The Pace of Modern Life and My Earth Tsunami Anxiety/Reassurance Dream

I awoke to news of shootings in two mosques in New Zealand.  As I have written on the news of another shooting, I have no words.  Or, more accurately, I have words, but it feels so futile.

A shooting at a religious site is more shocking to me than other shootings.  I am sad to report that I've become a bit used to school shootings, although I always force myself to remember that school shootings did not used to be so common.  I went to high school in Knoxville, Tennessee.  The high school parking lot was full of trucks with gun racks, some of them with guns in them--but we didn't shoot each other.  We were much more creative.

But a religious site still makes me pause.  And today, shootings in New Zealand, not a common place for stories of violence of any kind.  I've always given New Zealand all sorts of credit:  first to give women the right to vote and resistance to the nuclear arms race, especially in the 1980's.

And it's not difficult to imagine what was in the shooter's manifesto that he (it's always a he) left.  I'm glad that authorities have decided not to release it.

I am weary.  But I was weary before I turned on the radio.  I was out last night at Program Advisory Committee meetings at the Ft. Lauderdale campus, 12 miles away from my home campus.  It doesn't sound like much, but the trip up was in rush hour traffic, and the trip home was in the dark.  And I helped with the technology snafu, which we solved inventively, but it meant I didn't have a chance to eat dinner.

Before that, I helped solve other problems, along with putting out pie to celebrate National Pi Day.  And our EMS team got an award from the American Lung Association; they were one of the top 10 teams when it came to fundraising with the Fight for Air Climb--every one of our EMS students participated in this event that had them climbing 38 flights of stairs, with some of them in heavy gear.

Last night, I had the most vivid dream.  I was trying to outrun a tsunami of earth, like the surface of the ground was rising up and rolling.  It was upon me, and then over me, and I breathed in the smell of fresh turned earth (so distinctive) while realizing that  I would surely die.  It was dry, crumbly soil, with the roots of grass visible--not muddy.  And then, I was lifted up, and the earth receded.

On the face of it, it's an easy dream to interpret.  But then there are other aspects:  who lifted me up?  I didn't feel hands on me, but there was a force pulling me above the wave of earth just before it receded.  Was it God?  Part of the force of the rolling earth?  My own will to live pushing my legs faster?

Today I'm going to rest in the reassurance of the dream, while also looking for ways to be easier on myself and to find a slower pace.  And I'm going to keep dreaming of a day when I don't turn on the news to hear tales of mass shootings.

Of Poem Composing and Travel Fretting

This morning I was feeling like a dried out husk, with no ideas for writing, a poet who would never write a poem again.  I thought about approaches that often work:  taking a real or fictional character and writing a poem from a different angle or taking a minor character and giving the character a voice.  Nothing.

I scrolled through my blog posts that get an "inspiration" tag so that I can find them when I need inspiration.  I went back several years and again, nothing.

Then a line drifted across my brain:  I keep this garlic press although it only has one purpose.  I thought of my juicer, which also only has one purpose but takes up more room in the cabinet.  I was off--and I finally wrote a poem.

I thought I might walk this morning, but I ended up needing a more leisurely morning.  I got some writing done, a bill from the contractor paid, some calendar planning with both my spouse and my soul (I need to get to Mepkin Abbey in the near future).

Today is a long day:  lots of accreditation writing/revising/proofing during the day, followed by an evening meeting at a different campus.  I am weary at the thought of it--another reason I wanted a more leisurely morning.

I have also been thinking about the fact that the AWP is less than 2 weeks away.  I am nervous about making my way from the airport to the hotel.  How hard can this be?  Millions of people do this every day.

At least I don't have to worry that I'll be on one of those new Boeing planes that have a disturbing tendency to fall out of the sky.  Yes, statistics people, I know I'm exaggerating.  I'm safer on a plane than I am in a car.  But I do love my car.

I always wanted to be the fearless traveler who went anywhere with just a credit card in her pocket and a lot of gumption. I fear I am becoming the kind of person that those bus tours across Europe are designed for.

But I want to believe that as long as I'm forcing myself to do occasional trips that are outside my comfort zone, that I won't be the kind of little old lady who refuses to leave the house at night.  

The Best Education Money Can Buy

I am hearing the reports of wealthy parents who tried to buy entrance to elite colleges for their children.  It's an amazing tale of deceit, which shouldn't surprise me by now.  I'm hearing talk of people who claimed that their children needed extra accommodations, which meant their child could have extra time on a test--in some cases, the person who was assisting the "disabled" student changed the test.  There was even one person who took the test for another person.

That's not as shocking to me.  Decades ago there was a story about a woman who took the bar exam for her husband; she assumed his identity and sat for the exam.  I think that she was discovered because her scores were too good--and her original bar exam scores stood out for being in a top percentile.

So I'm not shocked by this aspect of the story.  I'm shocked by the attempt to get the students in on their athletics records--records that were completely manufactured.  As I drove to a social justice rally last night, I heard about a local real estate developer who bought documents that proved his daughter was a competetive rower, even though she had never rowed anywhere.

I wondered about this daughter--how would she join a rowing team?  How would she perform?  What would happen when it was clear that she couldn't be part of a rowing team?  What father would do that to his daughter?

I realize that parents push their children all sorts of directions and lie in all sorts of ways.  But this boggles my mind.

I don't have children, but I want to believe that I'd let them make their own way, while trying to guide them to making good decisions.  I know that I wouldn't lie about their accomplishments, even if it might get them a spot at an elite school.  I wouldn't lie, and I wouldn't pay for fake documents.

I work at a school that is so low on the totem pole that wealthy parents would never dream of sending their children there.  We're very close to open admissions--nothing elite about us.  We're serving a very different population.

I am surprised that these parents wouldn't buy influence in usual ways:  funding a building or finding connections who could help the children in more traditional ways.  I am surprised that the children needed this help at all.  Were they really that far off the mark when it came to admissions?  And if I'm from a rich family, does it matter if I go to a top tier school or a close to top tier school?

I know lots of folks in academia, albeit none in top tier schools.  We're all feeling a bit tense about dropping enrollments.  Many of us are wondering what happens in 2026, when we start feeling the hole that's coming from a dropping birth rate that began with the crash of 2008 and a lower immigration rate that's already underway.  Could these children of rich parents not find a legitimate way to school.

Apparently, the children didn't know what their parents were attempting to do and neither did the schools.  I suspect we're going to find out a lot in the coming days about the scope of this crime.

It's one of those days when I'm grateful for my regular life.  No one will approach me with bribes to let their child into the classes I supervise.  I'm not Theresa May, who can't get her government to approve her plan to leave the European Union or to come up with an alternate plan.  My week is a bit of slog, with lots of accreditation writing during the day followed by meetings at night, but next week will be better.  Not everyone can say that.

I know how lucky I am.

Algorithms and the Larger Currents that Control Us

I have been up for hours.  My online course opens at midnight (as Tuesday moves to Wednesday), and I needed to make some decisions about due dates.  And then there's the entering of all of those dates into various places in the course shell.  I'm always a bit amazed at how long it takes.

Happily, there's no end of interesting things to listen to while I'm doing that work that doesn't require much brainpower.  I listened to this interesting episode of 1A about algorithms and how they shape not just our online searches but the larger society.

I'm not usually quite this far behind, but we spent a lot of time this week-end making some home decisions: which microwave? which backsplash? what curtains? what shall we do with the cottage? Well, we didn't make any decisions with the cottage, so much as talk about a lot of options. But it was good to spend some time on design decisions.

I used to scoff at people who use interior designers, but now I kind of understand. Once when we chose a backsplash, we went to Home Depot, looked at the 4-8 choices in our price range, maybe went to Lowe's just to make sure we weren't missing something, and made a decision. Now I am keenly aware that I have more choices by way of the Internet than I have lifetime to consider. It can be paralyzing.

This is the time in the semester where I can feel a bit overwhelmed with my online classes.  As I entered the dates, I thought this is barely manageable.  But I will manage it--says the woman who got up at 2 a.m. to get the dates entered.

I wish I had been up since 2 a.m. working on my poetry or the next great American novel.  Happily, I did get to bed at 8 a.m., so I did get a fair amount of sleep.  And happily, I'm awake and being productive.  I hate to think of the hours that have been sucked away in fruitless Internet searching.

Today will be a long day:  lots of meetings, and not all of them interesting.  For example, HR is coming to talk to us about the I 9 form, which I never thought justified a whole meeting.  And tonight is a BOLD Justice rally--the rally to get ready for the rally where we meet with government officials.  I'm going to tonight's gathering because it's important to some of my church friends.

So, let me close here and start to think about the day ahead.

Hurricane Appeals

Last night, I finally did something I've meant to do for months.  I have been putting off writing an appeal to our windstorm insurance company--such a huge task to look through all the paper I've accumulated as we've done the various tasks. We already got the settlement from the flood insurance company, but we had a substantial amount of other hurricane damage too--$22,000 + as it turns out. I know that, because I sorted paperwork and wrote the appeal letter yesterday. I'm glad I waited until later in the day to do it. It left me somewhat unsettled again--all that damage and the knowledge that hurricane season is right around the corner.

I also got caught up on my grading this week-end--part of that had to happen, because grades are due today.  They are them turned in.

Now I need to turn my attention to figuring out dates for the class that starts on Wednesday.  The work is never ending. 

When I look back on these days and wonder why I wasn't writing and creating more, let me remember that online teaching, even though it is much more convenient than on-ground teaching, takes a chunk of time, and some parts of the term take more time than others.

Let me also remember that hurricane repair takes a lot of time.  I was struck as I sorted the paperwork by how much correspondence has been required.

And let me also remember the despair.  Some people might revel in the fact that they got to make home repairs and changes--all funded by insurance funds.  I am not that person.  I periodically become bogged in despair.  Even when the repairs are over, years later I can hear a song or smell something that takes me back to the repair days, and I weep.

I am glad that I didn't do the appeal letter on Friday night.  I am glad that I was able to be productive in a variety of ways through the week-end.  Now I must get ready for this heavy-duty week that is ahead of me. 

Time Change Grumpies

I am feeling grumpy and frazzled today.  I got over 8 hours of sleep; I should feel better.  Let me collect some thoughts before church.

--Last night we ushered in Daylight Savings Time.  A time change always discombobulates me, no matter whether we're going ahead or back.

--This morning, I have spent much time comparing microwaves, trying to determine whether or not a convection oven feature would be worth several hundred extra dollars.  I'm about to say no, but I don't want to make a decision while grumpy.

--Yesterday afternoon, I spent much time looking at drape possibilities.  We also ordered the backsplash and the undercounter lights.  It feels good to be making progress.

--Will this be the week we get countertops?

--I had a lovely morning yesterday with my quilt group, which meets much more irregularly than we once did.  There is a soothing quality to stitching.

--I came home and finished How to Stop Time by Matt Haig--a wonderful meditation on aging and love.  How would life change if a human life was many centuries, not many decades?

--I also got grading done and grades turned in for the class that ended before Spring Break.

So, let me feel good about what I've done.  Let me get ready for church.  Let me keep trying to keep calm and grounded and centered.

Housing Markets

Last night, we had a pair of realtors come to our house.  My spouse had thought that perhaps we could just let them know that we could be tempted to sell, if they had a client who wanted something like our house.  We don't want to sign a contract or actually put the house on the market, but if someone wants .  He also hoped that if nothing else, we could get a sense of what the house might be worth.

Oh, and if that's not enough, we would want a seller who would take it as is and pay cash.

The realtors were very kind.  They told us what we'd need to do to get the house ready to put on the market. 

We won't be putting it on the market anytime soon--too much to do.

One realtor loved the cottage and playfully scolded us for using it only for storage.  We could be making so much money with Air Bnb!  On and on he went.

Sure, sure we could.  Maybe I could give up an hour or two of sleep--because frankly, between my fulltime administrator job and my part-time online teaching, I don't see a lot of time to become an innkeeper.

My spouse, on the other hand, was filled with the idea of all the money we could make.

As I said to my spouse, "You don't like talking on the phone, you don't check your e-mails, you don't like dealing with government authorities, and you don't like most people.  This doesn't seem like a good career move for you."

This morning, as I drove through the early morning light to get some ingredients for a quiche I'm taking to my quilt group, I had new appreciation for my neighborhood.  It's hard to get a sold-comparables list because all of the houses are so different from each other.  We still have some trees, despite the best efforts of hurricanes. 

I don't want to sell my house.  But I do fear that the rising sea wants it too.