September 8: Poetry Meeting, Office Time, "Web" Dip

Greetings, disciples.

I am sitting in my office at the university.  My windowless office.  At 6 p.m., I have a meeting with the grad students who will be poetry editors for the literary magazine this year.  It is my first official appearance as poetry editor, and I'm hoping the poets will be on board with the direction I want to go this year.  I have no idea who the poets are.  I don't know if they will like me or think I'm unqualified for the position.  It's either going to be great, or it's going to really suck.

I must say that I'm not a big fan of my new office.  It has that new office smell.  Sort of like new car/new furniture/new carpeting.  I think it's a combination of paint and rug glue.  I am no longer in the quietest corner of campus.  I'm sort of in the thick of things.  Smack dab in the middle of the English Department.  There are always people in the hallways, conversing, holding forth, socializing.  It's not my thing.  I much prefer a ninja approach to office time.  Get in as quietly as possible.  Do your time.  Slip out without anybody noticing.

But I can't go back to my old office.  All species of the English Department are to be housed in the same zoo now.  If I want a view, I have to walk across two hallways to see the ass-end of campus.  No private reveries sitting at my desk any more.  No watching the sun set as I blog.

I am trying not to be maudlin here.  I don't think I'm succeeding.  So, I guess I'll just ask my Web dip question for this week:

Am I going to be a successful poetry editor of the magazine?

And the answer from the great book of Charlotte is:

"You're terrific as far as I'm concerned," replied Charlotte sweetly, "and that's what counts.  You're my best friend, and I think you're sensational.  Now stop arguing and go get some sleep!"

Well, I'm going to be terrific, according to a little fictional spider.

Now, Saint Marty just has to convince a group of graduate students the same thing.

Not feeling it just yet

August 28: Terrific, Go Get Some Sleep, Exhaustion

"You're terrific as far as I'm concerned," replied Charlotte, sweetly, "and that's what counts.  You're my best friend, and I think you're sensational.  Now stop arguing and go get some sleep!"

Charlotte spends a lot of the book bolstering Wilbur's self esteem.  The little pig doesn't think too much of himself.  Of course, Mr. Arable almost axed him the day he was born, so the little pig didn't have a great beginning.  Learning that Zuckerman is planning on turning him into Christmas dinner doesn't help.

True friends make you feel good about yourself.  Charlotte makes Wilbur feel sensationally terrific.  Tonight, my book club met at my house.  We ate pizza.  We talked about literature and mothers and jobs.  And we laughed.  It was a great time with great friends.

Now, I'm pretty exhausted.  I haven't really recovered from my long days of teaching and my ensuing lack of sleep.  I'm also coming down with a nasty late summer cold.  My chest is tight, and I'm coughing like crazy.  I've taken some ibuprofen, but my eyes are literally burning at the moment.  I just want to follow Charlotte's advice.

Saint Marty is going to go get some sleep.

Repeat after me:  ZzzzzzzZzzzzzzzz...Oink!

August 12: TERRIFIC, Another Miracle, Prayer for Everyday Miracles

Next morning, Wilbur arose and stood beneath the web.  He breathed the morning air into his lungs.  Drops of dew, catching the sun, made the web stand out clearly.  When Lurvy arrived with breakfast, there was the handsome pig, and over him, woven neatly in block letters, was the word TERRIFIC.  Another miracle.

Charlotte's Web is all about everyday miracles.  Dew in spiderwebs.  Spiders.  Fresh morning air.  Pigs.  E. B. White saw miracles in all these little things, and he was right.  The fact that spiders spin webs is amazing.  They aren't taught how to do it.  They just know somehow.  It's in their DNA.

This morning, it was raining and cold when I drove to work.  This evening, coming home, it was sunny and warm.  The leaves of the maple tree outside my window are flickering, like an ovation of light.  A miracle.  The problem with the world is that most people go around ignoring all the little amazements around them.

Of course, there are big miracles, too.  Cures from terminal illnesses.  People surviving airplane crashes.  The end of a war.  A good Jim Carrey movie (it might happen again!).  It's a matter of opening your eyes and looking around.

I know that I have been blessed in my life, but I tend to wallow in disappointments.  It's easier to do.  For instance, it is the end of the summer, right before the semester starts at the university.  The tax return money is quickly dwindling, and the bills are accumulating a little bit.  My wife went to an orthodontist appointment with my daughter today and found out how much my daughter's braces are going to cost.  All I can say is YOWZA!  We're going to have to put her braces off for about four or five months.

I'm in a terrible rut of negativity right now.  All I can see right now is what I don't have.  Like the money to get my daughter's teeth fixed.  Or a full-time teaching job at the university.  Or a publisher for my new poetry collection.  I need to focus on the small, everyday miracles of my life.  Reading Harry Potter to my son at night.  Seeing my daughter dance.  Reading a really great poem.

So, this week, I'm praying for everyday miracles.  Little blessings.  Spiderwebs gleaming in the morning sun.  Ice cream melting on my son's cheeks.  Republicans making idiots of themselves.

Saint Marty feels better already.

Open your eyes and look around