birthdays

At the end of his 13th birthday (long after he should have fallen asleep), S let me know his day had been a disappointment. Not terrible, just not as special as he'd hoped.

At first I felt defensive--hadn't I woken up at 6:30, gotten him breakfast and made his lunch? Special trip to Target to buy hazelnuts for the homemade chocolate hazelnut cheesecake. No hassling about excessive video gaming after school. Dinner out--not Tucanos, as he might have wished, but an enormous bacon, cheddar cheeseburger (Iggy's). Free ice cream sundae to himself, plus said cheesecake later. Received everything he asked for (a couple video games) and more.

Later I thought about what I could have done more--I could have made a big breakfast instead of getting Costco cinnamon rolls out of the freezer. Could have made a more special lunch, or taken him out. Could have decorated with balloons and such.

Daughter A recently announced that she wants a big bunch of balloons and/or flowers delivered to school on her birthday (in spring). I'd actually had a similar thought a few days earlier, when one of my students received a balloons and flowers in class. But then I thought that other kids would feel jealous. Maybe that's the point, and my kids are usually the ones feeling jealous. This morning I thought, maybe I should deliver balloons to S today at school, but then I thought, he's in 7th grade, attending a high school, and I'm his mom. Not cool.


I'm not going to beat myself up too much--I've long realized that while I'm reasonably good at a number of things, celebrating holidays in memorably excessive ways is not one of those things. I'm working on it.

simplify

So far this experiment isn't going well (I'm not writing, and, well, thanks, Anna, for being my audience). One positive, though, is that I am thinking about what I might write much more often than is here evident.

Last week I missed two book groups. The first, in my new neighborhood, read A Gift from the Sea (Anne Morrow Lindburgh). I read it several years ago and still had my copy--got about halfway in and decided to follow Lindburgh's advice and simplify my life; therefore, didn't finish the book and skipped the group. Another day I might have opted for the social interaction, but had several commitments that day and felt E and I deserved a quiet morning at home.

The second group, in my former neighborhood, read Tuesdays with Morrie. Liked it the first time, but not in the mood to face it again (or cry through book group, which I would have done, particularly since one of our members is in the middle of chemo).

6 research papers down and 40 to go. Sigh. Can't wait until next semester, when I'll teach only one section and have a grad student grading half the papers.

Sufjan concert

Went to Sufjan Stevens concert last night with N--he's the fan. To me, many of Sufjan's old songs sound like he and his friends got together to drink and record a jam session. Last night he played his new stuff: mostly techno-sci fi, which could be great if you're into psychedelic meandering. But I'm not into that, nor would I expect his fan base to be. Sufjan has a nice, clear voice, and punctuated the set with short acoustic pieces that contain lovely harmony--the kind of songs that have always been my favorite of his. He has a friendly stage presence, and talked about his creative process, explaining that several years ago he got tired of his music and decided to abandon melody and traditional songs and experiment with sound.

I guess it's not surprising that artists would get tired of doing the same thing forever, and Sufjan has always been independent, not commercial. But for a while I couldn't help feeling that he'd betrayed his fans--we'd paid to hear and dance and sing to his folksy, melodic, banjo tunes, and instead got repetitive, self-indulgent synthesizer music. It reminded me of a couple things: 1) Modern art--some people might find it brilliant, but the masses are perplexed (I don't always align myself with the masses, but here I will); 2) Writing as a mode of self-expression, rather than a means of communication--which has it's place, but that place is usually private, not public.

As far as I can tell, Sufjan was writing his music for himself, not his fans. Perhaps that's always been the case, and perhaps he's as surprised as anyone that he has fans who pay to buy his records and see him in concert. I think he is aware of his audience in that he thanked us for sitting through his new music and rewarded us with a few old songs at the end of the show. I'll take that as an apology and be glad that N wasn't too disappointed.

A minute late

More than once I have glanced at the dashboard clock and inwardly groaned that despite waking up hours before and running ever since, there was no way I would arrive at my destination on time. This morning was a case in point:
7:38 reluctantly roll out of bed (not exactly early bird, but I climbed into bed after midnight, and require 8 hours per night to function properly)
-see the shower cleaner on the counter and ask myself whether cleaning the shower is necessary, and do I have time?
-spray glass, lower 1/3 of walls
-wash hands, make bed
-wipe down, rinse shower, clean self
-stand in closet for 5 minutes, knowing that I don't have 5 minutes and that staring at my clothes won't improve them
-dress in a black and white tweedy skirt and 3/4 sleeve black sweater, knee-highs, heels
-apply make-up, grab earrings, realize once downstairs that backs aren't attached. No time to run up and get earring backs
-greet children, ask if they've made lunch (knowing they haven't--I always do)
-While eating banana, grab granola bars, trail mix, peanut butter crackers from pantry, tell kids to choose 2-3.
-M asks what's for dessert. Allow them each Reeses pieces
-grab myself granola bar and gum (knowing that if I don't come home before class, won't have chance to brush teeth--yuck), work bag, run to car
-run inside for E's shoes
-drop off M, pick up A's friend, drop off A and friend at 8:42 (2 minutes late)
-head for church distribution to buy M's scriptures (turned 8 in early Sept., won't be baptised til November. Was reminded of need to buy scriptures when a student shared her excitement and anticipation re. getting her set when she turned 8. Hope M not too crushed at our oversight--imagine not).
-Arrive 8:49, store not open until 9:00--can't imagine what we'd do if we stay and wait.
-Remember car needs gas--go to nearby station
-Back at 8:58; other people waiting (such eagerness for church materials!)
-Buy scriptures, but embosser not here til 10:00--will have to return (Wonder, Does the embosser do anything besides emboss? How many hours is s/he employed? How did embosser become qualified for job?). Wish I'd known and saved a trip.
-Determine to go home instead of to Kohl's to return A's dress (N bought dress for her after determining that A and I weren't efficient dress shoppers. Grateful to be finished with task, I didn't complain re. cost or lack of versatility, but after A decided not to wear it Sunday--too Christmassy (sp?)--N suggested dress be returned. Later we found that Grandma had also bought A Christmas dress--sealed the deal). Will instead go home now and go to Kohl's when I have time to use $10 coupon recently removed from newspaper.
-9:20 return home, determined to leave in 10 minutes
-Brush teeth, put on earrings, use bathroom, ask E if she wants to use potty at home or school. E: "Home. Kids at school mean." Me: "Kids at school are mean?" E: "No, nice."
-Leave at 9:32, drop off E, drive to campus, arrive 9:47, think I'm in good time, remember I have to pick up copies
-At crosswalk see prof I think I know (but think that hundreds of profs look similar from behind, with white-gray hair and bald spot), talking with someone I don't know. Too self-conscious to dart past until through cross-walk
-Crossing campus, wish I had on slacks and flats instead of skirt and heels
-Wait for elevator, up 4 flights, down long hall, then return down 4 flights, 2 buildings away, down stairs
10:01 late again

Cake Balls, the recipe

1 cake mix, eggs, oil, water (as per box)
1 tub frosting
12 oz. chocolate chips (or dipping chocolate, or similar)

Prepare cake according to package instructions. Let cool.
Put cake in large bowl. Add tub of frosting. Mix with a large spoon.
Using a small scooper, shape cake mixture into balls. Feel free to use your hands.
Place balls on waxed-paper lined baking sheet (or similar). Freeze for a couple hours. Melt chocolate chips. Working quickly, dip cake balls in melted chocolate. Can use a toothpick. Place on clean waxed paper. Let chocolate harden. Enjoy.

I've made them only once (yesterday), and I have to say, I'm no expert at dipping things in chocolate. Next I plan to try German chocolate cake with pecan-coconut frosting (probably semi-sweet choc. coating). The flavor combinations are endless.

Why cake balls, part 2

1. Failing to come up with a clever title that captures who I am and what's important to me, I felt a random title was the next best thing.
2. Short and sweet
3. Surprising and memorable

back to the blogosphere

I have a short history of failed blogs. First, I started one for my kids, thinking that providing them with a real audience would inspire them to write (wrong). Second, I started one for parents of gifted and talented students in our city--I think I was the only person who ever visited the blog. Third, I started or joined a blog for instructors who teach expository writing for elementary education majors. Haven’t logged on in ages—can’t even remember how.

So, I'm a bit cynical about blogs. Will anyone read it? Will I keep it up? I haven't exactly spent much time reading other people's blogs, so I can't expect them to follow mine.

You may well ask, Why make another attempt? I suppose I'm driven by the guilt, hypocrisy, and irony of my situation: I am a writing teacher who writes less frequently than most people I know.

Why now? I think the impetus is, at least in part, a book I just read: Diary of a Provincial Lady, by E. M. Delafield. As I read the book, I couldn't tell whether it was novel or diary—to me it read more like a novel: it was too smart, witty, crafted—in short, too literary—to be a diary (and did real people ever really live and think like the diary's author?). (Wiki describes the book as a novel that is largely autobiographical.) Our book group host assigned us to bring a diary entry—an interesting, but somewhat challenging, assignment—I'm not used to writing diary entries for public consumption (i.e., blog entries). "Diary" connotes privacy—a locked book that girls hide under mattresses. A big obstacle in writing my entry was that I felt that it needed to be as intelligent and humorous as the novel. Much of Delafield’s humor lies in how she portrays her characters—my characters (and, to some extent, hers) are real people. Since I just moved and this would be my first time attending a new book group with mostly strangers, I didn’t have to worry about portraying people they knew, but I didn’t want to throw my husband and kids under the bus, give too much away, or appear snarky. My entry was brief.

At book group, one member asked if reading the book had inspired anyone to start writing a diary. No one responded directly, but I’d have to say, “Yes, I guess it did.” We’ll see how long it lasts.