I tossed the kale in the coconut and while it was crisping in the oven, I poured myself a glass of golden chardonnay-a left over bottle from a friend's wedding. Lunch was so meager that the wine went straight to my head and settled into a lovely internal fizz.
Tonight's dinner was one of my favorites. My roomie and I call it Kale Crack because it is so addicting. There was one week where we made it three nights in a row. Over quinoa, it is a dish to die for. Unfortunately we were out of grains, so I used it as a side with reheated chicken. Being a single gal, I love to watch shows while I eat dinner. I've tried to eat at the table with music in the background, but the lack of conversation depresses me. A dinner with no "how was your day?" or "what did you learn today?" is no fun at all.
My current mealtime entertainment of choice is the sitcom Cheers. I only began to watch it after watching Fraiser. I was so sad that the show was over, that I decided to go back to the beginning where his character was first introduced. Being a lover of stories, of course I couldn't begin in the third season when Frasier appears.
I love the characters already. The drama of Sam and Diane, the apathy of Norm and Cliff, and the spiteful hilarity of Carla have endeared me to the show from the beginning. This may be sad to admit, but I identify with Diane. I have an unfortunate habit of correcting people (I blame the teacher in me) and an interest in the finer things of life. I do not, however, identify with her overbearing nature or incessant babble. I am so interested to see how things develop.
Until we meet again. Cheers!
P.S. NAM! Norman! (if you've seen it, you know what I mean!)
Wednesday, March 12, 2014
Saturday, March 8, 2014
Well It's Time to Write Again
On a whim, I logged into the world of Blogger today. I was surprised to see that it has been a year and a half since I have blogged. Where did the time go? Where did the motivation go? Two published posts and three saved drafts do not a functional blog make!
Regarding writing in general, I felt appropriately chastised in a recent graduate class I am taking to be a better English teacher. So many of these other teachers talk about their own writing with such passion and excitement. They are blogging and tweeting and submitting to journals and applying for conferences. I'm just relieved that I managed to keep a journal in 2013. It took YEARS to maintain that New Year's resolution for the first time.
I have gone from a reluctant writer, who only wrote when required by teachers, to a competent writer, who has some interest in exploring the world of creative writing. There were many phases in between, but the best has been the year of the journal. The reflective process of journaling gives me a sense of control over life's unexpected twists and turns. I now reach for my journal out of eagerness to write rather than a sense of guilt that if I let this resolution fail for the 15th year in a row I am a total schmuck.
But, I want to expand beyond reflective writing to more creative writing.I finally have some interest in writing on my own just for the pleasure of it. Part of me felt like a sham for being an English teacher who loved to read but dreaded writing, but that is changing. With the help of my graduate class and a great book by Kelly Gallagher called Teaching Adolescent Writers, I am well on my way to my goals of writing for myself and being a better teacher of writers. Perhaps I will post some of those writings here.
Regarding writing in general, I felt appropriately chastised in a recent graduate class I am taking to be a better English teacher. So many of these other teachers talk about their own writing with such passion and excitement. They are blogging and tweeting and submitting to journals and applying for conferences. I'm just relieved that I managed to keep a journal in 2013. It took YEARS to maintain that New Year's resolution for the first time.
I have gone from a reluctant writer, who only wrote when required by teachers, to a competent writer, who has some interest in exploring the world of creative writing. There were many phases in between, but the best has been the year of the journal. The reflective process of journaling gives me a sense of control over life's unexpected twists and turns. I now reach for my journal out of eagerness to write rather than a sense of guilt that if I let this resolution fail for the 15th year in a row I am a total schmuck.
But, I want to expand beyond reflective writing to more creative writing.I finally have some interest in writing on my own just for the pleasure of it. Part of me felt like a sham for being an English teacher who loved to read but dreaded writing, but that is changing. With the help of my graduate class and a great book by Kelly Gallagher called Teaching Adolescent Writers, I am well on my way to my goals of writing for myself and being a better teacher of writers. Perhaps I will post some of those writings here.
Friday, August 17, 2012
I'll have some Mr. Darcy with that...
I decided to stay in on this humid Friday evening and sit down to a movie with a glass of pinot in one hand and a salad, which unfortunately tasted nothing like chocolate, in the other. On a whim, I flipped a coin to choose a shelf and rolled a die twice to choose a number. The twenty-third film on the second shelf of my tv stand was Pride and Prejudice. Being a staunch Janeist, I am ashamed to admit that it is the Kiera Knightly version.
Though it is beautifully filmed, the blatant gothic undertones of the movie always make me cringe. I imagine sitting next to Jane, or perhaps I should say, I am sprawled inelegantly on the sofa in stretch pants while she lounges in a chair, the epitome of grace and intelligence. So, I am "reclining" next to Jane as she protests the dramatic proposal scene in the rain or the soaring music as Lizzie's cloak billows ominously in the wind on the cliffs of the Peak District. I can hear her declare that her intention was to present a realistic yet humorous view of relationships and that the extreme emotions of the gothic style are exactly what she intended to satirize in Northanger Abbey. Of course, I can then see her turning to me with a sly smile as she admits that Mr. Darcy is wickedly handsome.
And, though I know it has nothing to do with the novel which is perfection, I do adore the second proposal scene. What woman does not want a man to declare his passionate love to her in the magic moments of the day when the light is just emerging? Yet, I believe that the beauty of the scene is not in the lighting, the score, or the tender words. The beauty is in the fact that two wildly different people have overcome their conflicts, their incompatible backgrounds, and their various misunderstandings to find a friend who is also their dearest love. It is a hope that keeps us coming back for more. It is a lovely dream that we wait to see fulfilled.
P.S. The score of the film is heartbreakingly beautiful.
Though it is beautifully filmed, the blatant gothic undertones of the movie always make me cringe. I imagine sitting next to Jane, or perhaps I should say, I am sprawled inelegantly on the sofa in stretch pants while she lounges in a chair, the epitome of grace and intelligence. So, I am "reclining" next to Jane as she protests the dramatic proposal scene in the rain or the soaring music as Lizzie's cloak billows ominously in the wind on the cliffs of the Peak District. I can hear her declare that her intention was to present a realistic yet humorous view of relationships and that the extreme emotions of the gothic style are exactly what she intended to satirize in Northanger Abbey. Of course, I can then see her turning to me with a sly smile as she admits that Mr. Darcy is wickedly handsome.
And, though I know it has nothing to do with the novel which is perfection, I do adore the second proposal scene. What woman does not want a man to declare his passionate love to her in the magic moments of the day when the light is just emerging? Yet, I believe that the beauty of the scene is not in the lighting, the score, or the tender words. The beauty is in the fact that two wildly different people have overcome their conflicts, their incompatible backgrounds, and their various misunderstandings to find a friend who is also their dearest love. It is a hope that keeps us coming back for more. It is a lovely dream that we wait to see fulfilled.
P.S. The score of the film is heartbreakingly beautiful.
Monday, August 13, 2012
Vintage Beginnings
I remember when it all began. The hot June sun baked the backseat of my Mommom's Honda. I leaned my head back and let the light turn the back side of my eyelids into a fiery dance of amber and gold. I usually read in the car, but the mixed odors of french fries and mildew made me feel queasy. I always wondered why she didn't fix that leak in the window, though I suppose I would have hesitated to change a livable situation if I had survived the depression with ten hungry brothers and sisters by my side, a father who was losing his mind, and no money to speak of.
School was over and we were taking our final trip to the library. I loved the hours we spent each week surrounded by a thousand adventures. It always astonished me that such amazing things could take place between the narrow binding of a book. I was a reader and I knew it. But that day, I began an adventure of discovery that was unanticipated.
As I day-dreamed in the glaring sun, I became aware of the strains of a song that I had never heard before. The energy and pulse and glory of the sound were fireworks bursting my world into dazzling clarity. I was instantly enchanted. I felt as if I had never heard anything before in my life. My mommom told me it was a song she had danced to as a girl. She and her girlfriends would take a bus to the army base where the USO would host dances for the men who were about to ship off to battle.
The song and the story intertwined, soaking through my skin and pumping through my veins as my heart beat to the rhythm of the bass, the squeal of the trumpet, and the humor of the vocals. Mommom said it was called "The Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy." Even the title made me happy; I still can't say it without grinning.
She passed me a cassette case graced with a photo of the three most glamorous girls I had ever seen. With knowing smiles, they beamed at me from glossy black and white perfection. And that was the beginning.
That was the day I met The Andrews Sisters.
School was over and we were taking our final trip to the library. I loved the hours we spent each week surrounded by a thousand adventures. It always astonished me that such amazing things could take place between the narrow binding of a book. I was a reader and I knew it. But that day, I began an adventure of discovery that was unanticipated.
As I day-dreamed in the glaring sun, I became aware of the strains of a song that I had never heard before. The energy and pulse and glory of the sound were fireworks bursting my world into dazzling clarity. I was instantly enchanted. I felt as if I had never heard anything before in my life. My mommom told me it was a song she had danced to as a girl. She and her girlfriends would take a bus to the army base where the USO would host dances for the men who were about to ship off to battle.
The song and the story intertwined, soaking through my skin and pumping through my veins as my heart beat to the rhythm of the bass, the squeal of the trumpet, and the humor of the vocals. Mommom said it was called "The Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy." Even the title made me happy; I still can't say it without grinning.
She passed me a cassette case graced with a photo of the three most glamorous girls I had ever seen. With knowing smiles, they beamed at me from glossy black and white perfection. And that was the beginning.
That was the day I met The Andrews Sisters.
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