walk on Friday, thinking I might be stuck inside for a day or two.

I made good use of the downtime of a snow day/week-end, with some hand sewing and hand quilting:

The placemats are reversible!

I bought the fabric during an excursion with some Quilt Camp friends to Beginnings Quilt Shop in Hendersonville.  I fell in love with the fabric, and thought about how well it would go with our design scheme as we've been re-making our Lutheridge house (right now, our only house).  At that point, we didn't have the kitchen table and weren't even sure we would have a kitchen table.  But once we got it, I floated the idea of placemats and table runners.

Two Factor Tech Jangles

I am trying to calm my jangled nervous system.  I am jangled because I got up early and was having a lovely morning, working on poems, making a submission, and then I made the mistake of trying to set up 2 factor identification for a school where I teach online classes.

I don't understand why it had to be so annoyingly difficult.  If you want to send a number to my cell phone, go ahead.  Why must I download apps and scan QR codes and try to figure out if I have the app or don't have the app.

I'm still not sure.  They seem to be on my phone, and they seem to be linked to my account.  Now I wait for IT to finish the set up, and then I can see if it's all working properly--and more important, that these apps aren't influencing any of my other accounts.

I'm jangled because the training video that showed us how to get this set up didn't coordinate to what I saw on my phone and computer--and I have a fairly recent phone and computer.  So I'm not sure what I've done exactly.  If I find myself locked out, I have a few days before papers are due in my online classes, but I really don't want to spend any more time on this.

I understand the reason for extra security.  I resent it, but I understand it.

I'm also jangled because I feel this shiver of the little old lady that I am becoming, the one who decides that all this technology means I just don't want to participate.  Am I approaching the end of my ability to be in the workforce because I don't want to be bothered with setting up all this stuff on my phone?

I know that people who live on their phones will find this unfathomable.  They download apps and conduct business and banking on that tiny screen.  I am always touching something that sends me somewhere else, and my fingers aren't that huge.  Sigh.

I'm willing to use technology, but I don't want it to be on my phone.  I have resigned myself to the fact that I need to carry my phone with me, but I don't like it.  I am tired of tethers.

Well, there's a first line of a poem--I am tired of tethers.  So maybe today's technology irritation was not a total waste.

The Energy of In Person Classes

I had a great teaching day yesterday:  three sections of English 102, three discussions of Antigone, the play by Sophocles.  Perhaps it was less discussion than me lecturing.  But lecturing sounds dry, and our time together was not dry.  For one thing, we had the opportunity to talk about Antigone's family, her father Oedipus, the psychological idea of an Oedipal complex, a concept that was very new (and shocking) to most of them.

There was an energy in the classroom, and I had forgotten how wonderful that energy can be.  When I taught English 102 at the same institution in Fall 2023, I never managed to manufacture that energy.  Of course, we didn't discuss Antigone.  

I mention that I taught three sections yesterday, because I had the same kind of energy in each of the classes, which is almost never possible, as I remember on-ground teaching.  There's usually 1 class that's a dud or one class that's much more high energy than the others.

I didn't have as many people talking/discussing, but they stayed alert and focused, and occasionally, offered an answer--and it wasn't the same person all the time.  In all three classes, this happened.

On Thursday, I had a similar experience in my American Lit survey class as we talked about The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.  But I only taught one section, so I thought that the high energy of Thursday might be limited to that class or just a one day phenomena,

I realize that it's early; the energy might be because we're in the first days of the term.  But frankly, as the years have gone on, I see less of that kind of energy, and last spring, none of that first week positive energy at all.

As I was walking to my car yesterday, marveling at the way the day unfolded, I laughed a bit at how surprised I am that the literature classes went so well.  After all, my first teaching love is literature; it's what I've been trained to do, and what I believe in passionately.  I teach English Composition in a way that allows me to be enthusiastic, but I'm not teaching English Composition because of my passionate devotion to the first year essay or research paper.

I feel so lucky to have a chance to do this again.  I don't know how long I'll be able to do it, which puts me in a feeling of even deeper gratitude.  And I've been teaching long enough to know that my classes may not always have this energy--another source of gratitude.

Snowy Paths, Poem Completions

A year ago, at the beginning of the semester, I thought I might need some snow boots, and when I saw a Land's End pair on sale for a deeply reduced price ($40), I went ahead and ordered them.  And then we had a fairly mild winter.  We only left our faucet dripping three or four nights which tells you that the nights were mostly above freezing.

Not so this year.  Yesterday, I pulled out those boots to go on a walk with a friend; it was the first time I wore them since trying them on when they arrived.  They feel more like running shoes on my feet, but they are much more waterproof, and they come up just above my ankles.

I wanted to get out for a walk, but I also wanted to gauge how the roads are doing--not the major roads, but my neighborhood roads that get me to the main roads.  I was able to walk fairly easily, although they are still snow covered.  I'm a bit worried about how they might have frozen overnight, but I will drive slowly and hope for the best, as I make my way to the main roads that will take me to Spartanburg Methodist College.  I will stay alert on bridges.

I have a 10:00 class, so I can leave at 8:30, which means I'll be able to see.  I realize that won't help me with black ice, but it will help me with other snowy/icy patches.  I hope that the interstate will be O.K.  My walking friend said the interstate was clear and dry when she made her way home from South Carolina on Saturday.

I will wear my boots to get to the car that's parked in our neighbor's paved driveway.  I'll take a pair of shoes to change into when I get to school.  I am taking the Rogue, in part because it's parked in a paved driveway, but also because it's got 4 new tires that were chosen for mountain travel in all sorts of weather.

I have been up for hours, with a lot of different kinds of anxiety, like traveling on roads that might be icy and generalized worry about the health of loved ones.  So I went ahead and got up.  I decided to work on a poem, instead of my usual pattern of doom scrolling.  

My 2025 goal of creating 52 finished poems is working really well as a motivator right now.  As I look back through my poetry files, I can see that I've done a good job of writing down fragments, and that even when it's been a month or two of lesser fragment generating, I do make my way back.  But actually getting a fragment to the finish line?  I have not been doing that.

My pattern for the last few years has been to write the fragment down, be unsure of where to go next, put it aside, and forget to return to it.  So far, my 2025 goal has kept me focused (I know, I know, it's only been 2 weeks, but I'm taking success where I find it).  I write a fragment and force myself to try to finish it on the same day or the next day.  

So far, I've finished 4 poems.  Are they publishable?  I have no idea--ask me in July when I've gotten some distance.

I've been able to stay focused because I made my goal 52 poems in a year, not one poem a week.  I can get ahead now, knowing that there will likely be times in the upcoming year when I won't be able to do as much poetry writing.

Even as I type that last sentence, I think of people who manage to write a poem a day regardless of what else might be happening.  My goal suddenly seems much wimpier. 

Canceling Worship Service

If this was a normal Sunday, we'd be heading to Bristol, Tennessee by now, where I am the Synod Appointed Minister for Faith Lutheran.  But this morning, we've cancelled service.  Since we had bulletins and music prepared, I recommended that we do tomorrow's service a week later, on January 19.  The Baptism of Our Lord seems more important than the Wedding at Cana, the lectionary reading for Jan. 19. 

I spent part of yesterday morning looking at weather reports and special weather statements, and I was certain that canceling worship and Sunday School was wise--and I am still certain.  We've had a lot of snow and ice, and while many roads are passable, some would have frozen again overnight.  My spouse and I had decided that we would not make the trip across the mountains, regardless of whether or not the church decided to go ahead with worship.

But I also thought we should cancel so that everyone could stay home in good conscience.  I know that there are some folks in every church group who will be there if the doors are open, no matter how ill advised it is to travel.  We can help people stay safe by canceling activities.

And there's the issue of the parking lot and how to get it cleared in time for worship.  The forecast was for snow all of yesterday afternoon.  Most of our members are older and should not be out shoveling the parking lot on a Sunday morning, with temperatures under 20 degrees (it was forecast to be 7 degrees).

When the sun came out late Saturday, I felt a brief pang of guilt.  Even though I was sure that canceling worship and Sunday school was the right thing to do, I still wondered if we had made the right call.  Happily, I only let myself think that for a minute.  The facts were still the same, no matter how long we had sun yesterday afternoon when the temperature was still below freezing.   The roads would be bad, the parking lot would be covered in snow, and we needed to keep people safe.

I felt a bit better throughout the evening as I saw other churches at a variety of elevations make similar decisions, to cancel.  In the South, even in the mountains, we don't get many winter storms these days.  Last winter, Faith Lutheran only canceled worship once because of a winter storm, and they canceled for the same reasons we canceled today:  too much risk of slipping on ice.

And yet, there's still a part of me that feels a twinge of guilt, which I find interesting.  It's not like the roads cleared overnight.  It's the same twinge of guilt that makes me want to lace up my shoes and take a walk--the roads aren't clear yet, but I still need exercise.

Happily, I have gotten better at ignoring that voice that wants me to feel guilt.  And so I shall stay indoors a bit longer, give the roads a chance to get clear, and go for a walk this afternoon--and look forward to next week, when it will be safe to assemble as a congregation again.

A Delightful Snow Day

We had a delightful snow day yesterday.  I will say from the beginning that one reason why it was delightful is that we didn't have to go anywhere.  I'm grateful that Spartanburg Methodist College moved to remote learning yesterday.

I thought it might start snowing earlier than it did.  I went to the grocery store early, even though we didn't need much.  We brought in some dry wood in for the fireplace, and the small heater that is approved for indoor use with butane, just in case the power went out.  I decided to take my walk earlyish, and I hoped that it would start snowing as I was walking.  But that didn't happen either.  I did a bit of remote work with students and course shells, and finally, the snow started falling.

It was the best kind of snow, the kind that falls gently, with no ice, the kind that doesn't take down electric lines or freeze the plumbing.  There were moments throughout the afternoon where I couldn't take my eyes away from the beautiful scenes outside.

Every so often, I walked outside to take a picture.  But I didn't want to linger too much.  I didn't want to spend the snow day in an emergency room because I slipped and broke my wrist.  Happily, it never seemed very slick.

As I was walking back to the house, I was struck by the color of the door and the evergreens growing just off our porch; the picture looks more vivid on my phone:

We made a pot of chili and a cast iron skillet of corn bread and watched a bit of TV.  It was a delightful day.  

This morning, I walked to the street to take another picture. 

We also measured the snow; we only got just over an inch.  I don't know what to expect at this point.  We won't have temperatures above freezing until Monday.  I am not planning to drive anywhere today.  Happily, I don't need to go anywhere.

I did decide that we won't try to make it over the mountain tomorrow for church at Faith Lutheran in Bristol, Tennessee.  I wrote to church leadership suggesting that we cancel activities, but it's up to them.  If they have worship, I'll send the sermon, but I'm recommending that we save everything for next Sunday.