Not that I’m in the market for a new topic, but I think that outright craziness has not been given sufficient consideration as a quality of literature. We’re reading “Turned,” and “Circumstance,” which takes place in the top of a tree while the main character is being mauled by a jaguar.
Crazy may just be my favorite literary characteristic.
Everyone reads “The Yellow Wallpaper,” and we will get to that. Right now, we’re discussing “Turned,” and the students are having a good time with it. They’re even coming up with readings that hadn’t ever occured to me, which is exciting. I’ve taught this one about eight times, and there’s still new stuff to find.
I had five students come to my office hours at the coffee shop — none that are in any of my classes this semester, but still, it was a nice turn out, and we had a pleasant chat.
Good start to the semester.
This week, I’m getting back to normal at school — I can talk and teach class. This morning, I went into the copy room, and when I went to walk around the copier repairman to get to the paper cutter, I tripped. I went headfirst into the metal storage cabinet, with a loud and dramatic bang that brought the secretary running. I managed to smash my mouth up against the cabinet door, gouging a nice hole in my lip with my own teeth. There was a moderate amount of excitement, so after my classes, I went to the urgent care, to see if I needed sewing up. As soon as they found out I’d fallen at work, they turned me away for lack of worker’s comp paperwork. So I hurried back to campus, where the HR folks gave me worker’s comp papers, and sent me to a different urgent care in another city.
It’s all ok, it’s a big hole in the inside of my lip, but no stitches, as it’s already starting to heal up. They gave me a tetanus shot, so tomorrow my arm should hurt.
Enough already.
So, I’m in our church handbell choir. I tend to play the low bells, for a variety of reasons. I don’t know how to quarter-ring, which is useful when playing the upper bells. Since I’m also a pianist, I read bass as well as treble clef. I have strong wrists. And I’m not among the more experienced or musical ringers, so it’s good to put me somewhere where I’m not always on the spot.
So, there are times when we don’t have a lot to do, and we make our own fun down with the low bells. Our choir director is changing that. This summer, for festival of choirs, the voice choirs are doing “Sounds of Broadway.” We aren’t doing bells of broadway, but our choir director has found a John Williams medley for bells. The Olympic theme is very exciting, as is the imperial death march (we were initially concerned that this might be some kind of warped Lenten choice — btw, Lent is awfully early this year, isn’t it?!).
Send bells. big ones.
Sorry to be so political these days, but the California primary usually comes in June. This year, we vote with the rest of you all next week. So our vote actually might mean something, which is terribly exciting. I take this whole voting thing rather seriously, due to the whole suffragists-being-tortured-in-prison so I could vote thing. (For a lively treatment of these events, see Iron Jawed Angels).
My DH and I were discussing Saturday’s events in the car, when we heard a voice pipe up from the back: “What are you two talking about?” So we had to explain, not just the election, but primaries, to the Little Guy. Now, since the primaries don’t actually make any sense, this was a bit of a challenge. We explained that the country is trying to pick a president — someone to be in charge — and everyone gets to say who they think should do it. We explained the primaries by telling him that there are two teams, and they are trying to pick which person should be the one they wanted for president. He found this mildly interesting.
For those of you who prefer to get your political input from great literary figures, Toni Morrison has weighed in.
There are worse sources, after all.
I’ve been enjoying this election, for the first time in a long time. It’s actually a contest, for one; we Californians get to vote before the primaries are all over, for another. Plus, I even like a candidate.
Well, this past week, Italy had a change of government. There was screaming, spitting, and fainting in the parliament, capped off with champagne. After all that, it looks like Berlusconi is coming back, for heaven’s sake.
You know, the first time I ate asparagus was in graduate school, and it was, in fact, prepared with hollandaise sauce, by a guy who grew up in Europe and was confused by green asparagus (in Europe it’s generally white).
That’s one of the things I miss about grad school; people cooking for each other. I thought of this today. It’s raining here, snowing in the mountains, and I remembered how, when I was in graduate school, I would bake when it snowed. The more it snowed, the more I baked. One week we had a three-day blizzard that closed the town. I had to slog out on foot to the only open grocery store to buy more yeast and flour. When we would get snow, my friends would call me: “What are you making?” Sometimes it was enough to entice them into the weather to come over.
So the Little Guy and I baked chocolate chip cookies. He did almost everything; he measured and stirred the ingredients very nicely, and delightedly dropped giant spoonfuls onto the baking sheet. They turned out well, and we had a nice time doing it.
Remember that scene in The Miracle Worker — it’s in the play, so it’s in the TV movie too– where Helen Keller walks around the dinner table, eating from everyone’s plates, and Annie Sullivan is outraged?
Miss Baby is playing the Helen Keller role. After she eats her food, she stands up in her highchair. So we put her on the floor, and she walks around the table mooching. She walks up anyone who is eating, opens her mouth, and leans in. If you don’t get the hint, she reaches out towards your food. If that still isn’t persuasive, she waves her hand, gesturing for you to give her the food. And she will eat absolutely anything.