Every year, I go through this thing.
Toward the end of winter, I am absolutely dying for warmer weather. I end up writing down all the the things I miss about summer and spring, and until it gets here, I'm just sort of itching for it.
To name a few of the things that are ALWAYS on the list: flip flops, cold beer (it just tastes better when it's warm outside) , skirts, watermelon, blueberries, mild sunburn, summer blockbusters, late-night ice-cream runs, air-headed-but-catchy summer pop-songs, sunscreen, sleeping with the windows open, and playing in water (water guns especially).
So right now, when it's freezing early in the morning and at night but gorgeously warm all afternoon, I feel like we're standing on the edge of spring but not quite there yet. I'm like a hyper puppy on a leash that KNOWS it'll be able to get out of the car and run soon, but we're still five minutes from the dog park. I'm excited and it just can't seem to get here fast enough.
COME ON SPRING!!!! HURRY UP ALREADY, DAMNIT!
Monday, March 10, 2008
Monday, February 11, 2008
Curious
Questions I am currently sending into the void:
1. Why is South Park so funny? It's a cartoon about eight-year-olds doing and seeing every sick thing that can possibly be imagined. By all rights, it should be repulsive. But, every time I watch it, I find myself laughing guiltily. Why is that?
2. Why isn't it Friday?
3. How is it that names come and go in trends and there are names that mark entire generations? Names like "Barbara" or "Bill" -- people don't name their kids Barbara anymore -- or "Brittany" and "Jason" for our generation, and now our generation is naming their kids "Destiny" and "Chastity." Don't get it.
4. What the hell kind of sadistic person names their daughter Chastity? Don't they know what it means? Are they going to name her little sisters "Virgin" and "Celibacy" and "Nun?"
5. What IS America's fascination with Hannah-Fucking-Montana????
6. Why isn't it Friday?
7. How come getting up the gumption to go and exercise is sooooo bloody hard?
8. Now. I know I'm not the first person to ask this, but why can't weekends be at least one day longer? Would the world and the economy really just explode if people worked for four days a week instead of five? I suppose it might... I mean, it's possible... ugh. I hate it when I answer my own rhetorical questions.
9. Why does reading Bridget Jones's Diary make one speak in incomplete sentences?
10. Have I mentioned why isn't it Friday?
1. Why is South Park so funny? It's a cartoon about eight-year-olds doing and seeing every sick thing that can possibly be imagined. By all rights, it should be repulsive. But, every time I watch it, I find myself laughing guiltily. Why is that?
2. Why isn't it Friday?
3. How is it that names come and go in trends and there are names that mark entire generations? Names like "Barbara" or "Bill" -- people don't name their kids Barbara anymore -- or "Brittany" and "Jason" for our generation, and now our generation is naming their kids "Destiny" and "Chastity." Don't get it.
4. What the hell kind of sadistic person names their daughter Chastity? Don't they know what it means? Are they going to name her little sisters "Virgin" and "Celibacy" and "Nun?"
5. What IS America's fascination with Hannah-Fucking-Montana????
6. Why isn't it Friday?
7. How come getting up the gumption to go and exercise is sooooo bloody hard?
8. Now. I know I'm not the first person to ask this, but why can't weekends be at least one day longer? Would the world and the economy really just explode if people worked for four days a week instead of five? I suppose it might... I mean, it's possible... ugh. I hate it when I answer my own rhetorical questions.
9. Why does reading Bridget Jones's Diary make one speak in incomplete sentences?
10. Have I mentioned why isn't it Friday?
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Almost Monday
It's 11:17 on Sunday night. That means, damnitall, it's almost Monday.
The kids are interesting this semester. I have two classes of remedial sophomores, which means they hate English and have NEVER done well in it and I will be pulling teeth to get them to do anything at all, and one class of college-bound seniors who also hate English but are willing to work hard to pass because they don't want to be stuck in Caswell county forever.
One of my students said something Thursday that hit me in the head like a sledgehammer.
Last class of the day. I'd spent the entire day introducing myself to my students and getting them to introduce themselves to me. We played that toilet paper game -- the one where you have to take some toilet paper and then tell a fact about yourself for every single-ply sheet you have wadded up on your desk. I always have one smartass that takes off half the roll and then, when he realizes the catch in the game, stuffs the whole wad (with the exception of one sheet) in his pocket or backpack. But that's beside the point.
I always go last. I let the kids go first, so I can get an idea about what they're like, how they spend their time, whether or not they have any aptitude for English at all, etc.... so I go last. I always tear off an average of seven sheets, and my staple facts are always something along the lines of "I was born on Christmas Day" or "I gradutated from Appalachian State University" or "I spent two and a half weeks in Japan this past summer."
As usual, I went through the staple "interesting facts" about myself, stopping on that last one about Japan.
A kid in the back, who looked like he should have been a senior, a tall "good-ol-boy" type in hunter camouflage and a Carhart jacket, made this confused and disgusted face (yeah, disgusted -- like he'd just found a brand-new, unfamiliar turd that had come from some strange and unknown animal) and said, "Why would anybody want to go to Japan?"
I, not thinking, replied, "Why not? Do you want to stay in this county the rest of your life?"
He laughed with his buddies and said, "Well, yeah, I plan on bummin' off my parents as long as I can!"
I nearly had to leave the room to throw up.
After thinking about it for a long time, I have several theories as to why he made this response: 1.) He really is the product of a small-minded, isolationist, and bigoted culture or 2.) He's just scared of what's outside of this weird county because it's home or 3.) He's intimdated by somebody with more education, more life experience and obviously enough money to make trips to Japan.
Not that I'm Daddy Warbucks, but comparing me in high school with this kid, I probably do have a pretty significant financial advantage.
I have my work cut out for me.
Ugh, it's gonna be a hell of a semester.
The kids are interesting this semester. I have two classes of remedial sophomores, which means they hate English and have NEVER done well in it and I will be pulling teeth to get them to do anything at all, and one class of college-bound seniors who also hate English but are willing to work hard to pass because they don't want to be stuck in Caswell county forever.
One of my students said something Thursday that hit me in the head like a sledgehammer.
Last class of the day. I'd spent the entire day introducing myself to my students and getting them to introduce themselves to me. We played that toilet paper game -- the one where you have to take some toilet paper and then tell a fact about yourself for every single-ply sheet you have wadded up on your desk. I always have one smartass that takes off half the roll and then, when he realizes the catch in the game, stuffs the whole wad (with the exception of one sheet) in his pocket or backpack. But that's beside the point.
I always go last. I let the kids go first, so I can get an idea about what they're like, how they spend their time, whether or not they have any aptitude for English at all, etc.... so I go last. I always tear off an average of seven sheets, and my staple facts are always something along the lines of "I was born on Christmas Day" or "I gradutated from Appalachian State University" or "I spent two and a half weeks in Japan this past summer."
As usual, I went through the staple "interesting facts" about myself, stopping on that last one about Japan.
A kid in the back, who looked like he should have been a senior, a tall "good-ol-boy" type in hunter camouflage and a Carhart jacket, made this confused and disgusted face (yeah, disgusted -- like he'd just found a brand-new, unfamiliar turd that had come from some strange and unknown animal) and said, "Why would anybody want to go to Japan?"
I, not thinking, replied, "Why not? Do you want to stay in this county the rest of your life?"
He laughed with his buddies and said, "Well, yeah, I plan on bummin' off my parents as long as I can!"
I nearly had to leave the room to throw up.
After thinking about it for a long time, I have several theories as to why he made this response: 1.) He really is the product of a small-minded, isolationist, and bigoted culture or 2.) He's just scared of what's outside of this weird county because it's home or 3.) He's intimdated by somebody with more education, more life experience and obviously enough money to make trips to Japan.
Not that I'm Daddy Warbucks, but comparing me in high school with this kid, I probably do have a pretty significant financial advantage.
I have my work cut out for me.
Ugh, it's gonna be a hell of a semester.
Monday, January 14, 2008
New Shoes
I think....I think I'm in a slightly unstable period in my life.
I'm not settling down any time soon, so everything is possible and impossible at the same time. I can do what ever I want and yet nothing that I want. Does that make sense?
Hmm...let me rephrase. Or explain. Or whatever.
This is just one of those transition periods. The first year of high school was a transition year. The first year of college was a transition year. Each year I spent sad and uncomfortable, until my new shoes finally formed to my feet, and I wore them until they fell apart. Once I get comfortable, I'm so comfortable I don't want to leave until I have to (for those who didn't get the shoe metaphor).
Thus, what I'm trying to say is that I'm in the process of breaking in my new shoes. I'm in the process of carving my newest niche. God knows this year is not quite as bad as some of those previous ones, a few of which I spent utterly miserable. I'm hoping that means that the shoes, once broken in, will be the most comfortable yet, because I had a head start on breaking them in. I guess. My logic is twisted, I know...if you could call it logic...
So here's to new shoes, to breaking in new shoes, and to old shoes that are great to drag out of the closet every now and again.
I'm not settling down any time soon, so everything is possible and impossible at the same time. I can do what ever I want and yet nothing that I want. Does that make sense?
Hmm...let me rephrase. Or explain. Or whatever.
This is just one of those transition periods. The first year of high school was a transition year. The first year of college was a transition year. Each year I spent sad and uncomfortable, until my new shoes finally formed to my feet, and I wore them until they fell apart. Once I get comfortable, I'm so comfortable I don't want to leave until I have to (for those who didn't get the shoe metaphor).
Thus, what I'm trying to say is that I'm in the process of breaking in my new shoes. I'm in the process of carving my newest niche. God knows this year is not quite as bad as some of those previous ones, a few of which I spent utterly miserable. I'm hoping that means that the shoes, once broken in, will be the most comfortable yet, because I had a head start on breaking them in. I guess. My logic is twisted, I know...if you could call it logic...
So here's to new shoes, to breaking in new shoes, and to old shoes that are great to drag out of the closet every now and again.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Gratitude
Things I'm currently thankful for (all basics aside, since they're kind of a given) in no particular order:
1. Heroes (the TV show)
2. Winter trees against orange/pink/purple/blue sunsets
3. Pesto
4. Quirky movies (like Lars and the Real Girl)
5. Functioning heaters
6. Friends' blogs from Boone, Grenada and Reiko's room
7. Weekends
8. Roses
9. REAL Christmas trees
10. Payday
11. Questions
12. Books, films and people that question everything
13. Mint Mojito chewing gum
14. The Independent Film Channel
15. Nutmeg
16. The glass bottle tree on highway 86
17. Hippies with dogs and frisbees
18. Rain (whenever we can get it)
19. New cell phones with reliable alarms
20. Pretty much everybody I know
1. Heroes (the TV show)
2. Winter trees against orange/pink/purple/blue sunsets
3. Pesto
4. Quirky movies (like Lars and the Real Girl)
5. Functioning heaters
6. Friends' blogs from Boone, Grenada and Reiko's room
7. Weekends
8. Roses
9. REAL Christmas trees
10. Payday
11. Questions
12. Books, films and people that question everything
13. Mint Mojito chewing gum
14. The Independent Film Channel
15. Nutmeg
16. The glass bottle tree on highway 86
17. Hippies with dogs and frisbees
18. Rain (whenever we can get it)
19. New cell phones with reliable alarms
20. Pretty much everybody I know
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Amazing Women I Know
I know a lot of amazing women.
My mother is one, my grandmother was one, my aunt Doreen is one...and that's just my family. I don't even know where to start when I get to the amazing women who are my friends.
Today, I met an amazing woman. And when I say amazing, I mean that after I spoke to her, I was so amazed that I wasn't sure what to think, much less what to say. I was stunned and speechless and emotionally wrung out.
In a good way, I was overwhelmed.
This woman's name is Gizella. She was about seventy five, maybe younger, maybe older, I'm not sure. She was about four feet tall and had that same sort of kindly grandmother face, except she was more petite in every sense than any grandmother I've ever met before. Her eyes alone were amazing; they were huge, expressive, cheerful-- and they were this remarkably clear, bright aquamarine color with dark blue-green circles rimming her irises. I've never seen such beautiful eyes before.
Gizella was born in Poland. She was a member of the Polish underground until it was discovered that she was a Jew who had somehow escaped the Lodz ghetto, and then she was sent to the Majdanek death camp. Her family, her parents and her brother, died at Belzec, the death camp of which there are only two known survivors. Before she joined the Polish underground she saw Nazis shoot an entire community and dump them into crude ditches while she was hiding in the bushes. She slaved and scraped by at Majdanek, passing herself off as healthy by pinching her cheeks and biting her lips to give herself some color, until she was made to dig her own grave, but before she was shot the Allies appeared to save the day, all too late to save the rest of her family.
She did not speak about what had happened to her until 1970 -- almost thirty years after she had experienced it -- when she was living in Raleigh with her husband and two small children, and now, she says that she cannot stop talking about it, hoping that we all "understand what a precious thing you have in the democracy of this great nation...that you understand that this country is not perfect, but it is beautiful, and we must hold on to the freedom that makes it so special."
She told us her story today -- us being about 40 History and English teachers from around the area -- over the course of about three hours, which didn't seem long enough to sum up such a remarkable life. She had a remarkable (and sometimes wicked) sense of humor, and a sense of joy about the world and about her life that I absolutely could not believe.
I suppose I expect everyone who survived something as horrible as the Holocaust to be shells. I expect something that horrible to completely gut somebody, to eviscerate their souls. I expect to see somebody so full of sorrow for what they've seen that a smile seems difficult and a laugh seems damn near impossible.
Not Gizella.
Gizella was so full of joy and love, it was as if she had to overproduce it to make up for all of the joy and love that was sucked out of her life the instant the Nazis invaded her hometown. She told me today about going back to Poland to visit the Belzec death camp, where her family died, from which she was miraculously spared. The memorial has the names of thousands of those who died there -- including her parents and her brother. She tried to touch all of their names, but because she is so short (she cracked short jokes about herself pretty much all day) she could not reach her father's name. She suddenly felt someone lifting her up to touch her father's name; she reached it, touched it, and turned around to see an American marine standing behind her, smiling. I got teary and she hugged me and took my hands and said in her thick Polish accent, "Don't you cry, now!"
I was at a loss for words.
She lost her mother -- I've been thinking about mothers alot lately, and that made me think of all of my other "amazing women -- " and still, she was the one telling me not to cry. I just kept thinking about how incredible and unbelieveable it was that she still found joy in life, after she had lost what was most precious to her. I was suddenly so grateful for everything, especially for all of my amazing mothers, aunts and sisters.
I wanted to share this, and to offer it up as a thanks to "the Big G" (which is how Gizella refers to God) for this country (despite all it's faults), for my life, for Gizella, and for all of the amazing women I know -- some of the things I love most in this old world. Whether she meant to or not, she reminded me today that I have so very much to be thankful for.
I think now, when I picture God, I might just think of Gizella.
My mother is one, my grandmother was one, my aunt Doreen is one...and that's just my family. I don't even know where to start when I get to the amazing women who are my friends.
Today, I met an amazing woman. And when I say amazing, I mean that after I spoke to her, I was so amazed that I wasn't sure what to think, much less what to say. I was stunned and speechless and emotionally wrung out.
In a good way, I was overwhelmed.
This woman's name is Gizella. She was about seventy five, maybe younger, maybe older, I'm not sure. She was about four feet tall and had that same sort of kindly grandmother face, except she was more petite in every sense than any grandmother I've ever met before. Her eyes alone were amazing; they were huge, expressive, cheerful-- and they were this remarkably clear, bright aquamarine color with dark blue-green circles rimming her irises. I've never seen such beautiful eyes before.
Gizella was born in Poland. She was a member of the Polish underground until it was discovered that she was a Jew who had somehow escaped the Lodz ghetto, and then she was sent to the Majdanek death camp. Her family, her parents and her brother, died at Belzec, the death camp of which there are only two known survivors. Before she joined the Polish underground she saw Nazis shoot an entire community and dump them into crude ditches while she was hiding in the bushes. She slaved and scraped by at Majdanek, passing herself off as healthy by pinching her cheeks and biting her lips to give herself some color, until she was made to dig her own grave, but before she was shot the Allies appeared to save the day, all too late to save the rest of her family.
She did not speak about what had happened to her until 1970 -- almost thirty years after she had experienced it -- when she was living in Raleigh with her husband and two small children, and now, she says that she cannot stop talking about it, hoping that we all "understand what a precious thing you have in the democracy of this great nation...that you understand that this country is not perfect, but it is beautiful, and we must hold on to the freedom that makes it so special."
She told us her story today -- us being about 40 History and English teachers from around the area -- over the course of about three hours, which didn't seem long enough to sum up such a remarkable life. She had a remarkable (and sometimes wicked) sense of humor, and a sense of joy about the world and about her life that I absolutely could not believe.
I suppose I expect everyone who survived something as horrible as the Holocaust to be shells. I expect something that horrible to completely gut somebody, to eviscerate their souls. I expect to see somebody so full of sorrow for what they've seen that a smile seems difficult and a laugh seems damn near impossible.
Not Gizella.
Gizella was so full of joy and love, it was as if she had to overproduce it to make up for all of the joy and love that was sucked out of her life the instant the Nazis invaded her hometown. She told me today about going back to Poland to visit the Belzec death camp, where her family died, from which she was miraculously spared. The memorial has the names of thousands of those who died there -- including her parents and her brother. She tried to touch all of their names, but because she is so short (she cracked short jokes about herself pretty much all day) she could not reach her father's name. She suddenly felt someone lifting her up to touch her father's name; she reached it, touched it, and turned around to see an American marine standing behind her, smiling. I got teary and she hugged me and took my hands and said in her thick Polish accent, "Don't you cry, now!"
I was at a loss for words.
She lost her mother -- I've been thinking about mothers alot lately, and that made me think of all of my other "amazing women -- " and still, she was the one telling me not to cry. I just kept thinking about how incredible and unbelieveable it was that she still found joy in life, after she had lost what was most precious to her. I was suddenly so grateful for everything, especially for all of my amazing mothers, aunts and sisters.
I wanted to share this, and to offer it up as a thanks to "the Big G" (which is how Gizella refers to God) for this country (despite all it's faults), for my life, for Gizella, and for all of the amazing women I know -- some of the things I love most in this old world. Whether she meant to or not, she reminded me today that I have so very much to be thankful for.
I think now, when I picture God, I might just think of Gizella.
Friday, November 9, 2007
Miscommunication
Gyaaaahhh, I hate it when communication gets all fucked up.
I think that I have a habit of assuming that everything is settled when it isn't in other people's minds, so I make plans accordingly, and then end up feeling like a royal bitch for making plans that end up ruining somone else's. Kind of like right now. I think I should just start flying by the seat of my pants and not make plans at all (of course, then, things would REALLY be fucked up because everybody's plans would be ruined except mine, because I wouldn't have any). Argh.
I kind of desperately want to crawl in a hole; I feel like I've somehow managed to waste the last two weekends when I could have been doing something useful like visiting my family so my mother can have her Erin fix and my grandparents will stop sending me guilt-trip phone calls about how they've forgotten what I look like. Or maybe going up to Boone to re-center myself. Or...something. Truth is, I want to stay here, I want to have people over, and I want to sit around and play hostess like I used to back when I lived at College Place -- watching Scrubs and The Daily Show on my sofa sipping wine/beer/improvised mixed drinks and slowly getting tipsy while laughing at the television and my friends' latest antics. God, I miss that sofa. It was a great sofa. Still is, only now it's my brother's, because it was too much trouble to move down the stairs and onto a horse trailer that was temporarily serving as a makeshift U-Haul.
I'm heading to Yadkinville in about a half-an-hour, and I'm typing this while I should be throwing shit in the car (not literally; that would be a sight, wouldn't it?), and I feel like a royal bitch for not making sure that everything was settled before I let someone talk me into doing something else.
Who knows? Maybe I'll still have a fantastic weekend. I'm just so tired. And I tend to freak out unnecessarily about miscommunication, especially when I feel like its my fault.
Sorry, everyone. Love you muchly anyway. Hope sincerely that the only weekend I ruined was my own.
I think that I have a habit of assuming that everything is settled when it isn't in other people's minds, so I make plans accordingly, and then end up feeling like a royal bitch for making plans that end up ruining somone else's. Kind of like right now. I think I should just start flying by the seat of my pants and not make plans at all (of course, then, things would REALLY be fucked up because everybody's plans would be ruined except mine, because I wouldn't have any). Argh.
I kind of desperately want to crawl in a hole; I feel like I've somehow managed to waste the last two weekends when I could have been doing something useful like visiting my family so my mother can have her Erin fix and my grandparents will stop sending me guilt-trip phone calls about how they've forgotten what I look like. Or maybe going up to Boone to re-center myself. Or...something. Truth is, I want to stay here, I want to have people over, and I want to sit around and play hostess like I used to back when I lived at College Place -- watching Scrubs and The Daily Show on my sofa sipping wine/beer/improvised mixed drinks and slowly getting tipsy while laughing at the television and my friends' latest antics. God, I miss that sofa. It was a great sofa. Still is, only now it's my brother's, because it was too much trouble to move down the stairs and onto a horse trailer that was temporarily serving as a makeshift U-Haul.
I'm heading to Yadkinville in about a half-an-hour, and I'm typing this while I should be throwing shit in the car (not literally; that would be a sight, wouldn't it?), and I feel like a royal bitch for not making sure that everything was settled before I let someone talk me into doing something else.
Who knows? Maybe I'll still have a fantastic weekend. I'm just so tired. And I tend to freak out unnecessarily about miscommunication, especially when I feel like its my fault.
Sorry, everyone. Love you muchly anyway. Hope sincerely that the only weekend I ruined was my own.
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