Environmental Resilience in Our Science and Our Literature (and Psyches)

It's the kind of morning where I feel a bit fragmented--so let me collect the fragments to see if a mosaic emerges.

--There was a Facebook ad that took me to this new degree, a Master's in Environmental Resilience at UNC-Asheville.  It's not as interesting to me as it first seemed it would be--if I was younger, perhaps.  I'm just glad to see that some programs are thinking in this direction.

--I also wanted to record it because I wondered if they would ever offer an elective in writing the history of environmental resilience--and could I teach it?

--Also, if I put together any sort of reading series, it's good to remember non-literary audiences that might be out there.

--For the sake of future historians, I feel I should mention Hurricane Melissa as the strongest landfalling hurricane in the Atlantic, which came ashore in Jamaica yesterday.  It was the strongest in terms of wind, while in terms of barometric pressure, it ties with the Labor Day hurricane of 1935.  It's too early to know what the damage is, but certainly it will be huge.  

--Future historians might laugh at me.  Faithful readers of this blog know that I think strong hurricanes like this one will be more and more common as the years go on.  Future historians will understand the scope and contours of that prediction.

--We are having lots of rain this week.  In a way, I'm glad.  We've had a dry October, which is glorious in its way, but it makes me worry about fire dangers.  In a way, the rain makes me anxious, particularly when it continues day after day, particularly with hurricane coverage increasing.

--Let me go take a walk, while we have a break in the rain.

A Gift of a Teaching Day

I had a good teaching day yesterday, which happily, is not unusual, but it is unusual for the class in which it happened.  It's a class that has unruly energy, an energy that I can refocus a bit, but not usually for the whole class period, which means I leave the class feeling like a failure.  

Let me stress that I am not actually failing them--their writing has improved.  I persevere in teaching the concepts and having them practice, despite the rolling of the eyes and the overly dramatic heavy sighs.  

Yesterday, I started the last module of the class, which will be one where we look at different ways to approach writing, ways which involve more creativity.  I had them write a description of a pine cone yesterday, and tomorrow, I'll have them sketch the pine cone and then write a description again, to see if there are other ways of training ourselves to see and then describe.

Then I gave them the standard definition of a haiku which irritates those who have mastered the form, the syllable counting form of haiku.  I had them try one of their own.  I modeled for them, counting syllables.  And then I talked about how a haiku could connect an element of nature with something that was happening in society or in one's life, about how linking the two could lead to something even more profound.

Yesterday I pulled up Dave Bonta's marvelous website of haiku, micropoems, and photos.   We talked about a few specific ones--the election one was an easy entry.

One of the students in the small group that has seemed most resistant to the work of the class noticed the poem about seeds and cracks and the light getting in.  He gave an interpretation, which the other members of the small group disparaged, which made him go deeper, which in turn made the other members of the group cheer for him.  I pulled up the Leonard Cohen song which wouldn't play, but then I was able to get the song lyrics at least.

We then talked about the ways that these poems and song lyrics take huge concepts and distill them into something smaller and perhaps pointed and piercing.  The energy in the room was electric, and when it was time to go, several of the students said, "Wait, aren't we gonna read our haiku?" 

These are not students who have clamored to stay in the past.  They are ready to leave from the moment that class begins.  I assured them that we would return to haiku on Thursday, and if they wanted to read, they could.

I had a successful morning class too, where we talked about three different approaches to Suzanne Simard's work on how trees communicate.  We watched her TED talk, looked at her scientific article, and read a newspaper article.  We will create an annotated Works Cited page with those sources, and next week we'll look at other sources.  Students will finish the work of the term by writing a paper which refers to some of these sources and talking about which one inspired the most wonder and trying to analyze why.

It's the rare teaching day when all of the classes go well, when I can see students making connections, or at the very least doing the work.  I usually feel lucky if just one class hums along.  Yesterday was a gift, the kind of day that makes me feel like I'm doing the work I was put on earth to do.  

Hurricane Watching and Other Types of Observations

It's the part of the week and the part of the term when I feel a bit squeezed.  Let me record some bits and pieces.

--Because we now have Disney Plus, we watched Frozen Tuesday night.  It's a cultural artifact that I almost completely missed, aside from a few songs.  I wanted it to be more progressive, but wow, there are some problematic aspects:  Disney princess culture really has not evolved.  And lots of men putting hands on young women whether they say yes or not.  Hmmm.

--We watched Hamilton on Sunday and Frozen Tuesday night, and I had songs from both soundtracks going in my head all night as Tuesday moved into Wednesday. 

--I went to the public library Tuesday, and I thought about how delightful it must be to work in my local public library.  The staff always seems pleasant, and as I said to my spouse, people who hate books don't come to this public library.  The branch always has kids there who are so enthusiastic about books and reading.

--The last thing I need is one more possible career path as I age, but I did think that if my other career/job/money making possibilities don't work out, I'd be delighted to work in that library.  I don't want to get an MLS degree, but maybe they hire less credentialed staff for less pay.

--I have been making my own greeting cards, with sketches on old sketchbook pages (a spiral notebook that has been too bashed in to be a good sketchbook). 

I have taken to enclosing a fabric heart or a fabric angel into the cards--an extra stamp, and I hope extra delight.

I got an assortment of colored envelopes which delights me. Such simple joys, and I'm so happy that simple joys still bring me such delight.

--Knowing the delight that different colors brings me, I also got some colored index cards, and when my students come for conferences, I give the a midterm grade report on a colored index card.  The colors are random, except for the orange ones when work is missing.  It's a good system so far.

--I don't always know for sure that conferences are a good use of time, but some of my students who are missing work did seem to snap to immediate attention at that orange index card.  We'll see if it results in work being done.

--I am keeping my eye on Hurricane Helene.  I am so glad that we no longer own a house in a flood zone.  I am a bit concerned about weather conditions when I travel to Williamsburg on Friday.

--It has been raining, with intense bursts, for 12 hours now, and that's not even Helene.  If you came here hoping for some spiritual insights that come with storm prep, head over to this post on my theology blog.

--And speaking of rain, let me get ready to head down the mountain.  From 7-8:30, we have light rain forecast.  Spartanburg Methodist College has moved to remote operations on Friday, and today I have lots and lots of conferences scheduled.  If I had classes scheduled, I'd move them to online today too, but this many conferences would be impossible to reschedule.  It's easier to just go in.

--Many public schools are not in person for the rest of the week, so maybe the traffic won't be too bad. 

Friday Fragments: Quilt Projects, Camp Projects, Home Projects

This morning, I've done my work out of order.  I've been doing grading, and now I can't remember ever having had anything worth blogging about.  Let me put down some assorted thoughts:

--At the end of spring Quilt Camp, I put together smaller pieces of fabric by size.  I had a vision of putting together a quilt of random pieces.  It's not exactly worked out that way, but I'm pleased with how it's going:

--I love having a small project to work on in the evening, but it's quickly becoming a large project.

--This morning, I woke up thinking that I should spend the next few weeks sewing together the Log Cabin squares that I spent much of 2023 assembling.  The picture below is from spring 2023:

Then I can have it ready to assemble and quilt at Quilt Camp in November.  Later today I'll put them on the bed to see how many I have.  I'm fairly sure I remember that I have enough for our queen size bed.

--We took the car in for an oil change yesterday, and came home not only with the oil changed, but also with bushings and a control arm for the steering and suspension.  We could have put off this repair for a few months, but when it fails, it will be "catastrophic," according to the mechanic.  Well, this is why we save money, I suppose.

--Today we go to pick up the last of the furniture that we bought a few weeks ago.  We went in to get a kitchen table, and we left with two new chairs--well, we left having ordered them in a fabric that we hope will complete the living room look.  I've been very pleased with the small kitchen table, which can be expanded when we have guests:

--Yesterday we ate a delicious meal at that table, with the window open, and gentle music playing.  We could hear the patter of rain, and it was so delightful, even as we were waiting for the summons to come back and get the car.

--Today is the last day of summer camp at Lutheridge.  I still have dreams of being a director of adult programming at a camp like Lutheridge.  I have memories of Lutheridge summers from years ago, where there was more programming for adults.  Could we ever go back to that?  There are lots of folks in work places where they can't get away for adult programming during the school year (like teachers).  It would be fun to offer Quilt Camp or Create in Me or Wild Women or any other number of programs in the summer.  From what I can tell, there is space for adults in terms of lodging in the summer.  In terms of program space, it would require some creative thinking.  I'm putting this idea here so that I remember it in the future.

--It seems like we just got started, having counselors arrive and then campers.  And now, it's done.  One more summer complete.

--We've had people at camp this week doing burly, lumberjack kind of things.  Some trees needed to be cut into pieces, like the one that fell down last week and took some power lines down with them.  One tree by the lake has been down for over a year, maybe even two or three.  Why cut it apart?

--I did get a poem idea, when I said that men with chainsaws have a different idea of forest management than I do.  I thought this might be an interesting idea to have Noah's wife contemplate.  Or maybe I'll do several approaches and see which one I like best.  Hmmm.

Ghost Seminary

One reason I wanted to come to this intensive is that it's the last time we'll be on this campus.  Earlier this year, the announcement came that the seminary would be moved to the Lenoir-Rhyne campus in Hickory, NC.  Frankly, as I move around campus, it feels like everybody has already moved there.

I will spend time in the library today, the library that has more books by itself than the whole of the library holdings at the Lenoir-Rhyne campus.  I fear for these books.  I know what often happens:  people will look at the last time a book was checked out and decide that no one is interested and toss the book.  The idea of that makes me sorrowful in so many ways, even as I admit that I rarely check out physical books from my own seminary campus (admittedly harder from a distance).

The dining facility has group pictures of all graduating classes, and I've had fun looking for people I know.  But along the line, I thought about the size of the classes.  We've been told that the seminary must move because there are fewer students.  But based on these pictures, the seminary has never had many students.  The largest graduating class was roughly 30 students.  Far more typical is the class of 1990:

Now, there are other good reasons for moving the seminary.  It's clear that it's been awhile since the buildings were maintained.  My small group is meeting in a building that reeks of mildew, even though the AC is running.  As I walk back to my seminary apartment that's on the far end of the complex, I can see the stucco about to break apart on the walls, and every AC unit looks like it's about to rust through completely.

Still, I hate to think of losing this campus, particularly as I take guesses at what might happen to it.  In yesterday's small group session, I talked about feeling grief about this part of the future.  I talked about how it's a shame to have all this infrastructure disappear into more urban development when so much could be done.  My friend said, "Like create an arts retreat?"

My friend and I have shared this dream, a retreat center that focuses on liturgical arts, for a long time.  I like the idea of communal living as part of it, but only if the communal living means that each person gets their own living space.  I know how quickly communal situations deteriorate when one person's cleanliness/neatness preferences don't mesh with that of others.

The small group was intrigued by the idea of changing the campus to that kind of vision, and I spent the rest of the day thinking about that possibility.  It might be easier to do such a thing at a place that already offers retreats, like Lutheridge.  It might be easier to do such a thing at a place that is also a small seminary--sigh.

I do realize that I don't have the resources of Lenoir-Rhyne, and so why should I think that I could have different outcomes.  But my mind goes back to part of our large group session yesterday, when our learning leader talked about God planting dreams in us like a farmer plants seeds.  I will continue thinking and writing and dreaming.

Internship's End

Last night, my internship experience came to a close--it was a natural end, nothing dire.  But it does feel like an event worth noting.

First, some background.  Wesley handles internships differently than some  schools.  It's a part-time job coupled with a class where we meet each week to process our experiences together as a group.  The part-time position can be in a church, the typical learning to be a parish pastor kind of job.  But it could also be in any number of other settings, from prisons to hospitals to non-profits.  If a seminarian has a specific vision, as I did, she can file the paperwork to have her site considered.

I was lucky to have this flexibility.  When I was thinking about possibilities, I wasn't sure where I would be living.  The campus housing was slated to be torn down, and I was mulling over options.  I decided that an internship that I could do remotely made sense.  I had been impressed with the way the Southeastern Synod of the ELCA offered online options for spiritual growth, so I reached out to them.  They were agreeable, and happily, the paperwork was not too onerous.  I know that Synod staff are busy folks, and I hated making paperwork requests.

During my seminary journey, I've never been too worried about traditional classes:  I know that I can write, and I can read rigorous books and journal articles, and I have little problem meeting class deadlines.  But the internship process worried me a bit, with its additional parts:  class instructors, internship staff from the school, and Synod staff.  Happily, everything went smoothly.

When I first started at Wesley, the internship stretched over two years, with the class meeting every other week.  I prefer the more intense model that I just completed.  Much can go wrong over two years, and I would hate to have to start over.  Much can go wrong over one year, and I'm glad to have this requirement completed.

When I talk about much that can go wrong, I know that may sound like I'm being a bit of a drama queen.  But I've seen classmates derailed by events, like the death of the mother who was providing childcare or a pregnancy that turned problematic or any number of other health problems.  I know that internship sites that seem fantastic can change.  I feel fortunate that I didn't have any stumbling blocks.

I also feel fortunate that my internship journey has been filled with wonderful people, people I worked with directly and indirectly at the Synod level, faculty, classmates.  I have felt supported and nurtured at every turn.  I know that not everyone gets that experience, and I am so grateful that I have had the experience that I just completed.

Eclipse Regrets

I now have eclipse regret.  Perhaps I should have gone on a quest for totality.  I knew we were going to be at 85% totality, and I thought that would be enough.  But now, seeing other people's pictures and reading about their experiences, I'm wondering if I should have made more of an effort.  After all, we won't have these opportunities often, at least not in driving distance.

I'm also feeling a tinge of sadness for other reasons.  I made this Facebook post yesterday afternoon:  "Strange to think about how much has changed since August 2017, the last time I viewed a solar eclipse. Back then, I wrote this conclusion to a blog post: 'Make plans now: August 12, 2045, my house will be on the path of full totality. If the rising seas haven't washed it away, you're all invited to my house. Full totality will be at 1:37 p.m.' That was my Florida house, now someone else's Florida house, and that post was just a few weeks before Hurricane Irma."

We stayed in that house for four more years, many of them years of trying to stay sane in the midst of home repairs from hurricane damage.  Sure, we were one of the lucky ones--our insurance paid for the repairs, with minimum struggle to get them to do it.  We thought it was going to be a struggle, with a need to send documentation about our contractor and to get said contractor to fill in reports periodically to get the funds released periodically--and then, out of the clear blue sky, the funds were released in one big check.

I spent the next four years expecting the insurance company to come and demand paperwork or demand their money back or somehow make my life more difficult.  Happily, they did not.

Thinking about 2017 makes me sad for all sorts of reasons.  Even though I didn't have the amount of leave accrued in my new job that would have let me go on a quest for totality, I was happy in that job at that moment.  We had just had a successful accreditation visit.  Our new president who was in charge of two campuses was still mostly at the Ft. Lauderdale campus, still mostly not concerned with my campus, the Hollywood campus.  It was all going to go badly in many different ways in the coming years, but if I had any sense of that fact, it was only a glimmer.

There's also some sadness because we spent that 2017 eclipse in and near the pool in our backyard; my sister and nephew were down for a visit, and we were having a marvelous time.  We still have a marvelous time together, but it's different now, in the normal ways that everything changes as we age.

I have spent time trying not to look back, but every so often, I'm stopped in my tracks.  Usually, I'm stopped for happiness.  If I could go back to 2017 Kristin and tell her how life has changed, she would be amazed:  a home in the mountains, almost done with an MDiv program, a part-time preaching position, and a teaching job at a small, liberal arts college.  That list represents lots of dreams coming true.  It also represents some severances:  something we don't always remember when we think about dreams coming true, that dreams coming true mean some dreams fade away.

It is time to get ready for that teaching job--off I go, soon, down the mountains to teach English at Spartanburg Methodist College.  I teach, while the bathroom install is happening here.  It will be good to be away.

Let me close with another Facebook post from yesterday:  "Today I looked at the sky and looked at the ground, hoping for interesting shadows during the eclipse. No interesting shadows, but I did realize for the first time that one of our spindly trees is a dogwood, one of my favorite trees."

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Shifting Employment

In this time of great resignations and remodelings of our lives, I've been informally collecting/noticing stories of people who have made a shift or are in the process of moving towards a shift.

I have tended to focus on people going back to school.  More specifically, I've been amazed at how many women my age have decided to go to seminary in the past few years.  Often these are women who were already deeply involved in church, although perhaps not in a paid capacity.  Often these are women who have hit some sort of ceiling in their current church jobs and need a different kind of theology degree to get to where they need to go.

Most of the people I know are in caring professions, like pastoring, teaching, and medical fields.  Many women who are undergoing career shifts are moving from one caring area to another.  And some are doing something adjacent.

I heard from a woman who went to college when I did, and her job sounded so cool that I had to ask her about it.  She works in a museum that tells about the history of the county she lives in, and she said this about her job:

"I cannot believe I get paid to teach some amazing school children and dress historically on occasion, plant and maintain an antebellum garden, give tours to people from all over the US, research history and genealogy, work with an amazing group of intelligent , respectful co-workers AND get paid to do it!"

I'm recording it here because I want to remember that there's a wide range of jobs out there.  I've been having some anxiety when I think about the future, both the near future and the further away future.  There are all kinds of jobs out there that don't require more education, jobs that can be fulfilling, jobs that don't involve spreadsheets and downsizing, jobs that help preserve the best of what humanity has been and can be.

A Potato Palooza of a Day

This morning, I slept until 5:15 a.m., which is sleeping in for me.  I was surprised because at 2 a.m., I thought about giving up on sleep and getting my day started.  Happily, I was able to drift back to sleep.  I went to bed close to 10:00 p.m., and even for me, 4 hours of sleep isn't quite enough.

Yesterday was jam-packed, but in some of the best possible ways.  I went on my early morning walk for the first time in days; I spent much of last week waiting for the locksmith, plus it was rainy, so I didn't get as many walks in as I hope that a normal week will have.

My spouse is in North Carolina, with the little house that needs updates.  It was built in the 1970's as a vacation house, so it needs some basics, like an HVAC system, along with updating.  He's staying there for now to get some of this work done.  He says that he's always wanted to do a rehab project where he doesn't have to work around the people living in the house and where he's not on an impossible deadline.  Now he can have that experience.

We talk once a day, usually by way of a Facebook video call, so we had a chat yesterday.  After we hung up, I got my reading done for my 1:30 class and headed to chapel for a nourishing worship service.  

After the service, Wesley offered us a Potato Palooza.  I was expecting a basic baked potato bar, but it was so much more.  I thought that the school might re-open the kitchen facilities, but they had the food brought in.  We were told to pick a goody box, a baked potato in a separate container, and a cup of chili (with a choice of chicken, beef, or veggie).  Inside the goody box was a veggie salad, a fruit salad, a corn muffin, and a dessert.  We had enough so that everyone could take extras home for a later meal.

Even better than the food (and it was good) was the chance to share a meal together.  I ate with one of my professors from Spring and one of my professors now, both teaching in the Arts and Religion track.  We were joined by the Admissions person who remembered my application and an HR person.  It was delightful.

I did wonder if I should make more of an effort to meet my fellow students, but my inner new kid was doing well to force herself to stay for the meal, so I gave myself a break.  And I also realized that I might have more in common with the people at my table than with a table of students.  It's hard to know.

My spring semester professor turned to me at one point and said, "It's so good to have you here on campus."  Wow--my inner new kid will treasure that comment, well, forever.

After the Potato Palooza, I felt like I'd already had a very full day, but I still had two classes ahead.  Happily, they, too, were very full, in the best possible way, full of valuable information, full of smaller group interactions, full of good feedback.

I have had a few moments in the past weeks and months when I've wondered if I would look back on this time and see it as a terrible mistake, a huge loss of money, a slow motion separation from all whom I've held dear.  I don't know that those moments are based in real information or on fear, but I'm forging ahead.  

I think back to the Ignatian concept of decisions made out of consolation or out of desolation.  To explain it in an overly simple way, if a decision/answer makes one feel inspired and fulfilled, like one is living into one's purpose for life, that one is moving closer to God, it's a decision/answer made in consolation. If it makes one feel otherwise, it's a mark of desolation.

And here's where it gets tricky. One can come to a decision/answer in consolation, but still feel some tinges of desolation as one goes on.  This concept has been one of the more helpful things I learned in my certificate program for spiritual direction.

Yesterday was one of those days that reminded me that my decision to come to seminary and all the subsequent decisions were choices made in a place of consolation.  And it's not just me who thinks that--I have the support of my home church, of family and friends, of my candidacy committee.  I understand how rare it is to have this level of emotional support.

Camp Dispatches

I am continuing to write while the choir practices.  I'm staying at camp lodging with no internet connectivity, so I sit here and type.  It's progress--2 weeks ago I wouldn't have been able to type at all.  Still, my internet time is limited.

Here are a few brief snapshots from Music Week:

--When the choir first started rehearsing the music, I thought, I bet I could do this.  As I've continued observing, I've been glad I decided to sit out this experience.  I have a serviceable voice sometimes.  This choir is for people who are much further along than I am.

--The time when choir rehearses is the best time to do my required internet activities:  checking in with my online classes primarily.  Today I did my applications for the 5 jobs that the unemployment benefit process in Florida requires.

--The drumming has been fun--much more my speed.      

--I've been able to be part of the team that decorates the chapel for worship.  Here's a picture of what we created for Tuesday night, with it's theme of Psalm 23 and the Jeremiah passage that talks about return from exile:

--I could be so happy having this kind of ministry--working on creative responses each week to the Gospel.  That could include a written meditation for the newsletter, a visual image for meditation, the altar space . . . I would like to be the specialist that does such things.  Could my ministry be just that and not visiting the sick, tending the building, etc?

--Today is my birthday.  Perhaps the whole camp will sing the song to me.  But if they don't, that's O.K.

--Was the dining hall always this noisy?  It's impossible to have any sort of conversation over a meal.  And I am missing hot chocolate on cool mornings served in battered aluminum pitchers.

--Music Week is much more scheduled than I remember as a kid.  But we are finding time to get some stuff done to get ready to move (a week from today the moving van will have come and the loading of possessions will be underway!).  We've unpacked 2 cars' worth of stuff, and we've bought a mailbox and a post.  This morning, we washed a load of clothes in the washer and dryer that came with the house.  Judging by its avocado color and smaller size, I'm fairly sure it's a circa 1975 washer/dryer all-in-one unit.  And it still works!  In fact, it looks like it hasn't been used much at all.     

--I am trying not to rhapsodic about the weather.  It's been gloriously cool in the morning.  In the afternoon, I can walk from a building to a car without sweating a drop.  Amazing!  We've slept with the windows open (we're in Bacot, not in our new house that has no furniture).

--And on a non-camp note:  this morning was the first time that I woke up without my wrist feeling like a wooden block.  It's not normal by any stretch of the imagination, but it's a sign of progress.

Beachside Foxes

Yesterday during my walk, I had several encounters with one of the neighborhood foxes.  As I write that sentence, I wonder if people still use the term "fox" to mean an attractive female.

I saw the fox from a distance of a block, as we both walked east.  As always, I wondered if I was seeing a fox, a coyote, or a dog.  But the head made me think I wasn't seeing a dog.  And it was a slender creature, which made me think it was either a baby coyote or a fox.  Plus, I've seen a fox in the neighborhood before, but never a coyote.

I continued east to the Intracoastal and then around by the marina, heading up to the route around North Lake.  A few blocks away from the path around the top of the lake, I saw the fox again.  This time, the fox crossed the street, stopped under a tree, and stared at me.

I stared back.  I didn't want to make the fox feel threatened.  Plus, I wanted a good look.  My spouse and I have a long running disagreement.  He often thinks he's seen a coyote, and I think he's probably seeing the neighborhood foxes.

Eventually, I kept walking, and the fox trotted off into a back yard.  I walked home, thinking of all the forest creatures that are here, in a beachside town full of concrete and high towers, very far away from any forest.  If I wrote children's books, I'd write about foxes and raccoons who live in the abandoned houses and go to the beach after everyone goes home.

At home, I looked at various pictures to be sure I was seeing a fox instead of a coyote, and I'm pretty sure it was a fox.  It would have been small for a coyote, but more than that, its face was more like a fox than a coyote.  And back to that slang--how did that become a term for a beautiful woman?  Foxes are cute enough, but other animals are much more beautiful.

I spent the rest of the day working on writing for seminary classes and meeting former colleague friends for lunch at a Mexican restaurant.  In later years, when I look back and wonder why I wasn't writing during this time when I was underemployed and a part-time student, let me remember that I'm writing thousands of words a week.  For my New Testament class, each weekly assignment clocks in at over 1,000 words, and that's just one class.  I'm writing a similar amount for Hebrew Bible and I'm writing 300-500 words each week for my Religion and the Arts class.  And some of it might be useful in other contexts--but the larger importance is that it keeps my writing muscles in use.

It's the kind of delightful life that I have to keep fighting back this fear that I might be punished later.  But what kind of punishment do I fear? Will I regret this time of not optimizing my earning potential?  I doubt it.

Let me remember the many delights of this time.  

Travel, School, Life: The Same and Yet Different

Here I sit in Williamsburg where my parents live, working on my computer, after a plane trip yesterday.  Once that sentence would not be remarkable.  But at certain points yesterday, I shook my head at how events were both strange and familiar.

I haven't taken a plane trip in 2 years.  In some ways, not much is different, although yesterday it seemed like more people were in the Ft. Lauderdale and Atlanta airports.  Yesterday, as I waited in the very long security line at 4 a.m., I laughed at the Kristin who thought the airport would be deserted at that very early morning hour.  Lots of people were returning from cruises, to judge from conversations I overheard, including lots of college students.  What a different spring break life I had as a student, back when dinosaurs roamed the earth, and I was happy to return home to my own bed and my bread baking equipment.

A major difference, of course, is the masks we all wore, some of us more correctly than others.  I was happily surprised that most people had something around their faces on the plane and in the airport once we got past the security line.  In the security line, all bets were off.  I thought of the crowds on Monday night as we walked to a restaurant and how I worried I might have been exposed to disease that I would bring to my parents.  Monday was the least of my worries as it turns out.  But I still felt relatively safe during yesterday's travel which may say more about my faith in vaccines, booster shots, and my own mask than it says about the accuracy of my safe feelings.

Although the flights and the airports were packed, yesterday's airplane experience was fairly easy.  There was a moment when we landed in Atlanta, where the full moon was setting and the fog was intensifying.  In some ways, it felt like we had landed on an alien planet, as the plane rumbled into the parking spot.  I thought I might end up stuck in Atlanta until the sun burned off the fog, but my layover was several hours, so it wasn't a problem.

I was traveling alone, so I used the time to get lost in a book, Jonathan Franzen's latest, Crossroads.  I understand all the reasons why people don't like him, but he knows how to spin a compelling story, and this one has the best elements of The Corrections, a book which thrilled me.  I'm not done yet, but I'm happy to be reading it.

The Richmond airport was comparatively empty, which was a relief, and I had no trouble getting my bag and hopping into my parents' car.  And then we were off, back to Williamsburg.  If I hadn't known that the temperature outside was in the 50's, I'd have thought that a snowstorm was blowing in.  Even with dark clouds, the rain held off.

We relaxed for a bit, made dinner, and then I was off--back to my parents' study, where I logged on to my seminary class.  What an amazing world we live in!

This morning, I'm thinking back to the last time that I was here, in January of 2019, and my plan was to return several times a year in a more concerted effort to see my parents more often while they are still in the healthy part of old age.  While I've always been aware of apocalyptic possibilities, I would not have anticipated a global pandemic disrupting my plans, along with all the plans of all of us.  Sigh.

And now we're looking at a variety of possible plan interruptions:  a new variation of this virus, a brutal invasion of Ukraine, chief among them. And then there's my own individual disrupters:  job loss, house sale, S. Florida becoming increasingly unaffordable.

Earlier this week, I woke up feeling a bit panicked about money--my last paycheck from my old job was March 15.  But I'm trying not to linger long in that panic.  Similarly, as I walked through the Richmond airport, I thought, we should have moved years ago--but we don't have a time machine to go back, so that line of thinking isn't useful.

There are days when I worry that I'm diving off a dangerous precipice by pursuing my seminary dreams.  But then I go to class, and I am so thrilled to have this opportunity.  I choose to see that through an Ignatian lens:  seminary is a space of consolation, and worrying about money while I have house sale profits in the bank is a space of desolation. 

Let me continue to move towards consolation.

Radio Free Europe and Other Places

Some random thoughts--can they make a loosely braided blog post?

--A Facebook post from late last week, one week after Russia's invasion of Ukraine:  "This afternoon I noticed the flag of Ukraine now flies above the Hollywood (FL) Arts Park. Two blocks away, there's a carnival "with modern midways" at the Little Flower Catholic Church and School. I'm just an ordinary poet and theologian, here to notice interesting juxtapositions on our Lenten Cold War II journey."

--A Facebook post from Monday, while I was listening to 80's music of my youth:  "Listening to REM sing "Radio Free Europe" and dreaming of being the poet theologian in residence of some sort of group that will give me a salary and health insurance. Our day job will be to get messages/poems of hope and resistance behind the front lines."

--We've been watching The Americans--yes, we're late to this party, although I read essays and reviews as the series aired, so I feel like I've seen parts of it.  I first started watching it a few months ago out of 80's nostalgia, and I had heard an interview on the NPR show 1A with Joe Weisberg, the man who created it.   I thought, if we're going to watch so much junk TV, maybe we should put some of it aside for some of the quality shows we've missed through the years, if we've got the right streaming service. Yesterday we watched another few episodes--interesting to watch this show about KGB agents with Putin never far from our minds.

--I also love the shots of DC--although as I read up on the show and realized how much of it was filmed in NYC, I realize I'm probably feeling nostalgia based on the wrong scenery.  So much of my heart remains in DC, and I'm feeling a bit breathless these days realizing that we are likely headed there very soon.  The breathlessness comes from hope and fear and anxiety.

--There is some part of me that thinks, of course you'll move to DC right about the time it becomes a target for nuclear weapons again.  And yes, I realize it is never not a target--its symbolism is too huge.

--And now, off to the rest of the day.  I made this Facebook post this morning:  "Back in my days of full + employment, Wednesdays were days full of dread and meeting after meeting. Now, because of underemployment, I can spend this Wednesday volunteering in my church's food pantry."  And I'll be making a stop along the way to help stock the food pantry with peanut butter and jelly--there's a constant need for it and very few donations.  I still have some microgrant money left over from a different feeding the hungry project, money that will vanish soon, so I'll use up the rest of the money this morning.

Lunch with Friends and Other Dreams of the Future

In these past few days of underemployment, let me record a few impressions that aren't substantial enough to warrant a whole post, but which I want to remember:

--I have realized that I now have time for lunch with friends.  In 2016 when I went to what was then my new job, I was amazed that no one ever went to lunch--not with each other, not with friends from other parts of life, not with professional contacts.  I suspect that few of us even ate lunch.  When people would come to my office to find me eating, they often apologized profusely, which led me to believe that few of us ate.

--At the time, I was not a campus director.  I did wonder if it would be possible to change the culture of the campus, but I did not feel brave enough to move that way on my own.  I did continue to eat lunch and snacks at my desk, but I rarely met a friend for lunch elsewhere.  When I did meet someone off campus, I always felt the clock ticking.

--In the position that I was just severed from, I sensed some of the campus culture changing in ways that made me sad.  The odyssey of the library is one that I could offer in this public place.  When I arrived in 2016, the campus had the smallest library I've ever seen, in terms of the number of books on the shelf.  But the library itself had a good vibe, with 8 computers and a glassed off study/tutoring/testing room with more computers.  We had a huge collection of electronic resources and opportunities.  We had a full-time staff person.  We had a credentialed librarian who came to campus twice a week.  When I left, there had been talk of not having a library at all, which was the preference of the new owner, or putting it in a computer lab, or transforming the smallest room on campus into the library.  When I left, the Allied Health lab was doing double duty as a computer lab, and the plan was to move Allied Health supplies out of the cabinets, take the doors of the cabinets, and put the books in there.

--Again, I am so happy that I will not be there when the accreditation visit happens in late March. 

--On Monday, I didn't feel as relieved not to be at work as some people might on a Monday.  Mondays on our campus used to be slow days, a slow re-entry from week-end to work.  Today I am relieved not to be at work.  Wednesdays are the most hectic days on campus, with classes in every room.  The day for me was broken up by a mid-day meeting with people from multiple campuses, and as a result, the meetings were long, and not every item seemed relevant to me.

--Once those meetings were every other week, and we decided to have them every week so that they wouldn't be as long.  It may or may not surprise you to find out that they were every bit as long.

--Yesterday, instead of my usual mid-morning snack of two slices of homemade bread toasted, I made myself a grilled ham-and-swiss sandwich.  It was delicious, and it ended up being more like an early lunch, in terms of calories consumed during the day.  But I am going to need to be more mindful during these days of being underemployed at home.

--Let me also remember that I went on a two hour walk yesterday.  What a joy to have time to do that.

--I am resisting the urge I have to fill up every scrap of free time with productivity, which for me often translates into something that will bring in money.

--But I also want to think about spending some of this newly free time working on projects that might bring in some money.  I am a certified spiritual director now.  I could register with the synod for my church and with the national database.  When I first got certified in January, I didn't have any time to devote to this career.  Now I do.  Let me think about what this might look like.

--My spouse has started going to campus again, in the limited way of adjunct faculty.  It occurs to me that I have rarely had the place all to myself since the pandemic.  I am looking forward to cooking as self care:  some pumpkin butter, lemon yogurt muffins, and a quiche for tonight. I plan to make some phone calls to friends, to catch up on seminary work, to catch up on grading for my online classes . . . it will be wonderful!

Dream Jobs in a Different Category

A few days ago, I saw a job posting for Dean of Chapel at Berea College, and I can't stop thinking about it.  I won't apply because I'm not qualified.  It requires an MDiv degree, "Traditional ministerial/chaplaincy credentials (ordination, etc.)," and 10 years of chaplaincy experience.  I do have teaching and higher ed administration experience, which some candidates might not have, but that's not enough to make up for not having the MDiv degree and ordination.

Although I did cherish my time in campus ministry as a college student, I haven't really thought of myself as the best candidate for campus student ministry, so why am I intrigued by this posting?  It might be these parts of the job:

"Provides leadership in the planning of ecumenical worship, convocations, and other special services

Builds relationships with religious professionals assigned to the campus (Intervarsity, FCA, Newman Club, etc.), and together with the President, serves as liaison with local pastors and churches

Regularly offers sermons/homilies/messages during weekly noon worship services and other events on and off-campus

Oversees the daily administration of the Center and its programs, and provides supervision, support and guidance to CCC staff members in their specific roles and areas of focus

Teaches 1-2 courses a year in the area of academic expertise and/or General Studies"

Or is the appeal of this job the fact that it's at Berea College?  I have always found that college so inspiring.  It would be so great to be part of a school like that.

As I think about my trajectory over the past 10-15 years, I remember the times that I wished that I was teaching at a school with a religious focus, so that I could talk about some aspects of faith and literature and regular life without feeling like I need to censor myself.  So it makes sense that this job would appeal.

I also like the idea of developing special kinds of opportunities for students, the kinds of stuff I would do for retreats.  In the pre-pandemic times, that was one of my favorite parts of my job, creating decorate a pumpkin tables and a vision board drop in station.

In some ways, it's a moot point, so you might wonder why I am writing about this at all.  I want to remember the wide range of jobs that are out there.  I often get fixated on a certain type of job, and I forget that there could be other possibilities.

Thanksgiving Approaches

Here it is, the Sunday before Thanksgiving.  Like many Sundays before Thanksgiving, I will be packing for a road trip.  But in some ways, it is so different this year:

--Only part of our family will gather at the ramshackle house at the Lutheran church camp where we have gathered since the early 90's.  Some of my family members have unvaccinated children:  some of them are coming, and some aren't.  The older adults are vaccinated and boosted, so we're coming. 

--That's the largest difference, of course.  We are about to enter year 3 of the pandemic.  Two years ago, we had no idea we were about to enter year 1.   We've had family members unable to attend in the past, but never for this reason.

--Two years ago was the last time we all gathered.  At that point, I was about to start a certificate program in spiritual direction.  Now I am about to finish that program, and I've started a seminary program.

--Two years ago, I had decided against seminary, at least for the foreseeable future.  So what happened?  I found a dream program in Theology and the Arts at Wesley Theological Seminary, and as I realized my job was likely to end by the end of the year, I moved forward with applying, both to seminary and for candidacy in my religious denomination, and I was accepted.  As we move towards Thanksgiving, I'm also moving towards finishing the first semester of seminary.  Lots of moving in this chunk of text, which I'm leaving here intentionally.

--We will be leaving from our condo that we're renting.  Our house that we own is still on the market, under contract, with hopes that we will be done with the sale by the end of the year.

--Two years ago, we would not have dreamed that we would be putting the house on the market in late 2021.  The housing market is so white hot right now that we decided we didn't want to miss out; we have missed out on white hot markets before, and we've felt regrets.  If you view your house as one of your investments, and if you live in a volatile market like South Florida, you must consider these things.

--I am thinking of all the people who are no longer here, both people who have moved away and people who have died.  I am also trying not to sink into depression over this.

Much will remain the same.  Our family Thanksgiving menu doesn't change much from year to year, and the kitchen is rudimentary, so the fact that we don't demand gourmet options is a gift.  We will have lots of down time, and maybe a trek to find apples.  Will the Wal-Mart still hold the same fascination, now that the children are older?  We will have grading to do, but there will still be time to read.  We will cherish the time to be together; we've always known we won't always have this gift, but the past 2 years have driven that point home.

Jobs: Poet, Pastor, Professor

A few weeks ago, I attended my synchronous New Testament class on my computer in one room, with my spouse in another room.  After it was over, my spouse said, "Your professor reminds me of you.  She sounds very enthusiastic, but not in a bad way."

As I've watched her both in live streaming classes and in the videos she's recorded for us, I've felt this urge to do what she's doing.  What would it take to be a seminary professor?

I've had this urge before.  I majored in English and went on to grad school in no small part because I loved my undergraduate professors and wanted to be like them.  I'm not upset about that; there are worse ways to make life decisions, and I have been happy teaching English to undergrads.  

Along the way, I've yearned for a different type of teaching job.  I thought about that this morning when I saw an ad for a poetry job.  I have to remind myself it's not a poetry job.  It's a tenure track Assistant Professor in an MFA program job at North Carolina State University:  "This hire will enable us to maintain the high quality of our competitive MFA program and our popular, growing creative writing concentration in the English major. The new Assistant Professor will develop and maintain relationships with writers who contribute to our visiting writers program; will attract and recruit candidates into our MFA program; will direct poetry theses and serve on thesis committees; will mentor MFA students in writing and teaching; and will teach classes at the graduate and undergraduate levels. Likely courses include Intermediate and Advanced Poetry Writing, Studies in Poetry, the graduate Workshop in Poetry, and ENG 590, a craft seminar offered to graduate MFA and MA students."

Twenty years ago, I would have applied.  But then I didn't have the credentials, and now, even with the publication of 3 chapbooks, I don't really have the credentials:  We are looking for a candidate with a strong publication record and literary reputation, including at least one published book, and successful university teaching experience. An MFA in creative writing is preferred. Additional publications or teaching expertise in one or more of the following areas would be a plus: creative nonfiction, African American literature, Latinx literature, Native American literature, Asian American literature, environmental writing, and/or hybrid literature and writing.

And then there's this language:  

The candidate should have an established reputation in poetry writing, with the potential for future growth.

 
Strong commitment to excellence in teaching is expected, as is a willingness to build and support the creative writing program at NC State.

In my younger years, I might have thought my 3 chapbooks would qualify.  Now I know that they will get a flood of applications from people with books with a spine published by a variety of presses.  That salary would attract my attention:  $70,000 - $75,000; dependent upon credentials.  Our local community colleges in S. Florida have a top salary level in the mid-50's for new, full-time teaching hires.  North Carolina State University is not UNC-Chapel Hill.  But again, neither is it a community college.

Long ago, I'd have seen this job ad and applied, even if I realized that I had very little chance.  And then I'd have doubled down on my efforts to get more qualified for jobs like these.

I do hope that I won't look back on this time in seminary, with my dreams of job possibilities beyond, and shake my head at how naive I was.

First Meeting with Seminary Faculty Advisor

Yesterday I had my first meeting as a seminary student with my faculty advisor.  Before the meeting, I was happy to discover that I had been assigned to the director of the Theology and the Arts track, who is also the director of the Luce Center for Theology and the Arts, which sounds like one of my dream jobs.

Our meeting didn't last long, but it was wonderful.  It was a meeting where we were supposed to talk about my progress and my form that I filled out, the form that mapped out my future semesters and which course I would take.  My advisor and I agreed that it's really tough to make that plan right now.  There are so many questions.  Where will we be in the course of this disease?  Will there be courses on campus?  Will there be on-campus housing?  Will I still be employed?

I said, "Part of me thinks that this may be my last full-time job with health insurance, so maybe I shouldn't give it up."  My advisor told me that his wife is an Episcopalian priest who has just taken a job in Maine, and that's given them a chance to compare health insurance plans.  We talked a bit about what we might all accomplish if we didn't have to consider basic health care/health insurance and how we would provide for it.

My plan for the near future, next semester, is to take the second half of the classes that I'm taking now.  They're basic classes, the building blocks for future classes, and happily, they are ones that work well online.  My advisor finds himself wrestling with that question of which classes really need to be in person and which ones can be adapted.

As we closed, my advisor reminded me that he's there to be an advocate for me, if there's ever anything for which I need that kind of support.  Or that if I'm ever confused about requirements, I should come to him.  I said that I'd keep in touch with him by way of e-mail to let him know that I was making progress.  He smiled and said, "You gotta love mature students.  They understand the benefits of staying in touch."

I also realize how lucky I am, that I've always had advisors who wanted the best for me, without any of the creepiness that can develop.  And I feel lucky now, with my current advisor.  At a later point, I'll have more questions that I'll need help with.

And perhaps I'll continue to have the kinds of questions that are more on me to decide.  How fast should I be progressing?  Do I move to DC full time or think about the hybrid options?  I like the idea of reporting to campus for long week-ends periodically, but my heart really yearns to be part of the seminary community.  Of course, at this point, the seminary community isn't what it was before, with more of us feeling safer about online classes.  

So yes, I have lots of the sorts of questions that cannot be answered right now.  I am learning to live with the mystery, to live with the knowledge that has always been true, but in pre-Covid times, many of us could pretend otherwise.  Our lives will have all sorts of twists and turns, and while we can have long-term plans and goals, they are likely to be upended, and we'll have to pivot.

And for most of us, there are all sorts of ways to pivot, if we remain nimble and open to the possibilities.

First Week of Seminary Classes

I have come through my first week of seminary classes--they officially started on Monday, but I've had access to the course shells for over a week.  I've done a lot of reading in books that are very interesting.  I've studied maps to get ready for a map quiz later this week. For the past two nights, I attended the synchronous class meetings, meaning that we all gathered in a Zoom meeting.  In some ways, the classes were similar to other Zoom meetings, particularly religious church meetings.  We began in prayer and moved to the business of the evening.  

I had worried about Zoom burnout, or being distracted by other internet delights, so I closed all the windows that send me beeps:  no Facebook, no e-mail, and I kept the Zoom window on full screen.  In retrospect, I was so focused on showing that I was present and paying attention that I worry that I looked like a grinning idiot.  And yet, it was sincere.  I am so happy to be here in this virtual place.

Last night, I thought about the first online journaling class I took with the artist Vonda Drees, through the Grunewald Guild in November and December of 2018.  We read a book together, and we shared our sketches, and we met once a week in a Zoom session.  It was transformative, and in many ways, it set me on the road to where I am today, sitting in seminary classes.  Attending the first onground intensive for my spiritual direction certificate program was similar.  I walked on the campus of Southern seminary, and I realized how much I missed all the aspects of that traditional educational experience.

I have loved that certificate program, and yet, along the way I've thought, this is interesting, but it's not seminary.  I was able to handle the pace and the readings, and it made me think I could do something more rigorous.  

In the interest of being completely honest, I'm also in a phase of my administrator work life where work has become less demanding as the campus has been shrinking and various programs have been in the final phases.  I feel sad about that fact in some ways.  When I came to this job, the campus was growing so fast that we had trouble finding space for all the classes that we need.  Now, because of decisions above me and because of the pandemic, that process has been reversed.   And it's not just my little campus.  It's become clear that a change is underway in higher education, a change in part because of a declining birth rate that started in 2007 or so, coupled with immigration restrictions.

I still feel somewhat precarious, like my life has become a huge balancing act, and I must not let myself get distracted, lest I fall or drop something precious into the abyss.  I will remember what a wise yoga teacher taught me, to keep my vision focused on a point further away, to not compare myself to others, to slow down.

When the Wait List Turns into a Seat

It feels like a very long time ago that I signed up for seminary classes.  I put myself on the waitlist for the first half of the church history class.  Week after week went by, and the wait list didn't seem to change.  In the meantime, I had been thinking that maybe doing 4 classes was too ambitious anyway.

And then, yesterday, I discovered that I now have a seat in the class.  What to do?

The obvious answer:  buy the books and get ready for the class.  Why did I put myself on the waitlist if I wasn't planning on taking the class?

When I first signed up for classes, I wasn't sure that my job would last very deep into the fall.  In fact, I thought that I might be let go in early September once we moved all the labs over to the Ft. Lauderdale campus.  I put myself on the wait list knowing that if I ended up unemployed, I'd be happy that I had given myself the possibility of an extra class. 

Fast forward to now, and it's clear we won't be at the Ft. Lauderdale campus in the next few weeks.  The Vet Tech program has specific lab requirements.  The school can't just plunk them into an abandoned surgical tech lab space.

Still, I might be able to handle the additional class.  My school observes Jewish holidays, and we've got a lot of them in September.  I could be focused and get a lot of the heavier reading done in September.

My online orientation to seminary class seemed to say that the classes will open in Blackboard 2 weeks before classes start--2 weeks is Monday.  Hopefully, I can look at all the classes and get a sense for the work load:  the reading schedule, the assignments, and the due dates.  I know that I have until week 2 of classes to withdraw and not be charged.

For so much of summer, I felt like I was in a holding pattern.  And now, suddenly, the pace has shifted.  I have some decisions to make, but there's still time--not as much time as there once was, but there is time.