Soccer Mom?

Well, it's been a little over a year since things in our lives started to become more crazy than ever and I've only recently started to see a light at the end of the tunnel, to feel a little bit of hope for things to come.

Let me set the scene: We were in the frantic part of the beginning of the school year, where things are typically rushed as we're getting used to our new students, having to catch up on all of the grading, and acclimating to being tired all the time...again.  Except that everyone was especially exhausted because we had just gotten through weeks of helping students and friends gut their houses from the flood that had inundated Baton Rouge.  As part of that, our school schedule was rushed and hectic because we had to fit all the days we missed from the flood into a shorter period of time so we had seven classes when we would normally have six in a day and all breaks were eliminated.  Add to this that my father had started taking a downturn in his prostate cancer treatment and had to be hospitalized after a bad reaction to his chemotherapy.  Did I mention that he and my mom live with us?

It was a time of stress upon stress upon stress.  But we hadn't flooded.  And, while our son, Noah, was a little nutty and never stopped running around and always wore us ragged, he was safe and he was healthy and he loved us and it was all going to be okay, right?

Right?

Apparently not.

Because, while we knew that Noah was a little "extra" in general and at school, and we had been receiving notes home nearly daily about how he had fought against this rule or accidentally injured another child or ran away from that teacher, we didn't expect THE email.  The one suggesting that he had ODD (Oppositional Defiant Disorder) and that we should look into getting him to a behavioral therapist.  This one hurt.  Why couldn't he have a more commonly understood issue rather than the one that is basically a clinical diagnosis of, quite frankly, being an asshole?  My sweet little guy? The one who, when he saw me tearing up, came over to me, patted my face, and said, "Mommy, don't cry." The kid who tried to kiss other people's "boo-boos" to make them better? That kid?

Apparently so.

The more we investigated, though, and over the course of a very eventful year, the more we learned that Noah has, as we call it, "All the D's."  In addition to ODD, he also has SPD (Sensory Processing Disorder) and is mostly a "seeker," ADHD (I'm pretty sure you've heard of this one), and I've even seen some preliminary signs of a little OCD.  He is also speech delayed.  It's been a year of discoveries and dealing with stress and tragedy and it was really bad when my father died and Noah didn't understand why Grandpa wasn't coming home or why we were all sad all the time.  There was the trial and error while we took him to hearing appointments and surgery to get tubes and speech appointments and occupational therapy appointments and had to find coverage for our classes on the fly so we could get him there and ordered him a sensory vest and tried out medications until finally finding one that helped him to focus enough to be able to start catching up developmentally and while we (still!) wait for his new school program that will help provide him the services and training he needs to open and when I always have to explain what's going on with him and how he doesn't have Autism, but that he has a disorder that is frequently linked to Autism and reading all the literature to try to help him and us and I'm writing this as a run-on sentence even as an English teacher to help you understand how tiring all of this is even though my son's issues aren't as bad as they could be.

Whew.

Because I don't want to talk about that stuff anymore.  I want to talk about our win.  Our success.  And the fact that I'm hopeful again that life can be something resembling what is traditionally considered normal.  I want to talk about getting a glimpse of what life as a stereotypical soccer mom could be like.

It was glorious.

We signed Noah up for a YMCA soccer league for 3-4 year-olds that our friend and co-worker was coaching.  He was one of the youngest on the team and had been asked to leave his previous soccer and dance enrichment classes at daycare because he couldn't pay attention and was distracting the other students.  Even with all his therapy and with his ADHD medicine, we knew this had the potential to be disastrous, but we wanted to try to give him a chance to be on a team and to have an activity he might enjoy.  Since he rarely sits still, it would also possibly help him channel that boundless energy.

Week 1, he spent the practice flopping on the ground, running away and the game hiding underneath my chair.  He did, however, like the "Go Lions" chant at the end of the practice and game.

Things slowly improved, especially when Billy banned me from going to practices so that Noah couldn't run to me and hide, but he was still pretty reluctant.  Last week, though, the final one of the season, we made a breakthrough.

The coach had to hold practice an hour later than usual that day because he needed to finish coaching our school's basketball team.  So, to avoid taking Noah home and having him grump about having to go back out to soccer practice, we went out to eat.  This was the first success because his inability to sit still and to listen to us has made us avoid dining out with him at all costs.  It was a risk, I'll admit it.  But I put my trust in his medication and his therapy and our training and took a deep breath and dove in.  We had a lovely meal at a small diner-style fast food chain.  Noah listened to and chatted with us.  He ate most of his meal.  He was wiggly, but sat relatively calmly with us.  I nearly cried.

The real challenge, though, was going to be soccer practice.  When we arrived, there were only two other players present and we were waiting on the coach.  Without any coaxing from the parents, the three kids started playing chase with each other.  They were giggling and running and pretending to growl at each other and it was like they had been friends for ages.  The parents joined in as much as we could without having the boundless energy of three and four-year-olds.  It was amazing to see Noah so carefree and happy and interacting with other kids and, dare I say it, "normal."  It's one of the first times I really felt like I was experiencing what the majority of parents must experience on a daily basis.  He still had some difficulty listening and following the directions during practice, but he PARTICIPATED.  With one Noah-style caveat: every time he made a goal, he ran over to us, pulled up his shirt, and asked for a raspberry on his belly.  He would giggle uncontrollably for a second or two after this and then run back to play.  We happily complied at this motivation because at least he was joining in.  A raspberry on his belly is a small price to pay.

The next day, though, that was the best part.  It was pretty chilly for Baton Rouge - in the 40s - and everyone was dressed up in sweatshirts and hats.  We couldn't find Noah's jersey, so we put him in a dark colored sweatshirt with Batman on the front and a hood that's really too small for the shirt and definitely too small for Noah's rather large head.  When he toddled around, he looked like a caricature of himself, but in reverse, since his head looked really tiny compared to his body.  We were missing our star player and, when the game started, we only had four players available and Noah was one of them.  I asked him, "Are you ready to play?"

And here's the best part, he said, "Yeah."  Enthusiastically.  And ran on the field!

Whaaaaaaaat?

The kid played for about half of the game total.  And, while he didn't contribute much to the score and tended to hover at a distance from the pack, he was listening to his coach and he was trying to join in.  He even, unintentionally, stopped the ball on defense a couple of times.  I can work with that.  

   

I'm not one for trophy culture, but, when the coach gave each team member a soccer ball medal with the dates of the season on it, Noah beamed from ear to ear and I felt like he had really earned that thing.  I felt like WE had earned that medal.  And that made it all worth it.

Later, he did an excellent job of playing and interacting with his teammates at the coach's daughter's birthday party at a nearby park.  It was a red-letter day and I was so proud of him.  He's even been talking about soccer and we might let him play again in the spring.  

So why the title of this particular post?  Because I had never wanted to be a soccer mom.  I never wanted to fall into the traditional stereotype of the mother who drove her kids from activity to activity in a minivan and pushed them to do things that they didn't want to do and hauled folding chairs and snacks and tied cleats and washed jerseys.  But, now that I've had a taste of it?  A glimpse of "normal" and even "stereotypical" after all of the fighting and struggling for something resembling normal?  I'll take it.  I'll wear that soccer mom mantle.  I'll cheer on the sidelines.  Hell, I'll buy a pair of mom jeans if it means that my little guy is having fun and getting a chance to feel "normal" for a change.   So....Go Lions!

#metoo

Recently, I've been attempting to get back to my writing roots.  I have been journaling more and brainstorming ideas for short stories, plays, children's books, and an ergodic/multimedia/interactive novel that's been sitting in the back of my brain for ages.  I've been having trouble getting any of those projects off the ground.  However, a couple times in the last few weeks, I've mentioned an experience or a perspective and someone will say, "You should blog about that."  In fact, three separate people in different realms of my life have said something similar.  I thought I'd return to blogging by recounting a silly little poem I dashed off the other day as a sort of marker of my jumping down the rabbit hole of writing again.  Yet, I never got the motivation to type it up and post it.

The #metoo hashtag is different.  That lit a fire under me to actually get on here to say something.  And, be forewarned, I have a lot to say.

At first, I toyed with the idea of just letting the #metoo thing go by.  I thought I could scroll through my Facebook stream liking or loving and supporting other people's posts and stay on the periphery.  

Until I saw how many of my female friends and family members posted it.

Until I saw how many of my former students posted it.

Until I saw other people, like me, who also felt like their experiences "weren't that bad" or "weren't that important" thinking they shouldn't bother to post and did anyway.

Until I saw other people talk about how this needs to stop, no matter how "minor" the sexual harassment they experienced was.

Because it needs to stop.

I don't want this to be a part of my culture anymore.  I don't want my students to experience it anymore, no matter how "minor."  I don't want my son to grow up in a world where he has to stand up for his female friends and classmates and coworkers in the face of sexual harassment.  I don't want to contribute to perpetuating that a sexist culture is the norm simply by not speaking up.

So....#metoo.

Assault has never really been on the list, but harassment definitely has.  Cat-calling, obviously, because you can't escape that as a woman. Being a 6'1" target doesn't help things, which is ironic considering how frequently the phrase "shawty" has been used in the catcalls themselves.  (Although, apparently, it does prevent me from being a target for rape and assault because it would "make too much of a scene."  That's according to my high school self-defense instructor.)

There was the time when I was celebrating my birthday at an amusement park with friends - I think I was 13 - and the much older teenager in line behind me decided to grab my butt.

There was the time when my eleven-year-old friend and I were hanging out with some boys of roughly the same age at a water park and they thought pressing their crotches to our back ends would be a good idea.  For them, maybe.

There was the time I was sitting with my husband before we were married at a restaurant and the man a few tables over - also on a date - chose to make lewd gestures in my direction when his date and mine weren't looking.  Luckily, we were done eating and I asked to leave so as not to make a scene.  I told my husband (fiancee at the time), much later, which was good, because he probably would have started an argument.  

There was the time, when I was nineteen, that I was working as a hostess at a chain restaurant and was propositioned nearly every day by men all north of 40.  My favorite was the guy in his fifties who gave me his card and offered a free helicopter-flying lesson.  Thanks, but no thanks.

There was the time in college that my friends and I went to Mardi Gras and, as per the tourist culture there, I was repeatedly asked to flash men for beads.  Fed up, I yelled, "Hell, no" at one of them and got some beads from the woman on the balcony above him as a reward.

There was the time, a few weeks ago, when Billy and I ran into male seniors we've both taught near a local movie theater that they all went out of their way to say hello to "Dr. P." but neglected to acknowledge my presence.  Billy, not willing to let them leave our school without learning the importance of respecting the women in their lives, or women in general, schooled them on how inappropriate their reactions were.

None of these overt moments of harassment, though, compares to two situations I've experienced that involve the cultural tendency, in general, of treating women as being inferior to men.  Because it is the two moments that I'm about to describe to you that made me feel like a lesser person.  You see, in the previous examples I provided, I never felt powerless.  I never questioned my worth.  I moved on and didn't really give them a second thought.  These two shook me to my core.

One all comes down to a simple off-handed comment.  I was in grad school at the time, but working as an admin for a local publisher, who my husband has nicknamed "Professor Tiddly Winks," who owned a series of storefronts.  I worked most directly with the woman who ran the storefronts - a cafe, gallery, art lesson studio, and bookshop - but he would come in from time to time.  I figured I might be able to get a job learning editing from him on the side, but that never transpired.  My husband, however, did manage to grab a free-lancing job editing a book for the company.  I was turning in his edits one day and Tiddly Winks started up a conversation about my goals after grad school.  At the time, I thought I had wanted to continue on to the Ph.D. and we talked about what types of schools I would prefer to work at. 

"But, of course, if it's a spousal hire, you'll end up having to move where your husband decides to go, so it doesn't really matter."

Yep.  He said it.  To my face.  Like it was nothing.  I should note that, at this point, Billy had only finished his master's degree and had not yet started applying for Ph.D. programs.  But, according to this guy, we would have to go wherever Billy got us a job.  And I wouldn't matter.  And he was right.  Much of academia is structured that way.  It doesn't mean the rest of us have to continue to buy into that mindset anymore, though.

Oh, and, for the record, both Billy and I earned our current jobs on our own, but we came onto the school's radar because of my teaching experience, not Billy's Ph.D. (which he didn't have yet).  Take that, Professor Tiddly Winks.

I'm still getting over the other one that also occurred during grad school.  You see, my high school English teacher had an affair with a student several years after I had graduated.  This was a man who I not only idolized but who also had encouraged me to pursue my English degree because of all the support and effusive compliments - and challenges - he had provided to make me a better writer.  I was shocked, hurt, and appalled.  And I no longer trusted my instincts about people.  I had modeled much of my now successful teaching style on his!  Though I wrote a letter to the editor in support of the school during this awful time, I didn't know what I thought about the whole thing.  Was it all a lie?  Did he just compliment me because that's what he did with all his students?  The weird thing is that I even found out he had a "type."  I didn't fit the mold, so maybe his reassurances were genuine and not based on some perverted sexual attraction to me?  I kept trying to justify all of it somehow.  

I eventually ended up having his same job at my alma mater.  

That's when the dreams started.  For some reason, in them, he was still allowed to be at the school and his sole purpose there was to taunt me at how I would never be as good at his job as he was.  This statement was usually followed by his hearty laughter, at which point I would wake up.  Every time I was stressed or questioning my methods or abilities, he would pop into my nightmares again.  Slowly, with a few more years of experience and a few more successful graduates under my belt, he receded into the background until, during one stressful portion of the semester, he showed up again to haunt my dreams.

"You'll never be as good of a teacher as I was."

And I punched him right in the jaw.  I haven't had the dream since.  Something else helped.  As part of taking his former job, I had access to his files.  I read my college letter of recommendation from him.  It's good.  It's damn good.  And so am I.  And even with the fog of his relationship with a student, and possibly others, tainting everything, it doesn't change my abilities.  I keep that letter as a talisman to remind myself to be the person I always thought I had the capability of being.  

And that means I need to be a role-model for my students.  I need to make sure that this type of thing doesn't happen to them.  I need to talk about it and write about it and speak up about it so that we no longer normalize this sexist treatment, harassment, and, yes, assault on the women and men in our society who are having their power taken away from them by people who don't deserve to be in power.

So, yes, #metoo.

Making Noise

I haven't said much about the recent shootings of two black men by police other than commenting on other people's posts or reacting to them with the convenient yet certainly not adequate emoji options Facebook provides. Mostly, this has been because there's already a flood of people who are more informed about these stories and the grimly numerous previous ones and who are more willing to post their opinions online. I didn't feel like anything I had to say would add to the conversation, despite having the urge to say something, anything. 

I didn’t want to create noise in a space that needed music.

And then, today, when I was driving to run an errand, I suddenly became acutely aware of my surroundings.  There was a woman driving her black SUV in front of me with an LSU Alumni sticker common of many cars in Baton Rouge who I nearly ran into because her left taillight had burned out.

Think about that for a minute. 

She is able to blithely go about her day without worrying about her taillight being burned out.  She might be at risk of being pulled over (though I doubt it) without fearing that she’ll be shot and killed during a routine stop for a traffic violation while her significant other records it and a four-year-old in the back witnesses the entire thing.

Even though she is, technically, in violation of the law.  Even though she didn’t use her blinker when switching lanes.  Even though she was in the middle of her turn when the light had already become red.  Even though she seemed to be reading her phone screen at one point while I was driving behind her.  Even though, because Louisiana is a concealed-carry state, she could feasibly have a gun somewhere in the car legally that might make any cop pulling her over a little nervous.

Why doesn’t she have to worry about this?  Why is she most likely oblivious to any of these violations that are the last thing to come into her mind as being an issue today?

Because she’s white.

And then I knew I had to say something, even if it doesn’t further the conversation. 

Because it keeps the conversation present. 

Because, even if what I’m saying is noise, it’ll help make the noise louder until it crescendos and people in power actually do something to prevent these deaths from happening anymore. 

Because my son goes to a daycare down the street from where Alton Sterling died and I don’t want him to grow up in a world where his black friends and teachers are afraid of going to school or work simply because of the color of their skin. 

Because I don’t want to find out one day that one of my black students has been killed during a routine stop for a traffic violation.  

Because I fear for my black friends’ lives. 

Because I don’t have a lot of power in this world other than my vote and my ability to use words effectively and to teach others to do the same.

Because, maybe, if more white people start saying something, if more white people become noisy about this, maybe, just maybe, black lives won’t have to fight to just matter. 

Maybe black lives will just be able to live.

#OnceASEMGirlAlwaysASEMGirl

Hello Ladies.

First, Congratulations. And to my residential girls, “Gong shi, gong shi.”  I’m very proud of all that you have accomplished and I want to thank you for giving me the honor of representing the faculty in bidding you farewell and good luck as you move into your lives beyond SEM.

You all know I value honesty and straightforwardness so I’ll be honest here.  Secretly, since returning to SEM as a teacher eight years ago, I have wanted to be the faculty speaker at graduation.  I have always felt a small pang of jealousy mixed with admiration for the people who have had the opportunity to do so.  I think, on some level, being selected represented some kind of validation that I had managed to make a positive difference, no matter how small, in your lives. 

The problem is I’ve had trouble writing this speech.  I’ve written and rewritten it about a hundred times in my head.  I thought about previous speeches full of Dr. Priest’s inspiration, Ms. Miller’s kindness, and Mrs. Greene’s encouragement and wondered what I had to offer you. I didn’t really understand what was making this so difficult until yesterday at Class Day when I didn’t notice I started crying and then, I couldn’t stop.  It became clear to me that the reason I’ve been having so much difficulty figuring out what to say is that you’re not the only ones saying goodbye – this year, I am, too.  And, like you, I’m excited and ready for something new, but I’m also a little bit terrified (I mean, teaching boys?  That’s kind of terrifying).  But, luckily, I know that my time as a SEM girl has prepared me to venture into my new life with the skills to survive and to thrive.  And then I understood that I could send you off with a reminder: that you have an incredible community cheering you on and supporting you because, once you’re a SEM girl, you’re always a SEM girl.

I have essentially been a member of the SEM community since I was in 7^th grade.  Back then, there was an all-day workshop that SEM held to try to get middle school girls to see where the proverbial magic happens.  That year, the subject was English (the title was Semantics – I loved a great pun even then) so two of my Catholic school classmates and I decided to check it out.  I walked through those iconic wooden doors and knew there was something different about this place.  It didn’t hurt that we got to dress up as characters from a book and that the day began with a costume contest. Multiple literature-based activities later and a chance to see the nooks and crannies of the building, I was hooked. 

In traditional Admissions Office fashion, that landed me on the SEM mailing list and the rest is history.  After two years performing with the school’s former summer program Broadway at SEM, I, of course, had to shadow.  I was admitted and attended.  Which led to staying with my best friend and her family from sophomore to senior year when my father had to move for his job and I didn’t want to leave.  You see, SEM was my family when mine was far away.  And that connection has only become stronger.  I knew that graduation didn’t mean the end of my bond with Buffalo Seminary, particularly because of the lifelong friends I had made here.

Imagine my surprise, years later, when I heard about a job opening for English teacher only a couple of years after ending up back in Buffalo after multiple other adventures.   Three weeks before the school year started.  A job I swore up and down I would never do.  Oh, and, did I mention that I hadn’t really taught before in the full sense of the word?  Right.  That didn’t stop the inner SEM girl in me, though.  I promptly contacted my former teacher Robin Magavern and found out what I could do to rejoin the SEM community as a faculty member.  Apparently the hiring committee deemed me worthy – or else they were a little crazy, the jury’s still out on that – because here I am.  Thanks, guys. It’s had its ups and downs, but it truly has been a gift.

Why? It sounds a bit Dead Poets’ Society, but SEM really is a community that stretches across time and space.  You will have lifelong friendships not only with classmates, but also with teachers, and with the others you encounter through the school.  I never expected when I first walked in those doors in 7^th grade that one of my best friends from the class of ’99 – Caitlyn Lawton – would  be present in the delivery room to support me when my son, Noah, was born last year and then, for all intents and purposes, become his aunt.  Or that one of my first seniors– the Class of 2008’s very own Catherine Knauss – would come back to work at SEM and end up becoming one of my closest friends.  Or that the girl who I shadowed during eighth grade – you know her as Molly Greene – would join the faculty at SEM the same year I did and that we would both be teaching Freshmen at the time.  Or that my favorite history teacher from high school – SEM legend, Harry Schooley – would become a cherished colleague and then a dear friend.

So, since I have all of these amazing connections at hand, I thought I would do a little crowdsourcing to help me with this speech.  Because, let’s face it, those who do things at SEM, never have to do them alone.  For those of you who don’t know, the inaugural Media and Communications class did a little experiment this year.  We created and sent out a hash tag - #OnceASEMGirlAlwaysASEMGirl - to see how far and wide and under what circumstances it would travel.  With responses ranging from the local environs all the way to France and Norway, as well as from recent alums to graduates in their fifities and retired former faculty members, we discovered that SEM is still very much present in the everyday lives of those on whom it has had an impact.  I re-tweeted that hashtag recently and asked friends of SEM to tell me what they learned here that still helps them in their lives today.  Here’s what several of them said:

“I learned to be honest and [to] take responsibility for my actions.  And to lead!”

“That 21 years after Freshman Orientation, you will still be best friends with someone you met that day.”

“How to be independent enough to get the job done, but I am also not afraid to ask for help when it is needed.”

“Confidence, integrity, critical thinking.”

“I learned that being a strong, intelligent, independent woman is something to be proud of.  Also I learned how to perfectly flip a grilled cheese sandwich without a spatula.”  (We used to be able to go into the kitchen and make food.  I’m pretty sure the health department didn’t know that.  It’s a long story…)

“Never fear your own thoughts, ideas, and aspirations.  Being quiet will get you nowhere.”

“Do not be afraid of making mistakes.”

“Exuberance and laughter are essential.”

“Embrace your own inner weirdness and the importance of caring.”

“Growth and change are not one and the same.”

“Just because you don’t agree with someone, doesn’t mean you can’t be friends.”

Pretty good advice, right?  I agree.  But as I was writing this, I couldn’t shake the sense that something was missing.  I mean, I have my awesome experiences to share with you and I’ve compiled other sound advice to contribute to helping you embark on a new adventure with a support network, but it still felt, somehow…hollow.  And then I realized.  The best part about the last eight years has not only been having the opportunity to return to SEM and working with my unparalleled colleagues and being able to put myself out there, make mistakes, and try new things in the classroom, but it has also been you – my amazing, funny, thoughtful, energetic, intellectually curious, brave students.  The most important thing that I have learned at SEM is what you have taught me.  And those are lessons I’ll never be able to forget.

First, you taught me patience.  Patience with you, with myself, with technology…  Your class, especially.  You are big and bold and loud – let’s face it, this class has a lot of personality.  I keep trying to forget that one class your Freshman year that was so rowdy that I gave about 80% of you red slips, but you keep bringing it up.  But I wouldn’t change that.  You helped me to realize that patience is, indeed, a virtue.  And it has paid off.  Look at you: you are strong, independent, opinionated – still loud – young women who have already been doing incredible things and now you’re about to go out into the world and do even more.  We just had to be patient with you.

You taught me the importance of making people accountable.  I still don’t think your class entirely understands the concept of a deadline.  Just in case, for college, here’s the definition: the latest time or date by which something should be completed.  Synonyms include “time limit,” “finishing date,” target date,” and “cutoff point.”  From the historical: a line drawn around a prison beyond which prisoners were liable to be shot.  Hence, dead line.  Anyway, I realized when I had to be strict with you because you had to commit to something and I realized when I needed to back off so that you could learn the consequences of not following through.  To do that, I had to hold myself accountable to you, which isn’t always easy to do.

I learned that it’s okay to take risks (although that touching the Miss Angell Portrait thing was probably a bad idea since, apparently, the lore is true and it’s now raining on your graduation day…)  You have taken a lot of risks during your years at SEM.  Some of them have paid off – like confronting little injustices that you see happening in your everyday lives.  Some haven’t entirely – going to visit Washington, D.C. during the government shutdown comes to mind, although, judging by your slide show yesterday, you still had a lot of fun.  But you didn’t let the risk of failure scare you.  I’m taking a big risk by moving on from SEM, but, at the moment, it is a move I have to make for my family.  It would be a bigger risk for me if I didn’t try, though.  And you taught me that just because you’re afraid to do something doesn’t mean you shouldn’t do it.  In fact, you always seem to do things in spite of the fear, so maybe I should take that lesson to heart as well. 

I discovered that it’s okay to have fun and to make fun of yourself.  Whether you’re lamenting how your class always seems to get the short end of the stick, particularly on class trips or you’re turning the study hall into a night club complete with glow sticks and bouncers, or if you’re like me, and you try to convince your co-workers to lip sync the final song in Pitch Perfect in the name school spirit, complete with, perhaps unwisely chosen split, fun is key.  You guys are always enjoying yourselves, even if part of that is reveling in a bit of complaining – I won’t miss your loud, whiny sessions in the gallery, to be honest – you manage to do it with a smile and a laugh and you always end up finding the humor in the situation, even if it’s at your own expense.  You will help me remember to keep things fun, somehow.

I could go on and on, but, because I’ve been speaking too long already, I’ll get to the last lesson you taught me.  I learned from you to always be genuine.  You, as a class, do not value beating around the bush.  You call people out on their insincerity.  You like straight talk and straightforwardness.  In the beginning, this meant a lot of missteps and, let’s face it, inappropriateness in your interactions.  Over time, though, you have refined your approach and are generally able to walk the fine line between bold and brazen.  You kept us on our toes.  But you also recognized when we were being reasonable and candid with you and when you were being unreasonable.  No matter what, you always stayed true to yourselves, without compromise.  When I was having trouble writing this, my husband kept reminding me to “be genuine” and true to who I am.  I knew that you would be able to tell if I was trying to be something I’m not and I will remember the importance of that thanks to the example you have set for us.

So, whenever things start to get difficult, remember the lessons that you have learned at SEM and the ones that you have taught each other.  I know I will rely on these experiences when life starts to seem a little too overwhelming.  In a way, we’re both graduating - I’m just on the 12-year plan and doing it for a second time.  On top of all of the academic and communication skills, we have taught each other patience and honesty and bravery and we will be able to use these lessons as foundations for our ever-changing lives.  And even though this is goodbye, it isn’t really.  We may be leaving, but we’ll always be connected because once you’re a SEM girl, you’re always a SEM girl.

Thank you.

Running Update

Well, I can't ignore it anymore.  If I want to succeed at this goal, I have to start working on it.  And, since I now have an actual 5K scheduled, I really have to buckle down.  The School Government Association is holding a 5K run/walk on September 29th so that's as good a goal as any.  Which means that, in order to be prepared with my interval training program, I need to run every single day until the race.  Yay.  I did get started today, so that's something.  Though I'm not encouraged at the moment...

Running Goal: Week...

Sooo....you may have noticed that I haven't made any posts lately.  (Or, not, if you don't really care about any of this, but, for the sake of my ego, let's assume you do care.)  There are a few reasons for that.  The first, and most obvious, is that I haven't been running.

I've still been going on bike rides or walking or doing my physical therapy exercises at home, but I haven't been able to run much lately because of the heat and humidity we've had here lately.  For example, yesterday, when I went on a bike ride with my friend Beth, I was huffing and puffing and felt like there was an elephant sitting on my chest, making it that much harder to do simple tasks.  Even the inhaler hasn't been helping recently.

The other reason... well, here's a look at it:

Nah, I didn't need that toe...

Last night, I made the mistake of walking into the living room in the dark too quickly and had an unfortunate encounter with the ottoman.  Basically, the second to last toe stopped moving and my foot kept going.  Just be glad I didn't show you a picture of it before I wrapped it up - it looks like a rainbow trout.  So, with the broken toe, I'm going to refrain from running for a little while since, with the new style I've been trying out where you run on the ball of your foot, you are supposed to allow your toes to do a lot of the work.  Sigh.

Writing Goal Update

So, as I mentioned in my post about the background of my summer goals, I was hoping to write a play this summer.  I had an idea I had been thinking and brainstorming about, I bought a book with some helpful information in it and some writing exercises that I was going to work on, and I had a vision in my head of what I wanted to do.

And that's when it kind of fell apart.

Let me back up a bit.  I used to write all the time.  Like, constantly.  Unbidden.  I've been making up stories since I was three years old.  My dad would pick up a yellow legal pad at family gatherings and ask for a list of 20 words.  Then he and I would have to make up a story around the words, kinda like it was reverse madlibs.  I caught the storytelling bug and it's been with me ever since.  Poetry, short stories, even school papers - any time I could write I would.

Until college was almost over.  When I was rejected to every creative writing program I applied to, I sort of hung up my journal and pen and wandered into the real world, lost.  I even actively pushed away the idea of writing.  But it hasn't disappeared.  (Take this blog as an example.)  For a while, though, I've been grieving my storytelling career, until I realized that it hasn't been dead - it's just been in hibernation for a while.  It shows up in the comments I write for my students or in the ways I explain a difficult concept in the classroom.  I practice my word choice in my Facebook status updates or my comedic timing when relating a funny experience I had.  When I give my Autobiography students an in-class writing assignment, I write about the same topic.

But I hadn't been actively writing until last summer.  I was afraid it would be too hard.  I was blocked.  So, at the recommendation of a friend, I went through the book The Artist's Way.  For 12 weeks, I wrote morning pages every day, I did the workshop tasks, I kept artist dates with myself, and I started to feel creative again - not only in writing, but in teaching, and in everyday life.  I could almost define myself as a writer again rather than someone who dabbles in it from time to time.

And then life got in the way.  I stopped writing every morning.  I stopped making time to be creative.  I stopped, well, playing and having fun with creativity.  So that's when I decided I was fed up and that, this summer, I was really going to write something.  That's when I had the idea for the play.

Which brings us to the last few weeks.  Where I've been stuck.  Stymied.  Blocked again.  So I decided to write morning pages again.  If I'm going to write something as a project, then I need to at least start writing, period.  After I did that for a few days, I decided I needed some more encouragement.  So I picked up the book that comes after The Artist's Way - The Vein of Gold.  While the first book is about finding your inner artist child and digging her out of the hole she climbed into, this one is about recovery - now that the urge to write is back, what direction do I take it in, kind of thing.  I felt I needed to work on this for a little bit before I could dive right into a project.  Just like my running goal, where I have to build up my stamina with intervals, I have to flex my writing muscles before I can throw them into a 5K-type project.  They need a warm-up.

Part of that warm-up is my next project.  In the first part of the book, you're supposed to reflect on what has brought you to this point, year by year.  It's called the life narrative.  You look back on each year of your life and write about one or a couple of images that really stand out in your mind.  It's sort of like going to counseling with yourself because you end up realizing what is integral to who you have become as a person and how events have shaped your perception.  By examining the past, you can move forward in the present. So, I'll be updating you on the progress of this life narrative as well as the play itself.  Since the main goal is to get writing again, at least I'm getting back on track as far as that goes.

Tally as of today:
Life Narrative: Year 1 (29 to go)
Morning Pages: 5/last 7 days

Running Goal: Week 1, Day 3

As you may have noticed, I'm titling these posts based on the week of the program, not by the actual time that I'm completing them by (since there's almost a week between the last two posts.)  It's taking me longer than I thought since the weather's been so warm and humid, making it hard for my lungs to soldier on and get out there.  The link to my most recent run is here: info.  I must be getting the hang of it because my fastest running pace was 7:27/mile and the slowest was 10:06.  Hopefully, I can continue at that pace when I start adding longer intervals of running.

I've also been going for a 30 minute bike ride at least three times a week during the middle of the day with my friend Beth.  I'm hoping that will contribute to increasing my stamina (and muscles!) in conjunction with my physical therapy workouts.  We'll see.

Running Goal: Week 1, Day 2

The above photo pretty much says it all.  Not too bad today, but not great.  I had to stop for a few minutes after the 6th running interval because I felt like an elephant was sitting on my lungs, but, after walking around for a minute, I finished out.  The worst part about all of this is that I hate feeling weak.  Oh well.  Stats are posted here, if you're interested:  Run 2.

Running Goal: Week 1, Day 1

I had racked up about five or six weeks on my Couch to 5K program before the end of the school year and then, somehow, all my effort seemed for naught.  I tried to run the week four interval set the other day, thinking that it would be a nice way to warm back up to the program, and, let's just say, I was struggling.  It's amazing how quickly my stamina regresses.

I've been using the Android RunDouble App for several months now because it follows the interval program, allows you to use your own music playlist, keeps statistics for you including a map of your run, and prompts you between intervals.  It's been a great help, but there is no app that makes me want to walk out the door and get started.  (If they invent that, let me know.)

So, today, I started over again with Week 1, Day 1.  This consists of a warm-up, eight 60 second intervals interspersed with eight 90 second intervals, and a cool-down.  I decided not to have any expectations and to just go out and...well...go.  I did pay attention to one thing, though: my gait.  A couple years ago, my friend, Kacy, wrote about her experience and research on barefoot running.  This intrigued me.  The concept is that, basically, because humans have become used to padded shoes, we don't use our feet like we should.  Instead of walking or running on the balls of our feet or our midsoles, we tend to rock from the back to the front.  This can cause heel injuries, put us out of alignment, and, generally, doesn't allow the nerves in our feet or the feet themselves to work properly.

Now, though this idea intrigued me, I never thought I would be able to wear the minimalist shoes that are so popular since I have back issues.  I was sure I needed the cushioning.  However, a couple weeks ago, I needed new sneakers.  I went to DSW to get my go-to Saucony sneakers because I have to wear men's sneakers a lot of the time; Saucony sneakers run narrow so they fit my feet better.  ( I should mention that I've been too cheap to ever get fitted for sneakers, though I do plan to do it the next time I need a pair.)   Billy, bored with the mall crowd, wandered off to find a pair of sneakers and attempt to make the pain of the shopping experience end quickly.  He found a pair of minimalist sneakers on sale so I tried them on and walked around.  They were quite comfortable, extremely light, and fit much better than the other ones I had been trying on.  So I decided to buy them.  I found that, when running, I was able to push off the front of my foot instead of landing on my heel and having to gain the momentum to move forward.  This made it much easier to run and much easier to believe my eyes when I see people running down the street, making this form of exercise seem effortless (though I'm clearly not there yet.)

Starting over with the program today, I made sure to land towards the front of my foot rather than the back.  I felt like I was flying.  The closest thing I can compare it to is when I took ballet classes as a kid and you had to stay on the ball of your foot.  It even helped to align the rest of me a bit more so, though breathing was still difficult, it was much easier than I was used to.  And, apparently, it made a difference since, with walking, I brought my pace down from an 11 minute mile to a 10 minute mile.  My average running intervals were also in between 8 and 9 minutes rather than 10 and 11.  I know it's going to be difficult to keep moving, but it's encouraging to know that, with a few tweaks, I might be able to be more successful this time around than I have been in the past.

Stats, Week 1, Day 1:
Overall Pace:  10:59
Overall Distance:  1.68 miles
Time:  18:30
Fastest Interval:  8:07
Longest Interval:  0.12 miles

(Including Warm Up/Cool Down):
Overall Pace:  12:07
Overall Distance:  2.35 miles
Time:  28:30

To see the map of my run, click here.

Summer Goals: Background

This summer, our school has decided to add to our summer reading assignment.  We have chosen the theme of goal setting and each student (and participating faculty) must choose one of the six books listed that focus on goals to read and discuss on the first day of school.  In addition to this, everyone must set at least one goal to attempt to accomplish over the summer and keep track of the progress made towards that goal.  (If you want to see a more detailed explanation of this project, go here.)

As part of this, I have chosen to pursue two goals over the course of the summer and, in order to make myself accountable for following through on these, I've decided to blog about them here.  If I've published it, I have to go through with it, right?  I'm going to be posting updates periodically, divided by the goal that I'm talking about.  I would appreciate if those of you who are actually interested in my progress can occasionally check up on me to help motivate me a bit.

So, what are my goals, you are probably asking by this point?  One is physical while the other is more creative/emotional.  Let's go with the physical one first:  I've been wanting to be able to run a 5K, without having to stop to walk, for at least the last three years.  I've continually attempted to do the Couch to 5K program, which is nine weeks long, but I've never been able to get past week 6 and, usually, I have to do some of the program for a couple weeks in a row.  Part of this is due to the fact that I'm not in as good of shape as I'd like to be while part of it is simply my exercise-induced asthma.  The closest I've come to completing this was during the Buffalo Corporate Challenge when I ran about 2/3 of the 3.5 miles in 42 minutes.  Not great and my back started hurting partway through, but, still, a place to start.

I don't have a particular race in mind yet.  I've looked for local ones that are a little more than nine weeks out to allot for doubling up on a couple of the weeks, but I have to be careful not to schedule anything at the end of August or the beginning of September because of the girls moving back in, orientation, and the beginning of school.  I think I'm leaning more towards the end of September or the beginning of October so if anyone has any recommendations, please let me know.  Anything I write about this particular goal will be tagged "running goal" if you want to search the blog that way.

Now, on to the second goal.  The creative one.  I would like to write a play.  I came up with an idea I fell in love with a few months ago and I would like to see it come to fruition.  At this point, I'm not sure how much of the play I can feasibly write before the school year begins again, so part of my goal setting process is determining what a reasonable amount to have accomplished by the end of the summer would be.  Anything I write about this goal will be tagged "writing goal" if you want to keep track of that one.

If you do read this, feel free to cheer me on or make suggestions.  Even if you don't, thanks for providing the possibility of an audience to help me stay on track.

365 (kinda): 1, 2, 3

I have a couple friends who started doing the 365 project at the beginning of the year, posting photographs and mini-stories about their lives on Facebook for the last several months, missing some days but keeping up with it for the most part.  I have found these glimpses into their everyday lives interesting and insightful and have watched as photos vary from the mundane to the artistic to the reflective.  Knowing that I often wonder where my year disappears to, I decided to participate in this same photographic reflection process but, instead of beginning on January 1st, I'm going to measure my year beginning with my birthday.

Well...I was.

Having spent the last week trying to cram a 3 bedroom apartment plus storage into 350 square feet, I haven't really had the time since my birthday on Friday to write anything up.  I have taken pictures, though.  This will  be a posting for the last few days all in one.

August 27, 2010 - Day 1

 This is a photograph of the stained glass window in the living room of our new apartment in the dorm.  It's a fleur de lys so it's perfect for us Francophile Saints Fans and the light that comes through it in the afternoon is gorgeous.  I took this at 6 in the morning when I couldn't sleep because I was so panicked about finishing moving (we haven't yet.)

This is the initial clutter in the room from the first night we stayed at the dorm - you get a better idea of how the stained glass looks in this photo.  It has since gotten worse (see below.)

These are the Zillycakes that Billy bought me as a birthday cake to make up for the fact that, with the move, we could no longer go on the weekend trip we had been planning.  I had purchased two tickets to see Captain Von Trapp himself in The Tempest in Stratford, Ontario but they were for the 8pm showing so we would have had to drive the three hours to get there, see the play, stay in a hotel, and come back the next morning.  This wasn't feasible considering we hadn't entirely moved out of our apartment and the girls were supposed to move in on the 29th.

Zillycakes has an awesome cupcake bar so Billy got me a veritable buffet here.  The top left one is Sangria, the bottom left is peach amaretto, the top right is red velvet cake, and the bottom right is Rocky Road.  They are awesome!

After having to forgo our trip to Stratford, we went out to dinner with our friends Kristin and Mike to Dave & Buster's (classy!) I am a fan of skee-ball and this is Kristin playing her favorite game - Deal or No Deal.  She especially likes yelling, "No Deal!"  It tickles me.

August 28, 2010 - Day 2

 The clutter.  You try condensing a three bedroom apartment to a living room and a bedroom and we'll talk.  I don't know when this is going to get unpacked.  Sigh.

August 29, 2010 - Day 3

 This is the chair in the common room that I've been sitting in all day in between helping students move in and giving mini-tours to current Sem people, students, etc.  I got a little lesson planning done so that's something, I suppose...

This is going to be a rough year, isn't it?

What's Wrong with People?!: Bodily Function Commercials

So I've decided that I'm going to start a new series of posts entitled, "What's Wrong with People?!" for those moments when you really do wonder what people are thinking.  Think of this as a more elaborate version of the FAIL blog.

Now, granted, I've done and said some things that might cause someone to ask this question about me but, you have to admit, there are some instances where this question is warranted, whether it be for the sheer stupidity involved or simply what I like to call the "did that really just happen?" factor.  So, with a disclaimer about the fact that I may not have the authority to put myself in this position of judgment, let's forge ahead, shall we?

The other day, I was watching television - I believe it was something on the Travel Channel, probably Anthony Bourdain - and this ad for Charmin comes on.  You may be familiar with the series of ads featuring those supposedly adorable bears in funny situations involving going to the bathroom.  Okay fine.  They're cute, we're familiar with them, they recognize how important toilet paper is to everyday life, I can handle that.  The commercial in question involved a bear cub going through "inspection" with his mother.  Paws? Check.  Teeth?  Check.  Bottom?  "Needs work!"

Really?  We have to be told that Charmin Ultra Strong toilet paper doesn't leave uncomfortable wads of tissue stuck to your behind after you wipe?  And I could even handle the concept if they didn't show us a visual of them stuck to the bear's rear end while he jauntily wags his stubby tail back and forth.  Quite frankly, I've see more disgusting cartoons (bodily function scenes in South Park come to mind) and, until the end of the ad, none of this had really bothered me.  I've seen these before.  No big deal.

No - it was the tag line that got me.  "Charmin: Enjoy the Go."

Pause.  Let that sink in for a minute.  Enjoy the go?  When did it become good marketing strategy to tell people that your toilet paper is the one to buy because they will enjoy wiping their butts so thoroughly using your product that they can't wait to go again?  Next they'll make the little bears happily come down with diarrhea just so they have an excuse to use more toilet paper.

And that's not the worst of it.  Other commercials involving bodily functions are upping the ante and growing more bold and less afraid of societal taboos every day.  Take Huggies, for example.  Watch this video:



Did you see the slogan at the end?  Yep.  That's right.  "Huggies: The coolest you'll ever look pooping your pants."  How is this okay?  I'm all for getting rid of embarrassment and perceived restrictions on discussing something as personal as going to the bathroom, but this is pushing it, even for a baby who doesn't yet understand the concept of privacy.  It's more, how can I say this....gross.  Maybe it's wrong for me to eat my dinner on the couch with my husband while watching television.  Maybe this is my punishment for not sitting at the table, but, honestly, I nearly spit out the food I was eating. You can sell diapers without talking about poop.  That's all I have to say about that.

Let's move on to other bodily functions.  Again, I'm glad that it's becoming okay to talk about things like overactive bladder or heartburn or erectile dysfunction.  (Not poop, though.  Still not okay with that.)  Many people suffered through these problems in the past because they were too uncomfortable to discuss these things with their doctors, let alone anyone else.  But these advertising companies have got to approach these things differently.  Take Cialis - similar to Viagra if you didn't know - as an example.


First of all, let me say that, in the realm of erectile dysfunction drug commercials, Cialis takes the high road compared to Viagra.  That whole blue horns thing that they pulled a few years back was uncouth and uncalled for.  However, Cialis isn't much better.  You can add romance to your story and make the characters in your commercial frolic in California Wine Country before settling down for an evening of passionate love-making courtesy of this supposed wonder drug in an attempt to make your consumers think your drug is upscale and classy.   I'm fine with that.  I get that you're trying to talk about sex without really talking about sex because, let's face it, the less we can talk about erectile dysfunction, the better.  No, my problem is the logistics of it all.  Take a look at the theme of the Cialis commercials that is also the symbol for their product:

Awww, isn't that cute?  They're in matching bathtubs.  And they're free-standing, clawfooted bathtubs so they're classy.  And, frequently, the aforementioned characters are featured in the aforementioned classy bathtubs in an empty field somewhere or up on a hill overlooking the skyline of some exotic city at sunset.  Romantic, right?  But, wait a minute, this is a commercial about sex.  Don't you need to be in the same bathtub for that?  This is my problem - they've tried to steer so far away from the topic that they've physically separated the two people preparing to participate in the very act that the drug is supposed to assist with.  Maybe this is supposed to represent the idea that, with 36-hour Cialis, you don't have to be forced into the same bathtub any sooner than you want to.  You can stare at a skyline instead.


In my opinion, Canada got it right.  A few years ago, we were in Toronto and I was watching television in the hotel room before going to sleep.  A Cialis commercial came on, but I had no idea that was the focus because this particular ad did not resemble the ones we're used to in the slightest.  I'll try to describe it since I can't find a copy of the video online.  As with many things in Canada (and, yes, I'm being stereotypical here) it began with hockey.  There was a group of men in their fifties playing weekend hockey.  Several of their wives were looking on from the bleachers.  One of the men loses his footing on the ice and slips, twisting his ankle in his skate.  His wife makes an, "Oh, no, I'm sorry, honey" face.  She wraps her arm around his shoulder as they leave the arena, waving goodbye to everyone else who is wishing him a quick recovery.  As they shuffle toward the car, halfway through the parking lot they pause.  They both look around to make sure no one is watching.  He stands up straight, brushes off his pants, stops limping, and the two quickly pile into their SUV to drive off and, presumably, make use of his new Cialis prescription.

The reason I like this one is because, not only is the ad making fun of its own product to some extent, but it also assumes that the audience will get the joke.  In the US, a lot of advertisers have to lay everything out for consumers, betting that we're too stupid to know what they're talking about.  This commercial gave consumers a wink saying, "We know what you're using it for.  Here's one way to enjoy it."  Less pandering, more creativity is the way to go.

For example - Kotex gets it.  I never thought I'd be praising a tampon company, but they understand that women aren't stupid and they don't need to be tricked into buying a specific type of tampon.  Check these out:  Ad 1



Ad 2



I think both of these put into words what I can't.  They respect women's intelligence and actually call out other companies that don't.  (For example, have you seen those Tampax ads with Annie Potts as Mother Nature?  Please.) Charmin, Huggies, and Cialis should take notes.

Context and How it is Changing

I went to a book signing by Lauren Belfer for her new book A Fierce Radiance at Borders on Thursday and she mentioned something that I thought was quite interesting. If anyone takes the time to read this, I'd love to know your thoughts on the topic.

The book is historical fiction and is about the process of discovering and developing penicillin. It took Belfer eight years to research and write the story and much of her research process involved looking at old Life magazines and issues of The New York Times. She pointed out that, now, it's possible to simply search the Times website for the information you're looking for but that, even though it's more cumbersome, she prefers to use microfilm to view the original documents because it provides context. She gave the example of reading an article during the time period in which she's writing and turning the page to find that there was a sale at Nordstrom that week on shoes; she might then include a side note in the story about the character having to run to the store to buy new shoes while they're on sale.

Granted, this is a sort of trivial example but it makes sense. What if she had been researching an article, turned the page, and came across another, small article mentioning the rise of burglaries in a neighborhood at that time that concerned the people living in that area. Let's say that her character lived there - it would flesh out that character to have her mention that she is also concerned about the recent thefts.

I guess that what I'm trying to get at is, are we losing context with the developments we've had in technology over the last few decades or is our context simply different? If I'm reading the newspaper online, my experience will be very individualized. If there's a pop-up ad or an ad on the website itself, it will be tailored to the date, time, and, in most cases, my preferences.

Cookies know that I've been searching for an airline flight from Phoenix to Buffalo for my friend Kim so that, when I'm on certain websites, a Travelocity ad will show up talking about discounts on that particular flight. If I refresh the page, the ad might change to one about the Nook being on sale at Barnes and Noble. If someone twenty years in the future wants to search for and read that same article that I was reading, the ads will be different or not included. Does that eliminate the historical context? How would we change the way we examine this information?

(Oh, and, as a side note on the topic of context...why is it that sponge cake loses all flavor when placed in the context of a Chinese buffet restaurant? Even more importantly, why does it look so appetizing? Why are people, knowing it has no flavor and that the experience will ultimately be disappointing, still drawn to eat it?)

I love the South...I hate the South...I love the South...I hate the South...

I don't know why I think this won't happen every time I return to the South but it does.

Let me clarify - ever since moving back up to Buffalo or "above the Mason-Dixon line" as many people have called it, I've been waiting for an excuse to move back or at least visit the South. There are many friends and family members that offer us that opportunity, especially since my parents have decided to retire in Tennessee. Even though we can't afford to travel to visit people as often as we would like, we try to do so on a regular basis.

Knowing that we would be spending a month traversing much of Louisiana and some of Tennessee (along with all the routes between those locations) I have been looking forward to this trip for quite some time. When it was still snowing in April I wanted to leave right then and there. When it was 64 degrees one day the first week of July (somewhat of an anomaly but annoying nonetheless) I was ready to tear my hair out, leave my job, and move down south to work at Wal-Mart with the hope that at least thawing out would make my life less soul-crushing.

Items on my list I had been looking forward to: Community coffee, a slower pace of life, faster speed limits on the interstate, beignets, southern-style cooking, our friends - Hunter and Cami's - wedding, seeing friends and family, Popeye's, Sonic, warmth, sweet tea, Albert's hot sauce, New Orleans (for a myriad of reasons too numerous and ephemeral to mention here), Super Wal-marts, a list of other favorite foods that I can't even remember but can't wait to sink my teeth into (despite the inevitable weight gain), people who are actually polite (god forbid), everything fried, and a host of other things that I'm forgetting.

Items I had forgotten that I hate about the south: more obvious racism than up North, Bible-thumpers and "Jesus Krispies," the pandemic of passive aggressiveness that infuses most conversations (everyone's polite but they may stab you in the back and you'll never know it), massive traffic, the heat (I can't breathe when I walk outside due to asthma), blind-knee-jerk conservatives (I don't care if you're conservative as long as you've done your research and have well-thought-out reasoning - I hold all liberals to the same standard), Super Wal-marts, vegetables that taste like meat (though Billy says that's the only way he really likes them), everything fried, and a bunch of other things that I'm probably forgetting.

The bottom line is that I don't feel like I fit in anywhere anymore.

When I'm in Buffalo, I feel like I'm just waiting - like I'm not living there, just visiting. I don't move fast enough for life up there and I don't play the society/political games that a lot of people participate in. Though I appreciate the hippy-dippyism, I would prefer that people in Buffalo focus less on whether or not their food has been purchased from an organic, local grower and more on the fact that their city is an economic black hole. (I'm sorry but Bass Pro Shops is not a panacea. Get over it people.)

When I'm down here, specifically in Louisiana since I consider myself to be partially from Louisiana since I lived here for about 7 years, I feel like I haven't reset to the pace yet. Have you ever had one of those days when you feel like you're running a few seconds faster or slower than everyone else? It's like that but all the time here. I also tend to be a bit more direct and eschew the passive-aggressive way of conversing down here which tends to get me weird looks and causes me to walk away from most conversations feeling awkward and wondering what I could have said differently. I also have to bite my tongue. A LOT.

All in all, this has been a good vacation/trip so far but it reminds me that I still feel like a visitor wherever I go. Since we're not "settling down" anywhere until Billy finishes the PhD I suppose I'll have to get used to that. Oh well. In the meantime, I'll enjoy eating my way through Louisiana.


Billy's Breakfast This Morning: Bananas Foster French Toast

PS - The title of this post is courtesy of one of Billy's former professors at Ole Miss. It was his summary of every Faulkner novel ever written. I thought it was fitting.