Into the Wild Wood and Home Again

I woke up and checked my email today; I have another poem accepted for publication, in yet another foreign journal. This is a relief, as so many US-based journals send rejection after rejection. Yes, it's a numbers game, most of the time, but it's hard to believe in one's own ability sometimes. I'm not seeking pats on the back or "there, there" moments at all. I just finished a series of wonderful chapbook-development classes with a cohort of dedicated and careful writers/readers. I know which of my poems have promise, which ones are flat as a pancake, and which ones feel "settled." Maybe it's that I've been working so long and hard on this project, and it's still so flawed, or so it feels. And I don't want to make the mistake of over-doing it; I used to try to draw with charcoals, and by the time I got done "fixing" a drawing, it was a dark smudge on the paper. Ruined through the efforts to improve it. Sigh.  At any rate, a

In a test-stump-speech this weekend in Salem, NH, the former president railed on about his ideas for education changes. Parents voting for principals and getting rid of tenure were two of his ideas. Certifying "patriotic" teachers was another (shades of the oath I had to sign 36 years ago that made me promise not to join the Communist party). Denying federal funds for schools that "teach divisive concepts" (no one is, but gee, they like that phrase) is a primary focus for his plan as well.  One thing he said troubled me most, though. That was when he said that parents know best what their children need to learn. Now, I'm all for parental input, but teachers are credentialed, licensed, educated professionals. Unless a parent is up to speed on pedagogy and content, then I would hope that teachers would be trusted with doing what is best to help prepare the students for life beyond k-12 schooling. Have we ever been trusted? Other professionals with the same level o

Most of us are fairly familiar with the Beatitudes from the Gospel of Matthew; they essentially summarize the whole of the Sermon on the Mount, and they are usually taken as a road map for decent living. Each of the statements flips "worldly expectations" and presents something worth pondering. Some of them are kind of hard to wrap your mind around, given our general human-failings status. Today, while Fr. Ryan explicated each of the phrases in turn, he offered a different understanding for "Blessed are they who mourn, for they shall be comforted." Usually, we think of this in terms of when people have lost loved ones and their need for comforting. Fr. Ryan couched his reading in terms of how, when people have come to understand that they have fallen into sinful acts and they are truly sorrowful about their actions, then they will receive comfort.  Hm. Given the news this week, and in fact, for the last year and change, at least, there has been/is a lot to mourn, as

I am in no way qualified to talk about the legal mess that the murder of yet another black motorist by police personnel is unfolding to be.  What I am reacting to most strongly is the heartbreak of yet another mother who will now carry in her heart and spirit the powerlessness to help her own child, when the world outside her influence has decided that her child should die. This is nothing new, as we all know. The pain and anguish, anger and nausea that overwhelms mothers, time and again, all the world over, since the beginning of time, is too much to bear.  What would you do --what would I do-- if my adult child cried out for me in their final moments?  It's too much to think about. Too much to process.  Mary saw Jesus on the cross; she lost her son to the world.  Mamie Till Mobley identified her mutilated son; she lost her son to the world. RowVaughn Wells stands before the cameras, broken, because she, too, has lost her son to the world. The list is vastly incomplete, but the pa

In a gently humorous trolling, A&W has announced that Rooty the Great will now wear pants. The spokesbear for the root beer brand has been pantless --like so many other beloved cartoon figures-- all along, but, bowing to the social pressures put on by Fox News, Rooty will now wear jeans. This is, of course, all in fun, and in solidarity with the M&M spokescandies that I wrote about yesterday. Fox Business, however, did not get the joke . They took it seriously, and are all up in arms about "wokeness" and "cancel culture" in cartoon figure advertising. For heaven's sake. Lighten up, Right-wingers. In more serious news, there is a group of young scholars who are going to be suing Gov. DeSantis over his denial of their right to an optional college-board course of studies in African American History. I, for one, think it's pretty darn refreshing to see a group of kids agitating to have access to education. Maybe there's hope for us yet. Have a good d

In stark contrast to the national and international news of woe, pain, anguish, and suffering, there's Tucker Carlson's apparent disillusionment with M&M spokescandies' lack of sexuality. What the actual hell. The new purple candy is "obese" (although she is the same size as the blue and the yellow ones, who are, ostensibly, male). The green candy ditched her go-go boots for sneakers. The brown one traded stilettos for more sensible pumps. And Tucker Carlson is turned off . He's  declared that "'M&M's will not be satisfied until every last cartoon character is deeply unappealing and totally androgynous'," and that when "'you're totally turned off, we've achieved equity'" (npr). First, why is any human male hoping to get his engine running with images of candy? Is there anywhere to go with that? It's perhaps a sticky situation--though we have all grown up knowing that M&Ms melt in your mouth, not i

Thirty mass shootings in 24 days. Why? Just--why?   The headlines are depressing enough; there is precious little that brings a smile to a reader's face as it is. But "...another one" should not be in the mix.  That's all for today.  C

Yesterday, I started a whole new semester with a new group of students in my dual credit course, Survey of American Literature. I always wonder whether they'll find any value in what we are reading, or if they'll come with the preconceived idea that it's all just stuff they have to get through in order to earn credit to graduate.  For some, that's likely true, no matter what I --we-- do. But since I've been at this teaching thing for a while now (year 36), I try to weigh the curriculum against that assumed push-back, and see if I can bridge the gap quickly enough so that they will trust me and go along this literary journey more willingly.  The first personal narrative I assign is a doozy: I ask them to take a week and work on an answer to the question, "What is an American?"  That throws them. Some default to "born here" or "loves the country"-- but others wander into some early stages of introspection. Those are the ones I know I can

The homily this week was a really good one, given thoughtfully by our church deacon. I love listening to him, because he always seems to be talking to each of us personally, instead of delivering a missive. He was talking about relationships; specifically, God's relationship to us, and how, like any friendship, the relationship was/is worked out gradually over time. For Creation and Creator to come to know one another more fully, it took/takes baby steps, and we will likely spend the rest of human existence exploring the depths of that relationship. Deacon Steve also pointed out (and this I found both amusing and humbling) that we can look to the sky with a telescope and see infinite variation, and we can peer through a microscope and see infinite variation, and we can look at everything in between: we, and it, are all Creation. We are connected, in our infinite variety. We are all treasured and loved as part of one larger scope of existence.  Then he went on to talk about what rel

Y'know what is (Cole) Strange? How names seem to dictate one's destiny. Ok, make that Dick (Butkus) -tate?  In no particular order: Love, Flowers, Succop (can you imagine how mean kids were in high school?), Manhertz, and Waddle. Yes, Waddle. And Hurts.  It even seems a little like false advertising when we see these huge men with Little on their jerseys. It seems like the rough n' tough names like Knute Rockne are a thing of the past.  But my new favorite name (and there are so many interesting ones, some of which I cannot pronounce...like Tua Tagovailoa's full first name (Tuanigamanuolepola) has got to be the Sooners' back up QB: General Booty. Yup.  Fact. You can look it up.  And speaking of facts, here's a fun fact: Adam Vinatieri's ancestor was a violin player in the orchestra that General Custer traveled with (yes, he did, for real). If he'd died at Little Big Horn, the Pats would not have won that Super Bowl. See? Music is important. Have a great

So, now AP courses are under DeSantis' scrutiny. Floridian high schoolers are, he claims, at risk of having their innocence lost if they are able to take an AP course in African-American Studies. The course has been summarily banned because he feels it lacks educational value, and the College Board should "come back to the table with lawful, historically accurate content." HUH? The course has been in development for over a decade, and it presents a sophisticated examination and presentation of information not found in most textbooks. I wish I had been able to take a class like that. It might have helped me understand more fully our contemporary social problems a little more deeply. Wait--isn't that the goal of education? Not in Florida. Not in a lot of our states and communities-- it is pretty damned scary. This makes me think sadly and ashamedly about my own miseducation. I've been working long and hard for years to balance my knowledge, taking courses, reading

But, as things go, I have to work. No snow day. Just heavy wet snow and students who, predictably, will be kvetching about having to be at school when they could be a/ plowing, b/ skiing, and most likely, c/ sleeping. Their final papers are in for me, so I can't really blame them. I was hoping for a day to do grading and drink coffee. O well. My whole family is off today without me, so I assume I'll have to enjoy first sled ride fun with Holly through pictures I will get later in the day. I'm glad she'll be able to get outdoors and have a good time! Today is also the last day of this semester; most kids have learned something, and most kids have tried their best. That's about all we can ask, right? Then, it's the quick flip this weekend: grade the final papers, enter grades online, then switch my brain over to new students and new subject matter. I also have my occasional writing group meeting on Sunday, and a whole lot of football to listen to/watch.  So... I&#

The forecast is calling for snow. Actual, a few-inches-worth snow.  We've had a pretty dismal, unlovely winter so far--granted, it's been a lot easier on heating bills, on driving, and not having to wear boots daily has been nice. But the dead-looking landscape is depressingly gray/brown. The ski resorts, upon which our local economy relies for much of their revenue, are struggling to keep trails open, mainly with manufactured snow. A major fundraiser for the local snowmobile club is not looking likely at this point. None of this bodes well. The brand-new red sled we got for Holly is still in the den; she likes being pulled on the carpet, but it's not quite the same thing as being outside in the crisp air. At this rate, she'll outgrow her snowsuit I got her before she's worn it.  Climate change, yes. The rest of the country seems to be buried in snow, far too much of it causing damage, delays, and death. I don't want that, please understand. But a little bit wou

I had incredibly chaotic dreams last night, none of which hang together with any sort of narrative arc. There were people at a party at my home (but it was not the one I live in), ostensibly to celebrate my husband's birthday (which is not for another month). But there were people there who wanted to talk about biddy basketball and double dribbling (!!), creating a kid-friendly event of some sort that involved music, sports, and some sort of arts thing (not a bad idea, but...), and then some other guy was making moves on my husband, insisting he was going to be his partner (!!), and then former students appeared: one bearing a deadly spider in a small plastic box ( "Look what I found at the dam!" ) and one calling me to talk about the kid festival and what he could/could not do--but I was not the organizer of the event, so I did not have a clue what he was talking about. And then there was a person who worked for a bank asking me if I'd consider leaving teaching to wo

"Tis true, this god did shake." -- Julius Caesar , Act I, sc. 2 Ah, football. It makes earth-bound men into heroes, then we discover that they are made of dust like the rest of us. The game between the Tampa Bay Buccaneers and the Dallas Cowboys highlighted this more than anything else this weekend. Yes, I watched quite a bit of football, and I will admit to staying up well past my bedtime last night. I went up to bed at the end of the third quarter, figuring that the Cowboys, who were playing really well and captained by a confident and competent Dak Prescott, would likely win the game.  They did. I will readily admit that, in his heyday, Tom Brady was unstoppable. I won't say he walked on water-- not only would that be blasphemous, but it would not be fair to the rest of the hard-working, hard-playing teams he was a member of while he played for the New England Patriots. But he was unbelievably precise: driven, talented, and seemingly able to pull no end of rabbits out

“It’s all right to tell a man to lift himself by his own  bootstraps , but it is cruel jest to say to a bootless man that he ought to lift himself by his own  bootstraps .” ― Martin  Luther   King  Jr. This is the ongoing discussion about equity vs. equality, isn't it? We should all have boots. Unfortunately, in today's educational climate, it's considered divisive to talk about why some folks don't have boots, have no generational wealth of boots, and who are being denied boots by others.  There's a lot of think about in this topic, and we are not really allowed to ask students to think. We have to start somewhere. I feel like getting into a little "good trouble," to quote John Lewis. Have a good day, C

Our language is rife with platitudes and bumper stickers of positive affirmation that all center around the idea of not giving up. "It's not the size of the dog in the fight, it's the size of the fight in the dog," and "It's not over til it's over," for example. We love nothing more than to cheer on the underdog, the team or the person who keeps fighting til there's no fight left-- they "play all 60 minutes." Overtime games, while nailbiters, are the thing of next-day analysis the world over.  That all said, damn. My Wildcard Weekend predictions were blasted last night after I went to bed, fairly secure in my thinking that the Chargers had the game well in hand. Well, they didn't. The Jaguars managed a phenomenal second half, and won by one point. Go figure. This season, the Bruins have really shown over and over again what kind of third period magic they have in their toolkit. There are so many examples of on-field heroics, but yo

I heard an interview the other day on NPR about a new streaming series that focuses on adulting, and the wonder of wonders is that it casts actual 40-something actors; this is, apparently, a novel idea. I read an article on the NPR website as well that breaks down the "homework" of being an adult, things like taxes and bills and making appointments, etc. This seems to be a recurring theme on social media, too--at least on my Facebook news feed. When I hear my older students talking about "when I turn 18" followed by a list of things they will and will not do, I often chuckle and grimace in equal measure. How the media often portrays the age of majority is a far cry from what it really looks like. Erma Bombeck once said something to the effect that one measure of adulthood is when you are the one who has to clean the collected yuck out of the kitchen sink drain. I believe it, both in reality and as a metaphor. Of late, I've been pondering what time is "too e

So it seems that the GOP pearl-clutchers have proposed that the dress code FOR WOMEN be pushed further in their legislature. Not only must the women who (dare) to become members of their state government have to follow the usual recommended business-wear rules, they must cover up, if this passes. Jackets, sweaters, shawls, but No Bare Arms .  This is from the same group who vehemently opposed mask wearing for public health-- o, my rights! You can't mandate what I should wear! It is not lost on me what kind of bumper sticker could be created from this foolishness: No Bare Arms, but We Can Bear Arms. Fashionista question: should the holster match the outfit, or is a serviceable tactical camo one good enough?  Seriously, though-- almost every place of business/work has a dress code, mostly due to safety concerns and public perception. Heck, I willingly pay a dollar to wear jeans on Fridays at school. It helps kids raise field trip money, and I am comfortable. That said, there is noth

  I have long agreed with much of what I've read from Francis Bacon, and it has formed how I teach. That's why it make me so sad and angry how things have shifted and trended in education today. Reading is the foundation of all knowledge, and it also keeps a person from looking like a total fool in social situations. In his essay, "Of Studies," Bacon explains that the best way of going about one's life is to read, discuss, then write, in order to fully learn and understand a topic. This is how I run my classroom, as an ideal model. And, for the most part, this is how I have always approached my own studies --formal and informal-- as well. So, it's really hard when kids don't choose to read. Then, they try to BS their way in the conversation (or they sit there mutely staring, hoping that THE ONE KID WHO READ will distract me enough). Forget about anything cogent in the writing. Teachers who now rely on audio books to "get the kids through a book"

 " Middle English: from Anglo-Norman French salarie, from Latin salarium, originally denoting a Roman soldier's allowance to buy salt, from sal ‘salt’." I found myself pondering the connections between salary and salt , and, while I knew they shared a common root ( sal ), my mind went down the word-game rabbit hole again: being worth one's salt .  Salt is essential to human life (in modest amounts, of course)-- we need it to survive. It brings out flavor. It preserves foods. But it is also a desiccant. So, when one is accused of being "salty" in one's language, does that mean that the speaker is sucking the life out of the hearers? I mean, really, it could. Or does it merely mean that one is seasoning one's speech with rudely common vernacular?  And then there is salic law , a system of rules and social codes that, among other civil laws, denies the right of succession to females. This legal system comes from the Salian Franks, a subgroup of the Fra

Experts call it a "data void," but it's a problem more slippery than that phrase seems to indicate. Misinformation, intentionally funneled into situations, is one of the most harmful things we face in this age of digital gluttony. Just because actual information is not instantaneously available about any given topic does not mean that "the truth" is being with-held. Damar Hamlin's cardiac event was not caused by vaccines. There are no Jewish space lasers. There is no evil cabal of child-traffickers setting up shop in a pizza joint. The stories created are called, by some, "alternative facts," somehow equating full BS with verifiable data and information.  Along that vein of thought is this new AI chatbot that can "write" scholarly papers; plug in a topic, and it spits out a paper that seems, at least to the reader who is not extremely skeptical, to be rational and well-researched. While this may excite some people, especially those who l

This weekend, I was co-habiting with a nagging, sniffly cold. Yes, just a cold--I'm much better today already. Having had Covid, I've been even more vigilant (not that I've not been-- I still wear a mask just about everywhere). But when a family member gets it and it goes through the ranks, it's gonna happen.  That all said, I've been reading in the news about yet another new variant of this nefarious virus. And IT SEEMS FEW PEOPLE GIVE A DAMN. We have bivalent vaccines available for just about everyone, and nationally, vax rates are so low as to be useless to the group as a whole. We can't just say we are tired of Covid; this sucker does not have a limited run because we, as a country (and world) just keep renewing our subscription. With jackasses like Musk encouraging trolls to spread misinformation, it just keeps feeding itself (would you believe people were putting it on Twitter that it was the result of a vaccine that caused Damar Hamlin's cardiac event

So much crazy stuff in the news, eh? Everything from McCarthy's historic, protracted, sycophantic election to Speaker to Greta Thunberg not backing down from a Twitter Troll--and that scum sucker got arrested for human trafficking.  A lot going on. This morning, I'm struggling to wake up fully (I got a sniffly cold from the grandbaby--sigh). I was clinging to my coffee cup for dear life, and my husband came out of the kitchen with "come here, there's something you've got to see. Really." So I, admittedly a little reluctantly, shuffled into the kitchen. He parted the curtains to the big window over the deck and said, "look at the moon. It's so bright you could read by it." And he was right. It was beautiful: slate grey sky, a few clouds, and the moon, glowing in its just-past-full glory. I am so glad he invited me to see it before the sky got brighter (can't really call it sunrise). So that's it, right? A look at the eternal sure resets th

Ever have one of those nights (I bet you have) when you go to bed at a proper time, you are duly tired, and then...the brain won't shut up. For hours.  So, what precisely was keeping my noggin engaged til well after 11:30 last night? Among other things, etymology. The word "troll" as both verb and noun. I started out with trolling/trawling, and I think we can safely assume it's just a pronunciation variation. Patrolling. Trolls. Trolls patrolling... and that led to another pronunciation variation: pattyrollers. Ah. Now that's sketchy. My brain images went from creatures under bridges or on shipboard to those horrible humans who, for money and social approbation, hunted escaped slaves and brought them back for further abuses or death. So, logically (!!) my mind wandered off to Olivia Butler's novel, Kindred , which is an oddly effective amalgam of time travel and slave narratives. I'm not sure I liked the book, really, but I found it interesting in how Butl

This won't be a long post, as I'm trying to stay off screens for a bit. My poor right eye--well, I look possessed. Subconjunctival haemorrhage.  I kind of look like a cross between the XMan who shoots lasers from his eyes and Darth Maul. Or maybe Sauron. Rest assured, it will heal. It doesn't hurt, but looks really creepy. I have a dry eye issue anyhow (I don't blink enough when I'm on screens or reading), and it's really dry at work. So, blam. Take good care, C

One thing that is a sort of silver lining of all this political farce going on (and that has been going on for a few years now) is that the average citizen is getting a crash course in civics and governance. I loved learning about those things in high school, but to be honest, freshman year is a long, long time ago. I'm pretty sure we didn't cover subjects like "what to do with the perpetrators of a coup at the Capitol" though. The fact that the members of the House who hold the slimmest of margins can't decide who gets to lead their merry band of sycophants, weasels, and election deniers is a sad commentary on how, when a good idea like Democracy gets manipulated to benefit a few underhanded miscreants, it all comes to a screeching, messy halt. So, in this week's Lesson in How This Stuff is Supposed to Work: the fact that the Speaker of the House does not have to come from the party with a majority, and that the Speaker does not even have to be a sitting Memb

I don't tend to dabble too deeply in the shenanigans going on in the political arena, at least not publicly. It's a fast way to lose friends, or at least irritate a few. That said, I can't help but point out the historic first that occurred yesterday: no Speaker of the House was elected, even after three rounds of votes. At one point, Rep. Boebert (R-Co.) hollered out to McCarthy that "this is bullsh**"-- and yes, while we would all likely agree, for various reasons, there went any pretense at dignity and civility, let alone decorum. Last thing I knew, there were still dress code rules for Congress, most of which apply to women. Women are not supposed to wear sleeveless tops or dresses without a sweater or jacket, and (to be fair) neither men nor women are allowed to wear open footwear or sneakers. So, language that is crude is winked at, but awhellnaw to sandals. What are they playing at? And on our dime. Many of us chuckled and grimaced a little with the Johnso

I wasn't sure what I was going to chat about this morning, but then I read about the Bills/Bengals football game that was suspended last night. One of the Bills players, a young man only 24 years old, collided with a Bengals receiver and suffered a cardiac event. They restored his heartbeat on the field, and then rushed him to the hospital for further treatment. I'm glad they suspended the game. Events like this are relatively rare, even in a violent sport like football, but they happen. It's sobering to think of an otherwise healthy young man going down hard like that. It is, after all, a game. Fans from both sides were holding vigil last night. Perspective is a bitter pill to swallow, most of the time. How many times have we -- have I -- gotten so wrapped up in a situation that, with some distance and reflection, is not even worth the worry? I tend to borrow trouble as it is, so when those hard resets happen, it is jarring. What is important enough to get wound up about?

  I thought I'd start this year off with an interrobang .  These poor, much-forgotten punctuation marks are probably wondering "What the hell?!" and "Why aren't we invited to the writing group?!" I can't even find a cheat code in order to use it properly on my keyboard. So sad. As long as we are talking about (useless?!) resolutions --if we even were-- why not crusade to bring back forgotten or benched words? I'm a huge fan of whelmed . And I want to see gruntled brought back into common usage, if only because it sounds pretty much like the opposite of what it means. And then there's those contronyms. Cleave. Ravel. Bound.  And those shortened words that become words like pros and cons. And acronyms that become words like radar and snafu . And those portmanteau words (more properly called morphemes) like frenemies -- so much to think about! I admit it, I'm a total word geek. I love looking into a good dictionary and tracing words back to th

First-footing was a thing my dad always believed in; in old Scots tradition, the first person (usually a dark haired young man) to cross the thresh-hold of the home should bear symbolic gifts that assure prosperity to the occupants. Tradition says that it should be salt, coal, or black bun (a dark fruit cake), but more recently, a symbolic coin would do. That said, my dad always made sure I had a quarter to toss across the thresh-hold if I went out for NYE. I guess I've been remiss in my passing along of traditions; Meg stopped in while her car warmed up today, and nope, no spare change got tossed in the doorway. However, she did come bearing wine and Sambucol-- they are symbolic of a light heart and good health, I guess. That's what I'm saying, anyhow, and I doubt anyone is going to argue that point. Isn't that an interesting word, "thresh-hold"--I mean, it's original, traditional meaning was the slight rise at the door to keep the floor rushes inside. Pr