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.