One bright spot

On Friday, I donated to the California Fire Foundation’s SAVE program, which gives gift cards to victims of fires so they can buy whatever they most need. Usually a gift card is loaded with $100. Saturday morning, I had e-mail from the CFF saying that response had been so great that they were able to increase that amount to $250.

It’s nice to know that people are being so generous. Even $250 doesn’t go far when you’ve lost everything except what you stand up in, but it’s still 2.5 times more than $100.

(And from a donor to any fire survivor: go ahead, buy whatever gets you through the day. If that’s ice cream, fancy coffee, alcohol, new makeup, I’m not judging! Whatever helps you feel like you can cope.)

Random things

  • The red basket has arrived. I am pleased to have it in my possession, though I think I should buy some paint and re-spray it.
  • Some dishes have also arrived. More of the set were found after I left for the airport; one of my sisters-in-law will ship them to me.
  • I am very pleased to have The Bowl in my house. The Bowl lived on a table in the living room, visible from the entrance to my house, all the time I was growing up. It usually had some sort of seasonal decoration in or near it. I love the Bowl for its own sake, because it is beautiful. There is a myth about its provenance which seems to be belied, or at least complicated, by the manufacturer’s mark on its bottom. Whatever. The Bowl is now mine, in my living room, and seeing it makes me happy.
  • I also have The Rolling Pin, with red handles, to replace the one I got at a yard sale. I feel sillier about shipping this than I do about the Basket and the Bowl, but I’m still pleased to have it. I’ll give my other rolling pin away.
  • I have vigorously refused various silver-plated objects (coffee pot, trays, candlesticks, and similar oddments) offered to me. I used to have to clean that stuff as a teenager. No thank you. It saddens me that my mother found these things a meaningful statement of status, and that her kids just want to be rid of them, but times change. Whatever her fantasies, I am not going to have “co-eds,” the dean, or my church group (a non-existent group, since I don’t attend church) over for coffee and serve them from the silver pot.
  • Does anybody serve drinks from silver pots any more?
  • One of my classes has met. My students are adorably enthusiastic. I hope they stay that way.
  • I still have to finish the syllabus for the other class. It’ll get done.
  • I think I should make some vigorous efforts to settle back into the house where I still live. The more complicated and annoying it will be to move, the more likely someone is to make us an offer, according to Sod’s Law. Right?

Odds and ends

I cherish the fond illusion that I file/recycle/toss paperwork every 3-6 months, but the evidence suggests otherwise. Very otherwise. However, today I have tackled stacks of paper. As usually happens when things pile up for long enough, I have been able to recycle large quantities, including early drafts of two essays for which I have now corrected proofs, print-outs of conference papers given three and four years ago, and receipts associated with those conferences.

Still on my desk:

*a program from a conference four years ago, in a place I particularly enjoyed;

*instructions for my phone. which I seem to have got on quite well without;

*a two-year pocket calendar for 2014-2015;

*a postcard from Hull;

*a paper written by a graduate student for a course I taught, which I think I kept because in theory I am on the student’s dissertation committee (in practice, I don’t think the student has submitted any work yet);

*receipts from this year’s stay in Kalamazoo;

*a stack of references to things I mean to read for scholarly purposes;

*a set of newspaper clippings referring to books I have thought of reading for pleasure, along the lines of Val McDermid’s Northanger Abbey and Her Brilliant Career;

*a handout from a paper at this year’s K’zoo with my notes connecting the paper to one I’m thinking of writing;

*a check re-order form;

*an important piece of paper I should have put in my safe deposit box four years ago but which at this point is probably irrelevant;

*a chapter draft with marginal comments from discussion with my writing group;

*the label with which to return printer ink cartridges for recycling;

*a certificate, in Spanish and English, testifying to my having given a paper at a conference in a Spanish-speaking country.

Snapshot of my desk/life.

 

Pennies from somewhere

As I pack, it amazes me how much stray money I find, most of it either very small denomination or not usable. Lots of American pennies. Also an Irish Euro-cent, a pfennig piece, assorted centavos, 100 lire, and a 50-franc note from Lichtenstein.

How does this happen? I’m not asking where all this comes from (Ireland, Germany, Mexico, Italy, and Lichtenstein, obviously, and I have been to all those places so I believe they’re mine), but rather, how do these coins and notes filter their way into boxes and on shelves, instead of being used up in the airport or donated when the flight attendants collect your last coins for charity? I’m particularly baffled by Lichtenstein, because I don’t think I’ve been there since 40 years ago this summer. How did that bit of paper survive, and in what box, all this time?

Gentle readers, do you have items like this appearing from who knows where? Coins, or some other type of object?

Random bullets of only-barely-coping

*I always think I’m prepared for things, or as prepared as I can be, and then the thing happens and I’m not prepared. I know this about myself. And the nature of the not-prepared always surprises me.

*I really want to stay home and not go out or talk to anyone and just work on jigsaw puzzles. It’s a psychological defense mechanism, creating order from chaos.

*My evil/eval documents are still overdue. Really must get them in today.

*I have already identified most of the heart-breaking types of students listed in this post. So far, the plain annoying types are hiding or non-existent. We’ll see.

*My wonky ankle is being really wonky again. Besides the obvious (strained it again), I think it also doesn’t like the chilly damp weather we’ve been having, and I think I may be getting some referred pain from further up the same leg. All this going on at once makes it hard to figure out what is best to do for it. I’m getting cranky from lack of vigorous exercise, but the ankle needs to be rested.

*Reina and Basement Cat remain at odds. Do we have to put everyone on Prozac?

*I know why I loaded myself with grading short assignments in the first two weeks of classes: to convince students that they can’t just coast and then pull an all-nighter to write an incoherent five-page paper in week 5 of the semester. I want them to learn decent work habits early on, and to stay engaged with the material via frequent assignments. OK, pedagogically sound, and look what a good teacher I am . . . only, couldn’t I have had some compassion for myself and care for my workload? What was I thinking? That I really am Minerva McGonagall and have a Time-Turner? Or that I’m the Dowager Duchess and have servants?

*It’s not going to get any earlier. Just get started. Suck Less. Choose the practice freely.

“My, how things have changed . . .

. . . for the worse since I was young.” (To be chanted, with eye-rolling.)

It seems to me that it used to be possible, or perhaps I just mean easier, to alter elements of one’s blog’s appearance. I would like to dump the all-caps format of the first line in this “theme” but I can’t work out how to do that. But the layout is simpler (again), though not so simple as the one I used for many years, and the header image is similar to the old (larger hunk of the same manuscript page), so I’m hoping this will satisfy my wish for something new, without sparking a “we fear change” response in myself or my readers.

It does look like a nice format for doing Quotes About Writing and that sort of thing. Maybe I should run another writing group with Inspirational Quotations.

It’s not like I have anything else to do in the spring, just teach three classes plus a pair of independent studies, and get back to writing my book, assuming I can get out from under the two R&Rs I’ve been struggling with during the fall term. One is, I think, very close to done: that is, I’m in the stage where it seems hopelessly messy and impossible to finish, which probably means that with a few more days’ working sessions it will be suddenly done. That quantum leap always surprises me, even when I surmise that it’s coming. I’d like to be better at gauging how long it will take to write, or re-write, an essay. The writing isn’t so bad. It’s the thinking that is unpredictable.

I don’t know . . .

I’ve been thinking about a new template for awhile. I like the two-column format. But I miss the stripped-down minimalism of my old template already. I may have to keep experimenting. Any thoughts or recommendations?

Things to do

So we have come to live in Bizarro World. There is a rift in the space-time continuum, only half the passengers understand this, the Enterprise is stuck and can’t make it over to bail us out, and Sisko and the Bajorrans are too far away to do anything clever with the wormhole. What now?

Some of the people whose blogs I read regularly are already thinking about how to react: Christine, with a comforting post; Cloud, with a thoughtful one; Fie, with characteristic refusal to quit. And John Scalzi’s worth a look. In The Middle makes a statement I can get behind.

I expect part of the reason I am so stunned is that I am not, in general, a very political person. I tend to cultivate my own garden, focus on the things I can change, ignore the ones I can’t, avoid conflict, political debate, and activism, and just sort of float along, sticking my neck out for nobody, as Rick says inĀ Casablanca. I have only so much energy and only one life, and I like contemplating lilies (if you have two loaves of bread, sell one and buy a lily).

Thus, in that lily-contemplating spirit, while I’m going to be looking for ways to help people who help immigrants, I’m also a patron of the fantastic blog Medieval People of Color, because people need to know that the European Middle Ages were not a white supremacist’s fantasy land, and of Pamela Dean, because we’re going to need some more good escapist fiction.

It’s a start.

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I don’t know what to say to my students tomorrow.

My students who are Muslim, mixed-race, American-born black, American-born of Hispanic descent, West-Indies-born immigrants. Those are just the ones I know I will face tomorrow . . . so many other faces of other backgrounds, from other semesters, are in my mind, including a young woman who found out, months before her 21st birthday, that she was illegal, in this country illegally, brought as an infant, which her parents never told her. These students know, better than I do, how racist this country is. I don’t want them to have to comfort me. But I’m not sure I have it in me to be their older, wiser, reassuring professor.