pen•ink•paper

Existential Question of Writing

2011-05-27T08:19:00.000-07:00

On my other blog (visit there if this one is dormant) I wrote yesterday about feeling out of sync with my own era. I also think it was in response that I had to turn in a short story to my newly formed writing group last night and I had nothing new. I have written only short, blog posts for several years now, avoiding the heavy work of long-form fiction writing. I do think about, and often revise several times, what I write on blog posts, so the craft of writing still peeks its head up when I'm composing the short form.

Yesterday I had lunch with a friend, who is about my age and stage with children launched and grandchildren woven through our lives, and mentioned my angst about all this to her. I wondered if I was up to the writing, the work, if at my age I had the energy. Her (brilliant) insight was that when we were young mothers and surrounded by work and laundry and fixing meals and cleaning up and activities we would look far into our future and say that when all the children left, we would do_________ and then we would fill in that blank with whatever we--at that point in our younger lives--imagined that we would want to do. She observed that now that we have finally arrived at that fill-in-the-blank spot, all is changed. What our 35-year-old self thought is not what our 55-plus self sees as a possibility.

It's a bit disconcerting, all of this shifting around.

In some cases, the shift happens because of forces outside our lives: the recession and business failures, health problems, the dynamics of our extended family. Some interior forces might be a different way of looking at things, a banking of that proverbial fire in the belly, an altered moral viewpoint. Whatever the situation that brought us to this point, those dreams we once had--that may have gotten us through that crunch--are seemingly ephemeral and must be redrawn, reimagined.

Slicer Meet-Up

2011-05-09T11:34:00.000-07:00

A Slicer Meet-Up!

Yep, Carrie (on the right) has traveled out here to California with one of her friends and came to stay at my house last night. We both think it's great that we were "pen-pals" for a while--via the Slice Of Life Challenge--then had a chance to meet. Thanks, Stacey and Ruth!

Get To Work

2011-05-06T17:41:00.000-07:00

I have a lot of blogs in my Google Reader, and most days I just skim over the lot of them, clicking "Mark All As Read," before I move on to my schoolwork. Today I had a little extra time, so I watched/listened to a presentation (from Swiss Miss' website) given by Andrew Zuckerman about his creative process.

I tried to take a couple of screenshots to capture some of the quotes from his book, Wisdom. In that book, he interviewed the "elders" or people who had lived some years on this planet and had something to impart. Here's one quote:

And another: "You can't get to wonderful without passing through all right." (Bill Withers) Over at his website, he has a short of these simply beautiful projects. He's also done Bird, Creatures, and a host of other projects.

I have a quote on the upper right of my blog that runs along the lines of what Close, a painter, said. However, the idea of work and of getting to it doesn't belong to either Close or Butler. Our writing group seems to be coalescing after a faulty start, and I look forward to using this group to prompt me to the computer--to get myself into the chair, hands on the keyboard and to pry off the top of my head and let the imagination come forward in some fashion. I don't know where it will go. I just want to try. I hope I'm not too old, or too tired, but the age of the people in the Wisdom book/film clip and how they speak their minds lets me know that all can create. All.

Throwing Out the Favorite Thing

2011-05-01T07:14:00.000-07:00

There's a lovely and brilliant article on drawing over on the New York Times website about drawing. Apparently what I caught is only the last one in the series, but in it is this quote:

There’s a theory about writing that applies — that, when you reach a serious sticking point, the key to moving on successfully is to throw out the element that you had been hanging on to because it is your favorite thing.

I had heard variations of this all through grad school, and so have developed a method to deal with this: whatever I had to cut, I carefully pasted over into a new document titled "Cut Stuff," and then saved it. Silly, but it worked. But aside from how to deal witht the loss of "your favorite thing," this article reminded me of the value of sticking with something until it evolves. In this day of blogging, of throwing writing up on the wall of the internet to see if it sticks, I'm not sure this process of polishing and of looking critically at the elements of how a piece is constituted--whether it be drawing, writing, creating--factors into our process anymore.

I certainly see it in my students. They are required to turn in a preliminary rough draft of their research paper, then after conference, go home and revise it. Most make minimal changes, such as a comma or a short phrase, or correcting a comma splice, never digging at what lies below the surface. I worry that I have become like that some days. Perhaps unlike James McMullan, who wrote the article and who went through multiple iterations to get at his finished painting, most of us don't labor to get at the brilliance that is certainly buried there, only waiting to be revealed and polished up.

Summer Plans

2011-04-29T09:44:00.000-07:00

Continuing with my theme of "cabin fever," school-wise, I found this great photo on one of the multiple blogs I read. I can't remember the last time I made a summer list, with any hope of finishing any of it. As I've gotten older, I find the concept of "self-editing" at times to be a crippling attitude. Why put it on a list, my older self seems to say, if you know it won't get done/get finished or even be started? The energy level starts out at about 70% of what my thirty-year old self used to have (maybe 50%?) and goes downhill from there, so that by the end of the day, I'm reduced to clicking my way through the web and drooling as I read about other people's productivity.

But the sign above doesn't just speak to productivity--it's about experience. I love the entries "learn some Spanish" and "back-yard movie night." (I have to assume also that "make paella" is more the child's mother, than the child.) So, in this spirit of experience (and well, some productivity), here's my first run at a Summer: The Extended List.

Quilt
Drive through a small town
Get a tan on my legs
Make a berry shortcake
Travel to family reunion
Read
Beach!

It's a start. Now to find some poster paint and a cute child to hold it up.

Need an Atta' Boy?

2011-04-27T09:44:00.000-07:00

At this point in the semester--which, by the way, seems like it will go on FOREVER--I'm sending you an atta'boy to remind you all that we are all above average. That's just my .02 worth. Now, back to the grading.

Thinking on Their Own

2011-04-18T14:03:00.000-07:00

It's about this time of the semester that I start to push the students out of the nest. I figure I've taught them lots and lots and lots of things, but now it's time for them to start using their tools. These thoughts were prompted by this email:

I have a quick question, for .edu and .org, do these count against the one free web you told us about? You might have told us during class, but i have forgotten.

My response:
It depends on the source. You have the tools to evaluate your sources, so I know you can figure out what is a reputable, scholarly source. I've seen good sources on both of the those domains, as well as poor sources.

I then advised the student to bring the sources in question to their research paper conference, where we could talk it out. I know that for myself, when learning a new task, it's not until I put the skills into play that the knowledge is added to the mix. I remember my friend Rosalyn, a kindergarten teacher saying that after the winter break, she never ties a pupil's shoes for them.

We only have about 8 days of class left in our semester. Time to let them tie their own shoes, time to prepare them to leave the nest.

A Student's Worst Nightmare

2011-04-14T06:25:00.000-07:00

To go along with yesterday's post. . .

(Click to enlarge.)

Make-Up Tests or Quizzes

2011-04-13T15:50:00.000-07:00

Here are two emails I received yesterday after class:

This is A. from your English 101 class. I am sick and will not be in class today. I know the MLA test is today, and I was wondering if I would be able to make it up? Please let me know. See you in class on Thursday! Thank you for your time.

--and--
Prof. E.
I woke up today with the flu or something and I can't even get out of bed. I was wondering if I don't go to class today, if there is anyway I could still make up the test.
-B.

Other than the fact that the second one was sent to my department chair, instead of me, both of these emails look fine on the surface: requesting a make-up exam for one they planned to miss. Except that my syllabus clearly states there are no make-up exams. After doing some math, I figured this test was worth about 2% of their grade, if that. Was it worth all the hassle?

Out of curiosity, I did a quick Google search on Make-Up Exam Policy. The response varies but I did like what the University of Indianapolis states: Make-up exams are a courtesy that is extended to students by their instructors. An instructor is never obligated to provide a make-up exam for any student. In addition, a recent column in the Chronicle of Higher Education, Negotiating the Demands of Students' Lives, had this to say:

At most colleges, individual faculty members are forced to negotiate the demands of students’ lives in their classes as the semester plays out. You provide extensions, you let students take exams early, you give make-up assignments, you decide to excuse absences. Individual faculty bear the burden of making semester-long classes fit a student’s life, and some are better at doing that than others.

It helped to realize that what I was thinking about doing, was "making classes fit a student's life," so I decided in this case to try and accommodate their requests. This required a series of emails to the person who proctors exams for the Writing Center, setting up the cover letter, me sending him the two-part exams, trying to find a time. Then I had to email back to the students the arrangements, cautioning them that their deadline was Thursday by class time, when I had planned to hand back the tests.

That only took an extra hour. What was interesting was when I emailed the students to let them know about accommodating their request, there was no response from either of the students; not even a thank-you. Whenever I deviate from my syllabus, I always feel like a 90-pound weakling who just had sand kicked in her face. So, from now on--no make-up exams.

Grading

2011-04-07T08:57:00.000-07:00

I am a frequent reader of Teaching College English. Recently she posted an historical overview of tips that teachers have given to get around the odious task of grading. (This caused me to think of some things I've tried to do to help with this task, rather than sinking to GA--Grading Avoidance.)

I am trying to get the grading down to a more minimal level as well. While I am more streamlined that my earlier self, I still wish I could be quicker. Here's what I do now:

Minimal Marking: At the beginning of the semester I pass out a sheet with my grading symbols and codes. Some of them are standard editing symbols and some are my inventions. In the margins of their 1st essay, they get an X with the code beside it, and I either underline or circle the error. Essay #2, no circling or underlining, but still the X's and codes. Essay #3, gets them an X in the margin only, with an occasional code.
Error Log: After each essay the student is required to make a list of their errors, and where in the handbook they can find the answers for fixing them. They have to compile all the essays onto one sheet; hopefully they'll see their progression and "own their errors."
Rubric: I make a rubric, adjusting it slightly for each essay. This keeps me honest and helps the student know that while I did mark off for POV switches, they overall only lost 3 points (thereby helping with the whining). The bulk of the grading is not in the "mechanical section" but in structure and content, and the rubric keeps me focused.

Problems with marking a lot are, a) it takes too much time, b) it's usually a waste of our time, and c) it's discouraging to the student to see their paper filled with our ink. On some of the more recent essays, I heavily marked and coded the first page and a half of student's essays that contained multiple errors. I then drew a line across with my ruler and wrote that while the errors persisted, I would not be marking them. However, the student was under obligation to locate and fix the errors if they were to do a re-write.

I have to say that the rest of the essay was far less tedious to grade, and I could focus on the more significant problems of structure and cohesiveness, content and support.

Final Thoughts on Slicing

2011-03-31T22:55:00.000-07:00

Ruth asked us to reflect on this month of slicing.

First off is the commenting. Given the increase in our numbers, I no longer could post on everyone's site like I have liked to do in past years. Today/tonight I have been reading and posting for close to 5 hours, and every time I refresh TWT's site, there are two more blogs to visit. I'm determined to do everyone at least once: I apologize to those whose blogs I couldn't comment on because their spam-getter-thing didn't like my spelling somehow.

Like any teacher worth their salt, I like the give and take of this brilliant little community of slicers that Ruth and Stacey dreamed up. You know--you see all the students on that first day of the year or semester and you are so pleased with each other and so eager to share and to invest in. But the real relationships begin when that first assignment is handed out--and then handed back. The conversation begins. The give and take, the ups and downs and the hard roads to climb all start there. Ours began on March 1st and for some of us the conversation continues.

I've got a new Facebook friend, another Slicer is coming west and we plan to meet up. A Slicer in Canada read my travel blog when I was on a trip to her country and I loved that our relationship continued (and that she liked my assessment of the food in Canada). Tracey's sheer determination to write every day both shames me and inspires me. I love looking in on different people because their lives fascinate me (Bonnie, with her travels is living my alternate life, I'm convinced). And I've come to enjoy reading Wanda from Maine's blog. As grandmothers, we seem to think just alike on so many things.

But most of all I love returning to see some of my old Slicing Friends every March--to catch up on the Quidditch competition or see how life is faring Down Under. I've missed Stacey this year, but look forward to next year when she rejoins that community that she and Ruth began.

Thanks, guys. You're the best. Happy Slicing!

P.S. You can visit me at my regular blog if you like. I sometimes forget to keep posting here.

P.P.S. I visited EVERYONE's blog in the last 24 hours just so I could say that I did. That's over 70 blogs, 70 comments. What a way to end this thing!

What Binds Us

2011-03-31T16:40:00.000-07:00

For my last slice, I thought I'd offer a poem I've been working on.

Stitches

When I think about quilts I see

Patches flying free, held fast

By lines of even stitches;

Patterns, colors,

Mathematical designs finding order

In radiant angles and languid curves.

Cut the cloth into parts, like the tumbling glass

Of a kaleidescope, glinting broken dishes

Or the strokes of time: ascending with the constant task,

And my everpresent anonymity in the washing, folding,

Chasing dirt, wiping tears, turning taunts to reason.

Ancient kneading of bread replaced with endless driving,

Idle sojourns on sun-splashed fields, musical drills,

Homework. Morning repeats, and sun up

'Til sun down, what holds the heart

In the re-doing?

Stitches.

Purposeful lines holding

These patched-together pieces
Of our lives.

********************

My mother, when talking about our family, always quoted that famous saying about what binds us together is stronger that what pulls us apart. And what binds our little community of slicers? A love of words, enthusiasm, a limited and an achievable task, fearless leaders, and a sense that what we are doing--and daily re-doing--has in many ways, contributed to each of our lives this past month. Thanks for all your comments; I'll see you now and again on TWT and for sure, next year!

Click to return to the Ultimate Day of Slicing: SOLSC--Day 31.
P.S. You can visit me at my regular blog. I sometimes forget to keep posting here.

happy happy happy gone gone gone

2011-03-30T01:46:00.000-07:00

happy happy happy Mr. Plagiarizer dropped and is gone gone gone

That's the big news. It was not before I spent close to 2 hours putting together copies, and writing the letter to the VP of Student Services, but at least it was before I had to grade his (potentially plagiarized) research paper in three weeks. He pulled another 43%-er out to sea with him (they always walked together), and she dropped too. I talked with the third 43%-er today, and he thinks he'll drop because quite frankly he doesn't really care if he can write because he just wants to pass my class (I kid you not. He said that.)

The last 43%-er started crying when she looked at the score of her latest essay (not an illustrious showing, shall we just say. I stopped grading her errors on page two after the count hit 26). She waited for me outside the classroom, and we talked about her paper. She became angry, accusing me of stupid requirements that "no other teacher on this campus" would require her to do. Some of these (there were a few) were:

writing in a consistent point of view (POV) I don't allow them to use "you" in their papers--call me old school but I think formal composition is a good skill to have tucked away
requiring a thesis (which she kept referring to as a topic sentence)
insisting on structure in the paper.

She's a dynamo in front of the class--always poised and able to speak clearly and keep the class' attention. I don't like to make the students cry. I certainly don't grade their essays thinking "I wonder if I can make them cry."

The final shot was she pointed to her paper and said, "I could turn this paper in anywhere else on campus and get an A, but you? you?" She sputtered. "If it weren't for you, I'd have an A in this class right now!"

There were a few other things said, and I felt bad for her. Bad that her meager effort was not getting her what she wanted. Felt bad that her 9th grade skills were not enough to help her pass a college-level English class. Felt bad that a young woman who had missed roughly a third of the class sessions and was nearly 15 minutes late every day thought that just wanting it would get it done.

I can't help a lot of things. Her grades stand. I'll be in that classroom again on Thursday minus two and maybe four students. I'll show them MLA and thesis construction for argument and formal POV and topic sentences and insist on proper spelling and punctuation and sentence construction.

Just like the rest of you.

Click to return to SOLSC--Day 30:

The Penultimate!!

Grading Avoidance

2011-03-29T01:18:00.000-07:00

We start the Research Paper grind tomorrow, when their first assignment comes in. For one of the examples, I suggested the topic of street art--graffiti gone upscale, which led me to explore lots of different art by Banksy. It's a nice controversial subject, and one of his renditions is shown above, the gleaner taking a break.

I sat down at the desk today, and except for a short break for lunch and quick errand, I graded. And graded. And graded. Pizza for dinner. Back to grading. Finally at 8 p.m. I finished the last paper--a rousing 38%--and said (like the gleaner above), I need a break! So I stitched on my flower quilt and watched another couple of episodes of Doc Martin (BBC-TV) downstairs with my husband.

Grading Avoidance (GA) is an art, and each of us has to find our own way in this world of teacher-generated procrastination. Since most of my grading is done at home, my list will have that particular flavor. Here are some of mine:
Facebook
Call Judy (friend and teacher colleague)
Call Dave (husband)
Make sure the fridge is working by checking its contents.
Call Mom.
Call Barbara, my daughter.
Tweeze eyebrows.
Get some of the pretzel-type snacks from the back of the cupboard.
Sync the iPhone.
Download an audio book for later.
Facebook to see if anyone commented on my update.
Read the paper standing up at the kitchen counter.
See if Judy sent me any mail.
Answer it.
See if the Slicers have written any comments.
Read them.
Write on their blogs.
Think about what I might write for the next day.
Lunch.
Check to see if mail has come.
Check to see if there are any more comments.
Shuffle the papers.
Update the grades.
Pick out the staple holding the essay together.
Work up the gradesheet for the essay.
Eat a cookie.
Decide what we're having for dinner.
Bring in the trashcans.
Print out the rubric.
Sigh, and realize that it's no good to wait any longer. . .
Grade.

Click to return to SOLSC--Day 29.

Spring Wildflowers

2011-03-28T01:24:00.000-07:00

Today was filled with spring wildflowers--first found by my husband in the hills around us.

And secondly by me, pinning the final flowers on the quilt I've been working on since last fall. It's been a long slog, with moments of joy and moments of When Will I Ever Finish--kind of reminds me of teaching. I began quilting when I was twenty and pregnant with my first child. I wanted something that would stay done--as laundry, toilets, and dishes never did stay clean or done. I still have my first quilt--it's laughable--but I like having it around to show my progression as a quilter. I hand-stitched around a yellow Holly Hobbie print, and not knowing what to do with the knots, I left them on top. I've improved since then, coming to learn applique when I lived back in Washington DC as all the quilters there know how to do handwork, brining little baskets or bags of their handwork to meetings. So I learned.

Spring Break's over. Back to serious grading, the research paper, dealing with Mr. Plagiarism. But the flowers will await me in my brief moments of free time.

Click to return to SOLSC--Day 28.

Three more days to go until March Madness is finished for another year.

Sturm Und Drang

2011-03-27T09:15:00.000-07:00

Lest you think my life is all Sturm und Drang (loosely translated as Storm and Stress), I present some photos taken in a little slice of a day I had on Thursday. My husband and I ducked out of our responsibilities and went to Los Angeles. First up: the Urban Lights outdoor sculpture at the LA County Museum of Art. This is an assemblage of vintage streetlights, tightly arrayed in a square.

We had fun ducking in between, photographing all the different varieties--it was like a streetlight forest. I want to go back when it's night, to see them all lit up.

Next we went up to the Griffith Observatory on Mt. Hollywood, right near the Hollywood sign. It's so weird being near all these famous landmarks which we so rarely see. Then a visit to Galco's Soda Shop (over 200 varieties) and our "soda cellar" is all filled up with strange and wonderful kinds of sasparillas, creme sodas, root beers and spicy ginger ales. Lastly we stopped for Chinese dumplings: the juicy pork and crab bundles were brought to our table all steamy hot. Perfect ending for a day that started sunny and turned rainy.

Lastly, I've finally started on those papers that have been waiting all Spring Break. Yep. Mr. Plagiarizer lived up to his moniker--nearly his entire paper lifted from a website. It took me the better part of 2 hours to prepare all the copies and write the letter to send on to the VP of Academic Affairs for when I return. Incredible to think that I warned him on his rough draft and he still turned in a fully plagiarized paper. Sigh.

Back to the Sturm und Drang.
(from Elizabeth, who did not plagiarize any of this post)

Click to return to SOLSC--Day 27.

Blank Brain

2011-03-26T10:05:00.000-07:00

It's not necessarily that the brain is blank, but maybe that it's too full?

I've got a bit of a saga. It revolves around, and involves my daughter who was diagnosed with peri-partum cardiomyopathy last year, for those long-time readers. Barbara, with her husband and family, have been on a long sojourn through their own personal wasteland for the last year. They were living in a mountain town in Arizona where he was finishing up his undergraduate education. He came late to the idea that he should be anything other than a partner in his father's house stucco business, but when he did awake to other possibilities, the first choice was to be a doctor. The first round of applications yielded no spots in med school. He got a part-time position with a dentist in town, and they stayed there for another year, living month-to-month, on faith and prayers and this-and-that.

But the landlord wanted them out, so they left there in May, pulling their oldest daughter out of school two weeks before she was to be Cinderella in the school play, and moved in with his parents two hours away in a small Route-66-type town, with a diner, a KMart and a Home Depot (but not much else). Dental school was the new goal, and he placed well on his tests. Within a few weeks, they found a small home to rent, and they landed a couple of options for dental school. He accepted the one in Phoenix.

Trying to get out of their year-long lease of their rental, they offered complete flexibility as to the end date. Unfortunately, it came too soon, so the end of February we drove up to help them pack up and move out. But to where? They'd placed an offer on a house, because to rent was $1100 dollars/month and to buy was $550. With the limited financial assistance they'd have in dental school, buying made more sense. His parents helped, we helped. The offer was accepted, the bank sat on processing the loan. So, they put all their household goods in storage, and moved in with my son, his wife and their four children. More nudging (in the only terms a bank can understand: more money) and soon they--we--had nearly everything in place.

She came here for a week, and why you get this long tale is that every junction in this lengthy tale of displacement involves multiple phone calls, minutes and hours on the phone, trying to help. For that is the lot of a parent of grown children: you can't effect any changes in your child's life, but can only be a support, a sounding board, be that someone on the other end of the line who will listen when their loan papers are stuck, when they feel like they're intruding, when they pack all the kids in the car and go rent a hotel room with money they hardly have, just to try to squeak out and find the tiniest piece of place, of peace.

But today? Today the papers are signed, the loan has funded, the rental truck is at the storehouse loading up their earthly goods to move to their little house and they are on their own, blessedly, again. This part of the saga--like the wandering around in the desert like the children of Israel, like the pioneers coming West, like Job, like so many trials in our lives that seem to go on forever and ever while we're in them, but seem like an uncalled-for time for growth and an unpleasant interlude ever afterwards--is over.

So my mind is too full to write. Too full of thanks and relief and happiness and papers to grade, and do the things left undone while I listened and anguished and rejoiced with one of my little families.

May all your sagas come to a fruitful end as well.

Click to return to SOLSC--Day 26.

Bananas

2011-03-24T01:52:00.000-07:00

How do bananas make me feel so. . . guilty?

These particular four bananas had been going darker and darker and softer and softer until they started to kind of get sticky underneath. I should just throw them out, I thought. Into the trash. Off the counter. But I have a hard time throwing away bananas because I know they turn into fabulous banana bread. And what a shame it would be not have that for breakfast tomorrow.

So the bananas sat another day. And another. And I certainly wasn't going to do anything with them on my sad, bad day. But today was better. The sun was out. It is my husband's "speed limit" birthday (55). I was going to bake a cake and it would take no time at all to mix up a batch of banana bread to slide into the oven when the cake came out.

But I do have to confess that I can throw out nearly everything else. Moldy yogurt. Gone. Leftovers from the back of the fridge. Gone. Stale bread from the cupboard. History. But bananas. . . what can I say?

Click on the banana yellow sign to return to SOLSC--Day 24.

And P.S. Thanks for all your kind comments yesterday. You're the best.

Partly Cloudy, Partly Sunny

2011-03-23T01:40:00.000-07:00

Well, as I read all your blogs, you all seem to be having a marvelous time. You are teaching, forging new links and relationships, making new discoveries, writing writing writing on a seemingly superhuman plain. I, on the other hand, felt very mortal yesterday. In fact the day began in tears. The storm had been gathering for a couple of days, dark clouds rolling in, then clearing, then rolling in again. I didn't know if it was going to rain inside me or if it would all pass over. Winter blahs? Maybe. Downtime from a busy visit from my daughter? Perhaps. Dysthymia? Possibly. But whatever it was, the tears persisted into mid-morning, when I finally shook them off doing the mundane: ordering a cake at Costco for my husband's office party. Back into routine, the bluesy feeling left, and the emotional skies cleared.

My husband called and asked me out to dinner, knowing my day was on a roller coaster. We took the really long way down to the restaurant, finding some new vistas on a road we rarely travel on. The sunset, shining through the clouds, was beautiful, so we stopped and snapped some photos with our phones.

The reality of my life is this: my career will exist in a tiny community college, one classroom at a time. I'll never grace the cover of Vogue. I'll probably never find the answer for the world's troubles. I won't solve the problem of cancer. And when I compare myself to others, or expect the same production level that I had when I was younger and more filled with hope and idealism, or try to accomplish what only a staff of six could do in one of those fancy shelter magazines, I will probably have a stormy day. I can, however, when I work my way back into my routine, find peace within--one moment at a time.

One quiet sunset at a time.

Click to return to SOLSC--Day 23.

TED

2011-03-22T20:43:00.000-07:00

I don't know I how I discovered TED talks. TED, which stands for Technology, Entertainment and Design, is about spreading ideas. I listened today to Hans Gosling talk about the first time his mother
used a washing machine "even grandma was invited to see the machine"--which he then parlayed into the idea of those who have versus those who have not.

I had my class watch Jill Bolte Taylor's talk (the talks range from 20 minutes to 4 minutes) about the morning she--a brain researcher--had a stroke. We then used this as an exercise to talk about the idea of summary--and how would they summarize in four points what she said to the audience?

David Brooks, a columnist for the New York Times, talked recently about the idea of emotional connections, saying that we as a nation have failed in our attempts to solve the problems of education, because current policy ignores that the fact that we learn from those that we love, and until we examine the relationship that teachers have with their students, we are bound to fail.

These are little brain teasers--tiny talks that open up my mind to something new and fascinating and ingenious, explaining a little part of my universe just a little bit better. I love TED talks and plan to use the washing machine talk to teach this current crop of students about the idea of a precis--of distilling what someone says down into a little slice of life. Like what we do every day on March.

Click to return to SOLSC--Day 22.

That's How I'm Operating

2011-03-21T01:09:00.000-07:00

My nephew's wife, Jamie (is she a niece-in-law?), has started a new blog, Found While Walking, and I like to look at because it brings new ideas, new connections and a different kind of art into my life. Jamie is an artist--a modern artist who works with fiber and found things in a new way. She's a tonic for me, who has been geared to the idea of production:

Produce, or you fail.

The product is the thing.

Publish or perish.

All of these thoughts ricochet around in my head most of the time, the little Writing Gremlin sitting on my shoulder torturing me at all times. So going to her blog is like sitting on the top of a hill overlooking a city, taking in the vista, breathing in the air, letting the mind drain clear of all its detritus, and allowing it to fill again with a different flavor of thinking.

Here's a sample of one of her posts:

Last night my husband was telling me about this painter Thomas Nozkowski he found.

He was right to think it would be right up my alley.

Thomas Nozkowski

I was so tired but I sat quite long zoning out on the computer looking at his work and reading. My mind is a swamp with everything that's been going on.

I've got nothing insightful or clear to say -

But I like looking at these two artists and pairing their works together.

Kathryn Clark

It feels simple and that's how I'm operating.

Just looking.

Thanks, Jamie.

Click to return to SOLSC--Day 21.

Partly Windy

2011-03-20T19:51:00.000-07:00

We've been expecting the rain here all day, but other than a few sprinkles it's only been that feeling of "something's coming." One woman in church suggested it was negative ions in the air, that feeling we call anticipation of a storm. I think it could be that--or anything--as we Southern Californians generally have pretty boring weather: mild in winter with an occasional rain, and hot and mildly humid in summer, for weeks and weeks and weeks. Thunderstorms? Could count them on one hand. Snow? Only once, and it was a trace amount.

So when my son moved back to Washington DC at the beginning of February, the day after they arrived it started to snow late in the evening. Midnight found those two Californians in the parking lot of their new apartment, playing like little kids in the snow. I'll only see extreme weather when I head to wintery places, so for now--the wind, the anticipation of a good cloudburst--the moving of the palm fronds in the wind looking like a teenager flipping their bangs out their eyes--is good enough for me.

Click to return to SOLSC--Day 20.

P.S. The rain has arrived--buckets and buckets pouring out on my roof in huge splatters of noise. Terrific!

Spring Break

2011-03-19T01:29:00.000-07:00

A little treat from the bookseller this afternoon bringing some reading for my Spring Break. A slim slice today--much to do. I call it "erasing the company." It's when I wash towels, change sheets and clean up, restoring our life back to itself, in all its mundane boring glory as our company leaves and leaves us a quieter house.

I was once in my daughter's place, visiting my mother with my whirling chaotic life of children, and mess and crying and giggling and water play and ice cream cones dropped on patios and trips to the park and corn dogs on a stick. I'm sure she took time to erase the company, but maybe also did what I do now--leave some fingerprints on the glass door for a bit of a longer reminder of small wee hands.

Life is slower now--I'm slower--and I don't have the busyness of that earlier time. The children are raised, they visit, then leave. My life is quieter, filled with books and too little time to read them, filled with hope and dreams yet wondering if I'm too late. It's a leveling time, a thoughtful and creative time. It's a different season--and I'm living it as best I can.

Click to return to SOLSC--Day 19.
P.S. My books are below.

Ping-Pong with Mr. Plagiarizer

2011-03-18T01:48:00.000-07:00

It was like a game of ping-pong, the conversational ball moving back and forth.

No, it was more like a game of handball, the conversation ricochetting off solid high walls, the sounds thwapping in my ears.

No, I think it was like cat and mouse, he pouncing on my careful words.

This game of teacher/student is never easy, especially when the student is a smarty-pants who thinks all the rules apply to everyone but him and he seems to have forgotten that I hold all the cards. I tried to counsel him, gingerly, to drop the class, but he's adamant he wants to finish, and he's just doing the best he can.

My father always says the university is bigger than any one student. I keep that mantra tucked right in front of my teacher brain just for situations when I'm tempted to throw over all the carefully written rules in my syllabus and cave under the pressure of the sassy twenty-nine year old, heavily tattooed male with a baseball cap on his head which is two sizes too big, and who is standing before me, asserting that he has it rough because he's only late because he has to do his air conditioner calls before he comes to class--got to keep those customers happy because he has to pay the mortgage--wouldn't you say that's important? And wouldn't you, Ms. Teacher realize that I'm doing the best I can? That I have ADHD? That I had a hard life? That it's just me and my Dad trying to keep our business afloat in these hard times? That I didn't know the rough draft was supposed to be turned in with the final essay? I couldn't know that because I lost the assignment sheet? And I can't print out the new one because I only have the computer there in the air conditioning shop? That you should cut me some slack because I'm just doing the best I can?

That makes two of us, Mr. Plagiarizer. Have nice Spring Break.

P.S. I was pretty discouraged at the end of the day today, after our "conversation" at the end of class. Then I logged on and saw all your nice comments, encouraging me to carry on, to not give up. I really appreciate you all. Thanks so much.

Click to return to SOLSC--Day 18.

Plagiarism

2011-03-17T04:00:00.000-07:00

I caught Mr. Plagiarizer on the rough draft of his second paper. I prepared a copy to send to the Vice President of Academic Affairs, if and when Mr. Plagiarism turned in the final draft. He never did. The zero he received on the assignment was the same score as if he'd plagiarized. Not knowing what to do, I filed the rough draft away and did not send it up.

Tuesday was our peer edit, where rough drafts for the third paper were due. He did not bring me a copy (as is required) so as he and his partner worked by my desk, I asked to see his paper in a lull in the editing action. I glanced at a phrase, quickly typed it in on the internet, sandwiched between quotes. He did it again. There was a one-to-one correspondence between his paper and the article on the website.

After most of the class had thinned out and gone for the day, I said I needed to speak to him.

Me: "Something extraordinary has happened."
Him: "What?"
Me: "Someone has stolen your paper and posted it up on the internet, word for word."
(Long pause.)
Him: "Not word for word."

The interesting thing about this experience was that his peer reviewer waited outside until he saw Mr. Plagiarizer leave, then came in to see me. This student wanted me to know that he knew that the paper he'd seen in peer review was fake.

In a day, one student lived up to my worst expectations. And another student soared to my highest.

Click to return to SOLSC--Day 17.

Happy St. Patrick's Day. In honor of this, I'm using one of their green logos!

Halfway Through

2011-03-16T17:52:00.000-07:00

I decided to fill up on your posts today, sampling and reading and commenting in between the chaos that is our home now, with my daughter and her three kids visiting. I could really relate to those who talked about looking for the slice each day, and esp. Ruth's post about Just Enough. Wanda talked about showing her class her writing, teaching them that teachers write, too. Kevin's Parts of Speech post made me eternally grateful to his diligence. I know his students won't languish in college remedial classes. Deb wrote about snakes (brave woman), Elsie about a cedar sapling volunteer who got yanked, and Bonnie's post about popcorn, grandchildren and digital games was an echo to what I'm living here. And I've many more to sample, but dinner prep calls, and I should probably clean up a bit before my husband arrives. Thank you to you all for your writing!

Two tiny slices:
I couldn't find my car keys (if you saw my house, scattered from here to there with little toys, you'd know why) so I grabbed my husband's. Riley, the four-year-old asked me, as I headed out the door: "Are you late, Grandma?" "Yes!" I said vigorously. He paused. "Are you SO late?" I laughed and said no. I guess there are degrees of lateness in their house.

That night Keagan, the eight-year-old, looked at my quilt in progress, smoothed up on my pin wall.
"Oh, Grandma," she said. "I think that's your best quilt ever!"

Click to return to SOLSC--Day 16.

Tornado

2011-03-15T01:21:00.000-07:00

Not really a real tornado.
It just feels like it. I had four children, and lived in the middle of cyclone for years and years, and only now recognize--when the grandchildren come home--what that experience really was like. Of course, I'm much older, and can't go as long or as fast as I used to be able to.

But the whirling of small bodies and "Grandma?" and spills and giggles and watching them skip around Costco just for the sheer joy of it all makes me laugh, makes me more animated and I work hard to keep up with them, and to keep my patience at all times. And while my house may be tilting slightly, like the one on the left, and there's more cracker crumbs littering the table and floor, the energy in these children is infectious, although tiring. Yep--dualities abound.

Lovely, sweet & smiling dualities.

Click to return to SOLSC--Day 15.

P.S. I bought them all Easter outfits today. Maybe we'll get some photos up here at some point.

It's Monday again, folks.

2011-03-14T01:21:00.000-07:00

It's Monday again, folks, and I start again with the week. I teach twice a week at a community college which is 30 minutes from door to door, and if the parking lot Gods are smiling on me. Once a week, I have office hours, where I sit and grade papers. I don't have an office, but instead seem to be able to find a place in our new library where students could find me if they wanted to.

Twice a week, I pack a lunch and drive to a classroom so I can stand and teach while trying to cajole and encourage my students to engage.

Twice a week, I give myself an internal grade: A+(never). B? F? Occasionally and that's when I come home and wonder what the heck I'm doing in a place where the reading isn't done, where students flunk quizzes, where the news if filled with people saying I make too much (such a funny line) and how my classroom of two hours a day, twice a week should cure all of society's ills.

Twice a week, I meet brilliant students who impress the socks off of me with their erudite comments.

Twice a week, I meet a bunch of idiots who cause me to long for deep, dark, almond-studded chocolate on the way home.

Twice a week I reinvent myself, working always to deliver the best of me to (hopefully) the best of them.

Happy Monday, folks.

Click to return to SOLSC--Day 14.

A Day of Rest

2011-03-13T22:08:00.000-07:00

I took the day off today, this day of rest, and went to church. Then I came home and we grilled salmon and ate it with a tossed salad, Israeli couscous (with pistchios and sultanas). I made cookies--my husband's favorite of chocolate chip. I sat down and started to stitch on the applique for the quilt, and just now am getting up, having nearly finished the long border. Oh yes, we had snacks in there, a friend visited us, we watched two episodes of Doc Martin. After my husband went upstairs to putter around, I watched Julie/Julia, or is it Julia/Julie?

A day of rest. I'd better take it because tomorrow around noon my daughter and her three children arrive. This is the daughter I blogged about all last year. The baby is now two-plus and the oldest is eight-plus. Riley, a boy, clocks in at four years old.

No rest for a while!

Click to return to SOLSC--day 13.

Sometimes

2011-03-12T01:38:00.000-08:00

Sometimes when the news is so bad, like today's sorrows from Japan, all I can do is walk and think and be sad.

I came out of a building in downtown Lima when I was 13 years old, the ground shaking. My friend gripped my arm, her face white, and we watched as all around us the buildings swayed, the glass cracking and tumbling down. "Let go, let go," I pled. "I've got to run." But she held on and in our terror we lasted out the nearly minute-long 8.1 earthquake. While there weren't many lives lost to the quake, it triggered huge mudslides in the mountains that wiped out entire towns. After that experience-- my first earthquake ever--whenever we'd feel an aftershock, no matter where we were in our house in Miraflores, we'd tear downstairs, fling open the door and stand--all of us--in the doorway, waiting out the temblors.

I live in California, and occasionally I'll feel an earthquake--a shake, a crackling of the wood beams in the walls of my house, a sudden unsettling of the floor. I go very still and I wait, poised to run down my stairs and stand in the open doorway. My house is a frame house and we are perched on granite, so my rational mind knows I'm in good shape. But when you feel the vibrations, no matter where you are, you go very still while your mind races on and on. When I moved to Wisconsin, people kind of thought I was funny to have lived in California with all its earthquakes, but after a particularly bad tornado season--and after spending a lot of time in my basement--I wondered which disaster is worse: the one you anticipate or the one that travels through the earth unbidden and unannounced.

A disaster is a disaster, no matter what form it takes. I watched the news all day long; my thoughts and prayers and hopes and courage go to those suffering at this time from the earthquake and tsunami devastation, far far away.

Click to return to SOLSC--Day 12.

Poets and Writers

2011-03-11T01:26:00.000-08:00

I started subscribing to Poets and Writers I think when I was an undergraduate. I really have no idea--maybe I read it in the library? Or maybe someone connected to my dreams suggested it? I think somewhere I have this issue with Anne Lamott's face on it, but I know I have the issue with an excerpt from Harriet Doerr's book Stones for Ibarra. I remember being excited not only by the beautiful writing, but also the fact that she was nearly 70 when her first book was published.

This newest issue--this month's--is the first one I've read in more than three years. Five years? Sometime after grad school. The magazines would come every month, and I would write the yearly check for renewal and send it off. It was like my one tenuous connection to the Writing Life with a capital W, capital L. If I stopped subscribing it would mean giving up on that idea, that dream. So they came, piling up. Sometimes I'd look at the cover and think: I really need to stop this nonsense--or, on better days--I really need to read about this--or--I should write something. Yeah. I'll write something. Then the lesson plan would be due, or a child's child would be due or bills would be due and I'd let myself be distracted.

The first article in this month's issue caught my eye, about the reverence with which we hold writers' houses. Mark Twain's home. Emily Dickinson's home. I remember touring Beatrix Potter's home with my mother and father when I went with them to England. The article, with quotes from A. N. Devers who runs the Web site Writershouses.com, gives us insight as to our fixation with these places, and it also sheds light on the writing task:

" 'Writers often do a complicated dance around sitting down and writing, ' says Devers about why she started the project. 'We are obsessed with other writers' processes and behaviors--with a writer's space: The room, the desk, the tools are all a part of the equation. Seeing the place where a successful author created her work can be encouraging and grounding. The writer's space is proof it can be done.' "

So is this March Madness of Slicing. Carry on!

Click to return to SOLSC--Day 11.

Lit-Crit

2011-03-10T07:31:00.000-08:00

Over on English Companion, they are tackling a new book, Doing Literary Criticism. I read through the posts and comments, but LitCrit brings up horrid memories of a class in grad school, where I felt I had entered an alien world in one my of English classes: language was jargon-laden, surreal, strange and instead of discussing the texts listed on the syllabus, on that first session of class, the students all had reams of staple articles in front of them to which they referred. I fled that session and retreated to the Comparative Literature classes, where they spoke a familiar language of the text, rather than criticism.

I just received my new class assignment for Fall: Intro to Literature. I'm thrilled as it's so nice to be teaching in what I earned my degree in (of sorts--still not Creative Writing, but I'll take it). I did introduce some LitCrit last time I taught this, but I don't think I did it very well. I did it in that teachery way we sometimes have of lobbing ideas out over the students' heads. Notice the key word, "over."

This morning I thought I should look into the book; it's published by Stenhouse--and we have a code for free shipping this month, courtesy of TWT! Maybe I'll find a way to teach this without inflicting the same horror on my students as what I experienced.

Click to return to SOLSC--Day 10.

Sushi Therapy

2011-03-09T01:45:00.000-08:00

We show up at the same place--about 10 minutes from where we both teach. We always order the Japanese burrito, then choose two other rolls to go with that. Judy and I are having Sushi Therapy, an important brain-clearing, soul-cheering and an altogether happy event.

We discuss events at our school, the national educational news, our children, our grandchildren, our husbands, silly things, important things, whatever-pops-into-our-head things all the while eating away at our platter of sushi.

Today was sushi therapy. A happy slice of my life.

Click to return to SOLSC--Day 9.

Downton Abbey

2011-03-08T21:42:00.000-08:00

I sat and stitched a long time last night and this morning, working on the applique for my quilt, being pulled into a world where the ladies and gentlemen of Downton Abbey reside. I missed the series when it first aired in January, but have had time this weekend to watch it in its entirety--all seven episodes. My head is filled with garden parties, lost love affairs, wrenching choices but most of all, a world where the aristocracy moved with grace and class and never, ever had to lift a finger to do the dishes or the laundry.

Click here to return to SOLSC, Day 8.

A clip about the house used in Downton Abbey.

Orange-Almond Cake

2011-03-07T04:20:00.000-08:00

So this, cake, this orange-almond cake took some time--but as time goes, she's a winner in so many ways: slightly crunchy orange-infused one-layer cake topped with what could be called orange jam--but is really just orange juice boiled down to within an inch of its life rendering it gooey and sweet and perfect for sliding over the top of that cake--but it couldn't be left at that because what cake can be resisted if it has warm chocolatey ganache poured over the top of it, and that chocolate settles into a shiny rich glaze that just spills over the edges so that when I sliced into it and set a fragrant wedge on my plate, a whole cacaphony of sensory details called out to me--orange! almond! chocolate! and I took a bite--all those promises coalescing into one great big delicious grinning happy-filled mouth-satisfying experience.

One sentence, one slice of cake.
Recipe *here.*

Click to return to SOLSC Day 7.

Day of Rest

2011-03-06T18:27:00.000-08:00

So it's my go-to-meeting, go to church day--a day set aside from all my usual activities. I slid into the pew a few minutes before church started and we all smiled at one another. The meeting began. And for the families with young children in front of me, it was sort of like someone said "OK, Gentlemen. Start your engines!" and with a vroom, the children were off and running.

We have a three-hour church meeting block, with the entire congregation meeting first for 70 minutes. It's at this meeting where the parents start out with the children sitting lined up in between them on the pew, picture books out on the childrens' laps: reverence personified. The crayons and paper are tucked away in the church bag for later use, along with small snacks for the tiniest children, and any small quiet toy that might possibly entertain the children while the adult speakers spend the meeting listening to the weekly sermons.

I used to be one of those moms, Sunday bag packed with books (rotated out weekly) and crayons and little notebooks, and pictures of Jesus, and cloth books with things that snapped and laced and velcro-ed off and on, but still--by the time you got to the end of the service, and even if you did manage to keep the children quiet and somewhat focused--you felt like you'd been on a race with the closing hymn and closing prayer as the finish line. So I smile at these young families and think of my own children, grown and gone, somewhere in some congregation, repeating the process.

Click here to return to SOLSC--Day 6.

These Speak for Themselves

2011-03-05T10:25:00.000-08:00

Dutch fiber artist Marian Bijlenga's work is ethereal, spectral and fascinating.

Instead of words today, pictures.

This is what I'm doing today.

and

Orange-Almond Cake with Chocolate Frosting.

What's on your hit list?

Click to return to SOLSC--Day 5.

(And Happy Birthday to my little grandchild, Brooke. She's two today.)

Diamonds

2011-03-04T01:35:00.000-08:00

I just finished watching an old movie while I worked on the applique for my latest quilt. When I sew, I don't need--or want--some intense, dramatic film. I just want something in the background to keep me company. The movie I streamed down on Netflix was a Marilyn Monroe-Jane Russell film titled Diamonds are a Girl's Best Friend. I felt like I'd tumbled down a rabbit hole into some crazy world where women were expected to look a certain way, act stupid and talk in breathy phrases. Oh, wait. That was our world when I was a child, growing up.

And now what does popular culture expect women to be? While there certainly are a fair share of stars who still affect these same dated qualities, I'm happy to say that I think our daughters and granddaughters--once they break free of the princess culture--have many more choices than simply to extol jewelry as their best friend--even if it is just a Hollywood movie.

Click to return to SOLSC--Day 4.

Writing Conference

2011-03-03T09:22:00.000-08:00

As some of you know, I graduated a few years back with an MFA in Creative Writing and promptly did. . . nothing with it. I revised the novel that I'd submitted for my graduation requirements while my husband and I were on sabbatical in Washington, D.C. Any forward momentum that comes out of grad school was used to propel me through all the museums and sites of Washington. I steeped myself in that city.

Fast forward to now. My daughter-in-law, who writes nearly every day on her burgeoning collection of novels invited me to a Writer's Conference in January this year. I paid the big bucks, agreed to split the cost of the hotel room, cleared the schedule and panicked. I'd pretty much buried the existing novel and turned my back on the scattering of chapters on the second novel when I started teaching at the local community college. Being a new teacher takes so much time. . . as I needn't tell this band of professionals. But to go to this conference and confront that once shining possibility filled me with some amount of dread, as some of the more recent posts testify. (You can also see my notes from the sessions interspersed with these SOLSC posts.)

But going there was a good experience in many ways. I learned what a good education I have. I learned that it doesn't matter how old you are, you can still follow a that bright hope. By the second day, I was really allowing myself to think about writing again, and so I came home and called up a few of my fellow grad students (we all seemed to be local) and we're starting up a mini-writing group--just to see how it goes.

I might fail again at this side of writing professionally. I might. But this March Madness of writing is good for the soul, and my first chapter for my writing group is due in two weeks. Time to get writing.

Return to Slice of Life, Day 3

Too Close to the Bone

2011-03-02T21:47:00.000-08:00

One of the more difficult things for me as a writer is figuring out how to write what I know without writing about people I know. It is my biggest barrier, one that I don't know if I'll every be able to hurdle. At my age--let's just say I'm a grandmother--my relationships have become more dear, more powerful, more entangled in my life. Others, such as Carol Shields (a Pulitzer Prize winner) have thought through this as well:

I made up my mind at the beginning of my writing life not to write about my family and friends, since I want them to remain my family and friends. Others, it seems, have come to a similar conclusion. The novelist Robertson Davies was once asked why he had waited until age 60 before writing his marvelous Deptford Trilogy. There was a long pause, and then he replied, haltingly, "Well, certain people died, you see."

My father always says if you don't want to be written about, don't be friends with a writer. Then he chuckles, and those invisible handcuffs strengthen on me. He doesn't say this to prompt this reaction in me; I'm convinced he says this to steel himself against the day I may write about him. And while he's alive, I won't. And since he'll live to be a thousand years old, the chances of him being written about are slim to none.

Do we write about those around us because they are "easy" material? Just blurt it out on the page and done--a blog post? An essay? A character in a book? Or are we shaving too close to the bone, and may possibly draw blood by using those relationships as our fodder for writing? As Shields goes on to say:

During the 20 or so years I taught classes in creative writing, I never once encountered a student who didn't worry, at some level, that a friend or family member was going to be. . . crucified in a piece of writing. The concern was real, and often it afflicted young writers with classic writer's block before they'd written so much as a single word. I always urged them to say what they had to say anyway, unshackled by any thought of personal response. They could revise afterward, I said, burying the real person by altering gender, race, the time frame, the geographical context. The choices were limitless. Write bravely, truly; revise with discretion, tact. . . .We love fiction because it possesses the texture of the real. The characters in a novel resemble, more or less, ourselves.

In other words, just write.

Return to Slice of Life, Day 2.

Notes from Francis Ford Coppola

2011-03-01T07:31:00.000-08:00

From an interview with Francis Ford Coppola, filmmaker:

What’s the biggest barrier to being an artist?
Self-confidence always. The artist always battles his own/her own feeling of inadequacy. . . . I believe the writer, the young writer, has a hormone that makes them hate what they’ve written. And yet, the next morning, when you look at it, you say, “Oh that’s not bad.” But the first second you hate it. (From the 99% blog)

This is beyond true--"a hormone that makes them hate what they've written."

I hate everything I write. Hemingway used to say that every first draft was a bunch of crock (I'm paraphrasing--he used a swearword). When I teach my English students to draft, I mention Hemingway and how the students need to just keep going, keep writing, then let it rest. The next day--amazing--it doesn't look so bad.

I need to remember this for myself, in my own writing.

**************

This is the first post for the Slice of Life Story Challenge, hosted by the Two Writing Teachers. Head over there to learn all about it, to join in.

Revision, II

2011-02-28T08:41:00.000-08:00

I'm continuing the write-ups from the Writer's Conference I attended in San Diego at the end of January. These notes are from Q. Lindsey Barrett, author, on revising the draft of a novel.

Structured Revision, by Q. Lindsey Barrett

Write hot, passionately, quickly, push limits in first draft-you can always dial back if you need to use a rolling outline no matter than three chapters ahead, then. . . Revise cool. Take only the previous day's work to revise, then at 20,000 words, step back to make sure you're on the right step.

Think about writing in terms of clothing.

Ready to wear—mass produced 20 stacks at a time, fabric can slip

Designer clothing, cut in stacks of 4-5, so it's more true to size

Couture, custom fit—one garment at time.

She interrogates each detail until it fits into the novel. She does a novel a decade. She has a strategy she uses to get through it.

Prolific horror writer Elizabeth Engstrom knows her ending before the first draft. She writes toward the end--writes to discover. In all good stories, the ending is echoed in the beginning. There are other writers who revise as they go, but Ms. Barrett's advise to us is don't revise each scene endlessly—you'll get sick of it because you revise and revise and revise. Sometimes writers don't get past the first chapter. Remember--you have thirty seconds to capture someone's attention. Write that full first draft!

No matter if you're a white-hot writer or a cool writer, the revision process is the same.

Start with a two week resting period. A week is an absolute minimum.

She likes a long resting period (The Writing Habit by David Huddle—a book she recommends).

Shift to a different writing project in the interim. You want to come back to it as if you are a reader, not a writer. You have to print it out. Read it like a book. Read it straight through (may take a couple of days). You are reading for story—don't get out that pen! Don't look for typos, grammatical errors. If there's a problem, she puts a tick mark in the margin. If there's a whole section that needs to be reworked, a vertical line in the margin.

Pass One. When you are ready to start the first draft, some start over. She means they start writing from scratch—the entire book—all over!

Five Scene Scaffold—most emotionally resonant scenes.

Write those first—your pen's on fire and you're interested. Inciting incident, then climax. Just write those five scenes that are most important, then fill in.

Pass Two.

Story again. No typos, no grammar. This time you can make marks, but no correcting. Each scene has a set-up, a resolution—read for story in the scenes. Each scene should have a little hook. Then write a transition—something that makes them wonder happens next. Analyze what you've just rewritten by identifying the acts.

Pass Three.

Identify the Acts: Each scene builds up the larger complication—decide where the ms (manuscript) forms the three acts of structure.

I--Set the character on their journey

II--Beset with conflict, just before the end is the darkest moment. Where they need to gather their resources and rise to the challenge.

III—Protagonist has an epiphany. At end of act III make sure external conflicts and internal conflicts tied up, resolved.

Think of these as units—I needs more of a set-up, III might need more of a resolution.

Give your readers information that allows them to conclude/figure out the qualities of their characters—action, dialogue. Tension, tension, tension, tension, and some humor which can help ease the tension. If your characters cry, your reader doesn't have to. We will feel the characters' sadness if you write it from the actions.

Pass Four.

Story equals conflict. Do not allow your characters to say yes to each other. Put them in opposition—the conflict doesn't have to be overt—it can be covert.

Every once in a while you'll need a "breather scene"—but be specific as possible—no generalities.

Pass Five.

Interrogate your story—did you employ the five senses? In our world, we are separated from them—we use sight all the time. Readers CRAVE sensory details to help readers understand our scene.

Assign five highlighters for each sense—highlight the five senses. Your ms should be a rainbow (no need to have each sense on each page, but there should be a good distribution.)

Pass Six.

Did you find yourself flipping through pages? Action verbs are critical.

Now is the time to correct the typos and grammar.

Things That Irritate a Reader, Things to Make Sure You Have

1. Take out Side Trips—that don't further the plot

2. Flesh out where you've been Telling, Not Showing. Passive voice is a clue—take passages of telling and turn them into dialogue to get the characters talking—Sometimes she'll put another person in the room and make the characters talk—even if it feels artificial.

3. Take out the words: Very, Causing, Just, or any other words you use incessantly. (Use the Replace tool on your word processing program—don't do anything, just use the Replace to see how many uses of the offending word you have, then go through them one by one.)

4. Watch out for present tense: Here This Now Today (these words are flags)

5. Investigate every use of the word "it," "there is," "there are." Weak writing.

6. Adverbs—investigate—try to convert your adverbs to strong verbs and strong nouns.

7. Relate every conversation to every pronoun (correct pronoun usage)

8. Take out qualifiers: sort of, nearly, almost.

9. Eliminate things that distract the reader, pulls them out of the story. [You don't want to pull your readers out of the fictive dream by making them pay attention to oddities.]

10. Inaccuracies—or things locals would know—fix them.

11. Speeches that go beyond a paragraph. No internal thoughts that go beyond a paragraph.

12. Make sure the reader is always grounded in space, time and POV. [Scenes change when POV, time or locale changes.] Make Characters distinctive.

13. Investigate forms of the verb "to be," substitute an active verb. Passive voice. "The book was picked up by Alex." Passive voice. AVOID.

14. Tension needs to be on every page.

15. Each scene has to have internal conflict. We don't care about plot—we care about how hero is feeling about it.

16. Make sure the opening engages the reader. Try using action—doing something. Not sitting, not thinking, alone in a room, driving to work, waking up.

17. Check your chapter endings to make they are deliberately weighted to make the reader want to know what's going to happen next. We want the reader to go to work bleary-eyed because they stayed up all night reading.

18. Make your ending echo the beginning.

19. The change in your protagonist is the character arc. Make sure it is the external story events that change the protagonist. Internal changes have to stem directly from external changes.

20. Secondary characters need to be fully formed, but if you're bored with the main character, work on them.

21. Be interesting in every sentence. If writing were easy, everyone would be a writer.

22. Vary your sentence length, structure.

23. Characters should not be in the business of drawing conclusions, nor should the author. The reader is the only one who can draw conclusions.

24. Put sensory images in every paragraph. Have something the reader can touch, taste, smell, see, etc.

25. Make sure the complication, or the obstacles, are the only thing slowing the plot, not the writing. (Ordinary People, by Judith Guest, scene of Conrad noticing the details which describes C's ascent to the doctor's office—gives us a sense of him, of the doctor's office, of the doctor).

26. Tighten and heighten. Compress time to put on more pressure, draw out the tension. Something has to happen before something else.

27. Make sure the names evoke the character. Scarlett O'Hara was Pansy just until the book went to press.

28. Omit all unnecessary words. Does the sentence work without it?

29. Ask yourself: Are all the story questions answered? Story Question is what is the premise. Are these answered?

Happy Valentine's Day

2011-02-13T20:28:00.001-08:00

Revision, part I

2011-02-06T04:41:00.000-08:00

One of my favorite workshops was taught by Angela Rinaldi, an agent. It was interesting to me because I was able to see through the tips that she gave for rewriting, how a book can look to a pair of fresh eye--to an agent. Some of these tips I heard in other workshops (they must be universal) but it was her perspective that I found refreshing. This would be a good CD to get of the conference (actually there were many that would be good to get).

Get Me Rewrite!

Angela Rinaldi

Rules

You might think your fist draft is your best draft. Trust me, It's not.

Revision does not diminish your creativity or originality. Nothing will be lost by rewriting.

You have to make the time to re-write, make it part of your routine.

Out of the work, comes the work. You have to do the work and you have to keep on doing the work. You' won't arrive unless you go back in and keep on working. Even Keats revised. Even the great ones work for greatness.

Less is More. Especially on description.

Revisions make you work on your inner voice, but your inner voice may be boring. Self-editing might result in bringing in other voices.

Avoid those things that bother you in novels.

· physical descriptions

· bloated dialogue

· exclamation points

· excessive use of big words

· dialogue tags that are intrusive, say too much

· "shot a look"

· too many characters

· cliché writing

· "convenient" plot devices

A workshop where the teacher shows you how to edit can be very very helpful.

You have to learn how to read books and deconstruct them. Read them and take them apart—esp. NYTimes bestseller books.

First Reader: Not every writer has a critical eye for their work. Bring in a first reader as they can point out problems that the writer can't see. We writers are very tender and it's hard to offer up the writing for perusal. Set up some ground rules. Pick someone who has the same aesthetic as you do. Have them read for a specific item. Grammar. Or have someone focus on the through line—your main point—what's carrying through every scene—the railroad track that runs through every scene. The arc of the novel. If a scene isn't attached to the through line, then ask yourselves why is that scene there. Ask that first reader if they get what point you're trying to make.

Checklist of Bad Habits

You can use this list--because it's easy to do, it's also a good way to get into the editing. Once you finish this, you'll have the strength to go back in and do more.

1. Don't use dialogue tag lines—it should be obvious what's going on. Don't use smiled, as in " 'Nice to see you,' she smiled." If you have two people in a room, use minimal tags, instead use physical action.

2. Avoid unnecessary stage directions.

3. What goes first, comes first. Bob sees the knife first, then asks about it. Many times Bob has picked up the knife before he saw it.

4. Avoid adverbs.

5. Don't give us back story in dialogue.

6. Don't tell and then show—if you show it, don't tell.

7. Don't open your book with obscenities.

8. Don't open your book with throat-clearing.

9. Don't use exclamation points.

10. Don’t open with weather.

11. Avoid sentences that start with "The man" or So or And or That or But or It.

12. All your characters should have some redemptive qualities.

----------More Questions for Revision---------

Are your characters too familiar? Are they engaging? Do they have individual characteristics? Do they lay down and die during critical moments—are they standing there like dolts in a scene of high intensity? Do they react when they need to?

Have you given them names that fit their characters?

Characters reveal themselves through their words—does their dialogue match their intent?

Have you gotten into the head of characters, into their minds?

Story promise—in the first couple of pages of your novel?

Have you forsaken contemplation over action?

She read us a column by Ayelett Waldman, published in the Wall Street Journal, November 27, 2010. Waldman uses the term "Bore-geous Novel." Bore-geousness happens when you write beautifully but without any action. Each scene must be necessary to the narrative. "In writing, you must kill your darlings." (Faulkner)

Does your story matter to you?

Is going to broaden our understanding of the human condition?

Are there surprises?

Is there a moment of epiphany?

Do you have a distinct voice?

What is your story's through line?

Source of tension? Internal desire vs. internal goals.

Does the character grow?

Story Promise

What will the reader gain, understand at the end of the novel? EG: Is he going to get the girl—themes are more abstract, but story promise is more concrete—it's like the challenge the characters have to overcome. Will the answer to a question be resolved? The story promise is more concrete than the theme. You always want the writer to give you a better idea of the human condition, but she sees that more as the theme. [Some discussion here, as we are all bit confused.] This is not the character arc. This is more like what the reader is promised at the outset: Will he get the girl? Will she find her man?Will they have a child? Will they survive the car crash?

QUESTIONS FROM THE AUDIENCE (I've only given only the answers)

Websites that assist in the editing can sometimes cause you to procrastinate.

Watch out for prologues—sometimes writers use them as doom to come. When they work, they really work—those that are philosophical, families are in trouble, all is not what it seems—seem to give a sort of idea of how to read the novel are the best.

Titles? They change all the time. Don't obsess about them.

When are we done with re-write? If you're still working on it after 11 years, it's time to let it go—out to agents, or let it go.

Read aloud your dialogue.

First person POV is a revision nightmare because it allows you to say so much more.

Dialogue

2011-02-02T16:40:00.000-08:00

This is the continuation of the posting of my notes from the Writers' Conference in San Diego at the end of January. I went to two Dialogue classes. The first one was a string of anecdotes, and I didn't find it very helpful. This class was given by James Scott Bell. He uses movies as a reference source. I sometimes wondered about that. Why not novels? It reminded me of a conversation I had with Steve Minot (a professor in University of California's Creative Writing Dept) who said when he and his wife would have cocktail parties in the early days, everyone would talk about the books they'd read. But in the later years (Steve Minot died last year), it was all about the movies, and Minot thought that movies had replaced books as the Great Universal. I did find Bell's examples helpful, and kept noting which movies to put next on my Netflix list.

Dialogue

The fastest way to improve a manuscript (ms) is with dialogue, and if you can submit—in your first chapters—a scene (make sure you have a scene) with dialogue, you're ahead of the game.

Dialogue is a compression and extension of action.

It's an extension of your character's agenda. If you have someone in the scene who doesn't have an agenda, kick them out!

Famous quote: A good story is life with the boring parts taken out.

Good Dialogue

1. Essential to the story. It advances the plot. It gives us story information. (Maltese Falcon with Sam Spade & Cairo). It reveals character. The way Cairo talks is very different than Sam Spade. Dialogue can reveal theme. Some writers know their theme, but other writers discover it as they go. If I take my character and project them twenty years in the future and someone asks them "Why did you have to go through that?" they'd be able to answer the question in larger themes. Think of the Life lesson in the movie Wizard of Oz: There's no place like home, but that's the counter of what they voice at the beginning.

2. It comes from one character to another, naturally. No excessive expository information Avoid those lines like: "Here we are in sunny Spain!" This would be something that both characters know (but that the audience doesn't), so they wouldn't have to say it.

3. Conflict and Tension—Why? Because in good dialogue 1) the dull parts taken out, and 2) someone in your scene is worried about something. Every character in your scene has something on their mind, something they are worried about. Butch and Sundance "I can't swim." "But we're going to jump." Conflict between allies. Conflict can come from something that doesn't sound complete—missing information—mystery can increase tension. Mystery is like a maze—you're trying to find the answers, but suspense is like a tight coil, which gets tighter and tighter as the scene goes on.

4. Sounds just right for the piece. Be aware of dialogue that shouts "I'm great dialogue." Needs to be effective without calling attention to itself. (Not the same as memorable dialogue).

5. Sounds just right for each character. What kind of vocabulary does your character use? Does it fit their background? Education? Demographic? Favorite words or expressions? Regionalisms? Peer groups? (e.g.: skateboarders, professions, lawyers, doctors, etc.) What kinds of things to you say to other doctors that we patients don't normally hear? (interview a doctor if you're writing about dr.). Syntax—words and phrases and the way people say them—word order, rhythm, combinations of words.

6. Not real life speech. Don't use hesitators (uh, um, well) or only use them if there's a reason for them. Again, if it's part of their agenda—make it logical.

7. Compression. Dialogue is honed down, rather than puffed out. We like white space these days—interruptions, action, call all give us that white space.

8. Subtext. What is actually said in the scene may not be what is being communicated. Think of an iceberg. On the top is the scene being played out. Underneath: back story, character relationships, thematic elements, and the meaning of those things. They naturally come up to the top, but in a subtle way. Think of Casablanca—scene with Rick, Nazi dude, and French captain. Characters are talking that way because of backstory, of hidden agendas, of attitude, made memorable by subtext.

Tools to Write Good Dialogue

1. Orchestration—you can get good dialogue before you write a single line of it by how you orchestrate your characters. Create them with possibility of conflict with the other characters. Different agendas, different personality types. (Think main characters in City Slickers.) The dialogue will almost happen by itself.

2. Transactional analysis, which comes from the book Games People Play. The theme of that book was that we tend to play to play roles in our relationships and we speak in scripts. Three main roles: parent, adult, child. If you have two characters in a scene, ask what role to they think they play in this scene. Two adults are boring—what if one had a parental role and one had a child role. (Think Cop and person being interrogated.) Great conflict. Give thought to the power levels of your characters. What role are they playing?

3. Compression. Actually dropping words—cut them out of your dialogue, esp. at the beginning and the end. The emotion is there because the words were actually cut, not added.

4. Cast the Character. Google images can give you a headshot, so you can see and hear the character before you write. Having this image helps you write dialogue in the character's voice, not your voice.

5. Act it Out. Literally.

6. One gem per act, or Curving the Language. Make your dialogue memorable by curving the language. Do you ever later say "Wow, I wish I'd said that." So, write a line in your dialogue, then curve it—play with it. "She looked like a million dollars" can morph into "She looked like a million bucks--tax free."

7. Place exposition within confrontation. One way to get exposition/explanatory info is in tense conversation/anger. (On the Waterfront with Brando.)

8. Sidestep. "On the nose dialogue" is a phrase in screenwriting which means there is a statement, then a direct response, then another statement, then the direct response. Some of this will exist in your novel, but you can increase conflict by doing off-center stuff. Why do some people not answer the question? Or answer with a question? Or an interruption? Or a sudden punch? He then did a series of short Q/A with an imaginary husband and wife, showing these types of things.

9. Use silence, or an action beat instead of a verbal response. (Think of Hemingways' short story Hills like White Elephants.) It's all done through dialogue, or what is NOT said.

10. Let if Flow Exercise. Write the whole scene in dialogue, letting the characters almost improvise—just let them go. They begin to take on distinctions that you might not think of. But then, take that, and see if you can identify the most powerful line in that scene--pull out that out and make it the key to the whole scene.

11. Minimize. Take a scene you've written—a dialogue-heavy scene—and then see how much dialogue you can cut.

12. Attributions/Tag Lines--These things move in waves, but there seems to be more minimalism currently in vogue. The dialogue itself should tell us how it's being said. Minimal tags are sort of invisible, which is good. Occasionally using an action beat, if that action is integral to the scene. Try to minimize the tags, but don't eliminate them. Sometimes too many action beats can distract the reader. Every time you use an action beat, the reader is having to picture it—and it moves the concentration of the reader from the dialogue into the action. Adverbs—avoid. Use VERY sparingly. How can I rewrite the dialogue or the action around it to get rid of the adverbs? should be asked.

Writers' Conference Workshop--Publicity

2011-01-30T13:14:00.000-08:00

I'm continuing with publishing the notes I took during the most recent San Diego Writers' Conference. These are what I was able to grab--please be aware that the most benefit is obtained by coming to these conferences, but it's helpful for me to have these notes in one place where I can refer to them. They are brief and abbreviated. Okay, enough disclaimers for my transcribed hen-scratching.

The day started with me walking on the treadmill (trying to compensate for all this sitting, and the really good lunch from yesterday). As I was leaving, I struck up a conversation with the woman behind me, an airline pilot who has been to two other conferences this year: one in Hawaii (can't remember the name), and the Pacific Northwest Writers Conference. Both, she said, were great. She was doing the elliptical the entire time, and I was impressed not only with her enthusiasm for her book (I wanted to buy it after talking to her) but also the fact she could keep going on her exercise. Next in the room was Loretta Barrett, who was so wonderful in the Agents' Workshop on Friday. We found out during the morning keynote speech this morning that she was instrumental in getting editors and agents from New York to this conference. I, for one, am really grateful for her efforts, along with the efforts of the organizers.

One of the workshops I attended was one on publicity for the "frugal author," as she put it. It was great; the notes follow.

Seven Tips for Publicity, by Paula Margulies

Big presses, indie presses, self-publishing

Even if you get advances—save the money—don't spend it all in order to save some for the ideas listed below. Margulies is a publicist, and will assist authors in the following items. Judging from her handouts, and the professional tips, I'd have to say that she would be a good one to hire to help sell the book.

Tip #1 Get Your Distribution Lined up Before You Start your Publicity

Ingram, Baker & Taylor (two biggest distributors)—important to try and get one of these--660,000 books printed last year. The bookstores go to these distributors and put in their order. If you self-publish, you'll have to find your own distribution: Pathways, etc.
Barnes & Noble, Borders—they have their own ordering systems—you have to work to get them (marketing plan, query letter, copies (1 or 2) of book) to take your book. B & N has their own number (BIN (?) number). Print on Demand (POD)—a lot won't do the publicity. You want to make sure there are copies. Get your friends, family out there asking for copies. Ask your publisher what they'll do for bookstores (percentage off list, return policy—talk them into doing it for you)
Offset run/inventory vs. POD

Work with your publicist. Do not list your book as Print on Demand (POD)! List is as an offset run—they print a run, then store the books. Reassure the bookstores that :"You can order directly from my publisher with a discount, and they take returns."

Tip#2 Have all your Promotional Material Ready Before Making Calls

This is your media kit.

· Press Release. An already-written article. Make your press release complete—so the journalist can take it and pop it into their newspaper. Title of book, ISBN #, author, the five Ws 1H (Who, What, Why. . . ) are in the first paragraph. The second paragraph is your "sell" paragraph. This is where you talk about your book and why it sings. Third paragraph is a quote from yourself—you want it to look like the newspaper has already interviewed you, like they've done the legwork. Fourth paragraph is a one-paragraph bio—all about you, awards you've won, and so forth, but be succinct. After that, contact information. Use your own logo, or art artwork on your press release. Keep the keywords (for internet free-release sites) in the title of the press release. Most important document you can use—you can tweak your release to announce your reading event (in the first paragraph). It's a living document, and you can change it as it goes.

· Biography. More than just a paragraph—where you grew up, what you majored in, where you went to school—anything that will give you a connection with the people you are talking to.

· Professional head shot—either on your book (back cover) on inside flap. A picture is worth a thousand words. Use a professional head shot!! Don't use the amateur digital photo from the backyard on your book—nor the bedroom shot.

· JPG of the book cover art

· Website/blogsite devoted to your book—by the title, by the author's name? No. One website. If you plan to write more than one book, then put up an author site, with links to the book sites. Use SEOs if you want (for hire). (Podcasts?)

Platform—be aware of what you bring to the table (e.g.: bookstores want the book, radio wants YOU.) Before your book comes out, you want to establish yourself.

Tip #3 Book Appearances in Cities Where You Know People

· Hometown, college town, first job, relatives, friends

· Work your contacts with email, flyers, postcards, blogs, social networking sites, etc.

· Work your niche! (e.g.: The Help)

Tip #4 Contact the Media After You've Set Up Your Tour

· Use your booking as selling points with the media

· Writer news release about each signing/appearance

· Contact media 2-3 weeks prior to events. Print press needs three weeks. Radio/TV is quicker. You're trying to drive traffic to your event.

· Sell yourself, as well as your book

· Six to eight months is your window, so work quickly

Tip #5: View Every Phone Call As An Opportunity to Get Orders

Ask for event dates. and if they say no, then:

· Ask if they'll order copies of your book

· Offer compromises:

· offer to bring in signed books

· offer to consignment option

· offer promotional material

· If they have copies, offer to stop by and sign them. (Get some signed-by author stickers.)

Tip #6: Think Outside the Bookstore Box

· Consider signing at libraries, universities, community colleges, schools, clubs, professional organization, churches, etc. If you teach, make sure your book is in their bookstore.

· Consider signing at venues related to your book's content

· Ask friends and family for signing opportunities where they work, go to school, etc.

· Consider venues where no author has gone before—be creative!

Tip #7: Be Professional With Everyone You Meet

· Send follow-up and confirmation emails

· Keep lists of scheduled dates aka "Events Schedule"

· Send promotional material 2-3 weeks out

· Contact media 2-3 weeks out

· Show up on time, professionally dressed—Get a foam core display with an easel back, leave bookmarks, too.

· Bring back up copies with you

· Be courteous, even if the answer is "No"

· Be persistent, but know when to say "Thank you" and move on

· Send thank you notes afterward—mention managers, assistants, and staff who were helpful. Emails and hand-written notes.

Bonus Tip: Go Viral!

· Optimize your website

· Register with major search engines

· Offer incentives, downloads and contests, etc.

· Respond quickly to website email

· Make payment process simple and easy

· Write blog comments and guest blog

· Puruse features on book review sites

· Conduct virtual interviews on a number of blogs.

Writers' Conference Workshop--Synopsis

2011-01-29T22:09:00.000-08:00

The first full day of this Writers' Conference has been instructive. Apparently there are a multitude of these across the US, and this one--at 27 years running--is one of the longest-running conferences. It also appears to focus more tightly on the professional development side of life, as witnessed by the workshops I attended today. I took my computer down to hopefully do some live blogging, but there was no wireless signal in any of the rooms (intentional?), so consider this Taped Blogging.

One class was on writing a good synopsis, taught by Nicholas Croce, president of The Croce Agency. The notes are as follows.

Synopsis

Formatting each agent will have their own formatting guidelines, and each author will have to find this information—proves to the agent that they did their research. Check their websites. If no guidelines, his handout is a safe way to go. Do your homework.

Chicago Manual of Style is the basic rulebook.

Know your genre, esp. for marketing/bookshelf placement.

Write efficiently—two double-spaced pages is the norm. Don't leave white space—edit down so you don't have "orphans." No bullet points—not for fiction.

Handout on his website.

Don't send out to thirty agents at once—they get grumpy.

Look at books similar to yours—look at jacket copy. What do they highlight? What hints to the readership can you gain from the jacket?

Start with the hook. It's the most important. It's one sentence and should capture the whole book in that one sentence. It should have the conflict. It's what everybody down the line will use to pitch that book—editor, sales reps, etc. Use active voice. Keep it lively, upbeat. No cliches. Vary your sentence length—anything that calls for good and interesting writing.

Show how your story comes together. The perfect proposal is one that leaves me with no questions. The agent/author doesn't have to go back to the author with why this story line? or what happened here? Make it comprehensive by including a beginning, middle and end. The synopsis is meant to inform as well as sell.

Synopsis is a combo of the query letter and the chapter outline. Write synopsis in the present tense. Yes, it's difficult to write—sometimes even more challenging than writing a novel. And the hook is even more challenging than the synopsis.

The conflict in your book really has to be apparent in this. Every story throughout history has a conflict and a resolution—include this in your synopsis.

Cover letter—three paragraphs. First paragraph intros novel. Second paragraph elaborates on novel, what transpires. Third paragraph about the author, how they plan to market the novel, if previous publications. Send the query letter by snail mail.

Literary Commercial Fiction—focuses on character, but sells well (something on the order of Three Cups of Tea). This would be a tough book because the details of this book "are not built for speed," so it would be sold on the writing or the subject of the novel.

You Can Cut It With a Knife

2011-01-28T21:40:00.000-08:00

The earnestness, that is.
It's so thick around here--all these lovely people hanging off of the words of the agents and editors at this Writing Conference. It's making my skin crawl, and as usual, I write to figure out why.

I'm at the San Diego Writer's Conference, a tag-a-long to my daughter-in-law who is one of the lovely earnest people seeking a way for her writing to find its way. We check in, pick up our packets then separate as she is in a different genre than I am. Hers is easy: Young Adult (YA) Fiction. And what is mine? Am I referring to book in the bottom of the drawer, the one that I had placed in Big U's library when I graduated with an MFA? The one I hope no one will ever find, as it has so many flaws? Or am I referring to the book that is stuck in my head, like one of those amber-encased insects from a millenia ago, parts of which are written on my hard drive? I try mainstream fiction. Nope. Then I ended up talking with Michael, who has come here before.

He works from 9:30 p.m. to 3 a.m. working at Dunkin' Donuts, putting the glaze and sprinkles on. He's written 8 novels, has 350+ rejections, and is still working at getting his writing out there. He was really interesting to talk to. He looked around the room at the various tables.

"It's like high school," he said. "The chicklit group--those women all have high heels on. The literary fiction--the woman all have jewelry on." He gestured over at the historical fiction table, where no one sat. "I passed by there earlier and everyone had beards. And over there at the Fantasy table? Those are like the nerds of high school, only now their imaginary worlds have taken shape." He was dead-on, but I was getting hungry and left to find some food.

So, why don't I have the earnestness of all these people? I came because I was curious to see what would happen if I was exposed to the Writing Life again, after being immersed in the Community College Teacher Experience. As I drove to find dinner, it's that old drumbeat of inner critic: What's wrong with me? Why don't I want to be a writer? Where did the fire-in-the-belly go? Am I too old? (A look around the room tells me no.) Unanswerable questions. The creativity urge pulls me to quilting. I know that world. I speak that language. I hardly know what else to say here. But here I am for two more days. Stay tuned.

Guest Post Today

2010-06-18T06:54:00.001-07:00

Today I'm over at Two Writing Teachers, where I've guest-posted (is that a word?). I'm thinking if we can say Googled, I can say guest-posted. My subject? The idea of good teacher--is there one? Am I one? How to become one if I'm not?

Slicing Month Done for Another Year

2010-03-30T21:14:00.000-07:00

Time to celebrate another month of Slicing. I found this website, The Two Writing Teachers, at some point in 2008 (I think?) and so was curious about what the Slice of Life Challenge was all about. It was all about fun. And work. And thinking. And writing. And under the fine tutelage and encouragement of Stacey and Ruth, we all joined a "writing group," for that's how I refer to you all in conversations around the dinner table.

A few kept at it all year around, but I switched over to my other blog after a while, finding it too hard to focus in and keep one more blog going (it's really pathetic how many I have and maintain). I admire those who were steady writers and have appreciated all your comments while I sliced.

Last year at this time, my daughter had just been diagnosed with peripartum cardiomyopathy, my aunt had died, and I was on the road, and teaching and grading. When I look back at those slices, I see that month through the prism of writing to remember, as well as writing to cope. My daughter is doing well, learning to ride the waves a little, learning to love her little family that will never be as large as she had once hoped, but still fills our hearts in so many ways. The son and his wfie that had a baby that last March, has just announced they're expecting again (October, and this will be #9 in the grandchildren dept.). My classes for fall have changed from what I was teaching (and am teaching) so here we go again with learning a new course, or two. The relationship with the other daughter in-law has softened some, and I have hope--always--that we'll continue to figure each other out. And for a final update: the last child was married this summer, and the trip of last weekend was not only to the wedding, but also to see him and his new bride in their little home in Davis.

These slices, as Kevin mentioned yesterday, are so aptly named. Not only are they a slice of our daily events, but taken together as an aggregate, are a slice of a year, a lovely little wedge of memory.

I wish I had something profound to say, like "Keep your powder dry," like they say in those old spaghetti Westerns. But "Keep your pencil dry" just doesn't have the same ring to it.

Keep writing, is about the best I can do. I plan to, in one form or another, in one forum or another. Look for me.

SOLSC Day 31. Click to return.

Good Fences Make Good Neighbors

2010-03-29T21:18:00.000-07:00

This is not my yard, but I pulled the photo to illustrate the fact that we're getting new fences today on two sides. One side was replaced a few years ago. Don't make me think when. All my years are running together now. I used to be able to anchor events around the children's births, or where I was in school; now we use the sabbatical in Washington DC as a milestone, and even then we're always asking each other: "Was it before we went?" A shrug. Who knows. It's so bad now that when our water heater was replaced I got out a marker and wrote the date on it. . . just so I'd know. Our new windows have their manufacture date on the interior separating the dual-paned glass, and we got the new kitchen counters and stove then as well. Those guys are on to our forgetful minds.

Because my father was a fan of Robert Frost, I give you a fragment of his famous poem Mending Wall:

There where it is we do not need the wall:
He is all pine and I am apple orchard.
My apple trees will never get across
And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.
He only says, 'Good fences make good neighbors'.
Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder
If I could put a notion in his head:
'Why do they make good neighbors? Isn't it
Where there are cows?
But here there are no cows.
Before I built a wall I'd ask to know
What I was walling in or walling out,
And to whom I was like to give offense.
Something there is that doesn't love a wall,
That wants it down.'

Sometimes living here in Southern California I love a wall to make me feel like we have our own little fiefdom, tiny as it is. I had to walk around the block to the backside to enlist the approval of that neighbor (who asked me to please remind him when to send me the check; all I could think was, please, you're a grown man, give me a break and ask your own wife to do that for you)--and the next door neighbor below us. They both have pools so they have to have fences.

Our fence has been in bad repair for years. We had a lovely wedding reception in our backyard for our daughter and somehow, one of the fence posts had broken off and we didn't notice it in all the fixing up we did for that celebration. It's in all her pictures, this snaggle-tooth fence post.

Things like that, and the fact that I can't remember what year that was, keep me humble.

SOLSC Day 30. Click to return.

Bias and Opinion

2010-03-28T11:40:00.000-07:00

We've been discussing bias and opinion in our classroom this past week and I referenced Malcolm Gladwell's very fine discussion on this (section #4) in order to help them see the difference between their biases (we all have them) and opinions. Biased writing, Gladwell notes, is dishonest when the bias is not disclosed. My students especially focused in the word "dishonest" and in the quiz, mentioned that several times.

So, I try to be aware of biases and opinions in the things I read about healthcare, as often students, while working on the research paper, will come to me for help with sources and finding examples and good research that will help them develop their argument.

Our country has just come through a very long grueling year discussing the healthcare issue. It began way last summer with a supposedly bi-partisan team of both Dems and Republicans, and ended last week with the signing of the bills. Much has been written about this on both sides, and I find it a challenge, as a teacher, to help steer my students around the particular biases inherent in the massive amounts of what has been written, but also to be aware of their own biases as they write it, as I have several who want to write about it.

Full disclosure: There is a public figure who doesn't do this. This person (okay--it's a she) seems to revel in bias, innuendo, minimal fact-checking, violating all the good argument logic I try to instill in my students. This is discouraging at times for me, especially when I was linked over to her Facebook page and she has rifle sight icons to denote the members of the opposition party that should be removed this fall (according to her). So, when her name comes up in class as a possible source, and it does--for she generates a lot of discussion always--I try to point out that I hold them to a higher standard of reasoning.

I don't care which "side" they want to argue from--they just have to marshall their evidence, and write with good solid evidence and support. It's out there. They just have to do the research, be scholars. Think, and reason.

P.S. No pictures today. Blogger is misbehaving.

Thiebaud on the Brain

2010-03-27T22:09:00.001-07:00

The wedding of a friend was held in the mountains of Santa Cruz, California, at a location with one name: Nestldown, and the main event was held in the "cabin"--a rustic, yet fine building with soaring ceilings, pine walls, and an elegantly set reception.

Over in the corner was the dessert table: one side full of cookies as the groom was from originally from Pittsburgh, and the bride corralled all her friends to bring the wedding cookie tradition to this celebration. (And yes, they had pizzelles.)

The other side was a rendition of the cake still life painting by Wayne Theibaud. My husband and I had just taken in the Thiebaud retrospective at the San Jose Museum of Art that morning, and laughed when we saw this. I waited until they cut the little tiny cake with the looping scallops of pink to have my slice of wedding cake. It was luscious lemon chiffon. The original painting is shown below, my lame snapshot of it taken when we last visited the National Gallery of Art in Washington, DC, where it hangs.

SOSLC Day 28. Click to return.

Seeing Anew

2010-03-25T22:57:00.000-07:00

One of the challenges when all the children leave the nest, is keeping up with them in a deep, intimate and satisfying way without pestering them to death with questions or prying. The best way to understand their lives is to go and visit them and stay in their home. My parents always practiced this, as did my in-laws (although they gave shorter notice, as in "We're in the car and will be there tonight"). But then they'd go with us on our carpools, help sweep/vacuum the floor after dinner (one set liked the broom, the other set liked the vacuum).

And so as I type this, I'm sitting up in bed--an inflatable mattress that gave a serviceable night's sleep--having enjoyed a night in my youngest son's home office. We drove up the length of California yesterday arriving here near dinner time. First a look at his office, then to their new home--a tiny 900 square foot detached condo, and a hello to his wife and a welcome by their dog. We had dinner out, then walked through a bookstore, then back to their home for conversation and a game of Scrabble.

We heard about the uptick in his small business (yay!), the lab work she's doing in her PhD program, saw the dog's tricks, viewed their garden and array of miniature peat pots holding seedlings. We heard about her parents, viewed the wedding photos (they were married this past summer), and discussed how computers work (well, we tried to keep up with this conversation, led by my son).

My husband and son blew up the mattress, made the bed, while my son's wife showed me her Kindle and the different features and options. Then more conversation and then bed, and we fell asleep underneath a quilt I'd made for them for their wedding.

A satisfying--although brief--visit.

Ordinary Miracle

2010-03-24T20:43:00.001-07:00

My friend Judy and find that it's about this point in the semester when the quirks and habits of the students are either endearing or maddening. And for some reason, this week--the week after spring break--has brought a shower of maddening quirks, with one sad one. Not somebody died sad, but teachery sad, which is ultimately a happy thing.

She had a student who had been a doctor in the Ukraine? Russia? Romania? Somewhere over there. A white coat medical doctor. Several years ago they amazingly got visas to immigrate to America. But none for their parents who they lived with. She wanted to stay. He said if we don't go, we'll never go. If we don't go, we're all lost. They went. I think his first job was something like picking up trash in schools after hours; her first was playing piano for a Montessori school--jobs that don't require English. Those kinds of jobs. Then after ten years of this he got a job near us, an hour from Los Angeles, that could support both of them, and she decided to go to school to really learn English. She was in my friend's remedial English class.

When Judy opened up her mail on Monday after Spring Break there was a drop notice from this student. Wow, Judy said. My favorite student who was so hungry to learn is gone, Judy said. My favorite student who'd made teaching the lower level class rewarding. She wrote her an email, wondering. A day or two later the return email arrived. This woman , who had come to America and had been waiting for ten years until the right moment, had been granted admission to the pediatric residency program of Loma Linda University and was going to be a doctor again.

I've been listening to Sarah McLachlan's Ordinary Miracle song ever since she sang it on the Olympics. I think this story is one of those ordinary miracles, one of those teachery miracle stories that help me when I'm a bit dragging. We're here. Students are here. And when it all works--that the student gets to where they want to go--and we somehow knew them at some point in that trajectory, well, it's just an ordinary miracle. It's why we hang in there through the maddening quirky moments and do the grading and the lesson prep and hope and dream and encourage and push and pull.

I salute you all.

SOLSC Day 25. Click to return.

So, Happy Birthday One More Time

2010-03-23T21:20:00.000-07:00

When I was young, birthdays began with the cake. What kind of cake do you want? when the question and my answer was always: Marble.

So my mother would go down to the store and find the marble cake mix, and mix up the batch of yellow, divide it, squeeze in the chocolate packet, stir some more. I was allowed to drag the knife through the blobs of chocolate in the yellow batter to make the marbling effect.

I don't think I ever chose a different cake, but I don't really remember.

My husband had another birthday today, and I worked hard to come up with inventive gifts that he wouldn't ever guess, and he didn't. I bought a new staple gun, staples for the staple gun, a phone with a speaker in the base, and of course, that original artwork. I'm not so sure he's crazy about the artwork, but he does like the idea of it.

Glacier Point by Doug Braithwaite

The birthday cakes I make now don't start with store-bought mixes, although for years they did. Funfetti was my son's favorite. German Chocolate was what Dave used to say. Lemon was my daughter's choice for a while. But since I learned that the best cakes are from scratch (or did my taste buds just get more sophisticated?) we have a few we make around here. I ended up making what we call the "castle" cake--a lemony pound cake baked in a bundt-style pan. Not only is it magnificent for presentation, it tastes good for days afterward.

What's the cake in your memories?

SOLSC Day 24. Click to return.

Lego Mash-up

2010-03-22T21:04:00.000-07:00

So the students asked me how my spring break went? I answered, truthfully: "Crappy."

I'm usually a pretty sunny gal, always looking for the glass half-full, and they know it. I don't know why I answered that way--maybe I was feeling contrary, or didn't think it through or just felt like a little truth in the classroom is okay. I rarely talk about my personal life. Sure, they know the basics--I have a husband, some kids somewhere, grandchildren that I dote on, but really, I'm there to think about the students and their needs and problems and whatever, so I don't say too much about me.

"Really?" they said. "What happened?"

I plopped my book bag down and started taking out the folders for their class, arranging the handout Bias and Opinion by Malcolm Gladwell.

"I had a fight with my husband for starters." I hefted the stack of graded essays to the corner of the table. "Then I graded papers, but really I just love doing that." They laughed.

"I visited my mother and father and found out that they are on the edge of being able to care for themselves, and that's not a fun realization that your parents are getting way older." I looked up. "I know you all think at my age, I'm WAY old and nearly dead," I said. "But I'm not." We'd relaxed into the class, and they told about what they did, how there was some crappy things for them too, and then we went on to other things, like bias & opinion, a quiz, and how to structure a research paper.

Truthfully? My spring break was like a mash-up of Lego pieces. All the parts are there to make something but it remains unmade unless someone has the energy and the creative bent to get-it-done. I seemed to be in short supply of the latter.

And like the potential Lego creation, I left out some parts. I didn't tell them about whether or not to defy my doctor's request that I go on statins. (I'm deferring, another year. My doctor will cluck cluck and then we'll go on.) I didn't tell them about the conversation with my sister--that she wants to have a conference call with my brother about my parents. I can't shake the feeling that I'd be ratting out my parents, and I don't want to do that.

I didn't tell them that my husband and I are planning a terrific vacation to Nova Scotia, Quebec City, and Montreal this summer, and of course, that's what triggered the fight. But we're better now. His birthday's tomorrow and a bunch of Happy Birthday balloons are floating in the air at the end of the staircase, tied to the banister. I'm planning his birthday dinner, and am going to make him a fabulous cake. I bought him two things I know he wants, as well as a surprise of some original artwork; the painting arrived tonight during dinner, having been purchased while at my parents house from their artist friend. I clapped like a five-year old and he laughed.

I'm going to yet make something of this day.

SOLSC 23. Click to return.

Spring Break's Over; Girl Crying

2010-03-22T20:54:00.000-07:00

I knew spring break was over at the sight of the young woman in front of me, her eyes full of tears, explaining away her inability to turn in the paper that had been due four weeks ago, and then paper that was due a week and half ago.

It was a lovely, lovely spring day. I handed her a tissue, said we'd conference with whoever she needed to in her support system that's behind the scenes. Keep going, I encouraged. Keep trying.

What do you think the odds are that she'll have her assignment ready for Wednesday?

SOLSC Day 22. Click to return.

Raise High the Roof Beam, Carpenter

2010-03-21T20:16:00.000-07:00

I've watched this Greek Orthodox church go up, bit by bit, steel beam by steel beam. This afternoon I grabbed my husband and our cameras and we went over to take a look.

As I stood on this slight hill at the base of the Box Spring Mountains in Riverside, the fragrance of citrus blossoms came wafting into these outdoor rooms. It's that time of year here. All the citrus trees that have been harvested are getting their "haircuts." The top foot of new growth has been lopped off, and the white blossoms for next year's crop adorn these trees, looking like giant sprigs of baby's breath. They smell wonderful. Before our city exploded in growth and leveled many of its orange orchards, all of Riverside used to smell like this in the spring.

The sun was on its downward trek, the silvery beams and the golden domes glowing in its soft light through the clouds. Time for us to head home, too.

And that's my slice for today.

SOLSC Day 21. Click to return.
Back to school tomorrow. Spring Break's over.

TP-ing Houses

2010-03-20T14:21:00.000-07:00

This is my neighbor's house, and the red car on the front right is the teenaged son's, complete with their yard security sign stuck through his door handle. We used to get this experience a lot--that of a bedecked landscaping--as we had three teenagers under our roof for six very long years, until the oldest went off and the youngest hadn't yet grown up to qualify.

One summer I think we cleaned toilet paper off our yard and trees and fences every Saturday. We learned to re-set the sprinklers to not go off early Sunday morning, so we could get to it. We used the tree-pruner-on-a-pole to tug the strands from our enormous birch tree. A good part of our trash was wadded up white toilet paper (why is it always white?). One time my husband decided to save all the little roll ends to use in the house. We all rolled our eyes, and I noticed that his stash was gone the next weekend; I can only assume they were used in acts of revenge by our teenagers upon other weary families.

Then one day, it all stopped. The children grew up, moved away and now I get to watch the cycle all over again across the street.

SOLSC Day 20. Click to return.
Happy First Day of Spring!

Catching a Wave

2010-03-19T16:02:00.001-07:00

Diane Ravitch, in a broadcast on the Diane Rehm show: "[Public] schools are, and should be, the anchor of their community." She states that charter schools are no better and no worse than public schools and that by splitting up our communities into "tiny little high schools" here and there scattered throughout, we actually do "damage to our democracy." I don't know enough about this, but I imagine that the Slicers do.

She was discussing No Child Left Behind, which I imagine most of us detest, with its orientation on a test/one answer sort of approach to imparting learning. She, of course, was once an ardent supporter for this program, then realized it wasn't working. In fact, according to her, National Test Scores were higher than they were before this went into effect.

I'm an older soul, so my elementary education had a healthy dose of everything: history, grammar, music, PE, art, and spelling among other things. I don't know how things are now on the K-12 front, but if they are anything like what goes on in the community colleges, it's a battle. It's a battle between the government and their power to bestow money if we do what they say, local issues--which include cultural and socio-economic concerns, and a battle as well by those who put out our teaching materials and the teaching philosophies and jargon of the day (I filled out a questionnaire the other day for my textbook publisher and one question was something do to with what helps my "pedagogy." My pedagogy? And you gotta' love those SLOs.).

When I'm in my classroom, all these philosophies and pedagogies and turnabouts and drama remain outside my doors. When I'm in my classroom, I see a few faces paying attention, wanting to learn how to write better, how to catch the wave and ride it for a long long time, letting all the rest fall below them into the hidden, churning deep.

SOLSC Day 19. Click to return.

Wildflowers

2010-03-17T21:14:00.000-07:00

One advantage of [lame] students who don't turn in their work on time was shown today, when I began grading the stack of 101 essays. They are essays supposedly analyzing the complex themes and worlds found in Einstein's Dreams, a novel by Alan Lightman (I LOVE to teach this!). There were a few who couldn't hit the side of a metaphor if they had a telescope and a repeating rifle, but most were right on target. Blessedly so.

Then, as a teacher, you begin to wonder if you're grading too easily--letting them off the hook on comma splices, misplaced commas and faulty analysis. That's when I realized that no, the [lame] students just hadn't turned theirs in! Easiest day of grading I've ever had, not having to struggle through a forest of errors, badly laid logic and wild and woolly constructions.

So, when my husband called me from work and said, let's go and look at the wildflowers in Sycamore Canyon, I changed into my walking shoes and we were off, rather than me begging off because of Too Much Grading. We've had a lot of rain this year and supposedly the wildflowers are on target to be quite showy and spectacular. They weren't, but we enjoyed them anyway.

Stats: 23 students in the class (a few have dropped).
Essays late: 5.
Essays corrected: Yep. 18 lovely little papers.
High score: 97%.
Low score: 72%.
Music of choice: Ratatat's Ratatat.
Snack: Ginger Chews from Trader Joe's and lotsa water.

SOLSC Day 18. Click to return.

Filling Up at the Slicer Station

2010-03-16T21:12:00.000-07:00

As I have been gone this past few days, instead of reading my books (I have many more to consider, thanks to my Slicers) I tried to catch up on the posting.

I was happy to read that one author and her husband received their traveling call to see their new baby boy. Another writer wondered about how will we know if we are the good teachers. . . or the bad ones who get sacked? Another wrote about her father's Grudge Box, and how, upon his death, she and her brother opened it to find little slips of paper, each denoting a kind of heartache and pain. Still another wrote about an elderly Italian man diffusing a potentially harmful situation while riding the transit home.

I wish I could write individually every night on all of your blogs. I learn so much about what's really going on in the world of teachers, of relationships, of ups and downs and an occasional sideways thrust into the gut. I learn about struggling to maintain a delicate balance in the face of all that.

I feel completely drained after my visit to my parents, and sit staring at the computer with nothing to say. Empty, I worry about how I'll navigate these ending years. I wonder if I can be the daughter they need. I wonder if I can continue my relationship with them in spite of all the hurdles of their hearing and sight loss, increasing OCD, frailty, tears and sadness. I'm anxious about all this.

I took a night off and read. Joined in your lives. Filled up.

Thanks for writing. Thank you all.

SOLSC Day 17. Click to return.
Happy St. Patrick's Day!

Clearing out the Cobwebs

2010-03-16T08:29:00.000-07:00

Whenever I head out on a trip, an adventure, a visit there's this surge of adrenalin that picks me up and carries me through the travel, the airport hassles, the whatever.

Coming home? Only fatigue accompanies me along my way. The suitcase needs to be emptied, the photos uploaded, sleep caught up on and just a general list of Things To Do.

Only sometime later do the cobwebs of coming home clear in order to see the memories glistening on those strands like dewy jewels in the morning light. I have memories of my mother's blue blue eyes watching me. She asks about my children, demonstrating her ability to keep tabs on all those who she loves and cares about. She's up to date on everyone, not missing a beat on life events of her posterity. It's a talent. I have memories of my father leaning in for a discussion, intent on listening for the point I was making, catching it and winding up again to toss it back to me, keeping the fine art of conversation lively and active. It's a skill that I hope someday to emulate. I miss them both already, and look forward to my next trip.

And today, a rare picture in my posts.
My friend Judy posted about the yellows of spring last week and I came home to several fragrant stocks of yellow freesia in my garden. Temperature wise? It's supposed to be in the mid-70s today. I'm heading out Orange County to lunch with my son, then I'll do some grading. Somewhere in this day, I hope to stow the suitcase and put away the detritus from my trip.

Welcome home.

SOLSC Day 16. Click logo to return.

We Need Paper Towels

2010-03-15T06:59:00.000-07:00

I think my father wanted to spend some time alone with my mother yesterday as he encouraged me to head out to church, where a special speaker was addressing a large gathering of saints. (He was worried about her not bouncing back from her illness, I think, and really, couldn't we all use a little space from houseguests once in a while?)

As I was driving there, I passed a downtown Rescue Mission where the large cross (Jesus Saves) reminded passersby of their main mission (Hope, Peace, Love), but added: "We need paper towels. Thank you."

I was raised with a strong religious tradition, and have been reminded more than once that while religions can preach all day long from the pulpit about being saved and reading the scriptures and sequestering their members from sin and evil, most of the time, it really is about the paper towels. We lived in Peru when I was a child and on our way to family excursions would pass by Lima's city dump, where there were many squatters. A common sight was a small hovel created from four large square grass mats (three walls and a roof), the drifting gray smoke from their small fires making up their hearth and home as they lived on what they could find in the refuse. More than once my father made the observation that these souls needed a full stomach before they could be educated, or saved, or what have you.

That idea has resonated as I've delivered many many new-baby casseroles, served dinners at homeless shelters or offered up my time to help pack relief boxes for Katrina. We're all just trying to keep body and soul together one way or another. To be truthful, I'm not very good at preaching religion and probably never will be. But I can look out for a neighbor who needs their trash cans brought in. Or a friend who just needs someone to take them to lunch and listen.

When my first husband blithely stepped away from our marriage, a close friend knocked on my door in those first few awful days, bringing me and the children a simple supper of fried chicken, mashed potatos and green jello. She went back out to her car and brought in a plate of cupcakes and sat us down at the kitchen table to eat. She then went over to the sink, and did the dishes, chatting away as we all tried to not think of the devastation that we felt. She then bathed the children, tucking them in to sleep with a song and a story, then sat beside me on the sofa as I cried and cried and cried.

More than once I have been the recipient of such an act of kindness, of someone tending to my earthly needs, of someone--if you will--showing up with the paper towels, saving my life. I can only hope to do the same for someone else.

SOLSC Day 15. Click to return.

Building a Class--Want to Help?

2010-03-13T21:14:00.000-08:00

I pulled up the Course Outline for the classes I'm supposed to teach in the Fall. I was given a plum of a course, Literature (rarely awarded to an adjunct), but at a really terrible time: MF 11-1. The Friday slot is new to our campus, because someone in the President's office wants a "college hour," so is disrupting these carefully honed schedules in order to shoehorn one in. So the MW class is now MF. (The other course I'm teaching is, as my mother calls it, Bonehead English. She's right.)

Luckily at my college, we are given free reign with what we assign for textbooks. Yay. That almost makes the Friday slot palatable. The idea of the course is to introduce them to the elements of literature: poetry, drama, novels, short stories. Oh my. For an English teacher this is like being a kid in a candy shop. I have some short stories I love to teach, and ditto the poetry.

So for ideas for the novels, I prowled my parents' bookcases, and asked them for their favorites. My mom said it was always the one she was reading, and then she'd let it pass from her mind. My dad pulled out some heavy hitters: Gaddis, Stegner, Hemingway. It's a big world of books out there, isn't it?

So, the novel (or two?)--I still have no idea. But you, my fellow Slicers, might. If in the comments you wouldn't mind leaving me the title of the novel that you've liked the best, plus a one line addition as to why, I'd appreciate it. I'm looking at everything, but would prefer the slimmer novels, with some meat on those bones.

Thanks.

SOLSC Day 14. Click to return.

Approaching the Limit

2010-03-12T20:39:00.000-08:00

Visiting my parents, our pace is turtle-like, but that's the way of the older folks, and I'm fine with that. They let my husband and I pay for lunch today--a first--as they have always liked to remain in the Parent-slot, paying for things, taking care of me, their fourth daughter in a family of seven children.

My mother is sick with a bad cough, and she looks so tiny, sitting in her chair, exhausted from coughing and a too-strong dose of cough medicine from last night which has left her a bit groggy. She is silent a lot today--another first--as she has always held her own in our fast-moving conversations. Dad is a bit more compulsive about things, and I have to tell him, in a good-natured way, to sit and let the dishes be dirty for a few minutes while we talk. He lets my pasta dish remain solo on the table, which I think about does him in, his need for tidiness and order having increased dramatically since our last visit. He's the only driver in the house. She can hear well, even my whisper to my husband in a sotto voce, while he cranks up the hearing aids. He can see like a hawk, while she can't read the numbers on the microwave.

I can see that they're approaching their outer limits of independent living in some ways, which is sad. I seem to think that in my mind they'll be here forever and forever and I'll be scheduling little trips to see them and stay in their condo. Somehow I can't imagine this not being available to me, but rationally I know it won't be. Time to enjoy it while I can--so I'm not going down to Salt Lake tomorrow to see my sister, but instead will stay here and cook Seafood Scallop Gumbo because my mother wants me to.

I ask if they have any mending they want done, what technology problems are bugging them, how can I help? They've got this life of theirs down pretty pat, but it just feels little more precarious than before.

And I'm just not ready for them to go.

SOLSC Day 13. Click to return.

Back Home Again

2010-03-12T07:54:00.000-08:00

There's something about coming home again--but it wasn't my childhood home. It's my parents' condominium, high up on the east bench of Mt. Ogden, overlooking the valley all the way out to the defunct flour mill towers and almost to the upper portion of the Great Salt Lake.

I never lived here, but have been here many times since they moved from the big house three streets over . As my mother likes to say, they got rid of the big house before they had to, nestling easily

into this one-floor, served by an elevator, extremely efficient, very comfortable abode. Everything here has its place.

My 84-year-old father tells me that one day last week he realized, as he went to bed, that he hadn't had to fight with technology that day. The home theater worked, the car was working, and the computer/internet was up and running and fine. I understand that one, realizing that all these things that make our modern-day lives what they are, have a cost: that we are required to be handmaidens to technology. For if we do not remain patiently involved, the system may go down. It does not care if we are frustrated, or if we are trying to get the gold-medal

performance on the Olympics, or if we have a deadline, or if we desperately need to go somewhere in the car.

Emerson said, "Things are in the saddle and ride mankind."

Oh, yeah.

(Click to return.)

Encouraging the Students

2010-03-10T20:05:00.001-08:00

The student came over to my "office" which is any free table on the second floor of the library for an hour before one of my classes, with his concern and dejection carefully plastered all over his face in his Meet The Teacher expression.

Him: "I plan to work really hard, really, but I just need an extra day for my essay."
Me:

Him: "I mean, I'm really stepping up here and want to do well.
Me:
Him: "By the way, do you have my grade?"
Me: "73%"
Him: "YESSSS!!!! Whoa, that's great. Thanks."

Miss Moved-to-Arizona-and Missed-Eight-Classes-But-Came-Back met with me last week. She, too, had the face on.
Her: "Can I still come back to class?
Me:
Her: "Thank you! Thank you!!! I know it's three weeks late, but can I still turn in the second essay?"
Me:
Her: "Oh. Bummer. Well, okay, I'll work really hard and turn in the third one on time. I'll see you Monday for peer review."
Me, after she didn't come to class on Monday:
Her email today: "I've been working on the paper for three days and didn't come to class today because it wasn't done. Sorry. Do you think I should drop the class and start all over?"
Me:

I like to encourage my students.

(Day 11 of the Slice of Life Challenge. Click to return.)

Brilliant Pieces of Wisdom

2010-03-09T21:31:00.000-08:00

Oh wow. This Slicing is great!

Why do I say this today? It's because I snatched a brilliant piece of wisdom from Kevin's blog, which you just have to read. To take it completely out of context (really, you have to read Kevin's blog) the quote is “I refuse to do more work than the student.”

My sushi therapy friend Judy and I have been riffing on this all day. Does it mean we get to be as lazy as some of our students? Well what about those students who are completely slothful, yet they benefit from the efforts we make in our lesson prep to teach the students that are interested, and interesting? Do we scale back our prep to even it out? Or does it mean that we don't start our engines until we hear the varroom of theirs at the starting line?

I think it means that we strike a balance. We can't do the work, the learning, the effort for those arrayed before us in their desks, balancing their books and their lives and their 35 hours of working at Starbucks and their child with pneumonia and their 24-hour video game marathons. Everyone gets to figure it out--gets to figure out what's important. And because I think school's important, I want them all to succeed. (Preaching to the choir, here.)

But I need to tattoo that saying on my head, pulling back instead of making it too easy. Struggling to learn a concept (as mentioned by some in my comments a couple of days ago--you are all wonderful, wonderful) is not necessarily a bad thing.

Because I read this, while slicing along, I laid my guilt over not letting Mr. Bodybuilder Student revise his essay for the third time, instead letting his 68% stand.

He chose. I chose.

But if and when he steps up, I'll be there, ready and willing.

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Sushi Therapy

2010-03-08T21:10:00.000-08:00

I'm an adjunct.

That means every semester I sign a little paper that says that I have no contract, that I am at the mercy of the administrators, that I can't sue, complain, or try to become a full-timer. That I am worse than a grad student in terms of job security and benefits. Okey-dokey.

So budget cuts. For personal reasons, I volunteer to drop one of my two classes. They think I'm saintly. I let them. Then my Fall 2010 schedule came out. El Crapola, as my son would say. Sigh.

So my fellow faculty member and I went out for Sushi Therapy after class today. We stayed for a long time, chewing over this issue and that and dissecting the wretched schedules and weirdo students and strange fellow faculty and in the end we were filled with good sushi, filled with empathy and good vibes.

We're ready to go again, ready for our continued forays into the adjunct maze.

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Parallel Sets of Knowledge

2010-03-07T16:17:00.000-08:00

Like many of you, I spent a few minutes reading the New York Times article "Building a Better Teacher," by Elizabeth Green (March 2, 2010).

We all know that what we know is only part of the classroom experience, whether you teach kindergarten or freshmen in college. I wrote earlier about watching the series taught by Harvard's Professor Sandel and while I was interested in the content, I was also interested in watching how he pulled student comment out, used it to springboard onto other ideas, putting these ideas together, as my father, a long-time university professor, would say, in a "string of pearls."

So what makes a good teacher? I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that I think many of those who are participating in this challenge have got to be some of the good ones--those who have "parallel" sets of knowledge. That is, not only do we (I'm hoping to include myself in that set) know what it is that the students need to know (one set of knowledge), such as those items listed in a course outline or in an SLO, but we also know the language--the lingo--on how to bring our students to that knowledge.

Many teachers have one set. Or they have the other (think "classroom management skills," for example). But to have both is, according to current thinking, what takes a teacher from adequate to spectacular. And that is the challenge for us all. I often wonder why we flounder in the SLO swamp (can you tell I hate them?), trying to define and talk about and cram pedagogy down throats when some of us (especially we readers of Two Writing Teachers) have felt like there's something more. Something that's missing in that discussion of standards, learning objectives, etc.

From the article:

"Inspired by Ball [a teacher who has put together these two sets of knowledge in a system she's titled Mathematical Knowledge for Teaching, or MKT], other researchers have been busily excavating parallel sets of knowledge for other subject areas. A Stanford professor named Pam Grossman is now trying to articulate a similar body of knowledge for English teachers, discerning what kinds of questions to ask about literature and how to lead a group discussion about a book."

This has made me think about how well I combine the two in my own teaching. I know what I want them to know. But do I know how to describe it to my students? If I took last week's attempt to help them figure out how to write a thesis for an essay on a short novel we just read, I'd have to say in some areas I don't--especially if the looks on their faces were any indication. My mailbox is filling up with 'Is this what you mean?' sort of emails.

I do believe that some sort of struggling to gain mastery over a concept is okay. I just don't want to be the teacher who doesn't have the language to help her students gain that mastery.

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Higher and Lower Pleasures

2010-03-05T17:09:00.002-08:00

slide from Sandel's lecture

I've been watching/streaming/listening to Michael Sandel's class at Harvard, from which this slide was taken; this class was filmed and put on the web. The title is Justice: What's the Right Thing To Do? and I must say I can see those Harvard students are getting a great education if this class is typical fare.

The episode I listened to this week involved choosing between higher and lower pleasures and included three film clips to illustrate the point: Shakespearean theatre, the intro to Fear Factor and a bit from a Simpson episode. Sandel then asked the lecture hall which they preferred watching. The Simpsons won. Then Sandel asked what was the higher pleasure? Shakespeare. All of this was based on the thinking of John Stuart Mill, a philosopher. But even Mill acknowledged that a person had to be trained to recognize the "higher" pleasure.

I teach at a community college, and it has been--as my friend and I joke, especially this year with all the budget cutbacks--Walmartized. Indeed we are the lowest common denominator on the college scene. But I am also product of the community college system, so I believe in the philosophy behind it. But the exchange of ideas in this streamed episode made me realize how much time I spend talking about the lower pleasure basics: how to write a sentence, how to insert a proper MLA reference, how to avoid misplaced commas, and how little time I spend with my students talking about higher pleasure ideas. True, my English 101 course is designed to teach students how to write better (the original being taught at this same Harvard university in the late 1800s) and not to necessarily discuss ideas. But the last slide really made me think about trying to do this once in a while:

I don't want to leave my classes only with satisfaction gained from a tightly-written paragraph. I want to leave them with a desire to gain more knowledge, to figure out and to find their way to--according to Mill--the higher things that can satisfy.

Click to return to SOLSC.
P.S. to the See's Candy Post. I called Corporate. They remember the "Spudettes," for that's what they were called. I can rest easy now, knowing I've moved the daftness goalposts back a little bit.

Tomato Soup

2010-03-05T11:11:00.001-08:00

First off, let me say that it's a complete coincidence that I'm writing about food again. But really, just like yesterday's post, it's a launch into something else.

Some of you have noticed that I have a travel blog. And a food blog--only it's really not a food blog--it's a recipe blog so that when my kids call me up (or my mom or some of the church ladies) and say, "Can I have the recipe for. . ." I can refer them to my blog. It's a record. But that's not what this post is about.

It's about tomato soup. And travel.

One day a few years ago, we sat in a cafe high up on the hill above Prague and read the menu, trying to wrap our brains around what was listed and what we imagined that food item might look like. This exercise happened a lot, as we discovered that what we may think the food should like it often bore no resemblance to what they served us. At home, you sit, you eat. But eating while traveling in a foreign country is so much more.

We didn't want much--just something to tide us over until dinner. It was hot that day, but storm clouds were moving in from our right and we didn't know if we'd be rained on. We were nearing the end of our trip, so the budget was tight. And how long would they let us sit here and rest our feet, weary from climbing up to to the cathedral and beyond?

My husband insisted he didn't want anything, but I ordered "puree of tomato" not knowing what it was. It turned out to be soup. Tomato soup with a swirl of cream, and two breadsticks. And we nursed our $4 bottle of water and shared the soup and sat there while the clouds moved overhead and down into the valley, a show of lights and darks, some wind, but no rain, and we rested our feet and enjoyed the view and revived enough to go on touristing. We ate several meals while in Prague, but this impromtu meal remains one of our favorite memories.

I thought about that as I made up my version of Two-can Tomato Soup this afternoon. Like I said, I'm not a food blogger, but I do like to try and present the photo in a way that is appealing, and I thought of that day in Prague, with its garnish of breadsticks. In they went.

When we travel, we think the souvenirs are what we bring home with us, but I've noticed that it's the other things that travel home too, things like the craving for Venice's torrone, a recording of a new-to-me Canadian songwriter, a memory of the way the water dripped in a fountain in Japan, or something as simple as breadsticks in tomato soup.

Click to return.

See's Irish Potatoes

2010-03-04T17:03:00.000-08:00

"Do you ever get the smaller versions of this?" I asked.

"We've never had those," the lady in the white dress said. I was at See's candy, picking up the seasonal treats of Irish Potatoes. For those of you on the East Coast, these treats have a nutty fondant center, rolled in a cinnamon-cocoa mixture and studded with pine nuts for eyes. They are wonderful and chewy and a lovely St. Patrick's Day treat.

Her brusque response made me feel like I was about 97 years old, and she looked at me like I was nuts. I wasn't. She was merely younger than me, and hadn't had the experience I'd had. The year they were introduced, they sent out the smaller versions for the stores to hand out as treats--as a way to sample their newest product. One day I went back and bought a pound of those tiny Irish Potatoes and took them to a church dinner to share at my table at our Wearin' O' The Green Family Feud Activity. We all loved them.

But according to this young woman, they'd never had them. I tried again. "Well I'm pretty sure that you did. If I recall correctly, See's sold them when they first came out. I had you hand-pack me a box."
"No," she said. "We've never had them." The stone wall of an expression looked back at me. I tried another tack.

"How long have you worked here?" I asked.
"Eight years."

Ah, okay. I guess I'm used to the softball approach used with customers these days, you know--that "customer is always right" business. Obviously, she didn't get that memo. But the exchange was more than that. Perhaps today--on my no-makeup-sneakers-day--I looked a bit old to her, perhaps even a bit daft, so she felt justified in correcting my "incorrect" information. In fact, in her mind, I probably was 97, and would probably need to be walked to my car, my imaginary walker stowed in the trunk before they made me sign imaginary forms that said I would hold See's harmless if my imaginary medications reacted with any of their chocolate, thereby rendering me more helpless, more daft.

I've come to think this problem isn't going to get any better. I'm going to get older and older, and maybe even someday have a walker with the tennis balls on the legs, and thicker glasses, heavier shoes and I may even act slightly daft, or disconnected or whatever. How am I going to handle all those young'uns who treat my perfectly good memories as a fiction, an exercise in triviality? "There, there," they'll say and pat me on my hand, while leading me gently away.

I have no answers for this one; I cannot predict the future to know if I will be lost in my memories or still have a grip on reality. This experience makes me hold the mirror up to see if my behavior towards those with grayer hair and a few more wrinkles is thoughtful and respectful, or rushed and impatient.

When I came home, a Google search put the origins right about the year 1997--when the salesgirl would have been trading notes with her buddies in junior high. And to make double-sure, I'm calling See's Customer Service tomorrow, hoping for proof.

Click to return to SOLSC

P.S. The recipe for the Orange Chicken from yesterday's post can be found •here• at ElizabethCooks.com.

Church Dinner

2010-03-03T22:50:00.000-08:00

While our church dinner tonight with the ladies auxiliary didn't look anything like the one to the left--the women in the photo all in pert little hats and wide flowing skirts--we sat around round tables with real tablecloths, our fancy table setting of stemware, silver and real plates borrowed just for the occasion.

I was one in forty there tonight, but all over our church this month, women in many congregations gather to celebrate the birthday of the women's auxiliary, a proud occasion. I like this annual event, and brought my little gift to exchange, my chicken dish, and even lent them my husband to help serve, do dishes and to put away the tables and chairs at the end of the night. However they may soon ban me from the bring-a-dish volunteer.

When I was handed the recipe for the chicken dish, I inwardly groaned. It was like those recipes I used to cook in the 1970s, that always included opening a can of cream of something soup and pouring all over the chicken, topping with cheese and then bread crumbs drenched with butter, then baking for one hour. High fat, high sodium, low flavor. So as we stood in the hallway, the food lady and I, I asked if I could substitute the canned soup for a homemade white sauce, as we didn't keep those cans around: too much sodium.
Sure.
Then do you mind if I switch it to a broth-based sauce and cut out the cheese? Lactose intolerant and low fat, you see.
Sure.
Can I leave off the butter off the bread crumbs? That low fat thing again.
Yeah, whatever. Just have it there by 6:30, hot.

I made Ginger-Orange Chicken, and was served last (by my husband) which was fine with me because I didn't really want to upset the karma of the universe too much. But really. Church ladies! Time to update those recipe files. There's been a huge food revolution the last five years with Michael Pollan's books, slow foods, and locally grown food cooperatives among other things. Time to throw out a few recipes and learn how to cook the newer way. Like your hairstyle from high school has to change, so should your cooking. I didn't utter any of these radical sentiments at the dinner table, but three women asked if they could have a bite of my chicken.

Sure. No problem.

Click on button to return to the Slice of Life Challenge.

Slicing Again?

2010-03-03T08:57:00.000-08:00

I purposely hesitated before jumping into this water again. Two days to think, to ponder, to wonder if I'm up to all of this committment for writing. It's a luxury to be able to contemplate, and I wallowed in it, wondering if, a year later--having ignored formal writing while Take Life As It Came--was a better life than the purposed pattern of writing daily.

I've admired those who kept up with their purposed writing, reading them in long quenching drafts at the computer, before going on my life of detritus, children, grandchildren, traveling, grading, quirkiness, quilting, sorrow, sadness, aches and pains. I think that about covers it all.

So, I'm jumping in. Going at it again. Wish me luck!
(As always, click on SOLSC button to return to Two Writing Teachers' Website.)

The Great Divide

2009-09-18T07:23:00.000-07:00

One benefit that linking into Two Writing Teachers provides is a window into elementary education and blogs and sites that address their concerns and issues. One such is the Infinite Thinking Machine, and his latest post, about the reaction to his daughter's commentary on Obama's speech, was a fascinating look into our "attention economy." Although that term implies a monetary system, in reading further I think it also could be applied to an "attention society," or as he put it, a society where everyone just wants to be recognized. The use of YouTube and the multiple discussions about Web 2.0 in the classroom leaves me feeling slightly queasy (see The Natives are Getting Restless, a series of notes on Wesley Fryer's blog).

I teach in a classroom that has too many student desks for the room size, dirty floors, two whiteboards (one has a row of student desks in front of it), a series of pull-down charts (one titled Muslum Leaders up to 1100; that spelling is theirs) but no pull-down projection screen. I also have two overhead projectors on moveable carts that are positioned at the front corners of the room; only one works and that was on the higher cart that blocked views of the students, so I switched them out. I wheel them carefully between backpacks, student desks to project, then return them to the front. There is no Smartboard, no computer, no digital projector, nothing that would indicate that this classroom exists, not in 1972 when it was built, but rather in this century.

So what will happen when a student, who has had access to a classroom at the elementary and/or secondary level with its digital bells and whistles, comes into mine? While I try to change up activities, engage them in discussion, there is no way I can match the level of interactivity and awareness that they've experienced in their fully-funded classrooms in their prior educational venues. Do the teachers at those level wonder how they fare when they finally leave the halls of high school and move on?

I'm in the middle of grading their first essays. The error rate ranges from 1 error to 39 (the most so far) in a three-page paper. I wonder what happened in their earlier curriculum that they think turning in such an error-laden essay is appropriate, and this after they had a peer-review with a rough draft. Many cannot read at a college level (our text is not dense, but rather a "friendly," conversational-style text, fairly free of political issues). About five of those well-schooled in the "attention economy" carry most class discussions, and even allowing for natural shyness or reticence of some students, I have to assume the rest have not even cracked the book.

I feel like I'm my grandmother, teaching in a one-room schoolhouse, addressing the basics of a good education: reading, writing, disucssion and most of these students are unprepared. I know several of them are skilled video bloggers, all of them have cellphones and are proficient in texting (it shows in their emails to me) so I can't say they aren't fully in the web mesh of this day and age.

While I appreciate that the cutting edge of web technology is changing our classrooms, our children's approach to gathering information, and our teaching, when they hit a classroom without Web 2.0, can they still function?

Is it too much to ask of them?

Welcome Back to My Real Life

2009-09-15T11:23:00.000-07:00

I returned to the classroom yesterday after our second international trip (this time to Munich). I was feeling pretty jetlagged, but ready to go again. We had Peer Review on their first essay, which is a section of class where they bring in their essays, trade with a classmate and then evaluate each other's essay. Not only does it 1) give them an earlier due date so I don't have to read first drafts, it also 2) gives them a chance to have someone else take a look at their essay and 3) improve their editing skills.

See? I've thought it all out.

Except what do you do Student A brings in the SECOND essay to be reviewed? The essay that I'm going to assign tomorrow with a spiffy assignment packet, a presentation and all sorts of tips and strategies?

I met with Student A, a highly decorated (tattoo-wise) military veteran who is in his late twenties, and gently asked him why he chose to do the second essay.

He unfolds a note from his orthopedic doctor explaining that he's going to have surgery soon and he'll have to get up and move around, may not be able to sit. I said that's no problem, just please take a seat on the very back row so you don't disturb others if you have to move. And it's okay to get up and walk around OUTSIDE. As a teacher, can I just say things aren't looking real great?

So I herded him back to the subject at hand.
--Why did he do the second essay?
--Because I want to get ahead.
--But you can't really do that one yet because we haven't finished the first one. Besides, I haven't given out the assignment sheet yet.
--I looked in the Course Calendar and read what you said and went off of that. (He pulls out his notebook, stuffed with papers every which way.) See? Here's all my research for my paper on Tattoos.

Note to self: add "tattoos" to the list of banned topics. And I'm wondering if while in the service, that not only did he enjoy the local tat parlor but also the local drug dealer? *Focus, focus.*

I start him on brainstorming some topics to write about. He reassures me that it's no problem to write an essay about the first time he served in combat--It will be a wonderful essay, he says. Really wonderful.

Wonderful.

Jetlag

2009-08-30T17:20:00.001-07:00

In spite of the picture above, I believe it's easier to adjust to jetlag when I'm heading out on a visit to Europe, excited about finally seeing all those sights I've noted in my guidebooks. I swallow a melatonin on the plane, skip their meal, set my watch ahead and try to adjust quickly. Of course, I've not gone to India or Hong Kong lately, which is completely inverted from our day.

We arrived home Friday from our trip to Italy (you can view our travel blog--click on the link to the right). The plane arrived at 1 p.m. Our luggage arrived at the carousel at around 2 p.m. and we were through customs about 5 minutes later, even in spite of my candied citrus peel and wrapped Italian candies for my classes. We arrived at home at 4 p.m. after enduring LA traffic. I was at the grocery store at 4:15 p.m.

I stared at the meat counter. I was jetlagging, seriously jetlagging. I looked at the chicken breasts and didn't think I could remember how to cook those. The fish looked too complicated too. Definitely couldn't face crab, real or fake. The man behind the counter looked at me. I looked at him. I shrugged my shoulders, smiled wanly, and moved on. We had pasta that night, a pale imitation of what we'd had in Montepulciano for lunch, even though I'd bought the expensive, imported pasta in the store that day.

Last night was worse than the night before. I'd taken my melatonin, but the weird thing is that even though my mind insists that it's dark and I should be sleeping, I awake at midnight, hungry or something, or at 3 and find my way to the bathroom, or 5 and decide I'd better give up. I finally got up at 7:30 a.m. groggy as I was when I turned in at 9:30 the previous night.

The worst thing is I can't seem to get traction in my own life, the teaching/grading life that begins again tomorrow full bore. It's going to be an interesting week.

It's Thursday

2009-08-06T10:02:00.000-07:00

It's Thursday and that means two papers on the driveway--we have the LATimes weekend subscription and greedily dive into real news.

It's Thursday and my Fix-It man can come and put in the light switch in my laundry room that's eaten up 5 hours of my time, four runs to the hardware stores, three different purchased switches.

It's Thursday and it's supposed to be cooler today, but the morning was sunny and hot when my husband and I took our walk.

It's Thursday and I finally got the dead bananas on the counter made up into two loaves of Banana Nut Bread.

It's Thursday and I think I have enough energy to tackle three little almost-done chores around the house: living room curtains, bathroom curtain, quilt backing.

It's Thursday and I heard my daughter's voice today, clear and lilting, with a hint of a smile. Yesterday she went into surgery to cut the child-bearing machinery off at the knees and her heart, already hurting from her peripartum cardiomyopathy hurt more because as she said, "I have no choice in this matter."

It's Thursday and I woke up early, remembering our last phone call last night. I wandered around the house in the early morning, the dawn beginning to break, wondering how she fared on her anti-emetic medicine that she said made her chest hurt even more. I planned her funeral, throwing open my mental closet about what I should wear, how I could help her husband, how to keep in touch with her little children as they grew.

It's Thursday and when I told her all this, she gave the smallest laugh, saying "No Amazing Grace at my funeral. I want the pallbearers to dance down the aisle like they are in that wedding video on YouTube."

It's Thursday and that laugh was what I needed to hear.

It's Thursday and it's already a better day than yesterday.

Hmmm.

2009-07-31T11:12:00.000-07:00

Quantity produces quality. If you only write a few things, you're doomed.
Ray Bradbury

That about takes care of my writing for this summer, I guess.

I've been compiling quotes on writing for use in my first day of class. I used to do some sort of a game, where they'd interview each other and introduce each other and names, and jokes, and people liked it. But in reality, no one remembered anyone's name, and unless they had some sort of fascinating hobby, like being a bouncer in a bar, no one paid much attention. And it takes sooo much time and while it broke the ice, I'm ready for a change.

So I'm compiling a series of quotes--some short, some lengthy--and I'll pair up these students, have them talk about it, write about it for my First Day Writing Sample. Then they'll get up and talk about it a little, and intro their partner.

In reviewing all these quotes, some taken from a writing journal I kept for one of my classes, it reminds me that I once wanted to be a writer. Yep. I did. I have an undergraduate degree in Creative Writing and then went back for an MFA in Creative Writing (CRWT). All so I can make a pittance a month (I figure I'm safe from pink slips as we adjuncts make practically nothing at all, so we're the last great bargain) and teach English, in which I have no degree in at all. I have offered (begged) to teach CRWT, but those plum jobs go to the full-timers, of which there are NO slots for us adjuncts to slide into. I've tried that one too.

But trying to get back to the person who wanted to be a writer from the person who now teaches English and is tired most of the time seems like a grand yawning canyon in the space-time continuum. I almost believe I can do it sometimes. I think of Frank McCourt, who taught writing in high school for years--years!--and then wrote Angela's Ashes and Teacher Man (the latter book which I recommend highly, for all you writing teachers out there). Another over-60 writer was Harriet Doerr, who began at 67. Norman Maclean was 78 when A River Runs Through It was published. Tillie Olsen began publishing in her 70s; although she did write a brilliant first chapter of a book when 19 (which was published in the Parisian Review), work, children and housekeeping responsibilities kept her from the writing world until she was older.

What keeps me from leaping over that chasm? I've identified a few things:
Unwillingness to hurt others with possible revelatory writing
Fatigue, of brain, of body
Grading papers during the semester
Lethargy
Internet
Letting other people's needs/wants/desires/hopes cut to the head of my line of needs/wants/desires/hopes.
Belief that I can't be an Evil Knievel and glide over the divide of my life
Belief that I can't be disciplined enough to write, daily
Belief that I can't rise to the top of the publisher's slush pile, even I did write
Belief that I can't.

I happened on the NaNoWriMo site. It almost makes me believe that I can.

A Quilt, or Two

2009-07-29T22:21:00.001-07:00

I couldn't really talk about these before because they were both gifts. The one above was for my son and his wife. When I made the first round of HUGE quilts, they'd just gotten married and weren't really sure they wanted a quilt (she told me later her grandma made VERY traditional quilts, and she's more of a modern gal). But after seeing some of mine, we all went down to the fabric store last Thanksgiving and picked out the pattern and fabrics; I added some from my stash when I needed to broaden the palette.

I gave this to Matthew and Kimberly this weekend, and they seemed happy to have it. I'm sure they'll send me a photo of it on their bed soon (hint, hint) and I'm happy they like it.

I didn't really have a name for it when I sent it off with them, but today I had some time to think about it. . . and go through my favorite quote book. I couldn't resist Marlowe's verse, from The Passionate Shepherd to his Love:

Come live with me, and be my love,

And we will all the pleasures prove,

That valleys, groves, or hills or fields,

Or woods and steepy mountains, yield.

While it's everyone's mind runs to the obvious (we are so conditioned) I read it on a different level. The quilt has zig-zags, that when looked at from a sideways direction, looks like little mountains, so the name is Steepy Mountains. And for Matthew and Kimberly, who are one of the Most Alive Couples in the universe, they will have lush groves in their life, mysterious woods, rolling valleys, but also the steepy mountains and fields and fields to sow and tend and harvest. Of course, I wish them cuddle time under this quilt, but I wish them most of all, that they live together forever and ever and be each other's love.

This one, titled Sun and Sand was made in honor of the marriage of my son Peter to his love Megan this past weekend. While they both live in Davis, the wedding was held in Monterey, where a lovely confluence of beach and tide pools and sun and sand occurs. The colors of beigy/yellow of a warmed beach and delft blues of a clear summer sky I thought would represent the world around them on the weekend of their wedding.

It was begun in a class I took last summer, and I wasn't quite sure about it initially. It's hard to see the final project when you've just spent hours at the sewing machine. I bothered my friend Rhonda in Washington, DC until she said finally: "Get it quilted, and then decide!" I took her advice (she's an award-winning quilter with impeccable taste), and when I brought it home from the quilter's, I fell in love with it. I'd already decided it should go to my newlyweds, but boy, did I have a hard time parting with it!

And isn't that how love happens? We begin, we stitch our lives together, not always knowing how things will turn out, but over time, we blend our hopes and dreams and fears together, and our love changes a few disparate pieces, a lump of wadding and some raw materials into a sun-bursting of a quilt. And we like it, and each other. (Of course, this is all rather cheesy, but hey, I've just been to a wedding and I'm all aglow.)

I first discovered this experience when I was stitching a quilt at the bedside of my mother, who had just had a heart attack. I had just pinned the quilt top to the batting and backing and struggled to get it in the hoop to quilt it. I sat there day after day, visiting, working. As I put more quilting stitches in, the quilt sandwich ceased to be three separate pieces of fabric and instead started to behave as one piece.

Enough of the metaphors. . . I just know I send my love to these two couples with my hands and heart and quilts.

Olive Kitteridge

2009-07-11T10:21:00.001-07:00

This is a reading summer, among other things. First summer I've had to myself since before I started grad school, about five years ago, and I'm really enjoying it. I have one more week before it all ends and have two more books to read--wonder if I'll make it? Don't expect this many book reviews from me for a long time--I'm such a sludge in the reading department when the grading begins.

Anyway, I finished Olive Kitteridge this morning. Written by Elizabeth Strout, it is an episodic novel about a retired school teacher, Olive, but it's also about her town. The New York Times puts it this way: "The presence of Olive Kitteridge, a seventh-grade math teacher and the wife of a pharmacist, links these 13 stories. A big woman, she’s like a planetary body, exerting a strong gravitational pull. Several stories put Olive at the center, but in a few she makes only a fleeting appearance."

"In one story, Olive bursts into tears when she meets an anorexic young woman. “I don’t know who you are,” she confesses, “but young lady, you’re breaking my heart.” “I’m starving, too,” Olive tells her. “Why do you think I eat every doughnut in sight?” “You’re not starving,” the girl replies, looking at this large woman, with her thick wrists and hands, her “big lap.” “Sure I am,” Olive says. “We all are.” (from the NYT)

Some other favorite lines--
In discussing an older couple, Strout writes: "He put the blinker on, pulled out onto the avenue. 'Well that was nice,' she said, sitting back. They had fun together these days, they really did. It was as if marriage had been a long, complicated meal, and now there was this lovely dessert."

Olive goes on a trip to New York and from the plane she saw the landscape: "fields of bright and tender green in this morning sun, father out the coastline, the ocean shiny and almost flat, tiny white wakes behind a few lobster boats--then Olive felt something she had not expected to feel again: a sudden surging greediness for life. She leaned forward, peering out the window: sweet pale clouds, the sky as blue as your hat. . . seen from up here it all appeared wondrous, amazing. She remembered what hope was, and this was it. That inner churning that moves you forward, plows you through life the way the boats below plowed the shiny water, the way the plane was plowing forward to a place new, and where she was needed."

She's not an easy character, with her constant inner judgement meter running, the abrasiveness she demonstrated sometimes, her moodiness (which gets her into some sad situations), but she's a woman who has a generous heart, most of the time.

The Times noted that the weakest chapters are those where Olive only appears briefly, and I agree. But I loved the discussion of these characters who are past the hot bright burning-out of youth, who have to live with their faults, and with the faults of others. As a mother-in-law, I got a kick out of her reaction to her daughter-in-law, that uneasy push and pull feeling of losing a son, and not knowing how it will all turn out.

In grad school, I read so much coming of age stuff, that sexual passion lit that drives the under-thirties. Sometimes I found it tedious; as the oldest student in the program it was so much yesterday's news. I longed for novels to read that explored the landscape of the middle-aged character, with a life of, as Olive puts it, "big bursts and little bursts."

Read the book to find out what she means.

Commerce, Downtown LA-style

2009-07-08T15:21:00.001-07:00

Between Ssexxy Accessory and TU-TU fashion, I knew I'd arrived in the garment district of LA.

Unlike how I imagine NYCity's district, with racks of clothes being pushed around by runners between showrooms and ateliers, I also knew I was in LA's district by the smell of grilled onions, fresh for the pupusa take-out lunches. Other tip-offs are the mannequins, neatly lined up, bottoms-out, advertising their wares in a cheeky fashion, pockets and decorative stitching all in a row. There were also extremely fluffy dresses for First Communion, stacks of white T-shirts and colorful socks, as well as hanging garments lapped shoulder to shoulder so they looked like a headless-legless line of chorus girls, flapping in the hot LA breeze.

I was traveling up Maple Street to Michael Levine's--any sewer's mecca. I needed large buttons and Jo Ann's and Hancock's weren't offering anything with any kind of style. Getting to LA is half the adventure for those of us out in the sticks.

Most of us on Highway 60 were pushing 70 miles per hour when a small white car suddenly swerved right, overcorrected, swerving to the left, sideswiping the pick-up truck in front of me, then hitting the cement median wall. At that point, the principles of physics took over, scattering the bumper pieces into the faster lanes, and propelling the car back across four lanes of traffic, where it screeched and crashed into the right-hand wall; several cars stopped to help. We all crept slowly around the debris, then like true Angelenos, picked up speed again. A car with the license plates "Ms. Spedy" swept by me on the right. It was a miracle no one was pulled into the accident. The cynic in me supposed, "texting."

It reminded me of the pick-up truck traveling next to us when Mom/Dad were taking me to the airport last week. A loud explosion, and the shreds of the tire went flying--one right over our windshield. Dad pulled over to the right to give the swerving truck a chance to maneuver, then we slowly moved back into the traffic and on our way.

Back to the buttons. I crept around the block, looking for a meter and found one! Quarters to the rescue, but it wouldn't accept them. I pulled forward the next empty one. Ditto. The two shop owners brought me out a bag to put over the meter, and said, in a lilting reggae-ish patois: "Some folks park here free all day." I hurried over to Michael Levine's, bee-lined for the buttons, where I found what I was looking for. On the way out, I noticed their quilt fabric section. Another day, I thought, until, walking back to my car I noticed a parking lot right next door. One free hour's parking with purchase from Michael Levine's.

I'm not dumb. I moved the car, and headed back into the store.

After a pleasant interlude, I headed home, trying to escape the city. It's common knowledge that if you're not out by early afternoon, because of LA traffic, you won't get home in any timely fashion (as reported on the news radio on the way in: most commuters in Los Angeles spend--waste--70 hours per year in traffic, down from last year's 72 hours).

No mishaps on the way home. I used to do these little jaunts more often, but work, family and church responsibilities had filled my time. So, a sort of an adventure--silly little one--but a welcome respite from the norm.

Collections of Nothing

2009-07-03T10:00:00.001-07:00

I've decided to have a real summer, complete with summer reading (besides my Slicer compadres--it seems we've all relaxed down a notch, beginning with the tale of Tracey's stay at the beach , Juliann's thoughtful notion about being intentional about summer plans, and Lisa's reading on a rainy day--a perfect way to begin a summer). My sister runs a book review website for me, my three sisters and my mother, encouraging us to read and share our thoughts. So here's my thoughts on my most recent book.

Let's start off with the review from the New Yorker:
"What makes this book, bred of a midlife crisis, extraordinary is the way King weaves his autobiography into the account of his collection, deftly demonstrating that the two stories are essentially one. . . . His hard-won self-awareness gives his disclosures an intensity that will likely resonate with all readers, even those whose collections of nothing contain nothing at all."

Collections of Nothing, by William Davies King is small book, with his collection of envelope liners on the dust jacket, one of his quirky collections. He's collected cereal boxes, stamps, keys, dictionary pictures, food labels, and gears among other things, a vast collection that ended up in his garage where his soon-t0-be ex-wife deposited them. And that's how the book opens.

A verifiable collector of collections myself, I found many things reverberated with me in this little tome. Some notable quotes:
The essence of most collecting is to have the world in miniature, and I was determined to be a King (11).

Collecting is a constant reassertion of the power to own, an exercise in controlling otherness, and finally a kind of monument building to isure survival after death. For this reason, you can often read the collector in his or her collection, if not in the objects themselves, then in the business of acquiring, maintaining, and displaying them. To collect is to write a life (38).

"To have and to hold" is a resonant phrase for a collector. Ever object that comes into a collection experiences that wedding ceremony. . . . We are born wanting to be had and held, born collectible, and with a little luck we never stop being prized possessions (74).

Life marches on, while collectors trail behind, carrying a shovel and a sack (145).

Only one chapter was slightly boring to me, where he speaks of his senior thesis and quotes one of his villanelles; plow through this chapter and you'll find the rest of book an interesting dialogue between him, his collections and the reader.

It is published by The University of Chicago Press, and is a quick read, but a book you could dive into again and again.

Fifty Lessons

2009-06-10T17:03:00.000-07:00

A columnist for a regional newspaper, Regina Brett wrote: "To celebrate growing older, I once wrote the 45 lessons life taught me. It is the most-requested column I've ever written. My odometer rolls over to 50 this week, so here's an update:
(My favorites are in dark pink.)
1. Life isn't fair, but it's still good.
2. When in doubt, just take the next small step.
3. Life is too short to waste time hating anyone.
4. Don't take yourself so seriously. No one else does.
5. Pay off your credit cards every month.

6. You don't have to win every argument. Agree to disagree.
7. Cry with someone. It's more healing than crying alone.
8. It's OK to get angry with God. He can take it.
9. Save for retirement starting with your first paycheck.
10. When it comes to chocolate, resistance is futile.

11. Make peace with your past so it won't screw up the present.
12. It's OK to let your children see you cry.
13. Don't compare your life to others'. You have no idea what their journey is all about.
14. If a relationship has to be a secret, you shouldn't be in it.
15. Everything can change in the blink of an eye. But don't worry; God never blinks.

16. Life is too short for long pity parties. Get busy living, or get busy dying.
17. You can get through anything if you stay put in today. 18. A writer writes. If you want to be a writer, write.
19. It's never too late to have a happy childhood. But the second one is up to you and no one else.
20. When it comes to going after what you love in life, don't take no for an answer.

21. Burn the candles, use the nice sheets, wear the fancy lingerie. Don't save it for a special occasion. Today is special.
22. Overprepare, then go with the flow.
23. Be eccentric now. Don't wait for old age to wear purple.
24. The most important sex organ is the brain.
25. No one is in charge of your happiness except you.

26. Frame every so-called disaster with these words: "In five years, will this matter?"
27. Always choose life.
28. Forgive everyone everything.
29. What other people think of you is none of your business.
30. Time heals almost everything. Give time time.

31. However good or bad a situation is, it will change.
32. Your job won't take care of you when you are sick. Your friends will. Stay in touch.
33. Believe in miracles.
34. God loves you because of who God is, not because of anything you did or didn't do. 35. Whatever doesn't kill you really does make you stronger.

36. Growing old beats the alternative - dying young.
37. Your children get only one childhood. Make it memorable.
38. Read the Psalms. They cover every human emotion.
39. Get outside every day. Miracles are waiting everywhere.
40. If we all threw our problems in a pile and saw everyone else's, we'd grab ours back.

41. Don't audit life. Show up and make the most of it now. 42. Get rid of anything that isn't useful, beautiful or joyful.
43. All that truly matters in the end is that you loved.
44. Envy is a waste of time. You already have all you need.
45. The best is yet to come.

46. No matter how you feel, get up, dress up and show up.
47. Take a deep breath. It calms the mind.
48. If you don't ask, you don't get.
49. Yield.
50. Life isn't tied with a bow, but it's still a gift.

If I were writing this list, I agree with all of the above, plus:
Happiness is an inside job (a variation of hers, I suppose)
There are no answers to the "why" questions.

What would you add?

Packing up a Carnival--A Recap

2009-06-09T08:16:00.000-07:00

(click to head to a lovely site with lots of lovely photographs)

Can I just say that May's been a little busy? Can I add that June isn't letting up much either?

After finishing the semester, grading for a day, a night and a day, posting the grades, dealing with the (cranky as well as heartwarming) student email, we packed up the car and went to Zion National Park. That's ZION, not Zion's, like I always say. I'm working on that.

Then a day home, then the counter boys came to rip up our kitchen counters and put in new ones. Before and after photos coming soon. I packed and drove to Orange County to board a plane for Utah, to see my parents. As I'm walking down the jetway to the plane, my phone rings and it's Dave: "Interesting news. The sink's defective."

Saturday night I return, and between then and Monday morning, we took down all the drapery, blinds and miscellaneous window coverings WITHOUT A POWER DRILL, because it had been so long since we used it, the batteries were dead and weren't charging up. Something had gone wrong somewhere in Rechargeble Battery Land.

Monday morning, the window boys arrive to pull out all our windows and put new ones in. I also had my husband Dave cart down my desktop and I sanded, primed and re-painted that, for it was worn and splintery. Too much grading in one spot, I'd say. Back to the window: the proof was in the pudding, meaning, it was all worth it when Dave, looking around our house said, "It looks like a new house." (I would have said "It looks like a new house!" but Dave doesn't typically speak in exclamation points. That day/afternoon/night I also did four loads of laundry, vacuumed the downstairs, mopped the floor, put furniture back in the living room, family room, dining room, made dinner.)

The counter boys had sent an emissary that morning to pull the defective sink and put the new one in, and after a slow dance with counter boy headquarters--who were slow dancing with their plumbing supplier--they said they'd pay for the plumber this time so to call one. The only time we could be worked in was. . .

Tuesday morning at 5:50 AM! So there I was rubbing sleep out of my eyes, while talking with an obscenely energetic plumber guy while he re-installs my sink and faucets. (Note to Aunt Christine: No Laughing.) Then it's shower, pick up the bill from the plumber guy's wife at their very nicely appointed estate up in the green belt of our town (I guess plumbing is a lucrative work) and head down to Lake Elsinore (a thirty-minute drive) to pay via charge card so we can get airline points, our window bill. A quick stop at the Pottery Barn Outlet (across the street, how convenient) and home again to hair appointment, stepping around and through the mess that is our house.

Since I now had a sink (cue Hallelujah Chorus) I could cook up my pasta-dish-to-feed-ten for our church's evening gathering for the Ladies. Corkscrew pasta, blanched and chilled cut asparagus, peas, mint, cilantro, lemon vinaigrette with a slug of Dijon mustard and real Herbes de Provence--hand carried home from Lyon France, minced red bell pepper, a shake or two of cayenne and it lost out in the Best Tasting Category to AppleBee's Orange Chicken Salad and a heavily oiled caprese salad. Oh well. I liked it--all fresh and springy.

Wednesday we were able to squeeze in a walk before the rains and thunderstorms and the drywall guy arrived. The typical installation for the new slider was to trim it out with molding, but we have crisply defined window wells on that particular wall and wanted the slider to keep with that. One can have too much molding, I believe. While he worked, I made two batches of raspberry jam, in order to keep up with the my daughter, then two batches of strawberry jam. I also located the floor of my study again, trying to pitch extraneous detritus while finding new places for things: an ongoing task that will end when I head to the Old Folks Home. Dinner, dishes, wandering around banging my head into walls.

So last night I dreamed another in a series of dreams this week about physical labor. I had to pack up a carnival. I spent all night long, dissembling the Ferris wheel, the Tilt-A-Whirls, the roller coaster, the Tunnel of Love, opening large wooden crates, packing in the pieces, heading for the Dime Toss booth, gathering up scads of over-sized stuffed animals, sweeping down the site, nailing the crates shut, over and over and over. And like all the other mornings this week, I woke up more tired than when I went to bed. So when I saw the photo above, it spoke to me of what I had imagined my summer to be: long walks in a ferny forest, picking bluebells and reading Victorian Lit. A girl can dream a little, can't she?

Today I hope to pack up this carnival a little, with the help of Dave's upcoming Father's Day Present:

Obviously, I'm still dreaming.

The Impossible

2009-06-05T15:43:00.000-07:00

A good writer always works at the impossible.
--John Steinbeck

I don't have any salient thoughts, any giddy-up-and-go ideas. I was cleaning out and found this old scribbled note. Along with the above quote, several scribbled out phrases are one on side of this paper, as well as a phone number that I don't recognize, and a crossed out phrase,"You write by sitting" with no end punctuation.

And on the backside of the page, this, with no attribution:
"When I write, I aim in my mind not toward New York but toward a vague spot a little to the east of Kansas. I think of the books on library shelves, without" and again, no end punctuation. New York, of course, being a reference to the publishing world, to fame, fortune and riches.

These small missives from my past thinking are always a mystery. What was I thinking? What was I working on? What was hard then?

*************************************
Postscript: The quote is from John Updike.

"...By contrasting so sharply with his creator, Henry Bech also defined Mr. Updike more distinctly, particularly his determination to stick to the essentials of his craft. As he told The Paris Review about his decision to shun the New York spotlight: “Hemingway described literary New York as a bottle full of tapeworms trying to feed on each other. When I write, I aim in my mind not toward New York but toward a vague spot a little to the east of Kansas. I think of the books on library shelves, without their jackets, years old, and a countryish teenaged boy finding them, have them speak to him. The reviews, the stacks in Brentano’s, are just hurdles to get over, to place the books on that shelf.”

Two Roads Diverged into a Green Wood

2009-05-29T07:18:00.000-07:00

Two roads diverged in a green wood, on a trail above my parents house. Why? Because they are installing a water main and have ripped up the main trail, so the new one is marked with construction orange pieces of plastic to guide the walker.

I followed this trail, all apologies to Robert Frost, to where it disappeared into the undergrowth, then looped down onto the gold course cart path for a few paces, and made it the landmark all of us children walk to when we visit Mom and Dad: the stream. The spring run-off has amplified this creek into a noisy, babbling stream which I could have heard from some distance away except that Sheryl Crow was singing All I Want to Do Is Have Some Fun in my earbuds.

My parents are on a different schedule than I: up whenever, nice breakfast, my mother will make/answer phone calls (yesterday there were many since it was her birthday) while my Dad goes down to his art studio to paint, then a walk mid-morning along the Ogden River. Big, late lunch, then working on various tasks, reading--perhaps a nap--until evening, when the blinds are raised because the sun has gone down and we have a snack. I think when I'm not here, they watch a movie, then maybe the news, then bed. Pretty dang active folks for 81 and 83.

But my rhythm is off, as rhythms always are when visiting or being visited. People, relatives, friends interrupt our optimum routine and while there are times we can reclaim it for a while (like this morning's walk) basically it's time to let others disrupt, interrupt and intrude our boring, static schedules.

Mom always said a change is as good as a rest, and maybe she was on to something. After the visit/visiting, there's a deliciousness in reclaiming the routine, a safety and sameness that click-clocks along our day. We know what to do, what time to do it, and the structure strengthens our doing, helps us cross of our To Do List tasks.

Thank heavens for disruptions, or we'd miss a singing stream high up on Ogden's mountain, a forested way marked with fluttering pieces of plastic, Sheryl reminding me that all I want to do is not have just fun until the sun goes down, but instead, work with my father on his memoir, celebrate a Happy Eighty-first, see my mother's blue eyes, jump in line with my father's energy, see the newest painting, laugh over lunch with some aunties, in other words to matter to someone, to connect, to love.

Crisis du Jour

2009-05-27T21:48:00.001-07:00

I spackled, my husband sanded, I primed, I painted and that was last night. This morning, before heading out to a neighboring state to see my parents, I spackled again, and painted again, all trying to remove the hard edge where the old tile was as the new tile would be about a half-inch lower. I was ready for this day's project to be done: tile, sink installation, clean-up.

While the tile guy's working on the tile, the plumber arrived to make us $300 poorer, no wait--that wasn't it. He arrived to put in our new sink and faucet. (And make us poorer.)

Testing one-two-three in Plumber Land means fill the sink with water. As I'm walking down the jetway to board the plane, my phone rings with the news from my husband that the sink leaks.

Leaks? It's brand new--out of the box brand new.

Yep. When the plumber was testing the sink, it started leaking. There's a crack on the underside and several stress cracks in the enamel. But on balance, all the faucet and sprayer look nice and they made it all fit. So Call A to Call B to Call C and he calls me back later that afternoon with the news that the new sink will be here tomorrow and can they put it in Monday?

Oh, sure. We're doing the windows that day too--the more the merrier. I was happy about that news actually because the guy in the airplane seat near me told me about his cousin's woes of redoing their floors and it took nearly a year with this crisis and that crisis. I had visions of washing the dishes in the bathroom for months while they hassled and figured out my sink issues. But Monday? Monday's fine.

Vision vs. Reality

2009-05-26T11:03:00.000-07:00

I have an older house--not the kind that people drool over when they drive down the street--but the ubiquitous California ranch house, one of many in this 33-year old neighborhood. It's update time, and we finally saved enough to redo the countertops and the windows. Yes, one week apart, but all in one swoop--chaos.

The vision: a smooth sweep of countertop, dying into the window, just like it was before: all one level everywhere.

But after tear-out, they discovered that the Ceasarstone would not be as thick and therefore I could not have one-level countertop. The guy (who speaks pretty good English) and his helper (who speaks only Spanish) say "You gotta problem." I say, "No. You have the problem." They call for back-ups and reinforcements.

I would call the Mr. but he's teaching a class. But he has about as much experience as I do, as we've never done this and have lived in this house nearly twenty years. So I call the Girlfriend, who is an expert on this. "I don't think it would be a problem to have a little ledge, she says. "Really?" I ask. "It will be fine," she says. Okay.

While I was on the phone with Girlfriend she tells me about the latest (weird) wedding invitation she'd received in the mail. (We vie with each other to see who gets the weirder invitations.) It was housed a slender box which opened to reveal a scroll, with a sort of Princess and Prince Charming theme complete with castle. I said, "You've got to feel sorry for the guy, right off." She agreed.

So I'm amiable when Kurt, the co-owner of the company came over, as well as the Tile Guy. (I'm doing a subway tile backsplash for those of you who know what that means. I didn't, before I started all of this.) He explains it to me, and we talk heights and window ledges and touch-up painting. It's then that we discover that Tile Guy thought the tile was going only behind the stove, when I thought it was going all along that wall. Okey, dokey. We try to solve this one out, and Kurt raises his hand and says calmly (I was calm too. I promise.) "We'll work it out."

I remember once a long time ago in another marriage when I was working with the architect on designing a dream house. She told me, as we worked out a precise little plan for the sewing room, laundry chute, cupboards, etc., that "It would never be built like it is on paper. There's always a difference between Vision and Reality." I was experiencing this today.

Okay, so Visions have to modified to work in Reality: I'll have a teensy ledge, instead of smooth sweep into the window. But that groom will be stuck with his Precious Princess forever. I'll take the windowsill dilemma.

Three Days in Peru

2009-05-21T08:21:00.000-07:00

I've spent the last three days in Peru. Not literally, but the Peru of my youth, when my father took a leap of faith and a deanship position for a business school in Lima. And the Peru I just spent time in was filtered through his eyes, his journals and his concerns and successes.

I went through the 100-plus page section twice in a row, first straightening out the cupboards, then restocking them with previously cut sections to add back more of the flavor. This experience of editing his memoir has been a real gift to me from my father, as I am beginning to understand--in a sliver of a way--some of what he went through (and helps me understand why the children and family aren't at the center of the writing--that will be in Mother's journals and letters. Heads Up, Mom. You're next.).

The family is there, but at the core. The great peripheral is ESAN, the business school run by Stanford University, swirling in a great stew of faculty and staff issues, the constant conundrum of financial support, the incredible trips, the conferences and meeting of a wide range of all different types of people from government, missionary, academia, and local. What a leap it was for our family--for all seven of us--to follow our parents into a different land and culture for two years.

We are richer for it.