Well Said Barack

The following is a speech given by Barack Obama. I think he says what I believe better than I could ever say it. It may be long, but I think it is wonderful and well-worth reading.

Remarks of Senator Barack Obama

Call to Renewal Keynote Address

Washington, DC

Wednesday, June 28th, 2006




Good morning. I appreciate the opportunity to speak here at the Call to Renewal’s Building a Covenant for a New America conference, and I’d like to congratulate you all on the thoughtful presentations you’ve given so far about poverty and justice in America. I think all of us would affirm that caring for the poor finds root in all of our religious traditions – certainly that’s true for my own.


But today I’d like to talk about the connection between religion and politics and perhaps offer some thoughts about how we can sort through some of the often bitter arguments over this issue over the last several years.


I do so because, as you all know, we can affirm the importance of poverty in the Bible and discuss the religious call to environmental stewardship all we want, but it won’t have an impact if we don’t tackle head-on the mutual suspicion that sometimes exists between religious America and secular America.


For me, this need was illustrated during my 2004 face for the U.S. Senate. My opponent, Alan Keyes, was well-versed in the Jerry Falwell-Pat Robertson style of rhetoric that often labels progressives as both immoral and godless.


Indeed, towards the end of the campaign, Mr. Keyes said that, “Jesus Christ would not vote for Barack Obama. Christ would not vote for Barack Obama because Barack Obama has behaved in a way that it is inconceivable for Christ to have behaved.”


Now, I was urged by some of my liberal supporters not to take this statement seriously. To them, Mr. Keyes was an extremist, his arguments not worth entertaining.


What they didn’t understand, however, was that I had to take him seriously. For he claimed to speak for my religion – he claimed knowledge of certain truths.


Mr. Obama says he’s a Christian, he would say, and yet he supports a lifestyle that the Bible calls an abomination.


Mr. Obama says he’s a Christian, but supports the destruction of innocent and sacred life.


What would my supporters have me say? That a literalist reading of the Bible was folly? That Mr. Keyes, a Roman Catholic, should ignore the teachings of the Pope?




Unwilling to go there, I answered with the typically liberal response in some debates – namely, that we live in a pluralistic society, that I can’t impose my religious views on another, that I was running to be the U.S. Senator of Illinois and not the Minister of Illinois.


But Mr. Keyes implicit accusation that I was not a true Christian nagged at me, and I was also aware that my answer didn’t adequately address the role my faith has in guiding my own values and beliefs.


My dilemma was by no means unique. In a way, it reflected the broader debate we’ve been having in this country for the last thirty years over the role of religion in politics.


For some time now, there has been plenty of talk among pundits and pollsters that the political divide in this country has fallen sharply along religious lines. Indeed, the single biggest “gap” in party affiliation among white Americans today is not between men and women, or those who reside in so-called Red States and those who reside in Blue, but between those who attend church regularly and those who don’t.


Conservative leaders, from Falwell and Robertson to Karl Rove and Ralph Reed, have been all too happy to exploit this gap, consistently reminding evangelical Christians that Democrats disrespect their values and dislike their Church, while suggesting to the rest of the country that religious Americans care only about issues like abortion and gay marriage; school prayer and intelligent design.


Democrats, for the most part, have taken the bait. At best, we may try to avoid the conversation about religious values altogether, fearful of offending anyone and claiming that – regardless of our personal beliefs – constitutional principles tie our hands. At worst, some liberals dismiss religion in the public square as inherently irrational or intolerant, insisting on a caricature of religious Americans that paints them as fanatical, or thinking that the very word “Christian” describes one’s political opponents, not people of faith.


Such strategies of avoidance may work for progressives when the opponent is Alan Keyes. But over the long haul, I think we make a mistake when we fail to acknowledge the power of faith in the lives of the American people, and join a serious debate about how to reconcile faith with our modern, pluralistic democracy.


We first need to understand that Americans are a religious people. 90 percent of us believe in God, 70 percent affiliate themselves with an organized religion, 38 percent call themselves committed Christians, and substantially more people believe in angels than do those who believe in evolution.


This religious tendency is not simply the result of successful marketing by skilled preachers or the draw of popular mega-churches. In fact, it speaks to a hunger that’s deeper than that – a hunger that goes beyond any particular issue or cause.


Each day, it seems, thousands of Americans are going about their daily round – dropping off the kids at school, driving to the office, flying to a business meeting, shopping at the mall, trying to stay on their diets – and coming to the realization that something is missing. They are deciding that their work, their possessions, their diversions, their sheer busyness, is not enough.


They want a sense of purpose, a narrative arc to their lives. They’re looking to relieve a chronic loneliness, a feeling supported by a recent study that shows Americans have fewer close friends and confidants than ever before. And so they need an assurance that somebody out there cares about them, is listening to them – that they are not just destined to travel down a long highway towards nothingness.


I speak from experience here. I was not raised in a particularly religious household. My father, who returned to Kenya when I was just two, was Muslim but as an adult became an atheist. My mother, whose parents were non-practicing Baptists and Methodists, grew up with a healthy skepticism of organized religion herself. As a consequence, I did too.


It wasn’t until after college, when I went to Chicago to work as a community organizer for a group of Christian churches, that I confronted my own spiritual dilemma.


The Christians who I worked with recognized themselves in me; they saw that I knew their Book and shared their values and sang their songs. But they sensed a part of me that remained removed, detached, an observer in their midst. In time, I too came to realize that something was missing – that without a vessel for my beliefs, without a commitment to a particular community of faith, at some level I would always remain apart and alone.


If not for the particular attributes of the historically black church, I may have accepted this fate. But as the months passed in Chicago, I found myself drawn to the church.


For one thing, I believed and still believe in the power of the African-American religious tradition to spur social change, a power made real by some of the leaders here today. Because of its past, the black church understands in an intimate way the Biblical call to feed the hungry and cloth the naked and challenge powers and principalities. And in its historical struggles for freedom and the rights of man, I was able to see faith as more than just a comfort to the weary or a hedge against death; it is an active, palpable agent in the world. It is a source of hope.


And perhaps it was out of this intimate knowledge of hardship, the grounding of faith in struggle, that the church offered me a second insight: that faith doesn’t mean that you don’t have doubts. You need to come to church precisely because you are of this world, not apart from it; you need to embrace Christ precisely because you have sins to wash away – because you are human and need an ally in your difficult journey.


It was because of these newfound understandings that I was finally able to walk down the aisle of Trinity United Church of Christ one day and affirm my Christian faith. It came about as a choice, and not an epiphany; the questions I had did not magically disappear. But kneeling beneath that cross on the South Side of Chicago, I felt I heard God’s spirit beckoning me. I submitted myself to His will, and dedicated myself to discovering His truth.


The path I traveled has been shared by millions upon millions of Americans – evangelicals, Catholics, Protestants, Jews and Muslims alike; some since birth, others at a turning point in their lives. It is not something they set apart from the rest of their beliefs and values. In fact, it is often what drives them.


This is why, if we truly hope to speak to people where they’re at – to communicate our hopes and values in a way that’s relevant to their own – we cannot abandon the field of religious discourse.


Because when we ignore the debate about what it means to be a good Christian or Muslim or Jew; when we discuss religion only in the negative sense of where or how it should not be practiced, rather than in the positive sense of what it tells us about our obligations towards one another; when we shy away from religious venues and religious broadcasts because we assume that we will be unwelcome – others will fill the vacuum, those with the most insular views of faith, or those who cynically use religion to justify partisan ends.


In other words, if we don’t reach out to evangelical Christians and other religious Americans and tell them what we stand for, Jerry Falwell’s and Pat Robertson’s will continue to hold sway.


More fundamentally, the discomfort of some progressives with any hint of religion has often prevented us from effectively addressing issues in moral terms. Some of the problem here is rhetorical – if we scrub language of all religious content, we forfeit the imagery and terminology through which millions of Americans understand both their personal morality and social justice. Imagine Lincoln’s Second Inaugural Address without reference to “the judgments of the Lord,” or King’s I Have a Dream speech without reference to “all of God’s children.” Their summoning of a higher truth helped inspire what had seemed impossible and move the nation to embrace a common destiny.


Our failure as progressives to tap into the moral underpinnings of the nation is not just rhetorical. Our fear of getting “preachy” may also lead us to discount the role that values and culture play in some of our most urgent social problems.


After all, the problems of poverty and racism, the uninsured and the unemployed, are not simply technical problems in search of the perfect ten point plan. They are rooted in both societal indifference and individual callousness – in the imperfections of man.


Solving these problems will require changes in government policy; it will also require changes in hearts and minds. I believe in keeping guns out of our inner cities, and that our leaders must say so in the face of the gun manufacturer’s lobby – but I also believe that when a gang-banger shoots indiscriminately into a crowd because he feels somebody disrespected him, we have a problem of morality; there’s a hole in that young man’s heart – a hole that government programs alone cannot fix.


I believe in vigorous enforcement of our non-discrimination laws; but I also believe that a transformation of conscience and a genuine commitment to diversity on the part of the nation’s CEOs can bring quicker results than a battalion of lawyers.


I think we should put more of our tax dollars into educating poor girls and boys, and give them the information about contraception that can prevent unwanted pregnancies, lower abortion rates, and help assure that that every child is loved and cherished. But my bible tells me that if we train a child in the way he should go, when he is old he will not turn from it. I think faith and guidance can help fortify a young woman’s sense of self, a young man’s sense of responsibility, and a sense of reverence all young people for the act of sexual intimacy.


I am not suggesting that every progressive suddenly latch on to religious terminology. Nothing is more transparent than inauthentic expressions of faith – the politician who shows up at a black church around election time and claps – off rhythm – to the gospel choir.


But what I am suggesting is this – secularists are wrong when they ask believers to leave their religion at the door before entering into the public square. Frederick Douglas, Abraham Lincoln, Williams Jennings Bryant, Dorothy Day, Martin Luther King – indeed, the majority of great reformers in American history – were not only motivated by faith, but repeatedly used religious language to argue for their cause. To say that men and women should not inject their “personal morality” into public policy debates is a practical absurdity; our law is by definition a codification of morality, much of it grounded in the Judeo-Christian tradition.


Moreover, if we progressives shed some of these biases, we might recognize the overlapping values that both religious and secular people share when it comes to the moral and material direction of our country. We might recognize that the call to sacrifice on behalf of the next generation, the need to think in terms of “thou” and not just “I,” resonates in religious congregations across the country. And we might realize that we have the ability to reach out to the evangelical community and engage millions of religious Americans in the larger project of America’s renewal.


Some of this is already beginning to happen. Pastors like Rick Warren and T.D. Jakes are wielding their enormous influences to confront AIDS, Third World debt relief, and the genocide in Darfur. Religious thinkers and activists like my friend Jim Wallis and Tony Campolo are lifting up the Biblical injunction to help the poor as a means of mobilizing Christians against budget cuts to social programs and growing inequality. National denominations have shown themselves as a force on Capitol Hill, on issues such as immigration and the federal budget. And across the country, individual churches like my own are sponsoring day care programs, building senior centers, helping ex-offenders reclaim their lives, and rebuilding our gulf coast in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina.


To build on these still-tentative partnerships between the religious and secular worlds will take work – a lot more work than we’ve done so far. The tensions and suspicions on each side of the religious divide will have to be squarely addressed, and each side will need to accept some ground rules for collaboration.


While I’ve already laid out some of the work that progressives need to do on this, I that the conservative leaders of the Religious Right will need to acknowledge a few things as well.


For one, they need to understand the critical role that the separation of church and state has played in preserving not only our democracy, but the robustness of our religious practice. That during our founding, it was not the atheists or the civil libertarians who were the most effective champions of this separation; it was the persecuted religious minorities, Baptists like John Leland, who were most concerned that any state-sponsored religion might hinder their ability to practice their faith.


Moreover, given the increasing diversity of America’s population, the dangers of sectarianism have never been greater. Whatever we once were, we are no longer just a Christian nation; we are also a Jewish nation, a Muslim nation, a Buddhist nation, a Hindu nation, and a nation of nonbelievers.


And even if we did have only Christians within our borders, who’s Christianity would we teach in the schools? James Dobson’s, or Al Sharpton’s? Which passages of Scripture should guide our public policy? Should we go with Levitacus, which suggests slavery is ok and that eating shellfish is abomination? How about Deuteronomy, which suggests stoning your child if he strays from the faith? Or should we just stick to the Sermon on the Mount – a passage so radical that it’s doubtful that our Defense Department would survive its application?


This brings me to my second point. Democracy demands that the religiously motivated translate their concerns into universal, rather than religion-specific, values. It requires that their proposals be subject to argument, and amenable to reason. I may be opposed to abortion for religious reasons, but if I seek to pass a law banning the practice, I cannot simply point to the teachings of my church or evoke God’s will. I have to explain why abortion violates some principle that is accessible to people of all faiths, including those with no faith at all.


This may be difficult for those who believe in the inerrancy of the Bible, as many evangelicals do. But in a pluralistic democracy, we have no choice. Politics depends on our ability to persuade each other of common aims based on a common reality. It involves the compromise, the art of the possible. At some fundamental level, religion does not allow for compromise. It insists on the impossible. If God has spoken, then followers are expected to live up to God’s edicts, regardless of the consequences. To base one’s life on such uncompromising commitments may be sublime; to base our policy making on such commitments would be a dangerous thing.


We all know the story of Abraham and Isaac. Abraham is ordered by God to offer up his only son, and without argument, he takes Isaac to the mountaintop, binds him to an altar, and raises his knife, prepared to act as God has commanded.


Of course, in the end God sends down an angel to intercede at the very last minute, and Abraham passes God’s test of devotion.


But it’s fair to say that if any of us saw a twenty-first century Abraham raising the knife on the roof of his apartment building, we would, at the very least, call the police and expect the Department of Children and Family Services to take Isaac away from Abraham. We would do so because we do not hear what Abraham hears, do not see what Abraham sees, true as those experiences may be. So the best we can do is act in accordance with those things that are possible for all of us to know, be it common laws or basic reason.


Finally, any reconciliation between faith and democratic pluralism requires some sense of proportion.


This goes for both sides.


Even those who claim the Bible’s inerrancy make distinctions between Scriptural edicts, a sense that some passages – the Ten Commandments, say, or a belief in Christ’s divinity – are central to Christian faith, while others are more culturally specific and may be modified to accommodate modern life.


The American people intuitively understand this, which is why the majority of Catholics practice birth control and some of those opposed to gay marriage nevertheless are opposed to a Constitutional amendment to ban it. Religious leadership need not accept such wisdom in counseling their flocks, but they should recognize this wisdom in their politics.


But a sense of proportion should also guide those who police the boundaries between church and state. Not every mention of God in public is a breach to the wall of separation – context matters. It is doubtful that children reciting the Pledge of Allegiance feel oppressed or brainwashed as a consequence of muttering the phrase “under God;” I certainly didn’t. Having voluntary student prayer groups using school property to meet should not be a threat, any more than its use by the High School Republicans should threaten Democrats. And one can envision certain faith-based programs – targeting ex-offenders or substance abusers – that offer a uniquely powerful way of solving problems.


So we all have some work to do here. But I am hopeful that we can bridge the gaps that exist and overcome the prejudices each of us bring to this debate. And I have faith that millions of believing Americans want that to happen. No matter how religious they may or may not be, people are tired of seeing faith used as a tool to attack and belittle and divide – they’re tired of hearing folks deliver more screed than sermon. Because in the end, that’s not how they think about faith in their own lives.

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So let me end with another interaction I had during my campaign. A few days after I won the Democratic nomination in my U.S. Senate race, I received an email from a doctor at the University of Chicago Medical School that said the following:


“Congratulations on your overwhelming and inspiring primary win. I was happy to vote for you, and I will tell you that I am seriously considering voting for you in the general election. I write to express my concerns that may, in the end, prevent me from supporting you.”


The doctor described himself as a Christian who understood his commitments to be “totalizing.” His faith led him to a strong opposition to abortion and gay marriage, although he said that his faith also led him to question the idolatry of the free market and quick resort to militarism that seemed to characterize much of President Bush’s foreign policy.


But the reason the doctor was considering not voting for me was not simply my position on abortion. Rather, he had read an entry that my campaign had posted on my website, which suggested that I would fight “right wing ideologues who want to take away a woman’s right to choose.” He went on to write:


“I sense that you have a strong sense of justice…and I also sense that you are a fair minded person with a high regard for reason…Whatever your convictions, if you truly believe that those who oppose abortion are all ideologues driven by perverse desires to inflict suffering on women, then you, in my judgment, are not fair-minded….You know that we enter times that are fraught with possibilities for good and for harm, times when we are struggling to make sense of a common polity in the context of plurality, when we are unsure of what grounds we have for making any claims that involve others…I do not ask at this point that you oppose abortion, only that you speak about this issue in fair-minded words.”


I checked my web-site and found the offending words. My staff had written them to summarize my pro-choice position during the Democratic primary, at a time when some of my opponents were questioning my commitment to protect Roe v. Wade.


Re-reading the doctor’s letter, though, I felt a pang of shame. It is people like him who are looking for a deeper, fuller conversation about religion in this country. They may not change their positions, but they are willing to listen and learn from those who are willing to speak in reasonable terms – those who know of the central and awesome place that God holds in the lives of so many, and who refuse to treat faith as simply another political issue with which to score points.


I wrote back to the doctor and thanked him for his advice. The next day, I circulated the email to my staff and changed the language on my website to state in clear but simple terms my pro-choice position. And that night, before I went to bed, I said a prayer of my own – a prayer that I might extend the same presumption of good faith to others that the doctor had extended to me.


It is a prayer I still say for America today – a hope that we can live with one another in a way that reconciles the beliefs of each with the good of all. It’s a prayer worth praying, and a conversation worth having in this country in the months and years to come. Thank you.

Falling in Love

I absolutely love falling in love. A well known fact about me is that I fall in love several times a day. In fact, I fell in love in the hallway of Gamble Hall today. Dr. Winterhalter and I were talking outside of her office and a young man, who had to be a member of the tennis team, walked by and both of us fell in love.
He was beautiful, and not just my standard of beautiful, anyone would have fallen for him.
As much as I try to believe that I do not need a man in my life, I am terrified by the thought of never feeling truly, rapturously in love again. One of my favorite books is The Portrait of a Lady by Henry James. It is tragic in some ways, but I want the kind of declaration love that Ralph gives Isabel on his death bed:

"And remember this . . . That if you've been hated you've also been loved. Ah but, Isabel - adored!"

It sounds so true, so real of Ralph; to balance the good with the bad. We are, in life, both loved and hated; adored and disdained. I have spent so much of my time reading great love stories that I worry my expectations may be too high. I hope not. What do you think of the love of the romantic movie or novel? Can anyone live up to that? Or even come close?

What I Am Doing . . .

Right now, I am sitting for 5 hours a day and listening to a grumpy old man routine with a little bit of classroom management mixed in. He is keeping us very busy, so my posts may be few and far between. Just to let you know what was going on!

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My Cubby

Since so many of you like stories about my weird school, I thought I would share a picture that I came across to day while looking for something at my mom's. This was a picture I took from the seat of my desk at school. The large "A" stands for A honor role, and the flags are the flags we have to raise when we needed help. The Christian flag for minor emergencies and the American flag when we needed the help of a man (seriously, I am not kidding). If you see anything that strikes you as curios, besides the entire set-up, ask me and I will explain how we did things at Emmanuel.

Coffee

I love coffee, and because I am exiled to a non-Starbuck town, I have gotten used to drinking McDonald's coffee. Not much of a downgrade as you would think. At 1.33 for a large coffee, it is more economical and it has a drive-thru. Quite a plus for a girl that like to drink her coffee still clad in their pajama pants and wife-beater. I go to the same McDonald's every morning and I have became well acquainted with the ladies that work at the window. One, however is an enigma. Some mornings, she smiles broadly and says, "Hey, I got your Splenda and cream. Here. Good morning." Other mornings she looks through me as if this is the first time she has ever laid eyes on me. I gauge my response by hers. I am always friendly, but never too familiar. I fear coming off as condescending - a feeling I hate - but I want to know what brings about those mornings of seeming despair, or maybe she's just sleepy. It is such a thankless, low-paying job; where people work with assholes and serve assholes. Although they infuriate me sometimes, I know that if I were them, I would be grumpy too.

Who Do you Love?

Kirsten is reading Pride and Prejudice in her Novel class this summer, and she sent me an email this morning asking me if I was in love with Mr. Darcy. She knows I have a tendency to fall head over heels for fictional characters. Ralph Touchett from Portrait of a Lady, Ethan Frome from Ethan Frome, Lawrence Selden from The House of Mirth, Florentino Ariza from Love in the Time of Cholera . . . I could go on and on. But, if I had to say who I truly and fictionally loved the most, it would have to be Sydney Carton from A Tale of Two Cities. I watched the movie (1935) when I was a little girl, and could not wait to get my hands on the book. I still remember tears streaming down my face as I read Sydney's last lines,"It is a far,far better thing that I do than I have ever done. It is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known." He did it all for the love of a woman who loved another man. Just heartbreaking. Who do you love . . . fictionally? Tell me why.

Trips

Me and my brother Robbie

When I was younger, every year my family went to Lake Weir, Florida on vacation. We used to all have matching t-shirts that said "Weir Crazy" that we would wear on our way down there. I was always the first one dressed in my t-shirt and I always bugged my brothers to put their shirts on hours ahead of time. They hated me because I was the only girl and the baby, and so, if I insisted, Daddy made them put their shirt on way before they wanted to get dressed. All because of me. I could not help it; I loved going to Lake Weir. We rented a cabin on top of a hill and to get to the lake, I had to walk through orange trees and down a long gravel road. I can distinctly remember learning how to blow my first bubble walking down that road to the lake. It was Super Bubble that I bought from the little country store that was located on the beach of the lake. The store was more like a recreation room than a store. It had a jukebox and a few pool tables and a place to rent tubes if you wanted to go tubing. I also bought an occasional Stewart sandwich from there also, but Mama always went to the grocery store and stocked up so we did not have to buy too much from the store.


My cousin Dusty
There was something about Lake Weir that made my family do things we did not do at home. We ate Hoagie sandwiches for dinner, but at home, we never had a cold dinner. My mom always cooked, so it was a real vacation for her. We went to the movies at Lake Weir - shows like The Apple Dumpling Gang and Jaws - and it was such a treat because we never did that at home. However, Jaws was not such a good choice when we were spending 90% of our vacation in the water. Along with blowing bubbles, I also learned to swim at Lake Weir. My dad would throw me off the dock and then walk away from me as I struggled and gasped my way towards him. At times, I could not believe he could be so cruel, but I did learn to swim. I could not wait for the day when I could follow my brothers to the big, high dock where the cool girls sunbathed while the guys smoked cigarettes and flirted with the girls in the string bikinis. You can see it in the background of the pics. It was the place to be. Obviously, I never made it in my bikini. The pics on here (yes, that is me doing a fabulous back flip) are the last known photographs of me in a two-piece. At least, I hope they are. If you look closely at this pic, you can see my father's hand just at the edge of the picture; waiting to grab me if I should hit my head or have trouble finding my way up from the bottom.






When I was 10, we went to Lake Weir for the last time. Two of my brothers were older and had full-time jobs, so they decided to stay home, but my older brother and his wife and son came with us. My dad was very upset that Robbie and Tim decided not to make the family trip. As we rode down the white gravel road that serpentined through orange groves, I remember my mom reaching over and grabbing my dad's hand and saying, "They are growing up Charles. They will come again next year." It was not the same without "the boys," as we always called them. A week after we got back from Lake Weir, my dad was killed in an accident at work. My brothers say they still have not gotten over the fact that they did not go that year, and we have planned trips back, but these plans have never quite worked out. I think we may all want to remember Lake Weir with our dad; the way it should be remembered.

My Student Teaching

Since most of you are not familiar with Brunswick, I wanted to show you where i was going to be doing my student teaching. So, here it is . . . Tell me what you think.

Beginning Again

When I was younger, I went to a school with a very limited library. When I say limited, I mean limited. We had a total of three or four books, and all of them had a Christian theme. The only one any of you may recognize is John Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress. There was also a book about missionaries to China and a couple of Joy Sparton books. Joy Sparton was a preachers daughter, who, along with her brother Roy, got into humorous predicament with the members of her fathers church. I did enjoy reading of Joy Sparton's mishaps.

Because of the limited school library, me favorite day of the week was Saturday when the Book-Mobile would come to our neighborhood. I still remember the smell of books and the cold air that blasted into my face as soon as the door to that RV opened. I checked out and read book after book, but the Book-Mobile was limited as well. Many of their books were for young readers, so as I grew older I had to turn elsewhere for my reading material. One day, I went into my mothers closet and found some old books. Many of them were the Reader's Digest Condensed books, but in the middle of that old box was a nondescript book with a plain blue cover and yellowed pages. I took it out and opened it up to see the name of the book. "Jane Eyre," it read in a beautiful old-fashioned font. I pushed the box back into the closet and went immediately to my room. I had spent a lot of time in there since the death of my father two years earlier. My mother had gone all out to have it decorated just the way I wanted it, as if having a beautiful room would help ease the pain of being fatherless, and so I would often sink into my fluffy comforter and turn on my swag lamp (in style then) and read for hours. I would feign sickness so I could stay home and read - I finished Gone with the Wind in two days. My brothers, who were all much older than me, were not around to bother me and my mother was at work, so my life was one of solitude with books as my favorite companions. Don't get the wrong idea - I was thrilled with this set of circumstances. I loved to spend hours alone and reading. My isolation was a matter of choice. For the next couple of days, Jane Eyre was my chosen companion. I loved her, and lived and breathed to see her live happily ever after with Rochester. I hated to see the book end. Jane Eyre never left me, and twenty years later, as a college student, I picked it up again. This time armed with an idea of how to read intelligently. It did not change my love for Jane and again I hated to see it end. It made me realize how very little I have changed from that 12 year old girl that found solace in a book; a girl who chooses isolation to let a book take her to another place.

The other day, I had to answer a question on a survey about what book I would read over and over again. I did not even have to think about it - my beloved Jane Eyre. Just typing the name made me pick the same old blue, nondescript book up; beginning it again . . .

Stress

Now that I am out of school, I have much less stress in my life. However, I know that tonight Kirsten will be walking into Gamble 210 for three hours of conversation. She will be listening to Dr. Winterhalter talk passionately about the British Novel, and although I have already taken the class, I could go for another round. I remember the first class I took with Dr. W: Literature by Women, and it was also the first class I ever took with Brandi. Although I did not know it then, both of these women became important influences on my life. I may not miss the stress, but I will miss laughs and giggles with Kirsten, listening to Dr. Winterhalter, and saying to Brandi, "Guess what we are reading? . . ."

Hello Kitty!

Well, my freak show cat just had one little kitten. She probably has five more in her tummy that will not come out. With my luck, she will have to go see the vet for a c-section. She is being a very good mother. Let's just hope there will be NO rectal stimulation! Have a great weekend!

New Baby Kittens!

Hope called me early this morning to tell me that Lady Fribble had had a kitten. I rushed home from work with a box to put the mom and kitten in, because poor Ms. Fribble had her first baby in the middle of the yard. I have been worried that she would have a hard time because she was an abandoned baby whose mother left her at the hotel before she could eat on her own. The kitten was dirty and Lady showed no signs of turning over and letting the kitten feed, but I stood there and petted her and talked to her and said a prayer that instinct would kick in and she would take good care of her little baby. Before I left, she had her baby all cleaned up and was lying with her legs open so Uno could eat. I will keep you updated with pictures as the little darlings come out!

Memorial Day Murder

My two favorite holidays are Memorial Day and Fourth of July. Not because I am a flag waving American, but because they are different from the more celebrated holidays in that you do not have family obligations on these days. You do not have to go see Granny and Granpap or Nana and Peepa, and no one cares what you do on those days. My mother will not disown me if I do not spend the Fourth watching fireworks at the beach with her. In fact, she wants me to leave her alone. She hates to face the crowds on the beach. I, on the other hand, love to go to the beach or Summer Waves and get roasted in the sun and cook hotdogs on a tiny grill in the picnic area.

Yesterday was no different. We headed out to Jekyll around 10 in the morning to go to the beach and Summer Waves. With the car packed full of beach toys and the tiny grill teetering in the trunk, we sped down the Jekyll causeway following a long line of similarly minded peple. I noticed the car in front of me swerve to avoid something. It was then that I saw the turtle, but it was too late for me to avoid him and I felt the thud and heard the crunch as I ran over him. The people in front of me raised their hands in the air as if to say, "You idiot! We missed him, why couldn't you?" I felt horrible and was pissed that they would think I meant to hit the turtle, or that I was somehow inept at driving a turtle obstacle course. They don't know that I frequently stop on the side of the road to pick up turtles and put them back into the marsh, or that just last week, I found a large box turtle in my yard and carried it all the way back to the lake thingy behind my house. I love turtles, and killing this one almost ruined my Memorial Day. He did taste good on the grill though.

Flock Off

I was listening to a radio talk show the other day, and the host said nothing is going right in America because politicians are too "afraid to fly away from the flock." I could not agree more, but many see the so-called "damage" done to the career of the Dixie Chicks and fear a similar fate for themselves. I do not listen to much country music, but the Chicks have taken me through many bad times. I was going through a painful divorce when I first heard Wide Open spaces. I remember lying on the trampoline at night after the kids had gone to bed and listening to that song over and over again while crying into the black springy top of the trampoline. Escaping the reality of being deserted and left with the fate of three little people in my hands, if only for 3 minutes, was needed by me to recover from the shock. Later, I remember walking through a nature trail listening to that same song and feeling happy and hopeful enough to skip and spin around with my arms held out like an idiot in a music video. Corny, I know, but there are some songs that do that to you; songs that evoke a feeling of carelessness or happiness that music often provides. The ability of music to produce a memory is an universal feeling.

What did the Dixie Chicks say that was so wrong? Natalie, the lead singer, said, "I am ashamed that the president is from Texas," or close to it. Maybe she could have found a better way to phrase it. How about, "I am against war," or "I don't want the violence perpetuated, more innocent people should not die." Is that a reason to threaten her life, and the lives of her family? When did war become something desirable? Of course 3000 people died in the World Trade Center, and it is tragic. I feel so much sympathy for all of the families who lost someone, but what will war solve? By our own governments assessment, 30,000 Iraqi civilians have died, but many of the estimates place it at around 100,000 civilians. The number is probably in between. Ashamed . . . That may be the right word. But, country music fans got into their flocks and denounced the Chicks, which of course is their right. However, now we have to move beyond the flock and start being individuals. I do not believe Bush is evil. Fine, start from there. I believe both sides should stop flying blindly and start making decisions simply because they are right. Stop disagreeing for the sake of disagreement and find solutions to the problems. Both sides are guilty of mouth service. I have three children, and I would hate for them to have to go to war one day because no one wanted to break their flocks formation. So, I bought the Dixie Chicks CD and I love it. Maybe their will be some forgiveness shown by those who listen to country music. That's what Jesus would have done.

Is the Slut in Me Showing?

Because it is spring and the kids are playing baseball, I have been spending quite a bit of time going into gas stations, Wal-Mart and the ball park to buy drinks and bubble gum before games. Lately, I have been getting quite a bit of commentary on my bumper sticker which says, "Well Behaved Women Rarely Make History." For some reason, it is usually from men wearing shorts and loafers with a tan line that starts at their ankles, and they are often lighting a cigarette.
"I like that bumper sticker!"
They say with a laugh that sounds extremely perverted. I talked to Kirsten about this before, and we decided that these men think the bumper sticker means I am a slut that likes to misbehave. They see it as an invitation to try and see if I will misbehave with them. Should I correct them and yell, "It does not mean I like to tie you up and beat you! I will not sleep with you and your hound dog! I will not piss on you in bed, or wear platform sandals and step on your neck while pissing on you!" Well, maybe I will, but that is not what the bumper sticker means.
The other day, my friend Nick said, "I like your bumper sticker" and I felt I needed to clarify its meaning, "It does not mean I am a slut Nick." He looked at me for a minute and said, "I know what it means." I felt shame creep up my neck. I had made an assumption and I was wrong. It was very embarrassing, so from now on, I am going to pretend that every guy that says "I like that bumper sticker" to me, knows what it means and does not want me to step on their neck.

New Poets and Television Shows

Hope

What's the use
of something
as unstable
and diffuse as hope -
the almost-twin
of making-do,
the isotope
of going on:
what isn't in
the envelope
just before
it isn't:
the always tabled
righting of the present


As always, I find that the best book and poet referrals come form trusted friends. Brandi sent me an article about Kay Ryan, who is now one of her favorite poets, and I can see why. She says a lot in a still, small way. She reminded me of Emily Dickinson when I first read her. The poem at the top of my blog is by her and I really liked it.

Now from poetry to TV. I had a dream about Hugh Laurie, the star of House last night. We were sitting in a small church together, surrounded by people, when I tried to refill one of those small sample bottles of perfume. I ended up spilling perfume all over the place, but I did not want to leave him because as soon as I went to the bathroom, he would leave. Alas, he left as soon as I opened my eyes. I have to recommend the show House to those of you who have not seen it. I have been trying to recruit Kirsten for ages, but so far, no dice. It is a very interesting show and Laurie absolutely grows on you. If you get a chance, watch it Tuesday's at 9:00. If you have watched it, tell me what you think.

My Mom

 

A Mother's Day Moment

"I studied the little girl and at last rediscovered my mother."
Roland Barthes, Camera Lucida

I love old photographs. I guess I agree with Roland Barthes' theory of photography in that when I see certain pictures, there is something in them that "speaks" to me, but they also produce a sense of sadness of what can "never be again." As my mother goes older, and I can clearly see it in her body, the way she seems smaller, shorter, her walk slower; her hair grayer, I begin to fear life without her. Being without her scares me more than my own death. As I watch my children grow older, I understand how much she loves me, and why she does for me what she does, and why she did what she did when I was a child. Her death would remove the only person in the world that loves me unconditionally. Sometimes I think about my life after my children; the life my mother is living right now. Will they roll their eyes when I call, as I sometimes do, when my mom calls for the fourth time that day? It is a scary thought to spend so many years of your life dedicated to your children and then to have them leave you behind as they build another life with their own family. I try to look at it in another way: that is what you try so hard for; you want to teach them to be happy and productive members of society; independent and capable of living without you. But their is a small piece of me that wants them to always need me for something.

Yesterday, I had a "mother's moment. " I was tired after getting up early to take my test and driving to and from Savannah, and the kids were being really mean to one another. Sometimes I ignore it and hope they will come to appreciate each other one day, but yesterday I felt compelled to say something. At the end of my rope, I pulled out an old trick of my mom's:
"Maybe one day I will drop dead and then you will be nice to each other."
Really, it makes no sense, and I had always vowed to not say such things to my children, but in a moment of weakness, I broke out the guilt. The kids looked sad, and then, after a few quite seconds, started blaming it all on Trey. It never worked when I was a child either. Not until late at night, when I lay alone in my bed in my dark room. Then I worried and cried with the thought of losing my mother. Now, I see why she resorted to guilt. Not because she was mean, but because she was desperate to make us stop fighting. It was a moment of weakness, and it is often felt by all parents.

When I look at these pictures of my mom, I look at her with the eyes of a parent now. Did that little girl of six have any idea how much she was loved by her grandmother who raised her? Did that beautiful girl in the diamond necklace know that her grandmother lay in bed at night and prayed for her granddaughter to make the right decisions in life. Probably not. We never realize until we have our own children how much our guardians, whoever they may have been, longed for our happiness and well being. I am glad that my mom is still around for me to let her know that I understand, now, why she spanked me for leaving home and not telling her where I was going; why she took the car keys from me when I stayed out to late; why she would not let me watch Helter Skelter because she knew it would give me bad dreams; why she would not let me go to the skating ring on Friday nights, even though I begged and begged and told her all the other girls could go. Happy Mother's Day and Thanks.

Random Stuff

These are two of the books I am expecting this week

Well, I am finally finished with school. I have one class to take this summer and then I can start my teaching career. I am past worrying anymore about whether or not I will like it. I will, or I won't. If I do, great, and if I don't, then I move on. Either way, it will be an experience. I have not been able to put down Alice Munro's book of short stories, Runaway. It is fabulous. Tomorrow I start a new summer job, and Thursday I take my chance at the Praxis. I am not worried about the reading and writing section, but the math section worries me. I have no idea how to do anything beyond addition and subtraction. I even have problems adding and subtracting fractions! I am fortunate that Hope is a math whiz and she is helping me study for the test. Sad, I know.

New Treasures

I went to the used bookstore yesterday and found a few good titles, and also the weirdest book cover I have ever seen. The Stranger by Albert Camus is a book I have always wanted to read, but have never bothered. When I saw this cover, I had to buy it, even though these weird characters freak me out! The first novel was suggested by Kirsten as "fun and delightful trash." I can't wait to read it. After reading Night Train by Martin Amis, I felt like a really good detective novel so I chose Sue Grafton another author I have never read before.

 

My New Obsession: Nightmare Alley

Now that I am done with finals, I can start my fun, summer reading. Yesterday, I read an article in The Writer's Chronicle called "One Man's Nightmare: The Noir Journey of William Lindsay Gresham." The book the article focused on was clalled Nightmare Alley, and I became immediately interested in reading it when the writer of the article said, "It's the only novel I have ever encountered that made me feel unclean by the time I had finished it." Apparently, this noir novel is an examination into the lives of circus freaks and hobos, ala Carnivale on HBO. It has recently been rewritten as a graphic novel, but to very little praise, so I have no interest in it. The book is out of print and it seems hard to find. If any of you bibliophiles (Brandi, you are the master at locating books) find the original book published in 1946, please let me know.

Summer Reading

I have a couple of papers left, and I cannot wait to begin my summer reading. I already have the books lined up. Here are a few:

Bananas, Beaches and Bases: Making Feminist Sense of International Politics by Cynthia Enloe

Wide Blue Yonder by Jean Thompson

Who We Love another Jean Thompson

Maus II by Art Spiegelman

Feminism Without Borders: Decolonizing Theory, Practicing Solidarity by Chandra Talpade Mohanty

The Problems of Philosophy by Bertrand Russell, John Perry

Narrative Design: Working with Imagination, Craft, and Form by Madison Smartt Bell

Alias Grace by Margaret Atwood

Holidays on Ice by David Sedaris -the only one I have not read

What about you? What are you reading this summer?

Another Movie Review

"There was some empty space between what he knew and what he tried to believe, but nothing could be done about it, and if you can't fix it you've got to stand it"
Brokeback Mountain - Annie Proulx

After watching Brokeback Mountain this weekend, I wanted to read the story, so last night I did just that. If you have not seen the movie, I highly recommend it, but don't watch it with your mother Brandi. Not because there is a lot of sex, but there is some and I would hate for anyone to be embarrassed. The short story was good, but no where near as good as Ang Lee's rendition of two cowboy's in love. The scene above is one of my favorites. If you watch the movie, you will understand why. After watching the film, I hate that it has become a punch line or an easy one-liner on late night talk shows. In fact, I have been in a funk since I watched it. Maybe I grew up with a strangely large number of gay men, but I have known so many that this story really touched me. I understand the struggle as much as anyone can who does not actually live through an experience. I have probably never told any of you the story of my friend Steve. When I was growing up, I had a really good friend named Steve. He was from a wonderful, loving family. His father was a pastor who was charismatic and loving, everyone adored him, especially me. Steve was very good-looking, in fact, he later moved to California and became a model, not famous, but he did do some ads for Calvin Klein before the drugs brought him down to nothing more than a skinny waif who looked older than his years. Steve was also gay. Many suspected that when he was younger, but out of respect for his father, no one would shun him or mistreat him.

Eventually, Steve came out of the closet, but only after putting a thousand miles between him and his family. His father stood by him. Looking back, I knew he would be that kind of man, his love for his family was so seeable, but Steve could never get over the guilt he felt; could never get past the idea that he had disappointed someone he respected and loved so much. Steve would keep in contact and tell me what was going on in his life and it was always one step forward and two steps back for him. I told him to come home and get away from the fast life; let those that loved him take care of him. He said, "I can't come back to a place I feel I don't belong." Steve found a place where he could stand it. Maybe movies like Brokeback Mountain will move us in the direction of fixing it.

Really Knowing

I have always heard the lines engraved at the bottom of the statue of liberty, but I don't believe I have ever read the entire poem until this morning. It really is quite beautiful. I am all over the place on the immigration debate, and I really don't know how I feel. I recoil at the language some of people use when they talk about deporting illegals, but I also know that the work force of illegal immigrants hurts the poorest of americans. At some point, something has to be done. Follow this link to The New Colossus by Emma Lazarus.

http://www.libertystatepark.com/emma.htm

Saying All the Wrong Things

"It is a thousand pities never to say what one feels . . . " Mrs. Dalloway

Last night I went with an all-star cast of ladies to Charleston to see David Sedaris "in concert." He is one of my all-time favorite writers, and if you have not read him, I highly recommend that you do. He read several stories and I was glad that they were new to me. When he said "I am going to finish up with a few entries from my dairy," I turned to Julia to see if she wanted to go get in line for the book signing. She said "Yes," because the hour was late and there were 2500 people there, so it would be worth it to miss the last few minutes of the show to get a book signed by Sedaris. Little did we know that we were going to miss a good half hour of the program, including a question- answer session. However, it paid off because me and Julia were the first in line. Nerd ingenuity.

I am very bad at speaking to people that I admire. I tend to say silly things and say them breathlessly. Last night was no exception. What makes it so bad is that I have foreknowledge of my problem, but still I stumbled.
"So," Dave asked,"Where are you from."
"We are from Savannah."
"Who are you here with."
"My friends over there, and one of our professors."
"She looks to young to profess."
"hahahahahahaha. She is"
It only gets worse from there. It involved words such as THE Cracker Barrel, not just Cracker Barrel, and the word "rasslin" as in wrestling. Not good, and not things you want David Sedaris to remember you by. I comfort myself with the idea that I was the first in a very long line, and I am sure her forgot our weird conversation seconds later.
What I really wanted to say was: "I love your writing. I love the way you talk about Hugh, and how clearly I see your love for him when you talk about your life together. I cry when you talk about your mother Sharon and laugh when you talk about your dad and brothers and sisters. In the middle of your humor, your work always touches me with something that goes beyond the laugh, and I often finish your stories smiling through tears. Thank you so much for signing my book and taking a minute to talk to me."
If you haven't read any David Sedaris, you should.

Moving On

Illusion is the first of all pleasures.
Oscar Wilde

As many of you know, in a moment of insanity, Dr. Winterhalter offered me a job teaching a Intro to Women's Studies class in the fall. I was very tempted to do it and struggled with the question of "Can I do it?" Many of you gave me great advice and suggested I should not let fear rule my life, and made me feel good because you all thought I was capable of taking on such a large task. However, I decided against taking the position. It was a temporary job that, realistically, would not have had any long term benefits. It would have looked nice on my resume, but I hope that, in the future, I will have another opportunity to teach at the college level. Kirsten told me that I made "a very grown-up decision." That made me feel good because in the past I have not made very grown up decisions and sometimes they were disastrous. Thanks for the cheerleading; each of you made me feel capable of anything.

Sheba

This is my beautiful Sheba. Thanks to all of you for your concern.

 

Random Stuff

Movie Review
If you haven't already, you should go and see Spike Lee's new movie Inside Man with Denzel Washington and Clive Owen, if for nothing else but to listen to Clive Owen talk and look at Jodie Foster's fabulous calve muscles. She looks beautiful in this film, plus it has an excellent story with a delicious surprise ending. very clever. If you have seen it, let me know what you think.

Romance Update:
Kerry_loves_Reese@hotmail.com is no longer. Now Kerry_loves_Cody@hotmail.com. I can't say that I am disappointed, but this shows me to settle down and not get so excited about young love. It is very transient.

Neighbors Suck:
One of my less-civilized neighbors kicked my German Shepherd Sheba, who is the sweetest dog in the world, yesterday and dislocated her hip. She is at the vets office today having it reset. I know she should not wander around, but she keeps up with the kids everywhere they go, and for that, I am grateful. Whatever happened to picking up the phone and asking your neighbor to keep your dog out of their yard? Mean people really do suck.

On the Edge

"Their love is gentle and discreet. If it were a plant it would be a fern, light green and feathery and delicate; if a musical instrument, a flute. If a painting it would be a water lily by Monet, one of the more pastel renditions, with its liquid depths, its reflections, its different falls of light."
The Robber Bride


At this time in my life, I am the verge of many edges. I going to graduate soon, and while in the past, I have been hesitant to finish school, I now feel ready. It is time to step out of the familiar and safe world of Gamble and into a paid position where I actually have to be a grown-up. I also feel like I am on the verge of ending a long-term, but unhealthy relationship. I am both excited and afraid of this prospect, but like school, I think I am ready to move on. I am very bad at meeting guys, well not meeting them, but once I meet them I cannot seem to feel comfortable with any type of "romantic talk." I am fine as long as I am the one doing the flirting, but I get scared as soon as the flirting is returned (not too often).

I was thinking about this when we were reading The Robber Bride. One of the characters accepts her flawed relationship, I think, because she feels that it is safe and comfortable. She will not be asked to give anything that she cannot, and so she stays and feels safe. But I wonder if she is really happy and in love, or just comfortable. I guess my concern is that I will die alone, or I will never find anyone I feel comfortable with. Is a light, feathery love enough?

More Fun Than A Barrel of Monkeys

I am so excited about a new web site that I found that I wanted to share it with all of you immediately. It's an online tool for cataloging your books. It is totally unnecessary, but extraordinarily exciting. Bibliophiles (AKA Nerds, enjoy!)

http://www.librarything.com/index.php

Operation Heart Cream: Part Deux

"If Charis ever hears any more voices telling her to slit her wrists, Tony is the one she'd call . . . Tony would know what to do, step by step, one thing at a time, in order. She wouldn't call Roz at first, because Roz would freak out, would cry and sympathize and agree with her about the unbearablility of it all . . . But afterwards, after she felt safe again, she would go to Roz for the hug."
The Robber Bride

Our friends always serve different purposes in our lives. Some give us comfort, while others bring us safety and order. I am just thankful that we have them. It is impossible for me to give you, my Lindy-Lou, the language based inspiration that Brandi is able to give you. That is not my role, but I want you to know how wonderful, talented and special you are to us. I know this may not soothe your fractured heart, but I hope it will help.

I am quite a bit older than you, and although I am not very mature, I have learned that what seems like a disappointment, is really an opportunity. To cut that line from a story, that piece from our painting, clip our bangs, or take off those heels, is a moment of freedom that will one day have a larger effect on our very short lives. You are wonderful, you do wear pointy-toe shoes better than anyone I know and have an incredibly sharp wit. You will be fine, but you know that already.
Here is the Munro piece:
"Sing," my brother commands my father, but my father says gravely, "I don't know, I seem to be fresh out of songs. You watch the road and let me know if you see any rabbits."
So my father drives and my brother watches the road for rabbits and I feel my father's life flowing back from our car in the last of the afternoon, darkening and turning strange, like a landscape that has an enchantment on it, making it kindly, ordinary and familiar while you are looking at it, but changing it once your back is turned, into something you will never know, with all kinds of weathers, and distances you cannot imagine."
Walker Brothers Cowboy

Kerry_loves_Reese@hotmail.com

Yesterday, my 14 year old son was on the computer checking his email. I had promised to send someone an email by 4 yesterday afternoon and had forgotten, so I told Reese to quickly get off the computer so I could use it for 5 minutes. Instead of closing it out, he just minimized it. When I finished, I brought his page up for him and the title of this blog is what I saw. I promise, I had no intention of looking at his email, so don't judge me too harshly. It was like passing a train wreck, you felt dirty, but you had to do it. I found out that the little girl down the street, also 14, is in love with Reese. Apparently he asked her out (where to I do not know) and she responded, "Do you know how long I have been waiting for you to ask?" All of two weeks I am sure. I also discovered something unpleasant. She also said something about "making out." I did not get the whole thing, but it can't be good. I surprised myself by, not only reading his email, but also by the strong effect the content had on me. I felt physically sick and wanted to cry. I understand young love. In many ways, I am still a 14 year old waiting on love to happen to me in the only way it can happen to the innocent. I guess what bothers me is the idea of any, and I mean any type of sexuality in my children. That type of progression means they are getting older, and in turn, so am I. Donald Trump just recently had a baby. At 59, he is getting older and is facing his immortality. He is quoted as saying, "I keep having kids, so I stay young right?" No Donald, you do not, but I can see where he is going. The progression of time is easily measured outside of our own minds and bodies. We see our parents grow older and our children get taller, but we are too inside ourselves to witness our own aging process. In the future, I will remind him to close his email before I use the computer. The less we see, the better.

Movie Review and Other Stuff

I know Kirsten is sick of hearing me talk about A History of Violence, but I enjoyed it so much that I thought I would recommend it to others. It is not the greatest movie ever made, but it is a really good story and a cliffhanger as well. I was interested in it because it is based on a graphic novel. Something a little different.

I also started a new book that, so far, is very interesting. Its called Lying: A Metaphorical Memoir by Lauren Slater who also wrote Prozac Nation. I think Brandi would be interested in it, if for nothing else other than its concept. It sort of reminds me of the book you read, I think it was called The Girl in the Plaid Skirt. I've had it for a while, but have been to busy to read it. I probably will not finish it, The Robber Bride awaits, but at least I have started.

Also, props to McDonald's. The fast food giant, and makers of a fabulous chicken sandwich, have changed coffee, and with the distribution of free coffee coupons, has drawn me into their web. I was tempted to try their brand when I read an article that said in a blind taste test, McDonald's new coffee beat out Starbucks.

A new poet on the rise -- Of late, Trey has been writing poetry. All of it involving colors. He told me that he plans to write a poem about every color in the rainbow and then he will combine all of the poems in the shape of a rainbow. Needless to say, I am impressed. Publication is forthcoming, so look for it in the future.

The Loss of UnnamedThings

"Each child is living the only life he has - the only one he will ever have. The least we can do is not diminish it." Bill Page

It seems strange to me that I am quoting a man who is an educator, and not a writer. In fact, I know very little about Bill Page, but lately I have found myself interested in what people like him have to say. I spent last night creating a wish list on Amazon that was not filled with novels, but rather books about educating high school students. Instead of the "Book Lovers List" I used to have, my list is now named the "Future Teachers Survival Pack." That is quite a change for me; someone who hates education classes and all of those in them.
I have been spending quite a bit of time in the classroom this week observing the way a high-school class operates. I have to admit, that on some days, I am extraordinarily excited about teaching, but on other days, I feel completely inadequate and unprepared. Yesterday, the class played a game of Jeopardy!, and they seemed to enjoy it. Several of the kids are very funny, and I have trouble pretending that I am not listening to them, but during the game, they told me that I had to be on their team. I laughed and refused, "It wouldn't be fair," I said, "They answered the same questions in the first block so I already know the answers." They laughed and I laughed, and one of the boys on the other team mocked my laugh. I felt the familiar sting of tears behind my eyes and a lump swell in my throat. For him, it was meaningless. I am sure he meant no real harm, but to me, the emotional reaction that I felt, said, "They will eat you alive. You are not tough enough."
In my old high school, the teachers there never sought to make a difference. The only way they touched me was in pinching my shoulder when I turned around, or tapping me on the head when I was talking. I have no memories of them reaching out to me and showing me what I could do well, or trying to engage me in any real conversation about life. I think what scare me the most is that I too will be ineffectual. The life that these kids live - the only life they will live - will be diminished by me in some way, and in turn, my life will somehow be diminished. Either would be tragic.

Pictures!

All of you have heard so much about the conference this weekend, that I thought I should put some faces with names. I also thought I should change my blog template because it looked so much like Brandi's. Everytime I looked at it, I felt like a thief. This one is kind of lame, but at least I don't look like a copy cat anymore. I was aiming for kirsten's template next!
Dr. Winterhalter and the much-loved Grace Paley. I could just put her in my pocket and take her home!


The equally loved Dr. Hollinger! Making sure everyone stays on schedule.
















Dr. Winterhalter scolding Dr. Hollinger for something, while Grace Paley looks on.











Brandi and her blue bike. She looks very Sex and the Cityish!

 

Words of Wisdom

Today, one of my favorite professors told me about a great line she heard Grace Paley use this weekend. One of my friends, who lives too far away for a hug, is having a tough week, and is in need of a little reassurance, so I will hug her with words and hope this helps her feel better.

Grace wanted to go on the walking tour to see the studio of one of the artists, but she feared she would not be able to handle the walk. She said, "I feel that I can walk very far, but not very fast."

Applied to life, this is a wonderful thought. Slow down; enjoy the walk; go farther.

Learning New Things

One of the things I love about conferences is the opportunity to learn new things. Some presentations put me to sleep, but there are always a couple that sparks my interest, or introduces me to something new. At this years women's studies conference, I was put to sleep a couple of times but I learned some wonderful new things.

At one presentation, I learned that all of the beautiful people that we see both in print and on television, are digitally enhanced. The beautiful women we strive to look like, don't even look as they appear. The ideal body image is unattainable because it does not exist. Makes me feel better anyway.

I also learned about a writer I had never read before. Grace Paley was fabulous! I loved her spunk and I have already ordered her book of poetry. All for this one line: "I was moved by the strong desire to kiss his explaining lips." In the context of the rest of the poem, this was so very moving. I will post the poem in its entirety when I receive the book.

At a session on art, I learned about an Iranian photographer that takes some very disturbing and beautiful photographs. Visit this site and see some of her work:The photo above is her work.
http://www.iranian.com/Arts/Dec97/Neshat/

Alice Munro

"Writer's don't know more than other people; they see more than other people."

Alice Munro

I love it when I find a writer that is old to many, but new to me. I read a couple of short stories by Alice Munro yesterday and I fell in love with her style. She writes, to me, like a southern writer, and I have always loved southern writers. They remind me of my family: People who are proud of being southern, but not in the way of the "redneck southerner." People who respect the past without glorifying it, who recognize hatred as incompatible with southern grace. The above quote from Munro made me think of my very special friend who sees things in ways that I cannot, and then records them in the most beautiful language. Here's to writer's that feel compelled to write. The world is a softer place because of you.

Beautiful Sunday

These cute little chickens were in a display window on St. Simons. The kids and I went to the park this weekend and enjoyed a beautiful day at the pier. I could not resist taking a picture of this.

Happiness Is . . .

Brandi will forgive my theft of title I am sure.

Going to the Friends of the Library sale in Brunswick and finding no one around the literature section. In that section I find beautiful, old copies of The Bell Jar, War & Peace, Jane Eyre, Villette, The Great Short Stories of Tolstoy, a book by Italo Calvino, Invisible Cities (I thought I would give him another chance), a collection of essays by Roland Barthes, a love story written by Simone de Beauvoir (did not know she had one), and Slaughterhouse Five. All of these great books with unusual covers for a grand total of 5.00. Bliss.

Nice Guys Sometimes Finish First

I watched the news this morning because I was curious to see who had won the 365 million dollar jackpot. I was so happy to see that it was eight co-workers from a meat packing plant somewhere in Nebraska. It was wonderful to see the faces of guys and girls who have worked hard ,and would probably have worked hard until retirement, find themselves set for life. One of the winners said "I always thought I would buy a plane if I won, but I really don't care that much for flying. I said I would buy an island, but i don't care too much for water." Another guy said, "We couldn't all just quit, management has been too good to us." I am always amazed at the kindness and sensibility of people. I am ashamed that at times what I do have is never good enough. 365 million would be nice, but really, would the me that is me be any different? I am not opposed to experimenting, but I don't think my soul would be any better off.

Unsure and Upset

Brandi has tagged me and I am unsure of what to do. There are two options: (1) I could answer on her blog, or (2) I could answer on mine. I am going to answer on mine and see if she scolds me later. If that happens, I will rush to the computer and answer on hers.

Four jobs you've had:
1. American Greetings clerk -- we hated Hallmark clerks -- they thought they were the gold standard of the card world -- no offense Brandi
2. Waitress
3. Front Desk clerk
4. Graduate assistant

Four Movies I can watch over and over:
1. An Affair to Remember
2. The Royal Tennenbaums
3. Serendipity
4. Napolean Dynamite

Four Places I've Lived:
1. Brunswick, Ga
2. St. Simons Island, GA
Sorry for myself, but that's it

Four TV shows I love:
1. Law and Order
2. The Office
3. My Name is Earl
4. CSI

Four Places I've vacationed:
1. Baltimore, Maryland
2. Atlanta, Ga
3. Washington, DC
4. Clearwater Beach, Florida

Four of my favorite Dishes
1. Drunken Noodles
2. Chicken Salad sandwiches
3. mac & cheese
4. pimento cheese

Four sites I visited daily:
Way more than four, but . . .
1. Brandi's blog
2. Kirsten's blog
3.Malinda's blog
4. Christy's blog

Four places I would rather be right now:
1. San Diego, CA
2. Atlanta, GA
3. Gloucester, MA
4. Anywhere in Vermont

Four bloggers I'm tagging:
1. Christy
2. Kasey
3. Malinda
4. Kirsten

Laughing and Thinking

Things that make me laugh:
When I use the computer at work, go to "Favorites," and see a new addition: "Filipino Friend Finder: The leading personals for finding a woman."

Things that make me think:
"How is it possible to defeat not the author but the function of the author, the idea that behind each book there is someone who guarantees a truth in that world of ghosts and inventions by the mere fact of having invested in it his own truth, of having identified himself in that construction of words?"
Italo Calvino

Happy Valentine's Day!!!

I hope all of you have a very happy Valentines Day.

Four things I love and cannot live without:
1. Reese, Hope and Trey (I am counting them as a collective noun)
2. My friends
3. Great books
4. The prospects of the future -- whatever they may be --

(btw, that is NOT me dressed up like a Bill Clinton cupid!)

Stupid Signs

Here are a couple of stupid signs that I saw today:

Barnes Restaurant on Waters:
"Come and try our wild shrimp! They are great!"
I was not aware that there were "Tame" shrimp being served anywhere. Maybe I am being snotty about this.

Sticky Fingers Rib House:
"Do you really think she deserves fine dining?"
I think this is stupid on many levels.

Life's Dangerous Moments

I usually judge the importance of a holiday based on the kind of delicious treats that will be present. Thanksgiving is of course the dessert heavy holiday. You can always expect pies and cakes to be present for at least a few weeks after this day has passed -- my french professor love just went running past my office, literally running -- and these heavy desserts often grow old. At christmas, I look forward to chocolate covered cherries. I usually grow tired of them, but only because I have eaten my weight in them.
However, this time of year the most dangerous temptation for me arrives in stores. It is the Cadbury Bunny. As soon as I see Easter grass, I know that the Cadbury Cream Egg is right aound the corner. Brandi has her organic raspberry chocolate, Kirsten has Cool Ranch Dorito's, and the last time I checked, Malinda has her Cake Batter Milk Shake. For me, I have the Cadbury Cream Egg. If you have not tried one, I reccommend that you avoid them at all costs. That is, if you value your waistline. It is no wonder that the eggs appear this time of year. They are the second easter miracle. I say WWJE (What Would Jesus Eat): Cadbury creme Eggs of course. Hopefully, I can restrain myself this year. It helps me to say to myself that I should not waste the hour I spend at the gym every morning by eating an egg, but that may not be enough to deter an egg binge. I am not good at avoiding temptation, whether it be an egg or a bad boy, I seem to have no self-restraint. What is your weakness and how do you keep yourself fom overindulging in the things you love but know are bad for you?

In other equally important news, my interesting friend Malinda has started a blog. I am sure she will shock you with funny and insightful commentaries. Visit her at http://underthetefloncouch.typepad.com/.

My Own "No Wire Hanger's" Moment

I just got the most annoying phone call. I will provide a transcript:
Phone Rings:
Me: Coastal Georia Writing Project
Annoying Girl: Yes, hello. I would like to know if you are still doing the Kid's Cafe downtown.
Me: Yes, we are in the process of organizing the Kid's Literacy Cafe, but I am not sure of the details yet.
Annoying Girl: Well, what do you like do at the Kid's Cafe?
Me: We provide after school tutoring to kid's. We help with reading and make sure they have somewhere to go and something to eat when they get out of school.
Annoying Girl: Well, are these like, you know, bad kids. I mean, are they like troubled?
Me: Are you an education major?
Annoying girl: No, I jut want to like get some like community service hours for Sigma Crap Something (my words here), and I like want to help kids, but not, like bad kids.
Me: OK, well you need to call back and talk to Ms. West.
Annoying girl: OK, so like when should I like call back?
Me: Never

The actual conversation was not as bad as her whiney, stupid, slow voice. I had to take a moment not to scream "No dumb-asses ever!!!!!"

New meaning to the word "Google"

The Banned Word List

Back by popular demand, and frankly necessity, is the banned word list. This is an evolving list of words that are used either too often or in the wrong context by the dope at work or the show-off in one of your classes. Here are the entries for today:
1." Perhaps" -- Example: "Perhaps Austen was trying to critique the upper-class by making her heroine a member of the working class." "Perhaps Nabokov was just showing off his liguistic skills."

2. "Thusly" I got this word second hand, but from a reliable source. I cannot imagine the context in which this clown used the word "thusly."

You are encouraged to add words to the list. You don't have to include examples; sometimes just the word is enough to make you roll your eyes.

Right now

Although some of you have some serious reservations about my lovely little french professor, Right now, I am listening him speak the most beautiful french (in his god-awful sweater) to his class while they laugh and enjoy his sense of humor. I understand your horror at the vest, I too admit it tempered my attraction to him, but like the guy who speaks with a British accent in Brandi's class, some men have attractions in other areas.

Update

Just a quick note to let you know what is going on with me this week, or at least today. It is official: I am officially in love with the French professor. Although he could possibly be gay, I am beginning to seriously doubt it.
However, if the thing with the French professor does not work out, then I have another target in my Contemporary lit. class.
On another note, someone hurt my sweet friend's feelings and it makes me mad. Just so she knows, she is perfect and it was not her fault.

New Beginnings

I have a movie recommendation for you. It is The Constant Gardener with Ralph Fiennes and a beautiful Rachel Weitz. It is a spy movie, but more than that, it is a love story on many different levels. There is the love of a man and his wife, but also, there is the love story of one human to another. People unknown, but still loved. I wanted to rush out to Africa after watching this film and help those that are so helpless, but I started to think about the many children that are in need here. I am so unsure of my future in teaching, but I think back to my first days of college when I was an early childhood education major. It is easy to lose sight of what you want to do in life, but you have to look back and ask yourself, "What have I been consistent in wanting to accomplish?" When I ask myself that question, it is always the same answer, I want to help the kid who has no hope. I want to mean something to someone with nothing. I have no desire to teach the prep school brat who has everything, but sees no responsibility to the world around them. Noblesse oblige exists for few today anyway. Maybe it is for my own selfish reasons. I fear leaving nothing behind that says I was here, or knowing I will not be missed. The other day I was listening to Dr. Laura, who I hate for her lack of compassion but admire for her common sense, and she told a man something that made me gasp in horror. She said "Right now, I bet there is not a single person in the world that would care if you were dead and gone because you have lived your life for anger." I cried in the parking lot of Target while I thought about how it must have felt to hear those words. Of course, it is probably not true, but imagine if it was. The sad reality is that there are people in this world that are seen as "disposable." After watching The Constant Gardener, I was renewed in my sense of wanting to actually do something valuable in this world. I want to put aside my qualms about teaching and just dive in and do it. Forgive me for rambling.

Things to do:

Many of you know that I have a morbid fear of death. I guess it is the unknown that frightens me so much, but I am also afraid that I will fail to do many of the things I want to accomplish in my life. Here is a list, in no particular order, of what I am afraid I will miss out on:

1. I want to go to Paris, England, Africa, Egypt and Ireland before I am too old to enjoy it.
2. I want to be a photojournalist and be dropped into a volcano to take pictures for National Geographic.
3. I want to be able to run a marathon.
4. I want to see Elton John in concert.
5. Read Moby Dick
6. Kiss my grandchildren (many, many years from now)
7. Vote for Malinda to be president
8. Read a novel written by Brandi Kincaid
9. Hold Kirsten's babies (and not kittens)
10. Watch my children graduate from college and marry the love of their life (preferably before #6)
11. Fly to Chile for the wedding of Christy and Gerado where I will meet some handsome Argentian man and we will be the godparents to Christy and Gerado's 8 children. ok, so maybe that is excessive, both the 8 kids and the man, but I hope Christy will be very happy either way.
What do you most want to do in life? Give me your wildest dream.

Oh well

Since my life has been pretty routine of late, I thought I would just update you on the small things that have happened.
1. My hair is now brown. Close really to its original color. No big whoop.
2. I bought a new blender.
3. Bought two new books: One is Lying: A Metaphorical Memoir by Lauren Slater and Anna Karenina by Tolstoy. Don't know when I will read them.
4. Watched all of the episodes of CSI that I missed the past two weeks.
5. Found out that a dear friend was not dead, merely busy.
6. Bought a new notebook to keep as a food journal so I will keep up with my food choices.
7. Talked several times to a boy toy from the past that I love to fantasize about running away with (I never can forget the ones that treat me bad).
8. Contemplated going to Loco's and participating in a game of trivia. Sean, you have provoked my interest.

I really hope to have better things to say next week. I may stop taking the Slutcillin; it is working to well.

Happy Birthday MLK! It would be nice to have you around today.

Changes

Today I am going to go from a partial blonde to a warm brown. I have been frightened by the appearance of four grey hairs, counted to precision by Trey, standing up prominently in the middle of my part. Those grey hairs are witness to what I want to deny: I am getting old, and being old in America is not a good position to be in. I was sickened when I saw a club at Armstrong named "Help, I have an old person in my class!" I thought of beautiful Ms. Judy. How could anyone be angry at her for taking the later years of her life and finding something she enjoys and doing it? We should all be so courageous. Sean says our blogs are depressing, and I guess they can be, but as I thought about it, I don't feel sorry for Ms. Judy, I feel sorry for the people that dismiss her as irrelevant. Who could be more relevant?

Hatred Is . . .

Brandi does this really cute thing where she says "Happiness Is . . ." and then she lists a really nice moment where someone or something made her happy. I am going to go negative here and talk about things that make me sad and annoyed and, almost, violent.

First on my list is the girl at the gym that has a great body and wears skimpy outfits. You know the girl that walks to the middle of the cardio room and does her stretching and push-up's using the treadmill or stair stepper as a prop. She always picks the machine in front of a guy, who sits and watches, just as she wants him too. I just hate her.

Next is the student that does not know what class they are taking, who their instructor is, or where the room is located. They expect you to know their schedule and cannot follow directions to the LLP office. They just annoy me.

Where To Begin

I really don't know where to begin this post, but I knew I had to write something. Last night, when I went to sleep, it was with a light heart. Reese and I had been watching the news all night and praying for the 12 miners that were still trapped 260 feet under the ground. Like Brandi, we could not imagine how frightening it must be to feel the weight of the world, literally, on top of you. Reese was captivated by the story and I watched as he became genuinely vested in the fate of these men he did not, and would probably never, know. We were so happy to see the faces of the families as they cried and celebrated what seemed to be a miracle. Who wouldn't?

I was shocked when I woke up and saw the news. It was a case of "miscommunication." The families celebrated the miracle that would return their husbands, fathers, sons and uncles back to them. No doubt some made promises to treat them better, to love them more, and appreciate even the largest fault they possessed. I cannot imagine the pain they felt when they realized they would be denied their resolutions. I cried when one grieving wife said, "We may be dumb, but we love our family. We should not have been treated like this." As if she had internalized the view of working-class, country people as dumb. As if she thought that the world would view the loss of these men as somehow less-than the loss of others, either more affluent or educated, than these men who went deep into the earth to bring out coal. Another lady said, "We have been praising God for the miracle, and now we wonder if there is a God. We are Christian people, and that was a hard thing to say." I am sure it was. It is hard to hear.

Now the blame game will start. The first blamed will probably be the media. They pushed for information and got it wrong. The next will be the owners of the mine, who probably does bear a lot of the blame, and then some one will politicized this tragedy, much like Hurricane Katrina. The mine had over 200 violations. People will blame them and Fox News will turn around and defend business. I can hear Bill O'Reilly now, "No one forced these guys to do this work. They were paid well and they did it. It is a tragedy, but what can you do?" All of this will detract from the real tragedy: loved ones were lost. It is hard to make sense of this.

First Lines

I have been thinking a lot lately about how easily I fall for first lines. If an ugly guy has a good line (or not so good to be honest) he usually peaks my interest. I am not hit on very often, but here are some of the lines I remember the most and the ones that were most effective with me. Please do not judge me for my stupidity. "I can't believe you don't have a man a home who is watching the clock and counting down the minutes until you get home." That was the charming Seaborn that only got better as time went on. The other day, a nice painter from Peru said, "The minute I looked at you I was like, wow, I am in love with this women." No, I did not sleep with him, but he almost had me. Men are usually not that creative, at least the guys who hit on the girl behind the front desk are not. I guess that is why I love the first line of a book. There is really nothing better than to stand in the aisle of a bookstore, open the cover of an unknown novel, and be taken into the world the author will create in the pages that follow the first. It is my belief that no book with a great first line will disappoint. I wish I could find a man that would excite me as much as the first line of some of my favorite books.

"It was inevitable: the scent of bitter almonds always reminded him of the fate of unrequited love."
Love in the Time of Cholera

"Mrs. Dalloway said she would buy the flowers herself."
Mrs. Dalloway

"This is the saddest story I have ever heard."
The Good Soldier

"There was no possibility of taking a walk that day."
Jane Eyre

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife."
Pride and Prejudice

"The sun shone, having no alternative, on nothing new."
Murphy

"Many years later, as he faced the firing squad, Colonel Aureliano Buendia was to remember that distant afternoon when his father took him to discover ice."
One Hundred Years of Solitude

Although I am not a fan of westerns, this line is my new favorite. It sucked me in and made me read it. I have loved the book.

"See the child. He is pale and thin, he wears a thin and ragged linen shirt. He stokes the scullery fire. Outside lie dark turned fields with rags of snow and darker woods beyond that harbor yet a few last wolves. His folks are known for hewers of wood and drawers of water but in truth his father has been a schoolmaster. He lies in drink, he quotes from poets whose names are now lost. The boy crouches by the fire and watches him."
Blood Meridian

I know this is more than the first line, but I could not find a good place to stop. I could have given you the first two pages. The book is very Faulkner and Melvillesque.
What are some of your favorite first lines? Don't worry if one of your favorites has already been taken; add it anyway.