I realize I'm posting this something like a day or two before the new Twilight movie comes out.
For the record, although I'm fairly certain anyone who frequents this blog would be able to guess this on their own, but the whole Twilight phenomena? A love triangle between a teenager, a vampire, and a werewolf? Fine. Whatever. Let the story be the story. There are so many books in the world that the laws of probability dictate that was going to happen sooner or later. And if people like reading the books? Great. Hard to complain about that. But to become so culturally defining that this stuff makes it into Burger King cups? I'm skeptical. And no -- I haven't read any of the books. But. I have seen several of my students reading them, and there have been a few times I've picked up a copy from one of their desks while they weren't in the room and browsed a few pages. I'm going to leave it at this: I've done enough random sampling of the "saga" (Really? It merits being referred to as a saga?) to know they aren't for me. So why bother with the movies? Chances are pretty good the author didn't write these stories with someone like me in mind as her target audience, so I think I can guess the same case could be made for the movies.
I read a different vampire book a few years ago, a cinder block of a novel called "The Historian." I call it a cinder block for two reasons: (1) It was so long and heavy that it's size approximated that of an actual cinder block, and (2) the writing was kind of heavy. I have only abandoned maybe four or five books in my adult life, and this was one of them. That thing actually could have benefited from some teenagers taking themselves way too seriously.
When it comes to vampires, well, of course it all began with Bram Stoker's "Dracula." Which I will never read because it's a classic, and the time I spent earning my English minor and the books I was force-fed during this time (and the papers I had to write about them) has completely beaten away any inclination I will ever have to read any book considered a classic for the rest of my life. Seriously. I had to take a class called "Survey of 18th Century British Literature - Part 2." Because there was so much boring it couldn't all be contained in just one class.
Anyway. So Dracula is never going to pop up on my radar, although I did kind of like the freaky Gary Oldman version of it at the movies not long ago. And as far as Twilight goes -- come on. Teenagers. Vampires. Werewolves. Supernatural wars. It was much better the first time, when it was really funny and called BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER. That show was on for something like six of seven years, and it was hilarious.
So if you want to talk vampire books -- to say nothing of the TV shows and movies, and please, other than Buffy, let's say nothing about them -- you're really left with "Salem's Lot." When it comes to scary, old school Uncle Stevie knows what he's doing better than anyone.
BUT. Believe it or not, there is a brand new, and I mean so brand new it was only released this month, vampire book out. And it is truly, truly amazing. It's called "The Passage," by Justin Cronin, an award-winning author of literary fiction and an English professor, who is easily the best writer I've come across in many years. He's one of those guys who writes so fluidly and perfectly that several times I've pulled myself out of the story to re-read how crafted a paragraph, or a sentence, or even just a metaphor, was, and then I sit there and shake my head and wonder how he can do that and do it so often.
I read an anecdote he told about "The Passage" in some interview before the release date. He said that his daughter once commented that the other books he had written were probably boring, and he should write a book about a girl who saves the world. Which he said he went and did. Now, I think that's going to be a conditional saving the world thing, because the world as we know it pretty much came to an end within the first 200 pages, and in a spectacular fashion. If you ever read Stephen King's "The Stand," you were probably creeped out by how plausible the end of the world seemed. Same deal here, in many ways. But instead of camps of good vs. evil, you see the population break down into surviving humans and the virals hunting them. The virals are essentially the vampires here and are even apologetically referred to as such earlier in the book, though instead of walking around in satin capes or moping around in fashionably distressed clothing while listening to Death Cab for Cutie and The Bravery, these things are frighteningly animalistic. And while I'm only about halfway through the book at this point, I can say the few hints given about this girl who saves the world have been tantalizingly few and unpredictable. It's been a long time since I've had a crush on a book like I do on this one. If you like reading scary, or are ready for a more grown-up vampire story, go get this one. Walk into Borders, and I'm fairly sure you'll see a huge display set up right by the entrance. This dude can WRITE.
So now I'm wondering why I'm still here writing about this thing instead of actually reading more of it... excuse me.....
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Friday, June 25, 2010
Big Block of Cheese Day
One thing about summer? Having this astonishing drop off in pressing responsibility means I feel far less constrained by the idea of time. I eat when I'm hungry. I go to bed when I'm tired. I get up when I'm awake. I rarely wear my watch. The only times that usually wind up mattering are (1) any appointments I'll have, such as taking care of my nephews or getting my dog to the groomer, or (2) when the movie begins, which is still somewhat arbitrary, because if I have an afternoon that's wide open I might show up at the theater ten or fifteen minutes early to take my time with the ticket line or buying the standard popcorn and diet Coke/diet Pepsi combination, and then sitting through Mountain Dew, Ford Fusion, and National Guard commercials shown before the previews begin. And even this incredibly simple pleasure has been largely denied of me this particular summer, because so many of the movies that have been released during vacation so far have been some really marginal crap.
But anyway. Because it's summer I'm able to pull myself out of bed and write at 4:00 in the morning if I find myself awake at that time. I don't have to worry about maintaining coherent thought during the day, because I know I'll be able to pretty much nap whenever the mood hits. And I discovered back in November during the NaNoWriMo exercise of writing an entire 50,000 word manuscript in 28 days that sometimes trying to write first thing in the morning can have its benefits. I'm not yet plagued by whatever contextual nonsense has managed to define my day, since my day is only minutes old. I'm not bound to color within the lines of clearheaded thinking, because my head is never truly clear until I've been up and around for at least an hour. And if you can't think clearly yet, how are you going to edit yourself as you write? Therein lies the beauty.
I actually read somewhere that Steven Tyler of Aerosmith said that the first thing in the morning is his favorite time to write, for just these reasons. I don't know if that's a ringing endorsement for the logic behind this process since Aerosmith has been reduced to writing and rewriting different versions of the same four songs for the past 20 years, but all the same its good to know that I'm not the only one who sees things this way. Maybe trying to hitch my star to a self-destructive drug addict isn't the best plan, but if it helps me rationalize the idea of sitting here at what is now 4:46 A.M. instead of lying in bed futily trying to sleep while listening to the pull chain of the running ceiling fan lightly and incessantly tap against the body of the lamp, then I'll take what I can get.
And all of this was meant to simply preface the idea that it's either too late at night or too early in the morning as I write this newest list of random thoughts. I haven't posted many entries here lately since I haven't had much to say that I wanted to really develop, but I've had a few little ideas come along that... well, in honor of Nephew #1 spending a good part of his summer watching West Wing DVDs, we'll label this entry with a reference from the show that only the sick die-hard fans like myself might catch: "Big Block of Cheese Day." "Take Out the Trash Day" would actually be more apt as West Wing references go, but Big Block of Cheese Day is funnier. If you get that, great. You have the sense to have followed that show and likely have watched it repeatedly. If not, then you only have yourself to blame.
Okay. What's next:
**You ever hear of this band, Muse? They're kind of irritating me these days. I like Muse well enough. I have three of their albums - "Absolution," the far superior "Black Holes and Revelations," and the newest "The Resistance." Muse is pretty popular with the kids these days. And they're a decent band. I first heard of them while reading an internet forum of another band I like (Dream Theater), and how the drummer had been introduced to Muse's music by his guitarist. I figured if these guys liked them they had to be worth checking out, and did. And they were pretty good. Some good pop sensibility, nice touches of some strong rock music, and just experimental enough to come across as not beating you over the head with the pretension of putting on a show of how much underground credibility they thought they should have. Didn't love them, but liked them. But now? The new album gets under my skin, because I literally haven't heard anything in recent decades that is so incontrovertibly derivative of Queen. You'd think that with me being a huge Queen fan, I'd like this. I'm actually a little offended by it, for admittedly backward reasons. For the last decade of their career, before Freddie Mercury died, Queen was largely ignored by the American listening public, outside of a few classic rock staples that were so deeply ingrained into the culture that they couldn't be overlooked. And I'd say at least 80% of Muse's "The Resistance" sounds like it could have been cobbled together from outtakes from Queen's 1974 album, "Sheer Heart Attack." I have no problem with the band Muse for going to the well here, because they are obviously huge Queen fans. I have a problem with all the teenagers running around in suburban America proclaiming how Muse is this groundbreaking and original band. If these kids were a fraction as musically open-minded as they believe themselves to be, they would realize that Queen is actually one of their favorite bands, even if they've never heard anything of them beyond the same 4 dusty overplayed tracks from the radio: Killer Queen, Another One Bites The Dust, We Will Rock You, We Are the Champions; I could never refer to Bohemian Rhapsody as dusty, even after the beating it received on Glee. I'm tellin' ya, kids - I know that teenagers by definition know EVERYTHING there is to know about everything and are right ALL of the time, but if you dig through your parents' music collection and find a Queen album in there that predates "Live Killers," you'll see what I mean.
**By the time school let out, I had pretty much decided to switch to the new iPhone 4 this summer. Then the whole 'running out of phones from massive pre-orders' thing happened, and of course the white version, the one I was hoping to buy, turned out to be little more than a rumor for the moment. I am very much an Apple loyalist, and still plan to get me that white iPhone 4 as soon as I am able. But after the news reports of antenna and screen problems that emerged as the first batch of them hit the streets, I was reminded that being the first one to own a new piece of technology is rarely a good thing. Hopefully when the white model becomes available in another month or so (if the internet is to be believed, and we know how that goes), these issues will have been dealt with. But all the same, I have to think a few dropped calls would still be a big step up from having a phone that randomly performs tasks you don't want it to if you squeeze it too hard or if sometimes you just, you know, HOLD IT IN YOUR PALM like mine does.
**Much of my copious free time this summer has been devoted to reading "The Passage" by Justin Cronin. Holy crap is this an awesome book. I was a little nervous at first when I heard it was about vampires, because, well, having a little experience of trying to get a book published in the Young Adult market during the 'Twilight' era, I know how overdone the vampire genre is these days. But story aside, this dude can WRITE. And pair up that with what so far is a very engaging and well-constructed story populated by characters I know better than some members of my own extended family, and you've got yourself an amazing read.
**My sister and her soon-t0-be husband will soon be making their own little journey of sorts, one that will have them seeing the same band, The Hold Steady, play live in three different venues on three consecutive nights. She invited me to go at least once, but I declined, and it got me thinking why. I like the Hold Steady just fine; like most bands they have a good number of songs that are pure filler, but when they're on they are truly great. And I have no doubt they put on a very energetic live show. But I just don't want to see them. I thought that maybe I'm getting kind of crotchety-old-man about going to live shows, because back in the day I would go and see anyone live if they were playing within 50 miles of wherever I lived and I liked at least two of their songs. But now, not so much. Going to see a band play just to dance around and have a good time doesn't have the same appeal it once did. If I'm going to invest that kind of money and time and, frankly, inconvenience, I want to be rewarded with a transcendent experience. I don't want it to be, "Woo-Hoo! I love this song! Come on, let's dance!" I want it to be, "Oh. My. God. That's. Brian. May. And he's playing his guitar. Live. Right here. And I'm in the same room while it's happening." The drum solos and lasers and flash pots don't get me there so much anymore; I've seen just about all there is to see in that respect. If I see someone live, I either want to be in the presence of jaw-dropping musicianship, or to have the privilege of hearing a song played that has been a formative part of my life. And that just doesn't happen as much anymore.
**Cranberry/Raspberry Diet Snapple may be the most sublime beverage ever imagined.
Okay. That's all I got. I'm going back to bed.
But anyway. Because it's summer I'm able to pull myself out of bed and write at 4:00 in the morning if I find myself awake at that time. I don't have to worry about maintaining coherent thought during the day, because I know I'll be able to pretty much nap whenever the mood hits. And I discovered back in November during the NaNoWriMo exercise of writing an entire 50,000 word manuscript in 28 days that sometimes trying to write first thing in the morning can have its benefits. I'm not yet plagued by whatever contextual nonsense has managed to define my day, since my day is only minutes old. I'm not bound to color within the lines of clearheaded thinking, because my head is never truly clear until I've been up and around for at least an hour. And if you can't think clearly yet, how are you going to edit yourself as you write? Therein lies the beauty.
I actually read somewhere that Steven Tyler of Aerosmith said that the first thing in the morning is his favorite time to write, for just these reasons. I don't know if that's a ringing endorsement for the logic behind this process since Aerosmith has been reduced to writing and rewriting different versions of the same four songs for the past 20 years, but all the same its good to know that I'm not the only one who sees things this way. Maybe trying to hitch my star to a self-destructive drug addict isn't the best plan, but if it helps me rationalize the idea of sitting here at what is now 4:46 A.M. instead of lying in bed futily trying to sleep while listening to the pull chain of the running ceiling fan lightly and incessantly tap against the body of the lamp, then I'll take what I can get.
And all of this was meant to simply preface the idea that it's either too late at night or too early in the morning as I write this newest list of random thoughts. I haven't posted many entries here lately since I haven't had much to say that I wanted to really develop, but I've had a few little ideas come along that... well, in honor of Nephew #1 spending a good part of his summer watching West Wing DVDs, we'll label this entry with a reference from the show that only the sick die-hard fans like myself might catch: "Big Block of Cheese Day." "Take Out the Trash Day" would actually be more apt as West Wing references go, but Big Block of Cheese Day is funnier. If you get that, great. You have the sense to have followed that show and likely have watched it repeatedly. If not, then you only have yourself to blame.
Okay. What's next:
**You ever hear of this band, Muse? They're kind of irritating me these days. I like Muse well enough. I have three of their albums - "Absolution," the far superior "Black Holes and Revelations," and the newest "The Resistance." Muse is pretty popular with the kids these days. And they're a decent band. I first heard of them while reading an internet forum of another band I like (Dream Theater), and how the drummer had been introduced to Muse's music by his guitarist. I figured if these guys liked them they had to be worth checking out, and did. And they were pretty good. Some good pop sensibility, nice touches of some strong rock music, and just experimental enough to come across as not beating you over the head with the pretension of putting on a show of how much underground credibility they thought they should have. Didn't love them, but liked them. But now? The new album gets under my skin, because I literally haven't heard anything in recent decades that is so incontrovertibly derivative of Queen. You'd think that with me being a huge Queen fan, I'd like this. I'm actually a little offended by it, for admittedly backward reasons. For the last decade of their career, before Freddie Mercury died, Queen was largely ignored by the American listening public, outside of a few classic rock staples that were so deeply ingrained into the culture that they couldn't be overlooked. And I'd say at least 80% of Muse's "The Resistance" sounds like it could have been cobbled together from outtakes from Queen's 1974 album, "Sheer Heart Attack." I have no problem with the band Muse for going to the well here, because they are obviously huge Queen fans. I have a problem with all the teenagers running around in suburban America proclaiming how Muse is this groundbreaking and original band. If these kids were a fraction as musically open-minded as they believe themselves to be, they would realize that Queen is actually one of their favorite bands, even if they've never heard anything of them beyond the same 4 dusty overplayed tracks from the radio: Killer Queen, Another One Bites The Dust, We Will Rock You, We Are the Champions; I could never refer to Bohemian Rhapsody as dusty, even after the beating it received on Glee. I'm tellin' ya, kids - I know that teenagers by definition know EVERYTHING there is to know about everything and are right ALL of the time, but if you dig through your parents' music collection and find a Queen album in there that predates "Live Killers," you'll see what I mean.
**By the time school let out, I had pretty much decided to switch to the new iPhone 4 this summer. Then the whole 'running out of phones from massive pre-orders' thing happened, and of course the white version, the one I was hoping to buy, turned out to be little more than a rumor for the moment. I am very much an Apple loyalist, and still plan to get me that white iPhone 4 as soon as I am able. But after the news reports of antenna and screen problems that emerged as the first batch of them hit the streets, I was reminded that being the first one to own a new piece of technology is rarely a good thing. Hopefully when the white model becomes available in another month or so (if the internet is to be believed, and we know how that goes), these issues will have been dealt with. But all the same, I have to think a few dropped calls would still be a big step up from having a phone that randomly performs tasks you don't want it to if you squeeze it too hard or if sometimes you just, you know, HOLD IT IN YOUR PALM like mine does.
**Much of my copious free time this summer has been devoted to reading "The Passage" by Justin Cronin. Holy crap is this an awesome book. I was a little nervous at first when I heard it was about vampires, because, well, having a little experience of trying to get a book published in the Young Adult market during the 'Twilight' era, I know how overdone the vampire genre is these days. But story aside, this dude can WRITE. And pair up that with what so far is a very engaging and well-constructed story populated by characters I know better than some members of my own extended family, and you've got yourself an amazing read.
**My sister and her soon-t0-be husband will soon be making their own little journey of sorts, one that will have them seeing the same band, The Hold Steady, play live in three different venues on three consecutive nights. She invited me to go at least once, but I declined, and it got me thinking why. I like the Hold Steady just fine; like most bands they have a good number of songs that are pure filler, but when they're on they are truly great. And I have no doubt they put on a very energetic live show. But I just don't want to see them. I thought that maybe I'm getting kind of crotchety-old-man about going to live shows, because back in the day I would go and see anyone live if they were playing within 50 miles of wherever I lived and I liked at least two of their songs. But now, not so much. Going to see a band play just to dance around and have a good time doesn't have the same appeal it once did. If I'm going to invest that kind of money and time and, frankly, inconvenience, I want to be rewarded with a transcendent experience. I don't want it to be, "Woo-Hoo! I love this song! Come on, let's dance!" I want it to be, "Oh. My. God. That's. Brian. May. And he's playing his guitar. Live. Right here. And I'm in the same room while it's happening." The drum solos and lasers and flash pots don't get me there so much anymore; I've seen just about all there is to see in that respect. If I see someone live, I either want to be in the presence of jaw-dropping musicianship, or to have the privilege of hearing a song played that has been a formative part of my life. And that just doesn't happen as much anymore.
**Cranberry/Raspberry Diet Snapple may be the most sublime beverage ever imagined.
Okay. That's all I got. I'm going back to bed.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Rewards!
One of the gift cards I was given at the end of the school year was for a store I never go to. One of those office supply places. I took it in and was happy to find a gift card rack that included a small number of my favorite gift cards - iTunes. I also went and bought some pencils for the new Sudoku book I'd bought the day before with a different gift card at a different store. Somehow it would feel ridiculous to me to be using a gift card to buy a gift card, so I picked up some other small token purchase that I didn't really need so I didn't have to feel stupid.
I get up the the register, and my cashier for the day, Bobby, rings me up and then proceeds to give me a ten-minute dissertation on why I should sign up to join the rewards program for the store; apparently doing so would not only save me incredible amounts of money, give me the power to cure disease, travel through time and space at will, and speak seven new languages by the time I went to sleep that night.
As soon as Bobby -- I swear that's what this 20-something slacker had on his name tag -- started in on the pitch, I just began shaking my head in a most definitive example of the universal "No." Did this deter Bobby from his mission? Not so much. He just kept plugging through the highlights until I had to verbally cut him off with a "not interested." He almost looked personally offended at my rejection, as if I'd just told him I'd rather spend my summer clubbing baby seals with a crowbar than be his best friend.
I almost felt sorry for poor Bobby. But when I stopped to think about how much of my life he had stolen from me with his destined-to-be-fruitless sales pitch?
Not so much.
I get up the the register, and my cashier for the day, Bobby, rings me up and then proceeds to give me a ten-minute dissertation on why I should sign up to join the rewards program for the store; apparently doing so would not only save me incredible amounts of money, give me the power to cure disease, travel through time and space at will, and speak seven new languages by the time I went to sleep that night.
As soon as Bobby -- I swear that's what this 20-something slacker had on his name tag -- started in on the pitch, I just began shaking my head in a most definitive example of the universal "No." Did this deter Bobby from his mission? Not so much. He just kept plugging through the highlights until I had to verbally cut him off with a "not interested." He almost looked personally offended at my rejection, as if I'd just told him I'd rather spend my summer clubbing baby seals with a crowbar than be his best friend.
I almost felt sorry for poor Bobby. But when I stopped to think about how much of my life he had stolen from me with his destined-to-be-fruitless sales pitch?
Not so much.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Emotional Storm
Okay. Now it feels like it's over.
Seven years ago I had my hardest last day of school, saying goodbye to the group that was, and still is, my favorite class overall. Not every kid in there was a favorite, but they came together to make my best group. Saying goodbye was rough that year. This year's group (again, as a whole) does not measure up to that class. Not even close. But the end of this year has easily been the most emotional one I've had since I let that Favorite Class go. The past five days have all added up to one big hog-pile of emotional closure for me. Some backstory:
**Back on Tuesday was the annual 5th grade end of the year field trip to a nearby community center. Swimming pool, basketball court, indoor playground, concession stand - what more do you want if you're eleven? It's a trip I've been on so many times I could sleepwalk through it, but every year has it's memorable moments. Two things stood out this year: For the bus ride down and back I sat in front of one of my shining stars, who peppered me with so many questions about my life I began to wonder if she had landed some kind of summer internship for 11-year-olds at Vanity Fair. She's a preternaturally intelligent and mature little girl so the whole thing was amusing, and for the most part I indulged her questions. Some were pretty deep, and some bordered on less than appropriate; for instance when she began thinking about whether or not she knew any single women she could set me up with.
The other memorable moment? Let's just say there are always kids who think it's funny to hop out of the pool and immediately hug you to see how wet they can get you. And one kid this year thought it was funny six times over. I don't think I was completely dry until we had returned to school.
**The actual last day of school was pretty calm, considering. A few thank you cards and gifts, some flowers. All I wanted on my last day was minimal stupidity and closure, but I accepted moderate stupidity (I knew minimal was too much to ask for) and just as much closure as I wanted -- almost. I was happy for my students to be so happy on the last day. Most of them I really enjoyed, and even if I won't necessarily miss them I was very glad I got to work with them. There are, of course, some I won't miss at all, and in most of those cases I feel a little trepidation for them because I know how hard the road ahead is going to be. And then there were the ones that I know I'll miss. The aforementioned interviewer, another girl who always made me laugh, a boy I've known his whole life that just happened to be in class this year (though I won't really miss him much since I know he'll still be peripherally a part of my life for years to come), a girl who was nothing but happy, quiet, sweet, and hard-working, and another kid with a sense of humor nearly as dry and straight-faced as mine. At least one of those will be occupying a space on the seating chart of my all-star class of favorite students. Her final goodbye had an odd little hiccup to it, but the resolution to it all was really beautiful and even more meaningful than it would have been anyway. So I felt good about turning them loose and letting them all go.
**The kids leaving only opened up another version of the end. This year our school went through a shuffle that had grade levels reassigned to different areas of the building for a number of reasons. I'm personally thrilled about this because my new classroom is an enormous upgrade, but it did feel odd to pack up everything and move it down the hall. Luckily 5th graders are big and could do a lot of the carrying for me before they left.
**The final days without the students also brought the final day with our principal, who has been with us for eleven years. She wasn't always everyone's favorite, but I will miss her. She was inarguably an excellent manager and brought great opportunity to our building. She made me a better teacher, and even worked hard to convince me I was worthy of a teaching award I had won when I wasn't sure I was. She offered me incredible personal support through the deaths of my sister and a student of mine from earlier this year. I have no reason to be nervous about the new principal coming in, but I do regret giving up one who did the job so well.
**And if that wasn't enough change for one year, I also had to live with knowing that when the year starts up again, a good friend I've been able to closely work with for the past six years had been reassigned to another building. I don't see the rationale behind putting a person in the position where they have to push uphill to earn trust and then send them off somewhere to do it all again just as progress is being made, and personally I will completely miss having this person in my life. But I suppose someone had a reason, and she'll do good work wherever she goes. She sent out a final e-mail to everyone wishing us well but not saying goodbye, but I'll be more pragmatic about it: It's still a goodbye, regardless of which synonym gets used. And it sucks. I felt so used up by everything that had occurred over those last four days that instead of meeting up at a colleague's house for a staff end-of-the-year party, I went home, fell asleep on the couch before 7:00 P.M. and didn't wake up until the late news had nearly ended.
**And then there was today, circling back to that favorite class and one of the defining personalities from it. This was the year that class graduated, and I was invited to three graduation open houses from that group. I really can't express how humbling it is when that happens, when seven years after the fact someone wants to include you in that celebration. The first one I received came from another student with a seat in the Dream Class. She had stopped by after school one day to drop off my invitation but had to get to her job so she arranged to come by and visit later after the students had finished and she had graduated. She came by just as I had finished moving into my new room, and we got to sit and catch up for a good hour. Which was awesome, because I knew she'd be the center of the world at her open house and I'd only get a little bit of time with her. She told me about her senior piano recital coming up on Saturday and invited me, and of course I went. The open house was great enough, but to be one of maybe 20 people who got to be there for that was really amazing, not to mention she's got some serious chops when it comes to playing.
Here's a story to illustrate why she became so important: She and I had been e-mailing occasionally when my sister was sick. When she died, this little girl came back to my classroom when I was still out dealing with funeral business and left me a gift: She passed on a teddy bear to me that she had been given by firefighters to comfort her when she had broken her arm as a small child. She figured that I needed it more than she did now. Easily the most significant thing anyone at all did for me in that whole time. And a coda to that story that I was so happy I could share with her: This past fall when my little pal Kyle died, I took that same bear and passed it on to his older sister, just a week or two before Kyle passed. I told her the story of where it came from and said, "I think this is supposed to be yours now." I'd like to think she'll hang onto it for awhile, and pass it along to someone else when the time comes.
So it's been quite a week. And I loved seeing a quote posted on Facebook by a friend of mine, who was commenting on all of the change and sadness that can accompany the end of something important. Reading that helped me close it all off and happily move on:
"Don't cry because it's over. Smile because it happened." These days, I'm smiling a lot.
Seven years ago I had my hardest last day of school, saying goodbye to the group that was, and still is, my favorite class overall. Not every kid in there was a favorite, but they came together to make my best group. Saying goodbye was rough that year. This year's group (again, as a whole) does not measure up to that class. Not even close. But the end of this year has easily been the most emotional one I've had since I let that Favorite Class go. The past five days have all added up to one big hog-pile of emotional closure for me. Some backstory:
**Back on Tuesday was the annual 5th grade end of the year field trip to a nearby community center. Swimming pool, basketball court, indoor playground, concession stand - what more do you want if you're eleven? It's a trip I've been on so many times I could sleepwalk through it, but every year has it's memorable moments. Two things stood out this year: For the bus ride down and back I sat in front of one of my shining stars, who peppered me with so many questions about my life I began to wonder if she had landed some kind of summer internship for 11-year-olds at Vanity Fair. She's a preternaturally intelligent and mature little girl so the whole thing was amusing, and for the most part I indulged her questions. Some were pretty deep, and some bordered on less than appropriate; for instance when she began thinking about whether or not she knew any single women she could set me up with.
The other memorable moment? Let's just say there are always kids who think it's funny to hop out of the pool and immediately hug you to see how wet they can get you. And one kid this year thought it was funny six times over. I don't think I was completely dry until we had returned to school.
**The actual last day of school was pretty calm, considering. A few thank you cards and gifts, some flowers. All I wanted on my last day was minimal stupidity and closure, but I accepted moderate stupidity (I knew minimal was too much to ask for) and just as much closure as I wanted -- almost. I was happy for my students to be so happy on the last day. Most of them I really enjoyed, and even if I won't necessarily miss them I was very glad I got to work with them. There are, of course, some I won't miss at all, and in most of those cases I feel a little trepidation for them because I know how hard the road ahead is going to be. And then there were the ones that I know I'll miss. The aforementioned interviewer, another girl who always made me laugh, a boy I've known his whole life that just happened to be in class this year (though I won't really miss him much since I know he'll still be peripherally a part of my life for years to come), a girl who was nothing but happy, quiet, sweet, and hard-working, and another kid with a sense of humor nearly as dry and straight-faced as mine. At least one of those will be occupying a space on the seating chart of my all-star class of favorite students. Her final goodbye had an odd little hiccup to it, but the resolution to it all was really beautiful and even more meaningful than it would have been anyway. So I felt good about turning them loose and letting them all go.
**The kids leaving only opened up another version of the end. This year our school went through a shuffle that had grade levels reassigned to different areas of the building for a number of reasons. I'm personally thrilled about this because my new classroom is an enormous upgrade, but it did feel odd to pack up everything and move it down the hall. Luckily 5th graders are big and could do a lot of the carrying for me before they left.
**The final days without the students also brought the final day with our principal, who has been with us for eleven years. She wasn't always everyone's favorite, but I will miss her. She was inarguably an excellent manager and brought great opportunity to our building. She made me a better teacher, and even worked hard to convince me I was worthy of a teaching award I had won when I wasn't sure I was. She offered me incredible personal support through the deaths of my sister and a student of mine from earlier this year. I have no reason to be nervous about the new principal coming in, but I do regret giving up one who did the job so well.
**And if that wasn't enough change for one year, I also had to live with knowing that when the year starts up again, a good friend I've been able to closely work with for the past six years had been reassigned to another building. I don't see the rationale behind putting a person in the position where they have to push uphill to earn trust and then send them off somewhere to do it all again just as progress is being made, and personally I will completely miss having this person in my life. But I suppose someone had a reason, and she'll do good work wherever she goes. She sent out a final e-mail to everyone wishing us well but not saying goodbye, but I'll be more pragmatic about it: It's still a goodbye, regardless of which synonym gets used. And it sucks. I felt so used up by everything that had occurred over those last four days that instead of meeting up at a colleague's house for a staff end-of-the-year party, I went home, fell asleep on the couch before 7:00 P.M. and didn't wake up until the late news had nearly ended.
**And then there was today, circling back to that favorite class and one of the defining personalities from it. This was the year that class graduated, and I was invited to three graduation open houses from that group. I really can't express how humbling it is when that happens, when seven years after the fact someone wants to include you in that celebration. The first one I received came from another student with a seat in the Dream Class. She had stopped by after school one day to drop off my invitation but had to get to her job so she arranged to come by and visit later after the students had finished and she had graduated. She came by just as I had finished moving into my new room, and we got to sit and catch up for a good hour. Which was awesome, because I knew she'd be the center of the world at her open house and I'd only get a little bit of time with her. She told me about her senior piano recital coming up on Saturday and invited me, and of course I went. The open house was great enough, but to be one of maybe 20 people who got to be there for that was really amazing, not to mention she's got some serious chops when it comes to playing.
Here's a story to illustrate why she became so important: She and I had been e-mailing occasionally when my sister was sick. When she died, this little girl came back to my classroom when I was still out dealing with funeral business and left me a gift: She passed on a teddy bear to me that she had been given by firefighters to comfort her when she had broken her arm as a small child. She figured that I needed it more than she did now. Easily the most significant thing anyone at all did for me in that whole time. And a coda to that story that I was so happy I could share with her: This past fall when my little pal Kyle died, I took that same bear and passed it on to his older sister, just a week or two before Kyle passed. I told her the story of where it came from and said, "I think this is supposed to be yours now." I'd like to think she'll hang onto it for awhile, and pass it along to someone else when the time comes.
So it's been quite a week. And I loved seeing a quote posted on Facebook by a friend of mine, who was commenting on all of the change and sadness that can accompany the end of something important. Reading that helped me close it all off and happily move on:
"Don't cry because it's over. Smile because it happened." These days, I'm smiling a lot.
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Some Perspective
I'm not sure I have ever, at any time in my life, experienced the same kind of insane joy that my dog obviously feels whenever he gets a biscuit.
You'd think with that kind of excitement he'd actually eat the whole thing instead of leaving half of it as a considerable pile of crumbs on the living room carpet.
You'd think with that kind of excitement he'd actually eat the whole thing instead of leaving half of it as a considerable pile of crumbs on the living room carpet.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Passed
Well, I got the word today - my once possible future agent wrote to say she was passing on my book. There was a moment of disappointment there, but I honestly would have been far more surprised if she had offered to represent me. She did give a brief explanation of why she was passing, and honestly it's hard to argue her point because she zeroed in on something that I also felt needed to be better.
This is something that I really think you have to be a writer to appreciate, but it's a little masochistic to be a writer who tries to get something published -- you simply are going to get rejected time and time again, and yet you just keep putting yourself in situations where you know you're probably going to get rejected. It's just how it works. No matter how hard you work or how good you think your work turns out to be, everything is subjective. And the simple fact here is that if I couldn't make her love it? Either she wasn't the right person for the job, or the manuscript wasn't ready yet. I'd say it's probably a little bit of both.
Honestly, I'm okay with this. I'm really very happy to get this news before the school year ends so I can get a more complete feeling of closure without having one more question mark hanging over my head as the summer begins, and when it comes to doing some rewrites on the manuscript, I now have a definite direction to take.
So I'm writing this to inform anyone curious about this as to what happened. I'm not writing this to have people tell me how sorry they are for me. Please don't feel sorry for me here. Even if it didn't work out this time, I've still reached a point in the process that many people never reach. I know I'm in a good position to continue pursuing this, and I know what I need to do to make the next time a better possibility. And let's remember that in the big picture, I haven't lost anything at all. Life is still good.
This is something that I really think you have to be a writer to appreciate, but it's a little masochistic to be a writer who tries to get something published -- you simply are going to get rejected time and time again, and yet you just keep putting yourself in situations where you know you're probably going to get rejected. It's just how it works. No matter how hard you work or how good you think your work turns out to be, everything is subjective. And the simple fact here is that if I couldn't make her love it? Either she wasn't the right person for the job, or the manuscript wasn't ready yet. I'd say it's probably a little bit of both.
Honestly, I'm okay with this. I'm really very happy to get this news before the school year ends so I can get a more complete feeling of closure without having one more question mark hanging over my head as the summer begins, and when it comes to doing some rewrites on the manuscript, I now have a definite direction to take.
So I'm writing this to inform anyone curious about this as to what happened. I'm not writing this to have people tell me how sorry they are for me. Please don't feel sorry for me here. Even if it didn't work out this time, I've still reached a point in the process that many people never reach. I know I'm in a good position to continue pursuing this, and I know what I need to do to make the next time a better possibility. And let's remember that in the big picture, I haven't lost anything at all. Life is still good.
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