Reading: The Golem and the Jinni
[I’m almost to the midpoint, about 43% through; it’s really starting to hook me.]
Listening to: Yasuaki Shimizu
Also Listening to: The Appendix N Book Club
Drinking: Water mixed with cranberry juice
[Just can’t do plain water right now.]
Wondering: If I’ll have more energy tomorrow.
We played this song for our kids, and I’m not sure if we fried their brains or what. The boys took to being lobsters and giant clams and stingrays. Much lobster-walking and clawing ensued. Also head-bopping.
I have no regrets.
Today was one of those days where I had lots of plans — lots of stuff was gonna get done — and instead, I did practically nothing. I went to the grocery store; that was my big accomplishment. Also, I made some homemade hummus. Otherwise, all the essays I was going to critique, all the fiction I was going to write, all the editing work I was going to do: Nada.
I did manage to read a bit. I wrote in my notebook. But these little things — the reading, the notebooking, the hummus-making, the grocery shopping — they don’t add up to much. I know they’re good things to do, I’m glad I was able to do them, but they feel small. And today was my wide-open Saturday! The day my kids spend with Grandma and Grandpa. It was *the* time to Get Things Done. Instead, I did little things. Good things, important things, but little things. The “big things” — the projects, the assignments, the teaching and freelancing work — none of them fit into the day. Instead, I wrote a few pages in my notebook, ate breakfast with my kids, read some of Pope Francis’s new book, watched TV with my husband, made hummus, went shopping, went to mass, came home and ate dinner. A good day, and yet… and yet…
I don’t know. Maybe it was a good day, full stop. No regrets for the big things I didn’t get done. Maybe the expectation that I should use my “wide-open Saturday” to do “important” work is a misguided expectation. Is it really wrong to spend my free time with my husband, or make some homemade food to feed my family, or go shopping for groceries, or go to mass and worship God (the most important thing I’ll do all week), or read a book, or just relax? The projects and assignments are still looming, and I’ll have to do them eventually, but for this one day, this one Saturday, the little things were worth it.
Today I worked with my students on writing metaphor poems. The activity was as follows:
(N.B.: I did not invent this writing exercise, but I don’t remember where I found it. My apologies to whomever created this activity. If anyone knows where this exercise comes from, please let me know so I may give credit.)
I taught this lesson several times today, and each time, I modeled the activity for my students. I tend to do my modeling in front of the students; I draft my writing up on the board and talk through my process as I go. As a result, I wrote three metaphor poems today. They’re all quite strange, a bit nonsensical, but I’m hoping their strangeness might give the students permission to also do weird and experimental things in their writing.
Here they are:
#1
My eye is a hat reading beside a lamp,
A fuzzy hat, made of wool, soft and warm in the shelter of my bedroom.
The book is an old favorite, something with mysteries,
And love, and adventure. Something that never gets tired or stale.
It’s night, and the time for reading has come — a time to forget,
To put aside urgent cares, to rest, to relax.
The lamp is yellow light, a soft sun in the presence of darkness.
My eye fits down over my head, covers my cares, floats atop
The pages.
#2
His mouth is a garbage can strolling around the museum.
It can’t help dropping its filth onto the marbled floors.
It’s after hours, the night watchman gone, the whole place silent.
But his mouth is hungry, looking for more trash, looking for more
Forgotten things.
The museum is filled with empty frames: artwork dismissed by the masses.
The garbage falls on the walkways and on the walls. Hunger is insatiable.
His mouth searches for the cafeteria but finds only Cubists.
Opening his tin lid, he devours a Monet, then a Warhol, then a Basquiat.
Genius is compacted into a landfill.
The garbage can burps.
#3
My heart is a computer singing along with the radio.
It’s a pop song, old school, Hanson or maybe NSYNC.
The 16-bit melody screams out of the computer’s speakers,
Unnatural but in tune. There is no strain on the processor.
Programmed to obey, my heart paid extra for more memory.
Uh oh, 403 error. Bad code. Forbidden. Blue screen of death.
Time to go to the Apple Store.
Reading: Let Us Dream
Listening to: Dungeon Synth
Drinking: some masala chai with milk
Writing: in my notebook like a boss
Hoping: to go to bed at a reasonable hour
I gave my students a prompt today for our “writing workshop.” It was as follows: “Write a list poem using only CONCRETE NOUNS. Make the title an abstract word such as: Compassion, Jealousy, Envy, Wisdom, etc.”
Since I believe it’s important that I share in the work my students do (especially when that work is writing), here is my poem. Not sure if I like it, but in the spirit of “show your work,” I’m sharing.
Time
Bed sheets.
Pillow.
Alarm clock.
Pillow.
Cat claws.
Coffee cup.
Soap.
Boots.
Mittens.
Rosary beads.
Notebook.
Sticky notes.
Screens.
Screens.
Screens.
Bells.
Diet Pepsi.
Peanut butter.
Steering wheel.
Dinosaurs.
Crayons.
Toothbrushes.
Books.
Binkies.
Kisses.
Tears.
Hugs.
Nightlights.
Dishwater.
T.V.
Vitamins.
Books.
Bed sheets.
Pillow.
Pillow.
Pillow.
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