In between tree and stay-up -til-midnight time is this lull that prepares us to ease back into the non-holiday world of January. I've enjoyed the usual things that I enjoy about Christmas-lights, cards, decorations, gathering of friends, the fun food. The music is not so fun unless I listen to the classical station and hear beautiful sounds that seem so Christmasy but are less familiar. I confess: I get tired of hearing "Jingle Bells." And, while I'm being honest, having 64 Christmases under my belt has made me just ever so blase about it all. But two events really stand out just as two or so events stand out every year. They are the happenings that make each holiday season special in its own way. This year the stand-outs were Christmas day brunch AND dinner with our friends Ed and Penny and our family gathering at Amy's house which was all pleasant and devoid of any sweaty family drama.
I'm wrong. There were three outstanding events. Another notable time was the card making party I had with my beloved women relatives from the Woodland, WA area. I have come to absolutely cherish these girls and get as excited as a little kid to spend time with them.
So that "little kid at Christmas" feeling was there more than I thought it was. The camaraderie of friends twice in one day, the family at peace watching the grandgirls enjoy the magic of Christmas and the excitement of being with my favorite relatives made this Christmas as special as all the others.
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Monday, December 13, 2010
Good-by Owl
Three last venues stimulated and amused us. The Leach Botanical Garden was a beautiful setting. We offered books from our festive table in the Manor House and absorbed huge quantities of good energy emanating from all the volunteers who maintain this facility and sponsor the Holiday Sale. My grandgirls visited and fell in love with the place and enjoyed the roles of "models" as the media representative snapped fun photos of them. We left happy and still basking in the goodwill that fills all the nooks and crannies both inside and out of this lovely place.
The next place was fascinating. We were invited to participate with 40 or so other Oregon authors at the Holiday Cheer Book Sale at the Oregon Historical Society. This was by far my favorite experience in book peddling. We sat by and near big name writers like Robert Michael Pyle, Brian Doyle, Sarah Lee Lawrence, and the great Ursula K. LeGuin along with the always around Gerry Frank, the noted mystery writer Philip Mongolin and many interesting others. I was truly thrilled. These people are my life long heroes. I've seen LeGuin many times around town and have always wanted to speak to her so I took my chance toward the end of the day and approached her as she was gathering up to leave. I shook her hand and just said, "Thank you. I've taught your stories for years and years." She understood exactly what I was saying and returned a firm shake along with a winkly,"You're welcome." We sold lots of books and went home exhilarated by this academic setting of a book sale that was attended by many well-turned out Portlanders.
Our last venue was at the Holiday Market in Eugene. A special big room was set aside for books and authors with the usual Saturday Market to one side and the holiday artists and crafters to the other side. And we got to look at Eugene all day. All the old hippies were out joined by new age punkers threading their way through the throngs of university students and holiday shoppers of all shapes and sizes. Even the Fairy Lady strolled about sprinkling fairy blessings on vendors and shoppers alike. Again we sat in between two well known Oregon writers and sold plenty of books ourselves. During the day, we ate fabulous organic pasties, sampled lush chocolates and had a couple good opportunities to eyeball all the wares of the Market as we made our way through the wafts of incense and homemade soap.
What a day and what a way to experience our last official sale of the good little book called Owl Grove. Good-by to that magical place and we are already in the early stages of our new adventure. I hope to make an announcement soon.
The next place was fascinating. We were invited to participate with 40 or so other Oregon authors at the Holiday Cheer Book Sale at the Oregon Historical Society. This was by far my favorite experience in book peddling. We sat by and near big name writers like Robert Michael Pyle, Brian Doyle, Sarah Lee Lawrence, and the great Ursula K. LeGuin along with the always around Gerry Frank, the noted mystery writer Philip Mongolin and many interesting others. I was truly thrilled. These people are my life long heroes. I've seen LeGuin many times around town and have always wanted to speak to her so I took my chance toward the end of the day and approached her as she was gathering up to leave. I shook her hand and just said, "Thank you. I've taught your stories for years and years." She understood exactly what I was saying and returned a firm shake along with a winkly,"You're welcome." We sold lots of books and went home exhilarated by this academic setting of a book sale that was attended by many well-turned out Portlanders.
Our last venue was at the Holiday Market in Eugene. A special big room was set aside for books and authors with the usual Saturday Market to one side and the holiday artists and crafters to the other side. And we got to look at Eugene all day. All the old hippies were out joined by new age punkers threading their way through the throngs of university students and holiday shoppers of all shapes and sizes. Even the Fairy Lady strolled about sprinkling fairy blessings on vendors and shoppers alike. Again we sat in between two well known Oregon writers and sold plenty of books ourselves. During the day, we ate fabulous organic pasties, sampled lush chocolates and had a couple good opportunities to eyeball all the wares of the Market as we made our way through the wafts of incense and homemade soap.
What a day and what a way to experience our last official sale of the good little book called Owl Grove. Good-by to that magical place and we are already in the early stages of our new adventure. I hope to make an announcement soon.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Week 10, Owls, Final exams
(Tues a.m.) Week 10 was anticlimactic with students pushing to get the research project completed by class time on Thursday. I always feel nervous about this part of the curriculum because students always act as if they know exactly what to do to document claims for a research paper. No matter how many times I monitor and check, I am always reassured somehow that they're on track. Then they turn in their papers. As usual, things fall apart and I begin to doubt my own teaching skill with this. Granted, research is not my favorite thing and I can barely keep up with all the changes being made, so I always struggle trying to do the "right thing" and get this successfully under the learning belts of students. So as I graded the papers, I was dismayed that what seemed like many demonstrated only the barest hint that they knew what this assignment was all about. And then I graphed/charted the scores. There were plenty of A's and B's, some C's, and more D's and F's than I'm really comfortable with but the stats show that the assignment "took." (More later.)
(Tues mid-afternoon) I am at the main campus. This will be my last official office time so I have set about clearing things up and out. Mary's drawings are off the walls along with some colorful visuals I created from last year's Linnea calendar. I recycled some old student papers, shelved the books I don't want to take home and left the drawers free of any personal items. The only thing I will leave is my beloved John Travolta poster. This interesting object was given to me years ago by my friend Kristi who knew what a fan I was (and still am even though he's old and worn like everyone else I know). It's a kitschy thing done in airbrushed pen and ink depicting an all seeing John Travolta whom the artist wants us to see as an attractive and powerful man. I have taken the poster to my Writing 122 classes many times and used it as the basis for arguing about art. It has produced some of the best discussions and some of the best writing I've seen in all my tenure.
But somebody in the office doesn't like the poster. She (or he) turned John's face toward the wall. If only they knew how much learning energy came from that poster, she might think twice before banishing John's face from sight. So I think it only appropriate that I leave the poster here in the office for others to contemplate. I wonder how long it will last? I just might be able to find out if ever I decide to teach another class. But I'll just quietly leave John in the hands of the current and future office occupants.
So good-by, office. (More later.)
(Tues p.m.) I took my last walk across campus with my hood up and the raindrops coming down stepping around a small group of laughing students who were obviously as relieved as I am to be finished with final exams for the day. I took one last short cut through the student center to say good-by to my favorite server, Robin, but she was no where in sight. The usual guitar players were there and the usual loud game players were clustered around the tables by Counseling Services. I felt like the only person in the building as I took one final trip down the elevator in Randall Hall. The basketball players weren't even practicing. Then out the door and into the dark parking lot for one last time. I heaved my backpack into the car for the last time and vowed to retire it to a fitting place soon. As many and varied as were the memories that were floating around and through my mind, I didn't feel any sense of loss or sadness or nostalgia. What's done is done. My tent is folded and I have stolen silently into the night and left the days of teaching behind.
(Next time: the truth about the owls.)
(Tues mid-afternoon) I am at the main campus. This will be my last official office time so I have set about clearing things up and out. Mary's drawings are off the walls along with some colorful visuals I created from last year's Linnea calendar. I recycled some old student papers, shelved the books I don't want to take home and left the drawers free of any personal items. The only thing I will leave is my beloved John Travolta poster. This interesting object was given to me years ago by my friend Kristi who knew what a fan I was (and still am even though he's old and worn like everyone else I know). It's a kitschy thing done in airbrushed pen and ink depicting an all seeing John Travolta whom the artist wants us to see as an attractive and powerful man. I have taken the poster to my Writing 122 classes many times and used it as the basis for arguing about art. It has produced some of the best discussions and some of the best writing I've seen in all my tenure.
But somebody in the office doesn't like the poster. She (or he) turned John's face toward the wall. If only they knew how much learning energy came from that poster, she might think twice before banishing John's face from sight. So I think it only appropriate that I leave the poster here in the office for others to contemplate. I wonder how long it will last? I just might be able to find out if ever I decide to teach another class. But I'll just quietly leave John in the hands of the current and future office occupants.
So good-by, office. (More later.)
(Tues p.m.) I took my last walk across campus with my hood up and the raindrops coming down stepping around a small group of laughing students who were obviously as relieved as I am to be finished with final exams for the day. I took one last short cut through the student center to say good-by to my favorite server, Robin, but she was no where in sight. The usual guitar players were there and the usual loud game players were clustered around the tables by Counseling Services. I felt like the only person in the building as I took one final trip down the elevator in Randall Hall. The basketball players weren't even practicing. Then out the door and into the dark parking lot for one last time. I heaved my backpack into the car for the last time and vowed to retire it to a fitting place soon. As many and varied as were the memories that were floating around and through my mind, I didn't feel any sense of loss or sadness or nostalgia. What's done is done. My tent is folded and I have stolen silently into the night and left the days of teaching behind.
(Next time: the truth about the owls.)
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