Every morning I read Yahoo news, and occasionally I scan through the comments. Sometimes I'm too lazy to sign in and respond, but sometimes I see something that I just can't ignore. Reading Yahoo comments is a very disturbing activity to begin with. When I read what people have to say, I'm shocked at the state of humanity and of many Americans in particular, and I begin to worry what my beloved country will look like in 10 years. I also examine myself. Where will I be in 10 years? Will I even want to move back to the U.S.? Will I want my bi-racial, bilingual child to confront the tremendous wall of ignorance that I see reflected in those malicious, vindictive, insensitive voices? Just for illustration purposes, in the space of this morning I read the following opinions: That a woman with a headscarf was ejected from a plane after saying on her cell phone "I've got to go," and being misheard as saying "It's a go." In comment, people suggested that she be flung from the plane at 30,000 feet, and that the U.S. such eject her from the country for being "vile crap" from Pakistan, despite the fact that she had been living peacefully in the U.S. for 10 years or more. I've been in Panama for 8 years. How would I feel if someone told me that I was "vile crap" simply for existing or wishing to live in a place other than my birth country? Hating someone for their racial background or their ethnicity is racism, pure and simple. Immigration laws right now may have a grain of truth to them in the need for better regulation, but they are also a reflection of racism. It's a hideous thing that I want no part of. For an article in which Katie Couric--one of the few women on this earth that has been allowed to make strides in what was once considered a "man's profession"--decided to move on to a different job, a person responded with a sexual slur. The comment implied that the person (male) didn't respect what she did for a living and indicated instead that her only role in life should be sexual. Is this the America that I'm handing down to my daughter? Is this the same country that supported me in my education, my career and in my journey toward becoming a sexual woman? Is this the same country that guarantees equal rights regardless of my gender? How can I not be offended? How can I not be disturbed? Nearly every time there is an article about a successful woman on Yahoo, there are any number of snide, sometimes malicious sexual comments. In an article about a woman who was ejected from a bus because her child was crying, there were a number of opinions, but all of them judgmental. The bus's own policy states that a crying baby is not "disruptive behavior" and should not be ejected. Problem solved. However, any number of people, without having been present at the situation, called the woman a "failure" as a mother for the fact that her baby was crying in a public place. They insisted that her child was a "brat" and that she needed to "discipline" her child. All of them, apparently, never ever had any problems with their own children, grandchildren, nieces or nephews. All of them were perfect angels and saints in public and never needed to cry due to hunger or tiredness. One poster expressed hatred of children in general. Really? Is there no end to the people that we are willing to hate and judge for no good reason? My students are reading a short story called "The Interlopers" by Saki. It seems that each time I am reading something with them in class, it suddenly strikes me with some great acknowledgement of truth. Who are we that we allow hatred to influence our lives so much that we feel the need to pepper cyberspace with our own bigoted, hateful, malicious opinions? What a waste of time! If we are writing something, especially in public, why are we not advocating peace, dialogue and understanding? If we Americans hate women, children and Muslims, among other things, then why would any of us want to live there? I wish that, in enjoying our human rights which are guaranteed to us by the constitution, we were more willing to respect those same human rights of other who are equally supposed to be protected and cared for over law. I'm tired of watching my fellow Americans prey on every single minority that exists--every single group that is vulnerable, that feels powerless. If we as individuals don't stand up for our weakest, most vulnerable groups, then we will find more and more disturbing incidents of harassment occurring. And we then can't complain if our country becomes an exclusive place filled with injustice and abuses. I still have hope in my country. I still have hope that there are enough people who are capable of loving others and creating communities where families can be supported and encouraged to grow in healthy ways. I still have hope that women will one day be treated fairly in the workplace without any aberrations or harassing comments being made. I still have hope that we will break the boundaries of racism and learn to treat each other with love, compassion and respect.
Every morning I read Yahoo news, and occasionally I scan through the comments. Sometimes I'm too lazy to sign in and respond, but sometimes I see something that I just can't ignore. Reading Yahoo comments is a very disturbing activity to begin with. When I read what people have to say, I'm shocked at the state of humanity and of many Americans in particular, and I begin to worry what my beloved country will look like in 10 years. I also examine myself. Where will I be in 10 years? Will I even want to move back to the U.S.? Will I want my bi-racial, bilingual child to confront the tremendous wall of ignorance that I see reflected in those malicious, vindictive, insensitive voices? Just for illustration purposes, in the space of this morning I read the following opinions: That a woman with a headscarf was ejected from a plane after saying on her cell phone "I've got to go," and being misheard as saying "It's a go." In comment, people suggested that she be flung from the plane at 30,000 feet, and that the U.S. such eject her from the country for being "vile crap" from Pakistan, despite the fact that she had been living peacefully in the U.S. for 10 years or more. I've been in Panama for 8 years. How would I feel if someone told me that I was "vile crap" simply for existing or wishing to live in a place other than my birth country? Hating someone for their racial background or their ethnicity is racism, pure and simple. Immigration laws right now may have a grain of truth to them in the need for better regulation, but they are also a reflection of racism. It's a hideous thing that I want no part of. For an article in which Katie Couric--one of the few women on this earth that has been allowed to make strides in what was once considered a "man's profession"--decided to move on to a different job, a person responded with a sexual slur. The comment implied that the person (male) didn't respect what she did for a living and indicated instead that her only role in life should be sexual. Is this the America that I'm handing down to my daughter? Is this the same country that supported me in my education, my career and in my journey toward becoming a sexual woman? Is this the same country that guarantees equal rights regardless of my gender? How can I not be offended? How can I not be disturbed? Nearly every time there is an article about a successful woman on Yahoo, there are any number of snide, sometimes malicious sexual comments. In an article about a woman who was ejected from a bus because her child was crying, there were a number of opinions, but all of them judgmental. The bus's own policy states that a crying baby is not "disruptive behavior" and should not be ejected. Problem solved. However, any number of people, without having been present at the situation, called the woman a "failure" as a mother for the fact that her baby was crying in a public place. They insisted that her child was a "brat" and that she needed to "discipline" her child. All of them, apparently, never ever had any problems with their own children, grandchildren, nieces or nephews. All of them were perfect angels and saints in public and never needed to cry due to hunger or tiredness. One poster expressed hatred of children in general. Really? Is there no end to the people that we are willing to hate and judge for no good reason? My students are reading a short story called "The Interlopers" by Saki. It seems that each time I am reading something with them in class, it suddenly strikes me with some great acknowledgement of truth. Who are we that we allow hatred to influence our lives so much that we feel the need to pepper cyberspace with our own bigoted, hateful, malicious opinions? What a waste of time! If we are writing something, especially in public, why are we not advocating peace, dialogue and understanding? If we Americans hate women, children and Muslims, among other things, then why would any of us want to live there? I wish that, in enjoying our human rights which are guaranteed to us by the constitution, we were more willing to respect those same human rights of other who are equally supposed to be protected and cared for over law. I'm tired of watching my fellow Americans prey on every single minority that exists--every single group that is vulnerable, that feels powerless. If we as individuals don't stand up for our weakest, most vulnerable groups, then we will find more and more disturbing incidents of harassment occurring. And we then can't complain if our country becomes an exclusive place filled with injustice and abuses. I still have hope in my country. I still have hope that there are enough people who are capable of loving others and creating communities where families can be supported and encouraged to grow in healthy ways. I still have hope that women will one day be treated fairly in the workplace without any aberrations or harassing comments being made. I still have hope that we will break the boundaries of racism and learn to treat each other with love, compassion and respect.
It feels as though I've been hammered this year with reminders of the fragility of life and the reality of death. I know I'm not the only one who experiences a year of such reminders. You get to a certain age, and it just becomes a series lives cut off for one reason or another like wheat in a field mown over by fate. My father is now officially a cancer survivor, having undergone an operation on his prostate. Dreams, sudden misreadings of text, facebook status reports are the only external indicators of my unconscious and conscious anxiety. Death becomes all the more real when it comes to a parent, the one who raised you. The one who comforted your tears, took care of you and felt like the strongest person on the earth. Today I walk into school only to find out that our guidance counselor suffered a heart attack and died. I'm getting so I hesitate to use the word "died" anymore because for many it indicates such a finality. I've been a Christian all my life, but when I think of death, I don't picture some palatial golden country filled with mansions. When someone dies, I want some concrete answer--something that I can hold in my hand, understanding its properties. I want to reduce death to scientific terms and get to an actual definition. At this time in my life, I wonder if I'm a Taoist or perhaps a Pantheist, believing more in "mother nature" and her ability to whisper words of wisdom than in the religious symbolism of the Church. It's certainly more comforting to my mind than any litany I've ever heard. For me, it's been more comforting than any Bible verse I've ever read. God forgive me, I am beginning to believe more in Natural Law than in any kind of religious law passed down through the generations. There's something more eternal about it, and unable to be changed by human error. It's not imposed upon anyone; it just is. I wrote a poem in the writing review. It's just a quick, rough draft, but I think at least it shows where I'm at in terms of emotional processing. While I asked for reviews--I've posted so little on this forum, I felt it necessary to at least contribute something I've written lately. (I've been in a bit of a slow period lately) If you read this, I don't really need a philosophical lecture, but feedback is welcome. ;-) I'm just thinking out loud right now.
If I ever thought that writing was hard, I most likely would be able to get through the disappointment and the frustration simply by reflecting on how I've managed to do one of the hardest things in the universe (in my opinion). I'm a mommy. Yeah, I know. On the surface it doesn't seem like much. When people think about the hardship of mommyhood, they simply consider the pain involved in the birthing process. What they fail to recognize is that the birthing process isn't nearly as difficult as raising the child through all of the stages of life. I've personally come to this realization now that my child is two-and-a-half years old. Next time I have a bad note from an editor, or a comment that hurts my feelings, I'll just recall the evil stares I receive when my daughter chooses to pitch a fit and throw herself on the floor in a restaurant. When I have writer's block and feel like a loser, I'll just recall how I managed to keep my child occupied for thirty minutes in the doctor's office while I waited for him to finish a cell phone call. The next time I read a beautifully-written novel and feel pangs of jealousy, I'll recall how I've survived emergency room visits, vomit dripping down my shoulder, getting hit in the eye by a little fist, and never getting to take a bath by myself for a year now. I'll remember sleeping sideways with one arm crooked under me so that I could accomodate my child on the sofa during the night. I'll remember crying in the night interrupting my sleep. I'll remember potty training and presumptuous demands for candy. I'll remember the last time I went to a movie theatre, which happens next to never. After that, writing won't feel so bad. Writing will feel like bliss, even if it's painful at times. Writing will feel like an act of the will, an act of the heart, a chance to be someone different for a little while. And then I'll hug my little girl and forgive her. I'll see her sweet little smile and hear her say "I love you! Give me a hug." And the world will be right again.
In my house, I have books overflowing onto various desks, cubbies, drawers, bookshelves and closets. I just ran across one that I didn't recognize. I must have bought it in a patio sale here in Panama from a family moving away. It's entitled The Angel's Game by Carlos Ruiz Zafon, and I have no real idea how it will turn out or what the novel is really all about. However, it has the best 1st chapter I've ever read. If I had been an editor, I would have published this book hands-down. Hopefully I'm not violating any copyright laws by sharing with you the first paragraph and a few juicy tidbits. I have a feeling it will make many of you go out running to your local bookstore to find this author's book. "A writer never forgets the first time he accepted a few coins or a word of praise in exchange for a story. He will never forget the sweet poison of vanity in his blood and the belief that, if he succeeds in not letting anyone discover his lack of talent, the dream of literature will provide him with a roof over his head, a hot meal at the end of the day, and what he covets the most: his name printed on a miserable piece of paper that surely will outlive him. A writer is condemned to remember that moment, because from then on he is doomed and his soul has a price." The narrator goes on to describe his first editor who gave him his first break as having a "bushy moustache" and having "subscribed to the theory that the liberal use of adverbs and adjectives was the mark of a pervert or someone with a vitamin deficiency." His advice to the narrator? "You have more zeal than good taste, Martin. The disease afflicting you has a name, and that is Grand Guignol: it does to drama what syphilis does to your privates. Getting it might be pleasurable, but from then on it's all downhill." LOL! Hilarious!
So any guesses how some of my 10th graders reacted to the definition of poetry as "the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings" as given in the movie Dead Poet's Society? Guess I should have seen that one coming. It's so hard to talk about what poetry means to people when I know that some members of my audience have their minds completely blocked off. I try to use Billy Collins' "Introduction to Poetry" as a starting point. I have them act out the imagery in the poem and then after they see the dramas, talk about what they think Collins is trying to say about how we should approach a reading of poetry. It provides a good place for them to see why they're so frustrated by poetry, and why they think they're not "good" at it. I'm wondering myself, though, how I can approach this unit without feeling disappointed at the response. I guess it just comes with the territory. Some of you younger members might be better able to advise me here. What attracted you to poetry to begin with, and why have you stuck with it? Does academia "kill" your love for poetry? Why? What would be a better approach?
Yes, I realize that it has been a while since I've posted something on this forum. Life has been extremely busy since school started. This upcoming week we have to send out our first progress reports, so I'm sure I'll be hunkered over my computer at school trying to make the annoying grading software work correctly. A student of mine loaned me the book Girl with a Dragon Tattoo a few weeks ago, and I have been squeezing in chapters between activities this weekend, driving my husband nuts. The funny part is that last year at school I had an entire conversation about this book with a fellow car-pooler, who definitively did not like it much. Many people have mentioned that it's a "dark" kind of book and talked about his style of writing in a way that made it seem difficult to read. As I began, however, I was completely and utterly riveted. This is perhaps one of the best crime fiction novels I've read in a very long time, and the characters are so well-rounded and unique. Nobody's perfect, but nobody is a cardboard cutout either. The subplots are equally as fascinating as the main plot right now. I must confess to some level of predictability, but I still have no real idea how it's going to turn out in the end. It's true that there are some grotesque moments of sexual assault in a place or two, but the reason for putting it there is clearly defined by Larsson's integration of statistics concerning sexual assault among Swedish women. It makes the encounters more thought-provoking as pieces of social commentary rather than outlandishly off-base. In short, I've decided that my car-pooler, (God bless her), must be some kind of idiot for not loving this book! Granted, for those who prefer to avoid any distasteful topics in literature, this book would be a "steer-clear," but for those who appreciate good social commentary and highly intricate plots, this is a winner!
When I got to work this morning, I was determined to finally figure out how to convert my video file and post it onto Youtube. Never having done something like this before, it had taken me an hour or so of experimentation. Finally, I figured it out! Success! Now my students can watch a review video of me teaching the lesson when they want to go back over the topic! I'm thinking of posting these little "lesson minis" regularly during the year now that my school budget allowed me to purchase cameras and a camcorder. So, I was already feeling very proud of myself when I received another email. It was from my Master's course instructor. I was sorting through all of the rubrics and feedback for my grade, and I didn't earn an A. I earned an A+!!! Super happy after all of the time I spent on that dang project. Some of you who read my blogs might have seen some mention of how exhausting it was and how many times I had to re-address the material. So it's good to know that it paid off. I finished my first week back of classes, and I think it went pretty well. The kids are responsive, and due to my professional development course, I feel as though I'm teaching better than ever!! The difficult part is keeping up the pace. I feel as though things are going so fast and keeping me busy every second of the day. My planning periods and lunch break are all about running around the school doing errands, making copies, etc., while the rest of the time is catching up on LOTS of paperwork. I come home and I just want to drop. Except that I can't--my 2-year-old is ready and waiting for me to come through the door to play with her. We watch phonics computer animations together, run around the house like crazy people, jump on the bed, and catch up on Blue's Clues. When she finally goes to sleep, I read a few words in the novel I've been working my way through (page by page), and in about 15 minutes, I'm asleep. Welcome to my day.
Now that I have you all craving Blueberry Muffin Pudding and all kinds of other treats, I have to share something that is bound to kill the hunger pangs quickly for a very small amount of money. It's my "last resort" food when there's nothing in the cupboard and I'm starving. It also has a little bit of sweet and salty combined so that it satisfies most food cravings. Again, though, can't say it's very healthy, although there are some modifications you can make. I start out with Aunt Jemima Buttermilk Pancake Complete Mix. Just add water. Although some might prefer the kind made with eggs and milk, I find that I rarely have eggs and milk on hand when I'm craving pancakes, and it's nice to have something that only requires a little bit of water, which is readily available. Make the pancakes, then spread peanut butter. Top with a glob of jelly, whatever flavor of your preference. Personally, I go with Strawberry or Raspberry. To feel a bit better about calories and such, you can substitute natural peanut butter instead of (my staple) Jif brand. You can also choose a Sugar Free Smuckers brand option instead of a sugar-filled variety. Enjoy!
I have discovered some AMAZING snacks over the past few years--snacks that can drive the mean reds into oblivion. (Warning label: the following snacks should not be attempted for those with food addictions or frequent mood snacking.) 1. Hunt's Blueberry Muffin Pudding. Have you ever licked blueberry muffin batter and enjoyed it perhaps more than the actual baked muffin? This snack is pretty much like taking a big ole' spoon of it. 2. Oreo Cakesters. This snack is what would result if an Oreo cookie married a Moon pie and they had a delicious little baby. 3. Nature Valley Sweet and Salty Nut Almond Bars Nature Valley's granola bars don't taste like a stick ripped off from your backyard tree anymore! The Sweet and Salty Nut bars include Peanut (with REAL peanut butter, unlike it's originally named "peanut butter" companion), Almond (In "almond butter" coating, and Cashew. These are delicious and filling for the girl on the go 4. Coconut M&M's. M&M's has managed to create a deliciously chocolate M&M that also has an amazing coconut center--made with REAL coconut flakes! I think it may be called "Tropical M&M's" on the wrapper, but I'm not sure at the moment. All I know is that eating them is like eating a piece of chocolate coconut pie. Yum!
Just for once, I don't feel like reading about dragons and princesses, romance and fantasy. I'm in a kind of dark mood today--what Holly would call the "Mean Reds." The kind of mood that dwells on empty cupboards, dirty floors, and trash not taken out of the kitchen. The kind of mood that reads about protests in Madrid and wishes to be there, raging against the system with all the rest. I know I shouldn't think about unemployment, dysfunctional families and what it's like to die. I know the world will not be a better place for thoughts like these. And yet I can't pick up a book about love today, and especially not the Bible. No preaching for me, because I won't buy it. I'm in the mood for a photo documentary about a country behind walls, or a stock market crash. Why? Because none of it would surprise me, and because now I feel prepared to live with the reality that, while life is not a pile of manure, it's not a rose garden either. Maybe it's a little bit of both. Manure growing roses, after all. I just have yet to see them bloom.
I can't believe that it's over already! I had plans to write a short story or two, and try to get some quiet time to write! I maybe got a few days in here or there, but not enough to get some writing brainstormed, planned, and started. I keep musing over my deficiencies and then when I have a great idea, I find myself thinking to myself: "I couldn't possibly write about THAT. I don't know anything about XYZ, and how would I remotely research it?" Then along came my professional development course, massive grading from the summer reading program, and then my daughter having chicken pox right in the last week before my return to school. Now I'm in mourning for the demise of my summer relaxation writing moments. Writing now will have to take place in between classes or hurriedly in a notebook in the car on the way home. Or late at night as I'm trying to keep my bleary eyes open. Meanwhile, there's another conference I just HAVE to attend in October, and I have to get payments in by September 1st. Yikes! Where am I going to get around $500 at this juncture? Master's degree, you taunt me with your tempting credits and promises of future salary increases and untold learning!!
I entered two different short stories into contests around March, and I won't find out until October or November. Not that I'm expecting to win, but I would like to see if I earned at least some kind of honorable mention or placing, and it's killing me to wait this long! I really wish that I could focus on my short story writing and I'm considering taking a course through CrossBridge, which will most likely be cheaper than going through a more traditional route. I just need a jumpstart somewhere, and I can't afford to start a full-on creative writing certificate when I am still working on my Master's degree in Education. (Which is a career necessity at this point.) <sigh> One day, I'm going to win a short story contest somewhere and then I'm going to win another one, and then I'm going to have something to put on my SASE. One day.
First person narration tends to get a bad rap among writing circles, as the current trend is to use 3rd person. Although I agree that it's a bit tricky to use 1st person point of view, it occasionally creates some incredible voice in a piece of literature. I'm a huge fan. I've been reading a few books that especially strike me as bold and different simply because of that choice in 1st person narration. I find the following books well-crafted and riveting, and for those who love reading 1st person point of view, these works will not disappoint. 1. The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime by Mark Haddon. My students are reading this right now for their summer reading program, and I really do think that many of them love it. The 1st person narrator has autism, which makes the whole thing even more rich. It's in the format of a "mystery novel" that the autistic kid is writing, but really it's a story about the kid--his inability to adapt to society's norms, his dysfunctional parents' inability to cope with his disability, and his incredible intelligence and way of thinking. 2. Room by Emma Donaghue This was an amazing story told, again, from the point of view of a 6-year-old child who lived in one room with his mother. His mother had been kidnapped as a college student and forced to live in the room, where her son was the product of continual rape over a period of years. The child's attempts to process what is happening in his life, his love for his mother, and his mother's love for him is poignant and endearing. Now that Jaycee Dugard is telling her real-life story, one can't help but see the parallels and sympathize with the challenges that she would have faced after reading this novel. 3. Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro Although many novels/film about clones have already been made, it is the 1st person narration and the slight twists to the storyline that sets this novel apart from the rest. In this novel, it is one of the clones who tells her life story from childhood to later on in life as her childhood friends and fellow clones sacrifice their bodies and lives for organ harvesting. Of course, the underlying question is whether or not the clones are human after all, and whether clones can love, hate, think and feel the same way that human beings do. Fascinating read!
I just finished (most) of a series by Lindsay Davis that is set in Ancient Rome. They're mostly murder mysteries, which is quite interesting, but they include so many details of Ancient Rome as the protagonist travels to Britain, Corduba, etc. Now I'm moving on to Elizabeth Eyre's series set in the Italian Renaissance, which I'm not nearly enjoying so much as Lindsay Davis' series, but after enjoying around 10 books or so of historical crime fiction, I'm genuinely envious of their knowledge and talent. I would love to write a murder mystery set in some new historical place. However, I'm so woefully ignorant of the details of history. Lindsay Davis, in contrast, was completely in touch with archaeological records, made maps, knew terms and also did a great job of showing me what the culture could REALLY have been like for Roman women, despite their lack of legal status in many ways. Her characters were so alive, and I was astonished at her knowledge of pottery from the times, art, and EVERYTHING! <sigh> I wonder how one goes about acquiring such knowledge, or whether she was a historian first, and then found a way to become a writer later. Thing is, I should really be taking advantage of this beautiful Panama setting in which to write a crime fiction novel. I wonder if the local police here in Clayton would cooperate with me and do some interviews so that I could write a novel. I wish I knew something about how police go about their jobs. I wish I just knew something more about crime period. My protagonist really WILL have to be an amateur rookie of some sort who all of a sudden gets pulled into a crime scene. And, since I'm a foreigner, I'll probably have something happen that a foreigner would witness or something... However, what I have in my mind now is more of a novel than a short story, although I suppose I could make a series of short stories...