Three Days

Simeon
Before the Infinite could manifest Itself in the finite, it was necessary that man should first have reached that point along his road to Knowledge where, just as it rises from the swamps of Confusion onto the sunny slopes of Objectivity, it forks in opposite directions towards the One and the Many; where, therefore, in order to proceed at all, he must decide which is Real and which only Appearance, yet at the same time cannot escape the knowledge that his choice is arbitrary and subjective.

Chorus
Promising to meet, we parted forever.

W. H. Auden, "The Meditation of Simeon"

Four Days

The Meditation of Simeon

Simeon
As long as the apple had not been entirely digested, as long as there remained the least understanding between Adam and the stars, rivers and horses with whom he had once known complete intimacy, as long as Eve could share in any way with the moods of the rose or the ambitions of the swallow, there was still a hope that the effects of the poison would wear off, that the exile from Paradise was only a bad dream, that the Fall had not occurred in fact.



Chorus
When we awoke, it was day; we went on weeping.

Simeon
As long as there were any roads to amnesia and anaesthesia still to be explored, any rare wine or curiosity of cuisine as yet untested, any erotic variation as yet unimagined or unrealized, any method of torture as yet undevised, any style of conspicuous wasted as yet unindulged, any eccentricity of mania or disease as yet unrepresented, there was still a hope that man has not been poisoned but transformed, that Paradise was not an eternal state from which he had been forever expelled, but a childish state which he had permanently outgrown, that the Fall had occurred by necessity.

Chorus
We danced in the dark, but were not deceived.

-- W. H. Auden, from For The Time Being: A Christmas Oratorio

Five Days

Wise Men
Not In but With our time Love's energy
Exhibits Love's immediate operation;
The choice to love is open till we die.

Shepherds
O Living Love, by your birth we are able
Not only, like the ox and ass of the stable,
  To love with our live wills, but love,
  Knowing we love.

Tutti
O Living Love replacing phantasy,
O Joy of life revealed in Love's creation;
Our mood of longing turns to indication:
Space is the Whom our loves are needed by,
Time is our choice of How to love and Why.

--W. H. Auden

Six Days

The Star of the Nativity
Descend into the fosse of Tribulation,
Take the cold hand of Terror for a guide;
Below you in its swirling desolation
Hear tortured Horror roaring for a bride:
O do not falter at the last request
But, as the huge deformed head rears to kill,
Answer its craving with a clear I Will;
Then wake, a child in the rose-garden, pressed
Happy and sobbing to your lover's breast.

--W. H. Auden

Seven Days

The Second Wise Man
My faith that in Time's constant
   Flow lay real assurance
Broke down on this analysis--
  At any given instant
All solids dissolve, no wheels revolve,
  And facts have no endurance--
And who knows if it is by design or pure inadvertence
That the Present destroys its inherited self-importance?
  With envy, terror, rage, regret,
We anticipate or remember but never are.
  To discover how to be living now
  Is the reason I follow this star.

--W. H. Auden, from "The Summons"

Week-before-Christmas update

Scenes from our house:

1.  Little Red drank a sip of Pine-Sol last night.  Said it tasted bad, and he needed some water.  The Runner called poison control; The Kindergartner cried because he was scared for his little brother.  Little Red just sipped water and looked nonplussed at all the excitement.

2.  We're in a Super Mario Brothers phase right now; The Kindergartner was admonishing me the other night for my poor performance on the game (I really am bad at it).

3.  The Vulcan Baby has a tooth on the bottom poking through--it's a little rough spot, right on the lower front.  Alas, he also has an upper canine making a huge bump . . . he may be snaggletoothed in an even funnier way than Little Red was.

4.  I have finished all the work from this term--at least formally speaking.  Now I just have to deal with all the other stuff that I've let slide.

5.  The Christmas Tree looks pitiful this year, y'all.  It's going to look reeeaaaallly rough come Christmas day, I have a feeling.

6.  We had the place reeaaallly clean . . . on Tuesday.

7.  We're leaning toward letting Sock the Garage Kitty fend more or less for himself for the few days we're visiting grandparentals.  I mean, what's the point of an outdoor cat if he can't be trusted to look after himself for a few days?

8.  No presents under the tree.  Do not trust cats.  Do not trust Vulcan Baby.  Do not trust Little Red.

Eight Days

Semi-Chorus:
Joseph, Mary, pray for those
Misled by moonlight and the rose,
For all in our perplexity.
Lovers who hear a distant bell
That tolls from somewhere in their head
Across the valley of their dream--
'All those who love excessively
Foot or thigh or arm or face
Pursue a louche and fatuous fire
And stumble into Hell'--
Yet what can such foreboding seem
But intellectual talk
So long as bodies walk
An earth where Time and Space
Turn Heaven to a finite bed
and Love into desire?
Pray for us, enchanted with
The green Bohemia of that myth
Where knowledge of the flesh can take
The guilt of being born away,
Simultaneous passions make
One eternal chastity:
Pray for us romantics, pray.

--W. H. Auden, from "The Temptation of St. Joseph"

Nine Days

Joseph
Where are you, Father, where?
Caught in the jealous trap
Of an empty house I hear
As I sit alone in the dark
Everything, everything,
The drip of the bathroom tap,
The creak of the sofa spring,
The wind in the air-shaft, all
Making the same remark
Stupidly, stupidly,
Over and over again.
Father, what have I done?
Answer me, Father, how
can I answer the tactless wall
Or the pompous furniture now?
Answer them . . .

Gabriel
No, you must.

Joseph
How then am I to know,
Father, that you are just?
Give me one reason.

Gabriel
No.

Joseph
All I ask is one
Important and elegant proof
That what my Love had done
Was really at your will
And that your will is Love.


Gabriel
No, you must believe;
Be silent, and sit still.

--W. H. Auden, from "The Temptation of St. Joseph"

Ten Days

Alone, alone, about a dreadful wood
Of conscious evil runs a lost mankind,
Dreading to find its Father lest it find
The Goodness it has dreaded is not good:
Alone, alone, about our dreadful wood.

Where is that Law for which we broke our own,
Where now that Justice for which Flesh resigned
Her hereditary right to passion, Mind
His will to absolute power?  Gone.  Gone.
Where is that Law for which we broke our own?

The Pilgrim Way has led to the Abyss.
Was it to meet such grinning evidence
We left our richly odoured ignorance?
Was the triumphant answer to be this?
The Pilgrim Way has led to the Abyss.

We who must die demand a miracle.
How could the Eternal do a temporal act,
The Infinite become a finite fact?
Nothing can save us that is possible:
We who must die demand a miracle.

--W. H. Auden, Part III of For the Time Being: A Christmas Oratorio

Adventures with Students, vol. 20

Or not, as the case may be...

I'm presently sitting in my office; I'm about to go upstairs and meet my combined composition classes for a mass "exam," which accomplishes two important things:  first, they're turning in their portfolios, second, I'm complying with the law that says we have to "meet" for an "exam."

You'd think that the students would be grateful that there's no test.  Most are.  But there's that one guy, the one who always seems to say the strangest thing possible:

Yeah, I heard your exam is totally lame.
Um, what?
It's like, you don't really do anything.
That's right.  As I've explained, there is no exam in this class.  We're just meeting to turn in portfolios.
Well, I know.  I was just saying that it was a lame excuse for an exam...

(by this point the other students are looking at him like he's radioactive.  I talk over him and move on).

I should have written a test especially for him.

In which Piers hears a challenging word

In a conversation with The Runner yesterday (while sitting with the creeps in the church nursery), as we were exploring the reason why applying for tenure seems so bittersweet to me:


You don't get to study much any more.  You aren't really intellectually challenged in the same way you used to be.  

That's worth thinking about.  Not sure what to do about it, though.

Adventures in parenting, vol. 16

Tree-trimming.  The boys were thrilled to get to decorate the tree this year.  You'll note from the picture at left just how well they did their job. 

The Runner did a bit of rearranging, as you might imagine.

I understand why people like pre-lit trees, though I understand that if one of the pre-lit strands goes out, you're really out of luck.

We went ahead and decided beforehand that perhaps we wouldn't really try to do any full-bore decorating this year.  A wise move, I think.

In which Piers hears a manifesto

let him not be accused of having low self-esteem

During the faculty senate meeting yesterday (less interesting than it sounds, alas), a colleague who had been nominated for VP and withdrawn his name from consideration took the occasion of the opening for nominations "from the floor" to stand up and give a speech, yea, even a manifesto outlining the reasons he should be elected VP (which is the step previous to becoming faculty senate president).  It was quite a performance, delivered passionately--but without flair, outlining convincing policy positions--for a college freshman, showing a keen eye for the pertinent issues surrounding state-supported higher education--for a person who might know what they read in teh blogs and the Jackson Sun.  Seriously, it was well-meant but showed him to be somewhat of a dullard.  At least in my estimation.  But then, I'm not interested in an activist faculty senate president who speaks in all seriousness about we faculty members "using our collective authority and power to make positive changes to our society."  Seriously, dude, after complaining about the length of the previous senate meeting, and then dropping out of the race just to use this opportunity to publicly climb back in it?

weaksauce.

plus, "society??"  really??

"In the whole wild world there's no magic place..."

Yesterday I learned about one of my former students who had left school.  I had thought it was a financial issue.  Turns out he dropped out because he'd been caught with a significant stash of marijuana.  With intent to sell, apparently.  I hope his readmission hearing went well.  

And then, there was a conversation about some unsavory details regarding the conduct of our current Vice Chancellor for Student Affairs.  I've heard a lot of things hinted at, but this goes well beyond the ineptitude that I've heard hinted at and seen glimpses of. 

And here I am worried that my course evaluations won't be up to snuff!  Just the other night I had a dream in which I was "transferred" to UTC because I wasn't going to get tenure here.

"...so you might as well rise, put on your bravest face."  (Peart)

Memphis (half) Marathon Weekend

1.  The Runner is pleased with her time for the half marathon:  just over two hours!  She came away from the run feeling as happy as could be (as the picture above indicates).

2.  We learned that next year we'll opt for accommodations closer to the race site.

3.  And what is the deal with hotels that make you pay $10.00 per day for internet access, and offer a $13.00 breakfast buffet?  They didn't even have complimentary coffee in the lobby, for pete's sake.  I know it's a lot to ask, but when your garden-variety Hampton Inn offers free wifi, free breakfast, indoor pool, etc., it makes the hotel look awfully lame.  Attention, Hilton:  this is the 21st century.

4.  The boys did like the floor-to-ceiling window looking out over the "moat" surrounding the hotel.  The Kindergartner's reaction was:  OH. MY. GOOD. NESS.  THE HOTEL IS ON A SWIMMING POOL.

5.  Handling three little boys in a hotel room is a job not for the faint of heart.

6.  I'm sure there's a lot more to see in Memphis than traffic . . . maybe next time.

Adventures with Students, vol. 19

"Tis a bawdy planet; 'twill strike where 'tis predominant."

This one isn't funny.

Student comes in today for a routine conference, and in short order I learn that she is pregnant due to a sexual assault she experienced over the summer; that she has been harassed by fellow students and even by instructors; that she has considered leaving this institution and transferring somewhere else to get yet another fresh start.

I'll admit that these days it's not hard to get me to hate the world, but this one really pierced my heart. Life isn't fair even to the best of us, but give me (more properly, her) a break.

To her credit, and my wonder, she is handling it quite well.

xkcd

Adventures in parenting, vol. 15

In the car, on the ride to MPS this morning:

Daddy, is today the last day of November?
Yes, it is, now that you mention it.
Yaaaayy!  That means soon there'll be lots of snow on the ground!
Ummmmm--
That's what happens in December, Daddy.  It's Winter.  We have to have snow.
...
...
It's funny how the books and cartoons having to do with Christmas so often feature snow . . . when most of us don't get any snow until well after Christmas, if at all. 

I didn't mean to take such a long break

...it's just that things are busy around here.

Adventures with Students, vol. 18

Below, verbatim text from an email I received this morning:

My rough draft isnt long in words yet, but what I have put on paper so far I feel is very effective. My mind is racing with ideas on how to go at this paper, which is a good thing I just gotta find ways of putting in on paper. Last night I read all the readings over, and made key notes on different connections or what have you. In other words what Im trying to tell you is IM GONE SMASH THIS PAPER! LOL I think my last paper was a disaster because I can honestly say I didnt go 110% on it like I have been all semester. I have every intention on presenting you with that paper as well, with full detail on the authority of "science." I thank you for Dr. Hill for the praise you give me on my papers but Its because of your unique style of teaching that I have gained so much knowledge in the past couple months. You my homie Dr, Hill, they need more like you big dog, look forward to taking your next course. Holla atcha in a min.

As you can see, dude isn't your usual student, but I've loved having him in my class.  And the praise isn't such a bad thing either.  I mean, as far as praise goes.

Adventures in parenting, vol. 14

Good news from MPS this week:  The Kindergartner was awarded Star Student of the Month for his class.  Aaaand, he got a certificate for "Perfect Attendance, Second Six Weeks" (sounds too much like a public school award). 

The Vulcan Baby showed a new trick last night:  he rolled right off the changing table, and fell to the floor.  Scared his mother to death, but other than squalling out his fright, he was fine.

Little Red, well . . . he's just the way he is.  His new trick is attempting to postpone bedtime by informing us that he is afraid of the "gark."

"doomed to be free"

A moment of deep thought in front of my morning class today as I confronted this statement in an essay by Chinua Achebe. I stopped and asked them what they thought about it.  How can freedom be a "doom," which usually seems like such a negative thing?

I could have told them all sorts of things, because they looked quizzically and sleepily at me without seeming to care about the question.  It was from a place closer to my heart than they know that I spoke:

"Think about all the voices asking, prodding, seducing you to do things, to believe things, to be a certain kind of person . . . and in every case, the possibility of a good choice comes with the peril of a wrong choice, and then there are those choices that you have to make where there are no good options, or choices where the outcome is so uncertain that you don't know how you'll pay.

"I'll tell you:  it doesn't get easier or simpler as you get older; more is at stake, and there are even more restrictions on your options--but you still have to confront the burden of your own freedom.

Paging Mr. Donne and his Third Satire.

Adventures in parenting, vol. 13

The White Belt. 

The Kindergartner has now attended enough Tae Kwon Do "little ninjas" classes (yeah . . . can't do anything about the name, though) to qualify for his official white belt.  He is really enjoying the Monday and Wednesday night sessions, and I hope he'll stick with it.  I could have used something like this when I was his age...something to give me confidence and bodily discipline (at least as much as a six year old can have such a thing). 

He had to go to his AWANA class* at church directly after, but absolutely didn't allow me to change him back into his regular clothes.  He wasn't about to take off that belt.

Heavy Weights

The Spouse came home this afternoon awfully laden down by the pain expressed by her clients.  It has to be hard to hear all that.  She said, "it's hard to not just throw one's hands up in the air and ask, what's the point in trying?" 

I can relate to that question. 

Mr. Mom Weekend a Qualified Success

So we boys had the run of the house while The Spouse and the Vulcan Baby went to Chicago for the Hot Chocolate 15k.  Meanwhile, Little Red developed his seasonal asthma symptoms, and the wheezing made him more frantic and hyper than usual...we're going to start monitoring his food and see if there are certain dyes, etc. that also set him off.  He got me up in the middle of the night on Friday and Saturday nights to give him an Albuterol treatment.  I was in sleep debt anyway, staying up until watching movies.  I won't say that I didn't grow in crankiness yesterday.  Meanwhile, The Kindergartner did fine at his Saturday soccer game, but by the time he got up on Sunday he was complaining of a sore throat . . . and then by the time he got home from children's choir last night, he was running a fever.  'Tis Strep, naturally. 

So we made it, but two of the three of us are limping across the finish line quite sickly.  Oh well.  I'm just glad The Spouse had a good time up in Chicago.

Items of Professional Concern

a.  I've heard the terms "civic engagement" and "service learning" an awful lot this semester.  It's often phrased as an "opportunity" or "point of emphasis."  What I'm waiting for is the moment when it becomes "strongly encouraged" . . . and then a criterion for tenure and promotion . . .

b.  The second edition of this book, which I've been using in my composition class for the past few Fall semesters, is far inferior to the first edition, and I've found myself severely hampered by its tendentious selection of texts.  I'm not teaching the class effectively.  Now I have to decide if I need to dump the textbook for a different book, or try to adjust my approach to fit with the strengths the book retains.

c.  The bookstore people here on this campus have some explaining to do.  I thought their approach to buying textbooks was mandated from "above," wherever that is, but in the latest faculty senate meeting I found that the picture is more complicated (and disturbing). . . it seems that the bookstore itself is attempting to set some policy.  I like the ladies that work there, but their standing on campus especially among the faculty is pretty (and understandably) poor.

d.  Difficult students by the cart-full this term, and I'm not sure I'm responding well to their explicit demands for my attention and their implicit demands on my patience. 

Adventures in parenting, vol. 12

Little Red is in love

Felis catus.

The story was related to us over the weekend:  someone stopped in front of our neighbor's house, opened the door, and tossed out a little black & white kitty.  They had seen the cat that night, but not at all that next day.  Well, fast-forward to Monday, when I received a report from The Spouse that the little kitty had appeared out from under the van, and Little Red was beside himself with joy, playing with said kitty.  The Spouse had fed the kitty, so we know what that means:  welcome, number three.  We're keeping him as an outdoor/garage kitty, figuring that almost 40 pounds of feline in the house is more than enough with the two we have.

Plus, Simon hates interlopers.

Little Red has made the choice for us:  he loves the little cat so very much--laughs, calls him "my best friend," and "sweet little kitty."

We are teaching him to be gentle with the little furball.

Kindness

"put on your bravest face"

I really try to treat everyone with kindness and understanding.  I'm not really the most patient person in the world, and I do actually have strong opinions, but I prefer to keep most of that stuff between myself and my journal.  I'll be honest, though:  recently, my capacity to keep on being kind has been severely tested.  You know how in those movies where the hero and the damsel are hanging over the edge of the cliff by a rope, the camera always gives us a tight shot on the rope as it begins to fray and part?  It's like I'm watching my own patience come undone, strand by strand.  First it's a student whose antics have gone from pitiful to annoying; then it's another student who just takes up too much of my time before class is due to start; then it's a meeting that goes twice as long as it needs to; then it's poor Vulcan Baby, who is quite miserable due to teething--and is making the rest of us miserable; then it's the cat yowling for food . . .

 . . . again, the Bilbo Baggins metaphor about butter scraped too thinly on a crust of bread . . .

 . . . but we mustn't give up, must we? 

Super Hero Squad

Piggy

The Little Ghost

Adventures in parenting, vol. 11

A couple of nights ago, The Kindergartner busts out this gem during dinner:

boogersnot!

I remember using it myself.  Let me just say that it's awfully hard not to laugh at stuff like that.

Adventures with Students, vol. 17

put on your bravest face

Got asked this morning by a student, after I admitted to them that the Darwin reading I'd given them was difficult even for me:  "wait . . . how come you're making us read something that you don't even understand?  How are you going to grade our performance?"

Fair question, though it proceeds from flawed premises.  Let me see if I can work my way toward a satisfactory answer.

First, I think it's a comforting fiction for many students to think that their teachers have mastered all the material they teach.  In the hard sciences, this might even be the case:  there is a certain set of facts and procedures, theories, etc., that represent the requisite material one needs to be able to teach.  In the humanities, however, and especially in the range of readings that one approaches in a composition class, it's a pipe-dream. 

Second, it's worth examining whether or not mastery of an essay is necessary in order to teach it.  I don't hold to that, of course.  I think the more important thing is to have a handle on interpretive strategies, on contextual knowledge, on the workings of rhetoric and philosophy in the general sense.  With those tools, it's possible to approach an enormous range of topics successfully.

Third, education and knowledge isn't the same thing as automatically "knowing" everything about every writer you face--or even understanding everything he or she says. A young person can be idealistic about knowing everything . . . as is the case with so much else, time and life teach otherwise.

Day off. A photo essay.

 Just me and the cats and a bit of work today.  Featuring Sidney in his "do I look like I care?" pose, Simon typically oblivious, my Macbook, a cup of Aeropress coffee, my 1972 Pilot Myu fountain pen, a Field Notes memo book, and Tolstoy's little volume.  

pig . . .

. . . picked.

Six Years Later

Face

There will be time . . . to prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet.

I tell thee what, Antonio--
I love thee, and it is my love that speaks--
There are a sort of men whose visages
Do cream and mantle like a standing pond,
And do a wilful stillness entertain,
With purpose to be dress'd in an opinion
Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit,
As who should say 'I am Sir Oracle,
And when I ope my lips let no dog bark!'
O my Antonio, I do know of these
That therefore only are reputed wise
For saying nothing; when, I am very sure,
If they should speak, would almost damn those ears,
Which, hearing them, would call their brothers fools.
I'll tell thee more of this another time:
But fish not, with this melancholy bait,
For this fool gudgeon, this opinion.

--Merchant of Venice, Act 1 Scene 1

(hahaha!  Sir Oracle!!)

Hawks Road Hawg Roast # 5 Update

hey, it's a pig pickin.  Didn't say anything about "pretty."

This fifth year, we're doing things pretty much the same as we've done them in the past.  We had to get new sheets of tin this year, though:  the old one we've been using finally bit the dust.  I have to give credit to The Spouse, because without her, frankly, this wouldn't get done at all.  So far, however, we have managed the following:

a.  Cleaned up the yard for the most part
b.  Procured 2/3 of the tin we need
c.  Pits are built and ready to go
d.  1/2 the charcoal we need is in the garage ready to go
e.  Gotten ingredients for the All-Important Carolina Style Sauce
f.  Ordered one (1) 180-lb. sow for our consumption (from Yoder's, of course; head included for theatrical effect)
g.  Straightened up portions of the house and garage that have sorely needed it since winter
h.  Ordered fine weather for this coming Friday and Saturday

Adventures in parenting, vol. 10

The Kindergartner was most excited about spending the night with his best buddy.

Until it got to about 7:30 . . . at which point the tears started.  A bargain was made; he would wait until 8:30 and then decide.  He did well . . .

He waited until almost 9:00 before he called asking to be brought home.

Swapshopping for bucks

One of the most hilarious/annoying features of daily life around here is the flood of emails that come in from "Swapshop," a local email group used to list things/services for sale, etc.  Below, a sample from today:

If anyone has a small set of antlers they want to get rid of, please respond.  I am going to modify them to attach a birdhouse as a project.  They don't have to be in good condition.   If the antlers are not attached to the face of an animal....that is a plus!  [paging Gaston...]
Matching motorcycle jacket, helmet, and gloves for sell. [seen this one countless times]

Suade leather coat  [suade . . . is that some exotic asian breed?]

VHS Videos for sale- $2.00 each (some without cases)
The Land Before Time- Journey through the mist
Beethoven’s 2nd
Joe Somebody
ALI
The Jungle Book
Bush Whacked
Space Jam
Men in Black
The world is not enough
The Little Rascals- volume 7
Men in Black II
Camp Nowhere
Tomorrow Never Dies
Wild Hearts can’t be broken
Lady and the Tramp
Bambi
All dogs go to heaven 2
Timeless tales
Rupelstiltzkin
Polar Express
The Little Mermaid
Ice Age 
[lady, I'll give you $2.00 for the lot.  You do realize these are VHS TAPES, don't you?]

INTJ

I had an older colleague ask me today, in all seriousness, to explain to her about introversion. "I really don't know what that's all about," she said.

um, where to begin?

gallows humor of the day

From the inimitable James Lileks:


Went over to Macy’s, because they’re having a sale on comforters. (Items that caustically describe your faults and the inability you’ll overcome them, human nature being depressingly immutable, were not on sale.) 

cloudy

Some days the sadness creeps in from all directions.  There's so much suffering all around us, even in the midst of what looks like laughter. 

dust motes

object of major desire

Pee-wee soccer update:  in each game, The Kindergartner has shown the ability to break away with the ball, and also shown the ability to be utterly out to lunch.  When he's focused, he does pretty well. 

**

Twelve days until the Pig Pickin:  and we're getting things in shape.  This year will feature t-shirts!

**

I'm glad I don't get bent out of shape over football games anymore:  otherwise yesterday's debacle by the Tide at South Carolina would have really bothered me.  As it stands, it's like "oh well.  next."  Now if I could only get that way about college basketball.

**

Grandparent surprises:  we met Papa for dinner in Jackson on Friday evening; Grammie came to spend yesterday afternoon and evening with us.  The boys liked being surprised.  Little Red is especially demonstrative with his pleasure at being thus surprised.

**

Speaking of Jackson:  the object pictured at the top of this post caused enormous anguish.  The Kindergartner REALLY REALLY WANTS IT and can't understand why his parents didn't just get one at the store for him RIGHT NOW.  It may be delivered by a certain company before October 21st.

**


New trees:  have made it so far for this week.   

**

Busy days at work:  like, incredibly so. 

Adventures in professoring, vol. 1

 

Now leaving on Track 6...









It was too good to last, obviously.  It looks like the Governor's School for the Humanities gravy train has left the station without me on board.  It has been a good experience, and has also (coincidentally, of course) been a steady source of summer income that I could count on every year.  Until Budget Cuts strike, and they have to make a choice about cutting a section of English Composition.  Perfectly understandable.  It came down to me and a colleague of mine:  one would be kept, one laid off.  Well, I did what I considered the right thing:  I conceded the choice to the senior colleague.  He has seniority, so it's only fair.  Sad to miss the opportunity, though.

Adventures with Students, vol. 16

Standing outside chatting with a particularly voluble older student from my Shakespeare class.  He's congratulating himself on being talkative in class, contributing a lot, etc.  I'm reminding him that perhaps some students in the class are quite tuned in, just not particularly anxious to talk.  Maybe they're introverted.  He comes out with this gem: 

I had to get over my introversion before I was ready to become a teacher.  I don't want to wilt in front of a class!

I leaned in really close and said:

Here's a secret:  I'm an extreeeme introvert.

Then I bid him good day.

Adventures in parenting, vol. 9

Sometime in the middle of the night, Little Red climbed in bed with us.  This is a common occurrence; The Spouse thinks it happens when he kicks the covers off and gets cold.  I just roll over and let him get in. 

Next thing I know, I'm involved in this exchange:

daddee.
...
daddee.
....
daaddeee.

mmmffmfmm?

daaaaddeeee.
...
hmmmm?
...
daaaddeee.

....mmmmwhahhtissit?

don't do that again.

...whaaa?

you don't do that ever again.

...do what again?

I don't like it when you do that.

Apparently I fell asleep again, because once again we repeated the pattern (while, I might add, The Spouse was in the other room trying to get the Vulcan Baby to settle down--and apparently snickering as she listened in).  Again, he very strenuously told me that I was not to do that ever again because I don't like it when you do that.

It was only after I got out of bed this morning that The Spouse explained what had happened.  I tried to tell her about this hilarious thing that Little Red said while he was dreaming last night, but she interrupted my funny story to inform me that it had been my snoring that offended Little Red so badly.

Somebody has a birthday today

just a few years later, she has one with the same kind of naughty naughty smile.