I think it was easier to get excited about Christmas as a kid. Actually, it was probably easier to get excited about almost anything as a kid. We have all lived different lives and have become the people we are due to different experiences, but I think it’s fair to say most of us tend to lose a lot of the hopeful innocence and potential for unabashed enthusiasm that defines so much of childhood as we get older.
Many of my childhood Christmases were a lot alike. Christmas Eve was almost as much of a holiday on its own, defined by the anticipation. It wasn’t just the presents, or the big meal, or the family-friendly reverence of the Nativity play or the solemnity of Midnight Mass. It was the launch of a multi-day event that always culminated in being surrounded by cousins and aunts and uncles. Our family went to mass on Christmas Eve every year I can remember. We’d attend the early evening service when my sisters and I were still in elementary school. Each year without fail, our dad would be backing the car out of the garage and our mom would have a moment of panic when she realized she had forgotten her gloves, giving her reason to quickly run back inside while the rest of us waited in the car. And each year that happened, it turned out that Santa had come and gone while we were gone; I guess living so far North made our house one of the earlier stops on his route.
Each year our extended family would come together for Christmas at our grandmother’s house in Superior, Wisconsin. Sometimes we’d leave late on Christmas Eve, and sometimes we’d leave late Christmas morning. On Christmas Eve we’d drive through a starry darkness only broken by passing cars or bursts of color from the holiday lights decorating occasional farm houses. The radio was tuned to an AM station with Christmas Eve programming featuring songs, stories, corny jokes, and Santa Claus updates. If it was one of the years we’d wait to leave until late Christmas morning, we usually had glowing sunshine reflecting off the snow, and the inside of the car would get so warm we’d take off our jackets even if it was below zero outside of the car. Arriving at our grandmother's house, whether late at night or in the middle of the day, promised two days of nonstop family, music, food, card games, snow football and shenanigans, all taking place in an ancient house so filled with people that every window was perpetually fogged over for the entire visit. One of the best parts of it for me was running out of energy and getting to sleep in a chilly second-floor bedroom covered with time-worn blankets and pillows, with a streetlight just outside the window.
New traditions evolved as time passed. Midnight Mass became the standard as we grew older, and Christmas Eve at church was more centered around our parents being in the choir, although sometimes my sisters and I would be involved in the music service in different ways as well. There wasn’t much use for drummers during Midnight Mass, so I didn’t have many chances to be involved unless they went full orchestral. Instead I usually had some quiet time to sit in the semi-dark as the church filled up around me, listening to the choir practice and enjoying the peace of the moment.
Before church we had Christmas Eve dinner with our cousin’s family. We exchanged a few presents and enjoyed a quick dash of the holiday innocence we were already outgrowing as we watched the two small boys bounce around the house with excitement. That same tradition took over as we went through high school, and then college, and kept going even as those two little boys went through high school and college and started showing up with their own little boys.
There have been so many different memorable experiences on so many Christmases. None of them were really the same, but a lot of them were similar enough for me to jigsaw together my archetype of Christmas Past, which never really happened during any given year. What I think of as my childhood Christmas is just a collection of scenes assembled and layered by the impermanence of memory.
Speaking for myself at least, Christmas doesn’t resonate the same way anymore. There are too many responsibilities and matters that, as adults, can only be paused for a day or two, if we’re lucky, instead of pushed aside and ignored. We still crave that innocence, that wanting myths and magic to be real, that quality of being so open to possibility. It felt perfectly natural to acknowledge and accept the confluence between the spiritual and the secular, and how that helped us make sense of parallel celebrations with different sets of traditions to honor.
Due to the combination of choices I’ve made and haven’t made in life, here I am in my 40s without a family of my own. Sometimes it’s great, but sometimes it’s really not. The only shot I had left at grabbing onto any real Christmas innocence has come and gone as my nephews have grown up. I can still remember looking in on the oldest one so many years ago, as he slept with the protection of a night light in a warm basement bedroom of my parents’ house. I knew when he woke in the morning he’d have half a moment wondering why he was there, then he’d remember it was Christmas morning and the day would come to life for him. That was my last brush with that kind of innocence, at least at that pure level. I don’t believe I’ve seen it since then, and it’s something I truly miss.
So what are we supposed to do as adults, when something as vital to childhood as Christmas spirit becomes arguably less than it used to be for us? Try to make the best of it? That’s kind of a depressing prospect. “Trying to Make the Best of It” implies effort is necessary, and the idea that anyone would have to work hard at making a holiday into something better than what they have is a bit sad.
Maybe it should just be enough to let the day be its own best version. Instead of missing what it once was or wishing for what it someday might become, it’s probably best to accept, if not appreciate, what it is.
Thursday, December 24, 2015
Thursday, December 17, 2015
Why I'm Not Completely Excited About "The Force Awakens"
I saw Star Wars for the first time with my entire elementary school on a field trip. I still remember walking the five or so blocks to the single-screen movie theater in our tiny town, sitting in a row with all of my fourth grade buddies, getting blasted back into my seat by the opening fanfare and being completely overwhelmed in the best of all possible ways when that Imperial Star Destroyer flew over my head and kept on getting longer and longer and longer. I was immediately hooked.
Both of my sisters were in the theater that day as well. My younger sister Erin was as susceptible to overindulging in enthusiasm as I was at that age, and for the two of us, Star Wars became as much of a focal interest as anything else during whatever years remained of our childhood. As far as I could tell, our older sister Jenny probably liked the movie just fine that day, but instead of sharing in the same nerdery overdrive that had taken over Erin and me, she ended up quietly enduring ours. Erin and I collected the trading cards, starting with the hard-to-find blue set and continuing through red, green, yellow, and beyond. Star Wars was the only comic book I ever subscribed to. I had a yellow Star Wars t-shirt with the two droids on it that I wore until the picture had all but completely faded away. Erin had earned a blaster just like Han Solo's as a reward for (allegedly) breaking a bad habit. I once gave Jenny a gift of an R2D2 necklace, which she wore one time to pose for a picture on her birthday, and probably never touched again. Erin hung an Empire Strikes Back movie poster on the wall in the bedroom she and Jenny shared. I'm sure Jenny loved that.
Of course we collected the action figures: Luke, Leia, Han, Chewie, Ben, Vader, C3PO, R2D2, Yoda, Stormtroopers, Tuskan Raiders, Greedo, Walrus Man, Power Droid, even a Jawa. I'm sure I'm forgetting some, and I'm just as sure if Erin were still around she'd be able to point out which ones I'd overlooked. In our house, action figures weren't precious things that stayed in plastic collector's bubbles, but they lived up to their name. My Han Solo action figure was without a head for most of its tenure in our collection; in what I now recognize as an important developmental moment of my writer brain, I invented a backstory that explained how his head wasn't actually missing but was just invisible, and how he was on a quest to change things back. Erin had a landspeeder for our figures to ride around in, and she also had a Death Star play set (which was NOT the Star Wars equivalent of a Barbie Dream House). Outside of the expected possessive older brother/younger sister arguments, we always shared everything equally since the hundreds of adventures we came up with would be better served with the entire collected cast of characters.
We had the soundtrack album, and this was back in the days when vinyl was the standard. It was a double album, and side 4 was easily the best. When friends would come over, we'd play it loud and tip back the chairs in the basement against the walls so we could pretend we were manning the guns in the Millennium Falcon while escaping from the Death Star. I still remember the moment we were watching TV and saw an ad saying Star Wars (I still cannot, to this day, refer to it as "A New Hope") was going to be shown on broadcast television. Understand, these were the days before even a VCR in every home, and in our house the announcement of that upcoming broadcast was bigger than Christmas morning.
For the longest time after "Return of the Jedi" had come and gone and the story seemed to be done, Star Wars became just part of the cultural background. There were always rumors that teased episodes 1, 2, and 3 coming someday, and maybe even episodes 7, 8, and 9 when the actors from the original trilogy would be old enough to tell the story, but eventually the anticipation of this ever happening died down. The movies were always worth a re-watch if they ever showed up on TV, and that was good enough.
I was thrilled when the original trilogy movies were re-released, even if the digital "enhancements" weren't necessarily improvements. When "The Phantom Menace" came out in 1999 to launch the prequel trilogy, Erin and I waited in line at least an hour one Friday evening to see it. It was great at the time because it was more Star Wars, and a throwback to the seed of so many of our childhood adventures, but, as time has proven, the new trilogy didn't measure up to the original. When I got my first computer, one of the first games I bought for it, and in fact ordered the same time I ordered the computer itself, was Dark Forces, a Doom-clone set in the Star Wars universe. Not long after that I bought the X-Wing Collector's Edition, which ate up more of my free time than I will ever publicly admit. Erin didn't have a computer that could run these games, and she was noticeably jealous about it when I showed her how they worked.
In a just a couple of days I'll see "The Force Awakens," the first in the new trilogy that my nine-year-old self hoped for so many decades ago. The first reviews are in, and so far they're overwhelmingly positive. The trailers have been dominating YouTube for at least the past month and they look amazing. J.J. Abrams has a great track record as a director, and since he's about my age and grew up in the same haze of Star Wars love I did, that makes me think this movie could be close to perfect, and something like all of the adventures my little sister and I had come up with while playing on the sandy hill in our yard.
But she isn't here anymore, and she's not going to get to see it. Because of that, no matter how great the movie turns out to be, no matter how dreamlike the experience of seeing it the first time after decades of hope and anticipation will feel, something about it will always be slightly less for me than it should. I fully expect I'll love the movie. It would have been nice if she'd had the chance to love it, too.
Both of my sisters were in the theater that day as well. My younger sister Erin was as susceptible to overindulging in enthusiasm as I was at that age, and for the two of us, Star Wars became as much of a focal interest as anything else during whatever years remained of our childhood. As far as I could tell, our older sister Jenny probably liked the movie just fine that day, but instead of sharing in the same nerdery overdrive that had taken over Erin and me, she ended up quietly enduring ours. Erin and I collected the trading cards, starting with the hard-to-find blue set and continuing through red, green, yellow, and beyond. Star Wars was the only comic book I ever subscribed to. I had a yellow Star Wars t-shirt with the two droids on it that I wore until the picture had all but completely faded away. Erin had earned a blaster just like Han Solo's as a reward for (allegedly) breaking a bad habit. I once gave Jenny a gift of an R2D2 necklace, which she wore one time to pose for a picture on her birthday, and probably never touched again. Erin hung an Empire Strikes Back movie poster on the wall in the bedroom she and Jenny shared. I'm sure Jenny loved that.
Of course we collected the action figures: Luke, Leia, Han, Chewie, Ben, Vader, C3PO, R2D2, Yoda, Stormtroopers, Tuskan Raiders, Greedo, Walrus Man, Power Droid, even a Jawa. I'm sure I'm forgetting some, and I'm just as sure if Erin were still around she'd be able to point out which ones I'd overlooked. In our house, action figures weren't precious things that stayed in plastic collector's bubbles, but they lived up to their name. My Han Solo action figure was without a head for most of its tenure in our collection; in what I now recognize as an important developmental moment of my writer brain, I invented a backstory that explained how his head wasn't actually missing but was just invisible, and how he was on a quest to change things back. Erin had a landspeeder for our figures to ride around in, and she also had a Death Star play set (which was NOT the Star Wars equivalent of a Barbie Dream House). Outside of the expected possessive older brother/younger sister arguments, we always shared everything equally since the hundreds of adventures we came up with would be better served with the entire collected cast of characters.
We had the soundtrack album, and this was back in the days when vinyl was the standard. It was a double album, and side 4 was easily the best. When friends would come over, we'd play it loud and tip back the chairs in the basement against the walls so we could pretend we were manning the guns in the Millennium Falcon while escaping from the Death Star. I still remember the moment we were watching TV and saw an ad saying Star Wars (I still cannot, to this day, refer to it as "A New Hope") was going to be shown on broadcast television. Understand, these were the days before even a VCR in every home, and in our house the announcement of that upcoming broadcast was bigger than Christmas morning.
For the longest time after "Return of the Jedi" had come and gone and the story seemed to be done, Star Wars became just part of the cultural background. There were always rumors that teased episodes 1, 2, and 3 coming someday, and maybe even episodes 7, 8, and 9 when the actors from the original trilogy would be old enough to tell the story, but eventually the anticipation of this ever happening died down. The movies were always worth a re-watch if they ever showed up on TV, and that was good enough.
I was thrilled when the original trilogy movies were re-released, even if the digital "enhancements" weren't necessarily improvements. When "The Phantom Menace" came out in 1999 to launch the prequel trilogy, Erin and I waited in line at least an hour one Friday evening to see it. It was great at the time because it was more Star Wars, and a throwback to the seed of so many of our childhood adventures, but, as time has proven, the new trilogy didn't measure up to the original. When I got my first computer, one of the first games I bought for it, and in fact ordered the same time I ordered the computer itself, was Dark Forces, a Doom-clone set in the Star Wars universe. Not long after that I bought the X-Wing Collector's Edition, which ate up more of my free time than I will ever publicly admit. Erin didn't have a computer that could run these games, and she was noticeably jealous about it when I showed her how they worked.
In a just a couple of days I'll see "The Force Awakens," the first in the new trilogy that my nine-year-old self hoped for so many decades ago. The first reviews are in, and so far they're overwhelmingly positive. The trailers have been dominating YouTube for at least the past month and they look amazing. J.J. Abrams has a great track record as a director, and since he's about my age and grew up in the same haze of Star Wars love I did, that makes me think this movie could be close to perfect, and something like all of the adventures my little sister and I had come up with while playing on the sandy hill in our yard.
But she isn't here anymore, and she's not going to get to see it. Because of that, no matter how great the movie turns out to be, no matter how dreamlike the experience of seeing it the first time after decades of hope and anticipation will feel, something about it will always be slightly less for me than it should. I fully expect I'll love the movie. It would have been nice if she'd had the chance to love it, too.
Sunday, December 13, 2015
Cinnamon 2: The Cinnamoning, Part 2
DAY 9
I went to a movie this afternoon and came home to a mostly darkened house.
"Um, heh heh heh, little help here?" Cinnamon said, dangling from the ceiling from a string of decorative lights I'd recently bought.
"Were you trying to decorate?" I asked, offering no assistance. I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy the sight a little.
"No, I was just...well, it's not important what I was doing," he started, evasively. "Then out of nowhere I was knocked over the head, just clobbered by something really hard and sharp. I woke up like this about an hour ago. I'm getting a little tired of hanging like this. I'm sure all the blood would have rushed to my head by now, if I had any."
"I thought you told me things had been smoothed over with the Guild," I said. I couldn't resist taunting him some. "Sounds to me like someone isn't very happy with you."
"They are, I swear," he said. "This wasn't them. If they had sent a message like this, they wouldn't have been mysterious about who was behind it. This was something different. Can I please get down now?"
"I don't know," I said, putting my teacher voice to use as I walked away. "Can you?"
DAY 10
"You have to see this!" that brain-piercing voice called out. "I finished my book!"
"Really. In just a matter of days, huh?" I asked. "That was...ambitious...of you."
He held it up as I entered the room. "What do you think?"
DAY 14
I'm just trying to sit down for a peaceful night and watch the Minnesota Vikings/Arizona Cardinals game when, out of nowhere, Cinnamon pops up right in front of the television like an eight-year-old who needs glasses (something with which I have experience from my own turn as an eight-year-old).
"Whoa! Who is THAT?!" he practically barks when the camera briefly pans along the sidelines.
"Get your fool head out of the way!" I tell him. "I'm trying to watch the game!"
"Yowza! I can see why. So seriously, who is she?"
"She's a cheerleader, and she's cheering for the wrong team. She actually has very little to do with the game."
"So why do they put her on TV?"
"Well...you know what, I'd rather just watch the game than try to explain the sociological role of NFL cheerleaders in 21st Century America to someone as stupid as you are. Something tells me you aren't paying much attention right now anyway. Just get out of the way and shut up."
"She's going to be back on again though, right? Because I'll watch this game thing if she's going to be back on."
I thought back to last year, and the events that nearly led Cinnamon willingly to his own dismemberment and painful death, and said, "You really do kind of have a 'type,' don't you?"
DAY 15
For once things were quiet when I got home. I was ready for a quiet evening of recharging after a long week when I heard a struggle, followed by a rapid series of clicks and snaps, and then a quiet so sudden and full the house could barely contain it.
"Ahem." The ridiculous dentist-drill voice clearing its throat sounded just like chewing on aluminum foil would feel, if not worse. "A little help here?"
I stepped around the love seat and saw Cinnamon, restrained, with a freakish little creature looming above him.
As soon as my shadow accidentally blocked the lamp light, the creature looked my way, gave its tiny weapon a menacing shake, and hopped away into the darkness.
"Just in time," he said. "You think you can, you know, get me out of here?"
"Nah, I think your good for now," I said, sitting back down. "Just try to relax. And let me know if that thing shows up again."
DAY 16
The twerp hacked my Facebook account while I THOUGHT my phone was charging. I suppose I should feel lucky that he didn't cause any more damage than he did. Sorry for any confusion.
I went to a movie this afternoon and came home to a mostly darkened house.
"Um, heh heh heh, little help here?" Cinnamon said, dangling from the ceiling from a string of decorative lights I'd recently bought.
"Were you trying to decorate?" I asked, offering no assistance. I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy the sight a little.
"No, I was just...well, it's not important what I was doing," he started, evasively. "Then out of nowhere I was knocked over the head, just clobbered by something really hard and sharp. I woke up like this about an hour ago. I'm getting a little tired of hanging like this. I'm sure all the blood would have rushed to my head by now, if I had any."
"I thought you told me things had been smoothed over with the Guild," I said. I couldn't resist taunting him some. "Sounds to me like someone isn't very happy with you."
"They are, I swear," he said. "This wasn't them. If they had sent a message like this, they wouldn't have been mysterious about who was behind it. This was something different. Can I please get down now?"
"I don't know," I said, putting my teacher voice to use as I walked away. "Can you?"
DAY 10
"You have to see this!" that brain-piercing voice called out. "I finished my book!"
"Really. In just a matter of days, huh?" I asked. "That was...ambitious...of you."
He held it up as I entered the room. "What do you think?"
"I'm not sure that's going to work out the way you want," I said.
DAY 11
I'm dead tired after a long day at work. When I get home, I eventually sit down to check if there's anything other than ads about big sales in my e-mail. I find Cinnamon perched expectantly on my desk.
"Surprise!" he shouts. "I know how much you despise Mondays and how depressed you get this time of year, so I put together a nice candy dish for you as a welcome home treat! Go ahead and dig in!"
I can't tell if he's that stupid or he thinks I am. I let go of a deep sigh. "No thanks," I said. "I think I'll pass."
DAY 12
This sight? Not what you want to see right when you wake up. I don't even own this many Legos. I'm pretty sure this many legos wouldn't fit in my sad little toy chest. t carefully navigated the hallway and grabbed Cinnamon by his legs, yanking him from the pile where he'd been stuck, half buried.
"What's the big idea?" I demanded.
"It wasn't me!" he squawked after catching his breath. "I don't know what's going on!"
DAY 13
The TV was on when I got home tonight.
"I've been watching the news," Cinnamon said. "What do you know about this guy? He's been on all day long. He's got some interesting ideas. He sort of reminds me of some of the others back in the Guild."
I'm just trying to sit down for a peaceful night and watch the Minnesota Vikings/Arizona Cardinals game when, out of nowhere, Cinnamon pops up right in front of the television like an eight-year-old who needs glasses (something with which I have experience from my own turn as an eight-year-old).
"Whoa! Who is THAT?!" he practically barks when the camera briefly pans along the sidelines.
"Get your fool head out of the way!" I tell him. "I'm trying to watch the game!"
"Yowza! I can see why. So seriously, who is she?"
"She's a cheerleader, and she's cheering for the wrong team. She actually has very little to do with the game."
"So why do they put her on TV?"
"Well...you know what, I'd rather just watch the game than try to explain the sociological role of NFL cheerleaders in 21st Century America to someone as stupid as you are. Something tells me you aren't paying much attention right now anyway. Just get out of the way and shut up."
"She's going to be back on again though, right? Because I'll watch this game thing if she's going to be back on."
I thought back to last year, and the events that nearly led Cinnamon willingly to his own dismemberment and painful death, and said, "You really do kind of have a 'type,' don't you?"
DAY 15
For once things were quiet when I got home. I was ready for a quiet evening of recharging after a long week when I heard a struggle, followed by a rapid series of clicks and snaps, and then a quiet so sudden and full the house could barely contain it.
"Ahem." The ridiculous dentist-drill voice clearing its throat sounded just like chewing on aluminum foil would feel, if not worse. "A little help here?"
I stepped around the love seat and saw Cinnamon, restrained, with a freakish little creature looming above him.
As soon as my shadow accidentally blocked the lamp light, the creature looked my way, gave its tiny weapon a menacing shake, and hopped away into the darkness.
"Just in time," he said. "You think you can, you know, get me out of here?"
"Nah, I think your good for now," I said, sitting back down. "Just try to relax. And let me know if that thing shows up again."
DAY 16
The twerp hacked my Facebook account while I THOUGHT my phone was charging. I suppose I should feel lucky that he didn't cause any more damage than he did. Sorry for any confusion.
Saturday, December 5, 2015
Cinnamon 2: The Cinnamoning, Part 1
DAY 1
It had been a quiet Thanksgiving this year, but a good one all the same. Dinner at my parents' house, dessert at my cousin's, and an uneventful drive home afterward. I watched one of the streamed episodes of Mystery Science Theater 3000 off the Apple TV, then went to bed.
I thought I'd turned off my alarm before going to bed. In fact, I was sure I had the night before. Still it blared to life and startled me awake. I reached over to slap at it when it went off this morning, turned on the lamp, and...
It had been a quiet Thanksgiving this year, but a good one all the same. Dinner at my parents' house, dessert at my cousin's, and an uneventful drive home afterward. I watched one of the streamed episodes of Mystery Science Theater 3000 off the Apple TV, then went to bed.
I thought I'd turned off my alarm before going to bed. In fact, I was sure I had the night before. Still it blared to life and startled me awake. I reached over to slap at it when it went off this morning, turned on the lamp, and...
"GAHH!! YOU AGAIN?!"
"Hey dude, how ya been?" he squeaked. "It's good to see you, too!" Clavicus Hrothgar, a.k.a. Cinnamon, the same pain-in-the-butt elven sprite who had invaded my house during the holiday season last year, taking on the troubling appearance of one of those insipid "Elf on the Shelf" figures. I'd forgotten about that awful helium-on-helium voice of his.
"I thought you were dead," I said, unconcerned that my disappointment was all too evident. The last I had seen of him was just a scrap of red felt on my front step on Christmas morning after he had escaped being nearly tortured to death. "How did you escape your enemies from the Guild last year?"
"Oh, that?" He laughed, waving it off. "That's all...yeah, everything's...you know, heh heh heh, don't worry about it. All in the past. We have more important things to discuss."
"We really don't," I said, turning off the lamp and rolling over.
"Oh, but I've got plans! And I think you're just the person to help me!" Then he paused. "But first, have you seen my hat anywhere?"
I had, actually. I'd found something that had looked all too much like his hat in my driveway weeks before. I had hoped it wasn't what I thought it was, but when I tried to light it on fire and nothing happened, I was concerned.
DAY 2
I had family over last night for some post-Thanksgiving good times and had the house back to its original state by the time I went to bed. I found this scene in the living room the following morning.
“What ARE these things?" he said from a scattering of Lego blocks. "They’re awesome!”Yes, I'll admit it: I have a chest in my house full of toys, in case any friends of mine bring their kids over.
“You’re an elf. And you’ve never seen Legos before.”
“Legos? HA! That’s a weird name.”
“Yeah, sure…Cinnamon. How did you even find those?”
“Um…remember that little kid that was here last night? And you got these out of that chest for him? And he was playing with them while that other little kid was running around everywhere? Yeah. He must have left them out.”
“No, actually, that little kid’s dad put them all away when they left. So….”
“Well, I don’t know what happened then. They got out somehow. I found them like this."
“Sure. Because Legos habitually throw themselves all over the house.”
He paused. “It would explain a lot, wouldn’t it?"
I unceremoniously tossed him into the other room and began picking up the blocks. Funny thing was, I didn't recognize all of the ones he had out. I only had a few small sets, and even though it's been years since they had been taken out of the chest -- until the night before, at least -- I knew what the sets were like. Maybe I just thought I did.
DAY 3
At least I didn't have to go outside to get the newspaper today. Cinnamon already had it spread out all over the kitchen, with sections on the table, the counter, and the floor. It looked like I was preparing to house-train a collection of birds.
"This!" he squeaks. "This whole Elf on the Shelf thing! This is what I was talking about! It's all about branding! Do you have any idea how much cash these chumps are raking in on this racket? I know that girl in the ad! She isn't anywhere as friendly as innocent as she looks here! We need to get in on this action!"
"Aren't you already a part of that?" I asked.
"I was," he said, sounding disgustingly pitiful. "Not anymore, though. After all that drama last year, with me almost being sliced into small pieces, which was really more than just a huge misunderstanding on their part, by the way, I had to sign away my likeness rights during negotiations with the Guild to get them off my back. But I made sure there was a contractual loophole that would allow me to still ride the wave of this fad. I don't need those other clowns. I want to start from scratch and brand MYSELF. I could be the Grand Emperor of Pinterest in less than a week."
He showed me this ad. "See that book? Kids love storybooks, right? And this time of year their parents will buy them practically anything! That's our gateway! That's where we start! Draw a few sketches, think up some rhymes, and boom! Done! How hard can it be? I could have it all done by dinner time!"
"I heard a 'we' in there."
"Oh heck yeah, I'll cut you in! I'll handle the creative, you set things up on the business end. Do you know anyone who can hook us up with a publisher? Anyone with industry contacts?"
"No," I answered quickly. "Sorry. Can't help you there."
"Shoot," he said. "That's all right, I guess. I can't believe getting a book published involves more than making a few phone calls. I'm sure I'll think of something. Why don't you make me some eggs now that you're finally out of bed?"
DAY 4
I feel slightly at peace after driving through the first heavy flakes of the approaching storm on my way home. I walk in the house to find one lamp on, with Cinnamon sitting beside a closely-guarded remote control.
"A Charlie Brown Chistmas, 50th anniversary," he says. "We're watching it. End of discussion."
I kick off my shoes and sit in the recliner on the other side of the table, taking the remote out of his reach. "You know what?" I say. "I'm perfectly fine with that."
DAY 5
"Check it," he says. "I found more! These are awesome!" He was sitting in an even larger pile of Legos. So many were scattered so far around the carpeting I was sure he had upended the toy chest and dumped out every piece I own. I was furious.
"Okay, A, there were no kids here last night for you to blame," I started. "And B, I'm not even sure there's even room for that many Legos in my toy chest. And C -- you are totally picking those up."
"Yeah, yeah, fine. No problemo. You have to go off to whatever 'school' is anyway, don't you? Don't worry your balding little head about it. I have everything under control."
After so many years as a teacher, I have a pretty strong sixth sense about when I'm being lied to.
DAY 6
I forgot my iPad at home this morning when I went to school. Bad idea, and not just because if left me without all of my terribly valuable spreadsheets.
"I've been thinking about branding ideas today," he said. "I figure once my book comes out, I'll have to be prepared for a lot of appearances and signings. That's what writers do, right? Plan for stuff like that? I've seen you sit for hours doing nothing but practicing your autograph. That's some impressive focus you have."
I felt my face turn red. "You what?! When did you...I never...I don't know what you're talking about."
"Hey, whatevs, it's all good. So what do you think of mine?" He held up the iPad to show me the screen. "I figure since you didn't need this today I might as well practice on a touch screen. That way we both aren't wasting reams of paper practicing autographs, am I right?"
"Shut up," I said, looking it over. "Who's Michelle?" I asked, cautiously. "A new friend of yours? You didn't invited anyone in last night, did you?"
He laughed out loud and my right ear began bleeding a little. "Oh no! I learned my lesson after last year. It's just some random name that came to me. Gotta be ready for everyone, right?"
DAY 7
I woke to a sound more startling than my alarm, something between laughter and a growing cry of distress.
"Stop, stop, really! It doesn't tickle now! This isn't fun anymore!"
A scream of pain broke through the morning darkness. I got out of bed and hurried to the living room, turning on lights along my way. I saw that wherever Cinnamon spends the night while I'm sleeping, he must not concern himself with hiding very well.
"Help!" he shrieked as the lights came on. My parents' dogs had found him. Shamus had Cinnamon pegged as the unwelcome guest he is, while Butch watched with semi-curiosity, as is his usual way.
I felt a moment of pride at the scene before finally calling Shamus away -- not for Cinnamon's sake really, but because Shamus has such a sensitive little tummy, and there's no telling what might happen with bits of elf in his system. I led the dogs into the kitchen and gave them each a well-earned treat instead. By the time I walked back into the living room, Cinnamon had crawled away to hide somewhere.
DAY 8
The house smelled amazing when I got home, but my heart raced into a panic when I realized there was a lit candle burning in the kitchen. Did I actually light a candle before going in to school and forgot about it? I'd never done that before. Seeing who sat beside it only made the situation worse.
"Could you please never again use matches in my home, ever?!" I yelled. "Unless you're curious about discovering how fireproof your stupid elf suit is?"
"You're failing to see the big picture," he replied, shaking his head in the most condescending manner. "See? I bought this today! It has my name right on the label! Plus 'sparkling,' which perfectly describes me! This is exactly the kind of branding I've been looking for!"
"I don't think the company had you in mind when they made that," I said.
He considered that for a moment. "Okay. Well, how about this then? We get them to put my face right on the label, instead of that pile of firewood-looking stuff, whatever that is! They could probably do that, right?"
"No," I said quickly. "I'm sure that would be impossible."
"Hmm, really? Oh well. It still smells nice. By the way, I had to use your credit card to pay for it. I hope that's cool. Plus I don't remember where I left it. I mean, I think I brought it back from the store, but I can't say that with 100% confidence. But you have a really colorful card, so I'm sure it will be easy for you to spot, especially if I dropped it on the ground somewhere.
I shook my head, blew out the candle, walked into the living room and collapsed face-first onto the sofa, just long enough to catch my breath. Then I got back up, walked into the office, and looked up the number of my credit card company.
Sunday, November 29, 2015
Christmas Up the Fridge
Thanksgiving is over. The out-of-town visitors have returned home. Most of the leftovers have been eaten. The carnival of bedlam that is Black Friday has come and gone. The oldies radio station in the Cities (which now mainly plays the music I listened to while growing up, and let me tell you sometime about what an existential kick in the mouth that is) has made its annual switch over to perpetual Christmas music.
I used to love Christmas. For a kid like me with an overactive imagination and energy to spare, it was all too easy to get caught up in the season. My sisters and I went to a parochial elementary school, so the holiday became completely integrated with everything about our school lives for an entire month. Waiting for the TV specials to air, and watching when they did because it only happened once each year, was an event. Decorating the tree and the house were cherished family traditions. The handful of Christmas albums in my parents' somewhat minimal record collection were favorites, just because they seemed to resonate a bit differently. It was always exciting to come home for winter break during college, knowing how much family and cousin time there would be. Even the one piece of writing I did of any note, before the past few years, was seeing a play I wrote produced by a community theater group. It was about a little boy who wanted to stay up late on Christmas Eve to ask Santa Claus to help him find his missing dog.
But things happened as I got older, and now, to put it simply, I find Christmas to be one of the most depressing times of the year. I'll spare you the details about why, but all too frequently I find myself wandering through the season feeling much like Charlie Brown in his beloved TV special. He sees everyone around him so involved and happy and full of cheer, and is left slightly perplexed about why he can't allow myself to see it all the same way. (If you know the special, you also know Charlie Brown tends to overthink his way through the story. It's no secret this is an issue of mine as well.)
Luckily though, I've learned in adulthood to try and be proactive about such problems. The way I see it, if you know some kind of emotional obstacle is just on your horizon, why not find ways to circumvent it before it becomes overwhelming? Which brings us to this year, the Christmas season of 2015.
I know myself well enough to realize I'm much happier when I'm working toward a goal. This past summer I had some success with that by covering my refrigerator door with a collection of sticky notes, each one listing either a task there'd be time to accomplish during the summer or some kind of small adventure I could have. I didn't get every item on this massive To-Do list completed, but I finished enough of it to make my summer into something it otherwise would not have been. In the spirit of proactivity, I've decided to bring that idea back for Christmas. I've come to think of the holiday season as the stretch of time between the first day back to school after Thanksgiving and New Year's Day, which essentially means the month of December, give or take a few days. I don't plan on going with the sticky notes like in the summer, but instead, for a more seasonal touch, I bought a set of note-sized gift tags, like these:
I used to love Christmas. For a kid like me with an overactive imagination and energy to spare, it was all too easy to get caught up in the season. My sisters and I went to a parochial elementary school, so the holiday became completely integrated with everything about our school lives for an entire month. Waiting for the TV specials to air, and watching when they did because it only happened once each year, was an event. Decorating the tree and the house were cherished family traditions. The handful of Christmas albums in my parents' somewhat minimal record collection were favorites, just because they seemed to resonate a bit differently. It was always exciting to come home for winter break during college, knowing how much family and cousin time there would be. Even the one piece of writing I did of any note, before the past few years, was seeing a play I wrote produced by a community theater group. It was about a little boy who wanted to stay up late on Christmas Eve to ask Santa Claus to help him find his missing dog.
But things happened as I got older, and now, to put it simply, I find Christmas to be one of the most depressing times of the year. I'll spare you the details about why, but all too frequently I find myself wandering through the season feeling much like Charlie Brown in his beloved TV special. He sees everyone around him so involved and happy and full of cheer, and is left slightly perplexed about why he can't allow myself to see it all the same way. (If you know the special, you also know Charlie Brown tends to overthink his way through the story. It's no secret this is an issue of mine as well.)
Luckily though, I've learned in adulthood to try and be proactive about such problems. The way I see it, if you know some kind of emotional obstacle is just on your horizon, why not find ways to circumvent it before it becomes overwhelming? Which brings us to this year, the Christmas season of 2015.
I know myself well enough to realize I'm much happier when I'm working toward a goal. This past summer I had some success with that by covering my refrigerator door with a collection of sticky notes, each one listing either a task there'd be time to accomplish during the summer or some kind of small adventure I could have. I didn't get every item on this massive To-Do list completed, but I finished enough of it to make my summer into something it otherwise would not have been. In the spirit of proactivity, I've decided to bring that idea back for Christmas. I've come to think of the holiday season as the stretch of time between the first day back to school after Thanksgiving and New Year's Day, which essentially means the month of December, give or take a few days. I don't plan on going with the sticky notes like in the summer, but instead, for a more seasonal touch, I bought a set of note-sized gift tags, like these:
The problem now is trying to think of what to include that will help squeeze some joy out of a time when I tend to lean the other way. There are some traditions to list and look forward to, but they might not be enough to chase off holiday blues, or even help push me toward my goal. So today, just as the holiday season is about to start, I'm putting out the call for any ideas or recommendations people might have about things to include on the December gift tag Fridge List. What are things you enjoy? What traditions do you have? What might you suggest to nudge me out of the funk I know is coming, but won't necessarily overly-stress me in the process? If you're someone in my daily life, what are some things we could do together? These don't even have to be holiday-specific ideas, but things that could be done this time of year, especially with winter break coming up in a few weeks.
So...any ideas?
Friday, November 20, 2015
I am Thankful for YOU Because....
A couple of years ago I lazied my way out of sending Christmas cards (possibly forever, with a handful of notable exceptions). My plan that year instead was to make a list of the brief messages I would have sent people and put them all together as part of a holiday blog post, that you could read by clicking here if you were so inclined. The kicker to this was that instead of identifying which message was intended for what person, I left it all anonymous and open to wide and frustrating speculation, and was surprised to find out how many people were left curious. So, why not do a different version of that same thing?
A newer tradition at the school where I work started up last year. A pile of blank notes is kept in the staff workroom in the days leading up to the Thanksgiving break. People are encouraged to take as many of these notes as they'd like, then write a short message about why they are thankful for someone else on our staff, and then put that note in their mailbox, either signed or left anonymously. I did a few of them last year (mostly to defy expectations) and may have even received one or two myself.
Instead of passing along those notes this year though, I'm going to put my messages to my colleagues right here for the whole wide Internet to read. However, once again, I'm going to make them all anonymous. Maybe this will leave some people in the dark, but, like I said the last time I did this, I'd like to think the people who these are written for would recognize which are directed toward them. Some of these people might not ever see this post for any number of reasons, but some will. I work with a good number of quality people, several of whom have become good friends I'm grateful to have in my life. If circumstances ever present a path that would see me following a way out of education, one of the things I would truly miss about it would be these people and the sense of community they provide for me. Tonight, on the weekend before my favorite week of the calendar year, I'm going to provide some examples of why they are so important in my world, and why I'm thankful for each of them.
(And no, I am never going to solidly confirm any names regarding who these are meant for. So don't bother asking. I'm totally not kidding on this. Guess away if you must, but it just ain't gonna happen.)
Here we go....
*I have a history with you that is unique between us compared to me and anyone else in the building. I'm thankful I get to see you the semi-regular times I do, and that after what's become a fair amount of time we're still able speak in our own version of verbal shorthand.
*It's been a rare thing for me to have someone like you in a school I can talk to with such shared language. I'm thankful that element is a part of so many of my days.
*I don't know if you always get the proper credit for the amount of work you do in keeping the whole school community moving forward. More than that, I'm thankful for having someone as kind as you in my life.
*I'm thankful to witness the energy and ambition you bring to your job, as well as giving me opportunities to justify to myself that some of the decisions I'm making are the right ones.
*I'm thankful I have you for my sounding board on just about any subject I'd need one for.
*Some people change the tone of the world around them by simply being themselves. I'm thankful I get to experience a piece of that from you.
*I'm thankful I've had you around as long as I've had to help me figure out what I'm doing, encourage me in the times I'm doing something right, and call me out on my BS when I need it.
*I'm thankful for the way you won't hold back when you feel passionately about something, and for knowing I never have to hold back with you.
*I still don't fully understand why you did it, but I'm thankful that instead of trying to delicately tiptoe around the walls I've been known to put up around myself, you decided to simply bulldoze your way over them.
*I'm thankful for knowing that you are, more often than not, a part of each day for me, and because I know I could sit and frequently have the kinds of conversations with you that wander through a dozen different topics and could go on for hours at a time.
*I'm thankful that, even though I don't see you every day, you're still around.
*I'm thankful for the optimism you either naturally have or force yourself to carry, and that you manage to carry it in a manner that isn't at all overbearing.
*I'm thankful to have someone around who, as far as I've been able to tell over the years, gets me. I wish I had the chance to know you better.
Happy Thanksgiving early, everyone! If you look for ways to stretch the whole experience out over a full week instead of just one day, I promise it only gets better.
A newer tradition at the school where I work started up last year. A pile of blank notes is kept in the staff workroom in the days leading up to the Thanksgiving break. People are encouraged to take as many of these notes as they'd like, then write a short message about why they are thankful for someone else on our staff, and then put that note in their mailbox, either signed or left anonymously. I did a few of them last year (mostly to defy expectations) and may have even received one or two myself.
Instead of passing along those notes this year though, I'm going to put my messages to my colleagues right here for the whole wide Internet to read. However, once again, I'm going to make them all anonymous. Maybe this will leave some people in the dark, but, like I said the last time I did this, I'd like to think the people who these are written for would recognize which are directed toward them. Some of these people might not ever see this post for any number of reasons, but some will. I work with a good number of quality people, several of whom have become good friends I'm grateful to have in my life. If circumstances ever present a path that would see me following a way out of education, one of the things I would truly miss about it would be these people and the sense of community they provide for me. Tonight, on the weekend before my favorite week of the calendar year, I'm going to provide some examples of why they are so important in my world, and why I'm thankful for each of them.
(And no, I am never going to solidly confirm any names regarding who these are meant for. So don't bother asking. I'm totally not kidding on this. Guess away if you must, but it just ain't gonna happen.)
Here we go....
*I have a history with you that is unique between us compared to me and anyone else in the building. I'm thankful I get to see you the semi-regular times I do, and that after what's become a fair amount of time we're still able speak in our own version of verbal shorthand.
*It's been a rare thing for me to have someone like you in a school I can talk to with such shared language. I'm thankful that element is a part of so many of my days.
*I don't know if you always get the proper credit for the amount of work you do in keeping the whole school community moving forward. More than that, I'm thankful for having someone as kind as you in my life.
*I'm thankful to witness the energy and ambition you bring to your job, as well as giving me opportunities to justify to myself that some of the decisions I'm making are the right ones.
*I'm thankful I have you for my sounding board on just about any subject I'd need one for.
*Some people change the tone of the world around them by simply being themselves. I'm thankful I get to experience a piece of that from you.
*I'm thankful I've had you around as long as I've had to help me figure out what I'm doing, encourage me in the times I'm doing something right, and call me out on my BS when I need it.
*I'm thankful for the way you won't hold back when you feel passionately about something, and for knowing I never have to hold back with you.
*I still don't fully understand why you did it, but I'm thankful that instead of trying to delicately tiptoe around the walls I've been known to put up around myself, you decided to simply bulldoze your way over them.
*I'm thankful for knowing that you are, more often than not, a part of each day for me, and because I know I could sit and frequently have the kinds of conversations with you that wander through a dozen different topics and could go on for hours at a time.
*I'm thankful that, even though I don't see you every day, you're still around.
*I'm thankful for the optimism you either naturally have or force yourself to carry, and that you manage to carry it in a manner that isn't at all overbearing.
*I'm thankful to have someone around who, as far as I've been able to tell over the years, gets me. I wish I had the chance to know you better.
Happy Thanksgiving early, everyone! If you look for ways to stretch the whole experience out over a full week instead of just one day, I promise it only gets better.
Sunday, November 15, 2015
NaNoReMo and Lake Emily
I only have a short post tonight, since all of my writing energy is being directed in a very specific direction these days. However, I want to make sure the blog is still getting enough oxygen to stay conscious, and posting a progress update is a good way of keeping myself accountable, so....
A few weeks back I mentioned here that I wouldn't be participating in National Novel Writing Month this year for the first time since 2008. Now that November is officially halfway over, I can honestly say I have no regrets about that decision. Fifty thousand words written in even semi-coherent order in a month is no small feat, and I have nothing but admiration for anyone who dares to accept that challenge. For me though, at least this year, it was more important to work on my 'Lake Emily' revisions, so I proclaimed November to be my very own National Novel Revising Month.
So far it's been a month of scrambling at school to reduce the work I need to bring home to an absolute minimum (which wouldn't be such a bad plan all year, really), letting the DVR slowly fill, waking up early, staying up late, and listening to a lot of nine-minute Iron Maiden songs to get myself in the proper mindset to tell this story. I'm very happy with the work I've done so far. I'm ecstatic about the outlining I've done and the new directions everything is heading, but I have to own up to it being a slower process.
Not a surprise, really -- when your #1 goal is to build word count, you don't always have to work so thoughtfully. Revising, though? Totally different. Everything is about thoughtful and careful and deliberate, to the point where I spent the better part of two hours this morning fighting with a section that was only about 700 words long. It was totally worth it though, because they were 700 tremendously important words, and getting them locked down in the proper order has been an obstacle I've been fighting with for a long time now. With any luck I'll reread that same passage tomorrow night and it won't completely suck, then I can lock it down as part of the revision.
Maybe I'll be done on the 30th; I'm sure going to try. Having a nice long Thanksgiving weekend away from school will help with that. It will be nice to finish this version, and super nice since I can already see how much better it's going to be than it was before. I'd sure like to live in a December where I wasn't plowing through life in overdrive, so that's motivating me. Plus I've got two other big external motivators driving me forward: One is a huge, and still unlit, Vanilla Bourbon Yankee Candle sitting next to my computer screen like a babysitter, reminding me what I should be doing instead of taking ridiculous Facebook quizzes when I sit down in the office to work. The other is the awful feeling that I might be the one nerd left in the gaming world who isn't yet hip-deep in playing Fallout 4.
Since I'm not even allowing myself to buy the game until I'm finished with revising, that's really starting to itch....
A few weeks back I mentioned here that I wouldn't be participating in National Novel Writing Month this year for the first time since 2008. Now that November is officially halfway over, I can honestly say I have no regrets about that decision. Fifty thousand words written in even semi-coherent order in a month is no small feat, and I have nothing but admiration for anyone who dares to accept that challenge. For me though, at least this year, it was more important to work on my 'Lake Emily' revisions, so I proclaimed November to be my very own National Novel Revising Month.
So far it's been a month of scrambling at school to reduce the work I need to bring home to an absolute minimum (which wouldn't be such a bad plan all year, really), letting the DVR slowly fill, waking up early, staying up late, and listening to a lot of nine-minute Iron Maiden songs to get myself in the proper mindset to tell this story. I'm very happy with the work I've done so far. I'm ecstatic about the outlining I've done and the new directions everything is heading, but I have to own up to it being a slower process.
Not a surprise, really -- when your #1 goal is to build word count, you don't always have to work so thoughtfully. Revising, though? Totally different. Everything is about thoughtful and careful and deliberate, to the point where I spent the better part of two hours this morning fighting with a section that was only about 700 words long. It was totally worth it though, because they were 700 tremendously important words, and getting them locked down in the proper order has been an obstacle I've been fighting with for a long time now. With any luck I'll reread that same passage tomorrow night and it won't completely suck, then I can lock it down as part of the revision.
Maybe I'll be done on the 30th; I'm sure going to try. Having a nice long Thanksgiving weekend away from school will help with that. It will be nice to finish this version, and super nice since I can already see how much better it's going to be than it was before. I'd sure like to live in a December where I wasn't plowing through life in overdrive, so that's motivating me. Plus I've got two other big external motivators driving me forward: One is a huge, and still unlit, Vanilla Bourbon Yankee Candle sitting next to my computer screen like a babysitter, reminding me what I should be doing instead of taking ridiculous Facebook quizzes when I sit down in the office to work. The other is the awful feeling that I might be the one nerd left in the gaming world who isn't yet hip-deep in playing Fallout 4.
Since I'm not even allowing myself to buy the game until I'm finished with revising, that's really starting to itch....
Saturday, October 31, 2015
Pumpkin Spice Eternal
I know pumpkin pie can be somewhat polarizing as far as pies go, but I've always liked it. Sure, it has a texture reminiscent of baby food, or other things that have to do with babies that would be better left undiscussed, but it has a good flavor. When I first heard how pumpkin spice lattes were a thing, I understood the appeal, even if I'm more of a reluctant coffee participant than a coffee enthusiast.
I've noticed how the whole idea of pumpkin spice flavoring has really taken over the world in recent years, very much in parallel with how bacon has, but in a more time-concentrated, autumnal-centric manner. I feel it's reached a level where the arrival of pumpkin spice products has become as much of a seasonal herald as Christmas decorations, Valentine candy, or Back to School shoe sales. To satisfy my own curiosity, I kept a list this year of all the things I've encountered that serve as evidence of the pumpkin spice takeover (or golden age, depending on your preference) we're experiencing:
*Pumpkin spice lattes (probably as responsible for originating the trend as anything else)
*Pumpkin cream cheese muffins
*Pumpkin spice Belvita breakfast biscuits
*Pumpkin spice stout (the first one that made me think things were getting out of hand)
*Related to the previous item, something called "Harvest Patch Shandy"
*Pumpkin spice ice cream
*Pumpkin spice toaster strudel...
*...and, of course, Pumpkin spice Pop-Tarts
*Pumpkin spice flavor pre-made Toll House cookie dough
*Pumpkin spice Oreos (which I guess are being made in Mexico now?)
*Russel Stover pumpkin spice chocolate pumpkins (which makes sense)
*Pumpkin spice M&Ms
*Pumpkin spice trail mix
*Yankee Candle scents of pumpkin buttercream, pumpkin ginger bark, spiced pumpkin, and apple pumpkin, to name a few
*Pumpkin spice caramel corn (mixed with pumpkin seeds)
*Pumpkin spice biscotti
*Pumpkin flavored Little Debbie cakes (which, to be fair, have been around a long time)
*McDonald's pumpkin pies (in my opinion, something of a risk)
*Pumpkin spice automobile air fresheners (I am not even kidding)
*Pumpkin spice Hostess cupcakes
*Pumpkin spice cheesecake shakes
*Pumpkin spice Oreo shakes
*Pumpkin spice dessert pizza
*Pumpkin spice egg nog (holiday synergy??)
*Pumpkin flavored pancakes
This list is just stuff I noticed; I wasn't even on the hunt. Now, like I said, I enjoy pumpkin spice flavoring just fine. It has a pleasant, comfortable tang that complements the season well. I'm sure come Thanksgiving day, I'll be having a piece of pumpkin pie well after my dinner has settled.
But that's still a good month away. And I suspect the pumpkin onslaught isn't over with just yet....
Saturday, October 24, 2015
Sitting Out 2015
This November, for the first time since 2008, I will NOT be participating in National Novel Writing Month. I acknowledge this may not be Earth-shattering news for everyone, but I feel it's important for me to say it out here on the wilds of the Internet for reasons of accountability.
This decision isn't due to a lack of ideas. In fact, I had every intention of participating as recently as a week ago, with an idea that was far enough out of my comfort zone/wheelhouse that I was somewhere between curious and excited to see how it might come together. Which is to say nothing of at least two other more fully-formed book concepts I have patiently waiting in the queue that could have benefitted from a month of drafting and workshopping and experimentation and discovery.
It doesn't have anything to do with being intimidated by the physical and mental endurance required to write a minimum of 50,000 words of story in thirty days or less. In each of the seven years I've participated, I've either met that goal or surpassed it, sometimes reaching the 50,000 mark in the final hours of the month, sometimes reaching it a week earlier than I needed to, and sometimes continuing beyond into the range of 65,000-70,000 words. I know if I decided to take it on, I would reach the goal. I make reaching goals a habit (largely because I know how mercilessly I'll beat up on myself afterward if I don't achieve them).
It doesn't have anything to do with prior commitments. November this year looks to bring a welcome mundanity to my weekly schedule, with many wide open evenings and weekends, and me at a place in the school year that has me able to keep up with my classroom and lesson planning without having to take too much time away from school to make up the slack. This is a really nice place to be.
My decision has everything to do with wanting to ride a wave of recent momentum I've found while working on the revisions for the somewhat intense middle grade ghost story I have every reason to believe will end up being my second (or possibly first?) novel. I've been working on the revisions for months now, but the time demands related to the beginning of the school year slowed my progress considerably. This is a project I've written and rewritten and revised and edited several times over on my own already, but working on it now, when knowing that eventual publication is so much more likely, changes everything. When I think of the difference between sitting here in my home office and telling stories to the computer screen because it's something I feel personally compelled to do and writing something that will ultimately be turned in to my agent so she can take it on submission, I think back to a line from an episode of "The West Wing." Deputy Chief of Staff Josh Lyman just discovered he had had been politically bamboozled by the vice president in a manner which even someone as politically savvy as he was hadn't seen coming. When the VP confirmed what had happened, his response was, "Welcome to the NBA." I always took that to mean "You just found yourself working on a whole new level, pal. I suggest you start figuring out what it takes to try and keep up."
Now that I'm here, I really want to keep up. If that means passing on something that has become a tradition for me because I want to invest that same November time and dedicate that November energy to a project that's getting closer to completion by the day, I'm totally comfortable with that choice. I won't have a draft of something new to play with by the end of November, but I fully intend to have the newer, longer, deeper, and scarier version of The Ghost of Lake Emily delivered to my agent's inbox before 11:59 P.M. on Monday, November 30th.
Wish me luck. And it probably wouldn't be a bad thing to give me the occasional nudge or kick in the pants over the next thirty-seven days to keep me honest. I plan on reaching this goal, but that doesn't mean it's going to come easy.
This decision isn't due to a lack of ideas. In fact, I had every intention of participating as recently as a week ago, with an idea that was far enough out of my comfort zone/wheelhouse that I was somewhere between curious and excited to see how it might come together. Which is to say nothing of at least two other more fully-formed book concepts I have patiently waiting in the queue that could have benefitted from a month of drafting and workshopping and experimentation and discovery.
It doesn't have anything to do with being intimidated by the physical and mental endurance required to write a minimum of 50,000 words of story in thirty days or less. In each of the seven years I've participated, I've either met that goal or surpassed it, sometimes reaching the 50,000 mark in the final hours of the month, sometimes reaching it a week earlier than I needed to, and sometimes continuing beyond into the range of 65,000-70,000 words. I know if I decided to take it on, I would reach the goal. I make reaching goals a habit (largely because I know how mercilessly I'll beat up on myself afterward if I don't achieve them).
It doesn't have anything to do with prior commitments. November this year looks to bring a welcome mundanity to my weekly schedule, with many wide open evenings and weekends, and me at a place in the school year that has me able to keep up with my classroom and lesson planning without having to take too much time away from school to make up the slack. This is a really nice place to be.
My decision has everything to do with wanting to ride a wave of recent momentum I've found while working on the revisions for the somewhat intense middle grade ghost story I have every reason to believe will end up being my second (or possibly first?) novel. I've been working on the revisions for months now, but the time demands related to the beginning of the school year slowed my progress considerably. This is a project I've written and rewritten and revised and edited several times over on my own already, but working on it now, when knowing that eventual publication is so much more likely, changes everything. When I think of the difference between sitting here in my home office and telling stories to the computer screen because it's something I feel personally compelled to do and writing something that will ultimately be turned in to my agent so she can take it on submission, I think back to a line from an episode of "The West Wing." Deputy Chief of Staff Josh Lyman just discovered he had had been politically bamboozled by the vice president in a manner which even someone as politically savvy as he was hadn't seen coming. When the VP confirmed what had happened, his response was, "Welcome to the NBA." I always took that to mean "You just found yourself working on a whole new level, pal. I suggest you start figuring out what it takes to try and keep up."
Now that I'm here, I really want to keep up. If that means passing on something that has become a tradition for me because I want to invest that same November time and dedicate that November energy to a project that's getting closer to completion by the day, I'm totally comfortable with that choice. I won't have a draft of something new to play with by the end of November, but I fully intend to have the newer, longer, deeper, and scarier version of The Ghost of Lake Emily delivered to my agent's inbox before 11:59 P.M. on Monday, November 30th.
Wish me luck. And it probably wouldn't be a bad thing to give me the occasional nudge or kick in the pants over the next thirty-seven days to keep me honest. I plan on reaching this goal, but that doesn't mean it's going to come easy.
Monday, October 5, 2015
Erin and the Boys, Eleven Years Later
As many people who have followed this blog for awhile probably know, October 5th is the date my sister Erin died, eleven years ago now. Each year on this date, or at least as close to it as we can all manage, our family will get together for an evening of remembrance. We do it for ourselves, but we’re also honoring one of Erin’s wishes at the same time — her greatest fear in facing death was the idea that she might be forgotten. Of course, regardless of how much all of our lives have changed over the past eleven years, there was never really a chance of this happening.
But this time every year my mother rounds back to this same thought, because she so desperately wants to know that her three grandsons have managed to hold onto memories of the aunt they loved so much during the time they had with her.
As I’ve done a few other times to commemorate the date and do my part of keeping her memory alive, I went back to the memoir I wrote (and shelved) that chronicled our experiences during her illness and death and dug out a passage to share, this time as much about the boys as about Erin. Fair warning — it’s not exactly an easy read, so steer your way around it with the page breaks if you want.
*****
The following day would be my last at school for awhile, though I didn’t know it at the time. I warned my student teacher Stephanie it was likely the day would soon come when she’d show up and there would be a sub in my place, and there weren’t any promises I could make her about how much notice she’d have beforehand. Days later the responsibility fell to her to tell my class Erin had died. Actually, let me clarify: The responsibility did not fall to her -- this college girl took it upon herself to tell them when others were too uncomfortable or unable to do it.
I left right after school and spent a few hours at Erin’s that evening. She was in bed the whole time, in and out of sleep. She woke briefly while we were there and saw through her glazed stare and oxygen mask that Jenny and I were with her. Ben and Matt came with their dad to visit that night as well, after leaving John with his other grandma. For John, dying was what happened to an action figure when it was stabbed by another action figure, or fell into the lava that seemed to follow his unfortunate collection of action figures everywhere they went. Dying has no permanence when you’re only three, and even though he knew Erin was dying he didn’t really get what it meant. Matt had a better idea, but it was still a bit beyond him to completely grasp. Ben, however, was all too aware of what was happening.
Erin’s eyes opened a little when she saw the boys were there, so they were able to sit on her bed and hold her hands. Matt was a little bouncy, holding the Special Baseball she had given him while he sat beside her. He picked up on the somber mood of the room but was still his irrepressible five-year-old self, happy to see her again. When I think of what a sensitive kid he was, it’s almost a blessing he didn’t fully understand what was happening.
Ben took it hard. He sat on the edge of the bed, holding Erin’s hand after she had fallen back to sleep, after Matt had followed everyone else back out to the living room. Jenny sat beside him. Ben had the tendency to go internal whenever something was bothering him, and was good at forcing a smile when he didn’t know how else to react. I couldn’t really fault him for not knowing what to do. I had never lost anyone as close to me as Erin was to him.
Jenny saw through it though, and told him it was okay to cry. I was sure he would just sit there smiling unresponsively, pretending to be brave, but of course she’s his mom. As soon as she gave him permission, he broke. Still holding Erin’s hand, he slowly tipped in and buried his face in Jenny’s shoulder, and all I could hear was the too familiar sound of heaving sobs, and all I could see was the involuntary hunching of his shoulders.
Erin woke and saw he was there so they talked a little. Jenny got up to give them some alone time, but I stayed back in one of the corner chairs to watch; being his godfather and knowing he was about to lose his godmother amplified how protective I felt toward him. They had a good conversation for awhile, but as Erin talked longer she stopped making sense; the morphine-induced dementia was taking over, and Ben started getting uncomfortable since he hadn’t encountered it before. I hurried out to tell Jenny what was happening, and she called him into the next room to give him a way out. When he said goodnight to her, I’m sure at some level he knew it was going to be for the last time.
*****
I have a photo collage frame hanging in my hallway, showing each of the boys with Erin at some point in what would turn out to be her final year. I chose these pictures specifically since I feel they were so representative of who they each were at that time, and what their relationship with her was like.
Erin and Ben, either New Year’s Eve 2003 or New Year's Day 2004. Here you see that uncertain smile he’d wear sometimes, as Erin held on to him. I’ve always had my own ideas about what she was thinking about here, but I can really only speculate.
Erin and Matt, Thanksgiving 2003. Matt’s a high school junior now. You can tell here what a nonstop kind of kid he was at this age, from his little grin and the legitimate twinkle in his eye. Erin was definitely smiling for the camera here, but she was always happy whenever he was around.
Erin and John, Summer of 2004. We were all at a cousin’s graduation open house, and when Erin arrived — a little later than the rest of us because her energy level was waning — John toddled down the driveway to meet her when he saw her coming. This is one of my favorite pictures.
Only the boys themselves could ever say how much they still know of her, whether that would be a deep library of memories, or a few highlights mixed with an emotional echo they can’t quite source, or a vague and general idea of who she was strengthened by the things the rest of us share. I know Ben and Matt have some memories. But John was only three when Erin died, which made him a little older than I had been when my grandpa Joe died. I never really remembered anything about my grandfather, but throughout my life I’ve heard the stories and I’ve seen the pictures. I’m not sure how important it is that I didn’t have memories of him that were my own, because I still know who he was and what he meant to so many people I love. That’s always been enough to make him a part of my life. So if that’s what time holds in store for any of the boys when it comes to remembering Erin, I think that’s okay. In the end, she’s still in there for them somewhere.
Tuesday, September 15, 2015
A Short Story About Coloring and My Childhood Smart Mouth
My job as an elementary teacher means I probably spend more time coloring than most other adults. I have to make a lot of examples of projects to model student work, I make a lot of posters to post behavioral prompts and background information, and so on. I have an entire desk drawer devoted to markers and pens and dry erase markers and pencils and coloring tools of all variety. It's really somewhat out of control.
I don't mind coloring at all. It's often very calming, and gives me a nice break from having to think about nine different life-or-death school issues at the same time like I usually do. Some projects take longer than others, and when I find myself caught up in one of the longer ones, my mind almost always wanders back to a particular memory:
My history as a rule-following school toady goes all the way back to kindergarten. I loved school, I loved my teacher, I wanted to do well and worked very hard every day I was there, which was every day except the one sick day when I had to stay home. I remember there was only one sick day because it broke my heart that I couldn't be at school and was so excited the following day when I was allowed to go back.
Two years later it wasn't the same story. School was something to survive more than anything else because I had the worst teacher of my entire life. Seriously. She was the embodiment of every bad teacher caricature that has ever been illustrated in any comic strip or middle grade graphic novel. One day we were doing a second grade project that involved drawing and coloring flags from countries all around the world -- I think it had something to do with a school wide play or festival or musical blow-out or something. I was given Switzerland. I though this was great. All I had to do was draw a big plus sign in the middle, leave it alone, and fill the rest of my paper by scribbling my red crayon into oblivion. I didn't have any real attention span to speak of as a child (which is so different now, of course), so I literally scribbled. Everywhere. In all directions. It looked less like a flag and more like a piece of paper that had recently held four pounds of spilled spaghetti.
The teacher was stalking the aisles to evaluate our works in progress with her best impersonation of the animated schoolmaster from Pink Floyd's "The Wall," and when she reached my desk she stopped, stared, clucked accusingly, and sighed angrily.
"Didn't you learn how to color in the same direction like everyone else did in kindergarten??" she barked.
I looked at my paper, which I thought looked fine, and noticed that, yes, my red streaks were all over the place. Not knowing what else to say (and, frankly, a little tired of her at that point in the school year) I looked up and innocently said:
"I guess everyone else learned how to do that on the day I was sick."
And then the look on her face. If she could have legally gotten away with smacking me upside the head....
I don't mind coloring at all. It's often very calming, and gives me a nice break from having to think about nine different life-or-death school issues at the same time like I usually do. Some projects take longer than others, and when I find myself caught up in one of the longer ones, my mind almost always wanders back to a particular memory:
My history as a rule-following school toady goes all the way back to kindergarten. I loved school, I loved my teacher, I wanted to do well and worked very hard every day I was there, which was every day except the one sick day when I had to stay home. I remember there was only one sick day because it broke my heart that I couldn't be at school and was so excited the following day when I was allowed to go back.
Two years later it wasn't the same story. School was something to survive more than anything else because I had the worst teacher of my entire life. Seriously. She was the embodiment of every bad teacher caricature that has ever been illustrated in any comic strip or middle grade graphic novel. One day we were doing a second grade project that involved drawing and coloring flags from countries all around the world -- I think it had something to do with a school wide play or festival or musical blow-out or something. I was given Switzerland. I though this was great. All I had to do was draw a big plus sign in the middle, leave it alone, and fill the rest of my paper by scribbling my red crayon into oblivion. I didn't have any real attention span to speak of as a child (which is so different now, of course), so I literally scribbled. Everywhere. In all directions. It looked less like a flag and more like a piece of paper that had recently held four pounds of spilled spaghetti.
The teacher was stalking the aisles to evaluate our works in progress with her best impersonation of the animated schoolmaster from Pink Floyd's "The Wall," and when she reached my desk she stopped, stared, clucked accusingly, and sighed angrily.
"Didn't you learn how to color in the same direction like everyone else did in kindergarten??" she barked.
I looked at my paper, which I thought looked fine, and noticed that, yes, my red streaks were all over the place. Not knowing what else to say (and, frankly, a little tired of her at that point in the school year) I looked up and innocently said:
"I guess everyone else learned how to do that on the day I was sick."
And then the look on her face. If she could have legally gotten away with smacking me upside the head....
Sunday, September 6, 2015
Back to School: Building a Legacy
When the 2015-16 school year comes to an end, I will have been teaching at the same school for 24 years. For perspective, this means that out of the approximately 80 people I currently work with, only three of them have been at that school longer than I have. Additionally, this 24th year is also something of a personal landmark for me, since I’ll be turning 48 years old within weeks of the school year ending.
It doesn’t take a math teacher to see this means I’ve now been at the same school for half of my life.
So far this 24th year has started like so many of the others have. The first week back was all about scrambling to get ready, attending various meetings and staff development sessions, and reconnecting with the colleagues we haven’t seen in months while starting to get to know the new people. One of our new teachers this year is someone who had been at our school years ago and was returning for a new position. I had some time to briefly catch up with her one morning. While we were talking, she mentioned how whenever she thought of me or heard my name, she immediately thought of the bunny suit I’ve worn at Halloween for the past ten or fifteen years.
This wasn’t a big surprise, since that costume has always stirred up quite a reaction. Since I started wearing it, there have been more yearbooks with pictures of me in that bunny suit than not. But her comment got me thinking later in the day: When my time there finally ends, will that costume be how I’m remembered?
I’ve taught 1st, 3rd, 4th, and 5th grades there, and have been the cooperating teacher to at least five student teachers. I’ve been invited to see students play any number of sports, attend their dance recitals and band concerts, and see their plays, sometimes years after they were in my class. I’ve been the school patrol advisor, the broadcast team advisor, the web site manager, the technology lead, and a union representative. I’ve served on the child study team, the crisis team, the building leadership team, along with so many other committees I can’t even remember what several of them were even called anymore.
But what are the things that would really stick with the thousand-plus students I’ve worked with by now? Would I really be remembered for a Halloween costume? Or just for fun times and jokes, or the books I used for read aloud? Or the times when I lost my temper, or found some powerful and unique way to completely screw up someone's day? Sure, there are always going to be a handful of students and parents who remember some positive difference you hopefully made, but there are probably just as many who retrospectively see you in an opposite light. And of course, there’s a huge group between those extremes who would need to stop and think to even remember anything about you only ten years after you were an integral part of their daily life.
And then there’s the staff. Teachers share great camaraderie and commonly develop close personal bonds, but there are always conflicting ideas and personalities whenever people are tossed together into any kind of environment that relies on any degree of cooperation to succeed. I’ve been there long enough to see several close friends come and go over the years, along with people I never really got to know. For my part, I feel like I’ve had good personal and working relationships with the large majority of my colleagues, both current and past. Having said that, though, I’m neither naive nor arrogant enough to think I’m one of those rare exceptional people universally loved and respected by everyone I work with.
So where does all of this leave me after half a lifetime, or any of us, regardless of where we are in our lives? Is a legacy defined by the difference we make in the world around us, both in the people we help and the ones we hurt, whether we intended to or not? Is it something so intangible as to evade even a superficial concrete definition? Is a legacy really anything more than a one-dimensional punchline of remembrance, or a way to conveniently label a collective memory?
I think everyone does have a legacy, but none of us really get to directly determine what ours will be. Perhaps instead of wondering about what legacy we might leave behind, it’s more important to live presently, and be aware of what words and actions we insert into the lives of the people around us — and, particularly for teachers, the lives of our students.
In just a couple more days I’ll have my 24th First Day of School, and the kids will be showing up with different levels of enthusiasm and readiness to be guided through another year. In the end, what they learn and if they feel cared for will be far more important than who did the teaching. But that ‘who’ part is going to matter as well. Even if we teachers don’t always get to see it, we need to remember how far our reach extends.
Our legacy isn’t really what we leave. It’s more about what our students take with them.
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