While in Chicago

I had two mid-terms to send in to my professors on the Thursday that we arrived in North Chicago. One was based on a book mentioned here already, On Being a Teacher. The other was comparing Jack Kerouac and Saul Bellow. I sat in the lobby of the Comfort Inn with my headphones in my ears, listening to Shawn McDonald as I fought to regain my consciousness. I was exhausted from the drive.

I had some reflections of value from the books. But in the end, I emailed my professor for an extension. So, do I recommend On the Road or Herzog? Meh. Not really. On the Road is good to know historically. Plus, it has the ring of some deep truths: the infinite search for purpose, and the imminent failure of it all; the likeliness of disappointment; the feel of connection to one's surroundings; what it takes to be human. But it surprised me with its sadness. Maybe it is worthwhile.

Herzog was not very reachable for me. The book is comprised of the hilarious and wordy ramblings of a highly-trained academic. I could identify with him at the strangest moments. His perspective is rather childish for a man with so much learning. I'm making it sound like I had fun reading the book. I didn't. I laid on the couch for two and a half hours and got bloodshot eyes, a strained neck, and a soppy brain out of the deal. I did, however, find this to be beautiful:

"There is a distant garden where curious objects grow, and there, in the lovely dusk of green, the heart of Moses E. Herzog hangs like a peach."

What is the difference between an event and an experience?

My Niece

Me: Aida, wanna hear some of my really-boring paper?

Aida: Sure.

Me: K. Just say "stop" when it gets too boring for you, alright?

Aida: I will.

Me: "Both Saul Bellow and Jack Kerouac are writing in the post World War II era--"

Aida: STOP. That was really boring.

____________________________________

Me: Aida, I have a question.

Aida: What?

Me: Is there a story about why your dad calls you "Pickle"?

Aida: Sure.

Me: Is it a secret story?

Aida: No. It's 'cause he loves me.

Boot Camp Graduation

On Friday, Stephen graduated from naval recruit training. My sister-in-law, niece, baby nephew, and I sat through lots of drills which seemed very meaningful to the audience around me. I wasn't overly impressed. I was impressed, however, by the number of flags which his division had earned. Out of a possible ten, they had earned nine while setting multiple records. Yay!

When the commanding officer said "liberty call!" the whole room moved forward. The recruits were inundated with family. We forsook the room in a rush, all contained energy. We spent our afternoon in the hotel talking and napping and hearing about how everyone at boot camp gets sick at some point, and only "the wusses" go to medical. During these stories, Aida crawled up on her father's lap. She looked up at him and said any time she felt like it, "Daddy, I missed you." She kept his face in her field of vision at all times, soaking him in. As he told stories, moving his hands, she moved hers in the same way, imitating him exactly.

After we returned from dinner in the evening, Aida, Holden and I said goodbye to Stephen for the evening. He had to be back on base by nine pm, and he and Megan wanted an hour out together.

Oh, my. If you could only have seen her tears when she hugged her daddy goodbye. She wanted to be left alone then, with just her thoughts of her dad and the promise of seeing him in the morning. I cried, too. They've been best friends for so long.

When Cat Fell Out of the World

Cat sat at the window inside the world. She looked at the picture that changed.

But today the screen was up. Cat was suddenly out of the world! The ground smelled like living bugs. The air was achingly close, in her fur, through her whiskers.

The neighbor's calls and sirens and carhorns could touch her pricked ears! Her tail dipped and touched the grasses moved by the wind. She crunched leaves under her paws.

Cat gave a cry. She missed sitting under the table and dodging moving legs in the world.

You, Jesus

It was You

when the floods rose

It was You

when the sun rose,

You who taught the winds to sigh,

Who taught the rose to bloom

and die.

Balance in Autumn

Study has intensified. It's no longer a matter of my own education. The education of others seems to be hanging in the balance of this semester. I grasp wildly at information, hoping to commit it to memory. Giving up hope. Straining. Rededicating my hope to Christ. But then grasping again.

I am reading On Being a Teacher: The Human Dimension. It says the most important characteristics of a teacher are charisma, compassion, egalitarianism, and a sense of humor. I think I really agree. My favorite teachers have displayed these traits.

It talks about how teachers must live a balanced life. Our lives are on parade at all times. We have the duty to be the most well-adjusted people possible. That means, occasionally, setting down the book in hand, and going to greet fall. Unfortunately, all caveats from my professors regarding balance seem to be aimed at a time in the future, not the present. They set up a useful conundrum: maintain balance, but most of your life should be comprised of schoolwork. One might as well pay to learn the lessons of balance.

It's not their fault that I swim in books. There is probably no shortcut to understanding the lesson plan, or to creating an effective, safe classroom environment. It begs to be studied. And I feel that I am studying for dear life!

________________________

I watch from the center of an indifferent crowd, each one a mandate to give or take.

How important we all are in our glorious busyness!

Rusty fall comes in, beautiful, a friend from ages past,

magnanimously bowing boughs, dipping her head at each guest.

But I cannot move to greet her, disturbing all these guests.

I must not go to greet her, although she is my friend!

She smiles from a distance, a look of understanding.

Dear friend, mentor, forgive me!

We cannot talk for now.

I'm confined to entertain a host of urgencies.