Reading Blogs - Sparking Memories

Most of my Monday time in my office was spent reading blogs.  Grading blogs is a tremendous undertaking, with 16 scoresheets open, then reading original posts and responses and trying to keep straight where the points go on which scoresheet.  I try hard not to miss anyone or anything, but I do know that posts are sometimes missed---or points are given to people who haven't actually written a response on a certain person's blog. Definitely a job for my office rather than my living room or dining room where interruptions abound and attention often strays.

This set of blog posts sparked several memories.  One is of the time my Short Stories class and I traveled to South Bend to watch five short stories on stage.  These were presented by a traveling troupe out of New York City which tried to present some culture to those of us whose schools were in the middle of cornfields.  Ove the years I had witnessed interpretations of several Poe stories, including "The Tell Tale Heart" and "The Cask of Amontillado," but my favorite was "The Black Cat."  Anyone knowing the story will recall the final scenes of the story when the main character's guilt for murdering his wife is revealed when the police officers discover her body in the indentation in the wall, behind the plaster, with the one-eyed cat sitting on her head, shrieking to reveal her location.  We all knew the ending of the story; however, everyone in the audience seemed to jump when the screech of the cat was heard.  A few screams permeated the otherwise silent auditorium as well.  Of course the glowing eye of the cat was rather haunting, and I was very glad that the focus for the next act was "The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County."  Quite a difference between Twain and Poe!

Another reference which brought to mind one of my gifted classes was to the movie Dead Poets' Society.  Since we studied nearly all of the poets mentioned in that now-classic film, it was natural for us to view it during one of our class sessions.  Well, really more than one, since the film was too long to be viewed at one sitting. I was delighted to watch the recognition of names and titles as my students listened to Mr. Keating advise,   "Boys, you must strive to find your own voice. Because the longer you wait to begin, the less likely you are to find it at all. Thoreau said, "Most men lead lives of quiet desperation." Don't be resigned to that. Break out!"  and  "But if you listen real close, you can hear them whisper their legacy to you. Go on, lean in. Listen, you hear it? - - Carpe - - hear it? - - Carpe, carpe diem, seize the day boys, make your lives extraordinary."

But my favorite was the passage from Whitman to which he alluded:  "O Captain, my Captain. Who knows where that comes from? Anybody? Not a clue? It's from a poem by Walt Whitman about Mr. Abraham Lincoln. Now in this class you can either call me Mr. Keating, or if you're slightly more daring, O Captain my Captain." 

My gifted juniors and seniors had no idea that "O Captain, My Captain" was one of my favorite poems, one that I had memorized years before as a junior in high school.  However, our reading and discussion of it, plus the mention of those lines in DPS and the subsequent events at the end of the film, led them to the most amazing tribute I have ever experienced.

One day I left the classroom to retrieve something from my office next door.  When I returned, one by one each student stood, stepped on the seat of the desk, and moved to the top until all were standing, just like the students honored Mr. Keating as he left the classroom for the last time.  All of my students were smiling;  one of them said," This is for you, our Captain."  I cried.

Dare I say that the class was one of my favorites?  Of course. What a memory to treasure!  But even moreso is the knowledge that the tribute came from their being challenged to learn more, to read difficult literature, to discuss and analyze, to synthesize and apply.  From that class were born pharmacists, engineers, a lawyer, and a doctor, plus a minister and a bartender (Sam Malone from "Cheers" was his hero!).

Literature does make an impact. Literature creates lasting memories.  Impact someone's life.  Make some memories of your own.  Explore new authors and titles.  You never know what you might find!

Emerson knew what he was talking about!

"Infancy conforms to nobody; all conform to it."

 In all the years I have shared my favorite aphorisms, I have never picked this one.  However, today this one seemed perfect.

My Daughter the Librarian is very organized. She is a planner. (I know, I know what those of you who know me are thinking).  She gets upset if someone is late, or if the plans change slightly.  She can't handle glitches or wrenches thrown into plans. 

Before Cooper was born, she would tell us of her plans for her maternity leave.  She would have a schedule for both of them.  He would eat at certain times, and he would sleep at certain times, and she would be able to keep up on all of her librarian duties at home, such as reading and reviewing new books for the students.  Her dad and I just looked at her, then at each other, and laughed. 

At one point she asked what I thought about her plan for something or other, and I said "Why don't you just wait until you see what happens and go with it?  Most of the  original planning will go out the window when Cooper is born and you bring him home."  She then burst into tears and was upset with me for upsetting her.  Oh my.
Fast forward to the first six weeks of Cooper's life.  He ate when he was hungry. He slept when he was sleepy.  He was awake when he wasn't tired.  He didn't care about any schedule that Mommy had made. He was in charge.

One day I called her and she had both changing table covers in the washer plus the crib sheet and had cleaned up the chair where she fed him twice that morning...for spit up milk and poopy diapers that had leaked.  She had been pooped on and spit up on as well, and she needed a shower and would love to wash her hair,  plus she would KILL for a nap. (not really kill anything or anyone..just a figure of speech).  And why could I not come and help her!!?!?!?!

Circle back to the aphorism.... Infancy (specifically Cooper) does not conform to anyone. He has developed his own schedule.  When he is hungry, he wants to be fed. Simple as that.  If his diaper is wet, he wants to be changed.  It doesn't matter what type of schedule anyone would wish he were on, he just doesn't care.

However, we all conform to him.  His parents time their trips to the grocery on his feeding and sleeping schedules.  I had to chuckle at My Daughter the Librarian say she had to get up at 5:30 to shower and get ready for a conference and be ready by 6:15 so she could feed Cooper before her friend picked her up at 7.  Then she had planned the bottles for her time away from home and planned to be back at certain time so she could feed him again.  The last time they visited us and I asked her what time they would arrive, she said it depended on Cooper and how long he took a nap.

We conform to infants.

Of course, this aphorism could be figurative in meaning as well, instead of just literal, but that may the subject of another post.  Got you thinking, right?

My Daughter the Librarian and my grandson Cooper

Morning......

The time is 5:32 a.m. and I am sitting in my recliner, sipping a glass of OJ mixed with Diet Dew (I know...weird combo but it tastes great and gives me the pep I need for morning!).  Why am I awake?  Because the alarm buzzed at 4:45 a.m.  An Advisory Council breakfast at 7:30 a.m. on the Kokomo campus is mandatory for all full time faculty who are not teaching, and it will be followed by the annual Student Engagement Conference which will end at 5 p.m.  My drive from home to Kokomo is just at an hour from driveway to parking lot, so allowing for any type of traffic impairment, such as school buses, slowing to avoid possible encounters with deer, and who knows what else, my departure time is 6:15 a.m.
Ugh.

Normally I am a morning person, and the beauty of a stunning sunrise is not wasted when I am around.  But this morning is not a good time to be awake.  Nope.  Not at all. 

I am tired.  I went to bed at 8:30 p.m. last night, awoke from a bad dream at 1:00 a.m. and was tossing and turning until around 2:30 at least, maybe later than that,. 

Ugh.

Ok...lit related post.  

A section of Walden addresses mornings, I think.  There is just something about the quiet and solitude of early hours, especially in the country.  Watching the sun break the horizon and the daylight creep into the nighttime darkness.  Listening to the birds converse as the day begins.  Smelling the freshly cut grass blanketed with dew.  But most of all....looking at the day as an empty canvas, ready to be painted with the activities and journeys taken by the artist (which is each one of us). 

When I taught high school, I liked to arrive at the building around 7 a.m.  Everything was so quiet, and the halls were still lit with the auxiliary lights.  When Glenn flipped the switch at 7:15, nothing seemed the same in the brightness.  Slowly noises began to filter through the halls as athletes ran to their lockers after early morning practices or children of teachers lapped the halls for something to do before the morning bell rang.  After school hours just weren't the same as that hour between 7 and 8 a.m.

Time for me to move out of the recliner and finish the preparations for departure and the start of my day.  Still dark outside. In fact I have checked the clock a few times to be sure I am actually supposed to be awake right now.  In 30 minutes or so I will be on the road, driving southeast to Kokomo, anticipating the long day ahead.  Hoping for a beautiful sunrise to make the drive spectacular!

Have a good one!!

Musing on the Month

 

October

By Robert Frost 1874–1963 Robert Frost

O hushed October morning mild,

Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;

Tomorrow’s wind, if it be wild,

Should waste them all.

The crows above the forest call;

Tomorrow they may form and go.

O hushed October morning mild,

Begin the hours of this day slow.

Make the day seem to us less brief.

Hearts not averse to being beguiled,

Beguile us in the way you know.

Release one leaf at break of day;

At noon release another leaf;

One from our trees, one far away.

Retard the sun with gentle mist;

Enchant the land with amethyst.

Slow, slow!

For the grapes’ sake, if they were all,

Whose leaves already are burnt with frost,

Whose clustered fruit must else be lost--

For the grapes’ sake along the wall.

 

 

We haven't read anything by Frost yet, but this poem seemed to fit my mood today. My weekend was full of family and fall fun.....harvest is a great time of year!

The Mouse

Tonight during our Blackboard IM chat, I was sitting calmly in my recliner, pecking at the keys on my laptop.  My husband suddenly bolted from his chair, saying "What the heck!!!!!!!" and started moving things around on the floor by the entertainment center.  Why?  He thought he saw a mouse.

A mouse indeed. I hate mice. No, hate is too nice of a word for the feelings I have for a mouse, mice, those four-legged rodents with long tails.  Ugh.  Just typing that made me cringe. 

Through the remainder of the Blackboard IM chat, my husband was busy setting mousetraps, one at each end of the entertainment center, two in the kitchen/dining room, and two in the laundry room.  At one point he was pulling chairs out from around the dining room table, wielding a heavy wooden cane (he collects them), pounding it on the floor as he ran around the table.  Next he moved into the laundry room, swatting as he went.  If he hadn't been chasing a mouse, it might have been comical. I wasn't laughing.

Phillip, Ashley, and Courtney had asked about the subject matter for the blogs, and I tried to explain that I found things to relate to literature...and I usually can do that.  What to do with the chasing of a mouse around the house during the ENGL 222 chat on BB IM?

"To a Mouse" by Robert Burns

No it isn't American Lit; it is Brit Lit.  Don't worry---I am going to connect it.

There are two lines in the poem, paraphrased in modern English, which would read as follows:

The best laid plans of mice and men, often go astray, and leave in their place, grief for promised joy.

Interpretation?  Sometimes we plan and plan and plan some more, but often those plans have glitches, kinks, unexpected drifts.  Sometimes the end result is less than what was desired.  Planning for a prom....expensive dress, hours at the salon for a new hairdo, cleaned and polished vehicle.....and then prom night is rainy, windy, lightning....and the couple looks like a couple of drowned rats upon arrival at the prom venue.  Not exactly the picture-perfect prom as planned.  Substitute for 'prom' the word 'wedding' or the word 'vacation' and you get the idea....

But the lit connection?  Look at those lines again and pick out the word "of mice and men."  If you are familiar with John Steinbeck, you will recall his novel telling of the story of two migrant workers with a dream of owning their own ranch someday.  That dream never materializes due to a variety of mishaps, one involving a mouse, but the others involving men and one woman. The plans go astray. George is left with nothing but 'grief for promised joy' as the novel ends.

There you go!  Blackboard IM...a mouse in the house....To a Mouse....Of Mice and Men...John Steinbeck

To A Mouse

Wee, sleekit, cowrin, tim'rous beastie,
O, what a panic's in thy breastie!
Thou need na start awa sae hasty,
Wi' bickering brattle!
I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee
Wi' murd'ring pattle!

I'm truly sorry man's dominion,
Has broken nature's social union,
An' justifies that ill opinion,
What makes thee startle
At me, thy poor, earth-born companion,
An' fellow-mortal!

I doubt na, whiles, but thou may thieve;
What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!
A daimen icker in a thrave
'S a sma' request;
I'll get a blessin wi' the lave,
An' never miss't!

Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin!
It's silly wa's the win's are strewin!
An' naething, now, to big a new ane,
O' foggage green!
An' bleak December's winds ensuin,
Baith snell an' keen!

Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste,
An' weary winter comin fast,
An' cozie here, beneath the blast,
Thou thought to dwell -
Till crash! the cruel coulter past
Out thro' thy cell.

That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble,
Has cost thee mony a weary nibble!
Now thou's turn'd out, for a' thy trouble,
But house or hald,
To thole the winter's sleety dribble,
An' cranreuch cauld!

But Mousie, thou art no thy lane,
In proving foresight may be vain;
The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men
Gang aft agley,
An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain,
For promis'd joy!

Still thou art blest, compar'd wi' me;
The present only toucheth thee:
But och! I backward cast my e'e,
On prospects dreaer!
An' forward, tho' I canna see,
I guess an' fear!

Robert Burns

The text of the poem:

To A Mouse