NYC and Halloween!

Happy Halloween!

If you’ve known me long, you know I love coming up with costumes. I didn’t get a chance to wear a costume out this year (unless you count dressing like Laura), but I did make one. I wanted something new, creative and cheap. What to do? Then it hit me! A costume that required nothing more than a black dress, a white shirt, a headless doll and braids. That’s right, Wednesday Addams. I tried to look creepy in the photo. How did I do? P.S. I made the doll’s dress in less than 30 minutes using a sock and a rag. Awesome, right? My costuming skills continue to rule.

As for the Laura costume, this weekend I went to the city! It was Laura’s and Tom’s birthdays, and the bus company was having a sale: round trip for $40! My taxi ride from my apartment to the station cost as much as a one way ticket to New York! The flight left an hour late, and we drove all night. By 9:15 a.m. I was on the Subway to Queens. At Laura’s apartment, we both napped, had afternoon brunch with her boyfriend, then read and napped some more.

Then it was time to go out. Laura lent me a cute black dress and a signature Laura necklace. She makes the prettiest jewelry. We went out for paella. The whole gang was there: Laura, Madrid, Carolina, Riza and I were together again! It was so good to see all of them. “But it doesn’t feel like you’re back,” Madrid said, “It feels like you’re still here. It’s like I’m not appreciating having you here enough because it just feels like it’s the we’re out for the weekend and I’ll see you in a few days.” But it was just a visit, so I hugged everyone about a thousand times.

That was it, exactly. It felt like I’d never been gone. We went on to Sutra, a trendy club that only lets you have a table if you buy a bottle. Some mediocre wine was $160 per bottle, so we took off (though Riza stayed behind when her entourage arrived, and Madrid went grocery shopping). We went to No Malice Palace (aka Goth-Hop bar, a gothic setting with hip-hop music). After dancing there for quite a while, we decided to go someplace where we could talk.

We ended up at a packed sports bar, and Laura wasn’t the happiest. She is a consummate hostess and always wants everyone to have a great time. When Carolina left, when Ryan’s friend was engrossed in texting, and when a jerk stomped on my ankle (how do you even manage that?), she swung from her usual sunny self to sadness. Nooooo! But luckily, Laura is resilient. She lets herself feel what she’s feeling in the moment, then lets the anger or sadness go.

What we didn’t know at the time was that Laura was suffering from the early stages of a migraine, which was making her more emotional. Anyhoo, everything was peachy until Laura’s friend Maria accidentally took off with my jacket. Whoops. Well, for a little while we thought it was stolen, and the stress drove Laura’s migraine over the edge. But the missing jacket mystery was solved. Even though Laura was wracked with pain (I even cried a little, because it was so sad), Ryan and I got her to laugh a little. She’s a trooper, and her hair is so shiny!

The next morning I was up by nine a.m. Nothing refreshes you like four hours of sleep. I hugged Miss Laura goodbye and schlepped up to Spanish Harlem to retrieve my jacket (H&M belted black corduroy, size 8) in exchange for Maria’s jacket (H&M buttoned brown corduroy, size 14). I guess she wasn’t chilly enough to try mine on when she left the bar. Then I cut through my favorite part of the park, Conservatory Gardens, over to my old apartment in Harlem. (In Conservatory Gardens, the flowers were still in bloom, and the bees were everywhere. See the photo I snapped at left.

At the old apartment, Rick gave me my mail, some of it from July…when I was still in the city. What’s with not giving me my mail, roomie? One voucher from the United Federation of Teachers would have paid for an eye exam and new glasses. Grr.

Then I hopped on a train down to the village where I was meeting Tom for lunch. We wandered for quite a while, trying to find an interesting restaurant that wasn’t packed like a can of sardines. Eventually we found a cute-yet-affordable bistro-ish place where I got Eggs Benedict and Tom lamented once again that he doesn’t like eggs. Well, his hanger steak looked great.

I told Tom how it felt, not like I was back, but like I’d never been gone. Like I belonged in New York, but needed to be in Virginia. I admitted that if I’d gotten into one of the New York schools, my MFA would have been something I did on the side. It wouldn’t have gotten the focus it’s getting now. He got this weird smile on his face, a smile that said “I told you so.” Not in a bad way. Back when I hadn’t decided what to do yet, Tom told me he felt like I was meant to go. At the time it bugged me, because Tom’s not into destiny. I was confused, not sure if he meant that I couldn’t cut it in the city or that he though we should be over, but had no other reason for us to break up. Now I know that he sensed what I also sensed then and know now. To be happy, I needed to see the world a new way and really focus on my career for a while.

After dinner, we decided to walk down to Chinatown, where I was supposed to arrive by 4:30 for my 5 p.m. bus. We had fun walking and talking. The only awkward moment was when we ran into two of Tom’s former students, who assumed I was his girlfriend. Mmm…no. Before we knew it, we were there, both of us amazed that there was a bus station with just one purpose: to run a daily bus back and forth between NYC and Norfolk, Virginia. Then we hugged goodbye. He kissed me on one cheek and I kissed his…and then he kissed my cheek again... thus, a little more awkwardness. But we laughed it off. I got on the bus and rode away, back to Virginia and school and my career.

Shoe update no one cares about.

I’m returning both pairs of high heels I ordered (welcome back to my wallet, $100!), but my new tennis shoes are awesome. So, too, are my fabulous boots from Mom and Dad. The heel is lower than I thought, making them more comfy than I expected. I have just one tiny quibble. I would like to wear my boots with a skirt, but I can’t. I have slender legs, and the boots are just too roomy around my ankles and calves. Oh, well. They look kickin’ under a pair of pants! Thanks again, parents.

Work, a workshop and working my wages.

This week was a little more normal, with no festival, no break and no conferences. Monday was a little unusual, because I went to a workshop for writing teachers. I’m taking a class on teaching college composition, and Professor Neff canceled class so we could all go. I carpooled over to Christopher Newport University in Newport News, VA, with Jacob (the guy in my classes who used to be a helicopter pilot in the army).

He had downloaded an audiobook of North and South, which we’re reading for our 19^th Century British Lit class. We listened to it going to and from the workshop. Cheryl Glenn, the woman conducting the workshop, is chair of the Conference on College Composition and Communication. I really liked her presentation. I disagreed on a few fine points, but overall she was great. She modeled the way composition teachers should hold their classes (lively with a lot of student interaction and input). She also had some great grading advice that may save me hours! She suggests we spend time writing comments on, but not grading, drafts. Commenting will be more fun without the pressure of grading, because you're just trying to help the student get better.

Then, when you’re grading the final paper, write the grade and three sentences: I see you were working on ______. You did a great job with ________ and __________. I hope you’ll continue to work on _________. Nice! But what about the rubric, I wondered? (A rubric is a detailed chart rating student performance in various categories to determine the overall grade.) A classmate suggested I use the rubric in conferences. Perfect! I think younger students need a detailed rubric at every step, but for college students…well, they need to get used to their grades being a little mysterious, because few professors provide detailed rubrics.

At the conference, they gave us cookies, free books and the centerpieces. I ended up with a little raffia pumpkin and a flower. (See photo above, left.) It’s so cute. I’ve been wanting a plant, but couldn’t justify the expense. Free flowers, hooray! I’m going to name it. Penelope, maybe? I’m open to suggestions, so please respond with some. Man, I hope I don't kill it.

Tuesday I had a midterm that took longer than usual. I also had to write two poems and write two responses before class at seven. I just barely got it all done. Wednesday I was finishing the first half of North and South. After class, Jake was going to check out a local Peruvian restaurant and asked if I wanted to come with. I agreed, and the food was lovely. Mmmm…steak with bean-infused rice (bean-coated rice? I don’t know how to explain it.) On the side was a chopped salad of tomatoes and red onions and I had a fabulous Peruvian soda that Jake describes as a combination of mountain dew and cream soda. I think it tasted more like the pineapple soda I used to get sometimes in Spanish Harlem.

Jake proposed an interesting idea. He thinks everyone should have to serve the country for two years after high school graduation. You wouldn’t have to sign up for the military (although you could). You could choose a program like the Red Cross or Habitat for Humanity or Americorps. Whatever the program, everyone in America would get to experience discipline and community. Everyone would have a working skill and would have access to undergraduate education after their term of service. I think it’s brilliant. The lack of freedom would be annoying, but there are so many people out there who are convinced they can’t accomplish anything. With a program like this, they would have to. After dinner, I spotted the craziest car in the parking lot.

Thursday I was in full research mode, working on my 19^th Century Lit class. We read an excerpt from Eastern Life, Present and Past by Harriet Martineau. In one part of the book, she describes the "hareems" she visited, and when I got home I turned on the TV. “The Girls Next Door,” a “reality show” about life in the Playboy Mansion, was on. The Playboy Mansion was eerily like the harems described in the article. I had to research on line so I could properly site the episode in my paper. I think this is the kind of project that makes my dad feel skeptical about the over-educated. The point is, we study the past to better understand our current culture and our daily lives. The show is evidence that, two hundred years after the original text, people are still fascinated by rich guys with too many girlfriends living under one roof.

I’ve already written a tome on my online shopping adventure. Since then it’s all been studying. You know, I have some young relatives who read this blog once in a while. I sometimes wonder: Am I being a good example to talk so much about money and other material things?

The answer is: Yes! Establishing a healthy relationship with money will helps to establish good credit, live within one's means, save up for important opportunities and buy only what one really needs or really wants. It’s also essential for healthy relationships. (According to a survey by Consumer Credit Counseling Service, “sixty percent of married respondents report fighting about money with their spouse. In addition, nineteen percent said that financial problems negatively affected their relationships with their parents; while thirteen percent said the same was true for their friends.”)

It’s important, but it’s not easy. I’m not going to pretend it is! Right now, my bank account looks like it has plenty of money, but I’ll have to buy Christmas presents before long. I have gigantic NYC taxes to face in April, and I don’t get paid over the summer, so I need enough cash left over to cover three and a half months’ expenses. If I want to go home for the summer, I’ll need money for plane tickets, too. I have to be careful without becoming a miser. Being too miserly will make you just as miserable as being broke (those words are related for a reason). I'm just trying to find the balance. I hope you all find it, too.

So here are my rules: 1- credit cards are only for emergencies, and should be paid off aggressively, and 2- think about tomorrow when spending today. Suze Orman says to ask yourself: Is it kind? Is it necessary? Is it true? If the answer to any of those questions is no, don’t buy it. (For example, take credit card debt. "It's not kind. Is it necessary? You know that it isn't. And if you don't have the money to pay for it outright, it is not true. If you have to put it on a credit card, it's not true." From Oprah.com.) Oh, how I love that woman and her crazy leather clothes. Her fashion? Sometimes crazy. Her advice? Always brilliant.

Covering my feet.

Yesterday, I was so happy and proud of how well I was doing financially. (I set up an IRA account to roll over the money from my NYC retirement money.) I make a poverty-level salary, but if I scrimp and save properly, I should be able to get by. The thing is, I need to make certain investments.

I need trips home to visit my friends and family to recharge. I need books for my classes and for my poetry reading list (required for all poetry MFA students). I need basic clothing to keep me warm, and professional clothing so I can make good impressions on visiting writers, supervisors and the potential employers when I look for summer jobs or employment after graduation.

I've known for a while that I have a shoe problem. When I was packing up all my stuff in New York, I sorted through my clothes and got rid of most of my clothes that didn't fit or that I hadn't worn in a year. As a result, I am down to nine pairs of shoes...and that's counting my heavy snow boots, which won't do me much good in southern Virginia. (See all except the snow boots at left). I adore my flip-flops, my strappy ballet-sneaker hybrids, my sequined high-heeled sandals and my dark brown knee-high boots (though I only bought them because the store didn't have that size and style in black).

However, my sneakers are a half-size too small and I've almost worn the tread off them. (They were shoes I bought to wear just until I found shoes that fit.) My beige wedges give me blisters. I only keep them because they're my only non-black dressy shoes. I never wear my brown ankle boots. My patent leather high-heeled Mary Janes are adorable, but VERY high-heeled. They're not the comfiest, and they're a bit too saucy for job interviews and the like. In other words, I own nine pairs of shoes, but I only really wear four pairs. Only one of those four will work in cold weather: the high-heeled boots, which wouldn't be too comfy for walking around all day long or teaching. Also, because they're brown, they don't go with most of my clothing.

I was on the J.C. Penney's web site, looking at leather jackets. Mom and Dad bought me an adorable jacket last year, but it didn't fit. I returned it in exchange for a J.C. Penney's gift card. While searching "leather" on the store's site, I didn't see a jacket I wanted for the right price, but I did see a perfect pair of black leather boots. Thanks for the pretty boots, Mom and Dad!

I decided to pay more than my usual $30 a pair in the hopes that these will last longer than my usual cheapo boots. (I tend to wear through the heels of a pair a year.) Then I got to thinking about my other shoe needs. I do not love shoe shopping, so I decided to get it over with, all at once.

Recently a fellow MFA student recommended Zappos.com to me. Zappos offers narrow sizes(HOORAY!), free overnight shipping and free return shipping. They have a 100% satisfaction guarantee. I decided to try it out.

In the old fashioned way of shoe shopping, I would go into a store and try on every pair of any shoe even close to suitable for the given occasion in both a 9.5 and a 10. Most stores don't have narrow sizes, so I could only try styles with straps. About an hour later, with the salesperson and I on the verge of a breakdown, I would buy the one pair that fit my long, skinny feet or walk out frustrated and empty-handed, only to have to start over in the next store.

Now I don't know if all the shoes will fit when they arrive, but so far I like online shoe shopping much better than the old fashioned way. You click your size (including narrow width !), style, and price range. Then you just look at the pretty pictures, read the description and click it into your cart.

I found a pair of black peep-toed heels, boring black sneakers and brown peep-toed sling-backs (Hello, non-black shoes! Someday, when I have two nickels to rub together, there will be more of you!) that were in my budget. Hooray! There were some non-peep-toed-shoes I liked, but they were too pricey, so my big toe may have to chill a little. The shoes should arrive tomorrow and I'm so excited. I'll be a little disappointed if they don't fit, but the return policy seems easy. Yay!

I was still within my budget, but then this morning, my bag broke! NOOOO! I'm not one of those handbag girls with a million purses. I don't care about designers or the latest style, but I did love that bag. It was a cute fake-leather tote that was half-briefcase, half-purse. It fit my grade book, a notebook and a text book, as well as everything I normally keep in my purse. I could go straight from class or work to dinner or drinks with it. It looked so nice.

Women would stop me to tell me they'd been searching for something just like it. Now I can see why! I've been looking online all day, and can't find anything suitable for less than $60, which, post shoe-shopping, is not in my budget. I bought the old one cheap at Kmart or Target or Gordmans a year or two ago. I always thought it was great that I paid a tiny price for something that looked like a million bucks, but now I'm taking the hit that often comes with cheap things.

I can't afford a cute new briefcase/shoulder bag hybrid, but I found a few I like and have put them on my Amazon.com Wish List. If any of you wants to buy me an extravagant present (and you know you do), take your pick and send it my way. Until then (or until I save up), I'll have to make due with the adorable, sporty Gap laptop bag Mom and Dad got me a few years ago. My cousin Jenny got one, and I coveted it so much that my parents got me one of my own. It works well for a grad student. I'll just need the fancier one when I start looking for jobs.

Conferences, Geneology and Poetry.

Fall break (Oct. 6-9) went by so quickly! I was exhausted from the literature festival. I was trying to get all my work done, while also attending tons of readings, lunches, receptions and after-hours gatherings (and I snapped this photo of the school mascot). I basically crashed all weekend, then used Monday and Tuesday to play catch-up.

Wednesday and Friday I had my first student conferences. For the paper they recently turned in, some students didn’t cite their sources properly, and one young woman seemed to have straight-up plagiarized hers. I had a tough decision to make. Would I just turn them in or try to put the fear of God into them? I decided not to possibly end their academic careers because I had a suspicion that was quickly confirmed: “That’s how I wrote my papers in high school, and no one ever said anything,” said plagiarism girl. The others said things like, “Well, I changed some words,” or “My teachers said you didn’t have to quote definitions.” WHAT??? Wrong, wrong, wrong.

My suspicion was that that some of my students came from the kind of school I used to teach at, schools where their teachers were overwhelmed by having too many classes filled with too many students, many of whom had deficient writing skills. Those fine men and women were just struggling to keep everyone’s heads above water and get everyone graduated. As such, they did not have the time or energy for teaching the finer points of quoting, paraphrasing and using proper notation. They didn’t have the time and energy to play plagiarism police. So I went for scaring them, but in a good-cop kind of way:

Me (with scary, serious tone): Is there anything you want to tell me about this paper?

Them (scared witless, but trying to hide it): No. Why? What do you mean?

Me: Let me read you the school policy from the syllabus. (Then I did, and if they still didn’t crack, I pointed out sections with obvious shifts in voice or information they couldn’t have without a source.)

Them: (Various excuses.)

Me (gravely, yet conspiratorially): Listen, most teachers would have just turned this paper in to the plagiarism board. Your teachers don’t need proof. If they even suspect you of cheating, they can pass the paper on for the board to investigate, and the board looks into it and decides what will happen to you. (True, true, and mostly true. The board gives the teacher a recommendation of what should happen to the student, but the teacher gets the final say. However, if the student is found to have cheated, it goes on their record regardless.)

Them: I’m sooo sorry. I’ll be more careful! It will never happen again.

Me: See that it doesn’t. I would hate to see your academic career ended over something like this. Besides, I want to read what you think and what you have to say.”

It wasn’t all bad. I got to have some good conversations with my students that may have made them better writers. I love one-on-one teaching experiences.

That weekend, I was so tired! During conferences, I’d have conferences from 8 a.m. until my 4 p.m. class, then class until 7. By the weekend, I was tuckered out, although I did start working on some poems. When poet Honree Fanine Jeffers was here, she read about a Cherokee ancestor who left her tribe behind to marry a slave.

I was struck by a question: How do two people of such different backgrounds come in contact? How do they decide to get married? I grew up knowing we had some Native American (Indian?) blood, and I remembered Grandma Carol talking about a Johnson ancestor whose Christian name was Rebecca.

I wrote a poem about it, then called my mom – keeper of the family tree … until it blew away – to get more details. Without the written tree, the only Indian ancestor she could think of on the Johnson line was…POCAHONTAS! (“WHAT?”) Okay, I vaguely remember being told that as a child, but as a little girl I could never keep straight if it was Pocahontas or Sacagawea. Years later, when I did research, I found conclusively that we could not be related to Sacagawea. Well, that makes sense, since we’re not even rumored to be related to her.

This new correction sent me after some new research on a forum for descendants of Pocahontas (http://genforum.genealogy.com/pocahontas/). Okay, I found a Johnson ancestor linked to her, but that link is through a “Blue Bolling.” Pocahontas and her husband, John Rolfe, had one son, Thomas, who married Jane Poythress and had one daughter, Jane Rolfe. She married Robert Bolling and had one son, John Bolling. John married Mary Kenyon, and they had various descendants. I say various, because some people are confirmed descendants (known as “Red Bollings”); some are relatives, but not blood descendants of Pocahontas (known as “White Bollings); and some have been linked to the Pocahontas through mysterious Bollings who seemed to appear years later from out of the blue (“Blue Bollings”). So far, it appears we descend from the Blue Bollings.

It’s entirely possible that I was tracing the wrong Johnson, and I’ll probably look into it in the future, but for now it’s a maybe. One way or another, someone in the family tree had to be American Indian. I mean, look at J.B.’s hair and eyes! Even if Pocahontas was an ancestor, could one woman in the 1600s have that much affect on his appearance? I suspect there were other Native American women mixed in here and there. Pocahontas is just the one the family claimed. She was famous and noble. Maybe some of my ancestors didn’t want to claim an average American Indian, but would claim and Indian “princess.” Well, if we claim Pocahontas, we also have to claim John Rolfe, the man who gave birth to the modern tobacco industry. Rolfe replaced the harsh, native Virginia tobacco (which the whites didn’t like and couldn’t sell) with “sweeter strains from Trinidad,” according to Wikipedia (where I also found the portrait above, left, by Simon van de Passe.)

That led more, interesting poems – not to mention more interesting poems. (What a difference a comma makes!) I’m taking inspiration wherever I can find it, and adding it to my file. A few poems have been lost. I forgot them before I got them written down or I lost the notebooks or scraps of paper or napkins they were written on. That weekend, I added my 150^th poem to the file! That’s a lot of poems. Wish me luck on adding more, better poetry.

My tummy rejoices at the glory of the chicken!

Tonight I made the most glorious dish I have ever cooked. Oh, the Sage and Saffron Risotto was impressive. The Chicken la Bodega was scrumptious. But this, Garlic Chicken and Peppers with Beans is in a world of its own. I must give it a zippier name.

I found it online when I was looking for a way to use up some chicken stock and white wine I had opened for another recipe. I wasn't sure I'd like it. I'm not that big on cooked red peppers. Correction: I wasn't very big on cooked red peppers. I am telling you, people! This is one to try.

Garlic Chicken and Peppers with Beans

1/4 cup olive oil
2 red bell peppers, stemmed, seeded, and cut into 1/4-inch strips
1 chicken, cut into 8 pieces (3 1/2 pounds) [They're crazy. I used 2 lbs. of thighs and had 5 servings.]
1 cup dry white wine
1 cup chicken broth
6 garlic cloves
1 teaspoon dried sage leaves, or 8 large fresh leaves, snipped
salt and freshly ground black pepper
1 can (15 ounces) white cannellini beans [aka white kidney beans], rinsed and drained
1 can (15 ounces) small red kidney beans, rinsed and drained
1/4 cup (packed) flat-leaf parsley leaves

Preheat oven to 375°F.

Heat the oil in a deep 6-quart flameproof casserole over medium-high heat. Add the bell peppers, cover, and cook over low heat until tender, 5 minutes. While these are cooking, remove the skin from the chicken pieces (except for the wings, where it is just too hard).

Push the peppers to the side and add the chicken. Cook over medium heat just to stiffen the flesh, 2 minutes on each side. Remove the breast pieces from the casserole and set them aside. [if you're just using thighs, just leave them in.] Add the wine, broth, garlic, and sage and bring the liquid to a simmer. Add 1 teaspoon salt and pepper to taste. Cover, transfer the casserole to the oven, and bake for 30 minutes.

Return the breast meat to the casserole, and add the white and red beans. Continue to bake, uncovered, until the chicken is cooked through, 15 minutes. While the chicken is cooking, coarsely chop the parsley.

Serve the chicken in deep bowls, sprinkled with fresh parsley and swimming in all its lovely fragrant juices. Or, using a slotted spoon, transfer chicken and beans to a serving plate. Boil the juices down until only 2 cups remain, 3 to 4 minutes. Adjust the seasoning, stir in the parsley, and ladle the sauce over the chicken and beans.

Time: 15 minutes preparation. 1 hour no-work baking time.

Makes 4 servings. [Again I say, 2 lbs. of thighs yielded 5 big servings.]

Try it, people! Your house will smell fabulous, and it will be the most flavorful, juicy chicken you've ever had.

ODU Literature Festival- Day 4!

ODU Literature Festival- Day 3!

Wednesday morning came so early! I was sleepy from all I had been doing the last two days. I’d been rushing around constantly, from teaching to studying to this reception to that author’s reading. I had my students give me a little midterm evaluation, just to see how I’m doing. The results were mixed.

Some thought I explained things too much, others not enough. No one thought my class was boring (I’m very proud of that). A few students tried to scam me: “We should do more readings in class so we don’t have to do them at home.” “You shouldn’t ask us to do so much at an 8 a.m. class.” Hee! There were some constructive suggestions about how I should structure class, but what’s with the laziness, people? Human nature, I guess…well, at least Freshman nature.

The lit fest kicked off for the day with a reading by poet Alan Shapiro. One of my poetry classmates got to introduce him. She had been talking about it for weeks. He is her “poetry hero,” and made her want to be a poet. I’d gotten to chat with him at lunch, and he was rather funny, talking about his life.

Shapiro grew up with Yiddish in the home and American English outside. When people describe him as a Jewish-American poet, he responds that he lives in the hyphen: “That’s where my imagination is most fertile: in the mixing ground where it’s more impure.” He’s also fascinated by the gods, and what people are capable of. “The gods are incapable of excellence because they have no limits.” He contrasted this with the acts of athletes, “whose human bodies are basically like ours,” but are capable of amazing feats.

His poetry is bitter-sweet and daring. Some is abstract. Others are inspired by things he's observed in life. For example one heartbreaking poem about a relationship disolving shocked the audience into laughter with the line “It’s not the eggrolls, Harry. It’s the last ten years!” During the Q&A, someone asked about the humor in his poetry.

“Life is miserable,” he replied. “I don’t know how you live in the presence of the sorrow and mortal terror without a sense of humor.” Yow.

Then it was off to class. We were discussing 19^th Century prose (and unfortunately missing a reading by Navajo poet Sherwin Bitsui). Then professor Moraou was nice enough to let us out early. Jake and I walked over. Then I was back to work hosting. Yippee. The director of the festival, Janet Peery, thanked me many times. She kept telling me she was impressed by my grace as a hostess. I appreciated the recognition and it’s great that I made a good impression on one of the top members of the MFA faculty (who is also a talented writer).

I missed Sherwin Bitsui's reading, but at least I got to talk with him for a while. He had some interesting things to say about the trickster figure in mythology and the way his culture shapes his work. He was also great about chatting with ODU students of many different majors and backgrounds.

I also chatted with Jill McCorkle. She's written five novels and three story collection and she's won lots of prizes. It turns out, I had taught one of her stories to my students in the Bronx. We would read it and the students would respond by writing descriptions of their neighborhoods. They loved it. Jill McCorkle replied that that was amazing because she used the story for the same purpose with her students! When I told her about how much my students loved the story, and the great stories they wrote, she told me it was one of the finest compliments she could receive.

The story she read was in turns hilarious and heartbreaking. I cried a little, and I was not alone. I even caught some guys sniffling. It was fiction, but so true to life. She was the first writer so far who made me feel like I might want to write a short story and might actually be able to write one.

That night, the after hours was a lot of fun. I chatted with Mary, Dana, Leslie and Jake. The hours slipped away again until it was time to go home again and hit the hay.

ODU Literature Festival- Day 2!

Tuesday I had office hours, then went to Janine Latus’s reading. She’s a journalist and essayist. Her new book, If I Am Missing or Dead, was the story of two women (Latus and her sister Amy) and the abusive relationships they experienced. I really want to buy that one and read it, maybe during Christmas break. Latus touched me from the start: “I am an author. I like to say I am an author, because… I like to say ‘I am an author.’” This made the audience laugh as she explained she started saying it as a five-year-old. Only after her first book was published did she really feel it was true.

Latus also gave her top five writer tips: 1- Marry someone with health insurance. 2- Pay attention. The best stories are often in your own life. 3- Help each other. Share your contacts in the industry. Help each other revise. Give encouragement. 4- Practice your craft. Find the perfect verbs. Remove all modifiers. Caress your sentences. Linger. 5- Persevere. Eighty percent of Latus’ submissions are rejected, and she’s a successful author. 6- Be brave.

Latus also outlined the process of creating If I Am Missing or Dead, from proposal to drafting to publishing. She also took the time to inform the audience about domestic violence. After reading If I Am Missing or Dead and talking to Latus, the National Network to End Domestic Violence changed the name of its Direct Assistance Fund to the Amy's Courage Fund. According to the organization’s web site, “Amy’s Courage Fund provides emergency financial assistance of up to $2,000 to victims of domestic violence and their children to meet their immediate needs after escaping an abusive home.”

Some of Latus’ family members were enraged at her for publishing family secrets. They didn’t want to believe the abuse she and Amy faced, but the fund helped soothe those wounds. It helped the family feel the tragedy wasn’t all for nothing, and Latus’ book wasn’t published for selfish reasons. Of writing, she advised: “Tell the truth. That is the writer’s challenge, gift and opportunity.”

A few hours later, I had the opportunity to hear Sabina Murray read. She teaches in the MFA program at the University of Massachusetts in Amherst. She’s won a bunch of fancy awards. Her writing is rich and intriguing, but it’s also very idea-based. I think it would be interesting to read one of her books and get to pour over it. Listening to it was a little challenging. Some texts are like that. You have to see the words on the page to really get immersed in the book’s world.

Murray’s characters often talk about ideas, and not everyone gets it. “Some people say to me, ‘No one I know talks like that.’ And I think to myself, ‘You should get smarter friends.’” That made everyone laugh. Murray is half Filipina. She says one thing she loves about it is that the Filipino community doesn’t expect her to just write Filipino stories. They want her to write a wide variety, showing that Filipino writers can write about anything. Her publishers weren’t so sure. They wanted her to be the Amy Tan of the Philippines. She wanted to write about white male widowers in Forgery and a young, female cannibal in A Carnivore’s Inquiry. Luckily, her first book of stories, a few of which were based on her grandmother’s life in the Philippines, was so highly acclaimed that her publisher kind of had to let her do what she wanted. Heh.

Next was my first go at hosting a reception. I put some finishing touches on the room, was a liaison between the program director and the catering staff and made sure the authors were happy. It’s also when I started getting to know Sabina. We chatted for a while. I also started to make friends with some of the MFA girls, especially Leslie, Dana and Mary.

Next up was William Henry Lewis’ reading…or as we call him, Hank! Hank is a prize-winning short story writer. He started off by reading a poem by my teacher (and his former teacher), Tim Seibles. Then he read his own poem inspired by Tim. It was great. Then he read a powerhouse short story. I wish I’d known about him when I was teaching, because I think my students would have connected well with his work.

Hank writes slowly, just a handful of stories each year, and he’ll often write 20 drafts. Unreal! He joked, “I’m not very smart, so it takes me a while to get to know the characters.” He said he became a writer because “I wanted to engage language in a beautiful way.”

That night I went to the after-hours gathering. It was so much fun. I ended up chatting with Sabina and Mary and her husband Roberto for hours. It was great! Before I knew it, it was time to go home and hit the hay.

ODU Literature Festival- Day 1!

This week was ODU’s 30^th Annual Literature Festival! This year’s theme was “Tradition and the Individual Voice.” Some of the events and speakers tied in with the blues, and call and response. I decided the festival would be an amazing opportunity to make a name for myself in the program, make some friends, connect with authors and get inspired. To do so, I signed up to host several receptions and went to as many events as I could. I missed two for class and two when I needed to do homework, but I caught all the rest of them.

Monday, I taught class and collected my students’ analysis papers. Then I went back to the apartment to study. That night, though, I went to the author’s reception and got to hear Rick Bass read. At the reception I was observing so I would know what to do when I was a host. I also schmoozed a bit and at one point I noticed a problem. Each time Bass razed an hors d'oeuvre to his lips, someone would ask him a question, so he’d have to put it down. During a lull, I went over and guarded him so he could chew and swallow. He laughed, but he seemed to appreciate it.

Bass has written 23 books of fiction and often writes about the environment. During the Q&A, he was asked, “Is literature dead?”

“Yes. If it’s not dying, it’s on the ropes. But so is everything else precious and specific.” He went on to mourn the “affluence of culture” and “vanishing of nature.” Bass said he sometimes wonders if writing short stories is an indulgence. If literature is dying, he concluded, we must cherish it. He also gave some interesting advice on writing characters. He said he doesn’t know everything about the people he creates. He looks for opportunities for them to move new ways. “If you know the ending when you begin, you might as well write a travel brochure. ‘Come enjoy our sunny state.’” The contrast is fascinating: He is pessimistic about the state of literature and the environment, but he shows optimism in his writing and environmental activism. In real life he writes nonfiction pieces to inform the public about wildlife areas that need preservation. In his stories, you can learn about some of the same issues, but it's never preachy. The characters just experience the environment. It touches them (and the readers) in subtle ways.

Artsy stuff!

Being here, doing tons of reading and writing, has really opened up my creativity! I've been keeping up with my blogging, writing lots of poetry, snapping lots of photos and even drawing! I've loved to draw ever since I was little. In middle school, I had to choose between dance lessons, piano lessons and art lessons. I chose art, almost instantly. Mom suspects it's because are comes more naturally to me. She's not wrong.

I love to go dancing with my friends. I enjoyed being in the tap-dancing play in college (Stepping Out), and learning the dance routines for other plays and music programs in school. I also got a kick out of dancing for competition cheerleading, and I wasn't half bad. The thing is, I had to practice twice as hard as the other girls.

As for music, I thought I was bad at playing the piano. Actually, according to Mom I was average. I just thought I was bad because I was used to things coming easily to me. Playing trombone was a little better, but I never really felt confident at it. I adore singing, especially in a group, and I'm probably above average, but I feel so vulnerable when I sing alone.

With art, you can take as much time as you want to tweak things, but I'm still a perfectionist about it. I get frustrated, because what happens on the paper so rarely matches the picture in my head. The thing is, I'd forgotten how much fun it is. When I first got to New York, I used to do all these crazy doodles. I feel like my old job just sucked so much creative energy out of me and now I'm getting it back.

Along the left side of this entry, you can see two photos that turned out awesome: one of a butterfly and one of a broken sink dial (tap? It was to show my landlord the problem, but it turned out so cool!), and two recent drawings: a hummingbird and a girl. The hummingbird started out as an ink drawing I scribbled between classes. Later I filled it in using oil pastels. I thought Grandma Carm might like it. The other is a pencil drawing I did yesterday, just for fun.

My art skills need a lot of practice, but it's a nice start. I hope you're having a creative time, too!

This week's cookin'!

This week kicked the tush of last week! Yes, last week was a crazy headlong rush of work and anxiety. Read-teach-read-class-read-research- poem torn apart in poetry class- crying jag- teaching-writing-meeting-writing-class. This week, there was still a lot of teaching and writing, but a lot more joy. To be honest, I barely remember Monday, so it couldn’t have been that great.

Well, I remember one thing: My Teaching English Composition course requires us to observe a teacher’s class. Kerstin came to watch mine one day. Monday, a student asked, “So how did the observation go? What did you get?” He thought I was getting graded, and was concerned for my grade. Isn’t that sweet? At teaching class that night, Kerstin gave me a thank-you present. She's so thoughtful! I guess I was telling her about my new cooking ambition and lack of budget for saffron. Her gift was a few nice cooking magazines she had around, a favorite recipe of hers, and ziplocks of spices for the recipe – sage and saffron! (Photo saffron threads at left downloaded from Wikipedia.)

Tuesday, for the first time a student actually showed up for help during office hours. I had a good time helping her work on an analysis of the spider symbolism in Charlotte’s Web. Then I was dreading poetry class, and put off writing the assigned poem too long, but it turned out well.

Well, I shouldn’t have worried. Class was great! We looked at the similarities between poetry and music using a Chaka Kahn song and a Tracy Chapman song. For class we had to write a poem that has to be read aloud to be fully appreciated. Mine was a funny take on slam poetry. Everyone laughed, which was awesome! Then the teacher handed back a few of our poems with comments. On mine, he had drawn lots of stars next to things he liked, called part of one poem powerful and mysterious, and said I work my closings well. Nadine, one of my professors at Buena Vista University always said the same. She said I should call my first book of poetry “Last Lines.” This praise will make future criticism easier to take, because I’ll know that he likes some of my work (and, thus, does not think I’m incompetent). Yay!

Wednesday I had a great, workshop-style class with my loverly students who are working their way, slowly but steadily, through their analyses. It’s a hard thing to do the first time, but it will make everything else they have to write for college easier. After class, a girl stayed for help. Then I had to read some non-fiction articles for my 19^th Century Lit class. The discussions in class were so lively, and I got my paper back (the one I was so nervous about). I got an A-! Yay! I had been afraid I did so much worse. Yay, yay, yay! I have to get good grade to 1- justify my continued full-ride and assistantship and 2- improve my chances of getting into a good DA or PhD program if I need to after I graduate.

Today I had some extra office hours and met with a few more students to discuss their analyses. After that I was exhausted, so I decided to watch my most recent Netflix movie, Love Me if You Dare. Warning: SPOILERS FOLLOW. It was so beautiful and French, but it left me confused. A little boy and little girl met and started daring each other to do things. The dares kept escalated until they were adults. The whole thing is gorgeous and romantic, but increasingly dark. The movie ends with them standing in a form being filled with concrete. But then it shows them as old people still doing dares…but then it shows a pillar of concrete. Were they actually in the concrete, and the old people thing was their afterlife, or did they get out at the last second? I don’t know. I really don’t.

Then I had to get after Bank of America on the phone. DO NOT JOIN BANK OF AMERICA! I’ve been banking since at least high school, and I’ve had more trouble during the one month I’ve been a BoA customer than in my previous decade of banking. It’s driving me nuts, but hopefully they’ve got everything fixed now.

Then I walked to the store and bought chicken. (Round-trip it took about an hour.) I came home and made Kerstin’s recipe. Risotto…yum! (That's not my risotto at left. That photo's from www.dkimages.com.) The recipe was perfect to use up the wine and chicken stock left over from the last recipe I made. (The chicken stock will only be good for another four or five days, according to the box). I threw some browned chicken thighs into the risotto before baking it, and the resulting dish as delicious. Even thought I used boneless, skinless thighs, it came out so moist and tender.

Then I watched the season premier of Gray’s Anatomy. Hooray! It lived up to the usual level of drama and silliness.

Tomorrow is my students’ workshop, part 2! Then, since I didn’t write much today, I’m making the rest of Friday a writing day. And since I usually read on Fridays, Saturday will have to become reading day. Next week is the Old Dominion University Literary Festival. Yay! I’m going to get to meet some great writers (fiction, non-fiction and poetry). I’m so excited.

Neighborhood exploration and cooking.

Thursday was not as productive as it could have been. I did get some writing done, but mostly I recovered from Tuesday and Wednesday. I also I picked out a recipe to try. My goal is to make at least one new recipe a month so I know how to cook more things. I jotted down the ingredients and went to the store for groceries.

Friday’s class, as I mentioned, was SO MUCH FUN! Then I deposited my first check from ODU and went for a walk. I walked down to 21st St., an area with lots of restaurants (including the Thai place from Wednesday), a theater, a movie theater and lots of shops. It turns out, due to some weird geography that it’s just 12 blocks away, not the 19 block it first seems. I grabbed some necessities from the drug store (yay, I can but girly products without a guy around), cleaning spray and a few last ingredients for my recipe…just not saffron. Saffron apparently costs $18 for a bottle with a tiny packet inside. Here’s hoping the chicken’s okay without it.


It was an okay walk back. Norfolk is weird. The sidewalks go in fits and starts. Sometimes the city itself places large signs blocking the sidewalk (They’re all, “Ooh, a flat surface. It’s not like pedestrians use these decorative strips of cement.”) and there are places that really need crosswalk lights but don’t have them. It’s still an easy walk in the day, but I don’t think I’d do it at night, because you have to walk in a dark walkway under a bridge. I’m pretty confident about traveling by myself, whatever the neighborhood, but there are rules: 1- Stay where it’s well-populated. 2- Stay where it’s well-lit.


When I got home, I started cleaning our inherited couch. When the neighbors gave it to us, we were so grateful. Well, we still are, but with time we began to notice the dinginess and dog smell more and more. No one sits on them! They’re just decorative at this point. I got half the couch scrubbed last night, and this morning finished the other half. (In the picture at left, the left half is clean and dried. The right half is dirty and wet from cleaning spray). Now all that’s left are the cushions…and the pillows…and two chairs. Grr. But the couch already looks and smells so much better (though a bit chemicalish). I figure I’ve put so much time and effort into the furniture that when it comes time to leave, they’ll be mine. (That’s important since I’ll be poor.)


After that, it was time to start supper. Chicken La Bodega time! (I’ll post the recipe below.) There were some kinks to iron out. For example, the recipe wasn’t specific enough about how much chicken to make (a package of chicken parts? A fryer?). I ended up having to double my rice mixture for the amount of chicken I had and ended up with about eight servings. It took a lot longer that I’d hoped. I also think I should have chosen a dryer wine. The fruitiness of the wine almost overpowers the spices in the dish, although perhaps if I’d included the saffron (or olives…ugh) it would have balanced out. Well, that said, next time I make it, it will be so easy and the chicken was incredibly moist and delicious! Yay.


Now I have to get back to work. Grading papers is my least-favorite part of teaching, but I just have to get it done. Besides, they’re dying to know how they did. Every day, they’re all, “Do you tell us our grades today?” They’re so eager!

Chicken La Bodega

This recipe is from "Saucepans and the Single Girl" by Jinx Morgan and Judy Perry. They first wrote it when they were poor girls just out of college in 1965. It's charming, and the recipes seem pretty easy, with normal ingredients. (You know how the recipes in most cookbooks include several things items you have to buy just for that recipe and otherwise will never use again? There doesn't seem to be much of that in this book.) Here's Chicken La Bodega with my adjustments in bold.



Chicken La Bodega

1 pkg. Chicken (frozen fryer or 4 thighs)

1 tsp. salt

1 tsp. paprika

⅓ c. olive oil

3 T butter

¼ tsp. saffron

1 c uncooked rice (I used instant whole grain brown rice)

1 c white wine

1 c chicken stock

Bay leaves (3 or 4)

½ c. ripe olives, pitted

Peas to taste (I suggest ½ lb. or less. Probably much less, if you’re including olives.)

Preheat oven to 350° F. Pat chicken with a damp paper towel and season with salt and paprika. Brown slowly in olive oil. In another pan, melt butter and stir in saffron and rice. Toast rice until golden brown, stirring often for 10 minutes. (The cookbook said occasionally, but that’s how scorching happens, my friends.) Add wine and chicken stock. Simmer covered for 15 minutes. (My chicken finished before the rice. That’s fine. Just set it on a cool burner until you’re ready to use it.) Place bay leaves in casserole dish. Add rice, drained chicken and olives (or not). Bake 40 minutes *. Add peas and heat. Remove bay leaves before serving.

*These casseroles are designed so you can start them one day, then where you see the star you can store them. (This is handy for dinner dates, the main focus of the book.) The next day, preheat the oven, then pop the casserole in and heat it until it bubbles. The only thing the authors weren’t clear about was…what if you do it all in one day? I think I baked it 30 minutes, added the peas and let it go the last 10 minutes (40 total). It turned out great! It’s easy and so scrumptious.

Doubt and Renewal.

I spent a lot of last weekend reading and getting ready to write a big paper. Monday was teaching, more reading, then my Teaching college composition class. Tuesday was…you guessed it! READING! The reading load is really heavy. I have to read all the books an articles assigned to me, as well as whatever I assign for my students to read and any assignment they turn in to me. (The books at left aren't the books I get to read. They're actually the books I bought with the awesome gift certificate Madrid and Chris gave me. Thanks a billion, guys! I realized, as a poet, I should own some poetry and a poetry-market guide. Luckily, there's a break coming up when I might get to read non-assigned books.)


On top of that, I’m trying to teach my students analysis, which is complicated. No one really taught me to do it. In college, Nadine just kept handing me piles of well-written papers. It’s not like reading them really helped me figure out the steps of analysis. It’s more like I read enough of them that a pattern formed in my brain, and soon my writing came out in that pattern. Some people are naturally good at writing, and I’m one of them. The disadvantage is that I don’t know how I do certain things, I just do them.


I had the same problem when trying to help my struggling readers in the Bronx. Some of them had a second grade reading level in the eighth grade. I had a second grade reading level when I was, what, six? So to help them I had to do a ton of research. Well, this is the same way. I’ve been asking my boss and my coworkers, as well as searching the internet. During today's (Friday’s) class (when I was being observed by a classmate for Teaching Composition assignment) they really seemed to get it, though. YAY! It made me feel much better after Tuesday and Wednesday, which were rough.


Tuesday I was working hard on research for my paper on Emma. Then it was time for poetry class. It was a good class until we got to my poem “On Whiteness.” Basically, they tore it apart. Well, that’s how it felt. I may be over-sensitive. I noticed tons an tons of suggestions and critiques and no compliments. I think every other student’s poem received at least some praise. They thought my poem left readers with too many questions and perhaps didn’t earn the last two lines or live up to the title. At the end, our teacher Tim told me, “Keep going with that one.” I managed to hide my feelings as I asked, “Well, which part did you like?” He and the most vocal student in the class agreed that my topic was bold and intriguing.


Okay, let me say that some of the comments were warranted. There are things in the poem that make perfect sense if you’re from Iowa, but don’t if you’re not. I can see the topic making a good new poem, but then do I try to fix the old one or just let it die? Can’t poems be enigmatic? And I thought it was one of my best poems. Didn’t my language or rhythms connect with anyone?


I went home and cried. I admit it. I was shaken. They only like the topic? If this were Project Runway, it would be like saying, “I hate the design, the cut, the color, and how you sewed it, but I love that you chose to make a dress out of velvet. Keep going with that one.” If they didn’t like anything but the topic of what I had considered one of my best poems, what was I doing here? I was so upset that I couldn’t do the work I needed to do for a paper due the next day. I mean literally couldn’t do it. My eyes were blurred with tears. Eventually I just went to bed.


Wednesday I got up early to do my lesson planning, taught my class, worked on my paper from 9-noon, went to a noon meeting, then worked on my paper again from noon until right before class started at 4 p.m. People in my office kept talking to me and around me (eight of us share a room with four desks, and several of my office mates came and went during that time). It was distracting, but the library or my apartment would have been as bad or worse.


Well, hopefully there were no glaring problems in my paper. I hope I got at least a B. Then after class, I got roped into a Graduate Students of English meeting. I overheard one classmate, Jake (I think), saying he was going for Thai food. I LOVE Thai food, and haven’t found a restaurant that delivers here, so I hitched a ride with him. He’s an interesting guy. After high school, he enlisted because his family in rural Nebraska was so poor. “Didn’t want to end up up to your eyeballs in debt, huh?” “Yeah. I ended up up to my eyeballs in blood instead. Well, it was a choice.” Jake had to take a break from grad school for a few years when he was diagnosed with fatal cancer. He’s in remission now, and loving much life. Talk about an interesting perspective, right?

Almost dying (first in the armed forces, then from cancer) really made Jake focus on what he wants in life. He is here now because it's what he wants most in life. So am I. Even when it's hard, I have to remember that.

Career and Finances: starting to sort it out.

This week I got my first paycheck. Between my full ride (or as they called it on my bill “100% graduate tuition exemption,” God bless ‘em!) and my 10000/yr stipend, I’m going to be okay! Post-taxes, it comes out to…well, less, but not as much less as I’d feared. I’m technically below the poverty line, yet I’m luckier than so many of my grad-school compatriots. Grad school is the only place in America (outside the unemployment line) where you feel rich for making ten grand a year.

It was helpful that I scrimped all year to pay off all my credit cards, and friends let me stay with them all July rent-free. Then, all August I stayed with my parents rent-free and got all my meals free. All I had to buy was the occasional tank of gas. Unfortunately, I still owe my parents some money.

There was a slight crisis a while back. My school didn’t reserve any city taxes from my paycheck, so I had to pay up big-time, not to mention a bill I had to pay to Fordham. That pretty much drained my savings, but I had to move from Spanish Harlem to Harlem. Suddenly I needed to rent a moving truck, first month’s rent, last month’s rent and deposit. Ouch. In New York, that’s a crazy-lot of cash, which I still owe Mom and Dad. I’m not ashamed of it, but it does bother me. I want to be an independent grown-up. Well, we all need a little help
sometimes, right?

I’m hoping that in three years, with summer jobs, I can make enough to pay my bills, pay back Mom and Dad, buy a cheap car (a student told me she got a 2007 in perfect condition from the local police for less than $1000) with registration and insurance, etc., and have enough cash left over to move and establish myself wherever I need to go. I may be dreaming, though. Unless I win the lottery. Of course, first I’d have to play the lottery. Gambling just doesn’t suit me, but it’s nice to dream.

On the other hand, I may decide to get a PhD here, in which case I’d have 5 years to save up some cash. Unless I decided to get a PhD elsewhere. Oh, who knows. Part of me looks forward to the time when my life will be a little more settled. I’m getting tired of starting over time after time. Since leaving home for BVU, the longest I’ve lived anyplace was two years in the Spanish Harlem apartment. I just keep starting over any over. On the other hand, I feel like I’m in just the right place now. I’m trying to just enjoy the adventure of it all. I think coming here was the right choice.

Lemon Drop.

Sept. 8&9- Yep, I was right. Nothing happened over the weekend. I used an online program to check my physical fitness (realage.com or some such site). According to them, my real age isn’t 27, it’s 30. I eat too much red meat and not enough fish, vegetables and whole grains. They also suggest some more vitamins (how many pills should a girl have to swallow in a day?) and more strength training. (I walk some and do some yoga, but no weight training, etc.) Okay. I’m trying to stay as healthy as possible since insurance doesn’t seem to make financial sense at this point.

Sept. 10- Monday I had a lot of fun teaching again, yay! It’s so great to have a job you like. Sept. 11- Tuesday I was busy, busy, busy with office hours and studying and running to the store, then going to poetry class. Poetry class was great. I wrote a poem in class and another on the walk home. . I was in such a good mood when I got home that I did an impromptu song and dance (sort of a pseudo-polka…proof positive that deep down I’m a geek. A proud, German geek, but a geek nonetheless).

Sept. 12- Wednesday was more teaching: my students had a great peer editing session. Well, there was one misstep. Hee. Okay, this is embarrassing. I had a tickle in my throat, and they were peer editing. I didn’t really have to talk, so I popped a lemon drop in my mouth. One young woman raised her hand, so I went over to her group to answer her question.

While we were talking, I looked down for a second and…well, I guess my mouth was open, and…yep. The lemon drop dropped out of my mouth and onto a student’s bag. I gasped. “What?” the group asked, “What’s the matter?” “Oh, this is so embarrassing,” I replied, “Okay, I had this candy in my mouth and it fell out on your bag.” Then I reached down to grab the candy and it proceeded to fall in her bag. “NO! I am so sorry.” I reached in and gingerly lifted the candy out and tossed it in the trash. “It’s okay,” they all kept assuring me, “it’s just a candy.” “Yeah,” I replied, “but now I’ll be the only teacher in history with ‘she spit candy in my bag’ written on a student evaluation.” They all laughed, though, so I laughed, which they seemed to appreciate. Do things like this happen to other people, or am I the only one? Maybe I’m the only one willing to broadcast her embarrassing moments.

That day, I also had a big presentation to give (25% of my 19th Century British Lit. grade). I was so nervous, but I think I pulled it together pretty well. I still have to finish the paper that goes along with the speech. When I asked for advice, the teacher asked that I change the focus a little bit. Check. I’m still a little nervous, but I’m trying my best.

Sept. 14- Thursday, writing day, I got up and wrote a few poems and did a little more polishing on my portfolio. Sept. 15-Friday my lesson wasn’t focused enough, but I learned from the experience. Even though I didn’t connect with my students as well as I usually do, they were still attentive and nice. My students were also nervous about handing in their first papers to me on Monday. They kept saying they wanted help, so I added office hours from 1-4. Actually, I ended up in my office from 1 to 5. You know how many students showed up? None. Yep. Not one. Was I surprised? Not really. At least I got some reading done.

That night there was a party for the MFA people. Unfortunately, I didn’t get around until it was too late to walk there. I don’t walk after dark in neighborhoods I don’t know. Neither of my roomies with a car was around. I didn’t want to splurge for a cab. I have the phone number of one girl with a car, but she was the one throwing the party. So no party for me. Instead, I caught up on sleep. I’m sure there’ll be plenty of parties in the future.

My social life is the one thing that’s lacking here. I miss Tom, of course, and I miss my best girlfriends. I miss having people around to hug and laugh with, in that way best friends laugh together. I’ve made some casual-chatting friends, but I haven’t had any of those “A-ha!” moments when you meet a friend and know right away you’ll be friends forever. I found some at BVU, and I found one in Spain. I found some in NYC, and now I need to find some here. Where are they hiding?

I might actually be GOOD at this teaching thing!

Soon I shall return to a more narrative-like method of storytelling. Right now it's all listy, but lists are so much faster!

Sept. 1, 2 and 3 - I don’t remember distinctly what happened which day over the weekend. I know most of my time was spent reading, doing little apartment chores and walking around the neighborhood. I snapped a pretty picture of a moth or butterfly. I found some restaurants that I want to check out in the future and a grocery store about 20 blocks away. I’m going to keep looking for a closer one.

Tuesday, Sept 4 - Office hours were sweaty, as the Batten Arts and Letters building is under construction and for some reason, the air conditioning cut out. My office is a room with four desks. Eight of us share four desks, although I’ve never seen more than three of us in the room at the same time. One girl working in there is a linguistics student. She tells me that an ugly accent is spreading west and south. It’s halfway through Iowa RIGHT NOW! It’s a vowel-lift…that Chi-cahh-go (As opposed to Chi-cog-o) thing, you know? Why is it happening? They’re not sure, but the people it’s happening to CAN’T HEAR IT, so they can’t resist. Listen to each other, Midwestern friends! Guard your vowels. Keep them round and pretty.

Wednesday, Sept. 5 - Teaching, YAY! I love teaching. It rocks. It rules! We had class mostly workshop style. I had the students discuss possible memoir topics in pairs and went around discussing their topic, conferencing with each person. (It’s amazing how easy that is when everyone sits down, doesn’t steal anything and embraces non-violence.) Everyday, I ask my students for feedback and suggestions, and when I asked, “So, do you guys like workshop-style classes like this?” they responded with a resounding “Yes!” It’s the loudest I’ve ever heard them.

That night I had 19^th Century British lit, which was pretty easy. Last class and this class we’ve been watching an educational movie on Queen Vicoria’s reign. All we had to do was take notes. That night I got to chat with Rose, who was departing for the Dominican Republic where her husboyfriend is working. I love that girl. Whenever we’re going through life transitions, we cheer each other through it.

Thursday, Sept. 6 - Writing day! I spent a lot of time on my poetry portfolio, reading and planning my lesson, not to mention chatting on the phone with Tom for an hour and a half.

Friday, Sept. 7 - Teaching, Yay! I LOVE TEACHING! Today we worked on how to read critically. I read them a paragraph from a story by Annie Dillard. First they summarized. (Annie learns to play football.) Then they inferred at the basic level (Annie is a tomboy). Then they looked for the author’s message. (She wrote that tackling is only successful if you give everything you have. If you don’t, you end up face-down in the dirt or kicked in the face. It’s a metaphor for life.) We got so much information out of one paragraph.

Light bulbs were coming on over heads all around the room. I could just see it, that “Oh!” moment! It reminded me of when I learned to read critically in college. It changed everything for me, and this might be that moment for them. Wow. My last job really shook my confidence as a teacher, and this experience is making me feel so much better. A few students even stayed after class to thank me! Wow.

I taught, then created new message forums on the course’s online site and commented on ten papers (just nine to go). Then I went home and researched plane tickets with a Kim Possible marathon in the background.

Right now, it looks like it’ll be cheaper for me to fly to NYC, hang out there a few days, fly to Des Moines, stay about a week, then back to New York until after New Year. How can flying from Norfolk to New York to Des Moines to New York to Norfolk be cheaper? Don’t know. It just is. If I buy bus tickets instead of plane tickets, I save even more…well, that’s if my friends have a place for me to camp when I’m there.

And now you're all up-to-date. Since I have a ton of reading to do this weekend, I doubt anything internet-worthy will happen any time soon. Whatever. I get a little stir-crazy, but I'm enjoying academia, teaching people who don't comment on or ask about my physical appearance, clothing, love life, etc., and working for people who believe in my talents.