Not all the water in the rough rude sea

Among the distressing new developments:  countless students now use the word "thrown" when they mean "throne."  It's not the fault of MS Word autocorrect or anything . . . because they do it in handwritten assignments as well. 

DRIVES ME NUTS.  but then, I'm an "English Professor" and probably need a life.

Keeping On

A student of mine came in for a conference today.  She looked like she had lost her best friend--which is unsurprising, since she did just that over the weekend.  He got carried off by a particularly aggressive cancer.  Too young, too young.

A friend stopped by yesterday and spoke with us for a while.  He's having an incredibly terrible time, has lost a bunch of weight (hmmmm, sounds familiar), and there's no end in sight.



I pick up the NYT today (mainly for gardening use, but I will glance at some pages), and see yet another picture of bombing victims. 

Sometimes, the best we can do is hang on for one more day.

The Night of October 27

I know of at least four things going on tonight at roughly the same time:

1.  The Phi Kappa Phi fall lecture, which I am attending as part of my duties on the executive council.

2.  A clarinet/saxophone recital by a colleague--which I would be attending if I didn't have the above event to attend.

3.  A lecture by a history professor--on Troy!

4.  This, which needs no comment, and which I know some of my female students are excited about:

... I told some of my female students that they could really have a good time if they got male faculty to do it, but they didn't seem convinced.  I actually think I got a couple of silent appraisals (and dismissals) upon mentioning it.

hello, class. I'll be your professor for the remainder of the term.

A colleague of mine was struck down with two heart attacks yesterday; she is now convalescing in a hospital in Jackson, TN.  Due to her age (she's in her 70's), it's highly doubtful that she'll be back in the classroom this term.

Perhaps impetuously, I volunteered to take over her section of English 270, our "World Lit" course, which is more or less an "excerpts of great books" class.  Assuming the department chair approves, I'll be starting with Plato's Apology on Tuesday, then moving on to Aristotle, Virgil, the Bible, Dante, Boccaccio, etc. . . I'm using her plans from previous terms to provide a rough outline for myself as I plan the remainder of the term. 

My colleagues are impressed:  "oh, you're so kind to take this over."  Well, maybe.  Frankly, though, this is also a course that I've coveted for some time . . . so though this will be labor, it will be a labor of love, to be certain.

XY

light eternal

Pirate Party!

to celebrate the Big Brother's 5th Birthday (actually coming on Wednesday 10/21).

Whole slew of pictures here.

Because it's Friday.

Midway already.

The most difficult thing is to avoid comparing every day to its counterpart last year. 

Things change in ways you could never anticipate. 

There's hard work being done at home and in the office.  And in my heart.

But in any case, when the Big Brother asks me to take him to bed & read him a story, I'm there.

Ahhh, pregnancy.

"And a sword will pierce your own soul also."

I looked at him this morning, while Little Red was in my lap stealing my breakfast, and he had his pajama pants pulled up over his knees, and his red socks pulled up to his knees, and he was stacking a little tractor on a big tractor, rolling it across the floor, paying no attention to my watchful eye. 

It struck me:  he will soon be too old, too old.  I know every stage has its own pleasures, to quote my mother, but:  sitting where I am today, I don't want to lose that little boy.

Testimony.

My assignment for this Sunday:





The topic for your testimony is "God's goodness and what it means to the life of our church and how the new sanctuary will be of value to our church."  I was told to limit people to 5 minutes for these testimonies. 




Here's the text of what I'm saying today:

Good morning, friends.  One year ago, on this very day, I wasn't sure I would see Halloween, let alone another Christmas or another school year.  I have struggled with what the psychologists call "Major Depressive Disorder" my whole life, but last year was a whole new circle of hell.  It literally almost killed me.  Every day for about three months, I ended journal entries with a prayer:  God, please let me die. 

You will note that God has not yet obliged. [more after the break]

Careful where you point that.

Wit's an unruly engine, wildly striking
Sometimes a friend, sometimes the engineer.
Hast thou the knack?  pamper it not with liking:
But if thou want it, buy it not too dear.
  Many, affecting wit beyond their power,
  Have got to be a dear fool for an hour.

(Herbert, "The Church Porch," st. 41)

(picture:  flickr)

Happy Homecoming

"We lean another ladder against the wrong wall--"

from Indexed.

"I Must Work Harder," saith the horse

Two things I came across recently. 

The first:  is a to-do list a help or a hindrance?  Does it perhaps keep you focused on minutiae--making illusory "progress"--when you should be working on bigger projects?

The second: 

Much more important than working hard is knowing how to find the right thing to work on. Paying attention to what is going on in the world. Seeing patterns. Seeing things as they are rather than how you want them to be. Being able to read what people want. Putting yourself in the right place where information is flowing freely and interesting new juxtapositions can be seen. But you can save yourself a lot of time by working on the right thing. Working hard, even, if that's what you like to do.   (caterina.net)

Faculty spotlight profile: Dr. Chris Hill - Arts & Entertainment

The campus newspaper actually did a small feature on me. They had to fill up space somehow, I guess!

Faculty spotlight profile: Dr. Chris Hill - Arts & Entertainment

We are all ripe and ready to be taken.

Will Fortune never come with both hands full,
But write her fair words still in foulest letters?
She either gives a stomach and no food--
Such are the poor, in health; or else a feast
And takes away the stomach--such are the rich
That have abundance and enjoy it not.
(2 Henry IV 4.4.103-108)

in reference to the above, consider the email I just received:

I really don't have a good excuse for the classes that I am missing and I am scared that I will fail every class this semester. All I can say is I am Bi-polor, ADHD, and I have a lot of trouble sleeping at night. The reason for this email is to try to show that I'm not just skipping class because I don't care to go. Its just that I'm a very heavy sleeper and when I do wake up in the morning most of the time I'm not completely awake so I end up just turning the alarm off and passing out again. I kick my self in the ass every time I do wake up late. I really just want to know if there is anything I can do to make up for the time I have missed.

Just look around; someone next to you is suffering. 


No, I'm not talking about myself.  For once.

Adventures with Students, vol. 12

or, Cue Aerosmith's "Jaded."

I quote from an end of class assessment:

"So Astrophil cannot help himself from loving Stella.  Cupid has a strong hold on him, and even reason has kneeled before his love for Stella.  It doesn't seem like he's told her, but why not tell her?  It wouldn't hurt anything if he's in such AGONY and MISERY over the whole thing.  Jesus.  Love and my ripe old age have just jaded me.


Lovey Dovey rah-rah-rah."

Kind pity; Brave scorn

Careless Phrygius doth abhor
All, because all cannot be good, as one
Knowing some women whores, dares marry none.
Graccus loves all as one, and thinks that so
As women do in divers countries go
In divers habits, yet are still one kind,
So doth, so is Religion; and this blind-
ness too much light breeds; but unmoved, thou
Of force must one, and forc'd, but one allow,
And the right; ask thy father which is she,
Let him ask his; though truth and falsehood be
Near twins, yet truth a little elder is;
Be busy to seek her; believe me this,
He's not of none, nor worst, that seeks the best.
To adore, or scorn an image, or protest,
May all be bad; doubt wisely; in strange way
To stand inquiring right, is not to stray;
To sleep, or run wrong, is. On a huge hill,
Cragged and steep, Truth stands, and he that will
Reach her, about must and about must go,
And what the hill's suddenness resists, win so.
Yet strive so that before age, death's twilight,
Thy soul rest, for none can work in that night.
To will implies delay, therefore now do;
Hard deeds, the body's pains; hard knowledge too
The mind's endeavours reach, and mysteries
Are like the sun, dazzling, yet plain to all eyes.
Keep the truth which thou hast found; men do not stand
In so ill case, that God hath with his hand
Sign'd kings' blank charters to kill whom they hate;
Nor are they vicars, but hangmen to fate.
Fool and wretch, wilt thou let thy soul be tied
To man's laws, by which she shall not be tried
At the last day? Oh, will it then boot thee
To say a Philip, or a Gregory,
A Harry, or a Martin, taught thee this?
Is not this excuse for mere contraries
Equally strong? Cannot both sides say so?

(from Donne, Satire 3)

Sundays are difficult for me, because I am the way I am--skeptical, analytical, withdrawn.  These are all traits that don't mix particularly well with your garden-variety Baptist church.  Do not misunderstand:  I don't consider myself better than those around me; I just consider myself one who always feels more than a little uncomfortable talking about God the way we tend to talk about God at my local church.  And our new pastor, bless his good but dogmatic heart, is doing me no favors in this regard. 

It feels like wearing a collar that's just a bit too tight--

why hello there, Mr. Herbert.  Didn't see you come in. 

And We Said Nothing, All the Day

We then, who are this new soul, know,
    Of what we are composed, and made,
For th' atomies of which we grow
    Are souls, whom no change can invade.

But, O alas ! so long, so far,
    Our bodies why do we forbear?
They are ours, though not we ; we are
    Th' intelligences, they the spheres.

We owe them thanks, because they thus
    Did us, to us, at first convey,
Yielded their senses' force to us,
    Nor are dross to us, but allay.

On man heaven's influence works not so,
    But that it first imprints the air ;
For soul into the soul may flow,
    Though it to body first repair.

As our blood labours to beget
    Spirits, as like souls as it can ;
Because such fingers need to knit
    That subtle knot, which makes us man ;

So must pure lovers' souls descend
    To affections, and to faculties,
Which sense may reach and apprehend,
    Else a great prince in prison lies.

To our bodies turn we then, that so
    Weak men on love reveal'd may look ;
Love's mysteries in souls do grow,
    But yet the body is his book.

(From "The Ecstasy" by John Donne)

Just because it's a Friday.

Tumblr.

To retrospect--just once, then no more

This was the blog entry for this day last year. 


"Scars of pleasure--
Scars of pain--
Atmospheric changes make them sensitive again."
(--Rush)