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September 30, 2007
I Hate Oleanna
I saw a really strong production of the play last night, but I have to say, from almost the first moment, I found myself wishing he would just pick up the chair and clock her already so I could go home. That had nothing to do with the production, which, as I said was really strong. The set was gorgeous. The costumes were lovely. The actors were solid.
My issues are completely and entirely with the script.
I wish Mamet could have made it more even. But the odds are stacked against Carol almost from the first moment. Why? Because a shadowy "group" that smacks of fascism can never compete sympathetically with the image of a needy wife and child. Because she never has a good solid foundation to stand on, and so I end up siding with him. Which is what I am sure Mamet intended, but it leaves me feeling manipulated, just like Nicholas Sparks' books do. Which is why I no longer read Nicholas Sparks' books. Or watch his movies. Because I feel that the sole aim and purpose of his work is to make me cry. Just like I feel the sole aim and purpose of Oleanna is to make me side with the professor.
The thing is, Carol has some good arguments, good reasons for being upset. She has some validity. She has some meritorious concerns. But she's never really more than a sketch, never fully realized, and I think that's the script's fault. We can't hear what she's saying, as important as some of it is, because we've already sided with him. (I keep saying "him" because I don't remember the professor's name, and all seventeen of our copies seem to be elsewhere. At least now you know who I mean.) So we, as an audience, never let her have her voice. She's never really heard. And that pisses me off.
I came home seething. Not even for the reasons the playwright intended, I don't think. I came home mad because I felt manipulated. You know what? If you want to raise an important issue in a theatrical manner, you go right ahead. But TELL THE FUCKING STORY and let me figure out what I think for myself. Don't pretend objectivity as you stack the deck in your favor. I think the thing that angered me the most is that she's clearly the weaker person of the two all along, and yet I find myself rooting for him to beat the shit out of her. And that's wrong.
There's also the unrealistic suggestion that one person's claims could ruin a professor's tenure hearing despite a 20-year history of issue-free teaching. I mean, if there had been other situations like this, he wouldn't be on the verge of receiving tenure. Certainly, the man has his weaknesses, but--Gaaaah. It's really not worth my time to be angry about this play still.
I'm going to go plant something. Bring some beauty to the world.
Posted by sally at 10:48 AM | Comments (4)
September 26, 2007
Before I Go to Bed
I just wanted to announce that I had a lovely time at rehearsal tonight. I adore the woman whose sister I'm playing (though I'd love to play someone my own age again).
And that I made her laugh backstage with a "dirty joke".
Q. How did the girl get the gleam in her eye?
A. Someone goosed her while she was brushing her teeth.
Thank you. Thankyouverymuch. I'll be here all week.
Try the veal. It's delicious.
Areyougonnafinishthatsanwich?
Posted by sally at 11:46 PM
I Should Be Grading Papers
There are two massive piles of assignments on the couch in my office.
Also one directly in front of me on my desk.
You notice that I'm ignoring them, choosing to post while I have internet access in my office again. I don't know how long it will last (the access), given the here-and-thereian-ness of it. So I'm gathering the roses while I may.
Actually, I don't have that much to say at the moment. My life is moving so fast right now that I haven't been able to sit still long enough to think about whether I have anything to think about. I may need to foist some of my grading off onto my TA. (Sorry Maaike, I promise it will only be an assignment or two. I just need to catch my breath for a minute.) So this is going to be a bit random, with chunks of catching up thoughts.
Rehearsals are going fairly well. I love Clean House. It's such a great play. My various issues are back full force, as always. I'm working around and through them as best I can. Though the whole "being an example" thing seems to have been exorcised. So that's nice. I just have to deal with all the stuff I brought here with me. At least I don't have the added baggage anymore.
My classes are going well. My students are for the most part trusting me to not give them assignments designed to destroy them. And so they're going miles beyond what I expected. It's lovely to watch them take risks and make discoveries, bless their hearts. They're becoming quite curious about the world and their new places in it, and it's so wonderful to see.
We thought Katala was dying earlier this week, but it turned out to be just an upset tummy. She's much better now, back to her sweet, slightly cranky, old lady self. Which is nice. She's taken another giant leap in assertiveness and has started sleeping on the bed during the day sometimes. She frequently slept on our bed at the Portland house time, but in the 4 1/2 years (Good God!) we've lived here, she's not done that until last week.
The weather is sunny but getting colder. It suddenly feels like fall in a way it hasn't up until about Sunday. I really don't want to teach today. I just want to cancel my classes and go play in the remaining sunshine. It's so hard to be a responsible grown-up type person sometimes. Especially now that responsible isn't just about getting paperwork done, but is about being there for lots of other people. It was so much easier to be a secretary, in some ways. (It certainly paid better.)
Posted by sally at 10:28 AM | Comments (3)
September 22, 2007
Would You Like Some Cheese with That Whine?
Good lord.
My apologies to everybody who had to live through that last self-centered, pity party of a post. I'm not going to promise it will never happen again, because it probably will. This is my blog, after all, so it's the one place in the entire universe that can be all about me. And when it's all about me, it will of necessity sometimes be all about how it sucks to be me.
Waaaaah.
Today, however, is Saturday. The one day of the week that I actually get to be me-centered all day. So I'm going to Palouse (I've never been there) to visit the yarn and junque shops there. They're supposed to be FABULOUS. Then I'm going to do some art.
So today's not really about Waaaaah. It's more about Wheeee!!!
I have my doubts...
Posted by sally at 11:12 AM
September 20, 2007
Cause Tonight, I'm Cleanin' Out My Closet
Whoda thunk I'd ever use Eminem as a source for an entry title?
I didn't actually clean it out. I just went through some things and culled a little. A very little. Three skirts, a pair of slacks and two pairs of jeans. Old jeans. Non-crotch-type jeans, of the mom style. A friend of mine is doing a set design in which she wants to decorate the set walls with clothes. Which she will then donate to Goodwill. I'm not going to wear those things again, so it's nice to know they're going to two good homes. (The theatre and then the second-hand store. Which, to my mind, charges way too much for second-hand clothes.)
All of the things I'm giving away still fit me, more or less. The jeans, the slacks, the skirts. They all fit, I just don't ever wear them. The skirts hit my legs in a bad spot and the jeans, as mentioned before, are kind of past useable (I assume they'll go straight from stage to garbage). And I'm just not the kind of person who wears slacks. The things I kept after the culling? A bunch of clothes I may never wear again.
Tonight, I held a size 10 mini-skirt up in front of my size 14 pelvis and marvelled at how tiny I used to be. And vowed to get there again.
And then I had some leftover birthday cake because, dammit, it's my fucking birthday. Or at least it was last Sunday. But I will wear those size 10s again. I will. Even if I'm no longer a jaw-dropper when I wear them.
I think that may be the hardest part of getting old(er). Men used to stop on the street when I passed by them. I could pick up a guy in a bar with a wink and a come-hither smile. Seriously. I did that once. Now, he'd just assume I had something in my eye. And buy a drink for the sweet young thing behind me.
Mind you, I don't need or even want to pick up guys in bars any more. That doesn't interest me. It's not who I am, and it's not necessary to my happiness. But no man is going to forget what he's saying the minute he lays eyes on me like they used to, occasionally. I'm not ever going to stop traffic again, even when I do get down to a 10. I'm no longer soft enough or nubile enough or ripe enough. And that just sucks.
There are some things I have let go of as I moved on. Some ideals, some images, some bad habits have fallen by the wayside, or been willfully discarded. But for some reason, I just can't get rid of my size ten dreams.
Posted by sally at 09:26 PM
September 19, 2007
Variety Is the zzzzzzzsnortzzzzzz
It's pretty amazing, really. With all of the variety of words and expressions available to English speakers, it turns out there are only so many ways to say, "I'm tired". I've used them all on this blog at one time or another.
Or maybe there are lots of new and exciting ways to say it, and maybe I'm just too tired to think of any.
(badump ching!)
Posted by sally at 09:51 PM
September 18, 2007
Is It Just Me?
Or does this happen to everybody else too?
You spend your summer getting ready. You've settled into a routine. Your life is ordered (more or less), at least, the important things like laundry and cleaning and dishes are getting done. You start the semester refreshed (more or less) and ready to go.
And gradually, over the intervening weeks, things start slipping out of control. The dishwasher doesn't get emptied in the mornings any more, it gets emptied in the evenings. So that instead of being able to just put dirty dishes into it all day, they pile up in the sink. Suddenly, the kitchen is always a mess.
You take a weekend off from laundry duty and before you know it, there is no more clean underwear, there are no clean towels. You have a pile of laundry large enough to lose a housecat (or four) in.
The grading, which you were doing faithfully during the week, during your office hours, starts to creep out of the allotted time and you find you're wrestling with it at other moments, sometimes when you're asleep. The same thing goes for lesson planning. And your usually clean desk is becoming invisible under multiple piles of paper. So is the small table in your office. So is the couch.
And even though you try to do the reading along with your students, so that it's fresh for you again as well, you find yourself skipping some of it. Putting some of it off for later so you can do other equally important work. Like memorizing lines or planning lessons or grading.
You have a house cleaner, someone to vacuum and clean the bathroom and mop the floors. So for her, you keep the clutter to a minimum. But somehow, the house never seems to get completely picked up. The "stuff" is gradually taking over.
Saturdays, your one day off, are no longer days for art projects. They're days to lie in bed. And then to transfer that lying to the couch where you stare at things because you're so tired. Too tired to actually get off your butt and do the stuff you need to do.
You choose sleep over posting on your blog. Or checking your email. Or keeping up with the people your blogroll.
Chaos is gradually taking over. And I don't have anything left to fight it with. We cancelled our classes today (my teaching partner had somewhere else she needed to be) and I slept in. I cleaned up the kitchen. I caught up on the reading. I wrote not one but TWO blog entries. I snuggled with the cats, I picked up the house a little bit, I wrote.
Tomorrow it all starts back up again and I am lost. Thanksgiving break will not come soon enough, so thank goodness I'm flying to Boise for Kieran's birthday weekend in three weeks.
If I survive that long...
Posted by sally at 04:54 PM | Comments (4)
Soup
I had time yesterday (because I chose to not do any grading, not because there wasn't any to do) to make soup. I have a tomato plant that's still bearing, and I didn't want to waste the tomaters. So I cut up a couple of potatoes, an onion, a whole mess of carrots and all of these tomatoes, dumped them in my crock pot, topped it all off with a cup of red wine, some basil, tarragon, dry mustard, dill seed, crushed garlic, a bay leaf and some vegetable stock and went to rehearsal. (My fingers smelled like garlic the entire time. It made me hungry.)
When I got home, I stirred in about two cups of frozen corn and two cups of frozen green beans and left it alone for another couple of hours. When I got too tired to think any more, I scooped the soup into a bunch of jars, stuck them in the fridge and went to bed.
This morning, I put all but one of the jars into the freezer. Now I'll have soup for those days when there's nooo time to cook but I don't want to eat out. And also some for dinner tonight. Mmmmmm... Sooooooooooouuuuuuup.
Posted by sally at 10:08 AM
September 17, 2007
40+1
So. Here I am, now well into my 40's. I've had two whole days to explore the experience and so far, I would have to say it's not that bad.
Of course, it helps that people still think (or at least say they think) I'm in my early 30's. That takes some of the edge off.
I had a rehearsal on my birthday, a workshop with some of the cast members of Midsummer. Because I was running the rehearsal and it was my birthday, I scheduled it with the group I wanted to work with most. One of them made a card for me. And one of the boys made a cake!!! It was a lovely afternoon. Playing with actors, discovering stuff and eating cake. Really, can you beat that?
It turns out you can. Because my other rehearsal on Sunday was cancelled. So I got to spend the evening with Dave. Who made dinner. And another cake. On which my age was spelled out in M&Ms because we didn't have any candles. It was a two-cake birthday. I call that special. He also let me, nay, encouraged me to watch Gosford Park for about the 72-millionth time. That's love.
Also helping to make the day special, my parents came to town and celebrated with me. We (Mom, Dad, David and I) all got tiddly together at one of the nicest restaurants in town. It was a lot of fun and a really lovely visit.
And because I felt I needed it, I bought myself a present. The day before my birthday, I went to the local "antique mall" and bought myself a pretty 18k gold & peridot ring. The stone is this amazing cross between olive and forest green. It doesn't have a lot of "fire", but it's a beautiful color. And the setting is really delicate and old fashioned and I just love it. I felt like I needed to give myself a gift on a birthday so momentous. To make a promise to be good to myself. I wanted to give myself the gift of love and fidelity, and a ring seemed like the perfect symbol of that. It hasn't been off my finger since I bought it.
So all in all, despite the still difficult issues faced by being an actor in a world where women aren't desirable after about 35, it was a good day. And continues to be a good life. Provided I can manage to get caught up on all of the grading.
On the other hand, SOMEBODY messed up somewhere. I never got my phone call. How the hell am I supposed to get on with my life if nobody tells me the secret to doing so?
Posted by sally at 09:34 PM | Comments (4)
September 15, 2007
Random Bitching
It's chilly here, so I'm wearing fleece, which apparently turns me into a larger than usual chew, claw and attack toy for the One-Eyed Pirate Cat. At least he finally exhausted himself so he's sleeping now and not biting and/or rabbit punching my feet and calves. The attacks may also be him acting out his aggression re: my not being at home except to sleep for the past week. Dude, I've got news for you. That's the way it's going to be through mid-December.
For one glorious 4-day period I had internet in my office and still managed to get work done. And then they turned off the wireless access point or something because yesterday? Nada. And yesterday was not a good day to not be able to check my email.
Despite all of the working, I did not get all of the grading done. I got ALMOST all of the grading done, but that's not the same thing, is it? I'm refusing to go into the office this weekend to do any of it, (it's my Birthday Weekend, dammit) so my students are just going to have to wait until Wednesday to get all of their stuff back.
I can't tell whether this drippy throat and watery runny nose is the horrible cold everybody around me seems to be suffering from or allergies. It had better be allergies. I have no time for a cold.
The blouse I asked for for my birthday is no longer available (it was in the FALL 2007 catalogue, people, make sure you have enough of them) and the skirt I was really looking forward to because it's lacy and drapey and sparkly and autumnal turns out to hit me at exactly the wrong spot on my legs. The spot that makes me look really fat and really stumpy at the same time. And it had such potential. So I have to send it back. Not only do I not get to wear the skirt, but thanks to the new postal regulations, I can't just shove it in the mailbox and leave the flag up. I have to actually go into the post office to hand it over the counter. Because it weighs more than 1.3 oz or whatever the limit is. So I'm disappointed AND inconvenienced. Nice.
I'm cranky. I'd prefer to not be, but I think it's a result of the gunk coming out of my sinuses and the Very Long Week I just had. Which will, unfortunately, be shorter than the VERY Long Weeks I have coming up.
It's fall. Which means winter, that thing I'm still tired of from last year, is on its way.
The laundry is not doing itself. What the fuck is up with that? I have to sort it and hike it up and down the stairs (down and up the stairs, technically, since the washer and dryer are in the basement) AND fold it?
Dave got to spend his evenings this week playing with a puppet with which he bonded quite closely. I have to deal with both not being able to help his sadness at having to say goodbye to Rambo (the monkey puppet he worked in Serendib) but also my jealousy at not being able to get to play with a monkey puppet myself. The puppets were awesome, and he did a fantastic job. And I am so jealous I can't stand it. But he's sad, because Rambo became a person for him, a person he'll never get to see again, and that's worse.
My home office is a mess. It apparently isn't going to clean itself any more than the laundry.
I never have time to post here any more.
Posted by sally at 09:42 AM | Comments (4)
September 10, 2007
Tired (Like That's Unusual)
I don't actually have rehearsal this week. The director's out of town. And yet somehow I'm still wiped. Even though I have my evenings to my--
Hold on a minute.
Let's see. I got to school at 10am, did some grading, had a meeting, taught two classes, made some photocopies, hiked back to my office, visited another class, hiked back to my office again, graded some papers. I left my office at 6:30pm. After grading some, but not all, of the stuff I have to grade. Because I walked, and the trip home is mostly uphill; that took about 45 minutes. Plus I stopped on the way for some dinner. I got home around 8:15.
I did some stuff to get ready for tomorrow and then checked my email. That's finally done.
Tomorrow I have to get to school early so I can finish calculating the grades for the stuff to hand back to students, teach, grade, create lesson plans, work on my lines (though not too hard because we don't have the official scripts yet and lines have changed a bit between the two versions we've been working with), and hopefully get to the art projects I started on Saturday that I haven't had time to finish. Oh yes. And get cat food. If I get away from school before the vet closes.
I'm going to bed.
Posted by sally at 10:26 PM
September 09, 2007
Looking Forward?
Every year I look forward to autumn. It's always been my favorite season. Sweater weather, school starting, my birthday and a whole host of other wonderful things that make this such an enjoyable time of year for me.
The blue of the sky which is bluer somehow than the sky ever is during the rest of the year. The crispness in the air. The colors of the leaves and the smells of fall. I just love it.
Except this year. For the first time in I think ever, I'm dragging my heels on autumn. I really don't want it to be fall yet, and if I could slow things down, I would.
I think it's partly that I have so much to do, so many things to address in so many different parts of my life that I can't quite manage to take the time I normally would to enjoy fall. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I'm turning 40 a week from today and I'm not sure how I feel about that yet. I'm seeing new and deeper wrinkles in my face all the time now, and I know how I feel about that. On that front I am not remotely conflicted.
But I think the greater issue lies with the fact that I didn't really have a summer. I got all burned out last year with the amount of work I did for my classes (my own fault, I know, but it doesn't alter the burnout). I didn't travel, so I don't feel like I went on vacation. And I spent most of the summer stressing about all of the stuff in the house and the yard and my classwork that I had to get done before school started. IN MID AUGUST. What the hell is that about?
And because I didn't really have a summer, it sort of makes sense that I'm not ready for it to be fall. Because closely following on the heels of fall is winter. And you know what? I'm really fucking sick and tired of winter. It's barely September, and I am already sick of winter. I am done with the 10-below days. I am done with the slush and the snow and it's being dark when I get up AND dark when I go home. At 4pm. I'm tired of having to keep the house closed up tightly to stay warm. I've been living with the windows open 24-7, and the change in air quality when we shut the place up is drastic.
All of these things I am done with? They're still left over from last winter.
I'm not ready to close the windows. I'm not ready to stop wearing my Tevas everywhere I go. I'm not ready to also have to put on a coat. And a hat. And a scarf. And gloves. And to carry a flashlight to find my way home from work. If I feel this way now, how am I going to feel in February? I don't know how people who live further north than I do manage to survive. Stay out all night in June, just to soak up as much sunlight as possible, I guess.
The one thing I am ready for? Living someplace where summer is long enough to actually grow my own tomatoes. From seed. Someplace where I don't have to get the extra heavy-duty coat to walk around in all winter. Over a sweater. Somewhere I don't have to wear leggings under my jeans. Or the single flannel-lined pair of jeans that I have.
I'm also hoping that wherever that is, I get to see my husband for more than 20 minutes a day. Because the way our schedules are now? We say good morning when we wake up, kiss each other good-bye when I leave for school, possibly say hello sometime during the day on campus, speak on the phone at least once, kiss each other hello when the later arriving one gets home from rehearsal, and kiss each other good night before we go to sleep. I may be even more tired of that situation than I am of winter.
At least we're both working on the third show of the semester. So maybe we can walk home from rehearsals together.
It's true. I am officially tired of Here. I thought I had another winter in me, but it's beginning to look like that's not the case. Thank goodness this winter I get to spend several days in LONDON, where my sweetie is taking me to celebrate our 10th wedding anniversary, along with our 40th birthdays. That? That I'm not remotely tired of. Especally since he suggested an overnight trip to Paris might not be out of the question. I've never been to Paris...
I promise, I'll bring you back something nice.
Posted by sally at 08:37 PM | Comments (2)
September 04, 2007
Because I Am Clearly Insane
I was gonna do work for my classes tonight. Create some lesson plans, do research so I look like I actually know what I'm talking about, that kind of thing.
Instead I am taking the night off. Why? Because tomorrow I start rehearsing for Clean House, a play for which I am either grossly too young or waaaay too old, but when the college puts it on, they know they have to make adjustments. (Plus, I understand Virginia, the role I'm playing. She's like an older sister. A MUCH older sister.)
So anyway, I am taking the night off while I still can. Dave & I chatted briefly on the phone this afternoon. We think we might actually get to see each other on Saturday. (He's ADing TWO shows this semester, one of which is the only production with which I'm not involved. So in October, when I'm heavy into rehearsal and Oleanna's up and running? He's got cat litter duty.)
You know how I was bitching about having too much to do last week? Yeah. That was before rehearsals began. Which are 6-10pm every night except Saturday. AND, I actually get a double-whammy on Sundays because I'm the voice coach for Midsummer Night's Dream and will be conducting vocal workshops with various cast members on almost every Sunday before rehearsals officially begin in mid-October. They're important, I've done more Shakespeare than anybody else in town at this point, and besides, I agreed to do them before I even knew I was eligible for a role in Clean House.
In fact, all of the stuff that's keeping me busy right now? Was scheduled prior to the auditions two weekends ago. So why did I, knowing that I will be quite thoroughly busy through the end of the semester anyway, audition for and then rejoice in my casting in Clean House?
Because I will always make room for acting.
As I told David several weeks ago, I never feel more alive than when I'm working on a role. It makes me happier than anything else I can think of. I've tried not being an actor. It doesn't work. I get so depressed I can barely function. And there's just not much here in the way of theatre. It's not big enough. Which is why we'll be leaving here once Dave graduates. Though as of yet we don't know where... (Note to self: get that damn CV put together.)
In fact, the only thing that trumps acting at this point is my nephew. Who turns ONE in October. That weekend? I'm dropping everything and heading to Boise. I've already got my plane tickets.
Posted by sally at 08:22 PM
September 03, 2007
How Did She Know?
I was going to post an entry here titled "Getting Myself Back" about how I seem to have rediscovered my voice over the past few weeks and how wonderful it is to be hanging out with Sally again. The woman I used to be, the one I thought I'd never see again, seems to be reemerging and I'm rediscovering the joy of being alive.
And then I did this assignment...
For one of the classes I co-teach, my partner and I have been working on helping our students get into the creative zone. We're trying to help them short-circuit the inner critic long enough to play in the deeply creative space we all possess. Last week we made them watch Spirited Away, which is an astonishing film by a man who swims in the creative ocean when he works. Seriously. He just leaps in and splashes around and it's amazing what stuff comes up.
We wanted our students to have a chance to play in that way too. Even if it's just splashing around in the shallows. So we created this assignment where they each got an image inside a sealed envelope. They weren't allowed to open the envelope until they had some time to focus on this project. When they were ready, they opened the envelope and studied the image and then wrote the story that came into their heads. That's what they've been assigned to do this weekend. It will be interesting to see what they bring to class. Especially since there are no identical images in the bunch. They're all different. Oh. And one other thing. No editing allowed. The job is to just write.
My partner and I love doing this kind of thing, so we actually made envelopes for each other. I did my writing this morning. Here was my image:
(I couldn't find any identifiers, but I'm guessing it comes from The Economist or Harpers or The New Yorker, based on the paper and what's on the back.)
And here's my story:
Yes
A still, small voice, crying out in the nothingness, the whirling swirling nothingness made up of howls of sound.
He’d been traveling for so long, lost in the wilderness of pain and agonized voices, trying to test his voice, to be heard.
He knew he had a voice once, knew there had been a time and a place when the peace and stillness without echoed and matched the stillness within and when he spoke, he heard himself. He knew he was speaking not only because he heard his own voice, but because others heard it too. Others responded with smiles, tears, sighs, laughs of recognition. There was an impact, he made an impact. His voice was heard.
But here, in this aching place of need, where no one was fed as they needed, no one heard his voice. So many other voices were screaming calling yowling to be heard that no one was. No one had a voice because no one was listening. No one could hear.
He had been crawling through this desert place, with no food, no water, for weeks months years. Searching for the stillness, searching for peace, quiet, a resting place. At times he’d thought he’d found it, only to discover that some one else’s need, seemingly bigger, greater, more urgent had filled the void instead. And so he would crawl out of the haven and stagger on.
Sometimes he banded with other people, hoping for the security of the group. Hoping that with so many other searchers, he might find one with a set of working ears, one heart that would hear and accept his spoken truth. But no one did. The voices responding back to him were only full of their own pain, their own need, mixing his truth with their hopes and dreams and fears and giving him back nothing at all resembling the words he had uttered.
He even picked up their burdens for them, carrying the weight of their pain and grief. Surely, if he did so much for someone else, someone would recognize his need as well and do the same for him. The weight of the bundles made him stagger, and soon he noticed that their owners paid no more attention to him once he had taken on their baggage along with his own.
He began to doubt himself.
If so many voices told him his truth was wrong, incorrect, shallow, self-deceiving, how could they all be wrong? If everyone around him told him he was mistaken in his truth, that what he believed to be the sound of his own voice was filtered by his headbones, his flesh, his own pain and need, that the things they told him they heard were actually his truth, if everyone told him that, how could they all be wrong? How could the voice of numbers lie?
But a person is not a democracy. A human being is, by virtue of need, an oligarchy. A society ruled by one. Multitudes may clamor, but ultimately the decisions must be made by a single voice, a single ruler. All the wailing, clamoring, tooth-gnashing of others cannot alter that fact that a person, in the end, is responsible for his own soul, and that he must see to its health and well-being. He knows how to do that, instinctively; if he listens, carefully, he can hear its voice telling him how it needs to live.
It is impossible, some days, to find a place quiet enough to hear the soul’s whisper. Impossible especially in a world of shrieking need. And yet, sometimes, when the wind is right, everything goes quiet for a moment. And the soul’s truth makes itself heard.
So it was with our hero. One blistering afternoon, overburdened with the weight of the world’s cares, he sought refuge for a moment in the shade of a rock. It was cool there, a world of muted colors. The grey of the rock and the darker brown of the damp sand, still wet from earlier rains in a place where the sun’s rays couldn’t touch.
He leaned against the rock. Felt the coolness of its surface against his cheek. The roughness and the hardness of its substance brushed his face. For a moment’s respite, he focused on that and only that, of rock and what it meant, how it felt, to be there in that moment only himself and rock.
A breeze tickled his other cheek.
His eyes opened in wonder as he realized that the voices were quieter. Still there, still shouting, but somehow muted by the presence of the rock. He could almost hear himself breathing, it was so much more still there.
In front of him, within his reach, the man saw a stick. Without thinking, just acting, he grasped it. In doing so, he left a mark in the damp sand. The volume of the voices dropped further. And then he knew. Again without thinking (much), he began to write.
I am. He wrote.
I do.
I feel.
I think.
I AM.
And with each mark he made in the sand, the man noticed the clamor of the voices dropping. Never going away, but moving out from inside his head. He kicked the burdens he’d been carrying aside. The packages and bundles and bags he’d picked up for others. They were in his way. He needed more room to write. And they weren’t his baggage. The owners would be along for them soon enough.
Eventually, he ran out of damp sand, and the marks of his stick were swallowed by the dry grains as they slid and tumbled over each other in the wind.
But he knew that there would be other places to write. That there would be other opportunities to speak his truth. And so, putting the stick carefully into the pocket next to his heart, the man stood up, refreshed, and resumed walking.
*****
See why I'm wondering how she knew?
Posted by sally at 12:41 PM | Comments (2)
September 01, 2007
It's Kind of Like Having MST3K in My Living Room
Only with football.
Dave is watching the USC-Idaho game. I'm enjoying his commentary.
In other news, I spent the day grading papers. And as I said in a text to Dave, I suddenly remembered what I *don't* like about teaching freshmen. There's not a lot I dislike about it, frankly. I love watching them figure out how the world works. I love watching them figure out who they are. It's awesome.
I do not so much love grading their papers.
Reading their papers, yes. Grading? Just not as much of the love there.
I realized this afternoon that I reach a grading saturation point. I can work and work and work and work on the grading with the occasional light groan or sigh as I read something unclear or riddled with errors that a quick proofread would have caught. But eventually, I'll sigh and stretch and get a drink of water and use the bathroom. And then I'll go back to work. And ten minutes later I'll slam my head against the desk. Because the sighs, which have been getting heavier, just don't provide the same sense of release. And five minutes after that I'll get up to use the bathroom again. And five minutes later I'll stretch and look out the window. And then I'll count the number of papers I have left to grade.
The thing is, it's not like they're all bad papers. Or like the worst ones are at the bottom of the pile. Or that they don't have interesting and valuable things to say. Because they do. I actually like reading what they have to say. It's just that I can only grade so many before I forget the rules of spelling, grammar and punctuation myself.
However. The papers are graded. The lesson plans are written. (Mostly.) And my weekend still has two more days to it.
Posted by sally at 07:50 PM
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