Was sick over the three day weekend with a horrible cold . . . still struggling with it a bit today. The weekend was not terribly restful . . . and maybe it should have been.
I have this horrible habit of filling up every free weekend with some sort of activities that I can’t do during the week. Let’s help C find a new apartment on Saturday! Let’s go visit my parents on Sunday! Let’s invite people over for dinner Monday night! Since people are coming over, let’s finally get curtains for the living room! Now we have to rearrange the furniture in the bedroom. And we have to rearrange stuff in the kitchen.
Yes, we did all of the above, except visit my parents, because I just felt horrible on Sunday and did not feel like being around a crowd. Every year, some of our family in Philly come down to visit my parents and I was not up to making small talk. Yesterday, my husband and I were running around like fiends trying to tidy up the house for dinner, and I was trying to play Martha Stewart in making a rather gourmet dinner, using the stuff I learned in my cooking class.
The weekends are the only time there is to see people. Everyone is so busy that weeknights are out for hanging out, and people plan out their weekends well in advance, so you have to try to get on the schedule early. We hadn’t seen this particular couple since a Super Bowl party in January, and they had invited us over to dinner several times, and I felt like it was time for us to reciprocate. They hadn’t seen our new condo yet either, thus the mad rush to make everything look respectable.
I never felt like my mom so much as I did yesterday. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror as I was cleaning the bathroom and my mom’s face peeked out. I was even dressed like her – jeans, t-shirt and old oxford shirt with sleeves rolled-up. I remembered growing up seeing her running around cleaning up for company coming soon, her worrying about food and how the house looked – since, like me, she hated housework and its many forms, but is keen to have the house look spotless on the rare occasion that outsiders pop in to the inner sanctum.
Dinner went well, if slightly awkward . . . I never know if I am doing the entertaining thing right, am lousy at the transitions from appetizers to going to the table to dessert. I think I try too hard . . . I have an idea in my head on how things should go, and when they don’t go that way I get so flustered. I know that these friends would not have cared if I had made hot dogs and beans, or ordered in pizza, but I did want to show that I thought them worthy of effort . . . they’ve been such great friends to us over the years, I did not want to do things halfway. They seemed to enjoy everything, though . . .
Sorry for not posting in a while, guys! Hope everyone else had a great holiday.
Tuesday, May 31, 2005
Thursday, May 26, 2005
Poem for Thursday
Today was just gorgeous . . . and yet I was stuck inside. Today’s poem was too beautiful to pass up . . .
Solstice: voyeur
Bill Hicok
I watched the young couple walk into the tall grass and close
the door of summer behind them, their heads floating
on the golden tips, on waves that flock and break like starlings
changing their minds in the middle of changing their minds,
I saw their hips lay down inside those birds, inside the day
of shy midnight, they kissed like waterfalls, like stones
that have traveled a million years to touch, and emerged
hybrid, some of her lips in his words, all of his fists
opened by trust like morning glories, and I smelled green
pouring out of trees into grass, grass into below, I stood
on the moment the earth changes its mind about the sun,
when hiding begins, and raised my hand from the hill
into the shadows behind the lovers, and contemplated
their going with my skin, and listened to the grass
in wind call us home like our mothers before dark.
Solstice: voyeur
Bill Hicok
I watched the young couple walk into the tall grass and close
the door of summer behind them, their heads floating
on the golden tips, on waves that flock and break like starlings
changing their minds in the middle of changing their minds,
I saw their hips lay down inside those birds, inside the day
of shy midnight, they kissed like waterfalls, like stones
that have traveled a million years to touch, and emerged
hybrid, some of her lips in his words, all of his fists
opened by trust like morning glories, and I smelled green
pouring out of trees into grass, grass into below, I stood
on the moment the earth changes its mind about the sun,
when hiding begins, and raised my hand from the hill
into the shadows behind the lovers, and contemplated
their going with my skin, and listened to the grass
in wind call us home like our mothers before dark.
Wednesday, May 25, 2005
All About the Cereal
Sorry that I haven't posted in a while . . . but to tide you over, here is something that I found while cruising the Blogosphere. Enjoy!
Cereal Meme
When do you eat it? And how often?
I usually eat cereal first thing in the morning. If we have a fun type cereal, I might put it in a baggie as a snack for later in the day.
What are your favorite cereals?
Honey Nut Chex, Raisin Bran, Froot Loops, Trix, Apple Jacks, Rice Crispies, Oatmeal? (does Oatmeal count?)
What kind will you not eat?
Cheerios, Cream of Wheat, anything resembling shredded wheat. My dad would buy Cheerios by the metric ton. He wouldn’t buy anything else. I hate Cheerios with a passion – just the smell of them makes me want to throw up!
What is the secret favorite that you don’t always admit?
Do grits count?
What liquid do you pour on your cereal?
Vanilla soy milk. (I’m a bit lactose intolerant)
What do you put on top of your cereal?
Nothing but milk . . . I only like crunchy in cereal, I hate soggy cereal.
Do you prefer cereal or other foods for breakfast?
I’d rather have some fruit salad, yogurt and some protein on the side, like bacon, ham or sausage.
Do you have any cereal related rituals or other oddities?
I only like a splash of milk on my cereal . . . like I said before, I hate soggy cereal. I like just enough milk to say that there’s milk in there and get things a little wet, but no more.
I hereby pass this meme on to anyone who reads this! Happy answering!
Cereal Meme
When do you eat it? And how often?
I usually eat cereal first thing in the morning. If we have a fun type cereal, I might put it in a baggie as a snack for later in the day.
What are your favorite cereals?
Honey Nut Chex, Raisin Bran, Froot Loops, Trix, Apple Jacks, Rice Crispies, Oatmeal? (does Oatmeal count?)
What kind will you not eat?
Cheerios, Cream of Wheat, anything resembling shredded wheat. My dad would buy Cheerios by the metric ton. He wouldn’t buy anything else. I hate Cheerios with a passion – just the smell of them makes me want to throw up!
What is the secret favorite that you don’t always admit?
Do grits count?
What liquid do you pour on your cereal?
Vanilla soy milk. (I’m a bit lactose intolerant)
What do you put on top of your cereal?
Nothing but milk . . . I only like crunchy in cereal, I hate soggy cereal.
Do you prefer cereal or other foods for breakfast?
I’d rather have some fruit salad, yogurt and some protein on the side, like bacon, ham or sausage.
Do you have any cereal related rituals or other oddities?
I only like a splash of milk on my cereal . . . like I said before, I hate soggy cereal. I like just enough milk to say that there’s milk in there and get things a little wet, but no more.
I hereby pass this meme on to anyone who reads this! Happy answering!
Monday, May 23, 2005
Weekend with an Artist
What a beautiful weekend! Not too hot, sunny and breezy, beautiful weather for an Arts Festival. I only get out to
Friday, May 20, 2005
Call Me . . . Befuddled
I’ve had a very confusing and frustrating day. I haven’t quite processed it enough to rant about it yet . . . but it was very unsettling.
Good news though! I did pick up my negatives from the photo place and I did see a few sweet shots that I’d like to try to print once we reach that part of my photo class. Last night we went over shutter speeds, f-stops, metering and – where I meet my Waterloo – depth of field. I understand the concept emotionally – I can do it without thinking, just by looking through the viewfinder and adjusting the stops to what I want to capture, but in order to trouble shoot what has gone wrong with a shot, you have to understand which stops do what – and the way you figure it out is quite counter-intuitive and drives me bats.
Increased depth of field (Sharp foreground and background) means . . . smaller aperture, which means a larger f-stop? What???? Decreased depth of field (more blurry background) means . . . larger aperture, which means a smaller f-stop? Huh???? If anyone has an easy way to remember this, feel free to share, otherwise I do have some research to do this weekend I see . . .
What’s up on the schedule this weekend? Saturday: Running (me), soccer game (husband), Reston Fine Arts Festival (both). Sunday: Choir practice (me), Church (both), baby shower (maybe both of us), soccer game (maybe husband, if don’t go to baby shower).
To end, let me throw out a little Dorothy Parker to lighten up this dreary Friday:
One Perfect Rose
A single flow'r he sent me, since we met.
All tenderly his messenger he chose;
Deep-hearted, pure, with scented dew still wet-
One perfect rose.
I knew the language of the floweret;
"My fragile leaves," it said, "his heart enclose."
Love long has taken for his amulet
One perfect rose.
Why is it no one ever sent me yet
One perfect limousine, do you suppose?
Ah no, it's always just my luck to get
One perfect rose.
Good news though! I did pick up my negatives from the photo place and I did see a few sweet shots that I’d like to try to print once we reach that part of my photo class. Last night we went over shutter speeds, f-stops, metering and – where I meet my Waterloo – depth of field. I understand the concept emotionally – I can do it without thinking, just by looking through the viewfinder and adjusting the stops to what I want to capture, but in order to trouble shoot what has gone wrong with a shot, you have to understand which stops do what – and the way you figure it out is quite counter-intuitive and drives me bats.
Increased depth of field (Sharp foreground and background) means . . . smaller aperture, which means a larger f-stop? What???? Decreased depth of field (more blurry background) means . . . larger aperture, which means a smaller f-stop? Huh???? If anyone has an easy way to remember this, feel free to share, otherwise I do have some research to do this weekend I see . . .
What’s up on the schedule this weekend? Saturday: Running (me), soccer game (husband), Reston Fine Arts Festival (both). Sunday: Choir practice (me), Church (both), baby shower (maybe both of us), soccer game (maybe husband, if don’t go to baby shower).
To end, let me throw out a little Dorothy Parker to lighten up this dreary Friday:
One Perfect Rose
A single flow'r he sent me, since we met.
All tenderly his messenger he chose;
Deep-hearted, pure, with scented dew still wet-
One perfect rose.
I knew the language of the floweret;
"My fragile leaves," it said, "his heart enclose."
Love long has taken for his amulet
One perfect rose.
Why is it no one ever sent me yet
One perfect limousine, do you suppose?
Ah no, it's always just my luck to get
One perfect rose.
Thursday, May 19, 2005
A Non-Dedicated Follower of Fashion
On Saturday, after lunch on the Terrace, I went to Target to do some much needed summer clothes shopping.
I hate shopping generally. Well, usually it is because I normally don’t have any money for clothes, so when I do see something I like it is usually much too expensive. But usually I can’t find anything I like when I need it. I tend towards classic clothes, simple tailored cuts . . . more Donna Karan, Ann Taylor and Jones New York-type than Betsy Johnson, Limited, Express or anything my 21 year old sister would wear. I can’t afford those, but you get the gist. I’ve kinda always been that way . . . if I could have worn nice tailored pant suits when I was 12, I would have. Not Talbot’s though . . . I’m not THAT matronly yet – I refuse. I’m also not WASP-y – no Izod or Ralph Lauren for me. So hip and fashionable are not the first words that fall from one’s lips when they meet me.
I also hate crowds. If I could, I would shop Tuesday afternoons, when hardly anyone else is around. I especially hate all of the people sneezing, coughing and whatevering without covering their mouth. I hate putting my hand on the escalator and feeling something wet and/or sticky. Eeeeeew! I carry a bottle of hand sanitizer at all times, just to be semi-safe.
I hate standing in line. I just want to grab what I need and get the heck out of there. I’m somewhat guy-like in that sense . . .
Anyway, given my hatred of clothes shopping, I do it rather infrequently. Which means that I tend to wear the clothes that I do own to shreds. Until they look less than respectable, then I will break down and try to replace the worn item almost exactly. Woe is me if the store went out of business in the interim.
However, since I started running, I guess my body self-image is improving. Not that I may actually be losing weight, but I’m starting to feel comfortable enough to want to join the 21st century and get some capris, sleeveless tops, sandals . . . something other than my usual summer uniform of T-shirts and jeans. That, and a few sundresses, makes up my entire summer casual wardrobe. I want to branch out . . . maybe get some funky colors too! “The Look for Less” on the Style network is rapidly becoming one of my favorite shows . . .
So, off to Target I go. However, one rule for whatever I buy is that it has to mix and match well with things I already own. And be decent quality, but relatively cheap. Here is what I got on Saturday - for less than $100 yet!
1 pair white cropped pants
1 pair black cropped pants
2 camisole tops (1 black, 1 yellow)
2 tank tops (1 turquoise-y green, 1 black)
1 sleeveless, collared white button-down shirt
1 three-quarter-sleeved green and white striped, collared button-down shirt (same green as the tank top)
I am sooo happy with my purchases! I just need a few more colorful shirts and some accompanying sandals and I will be set for the summer. I figure that for footwear I just need 1 pair of comfy, but dressy sandals and 1 pair of comfy walking sandals, probably in black – no thong toes, though . . . I hate the feeling of things in between my toes. Maybe a pair of old school type Keds. I’ve been wearing the tanks this week under my jackets and I adore them, they go with things so well.
It’s been really hard finding casual sundresses that I like – I may have to go to thrift stores for those. I’m not into the asymmetrical cuts and thinner, frothy materials that I seem to see a lot. I want something that I can dress up to look nice for church, but that I can also flop around the house in, if need be. If anyone has any recommendations, I’m open.
Thus begins my foray into becoming more fashionable. It’s sad, but I’m really excited! I may be getting more girly yet!
I hate shopping generally. Well, usually it is because I normally don’t have any money for clothes, so when I do see something I like it is usually much too expensive. But usually I can’t find anything I like when I need it. I tend towards classic clothes, simple tailored cuts . . . more Donna Karan, Ann Taylor and Jones New York-type than Betsy Johnson, Limited, Express or anything my 21 year old sister would wear. I can’t afford those, but you get the gist. I’ve kinda always been that way . . . if I could have worn nice tailored pant suits when I was 12, I would have. Not Talbot’s though . . . I’m not THAT matronly yet – I refuse. I’m also not WASP-y – no Izod or Ralph Lauren for me. So hip and fashionable are not the first words that fall from one’s lips when they meet me.
I also hate crowds. If I could, I would shop Tuesday afternoons, when hardly anyone else is around. I especially hate all of the people sneezing, coughing and whatevering without covering their mouth. I hate putting my hand on the escalator and feeling something wet and/or sticky. Eeeeeew! I carry a bottle of hand sanitizer at all times, just to be semi-safe.
I hate standing in line. I just want to grab what I need and get the heck out of there. I’m somewhat guy-like in that sense . . .
Anyway, given my hatred of clothes shopping, I do it rather infrequently. Which means that I tend to wear the clothes that I do own to shreds. Until they look less than respectable, then I will break down and try to replace the worn item almost exactly. Woe is me if the store went out of business in the interim.
However, since I started running, I guess my body self-image is improving. Not that I may actually be losing weight, but I’m starting to feel comfortable enough to want to join the 21st century and get some capris, sleeveless tops, sandals . . . something other than my usual summer uniform of T-shirts and jeans. That, and a few sundresses, makes up my entire summer casual wardrobe. I want to branch out . . . maybe get some funky colors too! “The Look for Less” on the Style network is rapidly becoming one of my favorite shows . . .
So, off to Target I go. However, one rule for whatever I buy is that it has to mix and match well with things I already own. And be decent quality, but relatively cheap. Here is what I got on Saturday - for less than $100 yet!
1 pair white cropped pants
1 pair black cropped pants
2 camisole tops (1 black, 1 yellow)
2 tank tops (1 turquoise-y green, 1 black)
1 sleeveless, collared white button-down shirt
1 three-quarter-sleeved green and white striped, collared button-down shirt (same green as the tank top)
I am sooo happy with my purchases! I just need a few more colorful shirts and some accompanying sandals and I will be set for the summer. I figure that for footwear I just need 1 pair of comfy, but dressy sandals and 1 pair of comfy walking sandals, probably in black – no thong toes, though . . . I hate the feeling of things in between my toes. Maybe a pair of old school type Keds. I’ve been wearing the tanks this week under my jackets and I adore them, they go with things so well.
It’s been really hard finding casual sundresses that I like – I may have to go to thrift stores for those. I’m not into the asymmetrical cuts and thinner, frothy materials that I seem to see a lot. I want something that I can dress up to look nice for church, but that I can also flop around the house in, if need be. If anyone has any recommendations, I’m open.
Thus begins my foray into becoming more fashionable. It’s sad, but I’m really excited! I may be getting more girly yet!
Wednesday, May 18, 2005
My Boring Status Report
The meeting this morning went well despite the fact that my boss showed up late, looking like he just rolled out of bed and threw on a suit. In fact, when the meeting was over, one of the participants walked up to him and said, “Hey, did you just wake up?”
Get to go back on the Hill for an event next week. Yay! Anything that gets me out of the office and networking is good. Today’s event was children’s issues related, which is not my area so I was there mostly to listen, but next week’s relates to Older Adult issues, which I am extremely interested in.
I was not impressed with Saturday’s lunch at the Hotel Washington Terrace. Quite the overpriced sandwiches, burgers and appetizers there. The place was packed with tourists and folks in town for all of the college graduations that morning. I hate places like that . . . I rather prefer hole in the wall type places – tourist places are always so overpriced and the food isn’t good enough to back up the reputation. However, I will say that the view is quite lovely . . . if you’ve never seen it before. You can see ALL of the monuments and the White House from the restaurant. I’m just jaded, I guess. I’m sure the view is even cooler at night, with all of the lights.
Sunday was uneventful and I got no knitting done. I was just too tired and I watched lots of lousy Lifetime movies and read the newspapers.
Monday, I had a lunch with an old friend of mine, who blew into town last minute. He and his wife are expecting a little girl in September. If you knew this guy, you would know what how richly funny that is . . . in his single days, he was the biggest horn-dog you ever would meet. “Are you going to keep her locked up until college?” I asked, ever so sweetly . . . I am gloriously happy for them, and hopefully when my husband and I go out to the West coast this summer, we will get to visit them for a couple of hours.
The volunteer ESL teachers’ meeting went well last night. They might be breaking us up into 2 ESL classes, instead of 3 for the summer session, which will make teaching even more interesting. I am afraid to get total beginners, (I’ve taught only intermediate for the past year), but I am sure I will muddle my way through. I can’t wait for classes to start!
Tomorrow night is my photography class and luckily I already have most of the supplies on hand, so I don’t have to cough up more money for film or printing paper. We won’t be developing our own negatives though, which is a bummer. That means we have to take them to a specialty shop and get them developed, which is $7.50 a pop. It’s $5 extra for contact sheets, but I think I can get by without them, and make my own on in print lab. The really lousy thing is that the shop is only open 9-5 M-F, which means that unless I can make my way there on my lunch hour, I won’t have any negatives.
I’m so tired today . . . had to get up way early to get things ready for the meeting. Will try to write something more interesting tomorrow!
Get to go back on the Hill for an event next week. Yay! Anything that gets me out of the office and networking is good. Today’s event was children’s issues related, which is not my area so I was there mostly to listen, but next week’s relates to Older Adult issues, which I am extremely interested in.
I was not impressed with Saturday’s lunch at the Hotel Washington Terrace. Quite the overpriced sandwiches, burgers and appetizers there. The place was packed with tourists and folks in town for all of the college graduations that morning. I hate places like that . . . I rather prefer hole in the wall type places – tourist places are always so overpriced and the food isn’t good enough to back up the reputation. However, I will say that the view is quite lovely . . . if you’ve never seen it before. You can see ALL of the monuments and the White House from the restaurant. I’m just jaded, I guess. I’m sure the view is even cooler at night, with all of the lights.
Sunday was uneventful and I got no knitting done. I was just too tired and I watched lots of lousy Lifetime movies and read the newspapers.
Monday, I had a lunch with an old friend of mine, who blew into town last minute. He and his wife are expecting a little girl in September. If you knew this guy, you would know what how richly funny that is . . . in his single days, he was the biggest horn-dog you ever would meet. “Are you going to keep her locked up until college?” I asked, ever so sweetly . . . I am gloriously happy for them, and hopefully when my husband and I go out to the West coast this summer, we will get to visit them for a couple of hours.
The volunteer ESL teachers’ meeting went well last night. They might be breaking us up into 2 ESL classes, instead of 3 for the summer session, which will make teaching even more interesting. I am afraid to get total beginners, (I’ve taught only intermediate for the past year), but I am sure I will muddle my way through. I can’t wait for classes to start!
Tomorrow night is my photography class and luckily I already have most of the supplies on hand, so I don’t have to cough up more money for film or printing paper. We won’t be developing our own negatives though, which is a bummer. That means we have to take them to a specialty shop and get them developed, which is $7.50 a pop. It’s $5 extra for contact sheets, but I think I can get by without them, and make my own on in print lab. The really lousy thing is that the shop is only open 9-5 M-F, which means that unless I can make my way there on my lunch hour, I won’t have any negatives.
I’m so tired today . . . had to get up way early to get things ready for the meeting. Will try to write something more interesting tomorrow!
Tuesday, May 17, 2005
How's it going?
Wow! Today has just flown by and I haven’t done a proper post in days. How’s everyone doing? Enjoying the lovely spring weather?
I’ll be on the Hill for a meeting in the morning, but I’ll try to get something up by end of the day tomorrow.
Right this second on the radio, U2’s Stuck in the Moment is playing . . . boy, every time I hear that song, it just strikes so close to home . . .
In the meantime, I found this poem on “Poetry Daily” about a local DC housing complex that felt kind of powerful to me today.
Sursum Corda
By Hillel Schwartz
. . a housing development in Northwest Washington, DC
The hart leaps.
Through the bracken of Children's Island, its sedge and mallow,
through the brush and tangle of Stadium Narrows,
the hart leaps.
Past the Canada geese gulls starlings sparrows & crows,
past flea market flannels cottons linens corduroys,
blooms of rust curling over cast-iron stump-legged stoves,
teflon peeling off bundt pans frying pans & bake trays,
the hart leaps.
Across grooved tailgates of pick-ups & second-life trucks
& white scoop-lipped concrete deadweights of a Grand Prix track
that roared once into the records & now sits silent,
skirting winter-bald grass & a golf club's loopy fence,
indefensible, uphill on icebroken pavement
& a bookhouse for bombed-out Beirut, past 19th &
M where a five-inch blade five times five days ago was
driven into a delivery man in busy
daylight, the hart leaps.
Into seven-square square blocks of gridded deerpark moor,
of hunting, coney-poaching, Crown lands & highwaymen,
a wilderness for the staking and taking, neither
National Arboretum nor oaks of Dumbarton
but Sursum Corda, that they shall be lifted up, here
in Jubal, glory & comfort, where more are fallen
& dead more quickly than stroke, than shock, in this red square
& plaza of promises, catholic talisman
of fair winds & crossings for a Northwest Passage, for
a land of lows, storm fronts, mortuary cold, a land
of the could-have-been, streets earstruck with seven-on-four
beats of blood in the hot walls of ears, blood like lichen
on stubble of old sidewalk & cyclone fence under
tundra skies of lost dominion, lost direction
from courtyard to courtyard, gravel to cement, through beer-
bottle grass to Coke-green glass to yellow-white to brown
to blue, the hart leaps.
Greatgrandmas look through torn curtains to see him rampant,
tearing through bushes, his horns flashing with raw bonelight,
an emergency of wonder, brown-red, ambulant,
their heraldic stag of tincture sanguine & fur bright
with sweat & flecks of foil. Now the children chase after,
fingers flared from their heads like horns, prancing in his wake,
or fists to their mouths for the loud brass of hunting horns,
dashing in greyhound frenzy & whippet crazy-eights.
What's happening here? Who is running the tapestry
through the looms, the stag around the tight bends & charges
of the NW, over fine dust, spent shells, & dark green
mazes with ancient etched numbers & flowered marges?
What game is afoot? In their black-&-whites the Finest
hear the sightings crackle in over their speakers, call
for soft-poison darts, doctors, game wardens, riot vests,
revving their engines for what may come down after all
to high-speed pursuit, wrong-ways on one-way avenues,
dashes over medians & dividers. Copters
are circling now, networks covering this breaking news
as his hooves strike blue fires across the faulted curbs
of the Project, his horns lit by flashes & first hints
of sunset, his head twisting in a mounting panic,
his sense of true north lost among the bands of children,
the rush of rotors, district captains hustling manic
in their blinds, lips to bullhorns, blue flash red flash white flash,
lost among the pounding bass of boom-car double amps,
out of sight of tall trees, beyond salt lick or high grass,
he stops, breathing harder than first thunder, & stamps. Stamps.
The whippet-children stand stockstill, wary as old hounds.
Dealers drop their seal-tite bags. Traffic slows to a cough.
Copters hover in five o'clock suspense. . . . Bring him down,
hears a crouching man through an earpiece small as what's left
of shooting & stars once they fall to earth, & the heart
leaps.
I’ll be on the Hill for a meeting in the morning, but I’ll try to get something up by end of the day tomorrow.
Right this second on the radio, U2’s Stuck in the Moment is playing . . . boy, every time I hear that song, it just strikes so close to home . . .
In the meantime, I found this poem on “Poetry Daily” about a local DC housing complex that felt kind of powerful to me today.
Sursum Corda
By Hillel Schwartz
. . a housing development in Northwest Washington, DC
The hart leaps.
Through the bracken of Children's Island, its sedge and mallow,
through the brush and tangle of Stadium Narrows,
the hart leaps.
Past the Canada geese gulls starlings sparrows & crows,
past flea market flannels cottons linens corduroys,
blooms of rust curling over cast-iron stump-legged stoves,
teflon peeling off bundt pans frying pans & bake trays,
the hart leaps.
Across grooved tailgates of pick-ups & second-life trucks
& white scoop-lipped concrete deadweights of a Grand Prix track
that roared once into the records & now sits silent,
skirting winter-bald grass & a golf club's loopy fence,
indefensible, uphill on icebroken pavement
& a bookhouse for bombed-out Beirut, past 19th &
M where a five-inch blade five times five days ago was
driven into a delivery man in busy
daylight, the hart leaps.
Into seven-square square blocks of gridded deerpark moor,
of hunting, coney-poaching, Crown lands & highwaymen,
a wilderness for the staking and taking, neither
National Arboretum nor oaks of Dumbarton
but Sursum Corda, that they shall be lifted up, here
in Jubal, glory & comfort, where more are fallen
& dead more quickly than stroke, than shock, in this red square
& plaza of promises, catholic talisman
of fair winds & crossings for a Northwest Passage, for
a land of lows, storm fronts, mortuary cold, a land
of the could-have-been, streets earstruck with seven-on-four
beats of blood in the hot walls of ears, blood like lichen
on stubble of old sidewalk & cyclone fence under
tundra skies of lost dominion, lost direction
from courtyard to courtyard, gravel to cement, through beer-
bottle grass to Coke-green glass to yellow-white to brown
to blue, the hart leaps.
Greatgrandmas look through torn curtains to see him rampant,
tearing through bushes, his horns flashing with raw bonelight,
an emergency of wonder, brown-red, ambulant,
their heraldic stag of tincture sanguine & fur bright
with sweat & flecks of foil. Now the children chase after,
fingers flared from their heads like horns, prancing in his wake,
or fists to their mouths for the loud brass of hunting horns,
dashing in greyhound frenzy & whippet crazy-eights.
What's happening here? Who is running the tapestry
through the looms, the stag around the tight bends & charges
of the NW, over fine dust, spent shells, & dark green
mazes with ancient etched numbers & flowered marges?
What game is afoot? In their black-&-whites the Finest
hear the sightings crackle in over their speakers, call
for soft-poison darts, doctors, game wardens, riot vests,
revving their engines for what may come down after all
to high-speed pursuit, wrong-ways on one-way avenues,
dashes over medians & dividers. Copters
are circling now, networks covering this breaking news
as his hooves strike blue fires across the faulted curbs
of the Project, his horns lit by flashes & first hints
of sunset, his head twisting in a mounting panic,
his sense of true north lost among the bands of children,
the rush of rotors, district captains hustling manic
in their blinds, lips to bullhorns, blue flash red flash white flash,
lost among the pounding bass of boom-car double amps,
out of sight of tall trees, beyond salt lick or high grass,
he stops, breathing harder than first thunder, & stamps. Stamps.
The whippet-children stand stockstill, wary as old hounds.
Dealers drop their seal-tite bags. Traffic slows to a cough.
Copters hover in five o'clock suspense. . . . Bring him down,
hears a crouching man through an earpiece small as what's left
of shooting & stars once they fall to earth, & the heart
leaps.
Monday, May 16, 2005
Asking the Impossible
Dedicated to all spouses and significant others . . . I thought this was much too beautiful to pass by today . . .
I Ask the Impossible
Ana Castillo
I ask the impossible: love me forever.
Love me when all desire is gone.
Love me with the single mindedness of a monk.
When the world in its entirety,
and all that you hold sacred advise you
against it: love me still more.
When rage fills you and has no name: love me.
When each step from your door to our job tires you—
love me; and from job to home again, love me, love me.
Love me when you're bored—
when every woman you see is more beautiful than the last,
or more pathetic, love me as you always have:
not as admirer or judge, but with
the compassion you save for yourself
in your solitude.
Love me as you relish your loneliness,
the anticipation of your death,
mysteries of the flesh, as it tears and mends.
Love me as your most treasured childhood memory—
and if there is none to recall—
imagine one, place me there with you.
Love me withered as you loved me new.
Love me as if I were forever—
and I, will make the impossible
a simple act,
by loving you, loving you as I do.
I Ask the Impossible
Ana Castillo
I ask the impossible: love me forever.
Love me when all desire is gone.
Love me with the single mindedness of a monk.
When the world in its entirety,
and all that you hold sacred advise you
against it: love me still more.
When rage fills you and has no name: love me.
When each step from your door to our job tires you—
love me; and from job to home again, love me, love me.
Love me when you're bored—
when every woman you see is more beautiful than the last,
or more pathetic, love me as you always have:
not as admirer or judge, but with
the compassion you save for yourself
in your solitude.
Love me as you relish your loneliness,
the anticipation of your death,
mysteries of the flesh, as it tears and mends.
Love me as your most treasured childhood memory—
and if there is none to recall—
imagine one, place me there with you.
Love me withered as you loved me new.
Love me as if I were forever—
and I, will make the impossible
a simple act,
by loving you, loving you as I do.
Friday, May 13, 2005
Poem for Friday Afternoon
I haven’t had a poem in a while . . . and this one seemed to fit just fine today.
Our Generation
Carl Dennis
Whatever they'll say about our delinquencies,
They'll have to agree we managed to bridge the gap
Between those who arrived before us
And those who followed. We learned enough
At the schools available to fill the entry-level positions
At the extant sawmills our elders managed,
At banks, drug stores, freight yards, and hospitals,
Then worked our way up to positions of trust.
There we were, down on the shop floor
Or up in the manager's office, or outside the office
On scaffolds, washing the windows.
Did we work with joy? With no less joy
Than people felt in the generations before us.
And on weekends and weekday evenings
We did our best to pursue the happiness
Our founders encouraged us to pursue,
And with equal gusto. Whatever they say about us
They can't deny that we filled the concert halls,
Movie houses, malls, and late-night restaurants.
We took our bows on stage or waited on tables
Or manned the refreshment booths to earn a little extra
For the things we wanted, the very things
Pursued by the generations before us
And likely to be pursued by generations to come:
Children and lawns and cars and beach towels.
And now and then we stood back to admire
The colorful spectacle, the endless variety,
As others before us admired it, and then returned
To fill our picnic baskets, drive to the park,
And use the baseball diamonds just as their contrivers
Intended they should be used. And if we too
Crowded into the squares to cheer the officials
Who proclaimed our country as fine in fact
As it is in theory, as faithful a friend to the planet
As any country we cared to name,
A few of us confined to a side street,
Carried signs declaring a truth less fanciful.
A few unheeded, to be sure, but no more unheeded
Than a similar few in generations before us
Who hoped that the truth in generations to come,
Though just as homely, would find more followers.
Our Generation
Carl Dennis
Whatever they'll say about our delinquencies,
They'll have to agree we managed to bridge the gap
Between those who arrived before us
And those who followed. We learned enough
At the schools available to fill the entry-level positions
At the extant sawmills our elders managed,
At banks, drug stores, freight yards, and hospitals,
Then worked our way up to positions of trust.
There we were, down on the shop floor
Or up in the manager's office, or outside the office
On scaffolds, washing the windows.
Did we work with joy? With no less joy
Than people felt in the generations before us.
And on weekends and weekday evenings
We did our best to pursue the happiness
Our founders encouraged us to pursue,
And with equal gusto. Whatever they say about us
They can't deny that we filled the concert halls,
Movie houses, malls, and late-night restaurants.
We took our bows on stage or waited on tables
Or manned the refreshment booths to earn a little extra
For the things we wanted, the very things
Pursued by the generations before us
And likely to be pursued by generations to come:
Children and lawns and cars and beach towels.
And now and then we stood back to admire
The colorful spectacle, the endless variety,
As others before us admired it, and then returned
To fill our picnic baskets, drive to the park,
And use the baseball diamonds just as their contrivers
Intended they should be used. And if we too
Crowded into the squares to cheer the officials
Who proclaimed our country as fine in fact
As it is in theory, as faithful a friend to the planet
As any country we cared to name,
A few of us confined to a side street,
Carried signs declaring a truth less fanciful.
A few unheeded, to be sure, but no more unheeded
Than a similar few in generations before us
Who hoped that the truth in generations to come,
Though just as homely, would find more followers.
Where do I find the energy?
Danielle wondered how I find the energy to try and do so much of the stuff that occupies my days . . . Well, that’s pretty easy to explain.
For the first, say, 23 years of my life, I didn’t do very much. My parents weren’t the sort of people who took their kids on little outings every weekend and my sisters and I didn’t get to roam around the neighborhood at will. We spent a lot of time at home – me especially doing lots and lots of reading and TV watching. Despite the fact that I was growing up in Philadelphia which has a gazillion things available to those who are interested in them, exploring was not in our makeup. When I started to go to school in Center City and took the subway and bus all by myself, I got a little taste of freedom, but I still had to come pretty much straight home. I was a pretty sheltered kid.
When my family moved to Virginia in my junior year in high school, I was pretty much stranded, since I didn’t have a car, didn’t know how to drive, was really shy and was reeling from the culture shock in being in the deep suburbs. This continued in college where I want to school at a place in the middle of a tourist trap that is pretty much in the middle of nowhere. I ultimately felt pretty out of place and miserable there, despite the pastoral setting. When school was over, I want back to live with my parents, which with an overbearing father, kind of dampened any desire to go out partying at night or actually date anyone. I finally gathered up the gumption to move out and into a group house right outside of DC, right before my 23rd birthday.
After a few months of adjustment, I started to spend my weekends just looking at the newspaper and seeing what cool cheap or free things were going on, and just going. I had no one to report to, no time I had to be back, I could just go. If I wanted to hang out at the National Gallery of Art all day, I could. If I wanted to sit in a coffee shop and read all day, I could. I joined a local Dem group and started working on campaigns doing visibility, which meant I got to go to a lot of fairs and festivals and just hang out and pass out literature, and after my shift was over, just go around and explore. I started meeting many cool people that I started to hang out with and we’d all go and do stuff together. A friend of ours ran for County Board at the age of 28 and we all ran her campaign. I found that I liked being active and meeting new people and learning new things.
Eventually, everyone in our little group paired off and married each other (my husband and I were the first of our group to take the plunge, followed over the years by 5 more couples!) I started to branch out and take classes of stuff I’d always been interested in – just for the heck of it.
However, when I had my miscarriage, all that stopped. I just sort of sat around the house and watched TV. I didn’t feel like going out anymore or doing stuff. I gained, like 20 pounds. DH knew that I was miserable and was really patient with me. But after I while, I hated just sitting at home in the evenings. Everything on TV was stupid. I felt like a clueless slug. And, as if orchestrated, another long-shot candidate came into view whose local campaign I just HAD to work on. His team was a bunch of folks who never worked on a political campaign before and I‘d been on enough campaigns that I could actually be really helpful in shaping strategy. So I was off and running again, and our candidate came in a heartbreakingly close second in the primary.
Oh, where was I? . . . So I say this to say what?
Since I spent so many early years cooped up at home, I now know that there is so much out there to be learned and experienced and I want to do as much of it as possible. I don’t want to look back and regret that I never tried something that I wanted to do. My husband loves when I do stuff, because then he can learn vicariously through me with out having to sit through it himself. He’s no slouch either – he plays soccer, runs and is quite a history/political buff – so we always have plenty to talk about.
And I do take breathers often. Sometimes it turns out that a lot of stuff happens around the same time, and I’ll be really busy for a few weeks, but then things will die down and nothing will be going on for another few weeks. It also helps A LOT that my husband and I work at the same place . . . so when 6 o’clock rolls around, I’m pretty much tired of seeing him for the day. (Ha, Ha!) We drive in together, have lunch together, end up in random meetings together, and he pops by my office several times a day when he’s bored. It also helps that we live 5 minutes from work . . .
So that’s how I can be so busy . . . I love being busy and I make learning new stuff a priority, but I also make sure there’s a little down time for me and DH. It’s probably a longer answer than you wanted, but that’s me in a nutshell. :-)
For the first, say, 23 years of my life, I didn’t do very much. My parents weren’t the sort of people who took their kids on little outings every weekend and my sisters and I didn’t get to roam around the neighborhood at will. We spent a lot of time at home – me especially doing lots and lots of reading and TV watching. Despite the fact that I was growing up in Philadelphia which has a gazillion things available to those who are interested in them, exploring was not in our makeup. When I started to go to school in Center City and took the subway and bus all by myself, I got a little taste of freedom, but I still had to come pretty much straight home. I was a pretty sheltered kid.
When my family moved to Virginia in my junior year in high school, I was pretty much stranded, since I didn’t have a car, didn’t know how to drive, was really shy and was reeling from the culture shock in being in the deep suburbs. This continued in college where I want to school at a place in the middle of a tourist trap that is pretty much in the middle of nowhere. I ultimately felt pretty out of place and miserable there, despite the pastoral setting. When school was over, I want back to live with my parents, which with an overbearing father, kind of dampened any desire to go out partying at night or actually date anyone. I finally gathered up the gumption to move out and into a group house right outside of DC, right before my 23rd birthday.
After a few months of adjustment, I started to spend my weekends just looking at the newspaper and seeing what cool cheap or free things were going on, and just going. I had no one to report to, no time I had to be back, I could just go. If I wanted to hang out at the National Gallery of Art all day, I could. If I wanted to sit in a coffee shop and read all day, I could. I joined a local Dem group and started working on campaigns doing visibility, which meant I got to go to a lot of fairs and festivals and just hang out and pass out literature, and after my shift was over, just go around and explore. I started meeting many cool people that I started to hang out with and we’d all go and do stuff together. A friend of ours ran for County Board at the age of 28 and we all ran her campaign. I found that I liked being active and meeting new people and learning new things.
Eventually, everyone in our little group paired off and married each other (my husband and I were the first of our group to take the plunge, followed over the years by 5 more couples!) I started to branch out and take classes of stuff I’d always been interested in – just for the heck of it.
However, when I had my miscarriage, all that stopped. I just sort of sat around the house and watched TV. I didn’t feel like going out anymore or doing stuff. I gained, like 20 pounds. DH knew that I was miserable and was really patient with me. But after I while, I hated just sitting at home in the evenings. Everything on TV was stupid. I felt like a clueless slug. And, as if orchestrated, another long-shot candidate came into view whose local campaign I just HAD to work on. His team was a bunch of folks who never worked on a political campaign before and I‘d been on enough campaigns that I could actually be really helpful in shaping strategy. So I was off and running again, and our candidate came in a heartbreakingly close second in the primary.
Oh, where was I? . . . So I say this to say what?
Since I spent so many early years cooped up at home, I now know that there is so much out there to be learned and experienced and I want to do as much of it as possible. I don’t want to look back and regret that I never tried something that I wanted to do. My husband loves when I do stuff, because then he can learn vicariously through me with out having to sit through it himself. He’s no slouch either – he plays soccer, runs and is quite a history/political buff – so we always have plenty to talk about.
And I do take breathers often. Sometimes it turns out that a lot of stuff happens around the same time, and I’ll be really busy for a few weeks, but then things will die down and nothing will be going on for another few weeks. It also helps A LOT that my husband and I work at the same place . . . so when 6 o’clock rolls around, I’m pretty much tired of seeing him for the day. (Ha, Ha!) We drive in together, have lunch together, end up in random meetings together, and he pops by my office several times a day when he’s bored. It also helps that we live 5 minutes from work . . .
So that’s how I can be so busy . . . I love being busy and I make learning new stuff a priority, but I also make sure there’s a little down time for me and DH. It’s probably a longer answer than you wanted, but that’s me in a nutshell. :-)
Thursday, May 12, 2005
Booked for the week . . .
Taking time out from my ranting about stuff to talk about my week. I’m so glad this week is almost over . . . I’ve had something to go to almost every night this week and the weekend looks to be just as hectic.
Tuesday night was the second part of the Adult Ed cooking class that I signed up for – I will take the other two sessions in July and I can’t wait! Last week was where I picked up the strawberry/rhubarb recipe and this week we made a decadent dark chocolate “bark” with toasted walnuts and dried cherries, along with a three onion couscous, a chicken scallopine in lemon caper sauce and a baked salmon with mustard topping. We also learned how to make simple vinaigrette, and by using that base how to make dressings to match whatever meal type you are making. I got to take a lot of the class leftovers home to K for dinner, which he was highly appreciative of . . . especially the chocolate.
Last night was choir practice. I sing as a high soprano in my church’s little ragtag choir. There are only 8 of us on a good day, and only two are guys. Being a high soprano, I get a lot of descant stuff to learn which is kind of hard since my tendency is to blend into the melody and try not to stick out. Also, if I screw up a descant, everyone can tell who it was – no pressure, really. We had to learn a TON of music last night, since this Sunday is Pentecost and our Pastor LOVES celebrating Pentecost. I wish he loved us enough to give us more than four days to learn 8 pieces of music. We were practicing for 2 hours straight last night and my voice was still pretty raw this morning.
Tonight is the start of my 7 week photography class. I’m taking this class as a refresher, since I haven’t picked up a camera in a while and I really loved taking photos. I need to be reminded how to set f-stops, deal with lighting and process negatives. When my husband and I first started house hunting, I had fantasies of setting up my own darkroom in our basement where I could process my T-Max 3200 film negatives with ease . . . and maybe one day down the road get an enlarger and do printing at the house too. Then reality set in, and we were only able to afford a 2 bedroom and a den condo with no extra room for anything, so the dream was deferred for a bit.
Saturday morning is my Ten Miler training, where I’m supposed to be running for an hour and a half straight this week. I didn’t go last week, because I played hooky and went to the Farmer’s market to get strawberries, rhubarb and asparagus. I’m also supposed to be doing 1 hour of Elliptical training on the days I’m not running. Um . . . yeah. I still have a couple of months, so I really need to get moving on that. I try to get up early in the AM to go running, but I can’t go by-myself and K can never get up in time. I should go alone, but that will be the time I get mugged on the trail or somesuch thing will happen. Being a female sucks sometimes . . . K used to go running on the W&OD trails at 5 in the morning, no worries and nothing happened. I’m not dumb enough to do that (this was pre-going out with me) but it shouldn’t be a hassle to go running at 7 AM on a well lit trail . . . although several local women have been attacked in broad daylight, which is why I refuse to go solo.
Saturday afternoon we have an early dinner with our friend, C, who wants to take another out of town friend to eat at the terrace of one of the venerable hotels in the area.
I’m holding out hope that Sunday is a nice, quiet day where I can finish my knitting in peace.
Tuesday night was the second part of the Adult Ed cooking class that I signed up for – I will take the other two sessions in July and I can’t wait! Last week was where I picked up the strawberry/rhubarb recipe and this week we made a decadent dark chocolate “bark” with toasted walnuts and dried cherries, along with a three onion couscous, a chicken scallopine in lemon caper sauce and a baked salmon with mustard topping. We also learned how to make simple vinaigrette, and by using that base how to make dressings to match whatever meal type you are making. I got to take a lot of the class leftovers home to K for dinner, which he was highly appreciative of . . . especially the chocolate.
Last night was choir practice. I sing as a high soprano in my church’s little ragtag choir. There are only 8 of us on a good day, and only two are guys. Being a high soprano, I get a lot of descant stuff to learn which is kind of hard since my tendency is to blend into the melody and try not to stick out. Also, if I screw up a descant, everyone can tell who it was – no pressure, really. We had to learn a TON of music last night, since this Sunday is Pentecost and our Pastor LOVES celebrating Pentecost. I wish he loved us enough to give us more than four days to learn 8 pieces of music. We were practicing for 2 hours straight last night and my voice was still pretty raw this morning.
Tonight is the start of my 7 week photography class. I’m taking this class as a refresher, since I haven’t picked up a camera in a while and I really loved taking photos. I need to be reminded how to set f-stops, deal with lighting and process negatives. When my husband and I first started house hunting, I had fantasies of setting up my own darkroom in our basement where I could process my T-Max 3200 film negatives with ease . . . and maybe one day down the road get an enlarger and do printing at the house too. Then reality set in, and we were only able to afford a 2 bedroom and a den condo with no extra room for anything, so the dream was deferred for a bit.
Saturday morning is my Ten Miler training, where I’m supposed to be running for an hour and a half straight this week. I didn’t go last week, because I played hooky and went to the Farmer’s market to get strawberries, rhubarb and asparagus. I’m also supposed to be doing 1 hour of Elliptical training on the days I’m not running. Um . . . yeah. I still have a couple of months, so I really need to get moving on that. I try to get up early in the AM to go running, but I can’t go by-myself and K can never get up in time. I should go alone, but that will be the time I get mugged on the trail or somesuch thing will happen. Being a female sucks sometimes . . . K used to go running on the W&OD trails at 5 in the morning, no worries and nothing happened. I’m not dumb enough to do that (this was pre-going out with me) but it shouldn’t be a hassle to go running at 7 AM on a well lit trail . . . although several local women have been attacked in broad daylight, which is why I refuse to go solo.
Saturday afternoon we have an early dinner with our friend, C, who wants to take another out of town friend to eat at the terrace of one of the venerable hotels in the area.
I’m holding out hope that Sunday is a nice, quiet day where I can finish my knitting in peace.
Wednesday, May 11, 2005
School Rant - Part 2
Something else showed up in the Post Online today which disturbed me in the same vein as yesterday’s article.
Challenge Index 2005 -- I Defend Myself
By Jay Mathews
Newsweek magazine has just published, for the fourth time since 1998, my list of the most challenging public high schools in the United States.
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2003/06/10/AR2005032304314.html
OK, I haven’t read the actual Challenge Index, but I have seen it before and doubt it has changed much. I guess my consternation has to do with something that Virginia Gal said in my comments:
“Read the article you referenced . . . You know what is scary about that story (aside from the fact that it was poorly written), is we can see the social stratification occurring at that stage in life. The IB kids are the kids who are going to go onto Ivy League-esque schools, get MBA's, run corporations and be the big power players in America. The kids in the on-levels course, sadly it seems are destined for low wage careers, working hard to stay afloat, getting lucky to make enough for one family vacation a year. I know this is a grand generalization, but it does seem a bit evident reading that story that these kids’ lives are going to go in totally different paths. It fuels the argument of the diminishing middle class in America.”
Bear with me as I struggle through my thought process here . . .
What is the purpose of college? I mean, the real and true purpose of going to college?
Is the purpose to become a more educated member of society, to learn things beyond the norm, to delve into an enriching program of advanced study? Or is it to get a piece of paper just so you can get a job making copies and “word processing” documents?
What is the purpose of high school?
To prepare people for college study? If so, unless you go to a really good school, it totally does not – in fact you pretty much need to unlearn your high school study habits to do well in college.
Is it to prepare people to become contributing citizens in American society? Given the worth of a high school diploma these days in the open market, I’d say no.
I think part of the problem with the education system in general is that whatever the goal was in 1905 is sill the same goal in 2005, and then people wonder why everything is so screwed up.
We live longer nowadays, so we have many, many years of useful learning life ahead of us once we are born. However, these days we seem to rush everyone through a one-size-fits-all system, where if you aren’t reading by kindergarten, you are way behind the curve. Given all we know today about different learning styles and differences in maturity levels, there really should be no reason to be pushing anyone into any levels. If you don’t learn how to read until you are 8, that should be OK . . . I mean, you are probably quick in developing other skills at the same time and are just a slow reading learner. Will that make a difference when you are 70? I think not.
We really should get rid of the stigma of being “left back.” Things should be set up like in college, you need to get so many credits in these different areas . . . if you want to take community college classes when you are 15, you should be allowed to do so. If you want to co-op for a few years to get some working world experience, (and to see where your interests might lie – or what you don’t want to do) that should be good too. People should be allowed to learn things in their own time . . . otherwise, you make people hate the process of learning so much that they run away from anything remotely educational or intellectual.
I was lousy at pre-calculus in High school – my head just couldn’t get there, for a variety of reasons. However, a few years into college I was able to do really well in it and even go on and get A’s in my calculus classes. I think that I didn’t develop the maturity and the rigor to really study these subjects until I was a bit older. Luckily I was good at social sciences and English which kept me humming along at a high level throughout my school years. But what if I hadn’t been as mature in the other subjects? Would I have been condemned to the hell of the “on-level” classes, marking time until graduation? Then what? – would I then have my high school diploma and sort of flounder around at low level jobs, not knowing what my real potential could be? What if I also liked to draw or work with my hands? Would I have been encouraged in that vein? Someone with those skills could become an apprentice and learn things that way . . .
I think that a much more flexible system would not destine people to be low wage slaves – I think it would make people want to be less a cog in a wheel and more in charge of their own destiny.
I don’t know, it’s probably pretty naïve of me, and it didn’t come out right, but you get the gist of what I’m saying, right?
Challenge Index 2005 -- I Defend Myself
By Jay Mathews
Newsweek magazine has just published, for the fourth time since 1998, my list of the most challenging public high schools in the United States.
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2003/06/10/AR2005032304314.html
OK, I haven’t read the actual Challenge Index, but I have seen it before and doubt it has changed much. I guess my consternation has to do with something that Virginia Gal said in my comments:
“Read the article you referenced . . . You know what is scary about that story (aside from the fact that it was poorly written), is we can see the social stratification occurring at that stage in life. The IB kids are the kids who are going to go onto Ivy League-esque schools, get MBA's, run corporations and be the big power players in America. The kids in the on-levels course, sadly it seems are destined for low wage careers, working hard to stay afloat, getting lucky to make enough for one family vacation a year. I know this is a grand generalization, but it does seem a bit evident reading that story that these kids’ lives are going to go in totally different paths. It fuels the argument of the diminishing middle class in America.”
Bear with me as I struggle through my thought process here . . .
What is the purpose of college? I mean, the real and true purpose of going to college?
Is the purpose to become a more educated member of society, to learn things beyond the norm, to delve into an enriching program of advanced study? Or is it to get a piece of paper just so you can get a job making copies and “word processing” documents?
What is the purpose of high school?
To prepare people for college study? If so, unless you go to a really good school, it totally does not – in fact you pretty much need to unlearn your high school study habits to do well in college.
Is it to prepare people to become contributing citizens in American society? Given the worth of a high school diploma these days in the open market, I’d say no.
I think part of the problem with the education system in general is that whatever the goal was in 1905 is sill the same goal in 2005, and then people wonder why everything is so screwed up.
We live longer nowadays, so we have many, many years of useful learning life ahead of us once we are born. However, these days we seem to rush everyone through a one-size-fits-all system, where if you aren’t reading by kindergarten, you are way behind the curve. Given all we know today about different learning styles and differences in maturity levels, there really should be no reason to be pushing anyone into any levels. If you don’t learn how to read until you are 8, that should be OK . . . I mean, you are probably quick in developing other skills at the same time and are just a slow reading learner. Will that make a difference when you are 70? I think not.
We really should get rid of the stigma of being “left back.” Things should be set up like in college, you need to get so many credits in these different areas . . . if you want to take community college classes when you are 15, you should be allowed to do so. If you want to co-op for a few years to get some working world experience, (and to see where your interests might lie – or what you don’t want to do) that should be good too. People should be allowed to learn things in their own time . . . otherwise, you make people hate the process of learning so much that they run away from anything remotely educational or intellectual.
I was lousy at pre-calculus in High school – my head just couldn’t get there, for a variety of reasons. However, a few years into college I was able to do really well in it and even go on and get A’s in my calculus classes. I think that I didn’t develop the maturity and the rigor to really study these subjects until I was a bit older. Luckily I was good at social sciences and English which kept me humming along at a high level throughout my school years. But what if I hadn’t been as mature in the other subjects? Would I have been condemned to the hell of the “on-level” classes, marking time until graduation? Then what? – would I then have my high school diploma and sort of flounder around at low level jobs, not knowing what my real potential could be? What if I also liked to draw or work with my hands? Would I have been encouraged in that vein? Someone with those skills could become an apprentice and learn things that way . . .
I think that a much more flexible system would not destine people to be low wage slaves – I think it would make people want to be less a cog in a wheel and more in charge of their own destiny.
I don’t know, it’s probably pretty naïve of me, and it didn’t come out right, but you get the gist of what I’m saying, right?
Tuesday, May 10, 2005
Rant about Sorting in Schools
This article in today’s Washington Post both frustrated and intrigued me today:
For Same Course, Students Can Succeed on Many Levels
Md. History Class Offered in Tiers of Varying Difficulty
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2005/05/09/AR2005050901056.html
The article takes a look at a single high school and how it teaches a single course – World History - on 4 different levels (“On-Level, Honors, International Baccalaureate, and Advanced Placement.)
If it wasn’t so tragic it would be quite funny, the differences in class discussion between the four classes of World History. After reading this, it’s like, why would anyone NOT want to get their kid into the IB program? I mean, I know that not everyone at 15 or 16 wants to sit around discussing the motivations around 19th century German Unification, but I think that at least everyone should get the tools to be able to do so. The On-Level and Honors classes seem just ghastly. Why would anyone be interested in history if you had to sit through crappy classes like that?
My husband and I were talking about this in the car on the way to work today. He reminded me that my opinion is colored by the fact that we both had parents who placed a huge premium on getting a good education and that there are some who don’t, and those who don’t, won’t be very worried about what their kids are learning on what level, just so long as they pass and graduate.
But you know what? When kids are very little, they just soak up information, they are constantly asking why? And What is that? And Where did that come from? They are willing to try everything. Somewhere along the line, somehow, all that wonderful inquisitiveness and creativity gets, for lack of a better word, beaten out of us. I know that not everyone wants to go to college or even needs to, if they have other talents that will serve them equally well (I’m all for a revamped vocational system . . . I personally wish I’d been able to take drafting or something else hands on useful), but I think all of us need some sort of baseline rigor to become a thinking, fully contributing member of society. I know in some ways that makes me sound horribly conservative, but in a way it is also pretty liberal, to give everyone the same opportunity to learn and succeed.
Thus ends my muddled thought for the morning. It probably makes no sense, but it would take me a week to actually write something intelligible, which would defeat the purpose of the blog. There is a complete thought in there somewhere, I swear! I have to run and actually do some work now, but education is one of my many passions, so I may rant about these odd things from time to time.
Monday, May 09, 2005
I "heart" my commenters!
Thanks you guys for stopping by “Snapshots” – your feedback is very much appreciated!
I was looking around the blogsphere today and noticed lots of folks who are going through the same angst-laden period that I am, and it feels good to know that I’m not alone in my confusion this time of year.
The Mother’s Day holiday seemed to bring out a lot of introspection about 30-something female choices concerning kids. You would think that we would be past making other people feel bad about their choices. I feel so blessed that at least I have choices and opportunities to have angst about. My grandma certainly didn’t have as many opportunities in front of her at my age . . .
Also for some reason I fell into reading an lot of academic blogs, and it is quite amusing to see everyone expressing their frustrations about bonehead students and their joy at finishing final grading of exams and papers. (For example, DON’T email your professor with the same question every five minutes until you get a response. They have a life just like you do and aren’t chained to the computer to be at your beck and call. All it does is tick them off.)
I had a busy weekend and haven’t been able to write much. Went to the local Farmer’s Market on Saturday morning, instead of running and bought 2 pints of strawberries and a bunch of rhubarb . . . so guess who made strawberry rhubarb crisp from scratch this weekend! And guess what was totally gone by late Sunday night? YUM! Unfortunately, that meant that I didn’t do my long run this weekend, since I spent Saturday AM at the market and K needed the car to play in soccer games both Saturday and Sunday afternoon (Saturday was a rain date.) However, I did get a lot of knitting done, but I still have a ways to go on the baby blanket. I so hope the blanket is done by the 22nd . . . I’m getting tired of working on it. After I finish both it and the shawl, I think my next projects should be trying to learn how to knit socks. K goes through socks something awful, and if I could knit some decent dress socks that would be cool.
Busy, busy, busy today!
Friday, May 06, 2005
Interesting Observational Poem
An Assignment for Student Playwrights
By David Wagoner
I told them to go listen to people talking,
To write exactly how some people really
Talked to each other, and one young man
Came to the next workshop, looking bewildered,
Holding his notes by thumbtip and fingertip
To avoid contamination. He said, "This
Is how they talked. They weren't actually
Having a conversation, just interrupting
Each other and saying whatever it was
They wanted to keep on saying. They had to decide
Today, here and now, like whether to go on
With this, this whatever-it-was they couldn't
Think of a name for. They kept looking
This way and that way, even at me (I wasn't
Anybody, just some student scribbling),
But never at each other. You could tell
They felt bad. They were making up their minds
About something important enough to change
Their lives maybe forever. But what was coming
Out of their mouths wouldn't have passed even
Junior high school English. They were both trying
To say what hurt, what was disappointing, what wasn't
Even common courtesy, let alone love.
If they'd been actors, good ones, they'd have been making
Contact. They'd have been improvising something
More interesting than shoving their chairs back
And standing up and trying to split the bill
But dividing it wrong, dropping it, picking it up,
And arguing all the way out. Now what the hell
Am I supposed to make out of this crap?"
By David Wagoner
I told them to go listen to people talking,
To write exactly how some people really
Talked to each other, and one young man
Came to the next workshop, looking bewildered,
Holding his notes by thumbtip and fingertip
To avoid contamination. He said, "This
Is how they talked. They weren't actually
Having a conversation, just interrupting
Each other and saying whatever it was
They wanted to keep on saying. They had to decide
Today, here and now, like whether to go on
With this, this whatever-it-was they couldn't
Think of a name for. They kept looking
This way and that way, even at me (I wasn't
Anybody, just some student scribbling),
But never at each other. You could tell
They felt bad. They were making up their minds
About something important enough to change
Their lives maybe forever. But what was coming
Out of their mouths wouldn't have passed even
Junior high school English. They were both trying
To say what hurt, what was disappointing, what wasn't
Even common courtesy, let alone love.
If they'd been actors, good ones, they'd have been making
Contact. They'd have been improvising something
More interesting than shoving their chairs back
And standing up and trying to split the bill
But dividing it wrong, dropping it, picking it up,
And arguing all the way out. Now what the hell
Am I supposed to make out of this crap?"
Thoughts on a Chilly Friday Afternoon
I am so happy that it is Friday. The week is finally over and I can get some much needed down time to work on a few things at home. My friend’s baby shower has been scheduled for May 22, so I have to knit at least 2 more balls of yarn to finish the blanket I want to give as a gift. I am supposed to run for 1 hour 20 minutes on Saturday morning, but I don’t feel like going to the training program because we usually have to sit and listen to the program for 30 minutes and I would much rather just start running and get it over with. There are a couple of Farmers’ Markets I want to hit in the morning before K has to go to his soccer game in the afternoon.
I need to finally fill out the application for school, so I can get that show on the road. For those who don’t know, I’ve always been interested in community development issues and urban planning, so I want to go back to school and learn about it and maybe go on and get a Masters in Urban Planning or Architecture. I have wanted to do that for ages and K is behind me 100%. Which is awesome! But . . .
The thought of going back to school is causing me great conflict. You see, I am 34 years old, will be 35 in October. We just bought a small 2 bedroom condo with a balcony, which while nice, is not quite what I had hoped our first housing purchase would be . . . I had hoped for at least three bedrooms and a yard. My job, which isn’t that challenging, allows me time to do the 8 zillion things that I like to do, but it doesn’t pay a lot. K and I have always wanted to have children, but when we tried 5 years ago, I went through a very harrowing miscarriage. It was very hard on both of us, and I have been quite wary of wanting to try again without having optimum conditions – since neither of us make a lot, I will still have to work and we’d have to pay for daycare, etc, which is beyond expensive around here. While my parents live close, they don’t live that close and I wouldn’t want to burden them . . . well, actually I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t mind too much, since it would probably be their first grandchild, but still.
However, I now have the maturity and energy to go after a few things that I was not able to do in my 20s. And I have an awesome spouse who is will to back me up to do them. But I don’t think I can work, go to school and have a kid at the same time. I just can’t. I don’t want to put that kind of pressure on K and I don’t want that sort of pressure on me. Some people can do it and get no sleep, but they also tend to be type A, high strung, not much fun to be around types. See, if I worked and went to school, that would be OK, because it is just us two. If I worked and had a kid, I’d have to give up a lot of stuff that I do now that I am starting to come into my own on. And ultimately I would be miserable.
I know this because I watched the same thing happen to my mom. I love my mom dearly and she is an awesome person, but I wonder what would have happened if she had been able to follow her dreams too, not just my dad. I know that I have opportunities that she didn’t and I guess I want her to know that her sacrifices were not in vain: That her daughters turned out to be amazing, independent individuals who built lives that were well-rounded and successful and happy.
. . . Or maybe I am just scared to become pregnant again, in case the same thing happens again. I don’t think my heart could take losing another baby. And I ended up in the hospital last time, lots of blood and doctors and nurses around me . . . and seeing K’s face through the tears – I never ever want to go through anything like that again.
But I have always wanted little ones of my own – to show all sorts of things to, to help them grow into amazing people. I hear about justrose’s little P and I think of what an awesome person she is turning out to be . . . and I hope I can do that some day. K always said that he would be cool with us adopting one day too, if things don’t work out. Have I said how awesome K is?
I just don’t feel like I can do it now . . . I want to wait longer . . . and that makes me feel like such a horrible, selfish person.
Wow, yet another post that probably makes no sense. But writing this down does help a bit, I guess. Putting one’s befuddlement on paper does help make things a little clearer.
Thursday, May 05, 2005
Ode to the Metro
. . . or any rush hour public transportation system, really.
Subway Seethe
J. Allyn Rosser
What could have been the big to-do
that caused him to push me aside
on that platform? Was a woman who knew
there must be some good even inside
an ass like him on board that train?
Charity?
in a ratty string of last chances? Jane?
Surely in all of us is some good.
Better love thy neighbor, buddy,
lest she shove back. Maybe I should.
It's probably just a cruddy
downtown interview leading to
some cheap-tie, careerist, dull
cul-de-sac he's speeding to.
Can he catch up with his soul?
Really, what was the freaking crisis?
Did he need to know before me
if the lights searching the crowd's eyes
were those of our train, or maybe
the train of who he might have been,
the person his own-heart-numbing,
me-shoving anxiety about being
prevents him from ever becoming?
How has his thoughtlessness defiled
who I was before he shoved me?
How might I be smiling now if he'd smiled,
hanging back, as though he might have loved me?
Tuesday, May 03, 2005
More thoughts about . . . me
OK – where was I? Oh, yes . . . yesterday I was ranting about the lack of intellectual discussion in my life.
See, part of the problem is that I am more of an observer than a participant. Not in life activities, per se . . . my daily schedule and number of hobbies is proof of that . . . but in interacting with groups of people. Because I think I sound pretty stupid. Because I am much better sounding in my thoughts than in my speech. Because I don’t want people to think I AM stupid. There are enough people who don’t know what they are talking about and I don’t want to add to the fray. Because if I keep my mouth shut, someone will eventually ask me what I think, usually at the end of a fracas, and by then I sound relatively reasonable by comparison. Because I’ve listened to what was being said and thought about it. But most discourse does not allow time for thought. Sometimes thinking is made out to be a negative attribute . . . because you have to take into account different sides of things. And people don’t want to hear it.
I’ve noticed that a lot of times, people ask a question and they already know the answer they want, or think they do. You can see it in the way they ask, and you can see it in their reaction to the responses. If you listen properly, you can hear what needs to be said back to them to give them the answer – it may not be the answer they wanted, but it may be the answer that works. But to do that, you have to respect the way that they are thinking – you have to understand their thought process and where they are coming from. People like it when you ask them follow-up questions, because then they know you’ve been paying attention. But then they also start to reveal more of the background of what the problem is, and sometimes you find that the problem is not what they said it was, but has to do with something that happened earlier. So the answer has to address the earlier incident AND the current problem. See, things are so complex! So I cannot see in black and white – I do not like giving the knee jerk response.
So what am I saying today? I don’t know. But it is a little insight into my little brain. And why I don’t comment places often. Because it takes me forever to think of a proper response – or what I think my response should look like. Because I don’t want to sound clueless. Because I want to be really helpful and contribute something useful to the discussion. Am I a snob? An elitist? I just don’t know . . . but all I know is I do try to be fair and empathetic and rational. And right now I’m not seeing a whole lot of fair and empathetic and rational out there.
And sometimes that hurts me deep down more than I can say.
Downward Spiral of a Another Local Institution
<begin rant>
Giant to lay off 500 workers
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2005/05/03/AR2005050300722.html
I hate mergers . . . they always ruin the local businesses that they are supposedly saving. Giant Food, a local supermarket chain, was bought by Royal Ahold a few years ago (owners of Stop and Shop, among other things) who then went about ruining a lot of the things that made Giant such a force in the local marketplace to begin with. The closed the bakeries, changed the inventory system, and made the current, longstanding employees very unhappy. This is going to be another nail in the coffin for the chain, I fear, and I am sure poor old Izzy Cohen is spinning in his grave to what has happened to his stores.
The day they stop sponsoring “It’s Academic” (http://www.nbc4.com/itsacademic/index.html) is the day I never darken their door again!
</rant>
Fun News of the Day: Slinkys are Back!
The NYT’s In Advertising newsletter today focused on the comeback of commercials for . . . The Slinky!
“According to Poof-Slinky, which acquired Slinky in 1998 from James Industries, the company founded by its creators, Betty and Richard James, the tune for the jingle had remained the same since its introduction, although the lyrics have changed many times. One version is included on the CD "TeeVee Tunes: The Commercials."
Here are the lyrics from the new 30-second radio commercial:
What walks down stairs
Alone or in pairs
And makes the happiest sound?
Everyone knows it's Slinky
It's Slinky, it's Slinky
For fun, it's a wonderful toy
It's Slinky, it's Slinky
It's fun for a girl and a boy
A spring, a spring, a marvelous thing
It makes a 'slinkity' sound
Everyone knows it's Slinky “
I have three different shaped rainbow Slinkys on my desk at home, which I play with way, way too often. Do little kids even play with them anymore? Most people that I know with Slinkys are older people, like me, who still like playing with the silly stuff of our childhood. Anyway, I thought that this was a fun thing to read today and just wanted to share . . . so that everyone else can get that tune stuck in their head like it is in mine right now.
Monday, May 02, 2005
Thoughts started and then interrupted
This weekend was quite a busy one for me and the husband. I started to type up a long post about it, but it sounded boring . . . Well, no – rather, so much happened that I can’t seem to gather my thoughts into a reasonable, rational stream that normal people can understand. Maybe that will be the purpose of this blog – to help me order my thoughts better than the random bursts that make up my brain.
Today has been kind of a useless day here at the office, a day that started off sunny and bright and ended up cloudy and cold and gray. I am restless and tired. Not much is going on here at work, we are just waiting . . . waiting for a shoe to drop, I guess.
So I’ve been reading different blogs on and off today. I seem to have found a plethora of blogs by professors and other academically-minded folks, lots of people talking about administrative politics at their colleges, whatever bizarre questions, statements, expectations their students have bombarded them with, and just general life questions and topics. I am fascinated and jealous – I would love to go back to school again, and I may in the Fall, just to be able to learn with structure and discuss weighty subjects with other folks, bouncing theories and ideas off of each other. Just learning . . .
See, I love learning. And I love applying what I learn. I love teaching. I love helping people . . . and being helpful. I like trying to write my opinion about things – I like having opinions. I like hearing others’ opinions. I like figuring out the logic of what is going on, what is being said . . . and these days, I don’t get to do much of that. Not that no one cares – but no one cares. Everyone has an opinion. But there is very little discussion. And I want discussion. Real reasoned discussion. But most places, it is not discussion, it is “I am right and you are wrong.” And I hate that. Because there are degrees and shades of gray and middle ground. But not anymore it seems. I can get as passionate as the next person, but I try not to yell or call people names or anything, and public discourse – well, it’s hitting bottom. And so I feel lonely in a way.
I do talk to K, but you know, we think alike. And even when we don’t, I know him well enough to figure out where he is coming from. Everyone else is busy with their lives. I was part of a book group once, and we all would read magazine articles (because they were shorter) and discuss them, but then people got too busy to read the articles. (Slackers! We only met once a month! The articles were, like, 4 pages tops. Jeez . . .) But while it lasted it was fun to actually discuss and debate stuff.
Ooops! I have to run. I’ve got to run to an evening appointment, but promise to try to finish my thought later tonight or tomorrow morning. If anyone is still listening . . . I’ll talk to you later.
The Routine Made Poetic
Anyone who ever had a dog, or ever took care of someone else’s dog, will appreciate today’s poem.
Walking
By Michael Chitwood
At the same time every morning
the lady brings her dog up the street.
Actually it's more that the dog brings her.
A big chocolate Lab, it lunges and snaps
the leash, jerking her arm out straight.
Sometimes it's a steady pull, the dog
straining as if it were a plow horse
and the woman leaning back, her weight,
slight as it is, working against the big dog.
She seems like someone fighting a big wind.
And every day, almost at the same spot,
the dog relaxes, goes into her squat.
The leash droops slack between them
and the woman looks off as though suddenly
struck by the color of a certain tree's bark.
She has the look of someone considering
the nature of the soul or of the afterlife.
She's honing in on it too. She's almost got it
figured out when the dog lurches up
and nearly jerks her down into its pile.
And now she draws a plastic grocery bag
from her pocket and covers her hand with it.
You don't need to watch this part.
Just know that she does it. For her kids,
maybe, so they can keep the dog. For her
neighbors. Perhaps for herself, her powerful
need of it, the animal caught on its leash.
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