Today in my big classroom cabinet, I found the notebook that I kept in the summer of 2002, when Maddy and I went to Puebla, Mexico to study Spanish. It’s a pleasure to see my old notes: vocabulary, diary entries, exercises, idioms and tongue twisters, all in Spanish. Here’s a couple of tongue twisters, or trabalenguas:
Tres triste tigres tragaban trigo en un trigal. En un trigal tragaban trigo tres triste tigres.
Erre con erre cigarro/erre con erre barrile/rapidas corren y rueden/las rapidas reudas del ferrocarril.
I left the notebook out on a table, and began my teaching day. During 5th period, my student Jonathan Fajardo handed me my notebook, open to a poem I wrote, and said, “I like this. You ought to publish it.” I had completely forgotten it:
I would like to be in a circus, a circus of middle age. If I could, I’d wear a long red wig purple stockings, and my heart on my sleeve, like now, but more obvious. I would blow kisses to babies frighten the young and tenderly embrace the old. If I could, I would dance on a wire to express my hopes and fears, gaze down at upturned faces and throw candy into their midst. I would sing a song to erase regret and teach it to everyone. I would throw the balls high into the air to remind the young that in the midst of constant change and on the verge of chaos fun is always possible.
I would like to be in a circus,
a circus of middle age.
If I could, I’d wear a long red wig
purple stockings, and my heart
on my sleeve,
like now, but more obvious.
I would blow kisses to babies
frighten the young
and tenderly embrace the old.
If I could, I would dance on a wire
to express my hopes and fears,
gaze down at upturned faces
and throw candy
into their midst.
I would sing a song
to erase regret
and teach it to everyone.
I would throw the balls high into the air
to remind the young
that in the midst of constant change
and on the verge of chaos
fun is always possible.
Needs work, but I like the sentiment. The language has a ways to go yet.
Two reasons I am leaving my classroom now — one: there is a rat in my classroom, and our attempt to trap it in a humane trap last night did not work, so the exterminators are coming. And two: I have a leak in my sprinkler system and when I left for work today, the earth was soaking wet and water was bubbling up as if from an underground spring. Charming, but not a good idea during a drought. Expensive, and wasteful.
“The Sensuous Pleasures of a Celibate Woman” Poems and essays.
Just gave the blog a facelift — had to upload the Ahmisa files one by one, which was a drag, but now that it’s finished, I think I am in love. It’s so bright, but it loads quickly and the sidebar is nice and fat…all my tags and badges fit nicely, and the rounded corners are sexy. The developer reports that the word “Ahmisa” can be taken to mean”nonviolence,” so that’s bonus.
I think I’m beginning to hate this fence layout.
But since I’m here, let me post this link to one of those LOLCheeseburgercats.
I’m allergic to cats, but sometimes these photos inspire me.
When I start to live in my head too much, and neglect my body because of the Dance of a Hundred Things to Do, my body slides down the hill FAST. This is a surefire sign of aging: take a walk, and every joint hurts: toes, hips, shoulders, ankles. Clothes feel tight. Negotiating small spaces is awkward. Simple everyday yoga poses are a challenge.
I think, somewhere Alex, there’s a woman your age training for a marathon, a triathalon; she’s swimming laps, she’s riding her bike. Somewhere there’s a woman my age who is a competitive body builder. She’s got her body fat percentage down low. And although those women might not have — as Annie Lamott suggested once — rich inner lives, I’ll bet they are pretty grounded. When you care for the body, the spirit and the mind calm down.
Anyway, I can’t write a blog post right now that is simply a repeat of the most boring litany in the world: “I’m going to get myself back in shape.” Ho hum.
I was talking in class about the urgent getting in the way of the important. That’s a Steven Covey idea: the urgent needs to be done now, but does nothing to advance the goals I have set for myself. Writing, sitting zazen, stretching and strength training, playing golf, gardening, taking long rambling walks…these activities have to supercede the Dance of a Hundred Things. And yes, I know the trick of putting those things on the Dance Card, and marking them “A” for top priority. So I will do that, but I always laugh a little in my head when I look down in my Franklin planner and see on the list, “Sit Zazen.” It seems like a funny little zen joke.
Anyway, now it’s back to work. First, I have to run out and buy cream for my coffee. Very important. And cook the chicken, and iron the blouse, and wash the dirty clothes, and make the Powerpoint, and send the email, and check my homework, and get myself ready for a busy day tomorrow. Calling the city inspectors to come out and look at the sheeting on my roof so we can purchase roofing material, and get a roof on the house before the rain falls. If it ever does. We are in a drought, but still. Why tempt fate?
Took out a loan so Maddy can finish her senior year. We didn’t want to, but we had to. I wonder where we will be next year, as she tries to enter the job market. Chemists are eminently employable, but Maddy has something specific in mind (brewing), so we’ll see how it goes. She has lived a charmed life thus far, and there’s no reason I can think of that this good luck and wind-at-her-back needs to change.
Here she is — cute as can be. The truth about parenting is that it is the same as running a long race. You look out at the tree in the distance and say, “I just want to get to that tree, and I’ll be OK.” Then at the tree, you set a new goal, “I’ll just run to where that red truck is parked up ahead, and then I’ll let myself rest.” So, I thought getting her through high school was the biggest challenge: the challenge of the driver’s license, the parties, all of the trouble that can waylay a young person. Then, the goal was just to get her settled at a good college. But now, as she approaches graduation, I worry about her work life. “Worry” is the wrong word — Maddy has proven herself to be a smart and resourceful person. But I do want her to land somewhere where she will be able to use her skills & her education; where she will be appreciated and valued, and where her work will be interesting and engaging. That she will be surrounded by people who “get” her. What a luxurious thing to think about, though. So many mothers must carry much deeper concerns for their children, and here I am hoping people “get” my daughter and that her work will be interesting. I understand that I am blessed. Nobody can love a child as completely as a mom, but of course, children don’t really get that; they are not supposed to, or they could never move out on their own. I know I didn’t understand how hard my mother prayed for me. Loving my daughter taught me to reconsider my own mother anew.
My dear friend and colleague Kristy always starts the new school year with Starburst…she gives the kids a Starburst candy, and then the kids respond to speaking prompts that are associated with each color as a way of introducing themselves. It’s a pretty common practice; my daughter and her friend Hannah report that they have both encountered this in college classes — Cal Poly SLO and UCSB respectively — so. It’s not a new idea…and that is part of its beauty. There’s familiarity coupled with the capacity for surprise. I saw a big box of Starburst at Costco, and I threw it into the cart.
The thing is…I don’t know what the questions are. No problem, though; I’m smart enough, aren’t I, to make up questions of my own? But as I began, my dark and twisted self took over the task:
PINK: Describe a law that you have recently broken, and discuss the circumstances. RED: In what ways have you been a disappointment to your parents? YELLOW: When was the last time you betrayed a friend’s trust? ORANGE: Discuss a time that you made your mother cry.
Well, on my 52nd birthday, I’m getting my second tattoo — I’m thinking of two different poems.
Conscientious Objector, Edna St. Vincent Millay
I shall die, but that is all that I shall do for Death. I hear him leading his horse out of the stall; I hear the clatter on the barn-floor. He is in haste; he has business in Cuba, business in the Balkans, many calls to make this morning. But I will not hold the bridle while he clinches the girth. And he may mount by himself: I will not give him a leg up.
Though he flick my shoulders with his whip, I will not tell him which way the fox ran. With his hoof on my breast, I will not tell him where the black boy hides in the swamp. I shall die, but that is all that I shall do for Death; I am not on his pay-roll.
I will not tell him the whereabouts of my friends nor of my enemies either. Though he promise me much, I will not map him the route to any man’s door. Am I a spy in the land of the living, that I should deliver men to Death? Brother, the password and the plans of our city are safe with me; never through me Shall you be overcome.
————
The next one is a lifetime favorite; I know this e.e. cummings poem by heart.
dive for dreams or a slogan my topple you (trees are their roots and wind is wind)
trust your heart if the seas catch fire (can live by love though the stars walk backward)
honor the past but welcome the future (and dance your death away at this wedding)
never mind a world with its villains and heroes (for god loves girls and tomorrow and the earth)
The lines that are in bold are the lines may end up inked on my collar bone or my arm…still trying to decide. A third choice may emerge. I always have loved that angry Margaret Atwood poem:
We fit together/like a hook and eye/a fish hook/an open eye
From the time I was about 24 or 25, I began to secretly hope that I would someday have a daughter, and if I ever did, I would name her Madeline. I met her father a year or two later, and then my Madeline, who apparently had been hanging out on a cloud somewhere, saw her opportunity and got herself born.
On her 18th birthday, we celebrated with tattoos…of course, I got Madeline.
“In an old house in Paris that was covered with vines lived twelve little girls in two straight lines in two straight lines they broke their bread and brushed their teeth and went to bed… The smallest one was Madeline She was not afraid of mice She loved winter, snow and ice, to the tiger in the zoo Madeline just said, “Pooh-pooh!” And nobody knew so well how to frighten Miss Clavel.”
–Ludwig Bemelmans
(To hear the story read to you by a 2-year old child, check this link: Susanna reads Madeline)
Photograph by Madeline
Create a blog or Facebook page for a character. This one here: Gregor Samsa from Franz Kafka’s Metamorphosis. My AP students will be choosing a character from Brave New World…what a great idea. I just have to figure out the logistics…should be easy enough.
Here is what I am doing, and it seems like the right way to go about it, but who knows? I have little experience in these matters.
If this works, you know what’s going to be Big Project #2? THE REDWOOD GARAGE DOOR. It’s a mess, but it could, maybe, be beautiful again with a little work. Then, after that? My kitchen hutch. I’d like to sand the sealer off, get to the bare wood, and stain it green (I’d like the wood grain to show, and I saw both a green and a yellow stain that was attractive, that would work) and replace the white ceramic knobs with faceted glass knobs. I’m sure I’ll be writing about this as I go along. I’ve never been very handy, but I want to learn.
I’ll never forget when Carlos and I got that hutch at the unfinished furniture store when we were first married. It seemed like such an adult purchase, and I do believe it was the first piece of new furniture I ever picked out and purchased — everything else had been inherited or scavanged. We were living in that little one bedroom apartment on Ocean Blvd, and expecting Maddy. I was enormous — feeling very unattractive and having a hard time getting around. Carlos had agreed to brush a coat of sealant on the wood, although he confessed that he didn’t see the point, and was just doing it to humor me. In Southern California, we often will have a bright, sunny day in the middle of January or February, so he hauled the thing out onto the patio, took his shirt off, and got to work. About an hour later, he came in, all happy and sunny and brown and said to me, his big pregnant wife, “Boy! If I would have known that working on furniture would attract so many women, I would have been doing stuff like this all along! Man! I must have talked to a dozen different women in the last hour!” Oh, Carlos. Sweet, helpful, and sort of dumb about what his very pregnant wife would want to hear. More than twenty years later, I look at that hutch and remember that afternoon. Yep. Time to refinish it.
