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.