Random Objects in the Creative Writing Classroom

I've written before about using objects as writing prompts (see this blog post for explanation and pictures).  Usually I spread objects out on a table and have students pick one.  We do a variety of types of writing:  description, writing in the voice of the object, free associating to access memories based on the object.  It works well across writing classes.

In my Creative Writing class, half the students have had me in other classes, so I wanted to do a different approach, but still use objects.  We meet in one of the larger classrooms, so I had an idea.  I got to the classroom early and was happy to see that the room was set up with tables in the middle and a ring of tables around the edge of the room.  I decided to use 12 of them as stations.

At first I thought I would put one object per table, and then I thought it would be more interesting to have several objects.  Some tables had connected objects:  for example, on one table I put Christmas ornaments, a Christmas card, a packet of replacement bulbs for a strand of holiday lights.  On another, I kept the objects from the natural world:  3 feathers, a pine cone, and some shells.  Other tables were more random collections.

I was also pleased with how many tactile experiences they could have.  I had two felted pieces, along with chunks of wood and chunks of asphalt.  The cross made out of palm stalks and the waxy, half-burnt candle gave different sensations.  I put out broken strings of beads and broken pottery.

I told students that they would need paper and something to write with, or they could take laptops to write on.  They all chose paper, and I told them to make sure they had enough paper.

Students sat at a table and had 30 seconds to look at the objects.  Then they wrote for 3 minutes.  They could write about the object or write in the voice of the characters we created in past class sessions or explore their own memories.  I wasn't looking at their writing, so they had plenty of latitude, as long as they kept writing.

After three minutes, they moved to the next table, a process which went smoothly.  At the end, I had them read all the writing they had done, marking any that had potential.  I reminded them that they could go deeper, but I wasn't requiring it.  For me, it's too much policing, having students write for 20-30 minutes.

My students seemed to really like the process.  They talked about how many ideas it generated and how much fun it was to write about random objects.  They also talked about their wonder at what all was waiting to be written about--and I reminded them that we live in a world of random objects, so whenever they feel blocked, they should remember this technique.

It's been a really good teaching week, and this experience was one of the highlights.

Endorsed!

I thought about making a Facebook post that said "Endorsed!"  But most people wouldn't know what I meant--they'd rightly ask, "Endorsed by whom?"

On Wednesday, I met for an Endorsement panel for Candidacy in the Southeastern Synod for the ELCA, the more inclusive expression of the Lutheran church in the U.S.  I had already written a 39 page Endorsement essay, which was really 7 writing prompts, which had me do a mix of new writing and including papers written for classes.  So I had already answered a lot of questions that the Candidacy Committee might have had:  why do you want to be Lutheran or why do you want to be ordained or how do you understand Luther's theology for our time?

We talked about some of those answers, of course.  But we spent more time talking about my experiences as a creative/artistic person and as a minister at a small, country church in Bristol, TN.  It was a wonderful experience:  I felt affirmed and supported the whole way through.

I know that I am lucky.  I've heard the Candidacy horror stories, stories across denominations.  My experience was much more like a really deep, really nourishing conversation during a retreat where the real world won't intrude.

I'll probably write more about this experience in weeks to come.  I didn't want to write about the Wed. conversation before I got word about the decision of the larger Candidacy Committee that met yesterday.

By late afternoon, I got the word by way of e-mail:  "Congratulations! The candidacy committee overwhelmingly approved you for endorsement!"

What does this mean? It's the last phase before Ordination. I have an internship to do, which will be at Faith Lutheran, where I am their Synod Appointed Minister. It will be from Advent to Easter. I will meet with the Committee in April, with ordination expected shortly after.

The synod is very supportive of my need to be bi-vocational, as I am now on the tenure track at Spartanburg Methodist College.

Speaking of teaching, let me shift my attention--one last day of teaching to do this week, and if I go now, I can get a quick walk in before the commuting and the teaching.

A Good Stretch of Poetry Days

The past few days have been a good poetry days, in a more well-rounded sense--by which I mean, I've been doing more than just writing down a line or two.  Let me capture what a good stretch of poetry days looks like:

--A few months ago, I had an idea for a poem, Jesus buying a fixer-upper of a house.  I didn't do anything with this idea since I first had it (in late April, as evidenced by this blog post).  But this week, I returned to it, and I'm really delighted with the surprises that the poem offers.

--Yesterday, I read a volume of poems.  My students were working through a time management module and had to enter due dates into calendars and planners.  I thought they would blaze through the assignment, but only a few of them did.  I went back to my office to get something to read.

--That book was Donna Vorreyer's Unrivered.  What an amazing book!  Vorreyer explores themes of aging and the natural world and relationships, and many of her poems have theological imagery and ideas that I didn't expect.  She's also skilled at a variety of forms.  It's a book that demands a re-read, which I hope to do soon.

--I read most of the book in one sitting, and I returned to read the rest of it later in the afternoon.  It's always a very different experience to read an entire collection in one day, and I'm glad I did it yesterday.

--I had a late afternoon phone call after the Endorsement Panel yesterday.  I was invited to be the official poet, a poet laureate of sorts, of the Southeastern Synod's Synod Assembly.  What a cool possibility!

--My mom heard me say that I was invited to be poet laureate of the Synod, which would also be an interesting possibility.

--This morning I returned to my poem about Jesus working on the fixer-upper.  Here's what I wrote, a stanza which surprised me--I didn't know I was going to write it until the lines flowed out:

Jesus wipes down every surface,
scrubbing when necessary.
He paints the walls in a soothing
version of the color that first flooded
the world when God said,
“Let there be light.”

Wednesday Fragments: Zoom Sessions and Wrong Pronged Plugs

I feel a bit frazzled today.  Let me record some snapshots:

--I meet with my Candidacy Committee today for an Endorsement Panel.  I have completed the huge writing project, and the people involved know me on some level.  I'm not nervous, exactly, but I'm taking it seriously.  During my upcoming walk, I'll try to anticipate questions.

--The meeting is a Zoom session, but I've still given a lot of thought to my clothes and jewelry.

--Yesterday we did some work at the house.  My spouse moved the fridge away from the window to the spot where it will live, and it works.  Hurrah.  

--We discovered the electricians rewired the 220 plug for the stove as a 4 prong plug.  The stove that came with the house is 3 prong.  It's our fault, in a way.  We got a call asking us whether we wanted 3 or 4 prong plugs for 220, and we didn't think about the stove.

--At first I was annoyed with us for not being more forward looking.  But the stove is in rough shape, so I bounced to, "Well, I'll just buy myself a lovely new stove."  We had planned to do that, but not until next year when we remodeled the kitchen.

--I am starting to feel a bit worried about money.  I have no reason to feel worried.  But my fretfulness doesn't always correspond to reality.  

--I just did a quick search.  There are adapters, and they do seem safe.  Or are they?  Maybe I'll just go with my original plan.  And we could switch to gas.  

--Let me remember that the stove started smoking as we tested burners and the oven.  It was likely because of crud on it.  Let me remember that the oven door doesn't have a handle.

O.K., enough of fragments.  Let me go for a walk and gather my thoughts towards the work of the day:  teaching and the Candidacy Committee conversation.

Signs and Signifiers and Keeping a Record

It's been a strange beginning to the work week.  Let me record, so I don't forget.

--I've been in that liminal space where it's time to settle into the semester, yet I could still delay doing that for another few days.  My office hour time has been consumed by meetings and Convocation, so I have yet to get my Brightspace course shells set up.  At this point, it doesn't matter, because the classes meet in person.  Soon, though, it will be time for students to submit work, and I need to get those structures set up.

--I've been trying to decide how to record what I do in class--I'm going to keep a weekly list in my bullet journal, because it will be easier to find it again.  I've also discovered that I need to do a better job of adding handouts to the course shell.  I did none of that in last year's Creative Writing class.  Happily, I recorded a lot of what I did in this blog.

--Last night, I saw a Facebook post that Wesley Seminary created with a “We’re welcoming students back to campus!” motif: tables of breakfast, welcome baskets, happy faces. I am happy for those students, don’t get me wrong. But it does remind me of how my time at seminary was not what I expected, with no one on hand for move in day, no welcome of any kind. We were still social distancing in 2022, so that was part of it. For the 1st part of the semester back in 2022, we wore masks to our in-person classes.

For the most part, I’m still very happy I got to go to seminary, to attend physically in person, for a year. But occasionally, I feel a stunning sadness at all the ways it was so different from what I expected.

--Let me end with a happier memory of this 2nd week's beginning.  I went to the library to pick up my book on hold:  Nora Ephron's I Feel Bad about My Neck.  The librarian touched her neck and said, "This 72 year old librarian feels seen."  

I told her about my idea for my Nonfiction Writing class, which is focusing on the wide variety of personal essays we could write as a way to begin the class.  I'm bringing in Molly Jong-Fast's NYT essay with its realistic assessment of plastic surgery which references the Ephron essay.  I said, "Of course, these students are 19 and 20 years old, and they have gorgeous skin, so I don't know if they can relate to any of this."

The librarian beamed at me and said, "You're going to have a wonderful class.  Those students are so lucky."

We did have a really good class yesterday.  My English 101 and ALP classes were good too.

--In an evening of whiplash, with up and down feelings, I did ask God for a sign, even though I don't really believe God works that way.  I looked at the screen door and saw a perfect, tiny butterfly, so perfect that I wondered if someone had put a butterfly sticker on the screen.  Nope--my spouse took the screen door off the sliding track, and it flew away.

I'm going to see it as a sign of blessing, even if I'm a woman who tells herself that she doesn't believe in signs.

A Week-end in Books and Sermons

It was a good week-end, full of bread baking and writing (sermon and a poem), a good Sunday at church, and some piece work (by which I mean sewing together small scraps).  We watched a lot of Hot Bench, a court TV show that is slightly smarter than all the rest, but only slightly, with the cases which are more small claims court, not life threatening types of situations.

Saturday was an easier day than some Saturdays, because I already had a satisfying sermon draft by Saturday.  I can't always manage that feat, but when I do, I notice how much less stressed I feel on Saturday.  I slept better as Saturday night went into Sunday too.  

I was pleased with how I delivered it too and happy about the last part of the last sentence, which wasn't in the manuscript: "to live into a future where everyone has a place at the table, not under the table." If you'd like to see the sermon, you can watch the recording here, on my YouTube channel.

On Saturday, I went to the library and wandered the stacks; it's a small branch library, so it doesn't take long.  I saw some books from Ann Hood, books I hadn't read.  Once, long ago, she was one of my favorite authors--when did I stop reading her?  I checked out two of her books, and I read The Obituary Writer in one late afternoon and evening.  It's a fairly short book, and an easy read, a book that revolves around 2 characters and their decisions, decisions mostly about love.  I was less interested in the one who lost her love in the San Francisco earthquake of 1906, but I kept reading.

Last night, I finished Patti Smith's latest, Bread of Angels.  Here's how I described it on the books read list I keep:  Parts were compelling, parts boring, most of it interesting, but not really in the mood for this book, which made me sad and made me wonder if I might should save it until later when I’m more in the mood for childhood creativity in the midst of poverty and adolescent/young adulthood creativity in a variety of hovels and grittiness. But what I really wanted was insight into later middle age creativity and not much of that.

But I might also have written this:  "In other words, it's not Just Kids.  But of course, nothing will ever match that book."

Crazy Quilts and Not So Crazy Inspirations

I did not go back to the Asheville Quilt show yesterday, so I was so happy this morning that a quilting friend of mine made a Facebook post that included this picture of the quilt that captured my imagination, but I neglected to get a picture.

photo by Theresa Blaylock Durden

She also took a picture of the quilter's explanation that tells that the quilt contains ribbons and other ephemera from 4 generations.

It's not a project that I can do at this point--I have not collected these kinds of items from past generations or done much keeping of my own.  We are not a people prone to fripperies and adornments, at least not the kind we attach to clothing ourselves.

People are starting to give me robes, stoles, and clerical shirts after people die.  Perhaps in my later years, a quilt?  I don't want to cut up stoles, at least not the ones I have so far.

Even before I saw this quilt and wrote the above paragraph, I had a line for a poem, which came to me on Thursday:  "I cut my cousin’s clericals."  I wrote down the line because I liked the repetition of the letter c.  Now perhaps a poem will follow. 

Kristin (and Jesus) at the Quilt Show

Yesterday I drove home from teaching, changed clothes, and went to the Asheville Quilt Show with one of my best retreat friends.  I wasn't sure what to expect.  I've gone to many quilt shows, and each one is different in subtle ways.

Yesterday's show was very navigable, with wide spaces in front of each quilt, so I didn't feel too crowded.  People who wanted to linger wouldn't be in the way.  People who were tired had a variety of spaces at the edge of aisles of quilts where chairs were gathered in a circle.  A ring of vendors was at the outer edge--easy to get in and out of, which is not always the case.

As with every quilt show I've attended in the past 25 years, I saw very few hand quilted pieces.  My Florida quilter friend and I used to feel discouraged/outraged about this fact, but now I understand.  If I had money and time, I might send my quilts to a long arm quilter too.

As with every quilt show I've attended in the past 25 years, I was impressed with the variety of quilts:  traditional, experimental, modern, artistic, in both large and small sizes.  There was a quilt that was sort of a log cabin-ish pattern, but with a variety of ribbons, laces, buttons, and other embellishments; the contributor note said that they came from 4 generations of family members.  I wish I had taken a picture.

There was a moment when I wondered about entering my own hand-pieced, hand-quilted pieces.  Might I win a prize, since the competition is so sparse?  But my hand quilting is not likely to please the judges.  These days, my piecing is wonderful/intriguing/non-traditional/sloppy.  I do enough quilting to keep it all together, and it doesn't take as much as traditionalists tell us.

At the end of the afternoon, my friend and I went to the Moose Cafe.  I ordered NC mountain trout, not realizing that the frying would be more like a deep-fry than a pan fry.  I probably would have been happy with all sides.  Honestly, having the complementary biscuits with apple butter that were plunked down on the table when we first sat down would have been enough.

This morning, I woke up wanting to go back to the show.  I didn't take many pictures.  

The ones that are here are pictures that I took to text to others.  I also woke with the small, red, travel Janome machine in my thoughts.  And then, a line popped into my head, Jesus buying that machine, and during the last hours, I've been working on a poem about Jesus at the quilt show.

Here's my favorite part so far:

Jesus remembers the women
in his life who did the constant
work of repair:
his mother who kept
every scrap and transformed
them into safety and warmth.
Martha did the mending
after all the other work of the day.
Mary Magdalen taught
them all the value of adornment.

The poem is not finished yet, but I'm happy with the directions it might be going.  More to the point, I'm happy to have a poem coming into existence, a poem whose inspiration that I didn't even perceive yesterday.

First Week of School: The More Things Change

It's an interesting moment in time to be teaching first year students.  I mean that in a broad sense, but I also mean it in a "teaching the first week of classes during this particular week in August of 2026."  Let me unpack that statement a bit:

--Tuesday March 11 was our first day of classes.  It was also my first day as an Associate Professor on the tenure track at Spartanburg Methodist College, which I wrote about in this blog post.  Just before I went to my first class of the Fall 2026 semester, I read this article in The Atlantic about a professor leaving his tenure track job.  His college, Bates College in Maine, is in many ways completely unlike mine.  The beginning of the article made me think I was reading the complaints of an incredibly privileged man who got a teaching job right out of grad school, but it's more nuanced than that.

Here's the 5th paragraph (the nuanced part comes much later):  "When I defended my dissertation on Zoom that spring, one of my advisers joked that seeing me with a tenure-track job in hand was like 'watching the last dinosaur being born.' It was at once a compliment and a grim acknowledgment of reality. I had won the lottery in an apocalypse. I was going off to the kind of secure, prestigious, fairly remunerated academic job that was rapidly going extinct in a world where most people teaching college courses were stuck in the permanent underclass of contingent labor."

Most teachers I know are somewhere in between:  certainly not prestigious institutions, but not adjunct work either.

--As I drove home on Wednesday, I listened to this episode of On Point, which talked about reading, both in light of the state of Texas requirements announced very recently, and in terms of whether or not children are reading whole books at all.  It made me nostalgic for my own days of reading in elementary school and made me think about what we read in high school, where we did read whole books and plays.

I don't assign many whole books these days, and I feel mostly good about it--but the show made me wonder if I'm right.

--My students will be doing more writing, the old-fashioned kind with pens and paper.  Most of my department colleagues are also shifting back to paper.

I came across this Substack post that talked about what writers should be doing to prove that they did their own creative writing, should a publisher feel the need to have a writer justify their work.  As a poet, I'm not too concerned.  The post did point out how much formal writing, the old-fashioned kind that academics learn to write, will be flagged as AI generated.  Here's what the author did:  

"I ran my PhD thesis. Atmospheric physics, submitted in 2010, at a point when the technology being accused of writing it was more than a decade from public release. Running it through a detector in 2026 returns around 70%.

A physics thesis is exactly the careful, formal, low-perplexity register that the Stanford study found classifiers flag.

A detector tells you one thing: that a piece of text resembles a statistical distribution. The question in the room is who wrote it, and no detector has ever answered that one."

--This week is also a week with more articles about AI run amok, a week when at least one more experimental AI agent got out of the boundaries/cage/safeguards.  My apocalyptic brain immediately thought of a future when we look back and laugh/rage/cry at the obsession with student/writer cheating and ignoring the much larger threat.

--It's strange being at a school where most of us haven't seen each other since early May, and I haven't seen students since late April.  It's not strange to me when students return looking different.  They are in late adolescence after all.  But some of my colleagues are notably thinner.  Maybe it's having time off in summer, but one colleague did tell me that she'd been taking a GLP-1 drug (another new technology reshaping our lives), and it was transformative.

I had hoped to be somewhat thinner when I returned to school, but I'm happy with feeling healthier.

Conclusion;  In some ways, the more things change, the more they stay the same:  I always want to return as a transformed version of myself--transformed in a good way--if I haven't seen people in awhile.  And yet, I'm seeing changes underway that may completely reshape the world, in the way that the atomic bomb did, and the way the end of the Soviet Union did.

Thirty-Eight Years Married

Today we celebrate our 38th wedding anniversary--38 years! It feels like just a blip.  Here is one of my favorite pictures of us, a picture taken at the March 2026 wedding of our nephew, who was born in 1993:

This morning in 1988, we'd have been in Greenwood, South Carolina. I'd have slept in the house that used to be a parsonage where my grandfather served a congregation for many years. Thirty years ago in that house, my grandmother ironed my wedding dress. Below you'll see my grandmother, with my aunt Joyce helping.




Yes, I had a long, white dress. We got married in the same church in Greenwood, South Carolina where my parents had gotten married in 1962, the same church where my grandfather had been the pastor. We had the ceremony at 11:00 in the morning, so that our out of town guests with long travels home would have plenty of time.  We tried to keep the ceremony and the reception relatively simple. For example, we chose daisies for our bouquet. Our reception included sandwiches, so that our out-of-town guests wouldn't have to buy lunch on their way out of town. We had the best wedding cake I've ever had.

In many ways, we're still that same couple: we try to keep life simple, while at the same time, keeping a commitment to hospitality. We are hyper-aware of our blessings, and the fact that much of the world will never taste the extravagance of a wedding cake. But we don't deprive ourselves--we stop to admire the daisies.

Here you see a picture of us on this day in 1988, and the two of us at our 25th anniversary dinner:

Here's my final thought for an anniversary morning. I'd expand the thought to include not just our spouses but also our friends and colleagues and family members.

Second Day of Fall Semester

Yesterday was a good first day of class at Spartanburg Methodist College, and not just for me.  Everyone I talked to yesterday mentioned the good energy on campus.

Of course, the first day of a semester is usually wonderful--and fall semester is best.  Yesterday was no exception.

My heavy duty teaching days are Mondays and Wednesdays, so today will be a bit more structured.  Yesterday I went to my Creative Writing class and then did some work for today's classes during my office hours.

I was hanging out in my office even beyond office hours while my spouse finished his day working on the fixer-upper house.  We traveled down together, he dropped me off, and then at the end of our separate days, we traveled back to our mountain house.

We are in that time of summer where I don't feel hungry for anything in particular, but I do feel hungry.  We stopped at Publix, the grocery store which makes our favorite fried chicken, and I grabbed the last box of 8 pieces.  We spent the evening watching TV and eating chicken.

Yesterday I didn't have class until 12:15, but today's teaching starts at 9, so I'll need to be on the road by 7:15 or 7:30--so let me get ready for my morning walk.

It's darker than I would like it to be, but I have lights for my shoes, and we'll see how it goes.  MWF will be the days when I stop by the Lutheridge weight room to do some work on the weight machines--at least that's my plan until we've moved into the fixer-upper house.

Let me begin.

First Day as Associate Professor

On my first day of class every year, I'm  always tempted to post a picture, the way that parents post pictures of their kids as they head off to school.  This year, the temptation is especially strong, as today begins a slightly different direction in my teaching life.  Today is the first day that I am teaching as an Associate Professor on a tenure track.

In some ways, not much will change.  I'm at the same school where I've been teaching full-time for 2 years in a year-to-year capacity.  I'm teaching the same classes, and I have the same schedule.  But this year, I have the assurance of being able to do this teaching work for at least the next 5 years.  Being on the tenure track means the school has more of a commitment to me than before.

This year I will have committee work, and we got our assignments yesterday.  I am on the Interdisciplinary Studies Committee.  As I looked at the other possible committees, I felt very seen with my assignment.  I'm not exactly sure what the committee does, but fellow members include the chaplain and the person in charge of co-curricular arts experiences.

Now that I'm on the tenure track, I'll be more meticulous about keeping records and keeping them accessible across years.  I always keep teaching evaluations, for example, but I rarely download them into a separate file.  Now I will, and upon the advice of two colleagues who have just gone up for tenure, I know how to create the master file for the tenure portfolio (class by class, not year by year).

Those of you who have been following my seminary/candidacy journey might be feeling confused and wondering what happened to that.  I continue a Synod Authorized Minister at Faith Lutheran in Bristol, Tennessee.  When our fixer-upper is ready for us to move some furniture into, I'll be in Spartanburg for part of the week and Arden at our Lutheridge house for part of the week, driving up and back to Bristol each Sunday.  I hope to spend summers in Arden, which is a much better place to spend summers on a climate change ravaged planet than most other places I could choose.

This morning, I'm thinking about that day in 2023 when I went down for the first day of teaching; I blogged about it here.  It's strange to think about how much has changed since that day.  Back then, I wasn't sure where my office would be or if I would even have a key.  Back then, I taught two classes, both on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

I'm going to use the 2023 end to that blog post to end today's post--it still works:

I am thinking back to my first day of teaching, long ago in 1988. I didn't bring water with me everywhere I went. I showed up with syllabi, which I handed out. And then I stationed myself behind a podium, where I kept a death grip for the whole class.

I am lucky--that first class was bright and engaged and wonderful. My life might have taken a very different trajectory had I been assigned a different class. I'm glad that I had the group of students that I did.

Let me go take a walk; I likely won't have a chance later today.

Balancing Work

We had a really good day at church yesterday at Faith Lutheran in Bristol, Tennessee.  I say this with some sense of wonder because I arrived in a grumpy mood:  we left ten minutes later than I had requested, which meant I felt frazzled.

I prayed for my grumpy frazzled mood to lift as I waited for my spouse to come downstairs and open the door, and happily it did with the first hymn.  My sermon went well.  I was more pleased with my adult sermon, but I also think what I did with the youth was important, talking about storms as what they might encounter in school (it's their second Monday back today).  Grown ups hear about Peter sinking in stormy waters and immediately think about the chaos in their lives, but most youth are not trained in this kind of interpretation.

We even welcomed a new member, the nephew of one of our current members and his two small (delightful!) children.  I got donuts in Arden, at my newish favorite donut store that's open at 5 a.m., even on Sundays.

You can find the recording of my sermon here.  If you'd like to read along, the manuscript is in this blog post.

I feel such gratitude that I get to do all the work I do:  being the Synod Authorized Minister at Faith Lutheran, being a college English teacher on the tenure track at Spartanburg Methodist College, and all the other work I get to do:  volunteering, coordinating, being a friend, being a partner, being a family member in any number of family constellations.

This morning, on the Florida-Bahamas Synod Facebook Page, I came across this stunning picture of the amazing altar and stained glass of St. Stephen Lutheran in Pompano Beach.  It reminded me of a time that I met there to do some work for the bishop and had to take a vacation day to be able to be absent from my day job in higher ed.  I am glad to be in a time of my work life where I have more flexibility and a schedule that is not as unrelenting.

Shifts for Those with Sense to See

 I am always intrigued by how we can see seasons shifting, long before the calendar would tell us to expect these changes.

We have to learn to see with new eyes, eyes that focus on what's there, not what we're expecting to see. It's more of a shift of imagination than with our literal eyes, our literal sense: 

It's similar to how we can see God at work in the world--but it might mean we need to change our focus. 

Once we see it, the changing of a season, the evidence of God in the world, it's hard to ignore.

In future years, I might see this photo as evidence of a world on fire; I wouldn't be wrong, but it's early morning mist here, not smoke from fires.

One aspect I can't capture:  the way the greenness of the trees is thinning, the way I can see distant lights from roads in ways I couldn't just a month ago.

Friday Fragments: Positive Student Evaluations and Poem Creating

Yesterday was much easier than Thursday--but that's not a surprise.  Yesterday we only had one meeting, so my committed time was only one hour.  Thursday was very scheduled, from 8 a.m. until 3.  Let me capture yesterday:

--Here's the one cool thing that stands out.  We had our Humanities division meeting, and we entered the classroom door that had colored pieces of 8 x 11 paper posted around the door frame.  On each piece of paper was a different student evaluation with a positive statement about teaching.  Our dean told us that she chose a positive evaluation for each one of us and put the comment on the paper.  She wanted us to remember that the work we do is important.  What a great way to start a meeting!

--The meeting was a good one, full of good brainstorming about ways to keep students from leaving us.  We'd like to grow our bachelor degree programs, and we'd like to keep 1st year students from dropping out.  Unlike some administrator meetings I've attended in pre-pandemic days, there was no administrator blame in the discussion of retention.  Refreshing!

--Yesterday morning I was going back through old blog posts trying to remember the pre-first day of class schedules of past years.  I came across this blog post that reminded me of eating ice cream with my parents a year ago and this post about aging bodies and this post about watching the news with my dad a year ago, and a first line for a poem came to me, and I followed it.

--It's not the first time, and it won't be the last time that I've been grateful for my blogging practice.

--This morning, before Saturday sermon writing, I'm trying to finish the rough draft of the poem.  It revolves around three T.V. shows:  Back to the Frontier, a nightly news show, and Little House on the Prairie.  It involves ice cream and habits and the way we may never escape our younger selves in our family constellation.  This bit may be my favorite:

We return to earlier incarnations
of our relationship. My mom
counts the calories in the bowl
and comments on how much thinner
we would be if we dumped
the ice cream down the drain.
Because I am now a grown up,
I resist the temptation
to eat the whole carton.

--I have been making lots of progress on quilting projects.  I've been sewing in the evenings, as we've watched TV--it's a delightful way to end the day.

Workshop Day and My New Bullet Journal

Yesterday was a good day overall, but also a bit overwhelming in understanding ways.  I went from summer days when I'm around one or two people a day to a day full of humans.  I went from the unstructuredness of summer days to a day of a rigid schedule.

Happily, I was surrounded by other humans, my colleagues, who are delightful.  I went from the free floating thinking of summer to focusing on teaching.  I gave a workshop on using haiku to assess student learning--yes, it's a workshop I've given at other places, but it continues to be well received.

As I always do when I use the word "haiku," I did remind us that true practitioners of haiku would tell us that a creation is not a haiku just because it's 3 lines and follows syllable requirements.  But it's a fun way to try to determine if students have a grasp of the material, and it gives them small bits to put on the board, which can give interesting opportunities for small group and/or large group discussion.

My favorite workshop that I attended was one on bullet journaling.  We each got a bullet journal, and I'm planning to keep it through the school year.  I'm now on the tenure track, so I need to be much more intentional about remembering all that I've done as a faculty member over the next 5 years.  Plus, I just love keeping track, and I've been wanting a system that is more portable and encourages me to capture daily observations closer to real time.

You may say, "Couldn't you do that on your phone?"  No, I can't.  I haven't found a phone system that works, and I will be the first to confess that I haven't tried very hard.

Our workshops ended by 3, and I drove home.  It was good to remember how tiring this commute can be, even when it's a straight shot down the mountain and back.  My leisurely summer days occasionally made me wonder if we made a mistake to buy a second house.  Yesterday reminded me that it will be  good to have a second home base.

Today will be an easier day with just one meeting.  Will my spouse and I meet at the Spartanburg house to get work done or will that wait for next week?  Stay tuned.

Back to School, Back to Hiroshima

Yesterday was a delightful day.  Today will be delightful too, although it's a full day on campus, so it will be a different kind of delightful.  And I've been awake since 2, so I do worry about how tired I'll be by late afternoon.

My brain started churning at 2, churning with all sorts of worries and plans.  I need to sit down with a calendar and old syllabi and make some loose plans--or maybe weekly plans--at least that's what my brain was telling me when I couldn't go back to sleep.  My brain also jumped ahead to spring, and how I might teach the Intro to Lit class, and it's much too early to be plotting those classes.

Have I done the syllabus planning for this semester, since I was awake?  No, of course not.  I did some reading and ate some cranberry orange bread.  I did some fretting about muscle loss:  not my own, but my friend who had the catastrophic stroke a few years ago, and has lost so much muscle mass that she can't sit in the wheelchair very long.  I've wondered about other people in my life who aren't getting much exercise--but certainly more than my mostly bed-bound friend.

I am remembering 2 years ago, heading down to campus for a day that would have been even fuller, with a dinner for new faculty at the end.  I remember going to orientation sessions for new faculty and wondering how much would apply to me as a person with a one year position.  And I remember feeling so jealous of people who had the luxury of more permanence.

And now I am one of those people.

Of course, today is one of those days in history that reminds me that permanence is an illusion. Today is the day when the first atomic bomb used in warfare was detonated at Hiroshima, thus launching us into this brave new world where we find ourselves.  I think of those people headed to work when the bomb detonated, those burned into the concrete, and those further away, who would spend the rest of their lives being a walking specimen of what overexposure to radiation does to a human body before they died early.

The bombs used to destroy Hiroshima and Nagasaki were small by today's standards--but what damage they did! The effects of that bomb obliterated much of Hiroshima--and vaporized some of it. There were reports of people fused into pavement and glass--or just vanished, with a trace remaining at the pavement. The reports of the survivors who walked miles in search of help or water are grim. And many of those survivors would die of the effects of radiation in the coming years.

Through the years, I've seen many a documentary about the rush to build nuclear weapons, about the uncertainty of what would happen with those first tests and explosions--would the very atmosphere around the planet dissolve? I have yet to see any footage of scientists who wondered what might happen to civilians on the ground when these bombs exploded.

I've lived long enough to see history being made to know that the choices can be fairly ghastly. In this case, far better to develop the weapons before the Germans. I know many people who believe that the use of these bombs helped avoid more years of grueling battles in the Pacific that would have left us with even more dead--one could argue that the sacrifice of the populations at Hiroshima and Nagasaki were worth the avoidance of more years of war and that loss of life.

I've also done enough reading and thinking about pacifist approaches to wonder if there might not have been another way if we had acted much earlier.

I remember during our grad school years we went to a beautiful anti-nuclear vigil on August 6 in a city park.  I remember paper cranes and seeing some of our grad school professors there.  That would have been in 1988 or 1989.  I wonder if any groups mount anti-nuclear vigils in August anymore?

It's not that the world is any more of a peaceful place these days.  In fact, in recent years, it feels like we're sliding back to a world that's much more dangerous.  Sadly, the world still needs the blessings of the origami cranes.  They're not as easy to fold as they look--that, too, makes them an appropriate metaphor.  But they are worth the effort--and peace is worth the effort too.

Delights Planned for the Last Day of Summer and an A for Paul Class

In many ways, today is my last day of summer 2026.  A year ago, I'd have been going to CPE early and then driving to Williamsburg to help my parents recover from my mom's near death pneumonia hospitalization--I am so grateful that this summer's end is more mundane.

Our transition to the school year is a gentle one.  Tomorrow we have a very full day of teacher training and meetings.  On Friday and Monday, we have one meeting per day.  I'd prefer to have both on one day and the other day free for syllabus prep, but I'm fine with the schedule.  Having more time off is a game changer--in my younger days at community colleges, I'd have been irritable at being expected to do any of this at all.  

Of course, in my younger days, I spent much more time being irked.  Now I am older and wiser and more laid back and a better shepherd of my energy, meaning I ask more questions about situations and whether or not my irritability/anger is worth the energy and time.

On this last day of summer, I'll fill my day with delights:  a morning visit with a neighborhood friend doing creative work together in her studio and an afternoon with the LWR quilting group at the local Lutheran church.  I'll do some reading and some writing.  For one day, today I won't do any teaching work:  I turned in final grades for my online classes last night, and I still have time to create syllabi before classes start on Tuesday.

But I'm just remembering that I need to put an announcement in my onground class course shells that gives a welcome and says that more information is coming soon.  Since the shells open tomorrow, I'll do that cut and paste work today.

I'm happy that my work-for-pay still leaves me with time to see friends and do creative work of all types, along with writing and reading.  I'm grateful that my teaching life doesn't consume all my free time.  I know I say this a lot, but it's worth remembering and retreating.

It seems fitting that on one of the last evenings of summer, last night I got my grades for my summer TEEM class on Paul:  an A on each of the two papers, and an A for the class.  My teacher gave thoughtful commentary that made me feel seen and heard and understood.

I mention my reaction because last night I also got my supervisor feedback for the summer online class that I taught for SMC.  Overall, it was positive, although there is room for improvement:  more personalized feedback and more depth of feedback.  My first thought was that using names of students in grading feedback (a suggestion) would take too much time.  But it really won't take that much more time and maybe it would help students stay engaged.

I'm grateful for my return to school in late middle life for many reasons, but it's been revelatory to remember what it's like to be a student.  I used to think that A level papers don't really need much instructor feedback, but as an A student, I would feel cheated if my papers got the kinds of A level feedback that I give as a teacher.  Maybe that's too strong; I'm remembering all the times I got minimal feedback on A level papers and didn't feel cheated.  But every time I get more involved feedback, I'm grateful.  And A level students are more likely to have the time and mental space to care in a way that isn't possible for students who can't care as much because their lives are falling apart.

Late Summer in One Picture

This picture captures certain elements of the last half of summer:

I'm thrilled that so many people are so engaged with The Odyssey.  I won't go to the movie, probably, for many reasons, but I'm glad people are going.  Maybe in a future year, we can get the story of Penelope or maybe Mary Magdalene, women left behind.

We haven't had that many days of low humidity and lower heat, so this picture captures a perfect summer day, which I decided to make a drinking day, also not a regular event for me this summer.

It's been such a good tomato summer that I wanted fresh basil.  It was easier to buy a drooping basil plant than to trust the produce section.  My spouse pointed out that the pot contained 3 plants, and we repotted them.  Seeing them perk up has made me inordinately happy.

Today I am taking advantage of the last days of summer to go see grad school friends in Columbia, SC.  Hard to believe it's been almost 40 years since I was starting grad school there, back in August of 1987.

No Sealey Challenge for Me--But a Different Daily Poetry Challenge?

For one brief moment yesterday morning, I thought about doing the Sealey Challenge:  reading 1 volume of poetry each day in August.  I've only done it once in the past, so yesterday morning, I went back and read the blog posts that I wrote in 2020; this post talks about the overall experience, and this one talks about photos I used when making my Facebook posts.  Some people have posted their daily experiences on Instagram, but I'm not on Instagram.  Did I post on Twitter in 2020?  I was on Twitter, so probably.

I even went so far as to gather all the single volumes of poetry that I have on my bookshelves here at the house (I have even more in boxes and a few volumes at my office on campus).  But by afternoon, I decided not to do it.

I was able to do it in 2020 because my work life was so different.  I was in an office every day for 8-ish hours a day, but I had long patches of time during the day when I didn't have tasks to do.  At that point, we thought it was likely that the campus would close at some point in the next year, so my main work job was to keep it going, in a hospice kind of way, keeping everyone comfortable, but not starting new initiatives.

It was 2020, early-ish in the Covid time, no vaccines, and trying to stay distanced.  So I had fewer people coming to my office to complain or to strategize or to fight off boredom by gossiping or rage baiting.  In short, I had a lot of free time, even though I had to spend it in an office.

During those no-task times in 2020, I was able to read a book straight through.  My work life is about to get a lot more complicated, with commuting and going to class and one set of online classes coming to an end and another set beginning.

But yesterday's thinking about the Sealey Challenge did remind me that I want to start reading more poetry again.  I want to carry a volume of poetry with me throughout my teaching day.  I want to model the behavior of reading in the moments of down time that come with every class.

And that has made me think of something else--maybe I want to project a poem onto the board at the start of each class--a different type of daily poetry challenge!  Maybe I want poems each day that encourage students.  Hmmm.  Let me think about this. 

The Hinge Festival of Lammas

 Early August is a hinge point in the calendar. In some ways, it's not as obvious a hinge as the autumnal equinox or the summer solstice; in fact, it's the time directly between those two hinges--we're as far away from the start of summer as we are from the start of autumn. But in some ways, it's just as significant a point of seasonal shift.

If we lived in medieval England, we would be celebrating the festival of Lammas, a festival that celebrates first harvests with loaves of bread standing in for that first harvest.  There might be processions to bakeries, to bless them and to bless the bakers.  

It would be a festival that celebrates abundance, the abundance that comes later in a cooler climate.  Of course, we here in Appalachia are celebrating that abundance too; the summer vegetables are still going strong with beautiful tomatoes at the farmer's market.  Yet across the region, apple orchards are opening today.

We may have slogged through summer long enough that we may feel that nothing will ever change--it will be hot and humid forever. The light hasn't changed significantly, the way it will in a month or two. But we are losing more daylight each day as we hurtle towards a different season. Students aren't in school yet, but the time draws closer. Most of us aren't agricultural people anymore, but if we were, we'd be seeing crops in their final ripening. Harvest would be coming soon.

Now is a good time to take an accounting. Have we been planning some summer festivities that we haven't gotten to do yet? Now is the time. Do we need to adjust our trajectories for the rest of the year? Let us make some plans.