intermission

Weekends have begun to feel like intermissions during a long play. They're a brief break to stretch my legs, use the bathroom, chat, gather yourself, figure out with tact who's coughing (or tapping her foot directly behind you) take care of any business (email, text, note to self), figure out plans for afterwards. And, then sometimes, I just keep my seat unless somebody needs to pass by me. This weekend was a hybrid between business and rest: I began a pants project (measured, cut the pieces, began sewing the tops together (wool and lining separately)) and did some final measurements for the vest.

Rest came as lunch with a friend, two movies (You've Got Mail and Four Feathers), dinner with my sister and my mom. I didn't even read. The fact that I got so little work done leads me to believe that I'm unconsciously expecting a snow day on Monday. An entitlement mentality does me no good. I've read enough Aesop's Fables to know that.

I made a hard decision: no Italy. I can't afford it: the economy is horrible, I'm not tenured (there's no guarantee I'll have a job next year), my student loans carry on (they make me see the positive side of inflation), I have trip planned for April and June already, I don't have a real summer job lined up-- very sketchy. My priorities need to have an air of prudence to them. I'd love to go to Italy, but it's not going to be Summer 2009.

Lenten update: I stuck to my limited internet use except for today. However, I didn't use the extra time to read my Bible. I used it to spaz out or sleep. Now, I need to convert the time to good-- it's not enough to clear the schedule.

Schedule Update: my work week was stressful: I can feel it in my neck and shoulders-- at least it's not to the point that I'm nauseous. My afternoon block was out of control and spiteful. And there's colleague conflict. It's as if I get into this painful, defensive crouching posture mentally and emotionally. I'm drained. I need to be reading my Bible and praying more. Friday night I had a great time serving homeless people dinner with my small group and hanging out with M & B.

Work highligt: I had my student's write a metaphor for hope in response to Emily Dickinson's "Hope is a thing with feathers." One kid wrote that hope was a set of car keys. You need your car keys in order to go anywhere, but sometimes you lose them. Yet you inevitably find them. I've been thinking about the metaphor a lot. It's brilliant... and I helped facilitate it. It makes my aching shoulders somewhat worth it.

Irony & Emily Dickinson

are like silly and Jim Carrey. Today, I really outdid myself. I created a lesson plan to plumb the depths of ED's poem:

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

(This version is clearly no scholarly edition- there are no dashes. I got it off the internet.) I thought this would be a really fun and easy poem to teach meter. The English is less cumbersome than Shakespeare, etc. And, the killer extended metaphor. It's rich!

But, my afternoon block were horrid the last 2/3 of the block. So, I'm going to let my first block do the really uber cool peace-doll project. And, I have put together a packet for the kids who do not know how to be quiet. My hope nearly got squashed.

I heard a thought-provoking Ash Wednesday sermon. He talked about almsgiving, praying and fasting as the components of Lent. He broke down alms-giving into interesting facets: giving people the benefit of the doubt, giving yourself grace. And, he called my bluff about time and prayer. I got into two cool conversations at Wal-Mart due to the ashes on my forehead.

I now must test drive uber cool peace-doll project. Cross your fingers.

P.S. Good news: I got an invite to Italy. Bad news: It's not all expenses paid. Good news: It's in the summer, and I've never been to Italy. Bad news: Already have a trip to DC and BC planned.

plot by flannery o'connor

My aim was noble tonight: I drove to the funeral home to go to a student's father's visitation. Nobody was at the funeral home, at least no one living. Then, I got lost coming home because I reasoned I'd just ask the people at the funeral home directions. Next, I had a bizarre conversation with an African at the Whitewater Center. I swear to God a road was missing, which made a reliable conversationalist. He patronized me, and I'm never in the mood to be patronized, especially tonight. He told me to be quiet. When I finally reached the belt loop, my gas light went on. Yes, I had ten miles or so until I was completely empty. I had four-tenths of a gallon to spare when I reached the gast station. But, I came home to sirloin and Shiraz. This sequence of snaffus made me appreciate normalcy. Yay, normal!

I can some up day in a single incident: I lost my lunch. How does one lose her lunch?

Polycarp

Perhaps, I should have recognized the foreboding nature of a week filled with martyrs: Bonhoeffer and Polycarp. Bonhoeffer got the axe in the 20th century and Polycarp in the first. Bonhoeffer was in his 40s and Polycarp in his 80s. I love Polycarp's retort to being asked to deny Jesus: "For 86 years I have served Jesus Christ and he has never abandoned me. How could I curse my blessed King and Savior?" (This quotation from Saint Polycarp is used as the Benedictus antiphon.) The Roman officials didn't want to look like complete jerks and tried to get him to recant his faith. At Vespers, they read the part about him telling him not to nail him to the pyre. The selection is really inspiring until they get to the part about how wonderful the scent of his burning body was. I love the stories of the early martyrs, but they're over the top.


I was a martyr today on the pyre of pubescent hormones. I was ready to sell about half my students into indentured servanthood and call it character building. I can't wait to see what the rest of the week has in store in lessons of patience and humility, so I bought two bottles of Shiraz on the way home from Spiritual Direction.

I came up with a blue print for my denial during Lent. It's gonna hurt, but is immentently doable.

commencement

Yesterday three of us met for the first of my monthly book clubs. (Three is a good number in theological circles.) I got good feedback about the location. It was a little loud due to the hoopla of a visitation weekend at the college. Lots of potential students and parents needed their caffiene. We had to move because a student started playing the piano next to us. But, when we got situated-- I did not start us well-- we just went around sharing quotations and commenting and reflecting on each other's picks. I found the exercise immensely helpful.

I bought Outliers yesterday. I borrowed it on CD, but don't want to listen to it in twenty minute installments. I also started reading a book on insommnia. And, while at the library, I enjoyed Meltdown Geography, an article in The Atlantic. I feel like I gained enough information and vocabulary that I could carry a cocktail party conversation about it. Phrases such as "mega regions", "talent clustering", urban metabolism", "spatial fix" and "a city's velocity and density". It was an optimistic piece that made me feel good about not owning a home and being so unencumbered. He ended on a positive, wry quotation of Paul Romer's, "A crisis is a terrible thing to waste."

I shopped for more Social Studies craft materials. They're going to be all crafted out. We're going to make a shaman ornament and a ancestor doll. I'm interested in how it will play out. My lower kids got really frustrated and some of them just quit with their masks. I'm not methodical enough in my presentation of steps. And, I don't sweep around the room to insure everybody is keeping up with my instruction. My bright kids took it and ran with it. My slow kids just quit. It kind of reminded me of Malcolm Gladwell's Outliers. I was productive with my school work today.

Today I sat between Boniface and Benedict on the other side of the church. It was a different experience. I heard an excellent sermon today on Mark 2, and enjoyed the readings in Isaiah and 2 Corinthians. I read 8 chapters in Exodus this morning before church. There's something to be said and just reading through the Bible. God is very present in the text. He's right there; it's impossible to miss him. But the Hebrews do, the Egyptians do, and I do. It's ridiculous to hear Moses argue with God about needing somebody to speak for him. It reminded him of Despereaux.

I still haven't nailed down what I should do for Lent. It will come... probably when I speak with my Spiritual Director tomorrow. I need to chat with him about creating some quiet in my life. I miss time to sit. I'm going to be one gleeful octagenarian.

I chatted with my friend in Germany. He wasn't as upbeat as usual; he was only a 9 on a scale of 10. I love talking to him because he listened to me chat about the Atlantic article and Outliers. He even interacted. And, he told me about Berlin and Prague. He met an American girl in Berlin and they chummed around the 4 day weekend. That'd be a cool way to meet someone. N's adventures, coupled with reading God's presence and action in Exodus, give me hope that I could meet somebody during a random expedition to the library or craft store. I feel like any hopes of amazing friendships with people my age and a romantic relationship is miniscule due to my geographics. But, I'm thinking puny thoughts when I think this, God is big, good and gracious.

I could not care less about the Oscars this year. It's so phoney maroney. It's a hoax, folks.

grudge match: brahms v. beethoven

Tonight a colleague and I went to the Symphony. The first half was a Brahms Symphony-- I believe the third of the four he wrote. He wrote in a single summer. The critics refer to it as a "spring" symphony. After intermission, they played Beethoven's Fifth. I was humming the iconic four notes all day in anticipation. The juxtaposition of the two symphonies did Brahms' no favor. It was cute vs. magnificent. The music solidified my distaste for the people and sub-cultures that employ "cute" and "nice" as compliments. It made me think about how I (and we) settle for the mediocre in lieu of the best. Brahms would have been nothing special... but okay. A person who listened to that symphony alone could draw the conclusion that classical music is lame. How does one even discover Beethoven (or Bach) to realize her appreciation for classical music? There are a lot of parallels to consider with this phenomenon. Christian subculture fawns at the altar of mediocrity because ambition and dedication are considered tacky. Listen to these two symphonies in one sitting and come out with a single evaluation that favors the Brahms, and I'll write an ode to all things mediocre.

worry

On my way home from school I read Spencer Mountain Baptist Church's marquis. This week it exclaims "Worry is the misuse of imagination." Most of the time these bumper-sticker worthy slogans make me smirk or grimace. This one, however, got me thinking. I'd like to take it a step further: Worry is the abuse of imagination. Worry is a distortion of an amazing gift. Imagination is a manifestation of our humaness, our imago dei. Imagination provides so much delight and fun. Our capacity for language, story and abstraction are mirrored in no other facet of the natural world. Creativity is God's image on us in the same manner Caesar's was on the coin the Pharisee handed Jesus. We are God's.

Yet, I worry. Autonomy sucks joy out of life. It's as CSL says that God doesn't worry about our desires being too big but rather that they are too small. We're content with drink, sex and ambition in lieu of unending joy. Heck, I'd take CSL down a notch: I settle for a sense of security.

Tonight at small group we discussed more shattered dreams. But, what stood out to me was relinquishing control and diving into faith is a quotidian act. It sounds so sexy like quitting my job and moving to El Salvador, but it's probably a lot more like staying in my job, learning how to bite my tongue, and writing just because I enjoy it.

I've also realized that I enjoy planning and teaching Social Studies more than I do Language Arts. I was chatting with the Chief about this and pointed out the problem with Language Arts. It covers everything. She said she used to answer the question: "What do you teach?" with "Life." As somebody who finds laundry overwhelming, you can see why I might find "everything" daunting. This is good to figure out. Plus, I equate over analysis of poetry with vivisection. I know 7th grade and the rural school aren't the best fits for me, but I have no clue how or where to go next. No need to worry, right?