Two more weeks and I will be back in Michigan for a month. I'm excited. 

It often feels as though I'm counting down towards things rather than existing in a present moment.

Some days I can't decide if that is good or bad.

An "I am thankful that this too shall pass" doesn't sound like existing in the moment, but rather looking forward to a hopeful future. Which is, after all, what we should be doing. But it also involves an expression of discontent with my current situation - I don't like this, but at least I know it won't last forever.

I don't really have a resolution for this question. It's simply one I'm currently pondering.

When crying feels like greed . . .

I told my mother that I have trouble crying because she taught me to laugh at the ridiculous.


She taught me to laugh at myself, to remedy the distorted perspective of self as most important, most knowing - the focus point of the universe. Twisting the tears into a lens of self-reflection that is about more than personal hurts and struggles.


There is something ridiculous about sitting in an apartment that smells faintly of your roommate's cat and burnt chicken, looking at the empty hole in the carbon monoxide detector that's meant to hold the batteries, and stressing over the opening conjunction of a thesis statement.

Picture it.

Enjoy an amused smile.

A new perspective.

On Thanksgiving

Over the past few days, it's begun. My Facebook feed is filling up with status messages about Thanksgiving.

"I won't be taking part in your THURSDAY shopping spree. It's wrong to take people away from their families on a holiday!"

"Uh, guys, did you forget that there's a holiday between Halloween and Christmas? Be thankful!"

I should note that neither of these are direct quotes, but rather an amalgamation of different threads of thought that I have noticed. And I love you all, my dear Facebook friends, but you're frustrating me.

Thursday shopping - a pre-Black Friday - is an attempt to make a profit. We live in a culture that revolves around producing and consuming. It's a waste of time to scold a business for attempting to make money. That's why they exist. And we need them to exist. But here's the problem. Because of our culture of consumption, we see buying things as a positive. And it becomes even more of a positive when it's a deal.

We want something for nothing. And when we can't get something for nothing, we're at least going to get it for 75% off. We'll stand in line for hours, punch people in the face to rip a toy from their hands, and trample anyone who gets in our way. It's a dismaying glimpse at the power of greed.

All of that greed conspires to make working Black Friday a miserable experience. I can't imagine that working Thanksgiving will be any less miserable. The argument is, potentially, that it will be even more miserable because of the number of people torn away from their families on a holiday. It's terrible that people aren't able to spend enough time with their families. I love my family. I have a lot of empathy for people who have to work on holidays. I've done it and hated it. But it's disingenuous to say that an arbitrarily chosen date is the wrong time to indulge in a capitalistic orgy of spending - these kinds of things should be saved for Friday where they belong: wait until after midnight.

If you're worried about the retailers and the developing trend of extended sales, stay home. I hope you do. I will. But don't hug that to your chest as an achievement that indicates your superior understanding. Recognize that you are speaking from a place of privilege. What about the kids who are only getting a Christmas present because their grandmother got an amazing deal in a sale? Or because their father was able to pick-up some overtime working the Thanksgiving shift? Forget presents even - what about those who are able to take advantage of the sales to feed and clothe themselves and their families? Attacking retailers for trying to do what they are designed to do is, in the end, a likely ineffective attack on the symptom of what is, really, a much larger disease.

The second strain of thought, the outcry against the apparent forgetting of Thanksgiving because of the expanding Christmas season, is similarly reductive. Don't get me wrong. I am very thankful that my country was formed, I just think it's slightly ridiculous to idealize a single moment as the epitome for which I must be thankful. And that's not even my biggest problem with all of these complaints.

There seems to be a high level of concern that Thanksgiving will be forgotten. This perspective, while understandable, makes it feel like Thanksgiving is an item on a list. We need to celebrate it, and celebrate it properly, so that we can say we have fulfilled our obligation to be thankful this year. Then we can move on to Christmas.These two things do not exclude the other. You can be excited about Christmas and happy about Thanksgiving. You can even be thankful for Christmas.

I've done some Christmas shopping, I've hung lights. I'm also looking forward to Thanksgiving because I have the ability to think about more than one thing at a time. I drink pumpkin spice lattes and peppermint mochas. (Yes, I know I have a coffee addiction.) Thankfulness should be a consistently cultivated attitude.

One of the few things I remember about my great grandmother, and I only remember being told about it, is her habit of writing down each day one thing for which she was thankful. There is a date in one of her old day planners in which I was a part of her thanksgiving.

That is something for which to strive - an attitude which perceives the world through a lens of gratitude.

People have started to do these terrifying countdowns - only # days 'til _______
Terrifying.

I would like the number of days to be higher. There's so much to do, all of the time. I talked to a professor last week about the flexibility of work and how it always seems to stretch or contract into the amount of time available. Then we seriously discussed changing levels of quality.

Going home is exciting. That's one thing I've missed about having a car is the ability to hop into it and find my way to Michigan. I don't know if I would have, but I could have.

Much still to do - grading, writing, applications.

Three more weeks until Christmas break.

PAMLA Conference

 Opening the curtains, sliding open the glass door, and standing on the balcony in the sunshine, looking out over the bay started the morning beautifully. The quality of sunlight feels distinctly different, more relaxed. There's not the same sense of urgency as there is in the Midwest where you know that it might only be a brief glimpse of the sun.

I presented in the very first panel of the conference. The positive is that I was able to present and then enjoy the rest of the conference stress-free. The negative is that it was sparsely-attended, only about twenty people, and the AV didn't work. All told, I think it went well. No one stood up and screamed that I was an ignorant fool; I always count that as a win.

Throughout the weekend several people did, I think, gently decide that I was slightly crazy. The palm trees needed to be touched. I couldn't quite believe they were real. Everything had a very manicured look, lending the atmosphere a slight tinge of artificiality.

I caught a public bus to some random area of San Diego - still not quite sure where. The bus drivers were amazingly friendly and helpful. I'm not sure if they are always like that, or if they were concerned about me getting lost. Either way, wonderful experience getting away from the resort and out into the real city.

Some random facts:
        The hotel had a pair of rescued seals too blind to survive in the ocean.

         I went on a boat cruise around the bay at night.

        Two graduate students and I explored downtown slightly. Our exploration ended with dinner at a
        creperie called Chocolat. A worthwhile experience.

Travel back was interrupted by a night's stay at Moody with a couple of Barakel friends who kindly offered me shelter. Sadly, I was away quickly in the morning so we didn't spend much time together. Perhaps next time. I got lost trying to find the Greyhound station, but squeaked aboard before it departed and arrived uneventfully back in Milwaukee in time for my class.

Many modes of transportation

Those of you who follow me on Facebook have already been privy to some of the ups and downs of my trip to the PAMLA conference in San Diego.

I left Thursday, taking the earlier bus in order to avoid unnecessary stress about having to rush through airport security. Stress was not to be avoided so easily. Traffic is an inevitability. For quite some time I was convinced that I would miss my flight.

Similarly disturbing was my discovery that I was going to get motion sickness if I attempted to read at all.This meant, of course, that all of my travel hours were now unproductive time. I played "motion sickness chicken" for a while on the Greyhound, racing to grade a certain number of short writes before growing too nauseated. Not my favourite game, but it passed the time.

Once in Chicago, I raced through the dark streets in search of a Blue Line station. Found with no difficulty!

O'Hare was more deserted than I had expected. One of the delights of traveling on Halloween. Sadly, no one was handing out candy. My treat was a lovely pat-down. My theory is that it was because I looked anxious.

Batman sat next to me on the plane. One of the delights of traveling on Halloween? I dozed off and on throughout the flight.

Landing in San Diego at night, I asserted my adult abilities, called the hotel, and flagged down the correct shuttle. The receptionist gently guided me through check-in, handed me a key, and packed me off to bed.

CARDIS (it's a friend's car)
Greyhound Bus
Feet (in Chicago)
The "L"
SuperShuttle

You can't always find the balance. Today I've graded several presentations, worked on a book review, and done the dishes (except for those dishes left by my roommate - a trait against which I am peacefully protesting by ignoring them). Then I spent half an hour reading The Chronicle of Higher Education - for fun. Yep, that's somehow become a fun thing for me. 

I didn't go to a friend's unofficial birthday celebration last night. I feel a little guilty, but I had some really good reasons beyond being busy. The problem is that I also have counters for each of those reasons. And then counter-counters. Analysis is ongoing.

I leave for my San Diego conference on Thursday. I'm absolutely dreading it, even though I'm sure everything will be fine. Negotiating all of the different travel arrangements is the most intimidating. I haven't had time to stress about the actual presentation yet. This is the first time I've thought that I truly needed a car. I'm going to be stuck in Chicago for a night. Or I can walk half an hour home through downtown Milwaukee at 2am. Neither option is ideal.

GRE

This morning was the GRE.

The doors were locked and the proctor was unable to open them. DPS needed to be sent for. It was all a bit of a muddle. The organization displayed did not impress the students who had paid hundreds of dollars to be tested.

Shockingly, the test-taking was not my favorite. But there were good moments. I woke up and read an encouraging email from a friend who knew I was taking the test. Walking out of the test, I received a text from a different friend checking in to see how it went. If it were not for the stress and struggle of the GRE process, those moments would not have occurred.

I'm starting to become a fan of contrast and learning to separate the contrasts from the variations.

While I was writing this post, my mother called me.

Words contrasting with silence - each replete with its own meaning.

One day until tomorrow.

Two days until the GRE.

Three weeks until San Diego.

Four days until this paper draft is due.

Five months until the MA exam

Six years until I'm done with school (potentially)

Seven weeks until the end of the semester.

Eight weeks until most grad applications are due.

For an English major, my life is very full of numbers.

Telling a story to friends tonight I said, "Last night I made a Dutch baby . . . "*

Be careful around English scholars. They will leap on a slip like that and spend the rest of the night asking who the father is and if you're going to name the baby Hans and if so, are you naming it after the Die Hard villain Hans Gruber - played by Alan Rickman? (The answer to the last question is 'yes'.)

It's good to have a reminder of the fun that language can be. Laughing with friends, even at your expense, smooths over the cracks of a stressful existence.

*Note: a Dutch Baby is a sweet popover descended from a German pfannkuchen.**

**It's like a pancake with stuff in.

Market Bounty

My apartment smells like fresh basil. I also have four 'cherry peppers'. I couldn't resist them because they were small and adorable. The taste is yet to be determined.

A week and a half to finish the rough draft of this paper and to finish studying for the GRE. Maybe all of the fresh vegetables will boost my brain power.

I attended a section of a lecture today about incorporating grammar and style instruction into the composition classroom. I want to try some of the teaching suggestions. Is that how you know you're a real teacher? When talking about teaching is exciting?

Everyone is a bit on edge around midterms and finals.

I am no exception. I'm currently battling a strong desire to tell my students to stop asking me stupid questions. I already told them that no one cares about their opinions, and I try not to squash all of their dreams at once.

Only I'm a special snowflake.

Less than two weeks until the lit. GRE.
Less than two weeks until I need to have a seminar paper drafted.
Haven't done anything significant with applications yet.
That conference is coming fast.

I feel constantly behind.

Practice GRE with Brick tomorrow. I can't have gotten dumber at grad school, right?

"You make acquaintances, friends happen."

Wise words told to me last night. Friendship has never made sense to me. I want to be able to break it down, dissect it into knowable chunks, be able to make a theory of friendship that accounts for causation and functions in a predictive manner.

Not realistic.

I've always believed that I was bad at making friends. Maybe that's because it isn't possible to make them. The friends I have, I don't know how or when we became friends. I can't break it down into easily labelled categories or stages. 

We just are.

The euphoria of teaching is fleeting, but radiant. My 8 am class had a day of learning. Some days I feel like I've taught them nothing. Today, I saw them grasp a concept and apply it. This probably means that my 11 am class will look at me with vacant eyes. Can't win them all.

.

In four weeks from today I will be taking the Subject GRE in English Literature. This decision was made about four days ago. It's obviously not the greatest timing in the world. But I want a PhD and as I'm sending out applications, it makes sense to, as one of my professors said, "bring all my weapons to the war".

My hypochondriac tendencies tend to surface when I'm tired and stressed. So far this week I've tried to convince Lydia that I have arthritis and subtly hint that I may be suffering from bronchitis, pneumonia, or whooping cough. (At least that's what all the coughing was meant to hint.)

I took an espresso machine. That's a statement that has garnered a multiplicity of reactions. My mother was worried about my morals. My sister was worried about the increase in my caffeine intake. For all those who share in their fears, be reassured. It is only taken in the sense that I have moved it one room over in the building and am replacing the part necessary to make it usable. Also, my caffeine intake should remain about the same. It'll just be a little more convenient. And fancy.

Grading is going fairly well. My students write hilarious things. One of them described the Earth as earthy. I wasn't really sure how to respond to that.

Paper One

Thunder! Rain! Drama!

The first major rain of the fall always energizes me as I am drenched by the peaceful waterfall, down, down from the stream of the sky. It's traditional for me to run around and dance like a madperson in the rain. Because it is Milwaukee, the glorious storm is periodically interrupted by protesting car alarms who don't recognize the gloriousness that is lightning. Cars aren't very intelligent.  

Not like my students! (How's that for a segue?) They all turned in their first papers today. I now have a stack of forty papers crying out for my extensive (and obviously wise) comments. I'm sure they'd all be happier if I drew a smiley face on the title page, gave them an A, and handed them back. The university doesn't pay me to make them happy.

Those are the random thoughts for the day.
May rain soon head your way.
Crime doesn't pay.
Wordplay?

conferencing

I just finished day three of individual conferencing with students. I am now confident that I know everyone's name and that most of them know how to find my office. A few of them chose not to conference, so they could think my office is anywhere. They also didn't get to meet Hagnk. I'm still surprised that so many of my students quietly accept the fact that there is a gnome ruling over my desk. I wonder what that says about my image as a teacher?

Grad School Guilt

One of the symptoms of being in graduate school is the inability to relax. It's so prevalent that it has earned a label, Grad School Guilt, and is the subject of a lot of discussion and concern.

I theorize that this inability to relax is why so many grad students drink frequently. I myself am currently drinking chai and hoping that my cinnamon allergy has not intensified. I live life on the wild side.

The reasons for our guilt are fairly obvious. There's no set schedule. We choose our own hours, and really, our own expectations. Because we're used to performing well, our expectations are high. None of us were ever that clueless freshman who forgot what day the paper was due. Our paper may have been written in the hour before class, but it still was turned in on time and received an A.

Is that my throat starting to close up or is it just my hypochondriac tendencies kicking in? 

Even our jobs have no set hours. Sure, we teach at the same time every week and hold our office hours at the same time, but any teacher can tell you that these things are only a fraction of the work of teaching. This week I'm conferencing individually with each student. I'm also writing an assignment sheet for the next unit of class, beginning to lesson plan for that unit, and preparing to be swamped by the grading of their first unit papers. I love it, but it is time-consuming.

At least my conferences for the day are over. I'm certain that dying in front of students is frowned upon in the university setting. 

There are tons of other reasons for guilt - one is that while to outsiders, it looks like I'm staying in school (some might say hiding) I really am working on my career. Grad school is not an extension of undergrad. In fact, I'm in a class with undergrads right now and I do not understand them at all; I don't remember ever being like that. In order to pursue my chosen career, I have to succeed at being a grad student. Some of my professors - faculty I may have the opportunity to work with on a professional level, especially if I impress them. The research I'm doing now is highly relevant to my future research, the research that will get me published, a publication that will help me land a faculty position. I am building a career and a reputation right now, not at some point in the future, and I have to be aware of that every day. This means that any slip doesn't only have significance until the end of the semester, but potentially much longer.

Chai! Why are you so delicious and dangerous?

I think the most dangerous part of Grad Student Guilt is that it causes me to focus on the things I haven't finished to the exclusion of all else. Things are not permitted to have value unless that value is academic. Looking back over the blog, I've seen a number of times when I've called blogging 'procrastination'. And maybe sometimes it is. But my guilt over not spending my time on something else prevents me from seeing the positive aspects of blogging.

Seriously, I'm fine. 

I need to go read Richard II now. I'm sitting in on a couple of Shakespeare classes this week and being prepared for class is a must. My research for my first seminar paper also awaits. Oh, and I should really prepare for that conference. But all without guilt, right?

My chai is gone. I am alive. This is a win.

Mid-September

Mid-September in Milwaukee has temperatures lingering lovingly in the nineties. Add to that the nearly ever-present smell of whatever-it-is-that-Milwaukee-smells-like (an eternally-shifting blend of breweries and fish?), and it's simply a delightful environment.

Note to self: your next apartment should have air conditioning. That's the style of living to which you would currently like to become accustomed.

The weather forecast says that hope looms. Tomorrow I might enjoy rain.

Fall is my favourite season.

How adult of me to talk this long about the weather. When I was a child, I thought 'small talk' was code for 'weather'.

I talked to the new Director of the FYE program today and have been given permission to adjust one of the unit assignments and try something a little bit new and different. It was interesting to have a conversation about teaching and trying to improve. It was interesting because the focus was not myself as a teacher, but the curriculum as a whole. I've never before had the opportunity to interact so directly with the assignment-planning process and get to consider goals, concepts, and how to make them work together - especially not in collaboration with someone who is a "real" teacher. Now I have to try and make sure that my adjusted assignment is not a complete flop.

Sorry for the rambles. I had a writing urge but no solid thought behind it. 

Beginning September

I have a couple of drafts of blog posts from the last week sitting in storage, but nothing really worth saying. I'm in school, doing school-like things.

Reading. I'm doing a lot of reading. Those of you with whom I am friends on Goodreads are seeing about half of the books I'm reading, and none of the scholarly articles. Currently there are six pdf files open on my computer that I really should read as soon as possible. Instead, I'm blogging. Procrastination and I are good friends.

I buy most of my books used. It saves money, with an added bonus of dollops of amusement spread throughout the books via marginal comments made by previous owners. My favorites so far this semester have been "YUCK" and "Walpole must have read Romeo and Juliet". Note: the second one only becomes amusing if you know that you're reading a book that was actually written by Matthew Lewis, not Horace Walpole. All Gothic writers are not the same.

Today I did nothing. I did not read books for the MA exam, not even the lovely Norton anthology of theory and criticism that arrived in the mail. I did not lesson plan for my students. I did not print my course documents, or even take the five minutes of time to put them online.

There's no excuse for this kind of behaviour. In less than a week I will be molding young minds. Well, perhaps trying to surprise young minds. I'm more of a disturber than a molder. And how can I properly disturb them if I'm spending my time relaxing?

Sadly, I can't muster up any credible level of shame tonight. It must be one of those emotions that requires effort. And, as already stated, I am doing nothing today. Except the dishes. I did those, because the line must be drawn somewhere.

Tomorrow I will rise early, go to the mandatory faculty meeting, and look professional. At some point I hope to finish reading Robinson Crusoe. How is it that a book can contain so many shipwrecks and so much dullness simultaneously. Along those lines, I want to put Defoe and Burroughs in a room and have them talk about racism - both for amusement and edification.

Next week I will be busy. Tonight . . . I'm going to bed early.

It's Almost Time

In a week I will have forty new students staring at me with their (around) eighty eyes as they (ostensibly) prepare to use their (hopefully) forty brains. In other news, people use parentheses relatively infrequently and I'm worried they feel shunned.

I've adjusted back to life in Milwaukee. My course documents are nearly completed and I've begun lesson planning for the first unit. Having taught the course before is proving very helpful. I know what I've done before, what I liked about it, and what I want to change. Right now, the major challenge is switching from teaching MWF to a longer TTh class period. Next week I'm sure there will be a different challenge.

TAO is in full swing. As an experienced TA, I have a small group to whom I am responsible for explaining a unit of RC1 - otherwise known as the class I taught only once and which I do not plan to teach again. It's an amusing situation, but I am being paid so I went back through my records, reviewed  what I did with the unit, and talked about it with my small group.

Studying for the MA exam has gone well during the week I haven't been in school. I need to remember to study for it during the semester as well. Focus.

End of year reflection

Buckle up, peeps, this is one of those looking back posts. It's been a year since I moved to Milwaukee to start grad school and a lot has happened.

Grad school is a very different type of lizard than undergrad. Now's when everyone is nodding, rolling their eyes, and generally being unimpressed by that observation. It's not an especially deep one, but it is deeply true. And it's true in ways that make it difficult to explain the differences. The atmosphere is different. People are here because they want to be, not because college is the socially expected next step in their life. The work is different. The expectations are different. The interactions are different. It's competitive. At Marquette, the competition is not vindictive or unpleasant, but it is there. A challenge a day keeps ennui away. 

Professionally, it's been a fairly decent year. I was accepted to three conferences, one of which I attended, one of which I declined, and one of which is coming up in November. It's a real, adult conference where people with actual academic careers will be presenting. And me. Exciting and scary.

Friendship. It's not one of the things I have a talent for. It's never been clear to me how one goes about becoming friends with strangers. Somewhere during this last year, I lost one of my best friends. I don't know what happened. There are people in Milwaukee who I consider to be acquaintances. We hang out. For some of them, I know we're halfway through our time together. I can't see us talking once there is geographic distance. Right now, we're brought together by locale and grad program, but that will change. And once that changes, there will be little we're left with. You can't be close friends with people who believe that your beliefs are only held by idiots. You both walk away with bruises.

Dear readers, don't think my friendships this year have been all doom and gloom. I've met a couple of new people with whom I think I will be friends. My wonderful old friends have stuck by me, even in my times of poor communication.

Moving to a new city in a new state was a big deal for me. I love my family and being near them. Geographically, Milwaukee is not that far away. But it was all brand new and stuffed with strangers. In the past year, I've found some good points - the lake, frozen custard, the grid layout (helpfully keeping me from getting terribly lost). It's been good for me to be here even though I know I don't want to stay forever.

Teaching has become more than just an idea. I have a teaching philosophy - something I could only imagine before. I've had students cry in my office, be angry with me, submit terrible reviews of my teaching. I've also had students drop by randomly just to say hello, thank me for working with them on their papers, and tell me that mine was their favourite class. I've learned that students' feelings are not what I need to use to evaluate my teaching.

This semester, I'll have forty new students. I'll also be a mentor to a new TA to whom I have not yet been introduced. How well that goes will depend a lot on her and what she wants, but also on how me and what I can tell her. Embarking on a new year of teaching, a year with experience, fills me with trepidatious delight.

There are a lot of terrible moments from the last year that I don't want to dwell on and that I'm sure you don't really want to either. It's important to learn from the bad but I don't want to live there. Learn; move on.

I have one more year to finish my MA. There are seven months before the exam to determine if I will receive the degree. Studying is a thing. Last night I finished Middlemarch. I think I will eventually like it better than I do right now. Currently my impressions of the book are far too coloured by the lengthy process of trying to read it alongside my summer semester coursework for me to evaluate it fairly. That being said, George Eliot could have told that story in significantly fewer pages. I'm off to read Tess of the D'Urbervilles now.

“Never say goodbye because goodbye means going away and going away means forgetting.”

Summer Finals

 The summer semester ended with two consecutive exams, both of which I proctored. It's odd to proctor an exam that you are taking. My attention became divided between the process of taking the exams and the responsibilities of proctoring. I needed to track the time, answer questions, and make sure the atmosphere remained test-appropriate (this is otherwise known as poking my head out the door and shushing people in the hallway). It was a weird experience. Also, I'm pretty sure now that the undergrad class figured out that I was a grad student hiding in their midst.

The most interesting thing was that, once I was placed in a position of even slight authority (proctors don't have much), they immediately assumed that I knew far more than I did. They wanted to know if their papers were graded yet and when they would get them back. Obviously not something I know about. I know you need to use the chart on page two to answer the question on page seven. What the professor has done with OUR papers is beyond my scope. 

I survived the summer semester. This weekend is the one during which I hoped to be back at Barakel. No car put a definite crimp in that plan. I am spending the weekend alone in Milwaukee. I will finally finish reading Middlemarch (otherwise known as "why is this book so long?")

On being an English Major

I'm know I've mentioned before on this blog the inevitability of having one's life as an English major continually called into question.

Relatives look worried, refuse to believe that it's a thing, and continue to talk about what you'll actually do when you grow up.  Everyone, even complete strangers, immediately senses that it must never have occurred to you that majoring in English (despite the many studies demonstrating otherwise) is a poor career decision that dooms you to a lifetime of living in a garret eating porridge. It is now their right to inform you of the errors of your choice and persuade you to follow a path more conducive to the earning of wealth and privilege and a life like theirs. It's a constant sussuration of doubt that builds in steady intervals into an inner crescendo of disquiet.

I am not doubt-free. But my doubts are never doubts about being an English major in the same way that others doubt the decision to be an English major. Mostly my doubts are about not being good enough. I've written before on why it isn't the "easy" major that everyone assumes it is. If it is for you, then you're doing it wrong.
Or I'm an idiot. 
See, that's a doubt.

It's all a question of what's important. I am never going to be rich. I may never own a house, or anything more care-intensive than a garden gnome. Although, they can be surprisingly fragile.

I'm not saying you're wrong to choose not to be an English major. Part of becoming an adult is deciding what's important to you and what you are willing to sacrifice for.

“Critics who treat 'adult' as a term of approval, instead of as a merely descriptive term, cannot be adult themselves. To be concerned about being grown up, to admire the grown up because it is grown up, to blush at the suspicion of being childish; these things are the marks of childhood and adolescence. And in childhood and adolescence they are, in moderation, healthy symptoms. Young things ought to want to grow. But to carry on into middle life or even into early manhood this concern about being adult is a mark of really arrested development. When I was ten, I read fairy tales in secret and would have been ashamed if I had been found doing so. Now that I am fifty I read them openly. When I became a man I put away childish things, including the fear of childishness and the desire to be very grown up.”   -- C. S. Lewis

 

This post brought to you by an article that caused me to think: http://chronicle.com/article/The-Ideal-English-Major/140553/ 

My soundtrack of plagiarism

I was reading my friend B's blog (http://heartofperseverancecharacterhope.blogspot.com/ - check it out) and marveling at her consistency, in posting and in being entertaining.

Jealously, I want my blog to be as awesome as hers is. So this is me blatantly stealing an idea.

This song has been stuck in my head for days. I will now share it with you. You're welcome.

Friends Happen

For the past few days my friends - Amanda, Nathan, and my fairygodchild Ransom - have been visiting me in Milwaukee. Amanda is an avid Facebooker and has been tracking our adventures in her status updates and photographs. This led to my mother commenting, "Amanda really makes Milwaukee seem more glamourous than you do."

She's right. I do need to be more aware of the cooler aspects of Milwaukee. I need to be more aware of what I share about my time in Milwaukee and be sure to not just focus on the negative aspects. There are some real Milwaukee positives - a few of which we've done this week.

Kopp's Custard - it's a dangerously delicious place. We've gone twice this week. So far.

Sprecher's Brewery - We toured the brewery then spent a great deal of time drinking several different kinds of soda. Beer is over-rated. Bring on the gourmet soda pop beverages!

Milwaukee Public Market - Nathan and Amanda had deep-fried cheese curds for the first time. What a Milwaukee thing to do. We also bought delicious bread.

Did you know there's a lake here? It's a pretty big one. It's a pretty big deal. We saw it. We put our toes in it. We shivered.

Thus ends this blog post. (Must go spend more time with the peeps before they leave tomorrow.)

Grad Food

When talking to grad students, the subject of food tends to come up frequently.

It's an excuse for socializing if we want to go out. "It's ok to leave homework and go to dinner - you have to eat sometime."

It is a motivator. "Hey, there's a lecture next week - not my favorite topic, but there'll be bagels."

It's a matter of pride, "I haven't been grocery shopping in two months." or "Yep, twenty dollars a month is my food budget. Are you going to eat that packet of hot sauce?"

As you know, my car has died. This has required me to start thinking more purposefully about meal planning. Unsurprisingly, the cheapest way to cook is to buy a lot of the same thing and eat it continually. Different grad students have different ways of exploiting this method. Some buy a lot of alcohol and drink it continually. Frequently, pasta becomes a staple. One friend was explaining this by informing everyone how much he loved Italian food.

Now, I have no quibbles with people who love Italian food. It's quite delicious. But this purposeful planning has resulted in checking of my cupboards. What exists are several indications that Italian is not my cuisine of choice.

1. There's no pasta. Now, maybe I'm one of those dedicated people that makes my own pasta (I'm not) but there is no semolina flour either, so the chances of that are rather slim.

B. There are, however, three or four types of rice - and I know how and in what I would use each type.

C. There is nothing tomato-based. Except for two different kinds of ketchup. What, your brother doesn't give you ketchup as a going-away present?

4. The only basil is Thai Basil - I have some dried and some frozen - for emergencies. 

In conclusion, a good romp through cupboards can reveal things about yourself that you had never vocalized. I've laughed in the past with fellow students about the vast amounts of pasta consumed, and the fact that pizza is basically a perfect food, but now I realize that my allegiances fall elsewhere. I'll have to think about how to leverage that into a declaration of my inherent superiority . . . this could take some time . . .

P.S. - this post brought to you by the suspicion that people are tired of hearing all the time about the fact that I do homework, go to class, and think about teaching.

Walking out of the theater this morning, one of my friends remarked, "I never thought I'd be saying this, but that movie needed more robot and monster fights."

It's weird to be halfway through a semester already. Six week classes are the way to go. Now if I can only keep that in mind when I'm sitting in the same classroom for hours at a time . . .

Both of my classes are delightful. I feel as though I'm learning valuable things in both of them (a Marquette first). I have the same professor for both and his strong focus on pedagogy and the development of field knowledge is serving to strengthen me as a scholar and teacher.

The heat is terrible. Someday I will no longer be a grad student. Perhaps when that day comes I will have air conditioning. For now, survival involves copious amounts of water, fans, and cold baths.

Studying for the MA exam continues. I'm reading Middlemarch, which is one of those books that I've known for years that I should read, but could never muster up the necessary enthusiasm. Enthusiasm is still lacking, but the reading is finally taking place.

This post feels as though it's not very entertaining. My apologies. For those of you who are wondering, my car has bitten the dust. It's not worth pouring more money into something so old and decrepit (an argument not to be extended beyond inanimate objects) so it will soon vanish from my parking spot. The plan, dictated by financial necessities, is to not replace it right away. My Milwaukee freedom will be curtailed, but perhaps that will only benefit my studies.

Back in Milwaukee

I've been back in Milwaukee for a week now. Perhaps at some point I'll post something about my weeks at Barakel.

This week of school flew by. Lots of reading. Not very much homework besides that. I'm preparing for a presentation on Tuesday and will be signing up on Monday for three teaching lessons in the other class.

My car started thunking between Ann Arbor and Jackson so I took it to visit its favorite Jackson-based auto repair shop. An old man popped up from behind a truck and started trying to make jokes. I was not in a proper frame of mind for jokes so did not give him the proper laughing response that he was looking for.

He then hopped in my car and drove it for about two minutes. He got out. He looked at me. I have a wheel bearing going out. I asked him what I should do. He shrugged his shoulders at me and said, "Drive it."

So, I drove it. It was a very tense journey. I kept waiting for my wheel to fall off or stop turning and leave me stranded by the side of the road. I hated Chicago more than usual.

But I made it. This story is basically a very long segue way into a confession that I'm not in church this morning. My car is going to the shop tomorrow and I'm not driving it any more than absolutely necessary. Instead, I've curled up with coffee, cat, and a sermon by Dan Cummings.

I haven't listened to Pastor Dan since he died. So far it's involved a few tears. He read Shel Silverstein. I wonder if that has anything to do with the fact that I love Shel Silverstein.  

Driving home earned me a lovely driver's tan. I've been away from Milwaukee for a week now and I am starting to feel like a real person again.

My reading list for the summer is made and I am thrilled to have time to read again. Not quite for fun, since I'm reading things to prepare for the MA exam next year, but I like literature. If I didn't like it, then I would be in the wrong life trajectory. A friend has kindly agreed to read at least some of these books with me and we've begun reading Pamela by Samuel Richardson. There have been three attempted ravishings of the titular character so far and I'm only a sixth of the way through. Ah, eighteenth-century morality tales, you are so strangely obvious yet twisted.

One of the problems with living in a different state is that there is always too much to do when I get back home. I've made a quick jaunt to Auburn Hills, spent some time in Ann Arbor, and am heading back to Litchfield for a second weekend before heading to Barakel on Tuesday. I have many homes, a life divided.

Have You Hugged An English Major Today?

There's nothing quite like having to write seminar papers to make me want to blog. It's not that I don't enjoy writing them, if I didn't, I would be going into the wrong field.

Writing is difficult. One of the frustrating things about being an English major in undergrad was that it was frequently dismissed as the easy major, nothing compared to the rigors of more science-centric concentrations. Then these same people who dismissed English majors complained relentlessly every time they had to write a paper, however brief. It's like there is a disconnect in people's minds that doesn't let them make the link between writing as a struggle and the amount of writing required of an English major. And I think a lot of the reason for that is because everyone, to some extent, can write, while not every person can identify cells under a microscope or build an electrical circuit. It doesn't feel like an uncommon ability. But to truly be a writer is different than being able to put words on a page. In a way, it's like a person claiming that their ability to tell types of trees apart makes them a botanist. They have some of the basic skills needed, but by no means do they have all of the knowledge, expertise, and experience required of a real botanist.

It's a waste of time to compare majors. I've learned at this point in my life to shrug off most of the comments from well-meaning people about my choice of English. This week I had an encounter with a Charming Elderly Gentleman when we were attending a lecture given by one of my professors. He was an old friend of hers and eager to find out what her students were like.

CEH - "Are you a grad or an undergrad?"

K - "First-year MA student - studying English."

CEH - "My condolences."

K - "Well, thank you, but I'm enjoying it. Or I will be once the semester is over."

CEH - "I'm in the philosopy department."

K - "My condolences."

We laughed, then he tapped me on the knee with his umbrella and called me saucy.

For those of you reading this and judging the level of quality of this writing and finding it wanting, shame on you. This is blog-writing. It's meant to be approachable and easy. I save my high-falutin' writerliness for those seminar papers. Yep, the ones I'm meant to be working on right now.

Until I need to procrastinate again . . .

Teachers have a lot of power. Writers have a lot of power. I am a combination of the two. Fortunately for the world, I'm also a bit of a Spiderman fan - great power, great responsibility, etc..

My class went on a field trip to the Newberry library yesterday. They have four pages from a Caxton Chaucer, a colour print. I have held the weight of past ages wrapped in fragile ink. One of the students wanted to know how much a page was worth. The librarian gave two anwers: "Millions" and "It's worth whatever people will pay for it". Really, that's all anything is worth, whether they're paying the price with dollar bills or with labour or with pain.

Because of the trip, I've also discovered that what my life is missing is a book snake. Basically, a tube of fabric stuffed with small, heavy objects (the Newberry's felt like gravel). They make the snakes themselves, so it must be a fairly straightforward process. Now, if only I had sisters who sewed . . .

Two weeks. Two major papers. Then sleep.

bar raid

The Milwaukee Police Department raided a local bar last week and caught one hundred and five underage Marquette students.One bar. One night. One hundred and five students.

The majority of students think that the police are wrong. They think the law is wrong, and that because they think the law is wrong, they are justified in breaking it.

Each of them has their own loudly voiced reasons, some more reasonable than others. I had one student willing to say that underage students deserve the consequences because they know that their actions are illegal. That's not a great ratio.

seasons change with the scenery

Registering students have a certain air about them - anxiety tinged with excitement and sprinkled with fears of technology failing them. Most of my students are registering for their sophomore year. One girl walked down the stairs with me after class, telling me how her father is pressuring her to choose a major, but she's paralyzed because she doesn't want to make the wrong choice.

I told her it's not a failure to change your mind. Most people switch majors in college. We talked about what she enjoys doing, what she sees herself doing, and if she likes being around people, and how she feels about silence. It took a while, but there are five flights of stairs.

I don't know if anything I said helped her. Not sure why she did, but I'm gad that she felt she could talk to me.

If this whole career thing works out, part of my job one day will be to advise slightly panicked students about class and career choices. They'll have to talk to me; I'll be assigned to them as their adviser. I'll tell them it's ok to fail and that I've failed and that everyone fails. They won't believe me then, but maybe later.

APRIL is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.
Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee
With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade,
And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten,
And drank coffee, and talked for an hour.
Bin gar keine Russin, stamm’ aus Litauen, echt deutsch.
And when we were children, staying at the archduke’s,
My cousin’s, he took me out on a sled,
And I was frightened. He said, Marie,
Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.
In the mountains, there you feel free.
I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.

Prospective students

I have never visited a school before attending. I did one campus visit before choosing an undergrad and all it did was cement my feelings that snobbishness ran deep on that campus.

I don't remember being invited to visit Marquette. I do accept that I probably was and knew I couldn't go, so dismissed it from my mind.

Last week prospective English grad students are on the property. One of them stayed with my roommate and me. He seems normal. He isn't going to end up attending Marquette. Not because he's normal, but because the professor he really wants to work with is leaving at the end of the summer.

Some of the visitors seemed far too normal. They were a quiet bunch.

Only a few weeks left in the semester. Lots of writing. 

Kids these days

I don't normally study on campus. I get distracted by the mobs of people and end up watching them instead of reading and writing. I should have known better than to sit down in a busy lobby this morning

Sitting across from me was a young boy in the eight-to-ten age bracket. His mother ate breakfast with him and then went to her class around the corner.

I don't know her situation. Maybe her babysitter cancelled at the last minute. Maybe he's on spring break. I don't really have a problem with him being there - he seems quite well-behaved. Every ten minutes or so he gets up so he can peek around the corner and see his mother in her classroom. Sometimes he waves excitedly, having successfully caught her eye through the glass. It's an adorable moment.

I'm distracted by this kid. He's all over the place and I would rather watch something interesting than read the article for class later today.

He's chatting with multiple people on facebook.

He's watching wrestling - and it looked enough like porn that I was worried for a moment. Too much flesh.

Now he's Skyping. Loudly. In a lobby full of people trying to study. He's probably speaking more loudly than usual because he has headphones on. Three people have given him a death glare. Now he's repeating a phone number out loud. I was wondering in my head if I should warn him not to repeat important numbers in a room full of strangers when he shrieks, "Bitch!"

I'm not sure if he realizes that even though he has headphones on, we can still hear him. And everyone heard him. No one knows what to do. After the stunned seconds elapse, the lobby regains some of its natural hubbub. Some students pack up and leave.

One of my students who was sitting across the lobby eating breakfast with a friend stopped to talk to me about this kid. "Is he swearing at other six year olds on Skype? This next generation needs help."
 
I agreed with him. I know that every generation has said that about the next. But that doesn't mean it hasn't been true and isn't true. That random kid doesn't know that it isn't ok to scream obscenities in a public place. He doesn't know that "bitch" isn't a term that should be given to a person. He doesn't know how to respect humanity in his world of electronics.

We live in a world where people ask, "do you know who I am?" Because they think that a specific identity gives them importance. It shouldn't. No one, no matter who they are, deserves abuse. That young girl on the other end of the Skype connection should not grow up thinking that verbal abuse is normal.

I had to leave before his mother came back. I wonder if I would have had the courage to speak to her.

I'm sorry, y'all. This blog has become a bit didactic in the past couple of posts. I'll get back to being amusing soon.

Who cares at what age you marry?

Facebook is one of those social media tools that can be incredibly distracting and frustrating. Today, a link was posted to an article about how people shouldn't be so afraid to get married young and the article really troubled me.

http://www.slate.com/articles/double_x/doublex/2013/04/i_married_young_what_are_the_rest_of_you_waiting_for.single.html

Pushing past the unnecessarily antagonistic and accusatory title, I wasn't aware that marrying young was a fear. My experience has not been that young couples are an anomaly. However, I'm willing to accept that my experience has been outside of norms.

Had I known the prospect of marrying young was a fear, I wouldn't have considered it to be a problem. So what if people are waiting until they are older to marry? It's unfair to compare current marriage rates to those of past generations because the culture is so different. Two generations ago, college was not an option for many people. A generation ago, the economic situation was vastly different. At best, Shaw's statistics are an oversimplification of the vast shifts across society and culture. It is sloppy of her to reduce these changes down to an attitude change.

Her complaint seems to be that people are waiting until they are older to get married because they want to be grown up first - marriage has become a signal of adulthood. Shaw looks down on those young adults who do laundry at home, take money from their parents, or even remain on their parents' health insurance. It comes across as majorly condescending. What she misses is that marriage is not the only route to independence. Young adults can stop relying on their parents for everything without getting married.

Shaw objects to these older marriages (post grown-up) because she didn't treat marriage like that and it's worked for her - growing up with her husband has helped them strengthen their relationship. She also says, "it [marriage] requires maturity, commitment, and a desire to grow up together" (Shaw). Shaw is not making the distinctions she needs to make. If marriage requires maturity, surely part of gaining maturity comes with the process of growing up. What is not recognized here is that there is a difference between growing and growing up. You will grow while you are in a relationship, at whatever age you marry. And marriage is not something to rush into.

I don't really want to argue with this author, because I think we want the same thing. We want women to decide what they want and work hard to get it. We want people to realize that love and marriage isn't about falling in love with the one and having the white wedding of their dreams. Marriage isn't the end of the road, it isn't the end goal but a beginning of something new.  It requires hard work, fervent prayer, and Bibles.

If marriage is not an end goal, it shouldn't be a top priority. Shaw should not frown on the fact that people use their twenties to establish their careers. When do people who marry young establish their careers? Also in their twenties, at least as seen by Shaw's example. Here's where I have to admit my bias. I'm currently pursuing a graduate degree and planning to establish a career. At no point have I thought that I wouldn't get married young because that would prevent me from doing what I wanted to do. I want to get married. But I don't feel, and no one should feel, that I need to stop what I'm doing in order to pursue marriage. And in all fairness to Shaw, I don't think that's what she meant - but that's the logical conclusion if you push on her statements.

If you're ready to get married at twenty-two, go for it. If you are not ready until you're thirty-two, that is fine as well. Prioritizing relationships over accomplishments is important - but it does not have to be a romantic relationship. Don't get caught up in everything this world says you need to have. In the end it isn't about whether you married or didn't marry. It isn't about your career or your lack of career. Live a life worthy of the calling you have received.

Reasons to let someone else do the driving

Speed. My friend is not the fastest or most aggressive driver I've ridden with, thankfully. But he drives faster than I do. Of course, I'm fairly certain that both of my grandmothers drive faster than I do.

Entertainment. Give a man a five-hour energy drink and he is now properly prepared to talk for the next five hours. I ended up holding my school book rather than reading it. No regrets. 

Friendship. Spend thirteen hours locked in a steel box with someone (especially someone hyped up on energy drinks) and you'll get to know them better. This increased knowledge may make you like them less, but your knowledge will still have deepened. (Just to clarify, I don't like B any less. We know each other better and I suspect we're better friends because of it.)

All in all, it was a successful Michigan trip. I'm back in Milwaukee, blogging instead of reading. Seriously, the biggest problem I have with Belinda right now is that the book is sooooo looooong. And considering some of the other things I've had to read this semester, that's not really a problem. I should bake for my 8 o'clock class tonight, but I'm tempted to put it off until Thursday. That's because I'm a procrastinator.

.

Three weeks ago someone told me that I needed to wake up and realize that I would never have spring break again, not a real one. Spring break is for normal students, not grad students teaching two sections of rhet-comp. They were right. But breaks are good for people; they are good for their brains.

Marquette, being a good Jesuit institution, releases its students for Easter break - a lovely five day weekend. Normally, I would have made a mad dash for Michigan, leaving jumbles of books and papers in my wake. This time I tried to be an adult. There are only a few weeks left in the semester and I have a lot of work to do.

So I am still in Milwaukee. I've spent the last few days reading books, taking notes, grading, and trying to draft a couple scholarly papers. It's been a productive time, but now I'm tired. Tomorrow morning I will rise early, jump in a friend's car, and make the drive to Michigan. Less than twenty-four hours after getting to MI, we'll be heading back to Milwaukee.

The same person who told me I couldn't have spring break has now informed me that this quick trip is crazy. He's not shy about sharing his opinions. But I know what he means. It doesn't make fiscal sense to spend so much time driving to be away for so short of a time.

In my circle of friends, I am the odd one out - the one who isn't in some kind of therapy. You could probably make a solid argument that I should be in therapy too. We're all under continual pressure and stressed about teaching, learning, the constant demands from all sides.  I'm not trying to claim any kind of superiority. One of them asked me the other day how I was dealing with everything without resorting to any kind of therapy. I gave them a standard response, "I don't have time for therapy!"

We chuckled and moved on, a solid deflection on my part. They didn't really want to know. They just wanted the assurance that I felt the stress too, that there wasn't anything wrong with them. I could have told them I pray a lot. They wouldn't have wanted to hear that either. Grad school isn't about answers. A lot of the time we pretend it is, but all we're really looking for is agreement.

I agree with my friend that this trip to Michigan is extremely short. I would have liked to take a longer one, especially since it was my last chance until the end of the semester. I can't agree that brevity devalues this trip down to worthlessness. Life involves balance. I need to balance my academics with my job. Also, neither of those things should be allowed to consume me.

There are two men outside my window talking about how to score girls and steal tires. I need a break from this city.

I'm going to take thirty hours and go to Michigan. I'll remind myself that there are trees beyond the cement and that there are people who care about answers.

The best lies use the truth. This is one of those deceptive weekends that tells you there's nothing you need to do. True, I don't have any assignments due this week. True, I only have three days of school and then a lovely, long Easter break during which to be productive. But this weekend is lying to me. There are only six weeks left before finals. I have a lot of work to do.

Fortunately, it's snowing. Snow's presence makes it easier to resist the call of the beach. Not that the frozen great lake doesn't have appeal - it does. A couple of weeks ago I drove by the lake and it had frozen into a glowing swirl of turquoise-green.

Yesterday I was out with a couple of friends and we drove by the lake. One of them exclaimed, "That's the first time I've seen it!" She's been in Milwaukee for the same length of time that I have and lives a block from my apartment. The lake is less than three miles away. I wasn't able to resist it for that long.

With that in mind, I need to work now. Growing up, my mother (Hi Mum!) referred to the idea of delayed gratification - being able to deny what I want now for what the future holds. Shockingly, I am very bad at this. Even now I can't decide if writing this blog post is something I should be doing, or something I am doing instead of what I should be doing. Maybe I can break down that binary and claim that it is both.

Six weeks until the end of the semester. 

I saw friends last week. Real ones. Barakel ones. Not that I am friendless in Wisconsin. There are several people who I see on a regular basis and whose company I enjoy. But there's something special about Barakel friends. Or maybe they're just amazing people who I happened to meet at Barakel.

Spring break flew past far too quickly. I did get most of my papers graded, but am not quite finished judging my students. (Only two more to go!) I did, for the first time, give an 'F' grade to a paper. It doesn't feel good, but there was no possible way to justify a passing grade.

Presenting on post-colonial theory today. My lucky classmates get to endure me condensing forty years of scholarship into an hour. With slides!

Spring break needs to happen soon.

People are tense. Students are whiny. One of the TAs in the office next to mine stopped by yesterday to congratulate me on keeping my calm with my student who launched into a list of complaints about his first paper grade and kept insisting that I had discouraged him so much that I made him give up. It was nice to hear from an outside perspective that I handled it fairly well. I wish students would take personal responsibility for their own actions and grades.

People are tired. Tired people are complaining people. It feels hypocritical to complain about other people complaining.

Today is the birthday of both Toby and Zeke. Spring break needs to arrive so I can go home and celebrate. With cake.

Crushing their souls . . .

I handed back their papers this morning. My second class has never been more subdued. I wanted to tell them that it wasn't the end of the world, but I don't think they would have believed me. I wouldn't believe me.

I turned in a paper on Monday that is the worst paper I've written in a long time. I still want an A. All my professorial advice won't cheer me when it is not.

So I didn't tell them it wasn't the end of the world. It's something we each have to discover on our own. And then rediscover in the future.

A Grading Reflection

I'm nearing the end of my first pile of papers from this semester. My students displayed varying levels of ability - I almost said intelligence, but decided that wasn't quite fair. Because really, to me, writing is an indicator of intelligence. But these kids might not know that yet.

I'll be sorry to give the papers back. It signifies a change in our relationship. I'm no longer "Miss Hendrickson who knocked over a chair that one time and forces us to read news articles about mackerel fishing in Iceland." I become "Miss Hendrickson who gave me a bad grade and is ruining my GPA (and therefore my life) and who must hate me."

Students, I don't hate you. It's because I care about your success that I wrote that "D" on your paper. Six years down the road you're going to need to be able to write a coherent sentence and if you can't, there are worse consequences that a lowered GPA. Someday you'll need to be able to express the thinking you've done about an issue. If you can't, your solution - no matter how good it may be - will be passed over in favor of one more clearly articulated. This is to help you.

Papers. Almost done grading. Also, I'm writing a paper that will itself be graded. Then I'll have to read my own advice.

Mercy Hill

I've now been to the Mercy Hill church three consecutive Sundays. Third time must be the charm. I finally was greeted - by multiple people! I've also decided that I'm leaning toward attending regularly. My lean is decided enough that I filled out a visitor's card and turned it in. In return, they handed me a John Piper book. Another point in their favor.

I've been doing a lot of thinking about what is important to me in a church. And then I did a lot of thinking about how much it should matter what's important to me in a church. Then I thought about why I might value certain things in a church. Basically, there was thought. I need a church that believes what the Bible says. Mercy Hill has thus far lived up to that standard. Beyond that, I think what I value most in a church is genuineness. This is the most hipster church I've ever attended. The worship leader had a popped collar this morning and I feared for a minute that the pastor was wearing skinny jeans (false alarm: straight legged, but not skinny jeans). But underneath the hipster vibe, there is genuine emotion and a desire to worship. I think that's enough for me right now.

Plus, they keep giving me free bread. As a perpetually poor grad student, that is not a benefit at which to sneer.

Students and Studies

Next week my students turn in their first paper. We're all very nervous. I'm hoping that I've taught them enough; they're hoping that I'm not a tough grader; I know they're doomed to disappointment on that score.

To complicate things, I've just met two of my students for the first time. One of them spent the first few weeks of the semester being ill. He sounds confident and willing to work hard in order to catch up to the rest of the class. The more major issue is the student who has attended two classes out of the seven and has not turned in any of the assignments. He's a senior so this is probably his last semester. Unless he fails my class. Or unless I drop him from the class for excessive absences. Judging from his behavior, I'm feeling more pressure about that than he is.

The MA exam in which I must demonstrate a masterly knowledge of the entirety of British Literature is now only a year away. It's an intimidating thought. As part of my studying it has been recommended, by a past writer and grader of the exam, that I memorize a few poems. Apparently the ability to quote poetry in my answers will be impressive and show dedication. The poem this week is John Donne's Death Be Not Proud. 

Death be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadfull for, thou art not soe,
For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow
And soonest our best men with thee do goe,
Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie.
Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings and desperate men,
And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell,
And poppie, or charmes can make us sleep as well,
And better than thy stroake; why swell'st thou then?
One short sleepe past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.
 

Newberry Day #3

I had a thought earlier today. I thought, "This would make a wonderful, witty anecdote for my blog." Then I promptly forgot said anecdote. Sorry, y'all. Somehow we'll soldier on.

Skipping the first session today felt good. None of the paper topics interested me, and having a leisurely morning was a good choice, especially since I have a lot of work to make up tomorrow. The session I did attend was excellent. Two papers on Shakespeare and one on Restoration comedy, so a little more in my wheelhouse than papers on Vesalius or patents.

Then I hopped slightly further downtown and met a group of Moody/Barakel people. They brought me a delightful birthday cupcake and brightened my day. I miss them. Hopefully we'll see one another again in April when I head back to Chicago again.

I escaped Chicago in late afternoon and found my way back to Milwaukee where I spent an evening with friends, laughing and playing games. Solid ending to a solid conference and a great beginning for a new year of living. Thanks to all for your birthday greetings!

Newberry Day #2

I spent the day listening to other people talk. It was great. There were some really interesting papers - pirates, corpses, the pox, assasins, etc.

Tonight I ventured out into Chicago and went to a concert of Robbie Burns poetry (and music). Apparently today is Robbie Burns day. It was good, but very soprano and harpsichordy. Then I floundered around downtown trying to find my pizza that I had ordered. Delicious pizza, it turns out.

Then I got back to the hotel and for the first time in my life was confronted with valet parking. I was not expecting it. Apparently it's what the hotel does when they have so many cars they start double-parking them. I asked for an explanation of the system and he explained it like I was four - potentially a good thing since I at least understood what he was saying. However, because I was not expecting valet parking, I didn't have any cash so couldn't tip him. Now I'm flooded with guilt.

Tomorrow I'm meeting up with some Barakel people, so am naturally very excited. Then I head back to Milwaukee where, since I got no work done tonight, I have a lot of things to accomplish.

The current presenter is reading his paper off of his phone. It looks like it's a good thing that he can zoom in easily.

Newberry Conference Day #1

The Newberry Library is gorgeous. It has high ceilings, intimidating chandeliers, and strict security. Trust me, all of that adds up to beauty.

My presentation was successful, I think. For me it is always difficult to tell because I blank slightly when presenting and don't really tune back in until the Q and A. But the Q and A was really good. I answered a lot of questions and people seemed really interested and engaged. As my mother already pointed out, perhaps they had a lot of questions because I hadn't been clear, but I prefer to believe that they just found it interesting.

I have now walked the streets of Chicago alone after dark. It was successful. I made it back to the hotel safely with Thai food in hand. My hotel is pretty great. They let me check in super early, gave me free parking, gave me coupons for free breakfasts, and have been uniformly friendly and enthusiastic. My status as a VIP might be the reason for all of this. Seriously, when I checked in, my reservation said VIP on it. It must have something to do with having booked using the Newberry rate.

The first three people I met at the conference were from England. The couple sweetly gushed about how much they are in love with America. I gushed back about my love for England. On a more disappointing note, the man from the University of Aberdeen grew up in Ohio so did not have a Scottish accent. False advertising, if you ask me.

Small talk is not something at which I excel. Sadly, that is a huge part of conferences. You're supposed to network and make connections that you can leverage throughout your future in academia. I'm doing my best to seem charming and intelligent. We'll see if I can keep it up.

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The problem with long weekends is that one still never gets everything done. At least I don't. What generally happens is that I add things to my list, knowing that I have that extra time. Then I fail to finish everything and head into yet another week of feeling behind.

I've been thinking a lot about friendship recently. Those of you who speak to me outside the realms of blogging are already aware that I've had difficulty finding friends with whom I can develop deep friendships. Grad students are an egotistical, godless bunch. I like plenty of people and have a good group with whom I spend a lot of time. But it isn't the same as having close, Christian friendships. After camp especially, this is a letdown. It feels weird still talking about adjusting from Barakel. It has been months. I should be over it by now, right? Except that I spent a chunk of time this weekend, when I was supposed to be accomplishing things, trying to figure out the feasibility of a few weeks in the woods this summer. I have more thinking to do . . .

The day after tomorrow I will be presenting at my first graduate conference. I hate my paper, but I'll push through somehow. I keep thinking optimistic thoughts about how, since I'm presenting in the first time slot, there will not be many people there yet.

I just reread this post and it sounds more down that I meant it to. I'm not unhappy. I promise.

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The end of week the first. I'm glad the first week is over. It's not been a bad week. I've really enjoyed it. But I'm tired now. 8am classes and I will continue to disagree throughout most of the semester, I'm fairly certain.

My 8am class is my favorite class (shh). They open their mouths, speak, and intelligent words (most of the time) issue forth. Watching them think through the issues and procedures brings joy to my teacherly heart. My 10am class needs to wake up. They like to stare at me and not speak. I will force them to talk. It's a goal.

Teaching two sections this semester provides a new set of challenges. Timing will become even more of a key issue. I say this because it took thirty minutes in the second class to accomplish more than was completed during the fifty minutes of the first class.

Another challenge will be teaching at 8am. Normally, I prefer to not even be awake at 8am. It's a time which, to me, should be allowed to pass by peacefully and without comment. It will be strange to be awake, not just physically but also intellectually. Hopefully, seasonal staff will have trained me well for this.

an end of a vacation

Heading back to WI this week. I'm thoroughly unexcited about it. In fact, today I can't muster up any desire to return. I know I'll be fine once I'm there and in the swing of things but voluntarily diving back into that stress-filled world feels insane.

I plan to make the drive on Wednesday, spend Thursday finishing my unit calendar, and then smile my way through the mandatory staff meeting Friday morning. No news yet on how genuine that smile will be.

The new year begins. With it comes a swirl of responsibilities I temporarily had shoved aside during the actual holidays. Now I'm immersed in building course documents, lesson plans, and class policies. I also need to squeeze in writing a conference paper.

Heading back to Litchfield tomorrow - the family claims to be over the flu, so it should be safe to return.