Like a bone--naked and stripped
of protective flesh,
of functional muscle,
of softening fluid.
Vulnerable and growing harder;
threatening to brittle--
closer to shatter.
Like a desert--vast and open.
Grainy with resentment,
arid with loneliness,
abrasive grit to scrape away
that which gropes for moisture,
for deluge.
A place for fasting and prayer,
as well as temptation;
a place for reflection
in no nearby pool.
Dry truth.
To soak up the self
that insists on drowning.
Sunday, November 29, 2015
Saturday, November 28, 2015
Be Not Proud: Recent Musing on Death
Sorry to be so dark right in the midst of the holiday season, but, as any writer knows, when the inspiration hits, when the muse smashes you over the head with her invisible magic wand, you kind of have to move on it.
Ok, two things have prompted this post. First of all, I am in the middle of grading student analyses of John Donne's "Holy Sonnet X," otherwise referred to as the "Death, be not proud" poem. For the most part, they're doing just fine and I'm happily validated in my curriculum planning and execution of sonnet form and content. Thank you for asking.
The other catalyst here is the recent news that a dear family friend kind of "backed in" to the knowledge of Stage 4 kidney cancer and may have "two weeks to live." While some family members are taking the news as if they themselves were dying of cancer, the event has brought me into some ruminations about how I would react to the news that either a closer loved one (my husband, child, parent or sibling, for instance) or I had been diagnosed with potentially fatal cancer.
Let me pause for a second to acknowledge the fact that back in 1997 my then-23-year-old sister-in-law was diagnosed with an aggressive form of pre-menopausal breast cancer--from which a prognosis of a few months was announced. Her response to the gut punch was to not believe, for one single solitary second, that it would be the end of her. She punched back--at her own body mainly--with an aggressive treatment plan. The chemo regiment itself carried with it a 50% risk of death, and she had to give herself her own bone marrow to save herself. That might be the epitome of Emersonian self-reliance. No one is supposed to be dying at age 23, so the fact that she survived the ordeal was less of a shock to us than if she hadn't.
Since that time, I have lost peers to cancer, suicides, car accidents, and drug overdoses. I have lost close relatives to cancer and old age. I have experienced a community reeling from the untimely deaths of teenage students and children of friends. My parents and in-laws' catalogues of friends and relatives are every week being picked off by cardiovascular disease, cancer and dementia. Death has become for me (as I am rounding out my mid-thirties) a very central part of life. And, I started to wonder, as the recent information of this family friend's "time left" has surfaced, how would I respond to the same news?
Let's just say that if anything ever happens to my children while I am alive, it will be the end of me. I may go on physically, but with a broken heart that will disable any capacity for deep joy or ambition. I know myself well enough to know that.
But were I to learn that my days were numbered (which, if we're being honest with ourselves, we understand to always be the case!), I truly think I would be okay. I have accomplished enough to not feel like a failure, am in touch with enough people to know I am loved. I would be sad for my children and others who cared about my departure, but I do not think I would resist the departure itself. My mom says this is the benefit of a young and invincible attitude--that when the time comes to face my own mortality, it will bother me. It will feel like it was not enough time--even if I'm 100 years old. But maybe she says that because, at age 75, she still refuses to fly on an airplane because she cannot instruct the pilot from the cockpit backseat. Clearly, she's not ready to go yet. And the people I see who resist death the most--like, they don't even want to talk about it--are the people who feel that they actually possess some modicum of control over the events in this world.
Maybe it is possible to be a happy, fulfilled person who does not fear death because she knows it to be something she cannot control. And, out of control is more her comfort zone.
Ok, two things have prompted this post. First of all, I am in the middle of grading student analyses of John Donne's "Holy Sonnet X," otherwise referred to as the "Death, be not proud" poem. For the most part, they're doing just fine and I'm happily validated in my curriculum planning and execution of sonnet form and content. Thank you for asking.
The other catalyst here is the recent news that a dear family friend kind of "backed in" to the knowledge of Stage 4 kidney cancer and may have "two weeks to live." While some family members are taking the news as if they themselves were dying of cancer, the event has brought me into some ruminations about how I would react to the news that either a closer loved one (my husband, child, parent or sibling, for instance) or I had been diagnosed with potentially fatal cancer.
Let me pause for a second to acknowledge the fact that back in 1997 my then-23-year-old sister-in-law was diagnosed with an aggressive form of pre-menopausal breast cancer--from which a prognosis of a few months was announced. Her response to the gut punch was to not believe, for one single solitary second, that it would be the end of her. She punched back--at her own body mainly--with an aggressive treatment plan. The chemo regiment itself carried with it a 50% risk of death, and she had to give herself her own bone marrow to save herself. That might be the epitome of Emersonian self-reliance. No one is supposed to be dying at age 23, so the fact that she survived the ordeal was less of a shock to us than if she hadn't.
Since that time, I have lost peers to cancer, suicides, car accidents, and drug overdoses. I have lost close relatives to cancer and old age. I have experienced a community reeling from the untimely deaths of teenage students and children of friends. My parents and in-laws' catalogues of friends and relatives are every week being picked off by cardiovascular disease, cancer and dementia. Death has become for me (as I am rounding out my mid-thirties) a very central part of life. And, I started to wonder, as the recent information of this family friend's "time left" has surfaced, how would I respond to the same news?
Let's just say that if anything ever happens to my children while I am alive, it will be the end of me. I may go on physically, but with a broken heart that will disable any capacity for deep joy or ambition. I know myself well enough to know that.
But were I to learn that my days were numbered (which, if we're being honest with ourselves, we understand to always be the case!), I truly think I would be okay. I have accomplished enough to not feel like a failure, am in touch with enough people to know I am loved. I would be sad for my children and others who cared about my departure, but I do not think I would resist the departure itself. My mom says this is the benefit of a young and invincible attitude--that when the time comes to face my own mortality, it will bother me. It will feel like it was not enough time--even if I'm 100 years old. But maybe she says that because, at age 75, she still refuses to fly on an airplane because she cannot instruct the pilot from the cockpit backseat. Clearly, she's not ready to go yet. And the people I see who resist death the most--like, they don't even want to talk about it--are the people who feel that they actually possess some modicum of control over the events in this world.
Maybe it is possible to be a happy, fulfilled person who does not fear death because she knows it to be something she cannot control. And, out of control is more her comfort zone.
Thursday, November 19, 2015
Kind of Blue: A Week-Long Extraction from Facebook
Yeah--I'm one of those people. One who decides all of a sudden that Facebook has finally become more of a burden than a life enhancer. So, with about 45 seconds notice, I posted a note that went something like this:
Friends--it is with a heavy heart that I deactivate my FB account. I will miss tremendously your
lovely photos, enlightened shares, and witty commentary, but this site has become an
unbearable distraction and unbelievable time-suck. Signing off . . . (for now).
And then I rooted into the bowels of the security settings and deactivated the account. FB really doesn't want you to go. They give you a list of about 15 anticipated reasons why you might be closing it down, and for each they have a prefab solution that mercifully allows you to stay. I selected, "Spending too much time on the site" as my reason (which is true!) and was met with a series of suggestions about how to cut down my time on the site, but, please, for the love of God, don't leave. But I did. Some time-sucks--like my young children--are worth it. Facebook is a worthless waste of time, and a practice that removes me from engaging in the REAL life right in front of my face. And now it's time to report how the separation is going--for those of you who wonder, but have never really been willing to pull the plug.
DAY ONE:
What.the.FU*K.is.going.on.out.there? I feel absolutely UNknowing. Ignorant. The opposite of how I like feeling. Cut off. Out of the loop. There's stuff going on that I used to know that I no longer know. And it seems to matter.
DAY TWO:
Miss certain posters. Don't miss others. For every picture of a friend's cute kid/s I would want to see--I would see twenty cute kids of friends who post too often--usually to demonstrate what fantastic parents they are. It has not escaped me that I belong to this latter camp, by the way. To be honest, there are some people I'm happy to be away from. Our differences in politics or worldview were so significant, and so exhausting to ignore or be silent about.
Funny thing about deactivating from Facebook is the reaction it garners from others. A resounding "WHY?" has been the consensus. It's such a funny response considering we belong to a generation that grew up without the internet, much less social medial. Imagine if, twenty years ago, someone said to you: In the future, there's going to be a place on your computer (and a bunch of other devices that haven't been invented yet) where you will be able to post every tiny thought that comes into your head and post pictures of yourself (and anyone else you want) for all the world to see--even people whom you forgot existed because they left school in 3rd grade and moved to Texas. Additionally, you will be able to follow every thought that comes into everyone else's head and see every picture they've ever taken--and every picture anyone else had taken of them. This place on your computer might have the power to actually replace genuine interaction because it will FEEL like you are keeping up with people. But really, you're only keeping up with a construction of those people--what they want the world to see of them. And, at times, you will FEEL like you're being extremely productive--socializing (making new friends, dating, nurturing relationships with family and old friends), catching up on international news, sharing thoughts and opinions about important matters. But what it really is constitutes mere gossip and what's really being achieved is nothing.
Twenty years ago, I might have thought, 1. Thank the ever loving lord that doesn't exist NOW, and 2. Why the hell would anyone want to be involved in that?
DAY THREE:
The tremors have abated somewhat. Feel like this might be the proverbial calm before the storm. The newfound liberation is still exciting--the raw throb of meeting life face to face rather than through the computer screen is exhilarating. Dislike not feeling the instant connection to friends and family I only see on Facebook. Suppose a phone call might be in order . . .
DAY FOUR & FIVE:
Weekend days were pretty easy--due to nonstop kid distraction--except during moments when hanging out on Facebook is totally acceptable and necessary. Getting a pedicure and waiting for my kids to get adequate play time on the Macdonald's playground, for instance, were particularly trying times. Miss it. Miss checking in with certain folks. Miss the witty banter.
WEEK TWO:
Weathered my first week. There have been withdrawals to be sure--like almost hooking back in last night because I simply could not stand to be away anymore. I had things to post. My son in his Star Wars pajamas saying "I am a Jedi, like my father before me." Who doesn't want to see that? I had people to see! People I don't want to call, because, let's face it, I've never called them and it would just be weird at this point. But I reeled myself in, damn it. I exercised self control. As much as it would feel good to be back--the embarrassment of not being able to stay away was a stronger enough emotion to keep me off.
Got a text from my youngest brother today. He just noticed I was gone (8 days after deactivating my account). Validates things. Facebook doesn't need me as much as I need it.
HALF WAY THROUGH WEEK TWO:
Plugged back in. My justification for doing so was the reality that I was not one second's worth more productive during my time away than I was before. I truly MISSED people. Missed sharing with people. Missed information that I swore above I was better off without having--without sharing.
What can I say? I'm weak. I'm more of an extrovert than I like to admit to myself. I'm lonely. I'm lazy. Whatever I am--I'm back. On Facebook.
Friends--it is with a heavy heart that I deactivate my FB account. I will miss tremendously your
lovely photos, enlightened shares, and witty commentary, but this site has become an
unbearable distraction and unbelievable time-suck. Signing off . . . (for now).
And then I rooted into the bowels of the security settings and deactivated the account. FB really doesn't want you to go. They give you a list of about 15 anticipated reasons why you might be closing it down, and for each they have a prefab solution that mercifully allows you to stay. I selected, "Spending too much time on the site" as my reason (which is true!) and was met with a series of suggestions about how to cut down my time on the site, but, please, for the love of God, don't leave. But I did. Some time-sucks--like my young children--are worth it. Facebook is a worthless waste of time, and a practice that removes me from engaging in the REAL life right in front of my face. And now it's time to report how the separation is going--for those of you who wonder, but have never really been willing to pull the plug.
DAY ONE:
What.the.FU*K.is.going.on.out.there? I feel absolutely UNknowing. Ignorant. The opposite of how I like feeling. Cut off. Out of the loop. There's stuff going on that I used to know that I no longer know. And it seems to matter.
DAY TWO:
Miss certain posters. Don't miss others. For every picture of a friend's cute kid/s I would want to see--I would see twenty cute kids of friends who post too often--usually to demonstrate what fantastic parents they are. It has not escaped me that I belong to this latter camp, by the way. To be honest, there are some people I'm happy to be away from. Our differences in politics or worldview were so significant, and so exhausting to ignore or be silent about.
Funny thing about deactivating from Facebook is the reaction it garners from others. A resounding "WHY?" has been the consensus. It's such a funny response considering we belong to a generation that grew up without the internet, much less social medial. Imagine if, twenty years ago, someone said to you: In the future, there's going to be a place on your computer (and a bunch of other devices that haven't been invented yet) where you will be able to post every tiny thought that comes into your head and post pictures of yourself (and anyone else you want) for all the world to see--even people whom you forgot existed because they left school in 3rd grade and moved to Texas. Additionally, you will be able to follow every thought that comes into everyone else's head and see every picture they've ever taken--and every picture anyone else had taken of them. This place on your computer might have the power to actually replace genuine interaction because it will FEEL like you are keeping up with people. But really, you're only keeping up with a construction of those people--what they want the world to see of them. And, at times, you will FEEL like you're being extremely productive--socializing (making new friends, dating, nurturing relationships with family and old friends), catching up on international news, sharing thoughts and opinions about important matters. But what it really is constitutes mere gossip and what's really being achieved is nothing.
Twenty years ago, I might have thought, 1. Thank the ever loving lord that doesn't exist NOW, and 2. Why the hell would anyone want to be involved in that?
DAY THREE:
The tremors have abated somewhat. Feel like this might be the proverbial calm before the storm. The newfound liberation is still exciting--the raw throb of meeting life face to face rather than through the computer screen is exhilarating. Dislike not feeling the instant connection to friends and family I only see on Facebook. Suppose a phone call might be in order . . .
DAY FOUR & FIVE:
Weekend days were pretty easy--due to nonstop kid distraction--except during moments when hanging out on Facebook is totally acceptable and necessary. Getting a pedicure and waiting for my kids to get adequate play time on the Macdonald's playground, for instance, were particularly trying times. Miss it. Miss checking in with certain folks. Miss the witty banter.
WEEK TWO:
Weathered my first week. There have been withdrawals to be sure--like almost hooking back in last night because I simply could not stand to be away anymore. I had things to post. My son in his Star Wars pajamas saying "I am a Jedi, like my father before me." Who doesn't want to see that? I had people to see! People I don't want to call, because, let's face it, I've never called them and it would just be weird at this point. But I reeled myself in, damn it. I exercised self control. As much as it would feel good to be back--the embarrassment of not being able to stay away was a stronger enough emotion to keep me off.
Got a text from my youngest brother today. He just noticed I was gone (8 days after deactivating my account). Validates things. Facebook doesn't need me as much as I need it.
HALF WAY THROUGH WEEK TWO:
Plugged back in. My justification for doing so was the reality that I was not one second's worth more productive during my time away than I was before. I truly MISSED people. Missed sharing with people. Missed information that I swore above I was better off without having--without sharing.
What can I say? I'm weak. I'm more of an extrovert than I like to admit to myself. I'm lonely. I'm lazy. Whatever I am--I'm back. On Facebook.
Saturday, October 31, 2015
Hallowed Spirit
I have a few measures by which I judge a person's character. And they're very simple:
1. Desert island movie picks (if Bill Murray or Best in Show are absent, there's a problem)
2. Country is part of your music library
3. Your ability to give a toast at special gatherings
4. Whether or not you enjoy dressing up for Halloween
To this last point--you either do or you don't. There's no acceptable middle ground here. The school at which I teach just wrapped up Homecoming Week--during which time students (and teachers) dress in a preset theme each day. The teachers and students who enthusiastically dress for the occasion endear themselves to me in a way that cannot be rescinded. Those who are too afraid of what others think, too lazy, or too uncreative have a difficult time making their way back into the center of my heart.
But why do people like dressing up? I submit the following list of reasons while I sit and wait until it's time to slip into my Pink Ladies get up, paint my son's face green so he can continue to indulge his adorable Hulk obsession, and then head out to our trick-or-treating:
1. Pure Fantasy Indulging. These costumes represent the best our culture has to offer--the Superheros (take your pick!--lotta Wonder Woman out there this year), Hot Celebrities (Marilyn Monroes, Rock Stars, and Superstar Athletes), Supernatural Power (fairies, wizards), and the Power (kings, queens, princesses, etc.). These costumes say, "I have a pretty normal life, but get to break out of that one day of the year and show you what I could be made of if genetics, lineage, talent, and gravity were not holding me down."
2. Horror Tradition. These costumes represent the true spirit of Halloween: scare someone. In this camp we see ghosts, witches, mummies, vampires, zombies, psychotic killers from 70s and 80s slasher films (Jason Vorhees, Freddy Kruger, and, my personal favorite, Michael Myers), as well as a whole genre of spookified (otherwise normal) things--a vampire nun or a zombie accountant, for instance.
3. Slut It Up. I would refer you to my earlier blog on this one, but you all know what I'm talking about. For at least the last 30 years, Halloween has offered women a day to dress as a "sexy" anything and shrug their cute little shoulders, because, hey, "It's Halloween." These costumes divide into a whole nuther list of subdivisions, but to keep it simple, make the costumes tight, low cut, with short skirts and we have: the Classics (cat, devil, angel, bunny, nurse, chambermaid, schoolgirl), the inanimate (crayon, beer keg, M&M, etc.) and the Irony (nun, military, doctor, baby)--we may even have a "sexy" Hilary Clinton in this category this year, if such a thing is possible.
4. Mocking. This, my favorite category, provides the funniest and most creative costumes. When people have a social purpose to their Halloween attire, great things happen. Get ready to see A LOT of Trump jokes--mostly having to do with his toupee, no doubt. Political figures really take a blow on Halloween, and well they should. Celebrities also weather their fair share of mockery on this night. Where people really shine in this category is by unabashedly using their children:
And with that (and probably illegally posted pics--but if Google can give them to me, I can probably put them here, right?), it's time to get dressed.
Hope you all have a Happy Halloween and find it in your hearts to dress up--for one of the listed reasons above, or another of your own choosing.
Sunday, October 4, 2015
Broken Concentration
The iPads have officially become a problem. They're distracting for nearly everyone, but she was the hold out--maybe the ONE person in class who had not succumbed to its power. Lately, that has changed.
I've always feared this day because it means there is no hope.
The first to fall were those who would have fallen without the iPad. The students who gaze out the window, text on their phones, or write notes to keep themselves busy during the 85 minutes they refuse to pay attention.
The next batch were truly lured. Normally attentive, they simply could not refuse the temptation to check emails and grades, and "multi-task" during the class period. This group frequently will click or swipe to hide geometry graphics or conjugation charts as a teacher approaches. And in their minds, what they're doing is totally justifiable.
But this last group to fall, to yield to the intoxicating glow of the iPad screen is the back-breaking straw. These are the ones who MAKE the class function--without which there would be no class discussion, no As on tests and essays, no excitement and enthusiasm to the activities.
On Tuesday, I approached her desk and saw the familiar full screen swipe--the tell tale sign she was not on task and trying to hide what she was occupied with before I could see it. Then, on Thursday, during class discussion, her eyes were on the screen more than they were on anything else. Her typing and swiping giving away her disengagement--her utter and total lack of investment in the class's debate about Gawain's completion of the Heroic Journey.
It has to stop. We have to take the iPads away from the teachers.
I've always feared this day because it means there is no hope.
The first to fall were those who would have fallen without the iPad. The students who gaze out the window, text on their phones, or write notes to keep themselves busy during the 85 minutes they refuse to pay attention.
The next batch were truly lured. Normally attentive, they simply could not refuse the temptation to check emails and grades, and "multi-task" during the class period. This group frequently will click or swipe to hide geometry graphics or conjugation charts as a teacher approaches. And in their minds, what they're doing is totally justifiable.
But this last group to fall, to yield to the intoxicating glow of the iPad screen is the back-breaking straw. These are the ones who MAKE the class function--without which there would be no class discussion, no As on tests and essays, no excitement and enthusiasm to the activities.
On Tuesday, I approached her desk and saw the familiar full screen swipe--the tell tale sign she was not on task and trying to hide what she was occupied with before I could see it. Then, on Thursday, during class discussion, her eyes were on the screen more than they were on anything else. Her typing and swiping giving away her disengagement--her utter and total lack of investment in the class's debate about Gawain's completion of the Heroic Journey.
It has to stop. We have to take the iPads away from the teachers.
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