Reading and the 300th Post!

It's been radio silence here at WTF lately.  I haven't been posting here, or coming to the blank page at all lately.  I've been reading.  I've pounded a couple of books including God Is Not Great: How Religion Poisons Everything by Christopher Hitchens, Habibi by Craig Thompson, City of Glass by David Mazzucchelli and Paul Karasik, and Last Day in Vietnam by Will Eisner.  

It's been nice to be on input.  I've taken in, and fallen in love with, each of these books for wildly different reasons, but I felt the need to bring stories/ideas into myself.  I've always been told that, for a writer, reading is like "filling the hopper" and that we can't always be on output.  Well, I've been filling the hopper and I feel ready to burst forth with ideas.  

National Novel Writing Month is in a matter of days and I'm mentally preparing myself for this task.  I would like to dedicate at least an hour a day to writing in November.  This is going to be tough and I'm going to have to sacrifice sleep in order to achieve it, but I have to do this.  The novel has been stagnating for too long and I need to inject some new blood into it.

So, while I feel comfortable with my down time for the moment, I can feel the crescendo of energy coming hot on its heels.  I probably won't be posting all that much to the blog in the month of November, or maybe I will, who knows.  But if I disappear for a month or so, let's hope that we know the reason why.

In addition, this post makes the 300th post to WTF.  I don't know why it seems so significant, but it does.  I imagine 300 half-page to full page entries and I realize that I've written enough to fill the pages of a novel.  See, I've done this thing before.  I don't run out of words.  I can do this.  Hoorah for blogging at its contribution to self-confidence.   

:-(

I've finished grading a stack of papers written by first year college students and the only thing I have to say is...:-(.

The students were asked to respond to one of the assigned essays we read in class.  Most of them chose "College Pressures" by William Zinsser and "How to Choose a Career That Will Not Get You Rich No Matter What Anyone Tells You" by Robert Sullivan.  The students' responses followed two tracks.

Those who responded to Zinsser are petrified of the economy and feel coerced into choosing professions that are safe and don't want to "waste their time" studying things that are outside of those safe zones.  They see these four years as a career training ground and not a truly educational environment.  They want us to impart to them the exact skills necessary for them to make the most amount of money in the least amount of time so they will never have to face financial stress.  I don't blame them.  I'd take that class.  What makes me sad about this response is that their passions are so subverted and subsumed to the desire to be financially stable that they don't realize that creativity is the key to their success.  They need to "think outside the box" because economies are turning on a dime, technology is ever evolving, and financial security is going to be reserved for those who are flexible and can change with the times.  See Ken Robinson's talk from the Ted conference here.  It is just one reason for the sad face emoticon.

The second set of responses came from the Sullivan piece.  The piece is a biting piece of satire that plays on our social expectations of wealth, education, and the things we personally value. The problem is that most of the students read it as "straight".  They thought Sullivan was actually giving advice on how to select careers.  I got the most earnest replies in support of his idea that people should be practical over every other concern.  Let me repeat that...OVER EVERY OTHER CONCERN.  I had students professing to majoring in subjects they hated because of the overall practicality of the major. Money and financial security, again, was the driving force for these students in selecting their major.  Almost every single one of them has cited the medical profession as their end destination.  I don't know what we are telling our children, but if every student I have is going into the medical profession in some capacity, then we better drum up some sick people and some money to pay for it.

I had one student profess to wanting to be a photographer, but even she said she was thinking about changing her mind because she couldn't handle the thought of struggling financially.  It breaks my heart to think that we may have a generation of young people who feel so controlled by financial forces that they can't see the potential in learning about the humanities, in using their creativity, in practicing critical discourse, in wanting to volunteer, or to change the world.

Again, :-(.

Coming Home

My wife and I celebrated our wedding anniversary this last weekend.  We've been married for under ten years but together for more than a decade.  One of my favorite moments in our entire relationship was the day I came home to her. 

I'd been in Europe for three months, traveling around after college.  Before I left, she told me to go have fun and to not worry about her.  I landed in Amsterdam, spent a day or so traveling around and told her I would stay loyal to her throughout my trip.  I did. 

When the time came to return home, I decided I would surprise her.  I traveled for 2 1/2 days without being in communication with anyone.   No one knew I was coming home.  I took a ferry from the island of Ibiza to Barcelona.  I disembarked and jumped on a train that took me to Paris.  From the Paris train station I took a cab directly to the airport.  I got on standby for a flight from Paris to Washington D.C. and fell asleep in the airport. 

When the time came for the flight to leave for D.C., I was breathless.  I wondered if I was going to be able to get on the plane.  At the last second, the airline employee called my name and I boarded.  The process repeated itself in D.C., but my name was the last one called and I walked on that plane feeling like it was my destiny to go home.

I swiped my card to use the phone mounted in the back of the airline seat, and I called my brother.  He agreed to pick me up at the airport and take me back to Canby.  I knew Tracy was working, so I went to a bar with Kerry and waited impatiently as the clock ticked toward nine.

When I couldn't take it anymore, I had my brother drive me to the bar where Tracy was working.  I was shivering with anticipation.  When I finally arrived at the bar, I practically jumped out of the car before it was parked.  I stormed across the parking lot, threw open the door, and yelled into the full bar, "Where's this hot new waitress I've heard so much about?"

Tracy had her hands full of beers and she damn near dropped every one of them.  She set them down as quick as she could on the nearest table (I'm not even sure if that is where they were supposed to go) and rushed into my arms.  We kissed.  It is the most memorable kiss of my life and the moment I knew that home was inside her arms. 

I love you, Tracy.  Happy Anniversary.

Paper Dolls

Shea and I have discovered "printables."  These are crafty things you can find on the internet, print out, and play with.  Yesterday was a printable day.  Now, these things range in difficulty from super easy to "Holy cow, I need an engineering degree."  We did a little of everything yesterday.

It all started when Shea mentioned something about masks.  I had searched the internet before and found paper masks you could cut out, so off to the computer we went.  We printed out masks of the characters from "101 Dalmations" and I chased Shea and Tracy around the house as Cruella De Vil.  It was a blast, but the dog started getting nervous with all our barking.

This lead to round two of paper masks.  This time round Shea was a princess and I was the Incredible Hulk.  "Hulk save pretty lady," I said as I scooped her up off her feet and whisked her away to the other room.  She squealed in delight as I swung her around and planted her back on her feet.  As with most games with a four year old, this game slowly devolved into chasing her around the room and making monster-like noises.

Toward the end of the night, I discovered paper dolls.  Little figurines you could cut out.  I printed out the "Princess and the Frog" playset that even came with a New Orleans background.  I slowly cut out each figurine and glued them together so they could stand upright.  Shea only got to see two of them before having to get into her bath, but I kept right on going.

I was intrigued by what one website called 3D Papercraft (this was one of the projects that looked like an engineering degree was necessary).  I printed out the Rapunzel figurine and set to work.  It took me an hour to get it all put together.  It took precision scissor skills, a glue stick (I even used some super glue), and more patience than I thought I could muster for a paper doll, but I got it done.

I've set the whole scene up downstairs on the kitchen table for Shea.  I hope she likes it.  I've attached a picture of all the handiwork here.  It's amazing what you find yourself doing in order to make your child happy.  I'm sure she will look at it/play with it for fifteen minutes.  After that, all bets are off, but I can't resist trying for that look on her face that shows me she knows she is special.

That's Just How Life Is Going to Be

Tracy and I are in the kitchen making dinner.  Shea is sorting wine corks into ramekins on the floor of the kitchen.  Shea gets up and scampers off to the bathroom screaming, "I REALLY gotta go."  When she gets back we got to talking to Shea about how big she is.  This is how the conversation goes.

"I really had to go."

"But you made it, right?" I say.

"Ya.  Because I'm big," she says.

"You are big, Shea.  Although sometimes I wish you were still little.  I like you big, but sometimes I wish you were still small."

"I wish you were small," Tracy says.

"Just sometimes," I say.

"Well, that's just how life is going to be," Shea fires back.  Tracy and I look at each other knowingly and nod.  Damn it if she isn't right.

Saved Blog Posts

I don't know what's going on with me recently, but I've found myself engaging in a lot of self censorship.  I've been saving my blog posts instead of posting them.  I'll admit there have been a couple of occasions where the post was incomplete and I didn't post it, but there were other times when I simply found myself debating whether or not I should put my content out there into the ether.

This blog is an experiment for me.  Blog posts are supposed to be unbridled bursts of writing and not my revised work.  My blogs are meant to be written in the span of 15 minutes or so, with no real chance for the editor to get in the way, but I'm finding my editor everywhere these days.  He's editing my lesson plans, my verbal speech, the content of the weddings I perform.  He's everywhere and I'm listening to him.

That's not the point of this place.

I'm going to try and be better about writing and posting in the coming weeks.  I'm not going to hold those posts back in the saved post limbo from which it is rare for a post to ever escape.  I'm going to write in my bursts, reserved for a small observation, and then I'm just going to send it out there and see what happens.

Wish me luck.

Ceremony and the Writing Life

People engage in ceremonies more often than they think, little rituals, or patterns of movement that I would call "ceremonies".  Cigarette smokers are a fantastic example of this.  The way they open their pack, or how they light their cigarette can take on an almost meditative quality.

My writing life is much the same it seems.  There are certain things I need, certain movements I must engage in before I can really get the fingers dancing over the keyboard.  I must have my coffee or water sitting next to the keyboard so I can take a sip as I read over the last line I typed.  I find that I have to know that all my emails are answered before I can free up the mental space to think about something that isn't work.  I oftentimes must have some kind of music playing in the background.  So, as someone who actively practices ceremony, I find it interesting when I have to sit down and write one. 

I had to officiate another wedding this weekend.

This one wasn't a close friend or family member, like most of my weddings are.  This one was an acquaintance, a friend of a friend, and I was a little unsteady on how well  it was all going to work out.  It's nerve racking to come up with the words that will solidify and commemorate a moment as important as a wedding.  These two people were young and full of all the expectant energy of a young couple who is determined, but a little scared, of the future they had chosen for themselves.

They were so earnest, so determined to see it happen.  They young groom prepared all the food for the wedding himself.  He worked for days before the wedding to make sure everything was right.  He was up at six in the morning preparing, setting up, arranging the paper flowers his cousin had made from coffee filters. 

The wedding party was a young lot, rowdy, and bawdy.  Their humor didn't extend much beyond drinking, fighting, and getting laid.  I remembered much of the lines, or at least variations of them, from my own youth and I worried a little bit about the couple.

I shouldn't have.

The bride was emotional even upon arrival, but it was obvious it was because she was so happy.  When I told the groom it was time, his face grew a little dark, but serious and steadfast.  As I walked out of the side room and toward the aisle, I could hear the soft footfalls of the groom and his attendants.  They were dressed sharp in their suits and smiling at the expectant family filling the rows of folding chairs.

The dj started the music and the bridesmaids appeared in the doorway at the head of the aisle.  They, like the boys, were a little unsteady and they rushed down the aisle a little too fast, but they were smiling in their nervousness.

When the bride appeared, she was gorgeous. The groom lit up.  As the bride's eyes glistened with tears, her father handed her over to the groom.  The young couple stepped up in front of me and held hands.  This is one of my favorite moments and the thing that makes me say "yes" when people ask me to officiate.  There is a moment, just after they've arrived at the alter where they will get married, when the couple is aflame with their love for each other.

I pause, inhale, and whisper to the couple, "You ready?"  Almost always they briefly glance at me, suddenly aware that they are not alone and they chuckle.  The groom nods his head earnestly.  And so I begin.

The bride and groom chose to use traditional vows, the "repeat after me" kind.  And when we got to that part, I was surprised by how loud, how strong, and how earnest these two repeated their lines.  There was no doubt, no hesitation, and I suddenly saw them as their older selves.  I was able to see this couple as they would become, a manifestation of their potential as expressed on this day where they created their family.  There is no better seat in the house at a wedding than the one I have. 

I'm proud of these two and I wish them nothing but the best in the future.