Well, actually, it's not a usual post. And it's not quite the end of the semester, though the end is in sight.
The College of Liberal Arts, the college in which I teach, had it's annual social last night. I honestly thought about ditching it because of the gas prices. I know--if I lived in Europe, I'd have something to complain about. I suppose everything is relative. But, with a budget already strained beyond its limits, high gas prices are the "straw" on my camel's back. I am grateful for distance learning--its my pathetic stab at the hearts of the huge oil companies. For three months or so, I will not drive so much, thereby doing my part to conserve resources. If all of us could work from home at least one day a week, we'd probably conserve quite a bit of gas--as long as we didn't use the day away from the company to run the roads!
Anyway, I bit the gas bullet and attended the social. I had received a couple of anxious "You are going, aren't you?" requests on Thursday before I left for the day. That should have clued me that the game was afoot. But I dismissed any thoughts of what might be coming. I've attended these socials for years. They are fun and great ways to spend time with your colleagues--especially people from other departments who I hardly see.
Every year, the department hands out awards--three to adjuncts (who contribute a great deal to the smooth-running of any department) and three to full-time faculty. The awards to the full-time faculty go for service, scholarship, and teaching. This year, a history colleague received the scholarship award, as he should have; the service award went to a music professor, as it should have; and--hold on to your hats--I received the teaching award.
"Shocked" is the first word that comes to mind, "delighted" is the second, and "humble" is the third. I have the framed certificate sitting on a shelf in my living room. Every once in a while, I glance at it and feel grateful for the opportunity to do what I love. Where else could I have this much fun? I get to talk about writing and literature, commas and semicolons, and anything else that appears to be relevant to whatever course I'm teaching at the moment. I meet great people, make friends, and get to fuss when necessary. And I have a cool work environment--an office with a window and free books from book companies that want us to adopt their texts. Not bad.
I spent thirty years trying NOT to teach. I kept thinking that I could make more money doing something else--computing services, technical support, administrative assistant-type jobs. I almost always ended up teaching something. Desperation drove me back to academia. It was one of the best things that ever happened to me--right up there with being born and having my children.
My life lesson--money isn't everything. Teaching pays decently, but, if we work only for money, then any money we earn is tainted with dissatisfaction. I have to love my work first. Otherwise, it becomes drudgery. One thing I can say for sure is that teaching never gets dull, and, while it does have some tediousness (I don't really like to grade papers all of the time), it's one of the most creative and thought-provoking jobs in the world. I get paid to think; I get paid to have fun and share my love of English. Who could ask for more than that?
I don't know that any of my colleagues read this blog, but, if any of them do, I say "Thank you." Thank you for your support, thank you for your joy, thank you for being willing to share yourselves and your talents.
To my students--past, present, and future--thank you for making what I do so much fun. Thanks for your enthusiam, your struggles, your effort. Just thanks!
Saturday, April 26, 2008
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Eloise's Hat, a work in progress.
Finally, after many months, I've written a poem. I just wrote it this morning and it's undergone some changes, but I expect, with feedback from my writing friends, it will improve.
I wrote it in memory of a woman for whom my daughter was one of many caretakers the last few months. Eloise died of breast cancer, so this is for her and for all men and women who battle this disease.
Eloise’s Hat
04/13/08
I.
The clear sky chides me from my study.
Knee-high grass waves and laughs.
I must mow.
I have waited through cold and wind and rain.
The hulking mower stares
from the garage.
I delay. I dress. I stop
for water, grab the key,
pull on my grandmother’s boots,
find gloves
and Eloise’s hat.
I am ready.
II.
The lawnmower scares me,
all roar and wire and stuttering.
It could blow up.
It could stall out.
It could run out of gas.
It is like me.
III.
It is red and loud.
I would wear earplugs
but I would miss birdsong.
I would be out of touch.
I wouldn’t hear the ping
of pinecones spinning off the blades
or hear the rocks
smash against tree trunks.
The yard flashes past me
at three miles an hour
and I must watch
the tall grass fall.
III.
I take a drink of water, a long breath.
I push the mower into the yard,
slip the lever to neutral,
flip the park switch,
set the choke.
I am deliberate.
I turn the key.
It chugs alive after months of sleep.
I move the lever to forward,
move from choke to rabbit,
increase speed.
I drop the blades.
“Off with their heads,” I yell.
I’m off to murder the grass.
IV.
Here is what you see:
A fifty-ish woman
in her grandmother’s boots
scruffy clothes
and a broad-brimmed straw hat
strap firmly under chin.
Her gloved hands
grip the wheel
and give to its swerve.
She seems intent
watches the highs
and lows.
She doesn’t hurry
though she feels
the earth move past
without her consent.
V.
I ride and mow
and think of Flo.
Her boots go with me
to stake and weed and harvest.
They stand with me.
They kick stray logs
into the fire pit.
VI.
The hat stays on my head
despite the wind and speed.
My eyes shade clear.
I think of Eloise.
I did not know her.
I imagine she wore this hat
on days when, wheeled to her patio,
she watched my daughter
weed and plant
the gardens out of reach,
this hat keeping the sun
from her face, her head.
I think how seventeen years
with a husband is too short.
I think this is a glorious day.
I think that chemo and radiation
might dim even my view.
I don’t know.
I thank Eloise for the hat
and write poems to her as I ride.
She rides with me.
It is my gift to her.
VII.
The broken limbs and twigs
hump over the fire pit.
I strike a match
and thrust it to the heart of things.
The flames rise to low tree limbs.
I hose them down to moderate the burn.
I watch the mound flatten to coals
and think of the women
I would not become.
I am all of them.
Thanks for the poem, Eloise, and for the hat!
I wrote it in memory of a woman for whom my daughter was one of many caretakers the last few months. Eloise died of breast cancer, so this is for her and for all men and women who battle this disease.
Eloise’s Hat
04/13/08
I.
The clear sky chides me from my study.
Knee-high grass waves and laughs.
I must mow.
I have waited through cold and wind and rain.
The hulking mower stares
from the garage.
I delay. I dress. I stop
for water, grab the key,
pull on my grandmother’s boots,
find gloves
and Eloise’s hat.
I am ready.
II.
The lawnmower scares me,
all roar and wire and stuttering.
It could blow up.
It could stall out.
It could run out of gas.
It is like me.
III.
It is red and loud.
I would wear earplugs
but I would miss birdsong.
I would be out of touch.
I wouldn’t hear the ping
of pinecones spinning off the blades
or hear the rocks
smash against tree trunks.
The yard flashes past me
at three miles an hour
and I must watch
the tall grass fall.
III.
I take a drink of water, a long breath.
I push the mower into the yard,
slip the lever to neutral,
flip the park switch,
set the choke.
I am deliberate.
I turn the key.
It chugs alive after months of sleep.
I move the lever to forward,
move from choke to rabbit,
increase speed.
I drop the blades.
“Off with their heads,” I yell.
I’m off to murder the grass.
IV.
Here is what you see:
A fifty-ish woman
in her grandmother’s boots
scruffy clothes
and a broad-brimmed straw hat
strap firmly under chin.
Her gloved hands
grip the wheel
and give to its swerve.
She seems intent
watches the highs
and lows.
She doesn’t hurry
though she feels
the earth move past
without her consent.
V.
I ride and mow
and think of Flo.
Her boots go with me
to stake and weed and harvest.
They stand with me.
They kick stray logs
into the fire pit.
VI.
The hat stays on my head
despite the wind and speed.
My eyes shade clear.
I think of Eloise.
I did not know her.
I imagine she wore this hat
on days when, wheeled to her patio,
she watched my daughter
weed and plant
the gardens out of reach,
this hat keeping the sun
from her face, her head.
I think how seventeen years
with a husband is too short.
I think this is a glorious day.
I think that chemo and radiation
might dim even my view.
I don’t know.
I thank Eloise for the hat
and write poems to her as I ride.
She rides with me.
It is my gift to her.
VII.
The broken limbs and twigs
hump over the fire pit.
I strike a match
and thrust it to the heart of things.
The flames rise to low tree limbs.
I hose them down to moderate the burn.
I watch the mound flatten to coals
and think of the women
I would not become.
I am all of them.
Thanks for the poem, Eloise, and for the hat!
Saturday, April 12, 2008
First Mow of the Season...
Well, I cranked up the riding mower and took a ride around...and around...and around the yard today, but I'm not finished. I was afraid of running out of gas in the south forty, so I stopped when I got all of the high grass cut down. I still need to mow closer to the house, and, though I did a good job, I think, of picking up the sticks, the wind has been blowing constantly, shaking down a fresh crop of twigs that I need to gather for the burn pile. I plan to do that tomorrow morning, buy more gas for the mower, and finish the job.
I wore Eloise's hat today for yard work. It's a nice straw hat with an adjustable chin strap so it won't blow off while I'm working in the yard and riding the mower. Eloise died from breast cancer; my daughter was one of her care-givers to the end. Eloise gave Dorothy a bunch of hats; I asked for this one, and I felt guilty asking for it, but my daughter was generous and let me have it. So, the whole time I was mowing the grass today, I was writing poems to Eloise in my head. I need to write some of them down and send them to Dot. I feel lucky that I'm still healthy enough, in my fifties, to mow the grass, teach my classes, and generally make my way through the world. I should complain less. My life could be worse, really. And while that sounds cliched and stupid, it's true. I should remind myself, more often, to be grateful. And happy.
The semester is almost over. I will miss this current crop of students--they've been fun, interesting, and hard-working. And they don't complain much, really! Everything a teacher likes in students!
And I'm teaching summer school from home, so less driving! Hooray! I can reduce the big oil companies' profits by a tiny bit. Wouldn't it be great if more people could telecommute? We'd be able to reduce at least some of our dependence on oil. Of course, we still have to deal with heating and cooling the house, and a million other products that require petroleum. I wish I had enough money to convert my house to solar energy.
I'm going to make a conscious effort this summer to reduce the amount of gas I use. Except for a trip to Austin, I may only drive to visit my mother. I'll be a hermit! At least until the fall semester begins. Then I'll only be driving in two days a week and for meetings when I must.
Coffee's ready and I have papers to grade, or, as Robert Frost writes, "But I have promises to keep/And miles to go before I sleep." So, I'm off to the next task.
P. S. The peach tree I planted last year has peaches on it! But the plum trees I planted are just now leafing out--I haven't seen any blooms. Boo! That's not going to help the older plum trees that have already bloomed and leafed out. Probably no plums, unless the Victoriana sprouts some. I'll keep you posted.
I wore Eloise's hat today for yard work. It's a nice straw hat with an adjustable chin strap so it won't blow off while I'm working in the yard and riding the mower. Eloise died from breast cancer; my daughter was one of her care-givers to the end. Eloise gave Dorothy a bunch of hats; I asked for this one, and I felt guilty asking for it, but my daughter was generous and let me have it. So, the whole time I was mowing the grass today, I was writing poems to Eloise in my head. I need to write some of them down and send them to Dot. I feel lucky that I'm still healthy enough, in my fifties, to mow the grass, teach my classes, and generally make my way through the world. I should complain less. My life could be worse, really. And while that sounds cliched and stupid, it's true. I should remind myself, more often, to be grateful. And happy.
The semester is almost over. I will miss this current crop of students--they've been fun, interesting, and hard-working. And they don't complain much, really! Everything a teacher likes in students!
And I'm teaching summer school from home, so less driving! Hooray! I can reduce the big oil companies' profits by a tiny bit. Wouldn't it be great if more people could telecommute? We'd be able to reduce at least some of our dependence on oil. Of course, we still have to deal with heating and cooling the house, and a million other products that require petroleum. I wish I had enough money to convert my house to solar energy.
I'm going to make a conscious effort this summer to reduce the amount of gas I use. Except for a trip to Austin, I may only drive to visit my mother. I'll be a hermit! At least until the fall semester begins. Then I'll only be driving in two days a week and for meetings when I must.
Coffee's ready and I have papers to grade, or, as Robert Frost writes, "But I have promises to keep/And miles to go before I sleep." So, I'm off to the next task.
P. S. The peach tree I planted last year has peaches on it! But the plum trees I planted are just now leafing out--I haven't seen any blooms. Boo! That's not going to help the older plum trees that have already bloomed and leafed out. Probably no plums, unless the Victoriana sprouts some. I'll keep you posted.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Inserting a URL into my blog
I'm using this as a demo for a student at the moment.
And here's a URL inserted into my blog.
http://www.slate.com/id/2184933/
And here's a URL inserted into my blog.
http://www.slate.com/id/2184933/
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Home Again, Home Again...
I had a great time in Austin, but my stay there was too short! I mostly sat around watching my kids do things, ate too much great food (my daughter's an excellent cook), ran around town getting a first-hand look at how poor, creative people get what they need for less. My son traded a bicycle frame, parts, and tires for new tires for his own bike. I watched him pirate parts from that bike frame to spiff up his. He's creative and resourceful.
My kids have gardens all over their backyard. I like making a salad from greens picked straight from the garden, only getting what you need, and not having the extras turn brown and slimy in the fridge. My daughter and her boyfriend spent Saturday framing a shed for the washing machine that's in the backyard. Dorothy also rigged up an irrigation system from the washer's draining to water the plants with graywater. It's ingenious, made of pvc pipe and a soaker hose.
I went to Treasure City, a resale shop run totally by volunteers, for their Saturday Sidewalk Sale. Everything outside was 25 cents. We racked up on some good stuff. My son's girlfriend helped start the co-op, and she also works at Ecology Action in Austin. She's a contractor, and she and her roommates are renovating the house they just bought. She's an amazing person.
We also went to Tops, which is an office furniture resale warehouse. I found an excellent desk chair for $10! I'm sitting in it right now, and, I can tell you, it's more comfortable than the straight-back chair I've been using.
My cats missed me. I know this because they have been following me around the house since I got home. I hope they get used to me being here for a while. With gas prices the way they are, I don't think I'll be taking more trips soon, except for driving to and from school. But, when summer gets here, I'll be teaching online, so I won't have to leave the house. And, in the fall, I'll be teaching two online classes, so I'll only be going in two days a week. I'm looking forward to not driving so much.
But, I'm home, and life is good, until I have to pay my taxes!
My kids have gardens all over their backyard. I like making a salad from greens picked straight from the garden, only getting what you need, and not having the extras turn brown and slimy in the fridge. My daughter and her boyfriend spent Saturday framing a shed for the washing machine that's in the backyard. Dorothy also rigged up an irrigation system from the washer's draining to water the plants with graywater. It's ingenious, made of pvc pipe and a soaker hose.
I went to Treasure City, a resale shop run totally by volunteers, for their Saturday Sidewalk Sale. Everything outside was 25 cents. We racked up on some good stuff. My son's girlfriend helped start the co-op, and she also works at Ecology Action in Austin. She's a contractor, and she and her roommates are renovating the house they just bought. She's an amazing person.
We also went to Tops, which is an office furniture resale warehouse. I found an excellent desk chair for $10! I'm sitting in it right now, and, I can tell you, it's more comfortable than the straight-back chair I've been using.
My cats missed me. I know this because they have been following me around the house since I got home. I hope they get used to me being here for a while. With gas prices the way they are, I don't think I'll be taking more trips soon, except for driving to and from school. But, when summer gets here, I'll be teaching online, so I won't have to leave the house. And, in the fall, I'll be teaching two online classes, so I'll only be going in two days a week. I'm looking forward to not driving so much.
But, I'm home, and life is good, until I have to pay my taxes!
Friday, March 07, 2008
Signs of Spring, 2008
Well, about two weeks until Easter, and, of course, we had snow today. Didn't stick, thanks to the 70 degree weather we had earlier in the week!
And, thanks to that same weather, everything around me is blooming. My Mayhaw trees are busting out in white; Mr. Lester's peach trees are purpley-pink; the japonica, narcissus, jonquils and redbuds flaunt their colors all around. A purple haze hovers over plowed and unplowed fields. I'm hoping the freeze doesn't affect the fruit crops--mine or Mr. Lester's. I'm anxious to see if I get any plums from any of the four trees I have, and, of course, I'm hoping the peach tree I planted last year produces more than five peaches.
I need to get started on my garden, but I'm going to wait until after Easter this year. Last year, I planted on Easter weekend and spent the entire time covering and uncovering my plants because we had a late freeze.
I love spring. Next to fall, it's my favorite season. I enjoy my garden. It's about the only exercise I get these days.
This has been a difficult week. I'm behind in my grading, thanks to a number of factors, but I refuse to provide any excuses for falling behind.
We had a candidate on campus this week; we took her to dinner last night at Indigo, a new Indian restaurant. The food was great. I had to drive home in a freezing, pounding rain. I hydroplaned twice because of the buildup of water on the roads. I had to lower my speed considerably, so I didn't get home until 10pm. Then I was up at 6am this morning to go back into school (I usually am not on campus on Fridays) to sit in on a class the candidate taught. Then I had a meeting. I thought I'd take a nap when I got home, but I ended up working on one of my classes and downloading papers I need to grade. By tomorrow, I should have about four sets of papers to grade. Sigh! And we have another candidate coming in on Tuesday. That means a late night on Wednesday, with my usually early day on Thursday.
I'm so glad spring break is coming up. Austin, here I come!
And, thanks to that same weather, everything around me is blooming. My Mayhaw trees are busting out in white; Mr. Lester's peach trees are purpley-pink; the japonica, narcissus, jonquils and redbuds flaunt their colors all around. A purple haze hovers over plowed and unplowed fields. I'm hoping the freeze doesn't affect the fruit crops--mine or Mr. Lester's. I'm anxious to see if I get any plums from any of the four trees I have, and, of course, I'm hoping the peach tree I planted last year produces more than five peaches.
I need to get started on my garden, but I'm going to wait until after Easter this year. Last year, I planted on Easter weekend and spent the entire time covering and uncovering my plants because we had a late freeze.
I love spring. Next to fall, it's my favorite season. I enjoy my garden. It's about the only exercise I get these days.
This has been a difficult week. I'm behind in my grading, thanks to a number of factors, but I refuse to provide any excuses for falling behind.
We had a candidate on campus this week; we took her to dinner last night at Indigo, a new Indian restaurant. The food was great. I had to drive home in a freezing, pounding rain. I hydroplaned twice because of the buildup of water on the roads. I had to lower my speed considerably, so I didn't get home until 10pm. Then I was up at 6am this morning to go back into school (I usually am not on campus on Fridays) to sit in on a class the candidate taught. Then I had a meeting. I thought I'd take a nap when I got home, but I ended up working on one of my classes and downloading papers I need to grade. By tomorrow, I should have about four sets of papers to grade. Sigh! And we have another candidate coming in on Tuesday. That means a late night on Wednesday, with my usually early day on Thursday.
I'm so glad spring break is coming up. Austin, here I come!
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Always call the busy person...
I'm constantly amazed that, though I don't think I can find one more minute to do one more thing, I can and do "find time" to squeeze one more task into my already task-filled day.
Last night, I read/graded a set of essays, and was finished fairly early. I also read some assignments from my one "small" class (7 people) and thought, "Oh, I have time to work on my paper/someone else's thesis project/knitting/reading." But, then I did the wrong thing. I checked my email and discovered a frantic message from a friend asking me to edit/read her essay that is due Monday.
So, two hours later, I still had time to work on a few other projects, but I didn't get to them as early as I thought I would. I stayed up until nearly 3am this morning, squeezing in a few of the things I wanted to do--work on the one remaining sock of a pair, read some Jane Austen, work on my new online class I want to teach in the fall. I lost track of time, yes. And I woke up, initially, this morning at 7am and forced myself to go back to sleep. I got up around 9:30am and immediately began working. I need to stop this!
In the children's book series, A Series of Unfortunate Events, one of the characters, Violet, says that time is the one thing we can't invent more of. She is so right. So I guess what I'm trying to do is fill up the time as much as possible with everything I need/want to do. You know, "make the most of time."
Today, I've already graded Wikis, conducted an online chat, and mopped both the kitchen and the bathroom (long overdue!). Now, I'm going to take a bit of time to work on one of my projects--writing a paper--and then I'll grade a set of essays. I'm drowning in paper, so I need to clean out the stacks and add to the burn/recycle pile. I burn the junk mail, and recycle the rest. But, then again, I may not get to that, which is fine with me. I need to stop working every single minute of the day--smell the roses, you know?
Tomorrow... well, I'll deal with that when I get to it!
Last night, I read/graded a set of essays, and was finished fairly early. I also read some assignments from my one "small" class (7 people) and thought, "Oh, I have time to work on my paper/someone else's thesis project/knitting/reading." But, then I did the wrong thing. I checked my email and discovered a frantic message from a friend asking me to edit/read her essay that is due Monday.
So, two hours later, I still had time to work on a few other projects, but I didn't get to them as early as I thought I would. I stayed up until nearly 3am this morning, squeezing in a few of the things I wanted to do--work on the one remaining sock of a pair, read some Jane Austen, work on my new online class I want to teach in the fall. I lost track of time, yes. And I woke up, initially, this morning at 7am and forced myself to go back to sleep. I got up around 9:30am and immediately began working. I need to stop this!
In the children's book series, A Series of Unfortunate Events, one of the characters, Violet, says that time is the one thing we can't invent more of. She is so right. So I guess what I'm trying to do is fill up the time as much as possible with everything I need/want to do. You know, "make the most of time."
Today, I've already graded Wikis, conducted an online chat, and mopped both the kitchen and the bathroom (long overdue!). Now, I'm going to take a bit of time to work on one of my projects--writing a paper--and then I'll grade a set of essays. I'm drowning in paper, so I need to clean out the stacks and add to the burn/recycle pile. I burn the junk mail, and recycle the rest. But, then again, I may not get to that, which is fine with me. I need to stop working every single minute of the day--smell the roses, you know?
Tomorrow... well, I'll deal with that when I get to it!
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
A Visit to the Vet's Office
I took Golum in this morning. He had an upper respiratory infection, nothing too serious, according to Dr. Jeff, but Golum did get a shot and some medicine. When I got home with him this afternoon, I let him out of the carrier, and I haven't seen him since. I hope he comes in soon so I can give him his antibiotics.
Dr. Jeff's a good animal doctor. He's funny and compassionate. He's also on call at the sale barn next door to his clinic, and, when they have sales (as they did today), he spends most of his time over there. But I like that he lets his kids hang around and help out with the smaller animals. And he's so country. Today, he was wearing his overalls and high rubber boots!
I'm sure that Golum will recover, but I also know that I can take him back to Dr. Jeff's without breaking the bank--that's the best thing! I can afford to take care of my pets.
Oh, yeah. Boudreaux brought in a bird this morning, but didn't quite know what to do with it. I took the bird back outside, and it flew away (Hooray! Cats: 6 Birds: 1).
Dr. Jeff's a good animal doctor. He's funny and compassionate. He's also on call at the sale barn next door to his clinic, and, when they have sales (as they did today), he spends most of his time over there. But I like that he lets his kids hang around and help out with the smaller animals. And he's so country. Today, he was wearing his overalls and high rubber boots!
I'm sure that Golum will recover, but I also know that I can take him back to Dr. Jeff's without breaking the bank--that's the best thing! I can afford to take care of my pets.
Oh, yeah. Boudreaux brought in a bird this morning, but didn't quite know what to do with it. I took the bird back outside, and it flew away (Hooray! Cats: 6 Birds: 1).
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Heath Ledger
I'm not one to dwell on Hollywood, but color me shocked! I was checking my email, when I saw the news flash about Heath Ledger. OMG! He was such a great actor. Loved him in The Brothers' Grimm and A Knight's Tale. Besides being georgeous and having a heavenly voice, he radiated intelligence and sanity. I'll be interested in finding out the results of that autopsy (I know that sounds gruesome, but enquiring minds really do want to know).
I'd rather hear more about Brittney Spears than hear this. I need to round up all of his films and watch them in a memorial tribute.
Oh, this is sad.
And my cat is still sick, so we're going to the vet's in the morning. Right now, he's hiding under the bed because I won't let him go outside. He's acting just like a kid.
I'd rather hear more about Brittney Spears than hear this. I need to round up all of his films and watch them in a memorial tribute.
Oh, this is sad.
And my cat is still sick, so we're going to the vet's in the morning. Right now, he's hiding under the bed because I won't let him go outside. He's acting just like a kid.
Sunday, January 20, 2008
Now for the Good News...
The cat came back, but he seems to be ill. It's Golum--he was gone for three cold days; I don't know where. I'll probably have to take him to the vet. He might have a cold, but it could be pneumonia. His breathing is labored. What I'm hoping it's NOT is a poisoned rat. These cats never think about what they put in their mouths.
My nephew and his wife found out that the baby they are expecting in June is a girl! And my niece (sister to the aforementioned nephew) is expecting a baby in August. I have a bunch of knitting to do!
And I installed a new shower head all by myself! That may not seem like much to you, but for someone who is repair-impaired, I'm really proud of that. I'm sure most men had to go through that "I wonder if I'm doing this right" phase before they discovered their mechanical aptitudes. But for some women (not all), doing simple repairs is a challenge. I take pride in being successful with these things--mastering the riding lawnmower, assembling a wheel barrow, installing a shower head. Every time I manage to do something like that, I feel that I've grown a bit in my independence. I have five brothers, a son (in Austin), and a father, but getting them to take time from the deer lease, work or the golf course is difficult. They have their own agendas, and, for them, my house seems far away (yeah--one of my brothers lives in Haughton!). So, the more I can do for myself, the better.
Let me see, can I find anything else? I did get to talk to my daughter twice last night and to my mother once. And, after a touch-and-go day with the Internet yesterday, today it seems to be holding steady. All together, not a bad start to the morning! It's so much better to dwell on the positive.
My nephew and his wife found out that the baby they are expecting in June is a girl! And my niece (sister to the aforementioned nephew) is expecting a baby in August. I have a bunch of knitting to do!
And I installed a new shower head all by myself! That may not seem like much to you, but for someone who is repair-impaired, I'm really proud of that. I'm sure most men had to go through that "I wonder if I'm doing this right" phase before they discovered their mechanical aptitudes. But for some women (not all), doing simple repairs is a challenge. I take pride in being successful with these things--mastering the riding lawnmower, assembling a wheel barrow, installing a shower head. Every time I manage to do something like that, I feel that I've grown a bit in my independence. I have five brothers, a son (in Austin), and a father, but getting them to take time from the deer lease, work or the golf course is difficult. They have their own agendas, and, for them, my house seems far away (yeah--one of my brothers lives in Haughton!). So, the more I can do for myself, the better.
Let me see, can I find anything else? I did get to talk to my daughter twice last night and to my mother once. And, after a touch-and-go day with the Internet yesterday, today it seems to be holding steady. All together, not a bad start to the morning! It's so much better to dwell on the positive.
Saturday, January 19, 2008
Bad News Comes in Clusters...
I don't get many phone calls. I hear from my kids periodically, and I hear from my mother when she hasn't seen me for a week.
My daughter called me tonight to let me know that my former mother-in-law's brother died. Millie, my fm-i-l, died two Novembers ago; her sister, Virginia, died at least 10 years ago; so, that just leaves Dorothy, my daughter's namesake, as the last surviving Byrd child. Dorothy must be in her 80s, but she looks great and is always on the go. I was sorry to hear about T. J., though; he was such a nice guy, and his wife Virginia is a sweet lady. I'll send her a sympathy card next week. I don't know that she'll actually remember me without a prompt.
I had a couple of beep-ins while I was on the phone with my daughter, and I figured they were telemarketers (I get a fair number of those--thank God for caller ID!), or my mother was desperate to talk to me. I called Mom. Yes, she was trying to talk to me and couldn't imagine who I was talking to (yeah, I get soooooo many calls, Mom!).
So, here's the rest of the bad news: my youngest brother, James, who has MS, is in the hospital with pneumonia. He had a 106 degree fever, so his wife called the ambulance. The doctors are having trouble getting his fever down, but that's not surprising in someone with MS. His immune system is weak.
And one of my sisters is separating from her second husband. I think she was ambivalent about getting married again, anyway, so I always wondered why she did it. Oh, well.
And one of my cats is missing. He was sleeping under the bed Thursday morning, but hadn't acted as though he was sick. I have no idea where he is. I've whistled, I've called, I've searched. I'm hoping he just found a friend and is hanging out (he's neutered, so it's not romantic).
Too much bad news for one night. I think I have a little bit of vodka left in the freezer (hey, I got it as a birthday present two years ago--how's that for restraint?). I need a screwdriver.
My daughter called me tonight to let me know that my former mother-in-law's brother died. Millie, my fm-i-l, died two Novembers ago; her sister, Virginia, died at least 10 years ago; so, that just leaves Dorothy, my daughter's namesake, as the last surviving Byrd child. Dorothy must be in her 80s, but she looks great and is always on the go. I was sorry to hear about T. J., though; he was such a nice guy, and his wife Virginia is a sweet lady. I'll send her a sympathy card next week. I don't know that she'll actually remember me without a prompt.
I had a couple of beep-ins while I was on the phone with my daughter, and I figured they were telemarketers (I get a fair number of those--thank God for caller ID!), or my mother was desperate to talk to me. I called Mom. Yes, she was trying to talk to me and couldn't imagine who I was talking to (yeah, I get soooooo many calls, Mom!).
So, here's the rest of the bad news: my youngest brother, James, who has MS, is in the hospital with pneumonia. He had a 106 degree fever, so his wife called the ambulance. The doctors are having trouble getting his fever down, but that's not surprising in someone with MS. His immune system is weak.
And one of my sisters is separating from her second husband. I think she was ambivalent about getting married again, anyway, so I always wondered why she did it. Oh, well.
And one of my cats is missing. He was sleeping under the bed Thursday morning, but hadn't acted as though he was sick. I have no idea where he is. I've whistled, I've called, I've searched. I'm hoping he just found a friend and is hanging out (he's neutered, so it's not romantic).
Too much bad news for one night. I think I have a little bit of vodka left in the freezer (hey, I got it as a birthday present two years ago--how's that for restraint?). I need a screwdriver.
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
What the Cat Dragged in...
This time, the mouse was dead. And it wasn't Golum who rolled it around on the carpet; it was Bubba, a normally staid, mostly remote cat. He doesn't "talk" much, he does like to be held and scratched, but he won't sit on my lap. He surprised me.
In order to get the mouse out, I had to roll it through the kitchen with a stick (Are you kidding? I'm not going to touch it!). I had to close the kitchen door until all traces of the critter disappeared. I don't know if the cat ate his prize. All I know is it's not in my house anymore.
I understand that cats are hunters. I just wish they wouldn't bring in everything they catch or kill (including live chickens).
Oh, and the possum came back. I thought I heard voices outside last night, and I went to the back door to see if they were coming from my neighbor's yard. She's been burning leaves and whatever else for two days--the haze of woodsmoke hangs in the air. I went to open the back storm door, and the possum and I both jumped. I think I was the one who screamed. It went under the house. So I'm having to put the boards back in the door to keep it from coming into the house. Who would have thought that "country" living could be so perilous?
In order to get the mouse out, I had to roll it through the kitchen with a stick (Are you kidding? I'm not going to touch it!). I had to close the kitchen door until all traces of the critter disappeared. I don't know if the cat ate his prize. All I know is it's not in my house anymore.
I understand that cats are hunters. I just wish they wouldn't bring in everything they catch or kill (including live chickens).
Oh, and the possum came back. I thought I heard voices outside last night, and I went to the back door to see if they were coming from my neighbor's yard. She's been burning leaves and whatever else for two days--the haze of woodsmoke hangs in the air. I went to open the back storm door, and the possum and I both jumped. I think I was the one who screamed. It went under the house. So I'm having to put the boards back in the door to keep it from coming into the house. Who would have thought that "country" living could be so perilous?
Sunday, January 06, 2008
The Chicken in the Dining Room
Anyone who knows me knows that I really want a flock of chickens--well, "flock" may be an ambitious way of describing it. I want five chickens, all female, and I plan to name them after the Bennett sisters in Pride and Prejudice. But I'm not quite ready yet. I need to build a chicken coop first.
Yesterday, I was working around the house and trying to get my courses up and running on Moodle, since school begins in a week. I kept hearing a "cheep cheep." And, as frequent readers of this blog know, my cats are famous for bringing in birds in various stages of life, so I figured I had another live bird flying around. I checked the laundry room; I checked the kitchen, dining room and living room. Nothing. I was in and out of the kitchen and dining room, stowing away the Christmas tins and platters. I didn't hear anything for a while, so I hoped the bird had flown.
Later, I was working at my computer when I heard the "cheep cheep" again. I stood in the walkway between the kitchen and the dining room and heard it again to my left. I got down on my hands and knees and crawled around the dining room table. I found what I was looking for under a rocking chair in the corner.
A chicken--blondish, about 5 inches long--ran into the corner. As I reached to grab it, it took off into my study. I shut the study door and went to the garage to get a cat carrier. I figured that would be a good place to stow a chicken overnight and keep it safe from the cats. I got some bird seed (that's the closest I could come to chicken feed in a pinch), some water, and a kitchen towel, stowed all of that in the carrier, and then spent the better part of an hour trying to catch the chicken. I finally managed to herd it into the carrier where it spent the night.
That chicken was in my house all day, and the cats didn't lay a tooth on it. I can't figure that out, unless it just seemed to big for them to tackle. But if that was the case, how did it get here in the first place?
Darn! I should have taken a picture to show here. But, that's hindsight. I took it back across the ditch this morning. I should have kept it because it's owners didn't seem to care. They acted as though it was more of a nuisance that I brought it back.
So, lesson learned! I better get that chicken coop built in case my cats rustle any more chickens. As my mom says, "If it shows up again, it belongs to you."
Yesterday, I was working around the house and trying to get my courses up and running on Moodle, since school begins in a week. I kept hearing a "cheep cheep." And, as frequent readers of this blog know, my cats are famous for bringing in birds in various stages of life, so I figured I had another live bird flying around. I checked the laundry room; I checked the kitchen, dining room and living room. Nothing. I was in and out of the kitchen and dining room, stowing away the Christmas tins and platters. I didn't hear anything for a while, so I hoped the bird had flown.
Later, I was working at my computer when I heard the "cheep cheep" again. I stood in the walkway between the kitchen and the dining room and heard it again to my left. I got down on my hands and knees and crawled around the dining room table. I found what I was looking for under a rocking chair in the corner.
A chicken--blondish, about 5 inches long--ran into the corner. As I reached to grab it, it took off into my study. I shut the study door and went to the garage to get a cat carrier. I figured that would be a good place to stow a chicken overnight and keep it safe from the cats. I got some bird seed (that's the closest I could come to chicken feed in a pinch), some water, and a kitchen towel, stowed all of that in the carrier, and then spent the better part of an hour trying to catch the chicken. I finally managed to herd it into the carrier where it spent the night.
That chicken was in my house all day, and the cats didn't lay a tooth on it. I can't figure that out, unless it just seemed to big for them to tackle. But if that was the case, how did it get here in the first place?
Darn! I should have taken a picture to show here. But, that's hindsight. I took it back across the ditch this morning. I should have kept it because it's owners didn't seem to care. They acted as though it was more of a nuisance that I brought it back.
So, lesson learned! I better get that chicken coop built in case my cats rustle any more chickens. As my mom says, "If it shows up again, it belongs to you."
Wednesday, January 02, 2008
Here's How the New Year Starts...
...not with a bang, but a whimper (sorry, T. S. Eliot).
Happy New Year, ya'll! Hope it's good for you.
I had a great Christmas, with overlapping visits from my children and their significants. Dot and her guy, Pete, showed up the Saturday before Christmas and stayed until about 3pm Christmas Day; Dan and Carly, his lady, showed up around noon on Christmas and stayed until the Thursday after. So I had company for about a week.
Dot and Pete did a great deal of yard work. They built a firepit in place of my burnpile. Here's a picture of the firepit with a fire:
They cut up the limb that fell a couple of months ago, so we had plenty of firewood to burn. We roasted marshmallows and made smores, something I haven't done since Girl Scout Camp!Behind the firepit in the picture you can see my old shed. We cleaned that out. I can't list everything we found in there, but a partial list of contents includes old mason jars, a half-full bottle of whiskey (we dumped it out), and assorted tools (a circular saw, a hand planer, a hand lathe, a grease gun), plus enough flammable liquids to worry me. So, all I have to do to turn this into a chicken coop is rebuild the roof and put in a new floor. And Pete reinforced the open part of the shed so that the roof isn't sagging anymore.
Dan and Carly and I couldn't really get out in the yard because it rained all day Wednesday. But we read and knitted and watched movies; then they made two excellent pizzas and we played two games of Scrabble.
I think their visits were the highlights of Christmas for me. We had fun at my mom's and ate too much good food, but I enjoyed my time with my children. They've only been to my house once since I bought it, but I've been to their house in Austin many, many times. So, they owe me a few more visits!
The new year started ominously--the bathroom shower started dripping and I couldn't get the garage door down with the remote (I used the rake handle). But, on an optimistic note, Bluebirds have moved into the birdhouse on my front porch! I watched them move in today.
I hope the Bluebird of Happiness, Prosperity and Peace lands on your porch, too!
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Finally, A Vacation--sort of...
Yep, it's the calm before the spring storm--um, I mean, semester! Grades are in, I've actually had a couple of days at home (and one day at the bookstore, which I'll get to in a minute), and I've actually managed to alphabetize my cds, dvds and vhs tapes, which I haven't been able to do since I moved into my house. I woke up Sunday and just decided to do it, after sitting on my hands (really!) to keep from trying to work. I've been in work mode for a year and a half, so not doing something is difficult for me.
And, after bending and stretching to get things into place, I felt as though I had been on a stairstepper at the gym. When I went into the bookstore to work on Monday, I was sore, as though I'd been through a tough workout. And, of course, standing for eight hours didn't help work out the kinks. I'm still feeling sore, but I'm sure I'll recover from that just in time to go back to the bookstore Saturday (hopefully, not for the entire day).
My daughter and her boyfriend are heading this way for Christmas, so I'll have company for a few days. That will be nice, since my family 45 miles north thinks it's too far to drive to my house. My daughter is driving from Austin to Arlington, TX, and then to here. I just don't think my family has a good excuse--after all, I drive the distance and back nearly every day of the semester.
This will be a lean Christmas, what with rising gas prices, new tires for the car this summer, and price increases on everything. So, I've done a great deal of knitting, especially slippers, because they are fast! I think I've got most of my gifts covered, and I know my family members love handmade gifts. Slippers, plus cookies, plus biscuit mix, plus muffins=satisfaction!
I hope everyone has a great holiday, whatever you celebrate! I plan to sleep as much as possible and get ready for the new year.
And, after bending and stretching to get things into place, I felt as though I had been on a stairstepper at the gym. When I went into the bookstore to work on Monday, I was sore, as though I'd been through a tough workout. And, of course, standing for eight hours didn't help work out the kinks. I'm still feeling sore, but I'm sure I'll recover from that just in time to go back to the bookstore Saturday (hopefully, not for the entire day).
My daughter and her boyfriend are heading this way for Christmas, so I'll have company for a few days. That will be nice, since my family 45 miles north thinks it's too far to drive to my house. My daughter is driving from Austin to Arlington, TX, and then to here. I just don't think my family has a good excuse--after all, I drive the distance and back nearly every day of the semester.
This will be a lean Christmas, what with rising gas prices, new tires for the car this summer, and price increases on everything. So, I've done a great deal of knitting, especially slippers, because they are fast! I think I've got most of my gifts covered, and I know my family members love handmade gifts. Slippers, plus cookies, plus biscuit mix, plus muffins=satisfaction!
I hope everyone has a great holiday, whatever you celebrate! I plan to sleep as much as possible and get ready for the new year.
Saturday, December 08, 2007
Sometimes, You're the Bug...
Yesterday was not a good day, overall. I'm sure, in retrospect, it wasn't worse than any other day I've had in my life, but it's not one I want to linger over.
There's the whole "end of semester" craziness, of course. Students who panic now when they should have panicked a great deal earlier--they are driving me nuts. How many times can I say, "Don't talk to me about grades during dead week," or "I won't read late work" before they listen? So, all this late work that I won't grade piles up, and they wait until now to mention it. Too late! I have enough to do right now; I don't have the time or the inclination to grade work that should have been graded a month ago.
So, yesterday morning, I went to the grocery store to get what I needed so I could hibernate this weekend, stay in and grade papers and catch up on things I need to do. I'm the "I'll take my groceries out myself"-type of woman; it's not that I don't want to tip the bag person, or anything. I just know he/she won't be carrying my groceries in my house for me.
As I'm signing my name to the receipt, the sacker starts putting my paltry haul into bags for me. I only had two light bags and a big bag of cat food, so I knew I could carry those out. When he asked me if he could take my purchases out for me, I said, "That's okay. I can do it." I came around the end of the check-out stand, picked up my bags, and proceeded to trip over the two boxes the guy had dropped at the end of the stand.
I didn't see the boxes; I didn't know he had dropped them there because I was not watching him while I was signing my name. He did not say, "Watch out for those boxes."
I went sprawling on the hard tile floor.
I guess we react to something like this the same way we react to a car accident--slow motion flashes of our lives up to that moment. I fell on my left side--my butt, my elbow and hand, and my left knee hit the ground in succession. I sat there for a few seconds; everyone and everything in the store stopped. I was soon surrounded by most of the employees, all of whom left whatever they were doing to make sure I was okay.
Well, I was in some pain, but I was more embarrassed than anything. "Are you okay?" I must have been asked that twenty times. No, I'm not "okay," but nothing is sprained or broken, except my ego! I limped to my car with the sacker guy carrying my bags. When I tried to tip him, he said, "No, ma'am. You don't owe me a thing!"
When I tried to get out of bed this morning, I swear I could hear my body creak. I was stiff and the bruise on my knee is purple. My left arm hurts, and I can't type for long before my pinkie and ring fingers go numb. Maybe I should call the store and ask the manager to file an incident report in case I need to see a doctor. But, I'm not the suing type, so I'll just take some more ibuprofen.
Okay, so that took care of the morning. I limped through the rest of the afternoon. When I finished grading, reading, etc., all the papers that my students sent me on Thursday and Friday, I sat on the sofa knitting.
Golum (you know him!) came scampering through the living room around nine or ten last evening, obviously chasing something. I was hoping it was a lizard or grasshopper, but then I saw a brown field mouse hop away from him. He brought a mouse in the house. I don't know if any of the cats have caught it yet, but I hope the mouse had the good sense to run out as fast as it could. I hate mice and rats; they are probably the only animals I don't have sympathy for. I don't mind if they stay outside, but I don't want them in my house. And I really don't need the cats bringing them inside.
I haven't seen the mouse since last night, and I don't want to. My only consolation is that I know the cats will get it if it shows itself anywhere inside. Darn cats.
There's the whole "end of semester" craziness, of course. Students who panic now when they should have panicked a great deal earlier--they are driving me nuts. How many times can I say, "Don't talk to me about grades during dead week," or "I won't read late work" before they listen? So, all this late work that I won't grade piles up, and they wait until now to mention it. Too late! I have enough to do right now; I don't have the time or the inclination to grade work that should have been graded a month ago.
So, yesterday morning, I went to the grocery store to get what I needed so I could hibernate this weekend, stay in and grade papers and catch up on things I need to do. I'm the "I'll take my groceries out myself"-type of woman; it's not that I don't want to tip the bag person, or anything. I just know he/she won't be carrying my groceries in my house for me.
As I'm signing my name to the receipt, the sacker starts putting my paltry haul into bags for me. I only had two light bags and a big bag of cat food, so I knew I could carry those out. When he asked me if he could take my purchases out for me, I said, "That's okay. I can do it." I came around the end of the check-out stand, picked up my bags, and proceeded to trip over the two boxes the guy had dropped at the end of the stand.
I didn't see the boxes; I didn't know he had dropped them there because I was not watching him while I was signing my name. He did not say, "Watch out for those boxes."
I went sprawling on the hard tile floor.
I guess we react to something like this the same way we react to a car accident--slow motion flashes of our lives up to that moment. I fell on my left side--my butt, my elbow and hand, and my left knee hit the ground in succession. I sat there for a few seconds; everyone and everything in the store stopped. I was soon surrounded by most of the employees, all of whom left whatever they were doing to make sure I was okay.
Well, I was in some pain, but I was more embarrassed than anything. "Are you okay?" I must have been asked that twenty times. No, I'm not "okay," but nothing is sprained or broken, except my ego! I limped to my car with the sacker guy carrying my bags. When I tried to tip him, he said, "No, ma'am. You don't owe me a thing!"
When I tried to get out of bed this morning, I swear I could hear my body creak. I was stiff and the bruise on my knee is purple. My left arm hurts, and I can't type for long before my pinkie and ring fingers go numb. Maybe I should call the store and ask the manager to file an incident report in case I need to see a doctor. But, I'm not the suing type, so I'll just take some more ibuprofen.
Okay, so that took care of the morning. I limped through the rest of the afternoon. When I finished grading, reading, etc., all the papers that my students sent me on Thursday and Friday, I sat on the sofa knitting.
Golum (you know him!) came scampering through the living room around nine or ten last evening, obviously chasing something. I was hoping it was a lizard or grasshopper, but then I saw a brown field mouse hop away from him. He brought a mouse in the house. I don't know if any of the cats have caught it yet, but I hope the mouse had the good sense to run out as fast as it could. I hate mice and rats; they are probably the only animals I don't have sympathy for. I don't mind if they stay outside, but I don't want them in my house. And I really don't need the cats bringing them inside.
I haven't seen the mouse since last night, and I don't want to. My only consolation is that I know the cats will get it if it shows itself anywhere inside. Darn cats.
Monday, December 03, 2007
Something I've Learned This Semester...
Grading papers is more fun when I watch "SpongeBob SquarePants" while I'm doing it.
And bird number five flew around my house for about five minutes before my oldest cat, who I didn't put out with the rest of them, caught it and ate it. This was a sparrow, a baby, and I tried to catch it and put it outside, but it wouldn't let me catch it. I didn't put Callie out because she's old, and I didn't think she could move too fast. I was so wrong about that. I shouldn't underestimate the motivating power of a bird, even on an old cat.
And bird number five flew around my house for about five minutes before my oldest cat, who I didn't put out with the rest of them, caught it and ate it. This was a sparrow, a baby, and I tried to catch it and put it outside, but it wouldn't let me catch it. I didn't put Callie out because she's old, and I didn't think she could move too fast. I was so wrong about that. I shouldn't underestimate the motivating power of a bird, even on an old cat.
Saturday, November 17, 2007
My Killer Cat
I have a cat named Golum (Frodo's nemesis from The Lord of the Rings) that I took in as a favor for a professor at the college (allergies). I've written about this cat before, and somewhere on this blog I probably have a picture of him. He's a beautiful cat, agreeable and sweet, but he has his peculiarities. He doesn't want to eat out of the food bowls, for example; he wants to eat out of the container where I store the food, so, at least four times a day, I have to open the pantry and the container and let him eat until he's through. A pain, yes, but each of my cats has his/her own peculiar behaviors, so he fits right in.
He has one other annoying habit--he catches and kills birds. Well, he catches and kills rats, too, but I don't mind that. I always hope I have at least one good mouser/ratter. But killing birds is another thing.
This morning, I woke up around 8:30am and stumbled to the kitchen to start the ritual--make the coffee, fill the food bowls, open the pantry for Golum...but, no! Kill number four was flopping around on my kitchen rug, or, rather, Golum was tossing it around the same way the character Golum slapped the wriggling fish around in the movie. Little fluffy underfeathers flew around the kitchen (took quite a while to sweep them up). I grabbed Golum, who was growling like a dog with a bone, and put him out the back door. I watched the other cats circle him, and, I imagine, Golum continued growling, even as he wolfed down the bird, feet and all.
He hasn't whined for the food container tonight, so he must still be full.
I understand, to some extent, how nature works. Worms eat dirt, birds eat worms, cats eat birds, and, once in a while, a coyote comes on the property and eats a cat, or a stray dog runs a cat to death (not necessarily to eat it). So I'm not naive enough to think my cats won't do what they instinctively know they should.
My cat's behavior, though, makes me wonder how much of human behavior is programmed in--murder, war, love, sex, lying, whatever. Do I do what I do because it's coded into my DNA? I can't count the number of times I've done things without giving a thought to them. But, sometimes, I stop and ask myself, "Why did you just do that?" and I can't give myself an answer. I don't know for sure, but I hope I'm not living by instinct.
I came across a poem by Mary Oliver (one of my favorite modern poets), entitled "When Death Comes," and she reminded me of the importance of conscious living--always approaching the world with amazement and wonder. Here are the last lines of the poem (but find it and read the whole thing!):
When it's over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.
When it is over, I don't want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.
I don't want to end up simply having visited this world.
He has one other annoying habit--he catches and kills birds. Well, he catches and kills rats, too, but I don't mind that. I always hope I have at least one good mouser/ratter. But killing birds is another thing.
This morning, I woke up around 8:30am and stumbled to the kitchen to start the ritual--make the coffee, fill the food bowls, open the pantry for Golum...but, no! Kill number four was flopping around on my kitchen rug, or, rather, Golum was tossing it around the same way the character Golum slapped the wriggling fish around in the movie. Little fluffy underfeathers flew around the kitchen (took quite a while to sweep them up). I grabbed Golum, who was growling like a dog with a bone, and put him out the back door. I watched the other cats circle him, and, I imagine, Golum continued growling, even as he wolfed down the bird, feet and all.
He hasn't whined for the food container tonight, so he must still be full.
I understand, to some extent, how nature works. Worms eat dirt, birds eat worms, cats eat birds, and, once in a while, a coyote comes on the property and eats a cat, or a stray dog runs a cat to death (not necessarily to eat it). So I'm not naive enough to think my cats won't do what they instinctively know they should.
My cat's behavior, though, makes me wonder how much of human behavior is programmed in--murder, war, love, sex, lying, whatever. Do I do what I do because it's coded into my DNA? I can't count the number of times I've done things without giving a thought to them. But, sometimes, I stop and ask myself, "Why did you just do that?" and I can't give myself an answer. I don't know for sure, but I hope I'm not living by instinct.
I came across a poem by Mary Oliver (one of my favorite modern poets), entitled "When Death Comes," and she reminded me of the importance of conscious living--always approaching the world with amazement and wonder. Here are the last lines of the poem (but find it and read the whole thing!):
When it's over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.
When it is over, I don't want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.
I don't want to end up simply having visited this world.
Saturday, November 10, 2007
Does Anybody Really Know What Time It Is?
I was asleep last Sunday, the morning that DST took effect, when I felt a stinging along my right arm. I figured a mosquito somehow survived the cold snap and was siphoning some blood, so I stuck my arm under the covers. A few moments later, I felt the same stinging on my shoulder. I brought my left arm from under the covers to swat at the "mosquito" and, instead, touched a soft ball of fur.
As is my usual habit on the weekend, I usually don't go to bed until very early in the morning--say around 2 or 3am. So, having been up very early (or late, depending on how you see it) on Sunday morning, I anticipated sleeping late on Sunday, at least past 9am.
But, no. Thanks to DST, the sun was up, the time was 7am, and my cats were ready to roll. My puppy cat, Buddy, nips at me to wake me. That's the signal for food and an open door. So, I found a line of small bruises on my arm where he had nipped me--obviously, those bites didn't register enough to wake me up. I swear, if I die in my sleep, my cats will eat me.
Once I threw the cats out, I crawled back into bed and pulled the covers over my head to block out the sun. I need to get some darker curtains!
So, how long have we been falling back and springing forward? I feel as though I've been doing it all my life, so I'm wondering where this started. I found a website that pretty well explains it. I don't mind the fall back part, but I hate the spring forward part. And it really screws up my inner clock. I went to bed at 2am this morning and woke up at 7:30am. I think I need a nap.
******
I have been working on my family's genealogy for years and have made some significant advances this year. I finally found my great-great-grandfather and his father, and I found a great deal of information on my great-grandmother and her parents and brothers, stuff even my mother didn't know. And I made contact with someone who is my great-great aunt's granddaughter by marriage. This "relative" sent me pictures of relatives I've never met. That's so cool! I've also published a family website (private) that has everything I've found so far. It's huge, with over 350 people on it. And I have pictures, too.
If I'm not careful, I get so wrapped up in it that I lose time. It's as obsessive for me as knitting, so I'm torn. I can either knit or surf the web looking for anscestors. So I split my time when I'm not grading papers between those two hobbies. At least I'm not out running the street!
As is my usual habit on the weekend, I usually don't go to bed until very early in the morning--say around 2 or 3am. So, having been up very early (or late, depending on how you see it) on Sunday morning, I anticipated sleeping late on Sunday, at least past 9am.
But, no. Thanks to DST, the sun was up, the time was 7am, and my cats were ready to roll. My puppy cat, Buddy, nips at me to wake me. That's the signal for food and an open door. So, I found a line of small bruises on my arm where he had nipped me--obviously, those bites didn't register enough to wake me up. I swear, if I die in my sleep, my cats will eat me.
Once I threw the cats out, I crawled back into bed and pulled the covers over my head to block out the sun. I need to get some darker curtains!
So, how long have we been falling back and springing forward? I feel as though I've been doing it all my life, so I'm wondering where this started. I found a website that pretty well explains it. I don't mind the fall back part, but I hate the spring forward part. And it really screws up my inner clock. I went to bed at 2am this morning and woke up at 7:30am. I think I need a nap.
******
I have been working on my family's genealogy for years and have made some significant advances this year. I finally found my great-great-grandfather and his father, and I found a great deal of information on my great-grandmother and her parents and brothers, stuff even my mother didn't know. And I made contact with someone who is my great-great aunt's granddaughter by marriage. This "relative" sent me pictures of relatives I've never met. That's so cool! I've also published a family website (private) that has everything I've found so far. It's huge, with over 350 people on it. And I have pictures, too.
If I'm not careful, I get so wrapped up in it that I lose time. It's as obsessive for me as knitting, so I'm torn. I can either knit or surf the web looking for anscestors. So I split my time when I'm not grading papers between those two hobbies. At least I'm not out running the street!
Sunday, November 04, 2007
The Time Change isn't Saving Me
Yep, here we go, setting our clocks back again. For me, it doesn't make any difference. I'm still going to stay up until three in the morning looking for my ancestors.
I've been doing genealogy for about 15 or 20 years, and I just now feel as though I'm making progress. I managed to get a family site published to the Internet this weekend (sorry, it's private), and I made contact with someone who lives in Maryland who's grandfather married one of my relative's widows. It's complicated, but utterly interesting to me.
But, with every step forward, I take two back. I've been trying to find my relatives further back in Ireland. The earliest one I can find was born in 1765, and I'm not sure he "belongs" to me. On the one hand, because my ancestors named all their children the same from one generation to another, I can find them easily; on the other hand, I have trouble figuring out who belongs to who. I think this is a good excuse for a trip to Ireland (as if I need one)!
And, yes, I know I haven't posted to my blog lately, but, between grading papers and searching for ancestors, I haven't had time for much else. I did go out this morning and try to set fire to the large limb in my yard, but it still doesn't really want to burn. I'm either going to have to bribe my brothers to bring their chainsaws (after deer season, of course), or I'm going to have to buy my own chainsaw and have at it. I'll get someone to take pictures if that ever happens!
But the morning was beautiful, and the small fire I did get started was pleasant, and I had a chance to relax. And, I managed to get most of the necessary work done today (I just have a few late papers to grade), so I had some time to myself this evening.
It all starts over tomorrow, though. Sigh! But the semester's almost over, and I think I might schedule a trip to Austin to tackle the John Twohig papers at UT--I'm trying to find out if we're related to him. He was a first son of Texas, a banker and philanthropist (except to his own family). When he died in 1891, his obit was carried in the NY Times. He left a fortune estimated at (in 1892) $1.2 million. The Catholic Church was supposed to get the bulk of it, but Twohig's family contested the will. The settlement also made the NY Times in 1892. The Church ended up with $200,000, and Twohig's various relatives received about $80,000 each. I'll bet they are burning in hell for that. Anyway, I have a bunch of names I'm trying to track, without luck.
I'm surprised my hair hasn't turned totally grey (oh, yeah, time for a dye job!).
I've been doing genealogy for about 15 or 20 years, and I just now feel as though I'm making progress. I managed to get a family site published to the Internet this weekend (sorry, it's private), and I made contact with someone who lives in Maryland who's grandfather married one of my relative's widows. It's complicated, but utterly interesting to me.
But, with every step forward, I take two back. I've been trying to find my relatives further back in Ireland. The earliest one I can find was born in 1765, and I'm not sure he "belongs" to me. On the one hand, because my ancestors named all their children the same from one generation to another, I can find them easily; on the other hand, I have trouble figuring out who belongs to who. I think this is a good excuse for a trip to Ireland (as if I need one)!
And, yes, I know I haven't posted to my blog lately, but, between grading papers and searching for ancestors, I haven't had time for much else. I did go out this morning and try to set fire to the large limb in my yard, but it still doesn't really want to burn. I'm either going to have to bribe my brothers to bring their chainsaws (after deer season, of course), or I'm going to have to buy my own chainsaw and have at it. I'll get someone to take pictures if that ever happens!
But the morning was beautiful, and the small fire I did get started was pleasant, and I had a chance to relax. And, I managed to get most of the necessary work done today (I just have a few late papers to grade), so I had some time to myself this evening.
It all starts over tomorrow, though. Sigh! But the semester's almost over, and I think I might schedule a trip to Austin to tackle the John Twohig papers at UT--I'm trying to find out if we're related to him. He was a first son of Texas, a banker and philanthropist (except to his own family). When he died in 1891, his obit was carried in the NY Times. He left a fortune estimated at (in 1892) $1.2 million. The Catholic Church was supposed to get the bulk of it, but Twohig's family contested the will. The settlement also made the NY Times in 1892. The Church ended up with $200,000, and Twohig's various relatives received about $80,000 each. I'll bet they are burning in hell for that. Anyway, I have a bunch of names I'm trying to track, without luck.
I'm surprised my hair hasn't turned totally grey (oh, yeah, time for a dye job!).
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