Knitting makes me happy. It's also a way to solve other people's problems. More on that in the future. For now, have a swell weekend. A friend put this in her blog once, and I've been thinking today is the type of day that was made for this song:
She blew me away in concert with Ray Lamontagne at the Ryman Auditorium. Her voice is very...frosty. In a shimmery, silvery way.
Showing posts with label the life i've imagined. Show all posts
Showing posts with label the life i've imagined. Show all posts
Friday, March 12, 2010
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Hi, kids.
Facebook is temporarily deactivated. If you need me, you probably know how else to contact me. Twitter, email and blog are still active.
Later. Go check out this great eschatalogical harbinger of awesomeness: http://www.loveinstereo.com/
Listening to Jeff Buckley's "You & I"
Later. Go check out this great eschatalogical harbinger of awesomeness: http://www.loveinstereo.com/
Listening to Jeff Buckley's "You & I"
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Two days in
to the post-funk, and life is busssssssy! The class I teach is improving weekly, and I'm beginning to see some real strengths come out in my students. Today, one kid raised the issue of historiography in the 1930s, and another one actually knew what he was talking about. Also, another one used the term "interiority." I don't only love smart kids, but yeah, I love smart kids.
But I don't love this new slate of responsibilities I couldn't say no to for the Historical Society. More on these folks, later. I'm too shell-shocked from the experience to formulate much. If you are of the praying sort, let me just go ahead and say...get started.
But I don't love this new slate of responsibilities I couldn't say no to for the Historical Society. More on these folks, later. I'm too shell-shocked from the experience to formulate much. If you are of the praying sort, let me just go ahead and say...get started.
Friday, February 26, 2010
The end
I've scheduled the end of the life-funk to coincide with the end of February. Watch out, March!
Friday, February 12, 2010
Formspring post #1
What do you want to give the world?
I've never posed this question to myself. So...this is a 24-hour pass at it. When I know I've made the right decision, I depend on two key indicators to confirm that. One, my gut. If it doesn't clench then it means my body has accepted my decision and won't fight it. Two, my mind. The double-think lays down and goes to sleep. When I thought through the answer to this question, both of these checkpoints signaled their acceptance. I slept well last night.
What would I like to give the world? Add recognition and acceptance, subtract unqualified tolerance, skim off a little nostalgia, multiply by dignity, and round up to the nearest affirmation.
Professionally, I get to do this every day. A plaque on the wall of my grad school department read, "Within these hallowed halls are the future stewards of our national and cultural heritage." I go to work and take care of the material and archival evidence that human beings lived, worked, aspired, failed, loved, and fought. I devise and implement organizational systems that will keep historical information relevant, accessible, and complete. I tell stories. All day long, I tell stories. And I love to tell stories. I often wish I could have a spot on the evening news, reading a story. I would read the story Sarah Carlyle tells her Uncle George about her "dear Mamma's" passing and how she feels about taking on the management of her father's house at age 12, "which is, as yet, too much for me." We would talk about two male college students trying to heft a rather overweight (but beautiful, I am assured) woman through a window to escape the college president who was pursuing them after some infraction.
Okay, I would pretty much invent StoryCorps.
I've been thinking a lot lately about losing and gaining people. What it means to have someone in your life and then for them to be gone. Doesn't matter how, the result is often the same. Your routines alter, and you cast about looking for someone else to be "the one solid the spaces lean on. " When we are gone, where are we? Let's face it. No one really knows. When we add people, where do we put them? Do we make new spaces and categories, or can we fit them into old molds?
Museums get to do a little something about that, true. But what do I want to do about it in my non-work life? Look people in the eyes, acknowledge when they serve me in some way, and treat their contributions to my life with the respect that created beings ought to have for one another.
It pleases me that I don't know who asked this question. It frees me from manipulating the answer. I would give this to you, Asker, as I would to you, Reader.
http://www.formspring.me/hiimerin
I've never posed this question to myself. So...this is a 24-hour pass at it. When I know I've made the right decision, I depend on two key indicators to confirm that. One, my gut. If it doesn't clench then it means my body has accepted my decision and won't fight it. Two, my mind. The double-think lays down and goes to sleep. When I thought through the answer to this question, both of these checkpoints signaled their acceptance. I slept well last night.
What would I like to give the world? Add recognition and acceptance, subtract unqualified tolerance, skim off a little nostalgia, multiply by dignity, and round up to the nearest affirmation.
Professionally, I get to do this every day. A plaque on the wall of my grad school department read, "Within these hallowed halls are the future stewards of our national and cultural heritage." I go to work and take care of the material and archival evidence that human beings lived, worked, aspired, failed, loved, and fought. I devise and implement organizational systems that will keep historical information relevant, accessible, and complete. I tell stories. All day long, I tell stories. And I love to tell stories. I often wish I could have a spot on the evening news, reading a story. I would read the story Sarah Carlyle tells her Uncle George about her "dear Mamma's" passing and how she feels about taking on the management of her father's house at age 12, "which is, as yet, too much for me." We would talk about two male college students trying to heft a rather overweight (but beautiful, I am assured) woman through a window to escape the college president who was pursuing them after some infraction.
Okay, I would pretty much invent StoryCorps.
I've been thinking a lot lately about losing and gaining people. What it means to have someone in your life and then for them to be gone. Doesn't matter how, the result is often the same. Your routines alter, and you cast about looking for someone else to be "the one solid the spaces lean on. " When we are gone, where are we? Let's face it. No one really knows. When we add people, where do we put them? Do we make new spaces and categories, or can we fit them into old molds?
Museums get to do a little something about that, true. But what do I want to do about it in my non-work life? Look people in the eyes, acknowledge when they serve me in some way, and treat their contributions to my life with the respect that created beings ought to have for one another.
It pleases me that I don't know who asked this question. It frees me from manipulating the answer. I would give this to you, Asker, as I would to you, Reader.
http://www.formspring.me/hiimerin
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Woke up with this on the heart
For my family, my friends, present and erstwhile. For Will. For deliciously soft yarns and clicky needles. For cityscapes and beaches. For the color red. For Christmas lights. For 3yos. For hills to hike up. Even the really, really hard ones. For JustLove Coffee. For new babies coming in January. For Brooklyn, NY and Nashville, TN and Alexandria, VA. For handmade paper. For Lucinda Williams. For kitties. For The Med. For a paycheck. For my church family. For dreams to dream. For vernacular architecture. For books, books, books. For a healing thyroid.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Facebook Day Two
So yesterday after my half-articulated rail against FB, I actually checked it twice. That's improvement, in my opinion. You won't make me think less of myself for having done it, okay?
Here's my routine: Since I moved inward, I have not had the internet at home or through my phone or any other device I possess. Well, at least no internet I'm going to pay for. (Of course, ATT would allow me to access it through my phone at a "modest fee." Of course they would.) Friday night about 5:30 through Monday morning about 8:30--no problem. If there is an urgent need to be online--check a banking issue, order concert tickets, find out some info--well, I live two blocks from the office. Problem solved. Monday I come in, catch up on the email, scan Twitter and done--off to do the work I get paid to do.
Being so FB-needy has led me to spend more time at work than I care to admit, checking up on things. Why? What things? Instead of using FB as a tool to appreciate other people's family pictures, and catch up on life news, and exchange witty banter with friends, I've used it as a tool of self-flagellation. Why didn't I think to say this? Why didn't I think to post this? Why don't my pictures seem to get as many comments as XY&Z's? Ruh-diculous. Seriously.
Although saying this aloud may actually prove the opposite, I once thought I was a reasonably self-actualized person. Not that I didn't have moments of quavering or second-guessing. (And I'm pretty convinced even Gandhi had one or two.)
What happened and why did I let it? Huh.
Here's my routine: Since I moved inward, I have not had the internet at home or through my phone or any other device I possess. Well, at least no internet I'm going to pay for. (Of course, ATT would allow me to access it through my phone at a "modest fee." Of course they would.) Friday night about 5:30 through Monday morning about 8:30--no problem. If there is an urgent need to be online--check a banking issue, order concert tickets, find out some info--well, I live two blocks from the office. Problem solved. Monday I come in, catch up on the email, scan Twitter and done--off to do the work I get paid to do.
Being so FB-needy has led me to spend more time at work than I care to admit, checking up on things. Why? What things? Instead of using FB as a tool to appreciate other people's family pictures, and catch up on life news, and exchange witty banter with friends, I've used it as a tool of self-flagellation. Why didn't I think to say this? Why didn't I think to post this? Why don't my pictures seem to get as many comments as XY&Z's? Ruh-diculous. Seriously.
Although saying this aloud may actually prove the opposite, I once thought I was a reasonably self-actualized person. Not that I didn't have moments of quavering or second-guessing. (And I'm pretty convinced even Gandhi had one or two.)
What happened and why did I let it? Huh.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
I Have a Dream
That I live in a small, four-room house with a tiny bathroom and a half-finished upstairs combo attic/bonus room. You walk up a small stone walkway through my tiny but lush yard, past the bottle tree, and up onto a brick-walled porch with small groupings of tables and chairs. Curtains are hung if you want the privacy, but are usually tied back to let air and light in. Open the front door into a wide center passage that runs the full depth of the house. And from the front door, you can either walk into any room you choose (all doors open into the passage) or you can join the rest of us on the back screened porch. Of course, the screened porch is also used occasionally for sleeping, so just be prepared for that.
If you choose to walk into the living room, you will make a left inside the door. On a rainy day, your umbrella will go into a big ceramic pot that probably looks like a cactus or something naturalistic Layla made for me in her after-school pottery class. You can hang your sweater on a hook in the wall. Feel free to throw your shoes off. Come in and browse the built-in bookshelves, flop down on a pile of big fluffy pillows on the floor and appreciate the atelier-style art arrangements, or lounge in the wide seat attached to the picture window with leaded panes.
After some time talking or watching a movie or listening to music, you will need sustenance, so I invite you to step on into my kitchen, which is through a small door in the back of the room. You probably almost missed the door because the bookcases go across the top of the door, and there are things hanging off of them. But the kitchen is through there, with checkerboard tile floors in white and black, and cool grey walls. You can sit at my red & white hoosier table while I fill the coffeepot from the enamel sink and I will tell you the story of the chair you are sitting on. It came from a Memphis brothel. If that creeps you out, you are welcome to move over to the faded green velour chaise. Make yourself at home. Please excuse the trashcans lining the back wall. Recycling doesn't come easy, sometimes. Nor does composting. Or cat care, for that matter.
We will drink much coffee, so just help yourself to the bathroom that opens off the central hallway. It is a little small, but the pedestal sink and tall linen cupboard in the corner help things fit more comfortably. The tile floors get cold in here, so I hope the fluffy bath rug will help.
I like a little private time in my office, so make yourself at home upstairs in the bonus room while I finish writing my masterpiece. The tiny windows at the front, sides, and rear of the big attic let in a little light, and you can see the moon and stars through them at night. But you will be very comfortable up here in the guest bed and you can put all your things away in the chifferobe. There is a record player up here, and records, so you will not be alone. Don't trip on the toys lying about that are supposed to be in the toybox and the dress-up bin. The nieces and nephews forget to put things away! Be careful on the stairs when you come down because they are wooden and quite steep. The original owner must have been shorter and skinnier and much stronger of leg than I am!
Join me in my office, and we'll talk and then go outside to enjoy a nice dinner around the fire pit. We'll watch the stars come out and the moon rise and watch the neighborhood kids catch fireflies. You can help me weed the flowerbeds, since I do a really bad job of it. In fact, I'll turn it all over to you if like. I get so ambitious and I like to have a nice view from the bedroom windows.
We will talk and laugh and discuss and reminisce and listen to music and eat and drink and be silent. Then we will go into the house and I will go to sleep in my bedroom where the bed is practically never made and clothes are hanging on the back of the vanity table chair. But the quilt above me is warm and snuggly and my family pictures are on the walls and a pile of books is on the nightstand waiting to be read. The cat's claws tap-tap on the wooden floors of the hallway and I hear him knock over some books that were sitting on a table. As long as he doesn't find the knitting and pull all the yarn off the needles--fine.
Good night.
If you choose to walk into the living room, you will make a left inside the door. On a rainy day, your umbrella will go into a big ceramic pot that probably looks like a cactus or something naturalistic Layla made for me in her after-school pottery class. You can hang your sweater on a hook in the wall. Feel free to throw your shoes off. Come in and browse the built-in bookshelves, flop down on a pile of big fluffy pillows on the floor and appreciate the atelier-style art arrangements, or lounge in the wide seat attached to the picture window with leaded panes.
After some time talking or watching a movie or listening to music, you will need sustenance, so I invite you to step on into my kitchen, which is through a small door in the back of the room. You probably almost missed the door because the bookcases go across the top of the door, and there are things hanging off of them. But the kitchen is through there, with checkerboard tile floors in white and black, and cool grey walls. You can sit at my red & white hoosier table while I fill the coffeepot from the enamel sink and I will tell you the story of the chair you are sitting on. It came from a Memphis brothel. If that creeps you out, you are welcome to move over to the faded green velour chaise. Make yourself at home. Please excuse the trashcans lining the back wall. Recycling doesn't come easy, sometimes. Nor does composting. Or cat care, for that matter.
We will drink much coffee, so just help yourself to the bathroom that opens off the central hallway. It is a little small, but the pedestal sink and tall linen cupboard in the corner help things fit more comfortably. The tile floors get cold in here, so I hope the fluffy bath rug will help.
I like a little private time in my office, so make yourself at home upstairs in the bonus room while I finish writing my masterpiece. The tiny windows at the front, sides, and rear of the big attic let in a little light, and you can see the moon and stars through them at night. But you will be very comfortable up here in the guest bed and you can put all your things away in the chifferobe. There is a record player up here, and records, so you will not be alone. Don't trip on the toys lying about that are supposed to be in the toybox and the dress-up bin. The nieces and nephews forget to put things away! Be careful on the stairs when you come down because they are wooden and quite steep. The original owner must have been shorter and skinnier and much stronger of leg than I am!
Join me in my office, and we'll talk and then go outside to enjoy a nice dinner around the fire pit. We'll watch the stars come out and the moon rise and watch the neighborhood kids catch fireflies. You can help me weed the flowerbeds, since I do a really bad job of it. In fact, I'll turn it all over to you if like. I get so ambitious and I like to have a nice view from the bedroom windows.
We will talk and laugh and discuss and reminisce and listen to music and eat and drink and be silent. Then we will go into the house and I will go to sleep in my bedroom where the bed is practically never made and clothes are hanging on the back of the vanity table chair. But the quilt above me is warm and snuggly and my family pictures are on the walls and a pile of books is on the nightstand waiting to be read. The cat's claws tap-tap on the wooden floors of the hallway and I hear him knock over some books that were sitting on a table. As long as he doesn't find the knitting and pull all the yarn off the needles--fine.
Good night.
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