Not So Much

Apparently, I'm not going to take over the universe.

Not this year, anyway.

Had a meeting yesterday in which I was able to

*** not get what I asked for;

*** make a complete and utter fool of myself; and

*** feel betrayed and used,

all in the space of an hour and a half.

Lovely.

On the other hand, I got a phone call from my younger brother (father of triplets; all boys; 2 1/2 years old)and my sister-in-law that left me smiling. Family can do that, can't they? I'm so looking forward to seeing the boys for Christmas, and having a huge family blow-out holiday. Should be just the antidote for the bitterness I'm currently experiencing.

Queen of Grading

In the last three days I have graded

30 multigenre essential question compositions
17 unit designs
numerous assorted articles of late work

and now I have only

4 (FOUR) unit designs

and

7 10-page papers

to go.

I am the undisputed queen. Soon I will rule the universe.

Commencing Today

Have I mentioned how much I love graduation ceremonies? I'm not sure if it's because I get to dress up in goofy looking, but oh-so-luxurious robes; or maybe it's seeing all of those parents' faces as their baby walks in the processional. Maybe it's the sappy speeches that seriously bring a tear to my eye (although, I have to confess, I often get teary-eyed at commercials, so that's not saying much). Is it the chance to see students -- both undergraduate and graduate -- who also look goofy in their robes and pizza box hats, by the way -- strutting their stuff across the stage? Sitting with my colleagues and standing up to applaud the parents, children, brothers and sisters, spouses who have been supportive of the graduates?

I can't say, but I love it. And today, there was only one person graduating who was in my class. Next May, when this year's English education majors graduate, I'll be a basket of quivering emotional jelly. This is one of the best reasons to be a teacher.

Sappy, I know.

At 6:57 this morning, it was a chilly 17.5 degrees below zero. Brrr. 

Homecoming

In the middle of a meeting, my department secretary handed me a Fed Ex package, which I hugged, kissed, and then lovingly opened. That's right. My composition book has been returned to me, and I've already begun to write in it again.

Thanks, Concierge Rosello!

Missing Composition Book

While at the airport in Miami on Friday, I wanted to write down a very important thought and went rifling through my backpack for my composition book. Now, for the last year or so, I've carried a composition book with me to every meeting, conference, class, and coffee shop trip, so it's become quite an important part of my life.

Missing. Composition. Book.

It has notes in it for articles I want to write, revisions to classes I'll teach again next year, ideas for research projects, to-do lists for every day of every week, poetry I'm in the midst of, and wandering thoughts about my identity, status, tenure potential, etc. Very important.

Here's what happened:

I was in Miami for the National Reading Conference, which is a fantastic opportunity to get tons of information and ideas, but also my one chance to see friends from graduate school. One of those friends from graduate school and I went out to dinner (a Cuban place -- the food was supposed to be good, but ended up being mediocre) and I didn't want to go back up to my room to put away my composition book. So . . . you guessed it, I left it with the concierge, very carefully taping my room number on the front of the book.

When I came back, we sat in the bar and had drinks, it got late, I got sleepy, so I headed up to my room. The next morning, I had a flight at 7 AM, so I left the hotel at 5:15, again completely forgetting about my life in the composition book at the concierge table.

So, Eduardo, I've sent you an email and spoken to you on the phone. If all of the planets are aligned, and if you read this, please, please, please send me my composition book. I'll be eternally grateful.

Conference Haiku #2

Message from home
Blood boils; heart pounds
Solace through blogging.

Conference Haiku

Class and race:
He doesn't make much,
But he's white.

Highlights of the National Council of Teachers of English

I just returned from Pittsburgh, where I attended the National Council of Teachers of English (NCTE) annual convention, one that I have been attending regularly for the last few years. As usual, I ate too much, got too little exercise and sleep, and generally had a marvelous time.

HIGHLIGHTS:

*** Dinner on Friday night with about 60 members of the Talkies, a listserv of English teachers who have been my online and in-person friends since I joined several years ago. We ate at Mallorca, a lovely restaurant near one of the rivers in Pittsburgh (don't ask me which one). The waiters were funny and good-looking, the conversation was stimulating, the food was delicious. Good times all around.

*** Attending a session by Leila Christenbury, Anne Gere, and Kelly Sassi on strategies to help students become skilled at on-demand writing (picture the state assessments here) WITHOUT making test prep part of our curriculum. My methods class has been concerned about this issue, and I now have some great ideas to share with them, as well as a book to suggest (Writing on Demand by Christenbury, Gere, and Sassi).

*** Several dinners with teachers from Johnson Junior High School in Cheyenne, who are dedicated and caring teachers of their students. They are AWESOME people, amazing dinner companions, and very funny to boot. If there's anything I can help with, you guys, let me know!

*** Getting to spend time with Beth, a former student teacher, who is now teaching English in Wyoming. When she said to me, "I love these kids -- and they need me," I couldn't help but get a shiver. Makes me feel like I'm having an impact, and I love that!

*** A serious brainstorm while sitting on the plane, on the way home. I took out a draft of an article and revised the crap out of it, with the end result that it is about ready to send out. Just one more session and it should be done. I think I needed that opportunity to get my mind OFF the list of things to do here, and it got seriously into writing mode.

*** More great materials and ideas for my methods class. In addition, I'm setting up a blog with a few other English ed folks to discuss how we handle the teaching of reading comprehension strategies and pop culture/media literacy in the methods class. I'm also about to start moderating a listserv for those who attended the CEE colloquium on Monday, which was also about pop culture in the English/methods classroom.

*** Several people attended the policy session that we presented, and we have lots of ideas about developing an action network, beginning with those who came. It feels great to be involved and helping people to connect!

I could go on, but I think you get the idea. I'm exhausted, but it's a good tired.

Now, to get ready for Thanksgiving . . .

Dialogue from a Stockyard Painting

This bit of a dialogue came about when I was sitting through a meeting that was insufferably boring. On the wall of the meeting room was a painting of 5 men, sitting around a table in a stockyard. It depicted a western scene, western men, with some topic under discussion. I decided that my time could be better spent imagining the characters of the men and creating a bit of dialogue. Here's what came out:

Dialogue from a Stockyard Painting.

Characters:

Jedediah Montgomery: A rancher from Colorado, Jed spent his youth as a candidate for the priesthood. After an experience of the “dark night of the soul” brought on by heavy drinking and profligate sexual activity, Jed returned to his father’s ranch. He has now taken over the ranch and is a candidate for the Colorado House of Representatives.

Arthur Holland: Arthur is a circuit judge in Wyoming and Montana, well respected for his sagacity as well as his understanding of Western customs and values. Arthur was a Pony Express rider and is most at home on horseback.

Frank Marsden: The youngest son in a family of 14 children, Frank has bounced from one career to another, from one wife to another, and from one state to another. Currently homeless and unmarried, Frank is a closeted homosexual. The majority of his energy is spent hiding this fact from his older brother, William

William Marsden: The patriarchal oldest brother, William rules both his family and Golden County, Montana, with an iron fist. Feared by everyone who knows him, William has no friends and many enemies. He is the larges landowner in Golden County, president of the county school board, a county commissioner, leader of the city council of Jewel, Montana, and the father of 6 children. He is also a deacon in the Jewel First Baptist Church.

Flippo Harthead: The town drunk of Jewel, Montana, Flippo grew up in Boston and moved out west after the death of his sweetheart, Clara. Highly educated and sophisticated, though often intoxicated, Flippo rarely speaks.

Scene: All 5 have gathered for a conversation on the last evening of the Golden County Fair. The big event of the day was the Prison Rodeo, which was held in the very arena in which they are meeting.

William: (bangs fist on the table, rises, and bounces on his toes, looming over the others) (Shouts) Jed, this is complete BULLSHIT! Totally out of line, and I’m not going to stand for it.

Jedediah: (shrinks back in chair)

Arthur and Frank (together): Now William, let’s be sensible. William, please. . .

William: (thundering): Jed. What do you say?

(Long, uncomfortable pause, during which Jed looks down at the table and slowly straightens his spine)

Jedediah: (Quietly) I’m not changing it, Mr. Marsden. I can’t. And I won’t.

Arthur: Look, Will. It’s a public rodeo, a public event, for crying out loud. The winner has been announced, the prize was awarded. You saw the crowd, the way they clapped and cheered when Rodney was announced. He’s their golden boy, no matter what he’s done. We can’t reasonably do anything about it now.

William: I don’t care about reasonable – I could give a shit about reasonable. I want results.

Frank: Look, William, it’s all going to work out. Penelope knows how you feel about Rodney –

William: (snarling) I’m Penelope’s father, and I’m the one who will break that little rat’s neck if he comes anywhere near my daughter again.

(Long pause.)


That’s as far as I’ve gotten. Here’s the idea – Jed is a judge at the Prison Rodeo. The conflict involves William’s daughter, Penelope, who is pregnant by a prisoner, Rodney, who competed in the rodeo and won. The prize for the winner: release from prison, unconditionally.
William attempts to force Jedediah to change his ruling – using blackmail and other forceful methods.

On Today's Schedule

New refrigerator being delivered -- right now

African Students' Association Celebration -- 4:00 PM

UW/BYU Football Game (yes, I'm a season ticket holder) -- 4:00 PM

[Hmm. Bit of a conflict there.]

Housewarming Party at a Colleague's House -- 7:00


Interspersed among these things -- grading innumerable papers and stewing over my methods classes.

Should be a fun day!

Whirlwind

A meeting today left me with a familiar feeling. Familiar, that is, from the time when I was teaching high school. Things are falling apart, the world is almost ending, learning will soon cease to exist, and my place in this world is fading.

That feeling.

When I taught high school and had that feeling, it was often from hanging out too long in the teachers' lounge. Now it's from a meeting in which only the negative was addressed.

How did I handle that feeling back then? I went in my classroom, and worked hard to see that my students read and wrote and thought and spoke in deep, critical, and meaningful ways. I taught them how to comprehend what they read, to write in ways that communicated to an audience, and to ask questions. At least then, I could feel that I was making a difference, that I was doing my job well.

Once again, tomorrow, I will enter my classroom and work as hard as I can to give my students what they need. They trust me, and I will not put that trust in jeopardy.

Honestly, if we're not all about the students, what are we about? It's the only way that I have found to put the whirlwind to rest.

Polysemy

Polysemy -- having many meanings

Slogging through the days of
meetings, class, student conferences,
email, websites, research, writing,
I gather my equipment around me,
Take a short break to check my maps
and have a snack.
Hiking.

Through Massachusetts
in late July,
following the AT north for 200 miles
as it winds through swamps,
up and down hills,
through small towns,
I stop to wait,
breathing hard.
Leaning on my poles,
I watch while she
negotiates with a boulder field.
"Walk up the crack," I say.
"Follow that line."
Teaching.

To use the overhead projector, I must
pull down the screen.
Pull and tug as I may,
it will not stay down.
I pull up a chair,
tie a taut-line hitch,
and teach.
Hiking.

Collecting and purifying water,
Hanging a bear bag,
Setting up tents,
Cooking dinner,
Unpacking and packing gear.
The 'how-to' of daily life on the trail.
Teaching.

A colleague stops me in the hall between classes
To tell me that there is no true example
of polysemy.
"The experts argue," he says, grinning.
"And yes, I was looking over your shoulder."
No true example.

First Snow of the Season!

The snow began last night, while I was busily painting a window downtown for homecoming (long story -- we've got a wolf on a spit and a cowboy blowing fire). That was a bit cold, but it was followed by a nice steak dinner at home and a good bottle of red wine. Lovely.

This morning as I look out my office window, the snow is still sticking to the ground, but not to the roads. I'm ready to get my skis tuned up and hit the slopes.

I'm not feeling quite so stressed this week, though goodness knows I probably should be. Still lots to do, but I feel it's doable.

Arctic Softball

This morning, when I left home to head for work, it was 29 degrees Fahrenheit. I'm sitting in my office now, though the sun is shining outside, with a warm and fuzzy muffler wrapped around my neck. There's a draft through the window! I could turn the heat on, but then the violets in my office would die.

Last night, in order to prove my insanity, I agreed to fill in on an intramural softball team made up mostly profs and grad students. Naturally, we were playing folks 20 years younger than me, so we lost by a grand margin of 12 points.

The interesting thing, for me, was to be on a softball team again after probably 15 years of non-softball life. I was placed in right field (which was good! I used to play left field, but I'm a bit rusty at the moment). I came up to bat twice: I struck out once and hit a pop to the third baseman, which he caught.

I'm happy that I didn't completely disgrace myself.

It was cold, though, the Wyoming wind howling across the intramural fields. I did a lot of running, and that kept me warm. My wonderful husband showed his devotion by coming out to watch. Some cold entertainment, that.

Weary

Weary.
Bone-tired.

That sweet sensation of sinking into a soft bed.
Muscles melting
breath slowing.
Pillows and blankets; fleece sheets and the dark.
Eyes closed with relief --
the deepened, undertow tug of
slipping into a warm, cozy trance.

Or having waded through a monstrous pile
of senior research papers, 15 pages each
with outline, rough draft,
footnotes and
bibliography page.
The blessed finality of placing them
firmly
in my book bag for tomorrow,
and settling down for a few pages
of that novel before
my eyes begin to blur and close.

Or at the end of a 20 mile day
the pins and needles starting in my toes
and working past my ankles to
my calves.
No pack on now, but
the pressure on my shoulders and hips
reminds me of its weight.
Hips resting on hard board,
surrounded by snores and mice and that musty, funky smell
of hikers.
Somehow, drifting off to a place
where nothing hurts.

Isn't that an unknown country?

So Much to Do

It has come to my attention that I have been a BAD blogger of late. So, in place of posting a witty statement about my stress level, I'm going to substitute a list of things I need to get done this week:

Prepare research presentation for today's faculty meeting

Re-read materials for tomorrow's classes

Plan for tomorrow's classes

Grade a shitload of papers before tomorrow's classes

Meet with a couple of students individually who are struggling in said classes

Finalize paperwork for the TWO search committees I'm chairing

Write a review of a book I haven't finished reading

Finish my multigenre manuscript and send it out to a journal (with fingers crossed)

Read and respond to a grad student's thesis

Make plane reservations for Christmas trip

Prepare presentations for NCTE (late November) and NRC (early December)

I could go on, but I've got some things to do . . .

All of this is not to have anyone feel sorry for me, but just to say that blogging has to take a low priority for the moment. I do love my job! More posts later . . .

Haircut (just a trim)

I really dislike and abhor going to get haircuts. There is something nauseating about sitting in front of a mirror, staring at myself -- and what is it with that lighting? you know? the kind that makes you look like a corpse? -- while wrapped up to the chin in a black drape, and making forced conversation with someone who couldn't give two shits about me and about whom I couldn't give two shits either.

In spite of this horror, I did actually get a haircut today. I've been working up to it for several weeks, feeling the crispy ends of my hair and thinking "You really need to get a haircut. Soon."

It actually wasn't that bad. The hairdresser wasn't in the least bit creepy (unlike the guy I had last time, who seemed to get way too much enjoyment out of combing out my hair. Eeeew.) and as soon as she saw my turtle tattoo, we were off to the races chatting about turtles and frogs we had bought, known, loved, and lost.

Not to mention ex-husbands, but that is a story not worth getting into.

Anyway, I'm spending my time now feeling the ends of my hair with a satisfied smile. No longer crispy.

Getting to "No"

My application for a small grant was frowned on by the grant-gods and trashed. That's the way it goes, I understand, and I'll get over it. (Voice in the back of my mind says "I'll Deal.") I haven't read the reviewers' comments yet, and I'm not sure if I want to. I'm planning on doing the research anyway; I'll be using my own money to do it.

I also had an idea for a sabbatical today -- one that involves lots of travel in order to build networks of English teachers in my state and to understand how teachers teach.

So, in other words, the best way to handle this letdown is to immerse myself in other work and to keep on doing the things I do well (one of which is apparently NOT grant writing!).

I have to admit, though, I'm feeling a bit used.

Maturity (or the lack of it)

I am beginning to think that it was easier to be patient with high school students (back when I taught high school) than it is to be patient with the college students that I currently teach. I have found myself -- this week -- coming close to losing my temper during class, when my college students speak/act in ways that either offend me or with which I disagree.

Is that just because I'm getting older?

I certainly expect my college students to exhibit a higher level of maturity than I did my high school students. Perhaps it is the lack of fulfillment of this expectation that is bothering me.

Or maybe I'm just overworked.

Either way, I have to deal with it. (This, by the way, is the newest saying that Red and I got from our backpacking trip. I.E. Question: "What if it rains?" Answer: "We'll deal with it."

"Dealing with it" in this case will involve two fronts
1. Handle my anger constructively (translation: work out like a demon)
2. Confront, privately, those students who are causing me grief.
3. Spend as much time as possible with my wonderful spouse, whose presence is soothing to me.

There! all done. Now for the real work.