Back to Writing!!

Hi there. So, I went to log into my website, www.sheilamcmahon.com, only to discover that it is gone. It is now an advertisement. So I am faced with the question of whether I would like to reup with it – and the answer is, I don’t think so right now. I haven’t been doing anything with it. I had a large section of my unpublished but basically finished novel, Someotherville ,posted, with some glaring errors that haven’t been corrected yet, and that was the whole thing. I don’t know enough about websites to make a really good one, and frankly, I really like wordpress, and I don’t think I need a different site.

I am considering posting part of Someotherville here, but I don’t know if I want to yet. I have been thinking over the fact that I haven’t made a concerted effort to get it published. I don’t know what stops me – I’m happy with the book, I think people would enjoy it – there’s no reason not to work harder, finish the last round of corrections, rework one section just a tad more, because I had a revelation about it, and then send it off to —who? That’s the big question, I guess.

But the small question of whether I should contact the website people and get my site back is easy – no. Not necessary. And if some other Sheila McMahon (and there are a lot of us) should snag it, then good for her.

I’m glad I still have my wordpress blog, and perhaps I should start with rededicating myself to posting here every day. I find myself putting things on facebook that would be more appropriate here, anyway.

Alphabetography

Hey what up?  Sorry I haven’t been writing much – the fall is hard for me, and I get myself into a funk.  I was somewhat depressed over the weekend, but now I have an idea for a new project for one of my classes.  It’s actually an idea that I read somewhere else a few weeks ago, but I have ideas as to how I’m going to use it.  It’s a memoir project.  The idea is that for each letter of the alphabet, you tell a different story from your life.  You might say, A is for Accident, and then tell about an accident that you had.  We are going to do one letter a week.  Meanwhile, we are still going to work on memorizing a poem, and we are going to talk about the mechanics of poetry.  We will also read some other people’s memoirs.  Yeah!  I am so excited about this work.  Can’t wait to get started.  I think we will start with my favorite idea generator ever – you take about 5 minutes and write down a list of all the people you can remember from your life.  From there, you make a list of important moments in your life… using that list to come up with ideas for your memoirs.  Ok, have a good day.  <3 Sheila

Reflections

It’s Saturday, and I have had quite a day.  I wouldn’t be able to point out any one thing from today to sum it up, rather, it’s been a hodgepodge of strange events, sharp contrasts, old memories gurgling, and artistic ambition calling.

The most important thing I did today was hang out at the Sculpture Garden by the Walker.  I have been thinking a bit about what I want the cover of Someotherville to look like, and I had an idea.  Let me go get my notes, and I will tell you what I was thinking:

Make a scale model of the Irene Hixton Whitney Bridge and the Sculpture Garden out of yarn and wire, both knit and crochet.

Steps:  Measure and inventory – 10-17-09 11 am

One of my regular footsteps = 1 (one stitch???)

For park, walk, keep track of where sidealks go.  For sculptures, walk around them, as clas as possible, estimate hight, sketch.

Don’t use the Internet.  Do the math myself.  If it’s not perfect, that’s ok.  Loring?  Maybe trail off like an apron – part f loring, but certainly not all.

When this is done, photo of my version = cover art.

Tday I was thinking of some new project, if each step we take in life is like a stutch, we could map a day = wat to do with thime in car, though?  Yarn would just stretch loose until the next place – stitch where your feet hit the groind”  Stimfferer to make yarn math up woth roads?  Or wire?  could do this sti hing on a street map…

I was just thinking of how I feel more and more that I am turning into an artist, and I look up to see:

A sketch I did while sitting in the car next to Loring Park

Visiting with the Dead

sacrificed everything through no intent

wanted to hold on, yet there it went

no hand holds in reach now

just one cold marble stone

and memories ricocheting

song fragments say it best

and allow me to lay my head

down to rest in a world

where a 21 gun salute

or a memorial held in a gym

are all that’s left of

him and him, those events

and the thoughts in my head

my unreliable, mortal memories

I hope they are enough.

Writing Questions

Hey there.  So, I am considering whether I should be writing more.  I have been teaching this year, and that has been going fine, but I’m not sure if I want to find a way to pursue writing, too.  I really enjoyed the process of writing Someotherville, and I think that I might want to go into an MFA program for writing.  This is questionable, though, because it’s a big risk.  I don’t know if I would get in, I don’t know how it would go.  Do I have another novel in me?  I think I do, but I don’t know what it is yet, so I’m not sure whether it’s the right thing to do.  The first one isn’t even published – yet.

Do I have the kind of dedication that it would take to commit my life to writing?  I think that I do.  If I set things up right, if I was in a position to have time to write, I would certainly write.  I had planned to write this summer, but the summer was too sad.  Waiting and hoping for Jay’s dad to get well, and the fact that he didn’t, well, that kept me from writing and from finishing my M.Ed.  I plan to finish my M.Ed. in the next two months, and then after that???  Who knows – keep teaching high school?  Or turn my life upside down in a mad attempt to be a writer.  I know which one sounds more appealing…  a little adventure, a little risk.  I can go back to teaching if I need to – and don’t get me wrong, I love teaching, but I love writing, too.  Guess I have some thinking to do.

The Sun Machine Co-op review

Hi.  Jay and I went to go see the Sun Machine Co-op tonight at Lily’s 3301 Central Ave NE in Minneapolis.  I thought they were good and entertaining.  Lily’s is a nice place where you can get a good cup of coffee.  Jay had a nice hummus and vegetable sandwich, too.

I didn’t pay tons of attention to the first guy that was on, since we were eating outside, but I liked what I heard.  Then Wallace Wylie came on.  We know him, and I play his first disc fairly often, so we went in.  I like him a lot.  He writes thoughtful lyrics and I like to try to catch all of them as he sings.  I thought he would play some from his first disc, but it turns out that he’s working on a second, and so it was all new songs.  (new to me, anyway!)

After that, Brian David played.  I really like Brian’s guitar playing.  The last time we saw him he played with his band The Pharaohs of Rhythm.  This time he started with someone on keyboard and someone with a (?) drum, and then he played some songs solo.  The music was very mellow and he has a nice voice.  It all went too fast!

I am not a music critic, so all I can say is that I enjoyed this evening a lot, and would recommend going out to see these guys.  It’s cool to support local music, and they don’t hurt your ears. 

Pawlenty.

Hi I am just mad because I read an article in the Strib regarding our darling Tim spreading his budget across other agencies in Minnesota.  This makes him look like his budget is slimmer than it is.  I guess I wouldn’t care, except that he generally tries to play it off like he’s this great fiscal conservative, and he seems to be thinking of running form Prez, and people just might buy his line of reasoning if they don’t know the truth.

And President Pawlenty is just not a epithet I want to be spitting out in another 6 years…

He’s hiding his true costs by doing this.  Much like a heavy gambler might hide their losses on a secret credit card.  I hope people see this when they read this simple little article, and keep it in mind in the future when they hear about his great conservatism – don’t even get me started on the idea that all of us have had no new taxes since he started… suffice it to say that shuffling your costs off to an alternative accounting system is not a valid savings plan, Mr. Governor.

http://www.startribune.com/politics/state/56646752.html?elr=KArks:DCiUHc3E7_V_nDaycUiacyKUUr

A New Morning

It’s a new day today.  I hope that you awoke feeling refreshed.  After all of this grief and loss this month, it feels good to have a lot of rain – it feels refreshing and cleansing.  I am not saying that I am ‘over’ any thing – not sure that I will ever be, but the sting is abating and acceptance is taking its place in my heart and mind.  We are still assessing damage done to long standing relationships – thought they were mighty oaks, but I guess they were as shallow as willows.  There are still a lot of hurt feelings, and I’m not sure that will ever be resolved.  Still going to take it one day at a time, and for now I’m going to go make a batch of pancakes.

Goodnight, Ert and Jim.

In the last ten days, I have lost my dear father-in-law and my mentor from high school and college.  It has been an emotional time, there have been a funeral and a memorial, lots of connections with people I had, until this week, lost touch with, and lots of new connections with family members I had never met before this.

If you knew these two people, it would probably seem strange to read me writing about them both in the same essay as they were so very different from each other in what they did for a living – one was a teacher, and the other was a man of many hats, but generally a salesman.  They came from different generations, and had different takes on most things, but I’m sure they would have gotten along tremendously.

One thing that they had in common was that they both were larger than life.  They knew what they had – that life is precious.  The could both tell stories for hours and make you laugh and laugh.  They were both mesmerizing.  And they both were universally loved.

What I loved about each of them is that I always felt like I was seen.  I was an interesting person to them.  My ideas mattered, and I was more able to articulate them through knowing them.  Ert, especially, helped me with this.  I was in his Speech class in high school, and I took it so, so seriously.  I remember writing and rewriting my speeches.  I wanted them to be perfect, to strike the right tone, to say the right things.  I never took any of my other assignments in high school so seriously.  Any of them.  Never.

Now I am probably taking this blog too seriously.  I have started it several times over the past two days – it seems impossible to strike the right tone and tell you exactly why I loved these two people so much.  But maybe it’s not important that it be perfect, maybe I have only to say that I did love them both, and that both of them have shaped my life in ways that they will never know, and that I will try to be as natural and wonderful and loving as they both were.

The Second Order of a Minute

The ghost of Tyrone Guthrie

wavers and walks again

across the city in which he slept

built dreamed thought acted

action impacting thousands

even as his body rests

and his face, always larger than life,

stares for a time down Washington Avenue

while we walk, jog, run

acting on the small stage of Minneapolis

under the influence

of the flour sacks

and the ruins of mills

We know our bones won’t last as long

as the stone arch bridge

even with its trusses

its heart surgeries and such

our time is a moment

and we still do not understand the nature of time.

Theater Saves Me Every Time.

This week has been hard.  I am grateful that I have been able to volunteer this week and see six Fringe shows.  I saw: The Most Massive Woman Wins, Thrower of Light, Spermalot, Needs/Wants/Desires, Danny is Going to Die, and Bard Fiction.

Between these shows, my father-in-law passed away.  This has been very stressful on all of us.  Some people react with simply crying, some drink, some grow angry and hurtful.  Me?  I go see plays, get lost in the plays, calm down completely and think about writing plays in the future.  Plays are my gin and tonic.  Plays are my beer, my meth, my crack cocaine.  My cigarettes.  I don’t need any mind-altering drugs – I see a play.  Even a crappy play – doesn’t matter.   Plays let me out of my life.

Dance, too.  Thrower of Light is dance.  I don’t have a dance vocabulary, but I can say that I loved it.  I felt that there was something communicated.  I had emotional reactions to what I saw.  There seemed to be a story that carried through the first four or five pieces, the story of love triangles and jealousy, I think.  Then the choreographer came out and said some things, after which there were 2 more pieces of a completely different timbre.  They were joyful and fun rather than dark and mysterious.

During the first part of the dance, I was wondering to myself how people are able to plan and execute such intricate and beautiful dance.  I literally thought to myself, “why are they doing that?”  I am befuddled by dance.  I don’t understand how it works – yet it’s so moving and it feels profound.

I had an interesting conversation with an author of one of the other shows, and he was saying that Minnesotan’s go gaga over dance, but we hardly seem to acknowledge excellent acting when we see it.  I hear what he is saying – the energy in the applause for the dance was not the same energy in the applause for the plays I saw, but maybe that is because dance itself is so energizing.

I think I like plays more than dance because a play rarely leaves me wondering why they are doing what they are doing.  In Bard Fiction, it was clear that they were doing a Shakespearian send up of Pulp Fiction.  That’s all I need to know.  It doesn’t leave questions in my mind wondering what they are up to or what they are trying to say.  It was just good fun, I recognized some lines from Shakespeare and some from Pulp Fiction.  Thoroughly enjoyable, cute at times, funny and well acted.  I’m glad I got a chance to see it.

So I mentioned crappy plays above – I didn’t think any of these plays I saw were crappy.  But some were more polished than others.  I think The Most Massive Woman Wins was probably the most polished.  But it was also an already-published work, so I think that puts a layer of polish that would be very hard to attain with the premier of a new work.  Nothing stood out as bad.  I do wonder, though, about trying to put together short pieces in order to fill up an hour, like with Needs/Wants/Desires I think I’d rather see a cohesive half-hour.  Or maybe some sort of transition to make shorter pieces flow together – this is something I have wrestled with in the past, so I certainly don’t fault them for trying.  I just thought the final piece, which was the longest, was definitely the strongest.

Well, that’s all I’ve got for now.  I thank all theatre people everywhere for doing what they do.  You might feel that your show is a simple way to pass the time, maybe it’s a frivolous comedy.  But you never know who might be sitting in your audience and what your efforts might mean to them – I know that for this week, theater and the Fringe Festival saved me and helped me to remember what being human is about – connecting with other humans.

Symbolism isn’t enough.

Hey.  I try to be chatty and casual in these here blog posts, but I’m just not feeling it lately.  I am so sad about my father-in-law passing away.  I can’t think about anything else.  Even the Drop Kick Murpheys didn’t help.  I am also doing something different for me – I am not telling people how I feel.  In person, I mean.  I am telling you… I guess that has always been my MO – I write about my feelings.  Sometimes I talk about them, but that’s usually when I am having good feelings, not sad ones.  So maybe it’s not different.

This death is hitting me hard.  It’s reminding me of the first death that was significant to me, as I recall:  Grandma on my Dad’s side.  Maybe it’s reminding me of that because we had gone up North for a wedding; Grandma lived with us, so she was going to stay in the hospital for the weekend.  She insisted that she would be fine, and that we should go and enjoy ourselves.

We stayed at my Aunt Carol’s house, no doubt we had dinner with Kenny, who I wrote about a blog or two ago.  We were sleeping downstairs in the bedroom behind the woodfire furnace when the phone rang.  Uncle Bud came down to tell my dad that it was for him – this was at 3:30 in the morning.  My mom must have made a remark that we know what phone calls in the middle of the night mean.  I didn’t really know, but I found out soon enough that they usually meant someone had died.

Grandma had a heart attack in the hospital.  I think I went into shock, or maybe I didn’t really understand what it meant, but I remember Dad kneeling at the side of the bed and telling me that she died.  Then I think I remember him looking up at me and saying, “aren’t you going to cry?”

I felt bad.  I didn’t know why I wasn’t crying already, and I probably did start crying then.  I really don’t remember.  What I do remember is that I kept a photo of her and made myself cry while looking at it.  I did this well through high school.  I don’t know why I felt so guilty – like I had done her wrong somehow by not crying instantly.

Jay and I were up North visiting my parents when we got the call from Linda that Jim wasn’t doing very well and was in the ICU.  We came home, and it seemed like he was maybe doing better.  We had averted the curse of leaving town when a loved one isn’t in top health.  But it didn’t last.  Three weeks, can it possibly have only been three weeks?  Three weeks later, it’s over.  A delightful person is gone from this world, lost to us.

Maybe I’m grasping at insignificant similarities in a hope to make this meaningful or symbolic somehow.  I don’t think it’s going to work, though.  Even if it did, I don’t know if it would really help with this big gaping hole in my life.  Guess that’s going to take time. Time and thinking.  And talking.  Guess I’ll go do some talking right now and let the healing process begin.

Memories of Kenny

My cousin Kenny died last week.  He had a heart attack.  He was only 56.  The story I heard is that he was working in the yard, came in and said he was tired, went to rest on the couch, and died. This story, while shocking, reminds me a lot of the story of how my grandmother died, except that she had an anerurysm, and she wasn’t working in the yard, she was cutting cake.

My memories of Kenny are vague.  I remember playing at his house, which was very close to Aunt Carol’s house, I remember sleeping there, it seems to me that I remember celebrating Easter and maybe Christmas there.  I definitely know that his house is the only place I ever got to see Captain Kangaroo as a child.  I remember STP stickers, Kenny being outside and working on cars.

I also remember a lot of laughter.  All my memories of his home are colored in a sunshiny warm yellow glow – although I don’t remember talking much, which is unusual for me.  Oh, and they always had Alphabet cereal.  I don’t remember the actual name of it.

I am sad that I never even knew Kenny.  He was already grown up with kids of his own by the time I knew him, and I never saw him once I became an adult.  I would go to the funeral tomorrow, but my husband’s father died yesterday, too, and we have a lot going on down here in the Cities.

My heart goes out to Kenny’s children – all younger than me – and his wife, a woman I never met.  I hope that they will cherish their good memories and pull together as a family, just as we are trying to do here.

Being Called a Traitor is Mildly Amusing in Real Life

So, this happened:  We were at the VA Medical center in Mpls. waiting and worrying over my very ill father-in-law when some person took it upon himself to write us a nasty note and leave it on our car.  It said, and I’ll have to just approximate because I don’t have it in front of me, “You are a vet and you voted for Obama, and you’re proud of it?  TRAITOR!”

Hell yes, I’m proud of voting for Obama.  I wish I could vote again.  But this is beside the point that I want to make right now.

Our car has been the lucky recipient of several of these notes over the years – we have probably 40 or so bumperstickers that just give a brief outline of some things we agree with.  We are somewhat to the left of moderate liberals, in fact I’d say that we are Really Quite Liberal.  This does not make us traitors.  This simply means that we believe that the US could do a better job, that we could be better people, could do better for people.  That we believe in equal rights, for each and every individual human being on the planet.  I don’t think that’s so crazy, and it’s certainly not against the ideals of our country.

As far as I understand, being American is supposed to mean that we strive to do good.  That we strive to be ‘the best’ in the world.  I don’t think this means the best at dominating others, the best at killing people who are helpless, the best at taking away other people’s liberties.  I think it’s supposed to mean that we are the best at doing what is right, selfless, helpful and fair, which is what the people at the VA have worked for.  I would think that guy would be proud that he defended a country that has free speech in which we can display our thoughts, whatever they might be.

Three Coins in a Fountain

You never know when a song is going to go from something you know as a casual acquaintance to a song that will forevermore make you think of a certain place, time, or person.  This happened to me recently.  Today, in fact.  My father-in-law, a unique character, is in the hospital.  They are moving him into the hospice today. 

We shan’t be able to speak with him again.  And we will not hear him sing.  He won’t tell stories until our sides ache, and he won’t be able to tell us that he loves us, as he always did when he was able to speak.  Letting him go has always been one of my most difficult things – being with him in person had a magnetizing effect, and I was always stuck on him.  More than once, a dinner turned into sleeping over  because we simply couldn’t stop talking.  Or rather, we couldn’t stop listening to him talking.  It might have been easier if he wasn’t headlong into the next story - but a moment of silence is a rare moment in the life of a born story teller, salesman, and charmer, and we wanted to listen, anyway.

I have been trying desperately to think of the stories he would tell – they slip out of my grasp whenever I reach for them.  If I’m not thinking, I will get snippets that come to me.  I never memorized or wrote any of them down.  I took for granted that I would be treated to a retelling at some other time.  I don’t know whether I regret this or not – time will tell.  Maybe as the grief I’m in now starts to ease and acceptance takes it’s place I will be able to command more clear memories.

At the time of this writing, it has been about four days since he has said anything beyond one syllable clearly to me.  This is where the song comes in.  Jay and I were visiting, and the family had brought in a cd player, with one of his favorite cd’s, a Frank Sinatra.  As we were chatting and trying to make sure he was comfortable, we brought up the music a couple of times – we asked if he could hear it alright, ‘yeah’ we asked if he liked it alright, ‘ yeah.’ 

As we sat and held hands and just spent time together, Sinatra was simply background music to me.  Then he repeated a line from the music – he sang the words, “three coins in a fountain,” and that was it.  He hit the notes, as musical as could be although I have never heard him sing before.  I looked at Jay, and he was crying and laughing at the same time.  It was a delightful moment, surrounded by the dull gray of the intensive care unit.  I’ll miss that sparkle.  I’ll miss that person who sang that song in that moment.  And that song will never sound the same to me again.

The Pressure of Expectations

Hey there. So I have noticed something, and that is the fact that we can’t know how things will go. Since we can’t know how they will go, there is no sense worrying about them.

Doesn’t seem to stop me from worrying, but it’s good to see evidence, once again, that worrying doesn’t help, it only wears you down. So next time you are worrying over something, please give yourself a break. That anticipation, unless you’re enjoying it, doesn’t do you any good.

Fringe Festival Volunteering

Hey all. I’m so excited to be volunteering for the Fringe this year! I do feel like a lightweight, though, I’m only working 9 shows. There are 800 over 11 days!! I’m just not too sure of my overall schedule, and I didn’t want to commit to things I will have to get out of later.

I went to the training on Saturday, and it was really well done. I feel pretty well prepared to do my part. I am thinking that maybe Jay and I should try to do a show next year – it’s a great deal. You pay $400, and they give you the venue, some advertising, and a tech. That’s amazing. Not everyone who applies gets in, though. It’s not juried, it’s based on a lottery system. I think that’s so cool.

I can’t wait to see what people have prepared for their shows! And if you want to get in to some shows for free, you should volunteer. You get a ticket to another show free for every show you work.

Check it out!  www.fringefestival.org

14/30 NaBloPoMo09 Back from Vacation

Hi. It seems like more than four days since I’ve written.  I am trying like hell to start a new novel.  I did start one in January, and I might continue it.  I’m not sure.  The fact that my father in law is in critical condition in the icu seems to be taking a front seat in my thoughts.

I don’t know how it’s possible that I am so sore, so tired, and so disoriented.  I always think that summer break is going to be relaxing.  Ha.  Ha ha.  This year is different than last year, in that we had an odd vacation – up north with my Mom rather than going somewhere touristy, and we cut the vacation short to come home.  We have been at the hospital every day, hoping that my fatherinlaw pulls through his illness.

All of this takes my focus from writing, and in fact, gives me a darn good excuse not to write.  I would use that excuse, too, if it weren’t for the fact that writing is calling to me.  It’s pulling me. Even as I know I am writing with half a heart, I must write.  It’s summer.  I have a month.  I need to get a good chunk of American Girl – Lyrics to Living Life as a Modern Mythical Creature under my belt.  I need to get these characters walking around, living, breathing, talking…mostly talking, considering my other writings…

So, guess I’ll go do that.  And if you have time, please send good thoughts and wishes to my father in law.  Thanks.  Sheila

13/30 NaBloPoMo09 Planning for Vacation

Jay and I were supposed to be gone already for vacation, but I guess I mixed up the dates and everyone thought we were going tomorrow.  It’s nice, because it gave me a little time to get some things tidied up here at home, and it gave me some time to do some research (aka dink around on the internet) about what to do up there by my parent’s place.

I might actually end up posting some pictures for a change, but I’m really not ready to make a committment to that.  Our plan so far is to leave tonight, (for all of you worried about our pets – no worries!  Allie (she of the canine persuasion) is coming with us, and Jay’s sister is staying at our house for the week to watch over the cats.  (Athena, Trot, Luci, Arun, and Phyll.)  Oh, and the fish (Quincy) should be fine, too. 

Bill is happily off at Camp Courage for the umpteenth time.  He started going when he was 21, missed only one year, so this is his 45th year, I guess.  Dang. That’s a long time.  And he absolutely loves it. His only complaint is that it used to be 2 weeks, and now it’s 5 days.  And since he has 5 days, we have 5 days. 

Sawyer MN, where my parents live, is near Cloquet, which is near Duluth.  Our plan so far consists of going to Jay Cooke State Park tomorrow for a program about what to do if you are lost in the woods.  We are bringing my mom and the dogs.  It should be fun.  We might also go up to Duluth to explore the Enger tower and the gardens.

On Saturday, we are going to buy these Explore Duluth passes from the Vista Cruise company.  It’s only $24, and we get to go on a 1 1/2 hour cruise, a 2 hour train ride, and we get to go to the aquarium.  We will also be having dinner (not included) at Pizza Luce, the official favorite pizza of our branch of the McMahon family.

Sunday, I guess we are pontooning and swimming at Mom and Dad’s.  Hopefully we will also get to see some of my relatives.  Other than that, we are pretty open.  Jay wants to rent bikes, which you can do at Canal Park, I like to go to Park Point, and we will explore Duluth on foot, too.

One other thing I’d like to try is this Superior White Water rafting on the St. Louis River, part of Jay Cooke State park – or just north of it? – they have white water rafting for $40 each, or we can rent a 2 person kayak for $10 an hour and explore the calm lake… I have to see what Jay wants to do.

I’ll be reporting back on whatever we find interesting.  My only fear is finding enough vegan food on vacation, but we are bringing a cooler with fake hotdogs and sausages, lots of spinach, some pasta stuff, soy milk and so on, so I’m sure we won’t starve.

12/30 NaBloPoMo09 – Harry Potter at the Drive In

I want to say something nice about the new Harry Potter movie, but I just can’t.  All I can think is, you call that a movie?  Doesn’t something have to move to qualify as a movie?  And is there some sort of shame in having color in your movie?  Does it all have to be silver and black?  Is this a 2 hour homage to the Oakland Raiders? I would rather be watching football than watch this movie.  Maybe that doesn’t sound extreme to you, but trust me, it is one of the strongest statements I can make.

Jay had the right idea – he fell asleep about 20 minutes in, and snored the whole time.  I foolishly stayed awake, thinking that something might happen.  I mean, there was a plot in the book, as I recall.  I read it – maybe it was a bit tedious, but I did.  All this seemed to be was an extended series of near-poisonings where everyone turned out to be alright.  By the time that something I dreaded happened – which I won’t divulge, in case you are one of the dozen or so people who haven’t read the book – I was just plain burned out.  The only reason I didn’t walk out on this movie is that I literally didn’t know where the exit was, and I didn’t want to turn on my headlights on the off chance that I might ruin someone’s enjoyment of the movie.

At least I got to see it at the drive in.  I haven’t been to a drive in since about the 6th grade, when I believe they had Star Wars followed by Porky’s, and the only things I remember are my dad snoring through both of them and some kid at school saying that if my family saw Porky’s at the drive in, my mom must have thrown a blanket over the whole car.

My mom did not.  But in retrospect, I’m surprised.  I wish I had had a blanket to throw over my car tonight – that or I wish I could pull the memory of that movie out of my brain with a magic wand and store it in a test tube on the shelf…no, even then I wouldn’t get my 2 hours back.

11/30 – NaBloPoMo09 I’m still learning about tags…

Hi All.

First, let me say that I don’t know if I’m going to do very well with the National Blog Posting Month in the next several days – I will be up North, and the internet connection is questionable.  So we’ll see.  Try not to cry if I don’t post for a few days.

But I wanted to write because I was just looking around at the wonders of wordpress.  I followed a link back to ‘humor’ because that is how one reader got to my page today, and while I was just looking around there, I noticed that some of the tags people put on their writing are quite odd.

In one blog, it was tagged with the following: “Just Plain Strange, humour, 80s frat party movies, batchin’ it, anal bleaching, male brazilians, lively dinner conversation, yo-yo management and small children, anal botox“.  I don’t want to put these things in my blog, but it’s an illustration.  Are there people out there entering in things like ‘lively dinner conversation’ as a search?  This is not to make fun.  THis is an honest question.

Are tags meant to be something that people can and conceivably would search for?  Or, in the case of this blog, which I didn’t read, are tags more of a warning not to bother?  I know that wouldn’t be the intention of this blogger, but that’s the function that tags served in this instance, and that I’m sure they will serve again, at least for me. What do other bloggers think?  Do you tag with phrases that won’t be searched for?  Am I missing the point somehow?  Please comment if you have thoughts on this – I promise to read at least 5 of your posts if you comment. (That’s my standard practice, anyway…   )

Another question I have is whether people put in unrelated tags just to get the hits – like, if you are a blogger, do you put in something provocative and popular and then hope people read anyway, despite their disappointment?  I’m sure that tagging up this blog with Michael Jackson and slang names of body parts would do wonders for my stats, but I would rather believe that people are actually reading…  Or I suppose I could try my hand at writing about the things that are more popular in this world rather than my own random thoughts.  But no, I wouldn’t want to disappoint my loyal readers, whoever you are.

10/30 – NaBloPoMo09 – The Fabric of Time, or Why Not To Bother Setting People Up

When you hear phrases like “Time marches on” or ‘Time waits for no man,” you might begin to think that time flows on irregardless of your needs or wants in life.

Time, though, has a mind of its own.  I can’t wait for the day that a Nobel-level physicist discovers and proves scientifically that which I know intuitively – Time is a bitchy seventh grade girl who runs the universe like Stacy F. used to run the junior high.  The question is, now that I’ve been out of 7th grade for 25 years, and have escaped the influence of that sphere, (Well, can we ever truly escape?  That’s another blog…) is it possible to escape the random and cruel influence of time on our lives?  Time doesn’t work irregardless of your needs – time figures out your individual needs and runs at a different rate just for you to mess you up.  The it sits in the back of the social studies class with the other cool kids laughs while you try to pick up the shards of your shattered aspirations.

These thoughts flow from a simple fact – I was granted an extra day today.  Time must have been looking the other way or torturing someone else for a change, because I thought today was going to be tomorrow, and boy was I surprised to find that it isn’t.  It’s Wednesday today.  If it had been Thrusday, like it will be tomorrow, I would be finishing packing for the beautiful Sawyer MN, Bill would be heading off to Camp Courage, and I would be wondering how time can go so fast.

I know I should make use of this found time, but I will probably whittle it away wondering what to do…and this is where Not Bothering To Set People Up comes in.  It takes forever to orchestrate two people meeting each other, and it never seems to be worth the effort.  I have had one, count it, one, time that I introduced a couple and it worked. So I know I can put that on my list of things not to do today.

I guess I had beginners luck that time.  Usually what happens when you set someone up is that suddenly your eyes are opened to the unattractive aspects of your friends.  And who wants to have that realization?  I don’t care if my friends are attractive or not.  I just want them to be fun to hang out with and laugh with.  Even with my found day today, there isn’t enough time to sit and pick everyone apart.

Well, that’s all I’ve got.  I hope you have a nice day and that Time doesn’t steal your lunch money.

10/30 – NaBloPoMo09 – MN Fringe Festival

Hey what’s up.  So if I am to finish this blog by midnight, I have to hustle because I have five minutes.

If you live in the Twin Cities, and you have an interest in theater, I hope that you are planning to go to the Fringe Festival.  I am excited about it this year because I am volunteering for 9 shows, which means I’m gonna get 9 free tickets to other shows.  And I love seeing lots of theater, but usually I’m too broke and or lethargic to get up and go.

There was an event tonight featuring 30 of the companies, they had 3 minutes each to convince you to come see their show.  I wish I could have gone, but I had a family obligation.  If you want to see what’s coming up with the Fringe, check out their very informative website:  www.fringefestival.org

I especially recommend Bard Fiction, just based on the fact that I know one of the cast members and she’s terrific.  Ok, I’m outie – sorry it’s short and a little babbly – blame it on NaBloPoMo09!

Quick review of “Whatever Works”

See it. It works.

9/30 – NaBloPoMo09 Teaching in America

Howdy. So I have been asked by a Brazilian educator to write about what it’s like to teach high school in the United States.

I’ll try. I don’t think my experience is typical – I have taught Drama in Florida, Drama and Reading in Chicago, Illinois, and Drama, Reading and English in Minnesota. I worked in large schools (2,000 kids or so) for the first 6 years; one year as a substitute. The past 4 years I have worked as the only English teacher in a very small school – with an average of 75 students.

I think that if a student here knows about the different options, he would be able to find a school that suits him. Of course, that depends on where he lives, too. We have something called ’school choice’ here, which means that if a student doesn’t want to go to their neighborhood school, he can go to another school. Usually there is transportation for those students. A lot of people have widely differing opinions about school choice – some argue that it’s great because it helps students integrate racially and stay away from situations where a poor neighborhood has a correspondingly poor neighborhood school. Others claim it is a way for white parents to send their kids to less integrated schools.  This is a very complicated and controversial topic that perhaps I will research and try to go into in more depth at a later date.

Personally, I think school choice is good if it helps students voice their opinion about their neighborhood school. If the kids get a say (with their parents) about which school they will attend, it’s almost like a vote. Competition to be a better school and attract students seems to help ensure better schools for the kids. And that’s what it should all be about.

There are some people who also think that we should be working to make sure that all high schools are offering the ’same’ education across the country. This is not happening. Each state has standards that their Board of Education writes up and publishes, but the standards are left to local interpretation. I think this is a double edged sword. I believe strongly in ‘teacher autonomy’ – that a teacher should have the power to make decisions in the classroom for his or her students. But I wish there was some sort of a consensus, too, officially, about what might be ideal.

Now maybe I’m just belying my ignorance here, but I have never seen a national resource for curriculum that could be used at the high school level – at least not for Engish/Language Arts. Instead, it seems that I have worked to interpret the Minnesota standards on my own and implement them into a curriculum. This also leads to me repeating bits and pieces of what I was taught in high school and making up new curriculum myself. I’m fine with doing that, but I would love to be able to check myself against a true standard.

I think a lot of the problem with that is there are a lot of companies that want to write and sell curriculum. If the government put together a really good resource, I suppose they would be limiting free enterprise’s chances to make money.  Again, I think that the needs of the students should be the most important.

Well, I think I introduced some rough ideas about a lot of interrelated topics in this post.  I will try to refine my thinking and continue to write on the topic.  As always, I would love to see this turn into a discussion so if you have any comments or questions, please be sure to post them.  Sheila

8/30 – NaBloPoMo – Emotional Vertigo

I have been a do-gooder all my life.  Always wanting the best, the ideal.  Not materially, but spiritually.  I revel in good deeds, in participating in a successful endeavor that will do no less than change the world.  The next right thing is my mantra.  Joy is being useful, helping people.  I want to do good and seek out the good in others.  I want to be the first to catch a glimpse see it, coerce it out if it’s latent.  Maybe this is why I am a teacher.

Lately, I have been experiencing something strange – a confusion, a dizzying mental drag causing me to sway in my belief in humankind.  It’s as debilitating as the vertigo I used to occasionally suffer, but again, it’s spiritual and emotional.  A doctor once explained vertigo to me as a brain’s confusion between reality and its perception of reality.  If the muscles in my neck are too tense and a breeze caresses them in just the right way, my brain will believe that I am falling although I am simply standing or sitting.

Emotional vertigo, I posit, is the confusion in my brain that arises when my ideals are brushed by even the lightest hushed wind of a disappointing human reality.  When my expectations of something or someone I’ve idealized are met with non-ideal reality, my emotions swoon inside.  My elbows tingle, I mix up words as I try to speak, I weep without direct cause.

The cure for physical vertigo that has worked for me is to stretch my neck and to ice those muscles.  I am still seeking the cure for ‘emotigo’ – I know that the disillusionment will not last.  Reality may not be ideal, but it’s not bad either – somehow to stretch my mental muscles and reset back to reality.  Perhaps vacation will do the trick.

7/30 – NaBloPoMo09 – The Natural

Well, I missed another day. This time I had a blog written, but it was off-line. When I went back online, something bad happened and the computer ate my words. At least I didn’t have to eat them.

Actually, I wasn’t too excited about what I had written anyway. It was about reading Bernard Malamud’s The Natural, which I finished last night after blogging (or trying to blog, anyway.)

I do love reading The Natural, which is a little unnatural for me because I am the antithesis of a sports fan. I don’t exactly hate sports, but I do find myself unable to resist rudely changing the subject when someone talks about sports for too long, which in my estimation is about 30 seconds.

I don’t know why I love that book so much – there is a lot of description of different aspects of games and playoffs, etc, but I don’t think the book is truly about baseball. I think it’s about love and ideals and the loss of youth.

The hero is the a lunk of a bumbling idiot, yet he fairly graces the pages of the novel, and this is because he is a hero. He is a natural at the game of baseball. Even with all of his setbacks, his Greek mythic characteristics carry him through against the odds. Then, well, then we learn that he is truly only human, and I find it one of the saddest endings of a novel.

You might be tempted to see the movie, and if you do, that’s fine, but don’t kid yourself. It’s not the same as the book. Not nearly. Talk about your Hollywood endings. It’s a good story, but it’s not the story that Malamud wrote.

I also had written some things down about the women in the book, how they are like strikes in the game of life – you only get three. And I will have to ask around to see if the image of a bird is somehow significant to the game – birds come up again and again. That’s still a mystery to me.

Ok, I’m running away now. Keep writing!!

6/30 – NaBloPoMo09

Everything is an advertisement lately. I was reading some advice about blogging, and the article mentioned advertising on blogs. I have never even thought about trying to advertise anything. Sometimes I talk about my novel, *still seeking representation* but I don’t consider that to be advertisement.

The author was saying that if you had enough viewers every day, say 1000, that you could get a company to place a banner on your page and they would pay you $200 a month. Weird. Perhaps I can be accused of not knowing what I’m talking about, since I have a daily average of about 5 readers – and that is a vast improvement over a couple of months ago… (thanks, you 5) but even if I had a large readership, or perhaps especially if I did, I would think that letting some corporation try to influence you to buy some crap you don’t need – or even crap that you do need – would be a let down. I would be disappointed in myself.

I hope that if you are another blogger, you will agree with me that advertising on your blog is not the way to go. I actively seek out pages that are by people who are writing for the joy of writing or because they are committed to the topic – not because they are mildly clever at embedding a bunch of key words that advertisers want you to click on.

Not everything needs to be a goddamned advertisement. That said, someday Jay will get his t-shirt printing endeavor together, and maybe I will offer his atheist themed shirts. But then it would be a cottage industry, not a corporate interest. And I would be sure to only offer shirts which would be entertaining to read in an ad… then it’s an even trade, right?

5/30 – NaBloPoMo09 – On being Vegan

Hi. I have noticed that a few of my readers have gotten to my page by searching for vegan information. I don’t remember how much I have talked about being vegan, but it’s been a long road to get here.

Both my husband and I are practicing vegans. I say practicing, because we are not perfect at it. He’s better at it than I am. I don’t try to cheat on being vegan, but sometimes it happens. In September we will have been vegan for two years. We were lacto-ovo vegetarians for about 5 years before that. During the first few months of being vegetarian, we were vegan for a couple of months, but it was too hard at the time – we didn’t know anything about vegetarian cooking, muchless vegan cooking, and so often we felt like we just didn’t know what to eat, and that led us to eating whatever we could find and feeling guilty, so we gave it up until we were called to it again.

Usually when people ask us about being vegan, the first question we get is why. I don’t really like to answer this question if I’m talking to someone who still eats meat. Most of my reasons involve words like ‘gross’ and ‘disgusting,’ ‘unsanitary’ and ‘murder,’ and I don’t think people like to hear that about things they eating…

What pushed me over the edge into complete veganism was reading about what happens to the little male ‘layer’ chicks that are born with no usefulness – they are destroyed. Some places destroy them by tossing them into a wood chipper. Alive.

I also don’t like the thought that cheese is coagulated by an enzyme that is only found in the 4th stomach of a calf. I mean really. I don’t even want to know how they know it’s only in the 4th stomach.

I could go on and on, yet I do sometimes crave cheese or meat. I also have a hard time saying ‘no thank you’ if someone has been nice enough to make me food.

Well, I am running out of time, so I guess that’s all I’ll be talking about veganism today. If you want to get a discussion going or have questions, please feel free to leave a comment!
Sheila

4/30 NaBloPoMo09

Writing about my thoughts today might prove to be difficult.  Recent family events have turned my mind to the process of aging as I experience the beginnings of middle age and as I watch family members.  I’d say the worst part is the pain of prolonged illness.  There is one member of my family in particular who seems to be displaying some symptoms of dementia.  A few weeks ago, I didn’t really know what dementia was.  Frankly, I still have a whole lot to learn.

Hopefully it isn’t dementia, but bouts of depression that he is suffering with.  The doctors are still figuring it out.  What I know is limited to what I have seen, but there are different moods and personality changes that concern me.  This is a person who I have gotten to know pretty well over the past decade, and we have gotten along well.  There was one time when we got into an argument over something that they said, something racist and irrational, but for the most part things have gone well.

That said, the time that we got into the argument reminds me of what we are seeing now when he is irrational and angry.  I don’t know, looking back, if that was a warning sign or if it was just how he acts when he is angry.  I don’t know about a lot of things…his wife would sometimes call and tell us to not come over because he was in a mood – she would describe him as unbearable.  I took it at face value, and none of us even began to wonder if there was something wrong.

Not all of the examples of aging that I see in my family are on such shaky ground.  My parents are doing well – they are still pretty young though.  Just thinking about what it would be like if my parents had dementia… well, it makes me automatically think of how the elderly in my family have not tended to have those kind of diseases.  Rather, we have died young of anuerisms and bronchitiosis (sp?) and other quick deaths.  Maybe that’s enough thinking about that for today.  Hope you’re well, thanks for reading.  Sheila

3/30 – NaBloPoMo09

Sadly, I missed blogging yesterday.  I meant to do it, but technology (or lack thereof on my part) got in the way.  :(  So I guess I’ll keep going until I get thirty consecutive days – which, a few days ago, sounded so easy.  I have a new found respect for those that do a “30 in 30″ which is an AA/NA term for those people who attend thirty meetings in thirty days – I mean, if I can’t even sit down in my own home for 15 minutes and blog in a day, they are really making an effort.

I’m not going to count this blog as today’s entry.  I’ll be writing later, once I decide on a topic.  I think I might be done with the complete ramble – we shall see.  :)  See ya later, thanks for reading.  Sheila

2/30 – NaBloPoMo09

What is it about writing that is so gratifying and so frightening at the same time?  I have been keeping a journal – off and on – since I was about 20.  Alot of my early independent writing was done when I was in high school, in the form of notes that I never passed on to my friends.  I still have a pile of them, and they clearly reveal that I was a teenager in the 1980’s. ‘Like, gag me with a spoon.’ (shudder.)

When I was 20, maybe it was on my birthday, I went to CityCenter with a guy friend who later was my boyfriend for two days before we realized that we were not really interested in each other.  We are still friends, though, through chance meet ups around town and the occasional facebook note.  Cyber friends, I guess.  The journal I bought was bright yellow and blue with repeating prints of an Andy Warhol rendition of cows.  I especially loved that it was unlined.  I filled that journal up completely.

Since then, I have probably started 10 or 12 other journals, and brought them to varying degrees of completion.  I find it interesting how much I have changed in the time since the first journal.  Of course it has been 18 years, but it’s a lot of change, to my way of thinking.

I used to be mortified if anyone read any of my work.  Now I’ve written a (n unpublished…) novel, I have a little website, I make comments on Facebook, and I blog for all the world to see, should they care to take a gander.

I’m not sure that Mortified has the capacity to convey just how shy, trembly, sick I felt if I knew someone’s eyes were scanning my very own words.  I hated it, but of course like any good passion, there was an equally strong flip side.  I desired intensely for people to have read what I had written and to receive the praise I would demurely say that I didn’t deserve.

Hence, despite wanting to crawl into the nearest hole while ‘being read’, I have shared my writing.  I wrote a few little poems for an improv show I was in during high school – I am forever thankful to my improv troupe for their reactions.  Let me set the scene for you:  We knew that we wanted to do a sketch about people in authority taking advantage of their positions – even the smallest amount of authority seems to go to some people’s heads.  I was up late one night writing, and I decided to try writing something for that sketch.  I wrote a series of short poems from different points of view – a judge, a crossing guard, scout leader….I don’t remember the details, really.

What I do remember is bringing in my poems and telling the other cast members that I had written something, but I didn’t want to read it.  They said I must.  Since I didn’t want everyone to hear, we went into the girls dressing room, they kicked out some non cast member who was in there, and they all encouraged me to read the poems aloud.  I did.  I remember that I felt my voice was not even audible, but they heard me, and then they used the poems in the show.

I think that’s when I started to realize that not only did I like writing, but that writing has a power.  There is something about the written word.  There are other forms of communication – speaking, music, video, plays and so on, but the written word, besides being essential to many other forms of communication, stands alone.

Even while everyone decries the internet and advancements in technology, it seems to me that what a lot of the internet consists of is people reading and writing.  Different forms – not a printed book, but reading and writing none the less.  I mean, here I am blogging my little heart out, and here you are reading it, so what does that tell you?

I think the fear of writing comes from an essential fear of being oneself and being rejected.  And once words are down on a page and released into the world, you really can’t take them back.  You can apoligize, you can claim that something was a typo, but it’s still out there.  And in writing.  A solid piece of evidence about how you felt or thought at a particular moment in time.

For most situations, there should really be no fear – how you felt about this or that is probably inconsequential.  But once in a while it’s important, and you have to have the sense to know when that is.  There is only one sentence I have ever written and sent out to someone that I truly regret.

It was when I was in Mexico, thoretically studying Spanish.  I received a call from a friend of mine, and she was insensed because of something my ex-boyfriend had said.  I do not have any memory of what made her upset, but at the time it made me upset, too.  I was so angry about whatever his offense had been, that I wrote him a post card.  All I said on it was, “You are such a f****** pessimist.”  And I sent it.

I’m blushing right now at the memory of that.  How very wrong.  What a rotten thing to get in the mail.  And he really was a nice person – he didn’t deserve that.  But it also illustrates the power of words.  I think it’s just that power that makes writing both gratifying and frightening.  I, for one, am going to keep on writing, even if it scares the hell out of me.

Thanks for reading.  Peace out.  Sheila

NaBloPoMo09 – Away We Go!

NaBloPoMo is exactly what I need right now! So I’m going to do it- 30 blogs in 30 days.

To start off, I have seen three recent movies without talking about any of them. They don’t flow naturally together at all, none the less, I shall discuss each of them in this blog as if they do.  Hope that works for you.

I think I will start with my favorite, which was Away We Go. I laughed a lot.  At one point, I laughed so hard I thought I might have an asthma attack.  I cried a little too.  Lots of events happen in this movie, but what I liked the best was that they addressed a lot of different women’s experiences with fertility/infertility.  Some of it was just funny, like over the top touchy-feely parenting, but I felt that they balanced that well with more serious situations.

It’s been very difficult for me to articulate why, not being able to have children* myself, I don’t go out and adopt.  I can’t exactly say why, but it doesn’t feel right to me yet.  Maybe I’m still in mourning – but I know I’m not ready to adopt right now.  In the movie, I feel like the couple from Montreal (don’t worry, I’m not ruining the movie for you here) showed exactly why I am hesitant – I am afraid I would feel how they feel. Ok, spoiler alert, I guess, because I’d like to talk about it in more detail.

I have been in her shoes – the woman who does the sexy/melancholy dance – because I have often wanted to ask pregnant women how it feels to get pregnant and have no problems – but I’m sure they couldn’t tell me anyway, and I would probably start to feel envious, which is a complete waste of time.

Anyway, I liked that part of the movie because it’s not a feeling that is talked about – the feeling that no matter how much you try to fill the hole that is left by not having children, nothing will.  You have to live with the hole.  And if you adopt, that’s great, and they are your children fully and completely, but the reality is that if you had wanted a biological child, an adoption is not a replacement of that lost possibility.  It’s probably not fair to the adoptive child to have a parent who is still longing so deeply for a biological child, and that’s why I’m not ready to adopt yet.  I am still in mourning.  I don’t know how long it will take.  It’s definitely better than it used to be – I no longer weep about it on a monthly basis, but the pain and loss is still there.  Seeing someone portrayed in a movie who went ahead and adopted several to ‘make a family out of whatever we can,’ and seeing the possible cracks in that goes a little way toward helping me understand myself, which I appreciate in a movie.

I also liked that the main couple reminded me of myself and my husband in that they are so in love.  And like that couple, we laugh a lot.  And when someone’s grumpy, it’s usually me.   They have little jokes, they are disappointed by the same things, and so on.  I loved them as a couple, and I love us as a couple.

The second movie that we saw recently was The Proposal.  I don’t have that much to say – it was entertaining and cute, but it’s obvious that compared to Away We Go, the director didn’t seem as confident in the audience being able to grasp the events and interpret them – this is especially evident in the last scene where what’s his name says some mushy-gushy stuff, and the director cuts to shots of random office workers making doe eyes or covering their mouths in surprise.  It was so effin’ silly.  But other than that, the movie was fine, and was enjoyable two times, so far.

The final movie we have seen recently is Transformers II, or whatever the hell it’s called, which was pathetic.  I was the one who wanted to see it – and I was sorry about 10 minutes in.  The cars transforming was neat, but there was no plot to speak of.  Well, there was a plot.  It was a very young and oddly mismatched couple competing to be the last one to say ‘I love you’ to the other.  Meanwhile, aliens attack the world, yadda yadda, the girl says it first because she thinks the boy has died, and only then he can say it back.  Plus shitloads of chase scenes, and some very racially stereotyped robot characters, and a couple of near crotch shots of a couple pretty girls.  I think that sums up the movie, actually.  So so very bad.  And they’ll make a million bucks each.  Oh well. Hollywood, right?

If you only have the chance to see one of these movies, it had better be Away We Go, or you are a fool.  We’ll try not to judge, but why don’t you make it easier by just seeing it.  It’s worth your time. 

*without going medically further than I want to, that is,  Please don’t email me and tell me “there’s always something they can do” – it’s not them, it’s me. Plaintive smile. – thanks, Sheila

Free and Alive

Hi!  I have the St. Dominic’s Trio song, Free and Alive from their album Switch stuck in my head.  This is probably because I listen to it in the car all the time.  I really like that album.  I think that if my novel is ever made into a movie starring Sandra Bullock as Joan, (ha ha) Free and Alive should be the song that plays when we first meet Arlen/e.  Really.  It would fit so well.  I also love the last song on the disc, I don’t know the name off the top of my head, and I’m not willing to run to the car to get it, but I think it would be a good one for another part of the movie – it’s about spending your life either looking forward to the best day in your life or looking back at it.  Joan spends some time doing that…

So today was another day at summer school.  Everyone was exhausted.  I think about half my students went to Pride.  I tell ya, the young people are going to change things just by being who they are.    So good.

I’m having a little tiny bout of writer’s block again.  It was another big day for the blog yesterday – 55 views.  Probably because I tagged it up like crazy with phrases like Gay Pride and such.  I think it’s great that people read it, but now I’m feeling like I didn’t write enough.  Guess I’ll always feel that way because there is a limited amount of time.

I did get three comments from members of the Minnesota Atheists.  I think it’s cool that they are consciously trying to put out a more positive image of Atheists.  I started the road to recovery from Cathoholism  when I was 17, but I was hesitant to call myself an Atheist.  First off, because it was such a radical change – I had been pretty into being Catholic – and secondly because Atheist sounded so negative to me at the time.

After a while, though, I found that if I said I was an agnostic, many people would question me on whether I knew what the term even meant!  I think we need to transcend the question of god altogher and just focus on here and now, helping our fellow man, and leaving the world a better place for the next generations.  If we spent the energy we spend arguing about religion and put it to a better purpose, we could probably get a lot of good work done.

Pride Day

I know, I know, I’m supposed to be writing my memories of Michael Jackson today, but the only thing I have is that my cousin had the Thriller album, and I loved it so much that I got my parents to buy it for me for Christmas in the seventh grade.  And one of my other friends had his pictures up in her locker.  She kissed his picture, and I remember being shocked.  I think kissing a photograph is very intimate.  Silly, since it’s one way, but that’s how I still feel.

What I am actually writing about today, after the non-related intro paragraph, is Gay Pride in Minneapolis.  As you may know, it’s set mostly in Loring Park, across from the Walker Art Center.  I love that area – Loring Park, the Irene Whitney bridge and the Sculpture Garden serve as the setting for the climax of my novel, Someotherville. *ahem, still seeking representation*  There’s something about Loring Park that is just very comfortable.

I can’t say that I had any Earth-shattering insights, it was just a nice day where I met a lot of nice people. I was especially gratified to see that there were at least three booths specifically for Transgender people.  I have had the honor of serving several Transgender students over the years, and I’m glad to see that their community is being served by at least a few non-profits.

I also thought it was great that such a wide variety of Minnesota was represented.  Corporations, small independent artists, churches (lots of churches.) and in the middle of religion row, a booth from Minnesota Atheists.  A man was holding a ‘hug an Atheist today’ sign.  I was so happy to see him that I did run up and hug him.  So did Jay.  The people running the booth said that they were working hard to present a positive image of us.  It seemed to be working.  We are definitely joining that group.

I also saw students and old friends, signed about a dozen petitions, picked up great resources for future students, walked through a well-done exhibit about the history of homosexual persecution and ate a falafel.  It was a great day.  We are still waiting until Gay marriage is legal in Minnesota to wear our wedding rings, but Jay and I held hands alot, and for once it felt like our Gay friends were free to do the same.

I have to close now, but a big thank you to the organizers of Minnesota’s Pride events this year – it was really great.

Wondering where to go with my novel.

I just got some good feedback from a good friend of mine about Someotherville, and I now feel fairly confused. I was really surprised by her feedback – she loved the parts about Joan, didn’t like the story within a story at all.
At first I was slightly defensive because I was hoping that the two stories would meld together in the end, and it would be obvious or feel inevitable that it had to happen the way it happened. But this was not how my friend felt about it.
As we were talking it through, I remembered that the part where she really didn’t like it was the same part where I didn’t know what to do next, and so I pulled something extreme out of the hat. I think that at the time of writing it, I had it in the back of my mind that I could always change things and that it would be best if I just forged ahead.
But now I am second guessing whether I could go back in and change the story within a story to either have more details about the secondary characters *which I should do because I do go on about how secondary characters are pivotal, and we often end up caring about them more than the main characters* or whether it was a poor choice for the story within a story, since it’s so weak – I mean, who really cares about a spy story? Cold war stuff is completely played out – when it was the 39 steps or whatever, it was fresh because people didn’t know what was happening or why. Now it really is a stereotype, a stock story. Alias…dollhouse… and those are just recent examples.
There’s only a certain kind of friend that can tell you that something you wrote is gimmicky. But now that it’s said, I guess it is a little. It was a quick fix for a long term problem, and it shows.
So not to be too mean to myself – that’s not what I’m trying to do – but I’m trying to convince myself that i do need to dive back into this pool – it can be better. Arwin, Cece and Katrina need to have more substance before they will ever seem real to people. I am heartened by the fact that someone thought Arwin seemed real. That makes me happy.
Now I need to tend to the rest of them. Maybe it’s a matter of pride, I really had thought I finished a book in a month, with only needing minor rewrites. Now if I go back in and make major changes, that is no longer the case. Yeah. Pride is foolish. Do I want this to be something that is read and cast aside as being mostly really good, or do I want it to be better than that?
Obvious answer. So now I know the task ahead of me – I don’t know how I’m going to do it – or whether I should do it – funny…I just had a moment of feeling exactly how Joan felt – she didn’t know if she should write her project either, but she felt compelled. And I feel compelled. So there you have it. The adventure begins again.
Ha.

Back to My Regular Blog

Hi there. So I wrote about Ivan, obviously I loved the play – going again Saturday BTW, unless they have sold out. And I got about 50 hits on my blog when I’ve never had more than 2 on any other day. And it made me feel nervous.

Never mind that they just wanted to see what people were saying about the play – it was my thoughts, my writing, and all of a sudden, writer’s block happened.

I sat down to write again last night, couldn’t get past the first sentence. Again this morning. I think it’s funny – I’m taking myself too seriously. I was considering writing about how theatre makes me feel alive, how worthwhile it is even though people seem to go to less and less of it… myself included. I go to twenty times more movies than plays. And I like plays!

Anyway, I know not everything I write will be interesting to more than a couple people, and that’s fine. I just like writing. I like how the keys feel under my fingers. I like the feel of a pen in my hand. So here’s a regular blog entry, you one or two readers…*I wouldn’t mind if you dropped a note once in a while, dear reader.

Ok, so I now have the choice of erasing this or publishing something very boring. Heck. If you’re reading this, you know what I chose!! Sheila

Ivan the Drunk and his Terrible Tale of Woe – Theater Review

I had the pleasure of seeing “Ivan the Drunk and his Terrible Tale of Woe” on Saturday.  If it isn’t yet June 21st 2009, you haven’t missed it yet.  You should go.

The set is beautiful and cleverly transforms into layer upon layer of dream-like sequences and settings that Ivan recalls from life and returns to in his memory.  The memories are surreal – it’s not a strictly linear play – and the interaction between the music, setting, and acting/dancing are evocative of intense emotion, often with no words for minutes at a time.  Some of the scenes are nightmarish; but it is always clear that they are based on events from his life.  At no time does it seem completely random – the action is grounded in a reality, even though we as audience members only have a minimal sense of the reality, it’s clearly there.

There are light hearted moments, too, as Ivan talks to his burden, which he quite literally carries around with him.  The physicality of Paul Herwig leaves no doubt from the very opening moments that this burden is taxing.  I wondered, though, whether he would be able to share his burden with someone else if he would allow it.  He wouldn’t allow it, and thus we saw several examples of his loved ones being shut out of his life.  This is painful to watch, as it is a depiction of an emotion that many of us have felt – perhaps it is a universal emotion – of not being trusted with someone else’s pain.  The other performers, every one seamlessly controlled yet fluid and accessable, each have moments of physically embodying the hardships of enduring Ivan’s distrust.

I don’t even have a word for that kind of rejection – the pain that accompanies the knowledge that a loved one would rather choose to carry their burden alone, whether it be alcoholism, drug dependency, post-traumatic stress, mental illness, or any number of other sadnesses.  That kind of rejection doesn’t get talked about much in our society – and here is a play that articulates it beautifully – subtly, the other characters throw bruised look and a walk away – Ivan watches in horror as he realizes he has shut another loved one out – but unable to do anything but hang onto his burden for dear life.

And you get the sense that life is dear to him – even after all of his struggles in the war, after nearly being killed, after killing (in more ways than one), he wants to live.  He seems to wish for things to have been different – in one of his memories, he alienates one family member, and then has a memory-do-over and tries again, only to alienate another family member – and so on.  He can’t get it right, because he can’t rewrite his memories into falsehoods.  So we see the pain and hurt and degradation.

All the while, though, there is a sense of healing, too.  Perhaps it’s in the very beauty of the movement, the imagry, the music – but one gets the sense that Ivan does have a poetic soul.  You wouldn’t know it from his ‘tchotchkes,’ his baudy little soldier rhymes, but he must have, if the events in this play are going on in his mind.  The reasons for his pain, the contents of his burden, are slowly unpacked for the audience to see and feel – we get both sides of the rejection and pain, and realize that as personal as the rejection is for the other characters, it is a double-edge sword that hurts Ivan as much as them.

The play has no breaks – no intermissions or even black-outs, and Ivan is on stage the whole time.  There is physical and verbal comic relief, but it is closely tied to the tragedy, and by the end, as an audience member, I was physically tired just from watching and paying as much attention as I could.  In empathizing with Ivan, I had a sense of relief and anxiety for him as he approached the final scene.  I was glad to see how the resolution of the final minutes was uncompromising in maintaining Ivan’s reality, yet found a way to articulate joy and beauty in the process of life, even a tragicomic life such as Ivan’s.

In the end, I felt spent and sated – I felt trusted as an audience member to understand and interpret the action in my own way, and, surprisingly, I felt closer to some parts of my own life that have been difficult for me to process in the past.  Something shifted in my own way of thinking about rejections that I have experienced and family members whom I have not understood – maybe some room for compassion has opened up where there was only pain and rejection before.  Regardless of my personal emotional reaction to this play, I feel I can confidently say that it touches a deep chord of humanity and will give you a lot to consider, whether you have direct experience with someone like Ivan in your life or not.

An Afternoon on the Farm

Two hour van ride, carsick in the back.  My family, actively a family, even during mundane tasks. Not like some families- mine loved to be together.  Playing games and laughing.  Listening to Dad’s jokes.

The only time we got upset was helplessly watching cars pass us in the left lane – admonishing dad, Step on it!  Step on it.  We’d wail like greek mothers upon learning a child was fated to die.The farm was like no place else we visited – even a gentler purgatory than the one we believed in.  Illisium fields, had we ever heard of such a place, we would known we were there . Timeless, detached from space – country road C wound by like a thread back to the rest of the world = a world easily forgotton as a we walked back and forth on the gravel road from the mailbox to the farmouuse – Dad maintains that it had electricity in the end, but that’s not my memory of the place.  Farmhouse.  Still with it’s original tarpaper sides

Looked crooked as though it had been dropped by dorothoy’s tornado.  No ruby slippers, though, I checked.  Just field after field, on Grandpa’s poorly farmed farm.

With nothing to do, mom would say Go Play!  And we would.  Trounce out to what must be the center of a field of hay, my brother and sister and I would use our forearms to press down the grasstalks, forming mazes to crawl through.  We marveled at bugs and flies, stalks that bulged with baby insects frightened and fascinated us.  Our skin grew tan in the unending golden sunshine, and we didn’t run away from anything.

Untrue

Falsifying my way

through reality

to a reality

that better suits me

Fake it till you make it

How will I know

when I’ve got it made?

humid as hell

People say it’s not the heat, it’s the humidity.  But on a day like today, there is no heat.  I mean there is no humidity – only heat.  Heat and a dry, cooling breeze.  This breeze is the raw breeze of an emotion  -  the planet in turmoil, not unlike my turmoil – dry, no tears.  Save the refreshing rains for another day.

Dry, scorcher thoughts chafe each other in my mind.  A dessert.  No, a desert.

The sun beats down, wind shoos it away, but it doesn’t go anywhere.  Like how thoughts can chase away other thoughts, but the problem still radiates down from on high – from on high?  That’s not exactly true either.  If I want to get this right, to track down how I really think, I have to admit that the beating, heated energy my thoughts try to whisk away comes from somewhere other than outside.  Inside.  What’s it called?  If I name it will it go away?  Sure it’s not too dull?  It’s called guilt and shame, just like evryone has.  You, too, I’m sure.

Sorry I Really Can’t

Sorry I really can’t.

I could try to think

of some sort of

existential excuse

my soul is in a downturn

my life is too taciturn

my energy won’t return

all your efforts my brain will spurn…

that’s why I can’t write today.

  Sheila

If I Take the Time

If I take the time

to write small

and with good penmanship,

maybe that part of me

which is always in hiding

will come out to play.

Maybe she’ll kick out some rhymes

she’ll be ahead of her times -

you know she’s always there

but a true, complete sighting

is very rare.

Sestina for Carol

On the happy occasion of my second cousin’s birth
we were also visited by Death
it was almost hard to see the joy
flitting in and out behind the grief
we all felt ———-mixed-up
a funeral is no time for Wisdom?

We heard plenty of lines – wisdom
of the ages – saying death was birth
from this crazy ~~~~~~~~~~~~mixed-up
world – a new life, death
was not an occasion for grief
but instead for uncontainable joy

We strove to find the joy
we had heard, and could see the wisdom
of it- but all we felt was grief
at the thought. We gave birth
to new questions for Death
all of which he’d heard before mixed-up

with curses, mixed-up with prayers, mixed-up
in general, with the continued joy
of living even in spite of Death
stealing a source of Wisdom
from us, earned by an ancient birth
we lost the wise one with a jolt of grief

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~grief
which, when~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~mixed-up
with~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~birth
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~(what joy)
where~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~wisdom
was, there was~~~~~~~~~~~~~Death

death grief wisdom mixed-up joy birth

mixed-up joy birth.

1-5-1996

Doppleganger

You wrote

about a nightmare world

Brothers Grimm

dialed one notch grimmer

Where every soul mirrored

another

a dark twin lurking

And you

sharing so much of my name

Sylvia Plath, Sheila Path

Your name asphixiated my hopes

as much as that oven

killed you

Only by changing mine

could I begin to think

I might escape your fate

But I still wonder:

Was it the gas or the

poems that finally did it?