Dumetella Carolinensis

Rolling Over

2010-04-08T22:06:00.001-05:00

I'm not a very disciplined person, but I'm tenacious as hell. I know what I'm good at, and what I care about, and what makes me happy, but I'm piss poor at writing about it any more these days. It's like I expect an audience. I'm a huge fan of scapegoats, though, so I like to blame my conditions. I realize that if I were truly an artist I'd write with a burnt match on an ironing board (like the lyrics to "Whipping Post" were penned by Greg Allmann). If I had discipline I'd write every day instead of playing solitaire on my computer, or wii, or watching Buffy. If I had discipline I'd also be on time for things.

I cook every day, though, and take care of my husband and child. Follow me to wordpress and maybe I'll take care of myself over there.

Life in the Woods

2009-10-08T21:15:00.003-05:00

Mike was updating the Netflix queue with films to watch that would put us in the Autumn spirit. We're in such a tropical location that we find ourselves missing certain rights of fall passage. We even miss football, a sport we don't watch on our own, but with friends every weekend during the fall.

"What movie reminds you of fall?" he asked me while I read.

"Dead Poets Society," I answered without pausing. My response caused me to look up from my book and wonder at myself. He had been adding scary movies to his queue and I knew that he was looking specifically for Halloween-spirited films. If he had asked me what movie reminded me of Halloween I might have responded differently, but for some reason he used the word "fall". That word happens to be on of the exact tags I have put on my memory-box which holds Dead Poets Society.

In college I always watched it at the beginning of the fall semester (and at the end of the spring I would watch Reality Bites). The film is about being dissatisfied with the status quo and living (fighting) for what we love and find beautiful. As a student I never grew tired of re-learning this lesson. I walked back into my classrooms each fall with a genuinely renewed sense of passion for poetry.

It was easy, though, with the professors I had. Dr. Summerlin once said that she believed the English department was the heart of the campus, and by heart she meant "life-source". Without them there would have been no dancing to "Let's Get It On" on campus property! The dean of students was ready to expell any number of us, but we were vouched for. The dean knew who to blame, and he knew he couldn't.

Mike watched the film last night for the first time. The private school reminded him some of his college experience. He was reminded of all the science and military life that essentially encouraged status-quo. Of course, there is a scale of excellence and success in the status quo, but not for one who marches to the beat of his own drummer. The thing with him, is his Drummer is real persistent scoundrel and no matter what attempts have been made to shut him up he keeps pounding his unique beat and Mike keeps wandering off on his own.

This is where I met him, while he was marching to the beat of this Drummer. It's the most tenacious percusionist I've met, and Mike watched last night's movie and embraced his drummer. We don't want to get by; we want to suck the marrow.

We want to live deliberately. Love deliberately. Parent deliberately. Even if mistakes are made we made them with conviction.

I want to be a Good Mommy

2009-06-25T09:28:00.008-05:00

Though recently I've confirmed my calling to be a teacher (see previous post), it's no longer supposed to be in a University classroom, not just now.

April 21st is when Mike and I learned we are expecting our first child!

This has my mind all over the place trying to figure out what do I do first? Then what? Can our home support infant life? I'm glad our dear Creator gave me first a womb to protect the child while we prepare our hearts and minds for parenthood, and then that the Creator gave me breast milk to feed the child perfectly for the first six months while I figure out other details of parenting.

But this time next year, when my Capricorn December baby is six-months-old we will begin to seek food options beyond the boob.

One year doesn't seem long enough! I'm a healthy eater -- no enriched, bleached grains here, no hydrogenated oils or refined sugars anywhere in my home, and I receive my produce from the local CSA (Community Supported Agriculture providing locals with food grown organically on neighboring farms; find yours here: localharvest.org) -- but I also love brie and wine for dinner! (oh, how I miss thee...).

The first few months I'll probably do what my mother did and use an old-fashioned hand-mill at the table where I grind instant baby food from whatever I prepared for dinner! My husband will get used to me cooking without salt, I'm sure, until baby gets those chompers...

Today, though, I discovered inspiration that makes me EXCITED about children's food, and ANXIOUS to begin! I almost don't want to wait eighteen months to learn how to prepare the delightful Bento Boxes, I just might have to make them for Mike and me!

At I Love Obento they sell all manner of Bento Boxes. If you've never explored this lunch-box that puts the "fun" in "functional" then here's some photos for you from blogger Bento Anarchy:

The Japanese are immaculately artful in their food presentation. They truly understand the pleasure-centers triggered by eating, and do not neglect the visual aspect of enjoying a meal. In the above pictures you can see Asian foods, such as soba noodles, as well as whatever-you-cook foods such as peas and hot-dogs. These cuter-than-a-SnackPack lunches seem like a treasure-trove of enjoyment for both me and my child! How stimulating to play with food this way!

By creating new designs we could introduce new ingredients. Then my babe won't be eating peas and carrots, but flowers and birds and pirate faces!

Looking at these seems a little intimidating, I'll admit, but the first site I listed, "I Love Obento" has tools, boxes, books, and photos to teach.

Mike and I used to make sushi and spring rolls together pretty frequently when we lived on the coast, and seeing this website just pulled in our Child to this wonder-world of beautiful food.

Most exciting is knowing that my own Child's imagination will drive most of the Bento creations.

I can't wait to meet you!

Life Without Connections is Not Living

2009-05-14T15:08:00.000-05:00

Last semester I felt alienated at the front of the classroom. My students filed in, absorbed or deflected my knowledge-flinging, and then filed out. The occasional hand-raise would result in a student confirming or protesting an assignment. After a month or so I began to feel the rotting sensation that comes from lacking human contact. I felt like a moldy peach at the front of that classroom. An ineffectual, moldy peach.

Midway through the fall I remembered that the happiest I've been in a job was when I worked as a writing tutor at The Citadel. There was no grading, no paperwork to bring home or lessons to plan, I only had to meet with one freshman after another and guide them in their individual writing needs. Each appointment took an hour, which allowed us to fully explore the possibilities. But it went far beyond the writing assignment quickly.

I only worked with freshmen at The Citadel, who are known only as Knobs, and called by their last name. This is a part of the military system where they learn to excel in rank through leadership, but only after starting out at the "bottom". The transition they all were making was more heightened than the average college freshman, and so often their papers reflected this change. I read very many papers about boys' mothers -- something I never read from my civilian-school students! Discussing papers quickly turned to discussing their personal lives in this transition. Since my then-fiance was a graduate, I understood the lingo and organization at The Citadel, so they spoke openly to me about every situation they needed help with.

Soon I was a counselor, and it did actually help them become better writers. One student would come even without writing homework, simply to talk.

Thinking back to this, I decided to restructure my tactics this semester. I needed to be involved in my students' lives for my sake as much as theirs. The front-of-the-classroom chief used to be a model I aspired to, but it's so lonely up there. I had no idea to whom I was speaking, or whether my words were even heard. This semester I wanted to know my students' minds so that I could adapt each day to developing their particular needs in learning.

The first change I made was to arrange my tables into groups, so that there was no real "front of the class". There were four groups of tables around which my students sat facing each other. No one could so much as roll their eyes without another classmate being aware of it. Each group developed a personality, and inevitably brought each person out of their shells. Students worked together in their groups daily, and I could give short instructions at the beginning of class, then float from group to group with my individualized attention. It was an amazing way to break-down a classroom of 24 students!

The next change I made was to regularly email my students. They came to me with so many of their questions, then.

By the end of the semester I was not simply a teacher of writing. In fact, the writing became secondary again, just like it had at The Citadel. I helped two students seek counseling when their personal lives drove them to despair. I wrote references for two other students to receive jobs and funding. And at the end of the semester I got a baby gift from a young lady who wrote me a note telling me that I am "that professor" whom she will never forget.

My mind immediately went to Dr. Rahamut and the desire I felt to emulate her in my professional life. Her door was always open and she was always available. I could not be who I am without the people who gave freely of their time for me. Without the leaders who took time to know me, I would likely be a very selfish and morose individual. All I want to do in teaching is to equip my students with tools to excel in whatever they attempt, and often times their personal lives need to be addressed in order for the tools to make any sense to them.

It meant the world to me to get that card, because so often I can only hope that one day my students will sense an impact I made on their lives. It is not often that one can give feedback so quickly.

This makes me happy that I have been able to tell my mentors I love them.

From Charlie Wier, to Janet Rahamut, to Alan McClung I have been given a prime example of how to guide.

Now how do I get paid to do this, again?

As a Linguist, I'm licensed to judge

2009-05-06T09:17:00.003-05:00

This is why I never have had any desire to speak French: it's so annoying! The nasality of vowels combined with all the superflous consonants make it the biggest pain-in-the-ass language of all time. I'd rather learn to speak in clicks. Just try pronouncing the example sentence; it's bound to piss you off.

Merriam-Webster’s Word of the Day
embonpoint \ahng-bohng-PWANG (the "ng" is never pronounced, but the vowels are nasalized)\
noun: plumpness of person : stoutness Example Sentence The judge was a man of stately embonpoint who walked with a heavy step as he entered the courtroom.

Search

2009-03-11T08:14:00.003-05:00

Give me community!

For years I've been struggling to find a place to snuggle up to and feel a part of. My mind expands out into the environment and seeks companionship - to become a part of the collective - but has been met with cold looks. For years I have longed for the feeling I received when crossing the Ped Mall at Lee U: encounters with friends, associates, teachers, campus staff, acquaintances, crushes, ex-roommates, and long-lost freshman-year friends. Each one playing a separate role as I pass them and exchange an individual greeting, like an inside joke or a reminder of a project; possibly (likely) a hug. I could easily find 20+ hugs between in the ten minutes between classes. My schedule was blocked in a way that kept multiple plates spinning, but all the plates were interlocking (try and visualize that). One class project connects to the club event which coordinates with getting the band to play which involves people from work. We were a community!

In New York I had meaningful work as the Household Manager and Childcare Provider of a wealthy lawyer-couple. But it was their community, and not mine. I was given no credit for the contribution I made (until this past summer; thanks Mr. C.) because I was not the person who hired me. Mother's with nanny's still take credit for their children. My room was the size of a pantry (because I think it once was). I went back and forth between the tight quarters of the house and the vast sea of bodies in Manhattan. Neither lent much comfort during that year. I just didn't have enough time.

In Indiana I just began tasting community, only to have to uproot myself when my program turned against me. There was a bar there, though, where the bouncer knew me and recognized when I hadn't been in a while. It was a "townie" bar and before I approached, the bartender would have my drink ready. It was a place I could arrive to without reservation or phone calls because I knew who would be there on Saturday. There was another joint for Friday. And Thursday. But the mid-west just isn't for me. My blessings unfurled in the form of Love and the Lowcountry: just what I needed!

When I moved to Charleston my fiance had a roommate, and he found me a room to rent from a classmate of his. In the beautiful creekside town-home where I kept my things, I never was given space. I had to keep all my things in my bedroom, or else my roommate would unceremoniously push them in there when I was away. At Mike's apartment I was always welcomed, but it wasn't mine. He and his roommate had their whole system and I had no territory.

Finally we wed! For two blissful years I kept a home, and had my place. It was the first time in four years I had been able to entertain! I love filling my house with people. But I knew it was only to last two years. It's hard to be newly weds and socialites. Just as we were leaving, we began to feel a part of the community. Just as we were leaving was when we could walk through the farmer's market or the French-quarter art-walks and encouter a variety of people we knew.

Then it was gone. Columbus gave me a department to work in, opportunities for volunteering, and a few friends. I'm beginning to feel a connection here and am excited about the first warm-weather barbecue by the pool! But I must not forget that it will probably be the last barbecue by the pool. Here. It's just time to move again.

I have not been unhappy for the last seven years, but part of me has been unfulfilled. Part of me that needs community has been unsatisfied for so long. I realize that may have become the theme of this blog, but I can't refrain from articulating this acute desire I have. It's so rare that I can identify my desires in the first place!

So I'm going to try and translate this into my whole life. For years I felt that I needed to always be a part of a university in order to feel the way I felt while I was attending one. In the real world, though, I'm observing that people do work and live together in concert within their communities. They advocate and vote and petition and plan. They work on a project connected to the club event which coordinates with getting the band to play which involves people from work.

Previously I wanted to be a part of a university to feel this sense of community, so I picked my favorite subject and plowed forward. But it's not the subject I want to commit my life to, but the environment I'll be in while using that subject. I don't want to be a linguist forever; I want to work at a university (specifically, I had wanted Lee University) and become involved in all it's functions, but that requires an advanced degree.

This seems a little backwards to me now, though. I don't want to study something so that the side-effect of my degree is a career I want. There must be a more direct way!

This thought isn't entirely completed, but I'm at the end of words now.

Inertia

2009-02-11T13:49:00.002-05:00

Is it just February?

As the Jayhawks "Tailspin" spins on repeat here in my office I feel spoken directly to. I cannot push myself to move! These essays need grading, taxes need filing, anything-but-facebook needs checking... I proceed at the rate of inertia every winter. Sometimes I can perform very minimally-required physical tasks. I continue to scrape by, but the hours come wooshing past in these fever-induced hallucination-style waves that leave me with chills. I feel as though I am almost literally trying to send brain-waves to my extremities - by power of thought - so that I will move.

Movement is the only thing I'm not capable of. There is so much to do. So much to read!

I have essays to read and grade.
Books on linguistics to read in case I restart a program when we move.
Books about places we may move to.
Books about lessons to plan while I'm teaching.
Books about babies after the teaching is done and the move is settled.

It's got to just be February, because this shouldn't be this hard.

Making Home

2009-02-03T10:02:00.003-05:00

My root ball is feeling pinched. I think I'm outgrowing this temporary pot I'm planted in. I need to feel the limitlessness of permanency. At least indefiniteness. There is a jolt to the system when you know your time is limited. There is a sense of stability when you know time is in your hands. The last two moves I've made I knew both times were finite. In Charleston I knew only three years and Mike would have the Army send him elsewhere, and then once here, that we would only be here one. For four years I've been living Amongst without living Within. My roots need to spread and explore and touch other roots. I almost don't care where; any community!

I'm not just waiting to live, though. My work is in the university and I volunteer in the local Habitat affiliate and I shop at local stores. As a military wife, too, I feel the need to be involved because so many Army families are insulated within their Post Gates. Their soldiers use up and throw away the town, creating slums and used car dealerships for miles. Instead of aiding in the rebuilding, though, the Army families just encourage sprawl by continuing to Live and Buy further out in that new "development". I'm actually quite ashamed of what I see here in Columbus on the part of the Army. They are the reason this town is what it is and they do nothing to assuage it.

But I daydream about being a viable part of Some Community. The person who knows who is running for DA and coroner. The person who helps raise money to clean up a vacant lot and create a park. The person who participates in the weekly Farmers Market as patron and organizer. The person who helps revitalize historic buildings and rebuild buildings in shambles.

Mike and I intend to be involved in real estate. We hope to refurbish old buildings. Perhaps give new life to some outlying industrial neighborhood. We walk through Ikea thinking of the fabulous renovated apartments we could own to rent.

No one else is going to make your city better. No one is going to swoop in and give homes to the homeless, plant trees, pick-up fallen buildings, start a new restaurant, fill vacant lots, or even contribute to the schools. No one else cares about your community, especially if you do not. There are programs, government programs, which aide schools and roads and housing... but you know what those homes and schools are like and you avoid them. Government programs are not intended to replace community involvement, but to supplement it.

We'll be moving again at the end of this summer. This next move will put us in a place for four whole years. At the end of those four years Mike will be finished paying back is commitment to the Army. We intend to purchase a home when we move, and finally we feel indefinite! Because if we own, and he gets out, then the choice is ours to stay or go. I cannot wait! Even the island of Oahu needs a community that cares.

Things Can Never Be As Bad As They Were

2008-12-12T11:46:00.003-05:00

Today ended my first semester teaching as faculty. I have an office, with posted office hours, and my name on a sign outside the door. I have a department secretary who will perform copying and collating for me; she even staples. I have meetings with other faculty once a week where we eat our lunch (all drinking La Croix) and discuss current literature on the topic of composition and rhetoric for first-year students.

I'm learning that I could make it happen anywhere I go. Columbus, Georgia looks and feels so abandoned, by God and history and industry. However, I've slowly seen a brilliant bird's egg nestled in the rubble. Like, the non-profit organization that helps put local businesses into abandoned buildings. Like, the English department with their poetry readings in an historic house once belonging to a star of Southern literature. Like, the neighborhood of re-gentrified bungalow houses. All laying dormant, incubated, and waiting to hatch like a Phoenix.

My boss - the First Year Writing Program Administrator - just popped in to my office and made sure I had received the information about the full-time position coming available, for which they are hiring from within. There's a tangent of thought spinning where we purchase an old house, I teach full time, and we build a community that needs to be re-built. We could feasibly stay here and make a life!

But staying here is not the point, specifically. It is the fact that wherever we go, I'm not just "biding my time." I'm not just an Army wife following my husband's career. I'm involved, and contributing. This is the only way to survive. I must be wherever I am one-hundred percent, until I'm not there anymore. Then I can leave.

Fiesty

2008-12-11T10:37:00.002-05:00

I'm only making gradual progress at training my kitten-cat to stay away from the Christmas tree. It's a pitiful houseplant, our Frasier; it's only decorated in the top two-thirds. Even this attempt at keeping the shiny-dangles from her paws' reach has not been entirely successful. I can only imagine what it will be like when we have to keep ornaments out of tiny hands' reach!

Army Town

2008-12-01T17:31:00.002-05:00

It actually gets cold in Columbus, Georgia. The city-town sits on the banks of the Chattahoochee River, right up under the bosom of the Appalachian Mountains. They call this region the "Georgia Piedmont", and you can feel the tension of hills facing north and plains facing south. Winds snap and billow across the landscape, creating magnificent skies and clouds any time of day, and the trees exhibit more hard-woods than our southern-and-eastern neighbors do. I imagine there must have been many poems felt in the hearts of those that settled Muscogee County, at one point. The river brings up from the Gulf of Mexico a variety of water-fowl, and even Spanish moss. The moss and the egrets are almost exclusive to Georgia's 90-mile strip of Atlantic coast, but they seep in, through those blue cracks on the maps. The juxtaposition of hills, river, egrets and moss make this a topographical anomaly, with coastal flora and fauna but piedmont temperatures. It's hard to imagine that just to the south and east are endless miles of fields filled with cotton, peanuts, and soy.

If Columbus were only this rolling terrain of colorful leaves and river-life I may have had a chance to love it. Sadly, it is full of transient enlisted-soldiers, pay-day loan sharks, chain retailers, and Chinese buffets. My eyes are rarely drawn upwards, except for the occasional hawk, gliding unnoticed to land on a(nother) liquor-store sign.

Church Street

2008-10-29T09:46:00.005-05:00

Twelve years ago today I had my first kiss. I was 18-years-old and a freshman in college. Growing up I was such an Anne of Green Gables. So innocent and with a really honest kind of innocence, and not the sheltered kind. Meaning, I desired the sweetness, the honesty, the purity. Academically I was surrounded by jaded people who were the "American Beauty" type of observers who sought for aesthetics within the muddiness. For me I found beauty in redemption, and so sought for the good and sweet. In my life I've always been able to exude a bit of Street Smarts, but my real friends know how little I actually know. My real friends know how conservatively I really do conduct my life. I've always been a big talker, and in high school I may have appeared saucy and fierce. The truth was I couldn't fathom being anywhere with anyone short of a Colin Firth character from a Jane Austin film.

Heebie Jeebies

2008-10-21T13:31:00.004-05:00

If the mere fear of being pregnant causes me to loose my senses, then I can only imagine what will happen when the fear comes true. Yesterday I wandered around the grocery store for over half an hour for a list of ten items. I forgot two of those items. I then stood in a regular (not express) lane, because I thought I had too many. Items, that is. When I returned home to an email from a student I replied in anger. Or frustration. The tone was evident. I can never mask my emotions. No doubt the young man who checked me out at Publix was avoiding me, too. I asked Mike to pour me a glass of bourbon before I went to take a test.
"Shouldn't you wait until after the test to drink it?" he wisely asked.
"Depending on that test's result, this might be the last time I can taste it for nine months," I rationalized before acquiescing to his wisdom and just peeing already. When I received the "one line for not pregnant" he handed me the top-shelf stuff on the rocks!

Ten days ago I began worrying, when for the second month in a row my predictable body defied predictions. Two months in a row.

Explanation one: I work out a lot more these days.

Explanation two: I've always been irregular but never paid attention when I was single, and years of contraceptive-regulation made me forget.

I really want babies -- I know I do. I can't explain my nervousness.

Happy, the End

2008-10-01T07:47:00.008-05:00

Night Ranger is playing a concert tonight at the Tulsa State Fair in Oklahoma and I am compelled to go. It's only a two hour flight.
We live in the world of acronyms, though, and they have one for spontaneous travel: AWOL. That's our "price for flight".

What do you have to do to play at a state fair? Be on your way up or on your way out, I guess. Doesn't seem like any place for arena-rockers to end up. Perhaps I have the wrong image of a state fair, though. Maybe this is a good-ole-time with lotsa beer and fireworks. A time where all the high-school football stars of yesteryear remember the glory-days to the encore of "Sister Christian"...

MOTORING!

The song itself makes me want to road-trip to Tulsa.

"Just sit still and let me kiss you." We get so caught up in in everything we are doing, DOING! constantly doing that we forget to stop and give audience to everything that is being done FOR us by those who love us. Pay attention to the little deeds done with YOU in mind. Our lovers can't help but make decisions with us in mind: little changes from the days of dating, where you stand in the check-out lane at a grocery store and buy his favorite candy so you "just so happen" to have it in your bag next time you meet.

No lover? There is someone who loves you who makes choices with you in mind. Give your attention to it! "And I meant, every word I said/ When I said that I love you I meant/ That I love you forever."

"You don't just see somebody after you haven't seen them in six years and loose your virginity to them," I heard a student say while on her cell phone. Seems like that might be something that one might consider "closure", "finishing what you start". At any rate, it is better than getting your V card swiped by someone you just met.

There are people here in this department that I am very much enjoying getting to know. We meet every Wednesday to discuss academic journal articles about rhetoric and pedagogy. I really would love to have them over for a dinner party!

But they have toddlers. All of them have toddlers. I don't want to regard them as if they had no children and then offend them by not including their entire family in an invitation. On the other hand, I don't want to regard them as just being parents and offend them by making them feel like they're penalized for having kids. Hopefully this will solve itself organically somehow.

Last night Mike and I talked about our "what were we thinking?" relationships in the past. Gave ourselves permission to laugh about the past, the way some of our friends did during the event. Not to mention any names, but in case you were wondering, I *do* blush with shame at some of the young men I've fancied. We also talked about the perfectly decent people we had to turn down for no-apparent-reason. Who knows what would have happened if we had indeed been attracted to those we rejected, and also un-attracted to those we shamefully were involved with. It was a charming conversation, and as we neared both the bottom of the bottle of wine and the part in our lives where we found each other it was like getting to the sweet ending of a romantic movie.

We both had offers from other people on the night we first hung out. I had a date with a bar-tender who wasn't as cute in the day-light, and Mike got a call from a mutual friend with a flat-tire. Who knows what would have happened if we had indeed been attracted to those we rejected, and also un-attracted to the one we chose?

In the hallway outside my office there has been a fiasco unfolding, an hour and a half in-the-making: a mother allowed her toddler to drop a turd on the floor, and then she failed to pick it up. Baffling! It took nearly and hour and a half to get maintenance down to clean the shit. In the meantime we covered the turds with pieces of paper so no one would step in it. Then we watched and laughed. I like working here!

2nd anniversary: Organic Pigskin?

2008-09-09T14:54:00.008-05:00

Mike and I celebrated our two-year wedding anniversary on Labor Day weekend. We had talked about making it some elegant get-away, but planning never panned out. I think after planning a six-week road-trip this summer I was spent on making travel arrangements. I just wanted the Vacation Fairy to make a magical reservation at a spa for us, and she never showed up.

Instead a best-friend couple - Donnie and Jen - invited us to join them in Atlanta to see the Crimson & Clemson bowl at the Georgia Dome. Mike and I know so little about football, but we love spending time with the McMaster's. Their passion for the sport kind of rubs off on us some.

Since it was a four-day weekend for us (bonus to marrying on a Federal holiday), we stayed in Atlanta through Monday. The plan had been to surprise my youngest brother, Nathanael at church Sunday night when he planned to be baptized for the first time. My mother had driven 6 hours with her husband, my sister came in from Athens, and we were twittering away about our surprise when the joke came on us: apparently churches don't do business on Federal holidays, either. Not ones to waste things, we surprised him with dinner instead.

Monday - actual Labor Day - we decided to allow Columbus to show us its best in fine dining. There's a fresh fish market in the historic Uptown district that boasts a professional chef (not typical of this region), and I had heard good things about the place prior to making our reservations three day earlier. The surprises were the theme of the weekend, as it turned out, because fine dining establishments in Columbus, GA also do not open for business on Federal holidays.

Fortunately, our love and desire to celebrate our life together took precedence over the mood for the evening, and we were undaunted as we settled into a booth at Houlihan's (a chain, but still on the classy side) for a bottle of wine, a couple of tapas-style appetizers, and conversation. We topped off the evening at the local cigar and martini bar - which is also a pleasant surprise here - and my shoes never started to pinch. It was all I could ask for!

Today I've been thinking a lot about Bloomington. Every Thursday night I used to have dinner with three other girls. Often we had pesto on spaghetti squash, and this morning I pruned our basil plants with enough to make a good batch of fresh pesto. I keep very little contact with those three girls anymore, because I denied them genuine intimacy with me while I was there. That was the first time in my life I entered a place with expectations to leave it, and I decidedly never let myself love very hard there. Mike is the only one who truly broke through. Since being gone I've grown so attached in a cyber way to Amy - a classmate and fellow lab-worker - but I don't entirely associate her with my "Bloomington life". The physicists I sang karaoke with every Thursday night for two years? Never talk to them. That's all it was. Then and there.

Thank God I did meet Mike or I might consider the entire two years a waste of time.

::Couldn't help glancing up at the Master's diploma on the wall when I wrote that.::

The degree gives me the opportunity to teach, but I'm teaching composition and rhetoric, not linguistics. I feel as though I'm pretending to be a teacher, hoping that I'll gain enough hindsight quickly to be able to prepare for my next lesson and the next. Everyone in my department is generous, but I feel lesser in their midst. I'm a little old to have just a Master's. Combine too little education with too little experience and there I am: "I don't have much experience, mister, but I sure am a hard worker and I promise to try real hard, honest I do!" I'm scared my students are going to bust me for not having the background, but so far they haven't found out.

I dress different for them, too. I've only ever worn black, white, and gray in the classroom (sort of as an experiment to see if I can keep it up). My goal is just to be classy and understated.

Going back to graduate school you may wonder? Probably not. I've begun to focus on "issues" that interest me. Here's a seed:

Mike and I love Charleston
Mike and I are very interested in realestate for investments
I despise urban sprawl, building poorly-constructed strip malls then abandoning them to build more
Charleston has a lot of abandoned historical buildings and warehouses
Charleston is beginning to exhibit sprawl
I want to learn how to develop changes against sprawl (public transportation, living within walking distance, re-using buildings, and constructing buildings to last)

Do I have to go to school for this or can I just be on the Committee? Can I begin learning before we make it back to Charleston?

I'm hoping we are stationed in Europe for our follow-up assignment so that I can observe their model of reusing century-old buildings.

Remember: there are three elements of our "going green" mantra, and the first two are the hardest ones, but so essential:

REDUCE
REUSE
...recycle

Maintain Discipline

2008-08-26T07:36:00.007-05:00

Yesterday the fear started to hit me. Today I'm praying for the strength of "one day at a time". You see, we college instructors never have formal teaching or curriculum training. We simply create it as we see fit. My problem is that I keep getting paralyzed by the unlimited possibilities. If I can only see "tomorrow's lesson" then I can plow through. Unfortunately, I keep raising my head and wondering what the professional Rhetoric and Composition teachers are playing with, and it overwhelms me. I'm so afraid my students will get the idea I don't know what I'm doing. Google cannot save me. It's all one big experiment. Go easy on me.

Today I took our cat - or kitten - named Metallica to the Army vet clinic for her booster shots. She's about four months old, and we call her Alli. She was freaked out to travel, but loved every person who touched her. What a great disposition!

(no, this isn't a photo of me sleeping with a Guinness in my hand; I like to ensure my beer is in a bottle if I'm going to nap while holding it!)

"I -- I -- I --"

2008-08-21T14:19:00.006-05:00

Tomorrow I begin teaching college students how to write. I'm overwhelmed with the responsibility of it. I have two sections of First Year Composition, and each class has 24 students in it. If I knew I only needed to instruct ten people on how to write it would be different, but 48?

I have a syllabus, though, and a lesson plan for the first two days! From there I should hopefully be able to evaluate the rest.

Being back in an English department is weird, though, too. I haven't been near this community since leaving Lee. I graduated eight years ago! I'm a linguist, you know, not a "17th Century Metaphysical Poets" expert. This is a good way to stand out in the crowd, I guess.

I listen to myself reflect and I sound so hesitant. I wish I sounded more confident. Perhaps I will after the first day.

But enough about me: Mike is settling in with his residency well, though he kind of misses Airborne School. It was such a great class for him. It was a wonderful time for "us" as well. Below is a slide show of Cpt. Mikey Airborne, dental corps.

My Mother Prayed I'd Have Hands Like This

2008-08-06T11:16:00.004-05:00

It's suddenly occurred to me that I love manual labor. I prefer to have a euclidean task before me which can be accomplished using my hands. Moreover, I am keen on finished products. For years I've been in pursuit of knowledge, and lacked a lot of motivation as a result of lacking feedback in the form of products. I am fascinated by language, but I think I lack passion for it. Basically, it doesn't feed my need for a sense of accomplishment. It sooths my need for intellectual stimulation and fodder for conversation, but it doesn't put me to bed at night with a clear conscience like physical work does. For years I've debated against manual labor because I despise repetition in routine. I crave unique problems to solve and unusual tasks. I don't want to stock the same shelves with the same products day after day, but instead to develop an organization system which maintains itself without me returning to it daily. The next day I want to develop something new. I've also argued that I need interpersonal communication, which is something I find in academia. However, my intellectual pursuits are highly private and personal. Reading is not done in concert. When I labor with tools in my hand I feel full and satisfied and proud of myself. Whereas in so many ways when I sit down to write I feel inadequate, and am reminded of my shortcomings repeatedly. This realization is not surprising now that I realize it. I guess I'm more surprised that I hadn't realized it sooner.

As a child I was always active in movement. I ought to have been a dancer and an athlete. As an adolescent I worked with pleasure at a local dairy farm (although I was even then crippled by any early-morning work). As an adult I've worked as a waitress, which is a very physically-demanding job that is combined with a lot of (short-term) interpersonal relationships. Working construction was a very satisfying job, and made me wish I had had more of a "skill" to contribute and not just to clean. As the manager of the Chipotle I thrived on the constant motion and involvement in orchestrating multiple tasks for the bottom line. When I get in the kitchen to cook it often is multiple things at once, and none of them for eating immediately. I've spent hours in the kitchen after coming home from work and still had nothing to eat for dinner (I was cooking something other than dinner, of course).

Being in a desk as a secretary was a suicide spot. Likewise, being subservient in an atmosphere where I am denied any creative input or sense of ownership is a slow death.

I really love teaching, but maybe composition isn't my final spot. Learning how to construct pottery pieces was satisfying on so many levels. I learn more about myself and God and the relationship between us every time I touch clay (and am reminded of those lessons every time I see a finished piece).

Now my question is: how do I make a living knowing this?

Love Them Georgia Peaches

2008-07-30T16:01:00.012-05:00

We've been stationed in Ft. Benning, GA for a solid month now. When we first arrived in June, it was four days before my 30th birthday, and we were living in a hotel. While Mike transitioned through Army paperwork and red tape, I was left at "home" to study the landscape and plot my future here. My birthday was once going to be a carousing night in Manhattan spent with my two dearest girlfriends, but the Army had changed our plans. My thirtieth came with many loving thoughts and gifts from friends and family - all of which were spread throughout the summer - but the redemption came when I saw Mike's gift: he flew my best friend (circa 1992) down from NYC to spend the weekend with me (why not fly me to NYC? he just doesn't think "her without me" at all). It made Columbus, Georgia feel so much homier to go tromping around with her.

Our household goods arrived the day after we signed our lease on the new apartment: this place is everything I need right now! Spacious and bright. Through the work I can do indoors, it makes me less focussed on what I miss about Charleston. Room by room things have been coming together completely. I applied to Columbus State University, and was hired to teach two sections of their first-year composition and rhetoric course (which will begin at the end of August). Mike is awaiting the formal beginning of his residency here, so in the meantime is enjoying Airborne School and learning how to jump from an airplane.

During our road trip we were subjected to a whole lot of convenient meals. By the time it was over I'd gained a few pounds and felt generally unhealthy every night by bed time.

When we landed in our home the first room I established was our Kitchen. Then I disposed of any foods with:

sugar
high-fructose corn syrup
enriched and/or bleached flour
hydrogenated oil
saturated fats

Within a day I felt better. These ingredients I've always known were poor nutrition. It's not like I suddenly learned, but I did suddenly get fed up with the alternatives. Occasionally I miss the crap I loved eating as a college student, but the negative reinforcement of my indigestion automatically makes me regret the "occasional" to the point that I just don't indulge. It's not worth it!!

There are a lot of easy ways to revamp your eating habits, and they don't necessarily cost more money. They just cost a little more time. My freezer is becoming full of home-made easy-dinners for busy nights, for instance. One of the best resources I've had for just overall meal planning is the magazine "Everyday Food". It is a Martha Stewart publication, but better than my experience with her recipes in the past. It's just so simple, elegant, flavorful, and natural.

I'm just tired of eating things I'm not supposed to.

So, for something new, I did teach myself to preserve my favorite fruit. Sweet Georgia peaches are the pinnacle of summertime flavor to me, and the 23 half-pints I put up as preserves were so satisfying! Enjoy some photos:

Full of Ideas

2008-01-16T09:15:00.002-05:00

In the last year or so - or two - I've had some concepts for creative projects I hope to explore. Ideas for writing, for creating, for learning, for selling, and for teaching. But none of these projects has had the opportunity to expand enough for me to know whether they are good concepts or not (or how to improve them).

In all my adult life I've been in school, and working part-time. This means that the majority of my time was spent developing my good ideas (i.e. in academic projects and similar pursuits). The unique stage I'm at now is that I'm no longer in school, so I'm able to conceptualize projects I didn't have the brain-power for before. Concurrent with this, however, is that I now have to work full-time.

I have ideas for a line of stationery. For a novel about rejection. For a business teaching young wives things their mothers did not. For learning all about clay-working and tiles.

But these days I'm very much in love with my husband, and spend a lot of my spare time choosing to be with him, and not wrapped up in creative endeavors. Anything I may take-one creatively is more along the lines of being a "home-making" project. Something that demonstrates my love for my husband.

So it's sort of frustrating, having a free mind and no free time.

Out of Control

2007-12-09T23:26:00.001-05:00

Today I did not decide to come off birth-control so much I decided to not take a pill anymore. Regardless of how you put it, though, I neither have taken a pill today, nor have have one to take tomorrow. I'm not intending to conceive anytime soon, but probably this summer. Mike and I have for whatever reason been over-protective against pregnancy, so really the pill is only one form of birth control that we use, and the only one we're eliminating. Maybe I'll lose weight. Maybe my moods will be more even. I just like the idea of only taking a vitamin every morning. Tonight I can't sleep, though. It's Christmas season. We're coming on the three-year anniversary of the day Mike asked me to marry him. If I'd stuck to my plan at that time we'd still be engaged. I wouldn't have had this two years in Charleston -- with him. Making plans are good because they put us in the position where we ought to be: prepared, forward-minded, and poised. Sticking to plans, however, can be a bad thing and keep us from experiencing the fullness of life. My plan to go to Indiana was a good plan, and through it I was lead to Mike. Sticking to that plan would have separated us at a time when our love needed to manifest itself. My plan to take birth control was a good plan to give us time to learn to live together. Sticking to that plan could mean us not experiencing the fullness of our Family. Fortunately for us all, God does have a plan worth sticking to, and even if we can't, or don't, or have-no-clue-what-it-is-in-the-first-place, He does know it, stick to it, and offers us the opportunity to experience the fullness of life.

Cubist

2006-12-06T16:18:00.001-05:00

When my boss leaves town I ache with boredom. I sit in my office with nothing to do (literally) and imagine all the things I'd like to do when I got home. Of course, once I'm home there are only about four hours to scurry around before it's time to just sleep. Factor in any time spent doing the simple tasks of laundry, eating, emptying the dishwasher and cleaning the litter box and I'm without a moment to spare.

The rehearsals for the play feel fun, and productive. I'm very happy to be a part of this production. In January I will begin pottery classes on Saturday mornings.

But for 40 a week I'm throwing my self away to be paid, and solidly so. I like the insurance, and the time off, and the retirement plan.

Typical, I suppose. Typical of the un-inspired American employee with a pension who won't take a risk to do something they love. I'm tired of not understanding the goings on of this office, trying to figure it out as I go, trying to invent jobs for myself, and then trying to run ahead of my boss when he dumps a weeks-worth of word-processing in my lap to do in a day. I'm tired of not being me. ME?

So, what do I do? What really ought to be my job?

I really love Charleston, and for the next 18 months that I live here I want to love it more. I live downtown, you know, so it would be so nice to have a down-town job. Something clever.

Something that doesn't make my husband afraid to visit because of how irritated I might be.

I don't know where to look. I've only ever worked in universities and restaurants.

I'm purely frustrated. I feel like the time I have left in Charleston is too short to be worried about switching jobs now. I believe I can endure this as long as I have my outlets and my weekends. But the other side of me (my other half, to be exact) doesn't agree. It is precisely BECAUSE my time here is so short that I need to love living it here.

What do I do?

Rethinking

2006-12-05T09:12:00.001-05:00

I created this blog to make a space in the world for me to continue writing. My concept of this was that it would not be a place for me to just "diary", but to sincerely "journal". I hoped it would become more of a space for ideas, philosophies, and desires rather than a chronicle of the day's events. Giving me self a designated spot for such writing instantly limited me, though, without my intention.

What I've done is turn to Myspace blog there. It's so "prepared" in that each friend of a friend can easily access a subscription to a blog, with notification... and when I write I almost instantly have 40 views so I feel pertinent. I'm not certain how to make this spot in space "found".

But I'm more attracted to this place. It feels more like me. I want to have a less corporate page. So here I go. I'm only three blogs out from the "birth day" blog of over a year ago, but I'm loosening my restrictions, and this is where my thoughts will be. In addition to Myspace :)

my last

2005-10-11T22:52:00.001-05:00

Does “living every day as though it were your last” require the knowledge of impending death? So often we speak of having a simple life, prioritized around people, that develops an appreciation of the little things. Such a life leaves no room for fear or anxiety. Worry is not an element of the formula. Any cloud imposed by the reminder that death ends the day would in effect be the ruin of happiness.

The truth is, if we knew a particular date were our last, we may likely spend it being simple and relaxed… but those around us would not. The ideal, instead, is to live every day as though it could be your last. Once the assurance of death’s arrival is made known, then you cease living, and begin dying.

I see myself preparing for death. Saying goodbye. Easing minds. Praying.

The Imminence of Death is a promise enabling us to appreciate the temporal world while it is. Because we may none of us escape the Imminent, it is imperative that we live every day as though it were our last. However, since such living is contingent on uncertainty, it can only be possible until it becomes time to prepare for death.

For this reason, I hope my death is unannounced. That no one who loves me would bear the burden of counting down my last days. Instead I pray each one would treat every day as though it were their last. My last. For if they knew my end was approaching, I fear they would begin to mourn before I had ceased to live every day as though it were my last.

by themselves

2005-10-10T22:56:00.002-05:00

One of my coworkers approached me today with a question. He has plans to study abroad next semester, and he know I traveled once (over six years ago). His question was whether I would recommend him breaking-up with his girlfriend while he's gone. He offered a half-hearted disclaimer of, "we've been off-and-on for about a year..." But even without the weak explanation my immediate response was, "absolutely."

The young man was taken off-guard. I'm guessing he expected a bit of questioning from me before I made my call. So I explained that, "a trip over-seas expands you in every aspect of your life, and you owe it to yourself to allow that expansion to reach it's full potential. This is simply not possible while keeping the home-fires burning."

We had a lengthy discussion about the whole issue. He felt comfortable confiding in me, which wasn't surprising. Though he's a junior in college, he is still younger than my youngest brother, yet we share the similarities of being English majors. Furthermore I am engaged and represent a person at the end of the search. The enlightenment of engagement at my age is something I have discovered primarily through others' perception of me. I enjoy sharing my stories, though, with the thought they might help. Stories about intellectual stimulation, and then eventual dissapointment. Throughout I continually drew him back to the conclusion that traveling solo is the ultimate favor he could do for himself.

I didn't tell him he had already broken up with his girlfriend (in his heart), because it sounded harsh to me. Truthfully, though, he had. Broken up. Left her. Here's how I know: no one seeks staying-advice from strangers unless they already want to leave.

My heart was growing cold, but I knew if I spoke to my closest friends they would remind me to forgive and love and remember the fondness of our beginnings. My friends would have sought to save me suffering, without actually realizing that the suffering had been going on for some time.

After I knew the coldness had set in in my heart I turned to strangers. People I worked with. Asking. Just like the young man I work with. Asking. I heard from my strangers the same advice I gave today as a stranger.

Good relationships have problems, but they aren't mentioned to strangers. It's when someone needs the straight jive and can't admit it to themselves that they ask a stranger to tell them what they have already concluded all by themselves.

2005-10-10T22:47:00.001-05:00

The cicada's of 2004: Brood X.

birth day

2005-10-06T09:40:00.001-05:00

The last two years of my life have left me with changes that I can never undo. I'm growing and becoming settled. My family has changed in ways I'd never expected. My master's degree is behind me. My wedding is on the fast-approaching horizon. Every decision I make now seems to have much deeper ramifications than I had permitted them to have in the past.

I feel like I have something to say. I owe myself to not remain silent.

My whole life I've been called the Catbird, so it only seems fitting that the bird's latinae name would include "carolinensis" - a name derived from the very state where I now find myself. Our similarties don't stop there, but they will become aparent as I remain loyal to my propensity for writing.