Under-motivated

In the living room, computer in lap, watching reruns of Friends.  I should be working, creating new lesson plans, but I'm finding my attention to be fractured these days.  I'm tired, I'm unmotivated, and I'm irritable.  I need something to shift me into a new frame of mind.  Hopefully tomorrow will bring some new form of motivation.

Like an Old Shoe

I worked all weekend at the Wild Hare.  Friday night was a big concert night with the South Carolina band "Sunny Ledford" playing and Saturday night featured "Rodeo Rose".  It's been a while since I've been behind the bar on big nights like these, but it felt natural.  It felt right.  There are many times when I'm behind the bar having fun that I wonder why I am so career motivated.  I enjoy bartending a lot of the time.  I enjoy moving, being with people, and "hosting" the party.  There's something about it thought that always made me feel like it wasn't enough.  Something that made me think that it wasn't a legitimate career.  I think it was more about the way other people viewed the job more than the way I did.

So, it's nice to get back in the "pits" and sling a few drinks.  I had a really good time when I wasn't stressing out.  But that's all part of the deal, the stress is the fun, and the fun eliminates the stress.  What a weekend.

Hello Darkness, My Old Friend

It's been a while since I've had to commute home at 4:30 am.  There's something mystical and magical about being on the roads at this hour.  I drive 99E like I have a million times before, but when it's at 4 am and the roads are empty, it's different.

The world opens up for the 4 am driver.  There's rarely another car on the road and they rarely seem to be driving close to me.  I have a giant bubble of personal space around my car.  I'm unhinged from company or communion with other drivers.  I don't have to concern myself with spacial awareness as much and I find my eyes drifting up to the night sky.

I don't have the best night vision.  It sucks, but its true, so I rarely find myself gazing at the night sky while I drive.  I'm too afraid of other cars pulling up short in front of me or someone stepping off the curb and into my lane.  But at 4 am one is given the license to look up. 

The night is partly cloudy and the clouds don't seem to retain a glimpse of grey.  The patches of light stars behind them peek out as if shy.  I'm listening to the world news on the BBC and I'm struck with new ideas, new inspirations. 

I'm a night writer, almost always have been, and I find that my ideas flow best under the cover of darkness.  It's been a while since I paid attention, but I'm glad I did tonight because it brought me back to the computer this morning.

Eating Animals

The Summer Text for all incoming freshman at Pacific University this year was Eating Animals by Jonathan Safran Foer.  It's a fascinating text that suffers some significant problems but works very hard to encapsulate the argument of animal rights and animal welfare in one man's journey to do what is right for his son.  If looked at in this way, I found the book fascinating.  I love the idea that one father, in an effort to do right for his son, was willing to go to the lengths that Foer went in this book.  Three years of research is an act of love, people.  I don't care who you are, you have to love someone to engage with a subject on that level.

So, I find myself in a weird place.  I don't know if I can eat meat any more.  As I was halfway through the book I rationalized with myself that I could eat meat that was humanely raised and processed, but I'm not sure if that exists.  Also, if I open the door that little bit, am I really opening the door to a backslide?  We know how well I do with temptation.  Anyone want a cigarette?  Although I joke, I'm kind of serious.  This issue is now weighing pretty heavy on me and I don't know what I can do about it.

Becoming a vegetarian would have far reaching effects because I am a part of a family and I feel uncomfortable asking the family to make the same changes.  And yet, what are we going to do?  Make separate meals?  It's a problem.

So, for now I have to sit here and do the best I can.  I think I'm going to try to eat as veggie as I can for right now, see if it is a feasible lifestyle for me (although convenience can't be the deal breaking vote), and then make up my mind in the coming days, weeks, months.

If you don't want to think about issues like this.  DON'T.  READ.  THIS.  BOOK!

A Return to Campus

Even as I took my first steps onto campus, I felt the comfort and the relief I feel in this place.  I love Pacific University.  I can't help it.  There is something about this place that brings me the deepest comfort.  I'm sitting in my office right now and I'm typing with my sunglasses on.  The sun is above me, warming me in my office.  The trees are lush and green outside my office and there is a bustle around campus as the newly arrived freshmen are beginning to make themselves at home.  It's a wondrous time, a burst of life and energy and it reminds me why I love my job.  Even more...why I love my life.  It's an honor and a privilege to teach here.  It's an honor and a privilege to meet and know these students.  I am blessed and I must always keep that in mind.

An Afternoon

My daughter calls Fridays "You and Me Day" because I've had the luxury of having Fridays off for the last school year.  We do all kinds of things just the two of us.  We go to parks, the mall, playgrounds, shopping, etc.  She loves these days.  The secret is I do too.  Well, I can't even say its that much of a secret.  I LOVE these days.

Today, we went to the water park near our house.  Looking out the window, I thought the day was perfect for a little water park fun.  The sun was out, the sky was clear and it appeared warm at first glance.  By the time we walked to the water park, we were warm, but the breeze had started to kick up.  When we got into the water it soon became quite cold and I wanted to get Shea out of the water pretty quickly.  I didn't want her to catch a chill.  That's right, I said "catch a chill" like I'm a housewife from the Donna Reed show, but guess what...don't care.  That's what I was thinking.

In order to get a child away from a water park attraction, one must think creatively.  Often this is a process of replacing one form of fun for another.  Lucky for me there was a t-ball field next to the water park.  The next twenty minutes was spent pitching imaginary baseballs to Shea while she ran the bases for home runs.  She was hilarious.  She'd stand ON home plate waiting for me to pitch the ball, then she would swing and take off for first.  Half the time she would run around the bases instead of touching them, so I would make her go back and do it again.  She was a good sport about it.

There are many people who are disparaging about the process of parenthood and the "sacrifices" one must make in order to raise a child.  Well, I hope they are having fun at the office jobs, having dull conversations, because today I got to play home run derby with my daughter like I was the one who was three.  Beat that.

Setting Goals

I've been running lately.  In the past it's been an on again/off again love affair, but lately it's been ON.  I'm using my iPod to track my runs, working toward faster times, longer runs, and more frequency.  Well, I accomplished my first goal today.  I wanted to run 10 times in 4 weeks.  It doesn't seem like much but it was a good way to sink myself into a routine.  I accomplished my goal this morning with a nice 3 mile run.

There's something about setting a goal and following all the way through.  I'm not the best at this kind of sustained concentration but today shows that I can do it.  I'm feeling good.

"What do I need to do..."

"So, I was wondering what I needed to do to pass/get an A out of your class."

There probably isn't a teacher alive today who hasn't heard this statement fall from the mouth of one of their students in the final week of class.  It may seem like an innocent question, but let me tell you why this is one of the most obnoxious questions a teacher can hear from one of their students in the final weeks.

Let's start with the "A" statement first.  First off, the criteria by which one obtains an A is quality work throughout a term or semester.  It isn't a sprint that can be accomplished in the last week of a course.  If a student wants an A out of a class that level of effort should be given from the very first day in the very first class.  By assuming that a good grade is something that can be simply "made up" in the last week of class makes the rest of the terms content seem irrelevant/inconsequential.  Learn the material.  Do your homework.  Attend class.  These are the three things one must do in order to get a good grade.  There isn't a shortcut.

In terms of passing a course?  Well, these students bother me even more than the "A" crowd, which is frustrating because often times these are the students that need me most.  BUT, these are also the students who don't show up to class, don't complete homework, sleep in class, don't participate, and only hope to "coast" through courses like mine.  Well, I tend to have bad news for these students.  The question "What do I need to do to pass?" is even worse than the "A" question because it shows an inherent disregard for the class, its material, and its instructor.  It implies that the student simply need to jump through a hoop in order to pass instead of actually finding a way to master material.

If you ever think about approaching an instructor/teacher/professor with this question, I would think twice.

Giggle Fit

I don't know why it is funny but I am finding it hard not to giggle.  I have a room full of students facing me, taking an in-class essay test, and I'm having a case of inappropriate giggles.  It's always been this way, even when I was an alter boy at the Catholic Church.  I can't seem to behave appropriately under pressure.  There is something about the way they all look so solemn that makes me want to laugh.  On top of that there is the clickity-clickity clack of their keyboards that is a constant interruption to my concentration.   I'm trying to get some things done but I can't.  I feel like a kid in church who's about to be disciplined.  But, wait, aren't I supposed to be the disciplinarian?

Camping

The first exhale comes just outside of Estacada.  After a two mile long climb uphill, the bus in third, burning oil and working hard to maintain 45 miles per hour, we crest the hill and look out over the Clackamas River Valley.  The river hundreds of feet below cannot be seen through the dense woods that roll up and down the peaks of the valley.  I can see folds and bends, contours in the hillsides and this texture brings me relief.  I exhale and feel my shoulders lower a bit. 

Tracy and Shea are in the back of the bus and they are chatting away in excitement.  We've been building Shea's enthusiasm for camping for days and it is starting to pay dividends.  She sings, "We're goin' campin', we're goin' campin'," and Tracy is singing alongside her.  They are happy.  We are all happy in this moment.  In some ways, the Clackamas River is welcoming us home.  Tracy and I try and camp up here a couple times a year and it feels like home in a way now.

The second sigh comes that night around the campfire.  With darkness descending and my daughter snuggled in my wife's arms, I can relax even deeper.  We managed to set up camp in the near dark, have a delicious dinner of barbecued steaks, and now we are all posted up in our camp chairs watching the embers.  She's blue eyes and Tracy's brown ones glisten with the reflection of dancing flames.  It's a beautifully warm night and the mosquitoes are nowhere to be found.  I push back in my camp chair so it reclines, lace my fingers behind my head and stare up at the night sky waiting for the meteors to start streaking.  When I see the blaze of light streak behind the trees, I sigh and tuck back into my chair.

When the rest of our party arrives the next day, again, I relax further.  There is no more waiting, no more worrying or fretting about car troubles or other roadside mishaps.  We are a group of friends getting together to blow off steam and to leave our regular lives behind for a couple of days.  It's hard for all of us.  Each one of us, with the exception of Shea, is used to being wired.  We are in constant communication with each other and leaving our phones and computers makes us mildly uncomfortable.

It's the creek which quickly dissolves that anxiety.  When everyone has arrived, we make our way down to the creek with our camp chairs in tow.  We wade and splash, play with squirt guns and throw rocks.  It's as if we were children again.  Our entertainments simplify out here.  A good conversation, a cold beer, and some pebbles in a body of water are all we crave.  We sit there for hours until I can feel my shoulders pink up a little bit. 

Finally, when I at last felt calm, was at the rock beach.  Jason, Sarah, Tracy, Shea and I took a hike down a trail that broke off from the campground in search of a swimming hole we'd been told about.  We walked in about two miles by the time we stumbled upon the wide rocky expanse that led us to the Clackamas.  We quickly stripped down to basics and plunged into the icy water.  The day was approaching the 90s and it wasn't even noon.  Shea loved it.  She liked wading into the water and throwing rocks. 

Jason and I quickly got down to just our shorts and dove in.  The water was paralyzing.  The icy cold ripped into my chest and left me breathless, but as soon as I broke the surface of the water and was met with the morning air, I was comfortable.  So, we all took turns submerging into the icy water, laughing as each person came up huffing and gasping for air.  We took pictures of the place.  In one I hold my wife in the water and we smile up to our daughter on the shore.  It was there that I finally relaxed.  I felt energized and invigorated, but in a way that made me want to greet the day and not dread it.

Four Days...

For four days I sat in the woods alongside Ripplebrook Creek or the Clackamas River.

For four days I talked with friends and played with my wife and daughter.

For four days I didn't grade papers.

For four days I read only what I wanted.

For four days I wrote poetry.

For four days I remembered something about myself.

For four days I recommitted myself to a new way of living.

For four days I hiked trails that led to isolated rocky beaches.

I'd like to repeat the last four days.

A Long Weekend in the Woods

I've put everything but the coolers into the Volkswagen.  We are ready to go.  I sent out the last bit of feedback I needed to get done and I am ready to get the heck out of Dodge.  The nostalgia I feel when I drive my 1978 Volkswagen Westfalia is tangible.  There is something that hearkens me back to my adolescence or young adulthood that is absolutely addicting. 

Heading to the woods has something to do with it too.  When I'm camping I feel like I'm returning to an earlier way of life.  I don't have commitments, time frames, deadlines...nothing.  It's nice.  I might drink a beer at noon.  I might jump in the river.   I might wile away an entire afternoon reading a book.  Yes, a book!  I've brought along three books that have NOTHING to do with my teaching.  They are pleasure books, books I want to read, things that intrigue me and I'm excited to get to one of them.  I couldn't make up my mind so I piled all of them  into the bus.

I've also brought one of my old journals.  It's been a while since I've written with pen and paper and it also makes me feel young.  It makes me feel like that earlier aspiring version of myself.  It should be a good weekend.  Tracy's excited, Shea's excited, and, if you couldn't tell already, I'm excited.  Goodbye civilization, I'm off to feed my spirit.

Last Day

I didn't expect it to happen, but it did.  My morning writing class, the one with only three or four students who attend, met for the last time today.  I'm allowing them to send me their final drafts via email and so there is no need to meet. 

Over the course of the summer I have found it exceedingly difficult to get through to this group.  They are bright enough, but they seem apathetic at times, disconnected from their own journey through school and life.  I don't know what I would have done without Student #1.  He was a godsend and saved the class on more than one occasion by being willing to speak up.

So, I say goodbye to WR 121 until it begins again in late fall.  I have a bunch of new ideas for the next time I teach it and I look forward to a new batch of students.  Hopefully the next group will be more ambitious.

In class essay test

The hands on the clock are sliding past the minutes at a glacial pace.  I am giving an essay test right now and all of my students are diligently writing on loose leaf paper.  I've never given a test like this before and I'm curious about the results.  I've given them the prompts in advance so they should have something that resembles a thesis by the time they are done writing but one never can tell.

I'm teaching Intro to Expository Writing for the first time and I find the students at this level to be truly charming.  They have a real sense of wonder about them and a very real sense of anxiety.  When I get them writing about things they like the words on the page take off.  Sure, they may be misspelled, but they are poetic, vibrant and full of voice.  There is a certain joie de vivre about them and about their writing that I almost envy.  They are all passion and enthusiasm.  They slit their wrists and bleed across the page.  Each sentence seems to carry the weight of a first telling.  I work so hard to simply get them to put one word after another on the page and once they do, it's lovely.  They feel they've expressed themselves in a new way.  I want to open this door for them.  I want to give them some of my love of writing.  I want them to walk out the door and to feel the elation I feel at a particularly astute turn of phrase.

Here's to hoping.

The Difference Between a Wedding and A Marriage

I performed a wedding today. It was an outdoor summer affair at a hotel/resort in the Columbia River Gorge. The bride and groom were in their mid-twenties, bright, and shining in their tuxedo and gown. The venue was a glade surrounded by shrubs in the full bloom of August. I was in charge of marrying these two young people, of sending them off into a new life together, and I was proud of what I had written for their day. I was feeling good about myself, feeling nostalgic for my own wedding. Or, I had been earlier that day.

Rewind to two hours before the ceremony. My wife texts me about our daughter. I’m in the car, can’t text. I call her back but she’s busy with work and can’t talk. The first misunderstanding occurs. More texts, call to babysitter, call back to wife, more misunderstanding, more texts…disappointment. I think she has cancelled coming out to the wedding. She thinks I’m not putting out an effort to get her there. Both upset, both irritated, the night is blown, expectations are shot, and we both know that I will return to the house, as will she, and we’ll try to find some way to get past it without making it into a total drama-fest.

I walk to the center aisle with the groom in tow. We wait there as the parents are sat, the bridesmaids and groomsmen enter, the ring bearer and the flower girl meander along, and then, finally, the moment when he gets to see his bride. I see him in profile. He looks up at her when the music changes and then drops his eyes again. He looks up at her, smiles, and again looks down to the ground. He is not avoiding her. He is simply overwhelmed because she is gorgeous in her sleeveless gown, her ebony hair swept up and placed perfectly. She’s beaming and goofing a little as she walks the aisle. She’s smiling and laughing with the guests. I don’t think she’s used to being the true center of attention. The groom takes her hand as she reaches the end of the aisle. They turn and face me, expectant.

When I arrive home that night, Tracy turns to face me, expectant. She wants an answer, an apology, an explanation for why the night was ruined. I tell her I thought she said she wasn’t going. She thought I said I was calling my mother to give her directions. I tell her she didn’t tell me that. She says that’s not what I said. We chalk it up to miscommunication and I leave the room in a huff. She pulls the comforter to her chin and sulks. The night for us ends in silence.

For the bride and groom the night is anything but silent. It is full of well wishing, sentimental tears, good cheer, touching toasts, and a bouncing soundtrack. Their friends are present. They’re surrounded by their family. They’re happy.

I’m happy. Overall. I think I have a pretty good life, but there are days where everything ends in frustration, where silence dominates the rooms in my house. There are times when I feel alone inside my own house although there are people here to share it with me. I know she loves me. I love her. It was a bad day. Hopefully tonight will be better. And that, my friends, is the difference between a wedding and a marriage.

A Day with Shea

Like most Fridays, I've spent the day alone with my daughter.  I try to make the day kind of fun each week.  We make our way to various playgrounds, water parks, the mall, the zoo, etc.  Today, we went to school and I'm realizing that I'm coming up on a major turning point in my daughter's young life: the first day of school.

I told her last night that we were going to check out a school and Shea was immediately excited.  She wanted to leave that minute, which is a surefire sign that Tracy and I are making the right decision.  When a three year old is chomping at the bit to hang out at school, it means she needs the socializing, the stimulus that only a formal school environment will bring. 

We spend a lazy morning at home playing, dancing, eating breakfast, but the time quickly came when we loaded into the car and headed off for St. John's School.  The school is affiliated with a Catholic Church in our town and Tracy and I are both comfortable with that.  We both grew up Catholic and we know what kind of information she is going to get about God and the afterlife, so we can do our own distillation of information in the home.  We know how to counteract some of the more...peculiar aspects of that particular faith.

The moment we arrived in the parking lot, Shea was fired up and ready to go.  She practically dragged me down the sidewalk and into the summer dark halls of the older school building.  We entered into the gym instead of taking the long way around the building and Shea was in awe of the basketball court and especially the stage on the far end.  She asked, "Is this for big people?"

"No, honey, it's for little people too."

"Oh," she said and smiled.  Her gaze roamed around the room taking it all in. 

We found our way into the halls of the school and stumbled upon the office of Mrs./Ms. Leslie, the school secretary.  She was a lovely woman.  She cooed at she and introduced herself.  She quickly shook my hand and proceeded to load me up with an application packet and background information.  She offered to take us on a tour and we proceeded to wander the halls.

The preschool classroom is nice, big and inviting.  There are plenty of toys, chalkboards, activities, etc.  The room is a barrage of colors.  Primary colors adorn almost everything so the room "pops" when you look around.  There is a playground just outside the windows of the classroom and Ms. Leslie quickly began to explain procedures.

There is a check-in/check-out process with the kids.  You must register who is going to pick them up each day so there are no "mistakes".  It's a new day, y'all, the days of casually sending a grandparent to pick up a child are OVER!  But, it makes me feel good to know that they at least have a system and are conscientious about it.  Shea would have her own little cubby where she could hang up her jacket and place her boots/bags.  Above that is the slot for the parent.  This cubby is where the teacher communicates with the parent.  If there is any kind of announcement for the parents, it is slotted into this box and you simply need to pick up the information when you arrive.

I'm excited we've arrived at this day.  Shea is going to take off like a rocket, I just know it.  She's been dying for this kind of stimulus and, I think, once she gets it, we're going to reach milestone after milestone.  The future is now, here, rubbing up to this present moment and making me realize that there is no putting off to tomorrow what can be done today with Shea.  She won't be my little girl forever.  This is the first phase that will lead to her becoming independent and, maybe, needing her daddy a little less.  I'm happy and sad at the same time.  I'm deeply conflicted, but there is nothing I can do about it.  Tomorrow will come, and the one after that, and if I keep holding on to yesterday, I'll never appreciate today.  So, here's to my little girl.  In my heart that's what you'll always be.

Weddings

Weddings take on many forms depending on where you are when they occur.  If you are the bride or groom, it can be one of the best days of your life, an affirmation on an unknown scale in their previous lives.  For the single person, it can take on the rancor of loneliness, or it can be a sign of hope that there is someone out there in the world waiting to pledge the same.  But, when you are the officiant, things take on a whole new meaning.

This blog is dedicated to the many hats I wear.  One of those hats is wedding officiant.  I've recently been contacted by an acquaintance who was in a jam.  They were days away from getting married and had found themselves without an officiant.  Normally I do weddings for people I know well, but I couldn't let the bride down.  She was panicked.  I agreed.  So, I've spent the last two hours thinking about marriage, and love, and their personal journey to this commitment.  It's a great exercise for a married man.

I think most married people, man or woman, should engage in the exercise of summing up what marriage means.  Simply meditating on the institution is more than most married people do, I think.  I've sat here for the past two or three hours, trying to find the words that express the meaning of love, of marriage, and I am humbled.  How can someone so average be expected to convey the magnitude of such a thing?  I feel an obligation to share both the joys and the warnings to this young couple, but I need to do so in a way that stresses the joy but gives them one small moment of pause to realize the magnitude of the commitment they are about to make. 

Like all my other roles, and all my other hats, I take this process seriously.  I've injected a few jokes to keep it light, but I am in full understanding that what I am being asked to perform is a solemn and serious task.  I hope I've been able to balance those roles.  If not, well, hopefully the open bar starts before the ceremony and no one will notice.

Running

As I pushed down the roads that crisscross through my neighborhood, I came across a familiar cul de sac.  Instead of pushing past it and along my regular routes, I found myself running down to the end.  There I encountered an lookout point that looked out over downtown Oregon City, the skinny bridge and the falls.  To my left, descending down a deeply forested decline was a paved path.  I jogged down it today and found myself tucked in behind the armory in my town.  Pushing a little further and I found that I was at the school where I think Tracy and I will be enrolling Shea in preschool in the fall.  It is a short-ish jog from my house.

If not for the impulse to explore a new and unseen portion of my town, I would never have found this new path, this new running route, and a quick walking route to my daughter's future school.  I've learned something new today, I've lived a new experience, I've ran, I feel healthy, and, now, I've written.  Today is off to a great start.

My Daughter's Speech Impediment

My daughter says "cock" a lot.  It isn't what you think.  Quite the opposite in fact, but it is becoming a little troublesome.  Well, it would be if it wasn't so funny. 

My mother watches my daughter a couple times a week and today I arrived at her house to find her coaching Shea.  "No, no.  T-t-t.  Can you say your t's?  T-t-t-trrrrrr-uck."

Shea must have seen me pull up to the driveway in my green Ford Ranger.  She loves Daddy's "Truck".  I think it is because she gets to sit in the front seat of the truck and look out the windshield that makes it so appealing, but there is little way to tell at this point. 

When I walk into my mother's kitchen I find her schooling my daughter on her hard "T" sounds.  It's a humorous little moment.  My mom exaggerating her tongue to show Shea where it is placed.  But my daughter keeps saying "cock" and laughing hysterically.  This is the wall we often run into with her.  We try and correct a behavior, or teach her something new and she simply repeats things in the old way and laughs, and laughs, and laughs.

I can't help but chuckle alongside her half the time and I often get into trouble.  Tracy, my wife gets frustrated some times, but, hey, I figure I'm the one who drives the "cock."  And, no, I don't mean it that way.

Around the House

Lately, I have felt the house encroaching on my ability to get things done.  It is a feeling that keeps me away from the keyboard and searching through cupboards trying to clear out some kind of empty space.  I have recently gotten rid of a garbage bag full of clothes, three boxes of books, a garbage bag full of dog toys, and many other redundant and useless things in my house.

The thing that always results from this kind of cleaning is that I know have a to-do list a mile long now that we've been able to find some of our "long lost" stuff.  I have been importing cds into iTunes for about three days now.  It's not an activity that takes a long time in terms of sustained concentration, but I do have to keep an eye on the computer and keep paying attention to when it makes that little dinging sound. 

So, basically, as you can see, I've been making excuses to walk away from the keyboard.  That walking away has led to sentences like the first one in this paragraph.  "So, basically, as you can see"?!  Are you kidding me?  What happened to brevity and conciseness?  I haven't been practicing my craft and as a result there is clutter in the cupboard.

The next step?  The next thing on my to-do list?  It is to sit down in front of this computer and practice getting rid of some of the clutter I'm finding there.  An exercise is reduction is always time well spent.

A New Day

I've decided that the blog might just be the worthwhile enterprise I've always hoped it would be.  I am going to start using it in my class and ask the students to all engage in the process of blogging.  This will allow me to very quickly get them thinking about the idea of audience and purpose.  It also got me thinking about the fact that I don't do enough writing of my own in this regard.

I often think of ideas that I would love to jot down and get out into the world but I always felt I needed to do it in a formal essay.  In the modern age, this isn't the case.  I am free to expound on the blog, to rant and rage.  This is the type of writing I need to do.  I need to get all of this stuff out of the way so that I can get to the more delicate forms of writing that take a little more finesse and dedication to revision and process.  I'm excited to be embarking on this new voyage.

Also, I'm going to make the blog a little bit more about my life as it really is.  I've renamed my blog WTF, which is a nod to a former mentor, but it stands for "Writing.  Teaching.  Family."  These tend to be the contours of my life at the moment and I want to give a nod to the reality that is my everyday existence.  So, here's to the new experiment.  Onward and Upward!!!