December 10: "Carol" Dip Monday, Mental Health, Dysfunction

I come from a family that's really good at guilt and anger and depression.  The Holy Trinity of family dysfunction.  Of course, this time of year simply magnifies these problems.  We are expected to be together and behave like the Waltons.  Unfortunately, Christmas morning at my parents' house is more like celebrating with the Bunkers.  Lots of inappropriate comments, lots of whispering and eye rolling, and lots of overeating.  Throw in some depression and other mental health issues, and that's the yuletide season at the Saint Marty homestead.

Of course, my family is no different than any other family.  There's no such thing as a functional family.  There are simply levels of dysfunction.  Even the Ingalls on Little House on the Prairie had to deal with drug addiction and racism and class conflict.  If I were to rate my family, I'd place us somewhere between the Bundy clan and the Ewing clan.  Of course, that doesn't mean I hate my siblings or parents.  I love them, with all their faults.  I'm pretty sure they feel the same way about me.  (I have been the three-headed stepchild for a long time.  The lone Democrat in a family of Republicans.  A poet and musician and teacher.  I might as well wear a sign at family gatherings that reads, "Try not to talk about me until I leave the room.")

I have a particular sibling who is struggling at the moment with some severe depression and anxiety issues.  She's been struggling for quite some time.  Over a year.  If I try to talk to her about mental illness, she simply shuts down.  I can see a physical change in her body, as if she's a rose that's folding into itself to avoid a frost.  In the past, she's always been the person in charge.  The sensible one.  The one with all the answers.  Now, she puts everyone on edge.  At family dinners, she slams dishes and snatches plates.  She hollers if the fork is set on the wrong side of the plate.

Christmas and New Year's Eve for this sibling is going to be a challenge.  On New Year's Eve last year, she was practically in tears because the "crowds" of family/friends in the house made her anxious.  She's even worse this year.  If she makes it to January 1 without major medication, it will be a miracle.

My questions for Carol dip Monday is pretty simple:

Will my sibling get help for her mental illness problems soon?

And the answer from the great book of Dickens is:

Uncle Scrooge had imperceptibly become so gay and light of heart, that he would have pledged the unconscious company in return, and thanked them in an inaudible speech, if the Ghost had given him time...

That's a pretty good answer.  If my sibling would be "gay and light of heart," we all would have a Huxtable Christmas.

Sing with Saint Marty:  "Joy to the world, Prozac has come..."

It's all in the family

December 3: Lean Christmas, "Carol" Dip Monday, Hope

This morning, I'm still trying to come to terms with the fact that my wife lost her job on Friday.  I'm being quite selfish in my thinking right now.  I'm thinking about how much more difficult Christmas is going to be this year.  How I might have to reconsider my two-week vacation at the beginning of January.  How I'm going to miss the extra income, the peace of mind, it gave me.  I could go on, but you get the idea.

You know, Bob Cratchit has about 27 kids in A Christmas Carol, and he somehow manages to be upbeat and generous all the time, even with Scrooge as a boss.  Of course, Bob Cratchit is a fictional character in a novel that is guaranteed to have a happy ending.  There's no guarantees is my situation. No Ghosts of Christmas are going to visit my wife's bosses and teach them the error of their ways.  (I will admit to having an urge to go to my wife's former place of work this morning to create some awkwardness and anxiety, but my wife asked me not to.  I am still a little angry, if you can't tell.)

The hardest consequence of this whole situation for me is the holidays.  It's going to be a lean Christmas season.  No prize turkey from the butcher's window for this Cratchit family.  That's a tough pill for me to swallow.  A really tough pill.  But swallow it I will, with a few extra cups of low fat eggnog.

My question for Carol dip Monday is pretty simple this week:

Will my family have a good Christmas this year?

And the answer from the Inimitable Charles Dickens is:

It is a fair, even-handed, noble adjustment of things, that while there is infection in disease and sorrow, there is nothing in the world so irresistably contagious as laughter and good-humour.  When Scrooge's nephew laughed in this way:  holding his sides, rolling his head, and twisting his face into the most extravagant contortions:  Scrooge's niece, by marriage, laughed as heartily as he.  And their assembled friends being not a bit behindhand, roared out, lustily.

Well, that's a pretty jolly little scene.  Of course, it's about Fred, Scrooge's nephew, who is practically Santa Claus.  But it's a good answer to my question.  An answer full of happiness and love and good will.  And hope.

That's what Saint Marty needs the most:  a little hope.



Well, not quite this lean...

November 19: "Carol" Dip Monday, Classes for Next Semester, Hope

I have to make a phone call to the head of the English Department at the university this morning.  He sent me an e-mail about classes for next semester.  I'm hoping for another two sections of Introduction to Film.  However, I am a pessimist.  So, I am preparing for the worst.  I'm not exactly sure what the worst would be.  Perhaps Technical and Report Writing.  That is not an exciting class.  It's a good class.  Very useful.  It may even be the most useful writing class offered by the English Department.  However, having taught it many semesters in a row, I have burned out a little on resumes and cover letters and progress reports and proposals.

Plus, I've been a little spoiled the last few semesters.  Introduction to Mythology.  Good Books.  Introduction to Film.  I have had it good.  I can't remember the last time I've had to grade a paper.  I understand why the full-time professors avoid composition classes like herpes.  They are simply no fun compared to sexier subjects like film and poetry and fiction.

My question for Carol Dip Monday should be pretty obvious:

Will I be offered Good Books or Mythology or Film classes to teach next semester?

And the answer from Chuck Dickens is:

When he roused himself from his thoughtful quest, he fancied from the turn of the hand, and its situation in reference to himself, that the Unseen Eyes were looking at him keenly.  It made him shudder, and feel very cold.

Wow, that's not a very hopeful answer.  In fact, there is no hope in that little passage at all.  Unseen Eyes.  Shuddering.  Coldness.  That pretty much describes teaching Tech Writing.

Saint Marty better dust off his red pen.

I hope it hasn't dried up

November 12: "Brokeback Mountain," "Carol" Dip Monday, Getting Published

These guys would like my poetry

It is Monday morning.  I am tired and a little cranky.  I didn't get to bed until after 11 p.m., and when you get up at 4 a.m. every morning, that makes for a really long day.  I need caffeine in the worst way.

Now that I have that out of my system, I will talk about the week ahead of me.  I will be screening the film Brokeback Mountain for my Intro to Film classes.  I wanted to show a Western, but I didn't feel like watching John Wayne or Clint Eastwood.  Thus, I went with a revisionist Western.  If you haven't seen the movie, do not start making jokes about gay sheep herders.  It really is a stunning piece of cinema, and Heath Ledger is brilliant.  I just hope I can get my students to get past their preconceived notions and really appreciate the artistry of it.  Ang Lee is hands-down one of the best directors working.

I'm beginning to think I should have chosen something a little "safer" for my Western.  Maybe The Searchers or Unforgiven.  I've never been one for playing it safe, however.  It's going to be an uphill battle.  But I took it easy on my students last week.  They got to watch Toy Story.  They should be up for a little challenge,  Plus, I need to give them something to talk about at their Thanksgiving dinners next week.

It is time for a Carol dip.  My question has nothing to do with bisexual cowboys, sheep, or Heath Ledger getting it on with Jake Gyllenhall.  It is about getting published.  More specifically, it's about getting my new book of poems published.  I still haven't placed the manuscript, and I finished it over a year ago.  That's a little depressing to me.  Not as depressing as being in love with a a married cowboy, but it's still damn depressing.  So my question is simple:

Will I publish my new poetry manuscript within the next six months?

And the answer from the great book of Dickens is:

My opinion is, that it was a done thing between him and Scrooge's nephew:  and that the Ghost of Christmas Present knew it.

A done thing.  I like the sound of that.  Looks like I'll be autographing copies of my new book before the ball drops in Times Square on December 31, 2013.

Sing with Saint Marty, "Should old acquaintance be forgot..."

November 5: Idle People, President Willard, "Carol" Dip Monday

..."Since you ask me what I wish, gentlemen, that is my answer.  I don't make merry myself at Christmas, and I can't afford to make idle people merry.  I help to support the establishments I have mentioned:  they cost enough:  and those who are badly off must go there."

No, the quotation above is not Mitt Romney, although it certainly could be.  I tried to find a passage from Charles Dickens that could have come from the mouth of our esteemed presidential candidate.  Then I realized that anything spoken by the early Ebenezer Scrooge, pre-redemption, could have come from the lips of any Republican running for office this election.

If you can't tell, this post is going to be about the upcoming election.  One day to go, and every other commercial on TV and the radio is some kind of political advertisement.  "Vote Yes of Proposal 2."  "Vote No on Proposal 2."  "Barack Obama has ruined the country."  "Barack Obama has saved the country."  Even for a political junkie like myself, it's starting to wear a little thin.

That being said, I would like to take a few last cheap shots at Willard Romney.  (Yes, that is his real name.  If he is elected, we will have a President Willard.  Imagine what he will do for the welfare of rats everywhere.)  I was reading an opinion piece by Juan Williams this morning.  The article was titled "A Romney win would be a victory for shameless cynicism."  It was published on the website The Hill.  In the post/essay, Williams talks about how the Romney people have tried to turn every accomplishment of President Obama into a liability.  (George W. did that with John Kerry's military service in 2004.)

Mr. Obama took out enemy number one of the United States.  Mr. Romney now questions President Obama's dedication to the security of the United States because of the tragic killing of the U.S. ambassador to Libya.  President Obama supported the bailout that saved the auto industry in this country.  A week ago, the Romney campaign released a commercial in Ohio falsely hinting that Chrysler was going to move Jeep manufacturing to China.  Coming from a political party that gave us Dubya, who, in eight years, started two wars and oversaw an economic recession, Willard Romney doesn't have much firm ground to stand on.  Mr. Williams quotes a Romney  pollster who said, "We will not have our campaign dictated by fact-checkers."

That is the truth.  If you check the facts, Mr. Romney is a "cipher candidate."  I have no idea where he stands on any issue.  He keeps saying, "I stand behind America," but I have no idea what that means.  He's built his entire presidential bid on cynicism instead of hope.  I can't get behind that.

This Monday, my question for Chuck Dickens is easy:

Will Barack Obama be reelected President of the United States tomorrow?

And the answer from the great book of Christmas is:

...I am here to-night to warn you, that you have yet a chance and hope of escaping my fate.  A chance and hope of my procuring, Ebenezer...

There you have it.  We will escape the Marley/Republican fate of chains and poverty and hunger.

Saint Marty can relax.  The United States still has a chance and hope.  A chance and hope of Barack Obama's procuring.

I won't pay to see this movie

October 29: My Plans, Oprah, "Carol" Dip Monday

OK, so last week I wrote about reinventing Saint Marty.  This morning, when I logged on at 5 a.m., I only had 64 page views.  I need to do something about this situation.  I therefore have decided to impose some structure on my posts.  Each day, I will write about a generalized theme.  I have come up with a tentative schedule.  Think of it as the TV Guide for this blog.  Here goes:

Monday:  Carol Dip.  (This day will change once my year with A Christmas Carol is over.  Perhaps I'll do Bible dips instead.  We'll see.)

Tuesday:  Saint of the Week.  Yes, I am returning to the roots of this blog.  If you look at my earliest posts, they all concern various Catholic saints and how they relate to modern life.  I will be revisiting this feature on Tuesdays.

Wednesday:  Worry Wednesday.  Instead of writing about all my fears and worries all week long, I will pile them on this day.  It's the middle of the work week, so it seems like a good day to fret about things a little bit.

Thursday:  Blessing Thursday.  I will follow up my day of worry with a day of blessings.  I will discuss one thing in my life for which I'm grateful.  Just to balance things out.

Friday:  P.O.E.T.S. Day.  That stands for Piss On Everything Tommorow's Saturday.  On this day, I will unveil a new poem I've written.  I call myself a poet.  Therefore, I should be writing poetry.  This day will keep me writing and experiencing incredible guilt when I don't get something written.  That's for the Catholic boy in me.

Saturday:  Good Reads.  I will discuss books, short stories, authors, poets I like reading.  Think of it as Oprah's Book Club for this blog.

Sunday:  My Favorite Things.  Yes, I'm stealing another page from Oprah.  On Sundays, I will talk about something I love.  Anything goes on this day, from books to movies to foods to vacations to people.

There you have it.  That's what you can expect on this blog in the future.  Of course, this schedule is not Stonehenge.  Nothing is made out of stone here.  I will deviate for special occasions--holidays, birthdays, elections, when something pisses me off.  For example, I will be posting a Halloween special on Wednesday.  I've already got the graphics for it.  And, not to worry, I will still be fulfilling my promise of focusing on Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol for an entire year.  I do not go back on my word.

We'll see how this new schedule works out.  I may be adjusting things.  Even the television networks cancel programs and bring in mid-season replacements.  For now, this is what you can look forward to.

Now for the Carol dip.  My question this morning is simple: 

Is my new blog schedule going to get me named a Blog of Note by the good people who run Blogger?

And the answer from the great Dickens is:

Scrooge, having no better answer ready on the spur of the moment, said, "Bah!" again, and followed it up with "Humbug!"

Well, that's not the answer I was hoping for, but I'll take it.

Saint Marty isn't going to argue with Charles Dickens or Ebenezer Scrooge.

I won't be giving away any cars, folks!

October 8: Northern Lights, Northern Darks, "Carol" Dip Monday

This morning, driving into work at 4:30 a.m., the Northern Lights were brilliant in the sky.  Clouds of green and yellow light streamed across the heavens.  I have seen the aurora borealis before, but it has been quite some time.  As I drove along, I started feeling quite small and insignificant in the face of something of such beauty.  And then I thought, God really is amazing.  And then I thought, you better keep your eyes on the road, dumbshit, or you're going to kill yourself.

Then I remembered my iPad.  I pulled over to the side of the road and took several pictures of the light show.  This is just one sample of what I got:

That's right.  I got twelve pictures of utter blackness.  My Northern Lights are Nothern Darks.  So, if you will, imagine a jagged, dark treeline against a dark sky.  Then, imagine bright fingers of light reaching across the stars and moon, so bright it almost looks like dawn is happening in fast forward.  That's what I saw this morning, and that's what this picture is supposed to capture.  Pretty stunning, I know.

Now that I have sufficiently inspired you with my National Geographic photography skills, I will move on to the business at hand.  It is Monday, and that means it's time for a Carol dip.  My question this morning is inspired by the presidential debates of last Wednesday:

Will Mitt Romney win the presidential election because of his debate performance last week?

And the answer from Chuck Dickens is:

It was not an agreeable idea.  Scrooge shivered, and wiped the perspiration from his brow.

See.  Even a dead Victorian novelist doesn't like Mitt Romney.  I mean, Romney dissed Big Bird.  You can't get much lower than that.

This message has been brought to you by the Saint Marty Committee to reelect Barack Obama.

October 1: Searching for Peace in All the Wrong Places, Anxieties, "Carol" Dip Monday

I woke up this morning plagued with worries and anxieties.  This is nothing new for me.  At the start of every week, I always have a list of things to fret about.  To combat these Monday cases of angst, I say my prayers, read my devotions, and try to release my fears to God. 

Usually, the fears that bother me most are the fears I have no control over.  Job.  Money.  Health.  Whatever.  I am a control freak, and I have a difficult time turning my life over to anybody, including God.  That may sound sacrilegious, but I like being in control (or having the illusion of being in control).  I look for peace in all the wrong places in my life.  I look for peace in my bank accounts, in my employment, in my writing, in my possessions.  I look for peace in the "things" of my life.  As a Christian, I know that is a completely wrong-headed approach to my days.  However, as the old saying goes, you can lead a horse to water, but you can't make him drink.  Or maybe it's, you can't change a leopard's spots.  Or, a zebra looks good in black and white.  My point is that I have been operating as a control freak for a majority of my adult life, and I am able to function in that mode quite nicely.

Well, it didn't help me this morning.  In the shower, as I was praying and preparing myself for the day ahead of me, I found myself getting more and more anxious.  I couldn't shake it off, no matter how hard I tried.  I kept getting increasingly worked up.  Standing under the shower head, rinsing soap from what little hair I have left, I felt the needle on my control freak gauge pushing into the red zone.  I was reaching maximum pressure.

I have no relief valve.  I can't blow off a little anxiety and move on with my day.  I am sitting at my laptop, still stewing and brewing.  I probably need to pray some more.  Read my devotions.  Find some kind of quiet center.  I don't know if I'm going to be able to do that today.  It's a strange Monday.

So, my question for Carol dip Monday is pretty simple:

Will I be able to find peace of mind this week?

And the answer from the Inimitable Chuck Dickens is:

The consequences were uproarious beyond belief; but no one seemed to care; on the contrary, the mother and daughter laughed heartily, and enjoyed it very much; and the latter, soon beginning to mingle in the sports, got pillaged by the young brigands most ruthlessly.  What would I not have given to be one of them!  Though I never could have been so rude, no, no!  I wouldn't for the wealth of all the world have crushed that braided hair, and torn it down; and for the precious little shoe, I wouldn't have plucked it off, God bless my soul! to save my life...I should have liked, I do confess, to have had the lightest license of a child, and yet been man enough to know its value.

Well, there you have it.  A scene of uncontrolled, joyful chaos.  Scrooge observing his former fiance interacting with her brood of children.

Some joy is coming Saint Marty's way.  Thank the Lord.

Look out!  I'm gonna blow!

September 24: His Work, His Voice, "Carol" Dip Monday

So, I had an interesting conversation in my Sunday School class yesterday morning.  We were discussing the valleys and peaks of our lives.  In particular, we were discussing how to maintain hope when your life is in the toilet, and how to recognize God's voice and blessings.  Most people, when they are in real trouble, will turn to prayer of some sort, whether it's to some kind of "higher power" or Jesus or Jehovah or Muhammad.  As the saying goes, there aren't any atheists in foxholes.  When the chips are down, we turn to God (in whatever form) to pick those chips up for us.

The topic came up about how we sometimes don't recognize God working in our lives or talking to us because we're too wrapped up in ourselves.  When I get up in the morning, I immediately start going through my list of what I have to do.  Work.  Teaching.  Papers and quizzes to correct.  Kids to get to dance and daycare.  My mind doesn't stop.  Then, of course, as the day goes on, all the other noise of the world crowds in, grabs my attention.  Rain and bad tires on my car and doctors appointments for children with ear infections.  Most of life is an unending parade of worries and distractions.

And in the middle of all that is God, talking to us, working for us.  We are just too preoccupied to take notice.  For example, in August one day, I was worried about money (probably the biggest noise in my head all day, every day).  I was looking at bills and paychecks, thinking, "This just isn't going to work."  I could come up with no solution to reconcile the shortage of cash.  I closed my eyes and said a little prayer, something like, "OK, God, I handing this one over to you.  Can't handle it.  I need a break."

Within a couple of minutes, my wife called and told me I'd received a letter in the mail from the city of Marquette, where I spend most of my days working/teaching.  I thought it was another reminder to pay a parking ticket that I've been ignoring for quite some time.  "No, no," my wife said.  "I opened it up, and there was a check inside for $250."

I sat there, stunned.  Finally, I said, "What's it for?  Is there a note or something?"

It turned out I was getting paid for a couple of poetry readings I did this summer as part of the U. P. Book Tour.  I couldn't believe it.  It was out of the blue.  I'd never been told I was going to get compensated.  In fact, the year before, I did quite a few readings for the Book Tour and never saw a dime.  I wasn't looking to be paid.  I wasn't expecting to be paid.

When I spoke with one of the organizers of the events, he said, "Well, when we paid all the bills, we had money left over from the grants we received.  All the authors got money."

The nonbeliever would call it a coincidence, good fortune, whatever.  I call it God's work or God's voice.  God made me stop, take a deep breath, and surrender.  Then God stepped in, rolled up His sleeves, and did a little miracle.

That's what I'm talking about.  Worries never accomplish anything, except maybe disrupting sleep and ruining dinners.  Worries are all about fear, and fear is the exact opposite of faith.  It's the worrying we all do, every day, that interferes with our ability to recognize God's work, to hear God's voice.

Today is Carol Dip Monday.  I'm going to ask a question and then turn to the great Christmas book of Dickens for an answer.  Perhaps, when I do this little exercise every Monday, God is at work, giving me an answer through the characters of Scrooge and Tiny Tim and Fred the nephew.  I like to think that's the case.  So, my question for today is,

Will I ever be hired as a full-time professor at the university?

And the answer from Charles Dickens (and maybe God) is:

Martha didn't like to see him disappointed, if it were only in joke; so she came out prematurely from behind the closet door, and ran into his arms, while the two young Cratchits hustled Tiny Tim, and bore him off into the wash-house, that he might hear the pudding singing in the copper.

Martha doesn't like to disappoint her father, Bob Cratchit, and God will not disappoint me.  No joking about it.

Saint Marty will be a full-time professor at the university, according to the Christmas Carol Magic 8 Ball.  And God.

Time to unplug and listen!

September 17: One of Those Mornings, Lists, "Carol" Dip Monday

It has been one of those mornings.  I overslept a little bit, and I have been running my butt off ever since, trying to make-up for the lost time.  I will probably feel rushed for the rest of the day.  That's what happens when my day starts off like this.  I have a lot of stuff to accomplish.

One of the first things I did when I was finally able to sit down was make a list.  I know, I know.  Lists are nothing new for me.  This list, however, was requested by a friend of mine who is putting together an anthology of Upper Peninsula writers/poets for a university press.  He wanted me to come up with a list of the three best U.P. poems.  Well, I came up with a list, but it's the three best U.P.-based short stories.  I think it's a really good list.  Let me share it with you:

1.  "Indian Camp" by Ernest Hemingway from the collection In Our Time.  The quintessential U.P. story for me.  A young Nick Adams visits a Native American camp with his physician father to deliver a baby.  His father has to perform a C-section without anesthetic.  After the operation is complete, Nick's father discovers that the woman's husband has committed suicide in his bunk.

2.  "Road Kill" by John Vandezande from the collection Night Driving.  This story deals with an experience almost everyone who lives in the U. P. has had--encountering a deer that's been hit by a car.  The three characters in the story deal with questions of mortality and death.

3.  "Winter Mines" by Sharon Dilworth from the Iowa Short Fiction Prize-winning collection The Long White.  This story is about a laid-off miner who sinks into depression.

Those are the three stories that capture important elements of what it means to live and survive in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan.  When I look at that list, I realize those tales are pretty dark and depressing.  All of them.  But they are increbile pieces of writing.

Now that I have that out of the way, I can move on to other tasks, like doing a Carol dip for this Monday.  And I have just the question to ask:

Will I ever end up at the top of a writer's list for poetry?  (Say, the top three greatest poets to have ever lived?)

And the answer from the great Charles Dickens is:

But if you had judged from the numbers of people on their way to friendly gatherings, you might have thought that no one was at home to give them welcome when they got there, instead of every house expecting company, and piling up its fires half-chimney high.  Blessing on it, how the Ghost exulted!

There you have it.  Numbers of people and friendly gatherings and blessings, all to celebrate me on the top of a list of great poets.

Saint Marty can't ask for much better than that.

A poet in search of a list

September 10: One Piston, Diet Mountain Dew, "Carol" Dip Monday

I'm firing on about one piston this morning.  It has not been an easy transition from weekend brain to work brain.  I'm sitting here, typing about one word every twenty seconds, which means I'll be done with this post about 2 p.m., just in time for me to get to the university to teach.  Fits and starts, that's the way my mind is functioning.  I do have what's left of a two liter bottle of Diet Mountain Dew, and I'm nursing it, trying to make it last.  It doesn't seem to be helping out very much.

The other thing that's distracting me this morning, besides my slumbering grey matter, is an alarm.  When I walked into my office this morning, there was a high-pitched alarm sounding.  Imagine a dentist's drill raised about five octaves.  That's what it sounds like.  Yes, it is still alarming, and I am starting to develop a headache.  It's driving me crazy.  At times, I can almost block it out, but then it gets louder or changes pitch.  I've got the TV on, trying to drown it out, but that's not working either.  I'm about ready to find a hammer and smash the entire electrical panel that it's coming from.  I'm controlling my impulses at the moment.

Thus, my question on this Carol dip Monday is fairly straightforward:

Will this stupid alarm be silenced soon?

And the answer from Charles Dickens is:

...It made him shudder, and feel very cold.

Great.  I'm looking for relief from this aural torture, and I get the Ghost of Christmas Future making Scrooge frightened and clammy.  Looks like no relief is in sight.

Saint Marty's week is not off to a good start.

Even this isn't going to help...

September 3: Labor Day, Niece in Costa Rica, "Carol" Dip Monday

Happy Labor Day!  It was nice sleeping in a little this morning.  Actually, I slept in almost four hours past my normal alarm clock time (4 a.m.).  I'm feeling quite rested, even if I did just go for a two-and-a-half-mile run, pushing my three-year-old son in a stroller.  I'm ready to face the day.  Almost.  I still have to finish this blog post and take a shower.

I just read the first couple of posts on my niece's new blog.  She is spending a semester in Costa Rica, and she is writing about her experiences in Latin American.  She, at the moment, is still adjusting to her new life.  She's living with a parrot that speaks Spanish.  She's not quite sure what the parrot is saying.  It could be swearing at her, or making lewd comments.  She isn't quite sure.

Since it is Monday, it is time for another Carol dip.  You know, I can't believe that I've been writing about A Christmas Carol for almost nine months now.  I never thought I'd make it this far.  But, I did vow last December to keep Christmas alive every day of the year, and I try to stay true to my word.  Usually.  Any how, I have a few things on my mind today.  I'm just going to pick the one that has been preoccupying me for a good portion of this past week:

Will I find a publisher for my new collection of poems soon?

And the answer from the great book of Dickens is:

Not a latent echo in the house, not a squeak and scuffle from the mice behind the panelling, not a drip from the half-thawed water-spout in the dull yard behind , not a sigh among the leafless boughs of one despondent poplar, not the idle swinging of an empty store-house door, no, not a clicking in the fire, but fell upon the heart of Scrooge with softening influence, and gave a freer passage to his tears.

OK, so Scroobe is weeping in this paragraph.  He's looking at the school he used to attend as a child, and the description is not very pleasant at all.  Mice.  Despondent poplar.  Leafless boughs.  Freer passage to his tears.  It doesn't look like I'm going to be getting a publisher for my manuscript any time soon.

Excuse Saint Marty while he slips out the back door to cry by the empty store-house.



I know how George feels



August 27: First Day of Teaching, Firsts, "Carol" Dip Monday

Today is the first day of the fall semester at the university.  This afternoon, I will find myself in front of a classroom of 35 or so undergrads, all looking a little bored and anxious.  Generally, on the first day of class, most students just want a copy of the syllabus and a dismissal.  I do not do that.  I keep students on the first day until almost the bitter end.  Today will be no different.  I've never found a way to speed up my day one activities.  There's the usual business of rosters and syllabi and information sheets.  Then there's the less tangible class introductions where I get students to give me a little personal information about themselves.  These introductions take a while, but it's where I can connect on a deeper level with my students.

Now, a few of my colleagues wouldn't put a whole lot of emphasis on connection, especially on the first day.  I, however, think students need to know what they're signing up for.  If I'm taking a class from Stalin, I want to know right away.  That's why I try to let a little of my personality come through.  I may come off as weird or off-balance or off-color, but at least those undergrads know what they can expect for the next few months.  I sometimes worry that I turn some people off with my sense of humor.  But I think it's better to be turned off on the first day of class, when something can be done about it, than on the last day of class, when you're turning in your final exam.

Firsts are important.  First day of school.  First impression.  First communion.  First kiss.  First birthday.  First baby.  First girlfriend or boyfriend.  First sex.  First time reading Catcher in the Rye.  First time watching Star Wars.  First job.  First Diet Mountain Dew of the morning.  First piece of chocolate.  Firsts can shape your day, week, month, life, education, employment, faith, family.  That's why I fret about the first day of teaching a classroom full of new students.

Thus, my Carol dip question for this Monday is going to be fairly predictable:

Will my first day of teaching go well?

And the answer from the Inimitable is:

"They are not torn down," cried Scrooge, folding one of his bed-curtains in his arms, "they are not torn down, rings and all.  They are here:  I am here:  the shadows of the things that would have been, may be dispelled.  They will be.  I know they will."

There we go.  Scrooge is celebrating his life.  He's dispelling the shadows of the future and fully embracing his present circumstances.  He's full of joy and hope.

Looks like Saint Marty's going to have a good first day.

Not the impression I want to make on my students

August 20: Busy Day, Busy Work, "Carol" Dip Monday

It is going to be a busy day.  Usually, the first thing I do in the morning is check my e-mails.  Then, I browse through a few blogs I follow on a fairly consistent basis.  I check out the news on Google to see if the world has ended or I've been awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature (those two occurrences are not mutually exclusive, by the way).  Then I type my morning post for Saint Marty.

This morning, I started my busy work first.  I filled out some forms, did some e-mail business for my wife, and printed out some information I need to complete my syllabus for the fall semester.  That was just in the first half hour of being on task.  After this post, I have tons more busy work to complete. 

There's a worship meeting tonight at church, and since I'm the chair of that committee, I suppose I should get an agenda done and type up the minutes of the last meeting.  As I just indicated, I also plan on completing a major portion of my syllabus for Intro to Film today, everything but the semester schedule.  The schedule's the hardest part, and I still haven't decided in what order I'm going to show the films I've selected for the class.  I know I'm starting with Charlie Chaplin's City Lights and ending with It's A Wonderful Life.  Aside from that, I'm kind of up in the air, although I'm pretty sure Citizen Kane is going to be film number two.

Whew.  That's a lot of crap to get done.  If it doesn't seem like a lot of crap, take my word for it:  it is.  Making up a syllabus gives me a great deal of anxiety.  It's like planning out my life for the rest of the calendar year.  I'm locking down my days and weeks and months.  That kind of commitment is a little difficult for me.  However, I always place a little caveat in all of my syllabi.  In front of the term "Semester Schedule," I place these words "VERY TENTATIVE."  Note the use of capitalization and boldface and italics.  I figure that addition buys me some breathing room, in case I want to change anything.

Well, it is Monday, and that means it's once again time for a Carol dip.  I've been thinking and thinking about a possible question for the great book of Dickens.  I'm not sure the following question qualifies as earth-shattering or important or even interesting, but it's what's on my mind at the moment:

Will my Intro to Film classes go well this semester?

And the answer from the Ghosts of Christmas and Tiny Tim and Ebenezer Scrooge and company is:

Quiet and dark, beside him stood the Phantom, with its outstretched hand.  When he roused himself from his thoughtful quest, he fancied from the turn of the hand, and its situation in reference to himself, that the Unseen Eyes were looking at him keenly.  It made him shudder, and feel very cold.

Yeesh.  That's not very encouraging at all.  Nothing like the Grim Reaper to put a chill in the air.  Guess I better really put some thought into that syllabus.

Saint Marty has some serious work to do today.

This is encouraging only if you're Ingmar Bergman

August 13: Last Day, Poetry Book, "Carol" Dip

Today is the last day of my vacation.  I have a few things planned.  As soon as I'm done typing this post, I'm going for a run.  Then, I'm going to take my kids swimming at a local pool.  This afternoon, I'm taking my daughter to see the new Diary of a Wimpy Kid movie.  It's going to be a daddy-daughter date.  With lots of buttered popcorn.

I'm not going to spend a lot of time searching around for some other topic to expound upon in this post.  I do have a question for Carol dip Monday.  It's a question that's been on my mind since last Friday, when I got the news about the poetry competition.  My question for the great book of Dickens is:

Will I get my new  book of poems published this year?

And the answer from Chuck is:

My opinion is, that it was a done thing between him and Scrooge's nephew; and that the Ghost of Christmas Present knew it...

So, it's a done deal.  Scrooge's nephew Fred knows it.  The Ghost of Christmas Present knows it.

And now Saint Marty knows it, too:  my book will be published.

...at least for one more day

August 6: Dancing With My Son, Village Person, "Carol" Dip

Well, the first official day of my vacation is here.  I slept in until my son called from his crib, "I want to get up."  When I shouted back, "It's too early," he said, "No, it's not."  Then we had a minute or so of me saying "it's too early" and my son saying "no, it's not" back and forth.  My son won this little contest.

We've had a pretty good morning so far.  He's been fed, and pretty soon I have to get him dressed.  Right now, he's dancing for me.  He's shaking his butt and wearing his miner's hat.  He looks like a member of the Village People.

Y-M-C-A!

Well, some things don't change, even if I am on vacation.  It is Monday, and therefore it's time for a Carol dip.  I've been trying to come up with a question since my son woke me up.  I have come up with something earth-shattering to ask the great book of Dickens.  It is one of the eternal questions of life:

Should we have cheesy baked potatoes for lunch?

And the answer from Dickens is:

"And how did little Tim behave?" asked Mrs. Cratchit, when she had rallied Bob on his credulity, and Bob had hugged his daughter to his heart's content.

"As good as gold," said Bob, "and better..."

That's my answer.  Baked potatoes for lunch?  As good as gold.

Looks like Saint Marty should break out the spuds and cheddar cheese.

June 18: "Carol" Dip Monday, On My Mind, Rain

Not a very auspicious start this morning.  It is raining barrels.  I heard it hammering my air conditioner as I made my way to the bathroom.  It sounded like I was under attack.  Plus, the only reason I'm coherent and functioning this morning is because of a big cup of Diet Mountain Dew and a Dove chocolate.  The breakfast of champions.

I began surveying my head for a possible subject for this morning's post as soon as my alarm rudely snatched me out of sleep.  It wasn't a very fruitful survey.  Here is what I found on my mind:

1. I'm going to a dinner with former U. S. Poet Laureate Donald Hall tomorrow night (more to come on this subject).
2. I have a meeting at church tonight (not exciting).
3. I have twelve hours at the office ahead of me (my longest day of the week).
4. I'm hungry for some peanuts (random thought).
5. I introduced my daughter to the film The Princess Bride last night (still one of my fave movies of all time--and my daughter loved it).
6. Peanuts again (I'm really hungry).
7. I need to get a new TV (yes, I am still dealing with the aftermath of my son's destructive temper tantrum from Friday).
8. I have to work on my poem today (it's becoming gargantuan).
9. I really like blueberry muffins (again, I'm hungry).
10. Lindsay Lohan just needs to disappear (I'm tired of hearing her name and her drama--she wasn't that talented to begin with).
11. Peanuts (me want some...).

So, that's just a random sampling of what's going through my brain at the moment.  Pretty scary.

And now it's time for a Carol dip.  I've been hunting around for a good question to ask the great book of Dickens.  I have a good feeling from the Spirits of Christmas this a.m.  My query has to do with my broken TV:

Am I going to get a new TV this week?

And the answer from A Christmas Carol is:

"Ghost of the Future!" he exclaimed, "I fear you more than any Spectre I have seen.  But, as I know your purpose is to do me good, and as I hope to live to be another man from what I was, I am prepared to bear you company, and do it with a thankful heart.  Will you not speak to me?"

Scrooge has just met the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come, and he's scared out of his wits (everyone is afraid of the future, unless she/he is a billionaire or a monk).  However, Scrooge has faith in the phantom's intentions, and he's grateful for the future.

Looks like Saint Marty's getting a new 48" plasma screen TV this week.  He accepts it with a thankful heart.

That's what I'm talking about!

June 4: One of Those Tired Posts, "Carol" Dip Monday, Politics

Yes, it's going to be one of those posts where I complain about how tired I am.  Four o'clock comes way too early in the morning.  My eyes are burning right now, and I'm kicking myself for not having any caffeine on hand.  The idea of a tall cup of Diet Mountain Dew is making my eyelids thirsty.  I said eyelids.  That is not a typo.  It seems my eyelids are the parts of my body that are the most tired.  While I am sitting at my laptop, typing away, my eyelids want to crawl back into bed for a few more hours.  It's going to be a very long day at work.

Well, today is Monday, and that means it's time for a Carol dip.  I've been examining my conscience, reviewing my life, trying to come up with a good question to ask the great book of Scrooge.  I haven't really come up with anything earth-shattering, or even that interesting.  Therefore, I will turn to national politics.  Now, the presidential election in the United States is pretty much a horse race between two candidates--President Barack Obama and former Massachusetts governor Mitt Romney. 

Long-time disciples of Saint Marty know that I tend to be a little liberal in my leanings, as any intelligent person should be.  I make no apologies for this fact.  I have strong beliefs.  For instance, I believe that health care should be a right, not a privilege.  I don't think you should have to go bankrupt if you get sick.  I believe that everyone deserves a place to live, clothes to wear, and decent food to eat.  I live in a very wealthy nation.  The fact that we have people starving in the United States is criminal.  Speaking of wealth, I believe rich people should pay higher taxes (at least higher taxes than the middle and lower classes).  As Christ said, "Everyone to whom much was given, of him much will be required, and from him to whom they entrusted much, they will demand more."  That's a pretty clear statement about the distribution of resources.

Anyway, I'm climbing down off my soapbox now, and I'm going to ask my question.

Well, I just have one more thing I want to say.  It concerns Mitt Romney.  He's the son of a former Michigan governor.  He grew up in Michigan, with his dad running a car company and the entire state for a while.  Yet, he's the former governor of Massachusetts, and he was against the auto industry bail-out.  But he wants me to believe that he considers Michigan his "home," and that he's pro-Michigan.  What's up with that?

OK, now I'm really climbing down off my soapbox to ask my question.  My question is this:

Will Barack Obama be elected President of the United States for a second term?

And the answer from Charles Dickens, that great voice for the poor and struggling of the world, is:

Blessings on it, how the Ghost exulted!  How it bared its breadth of breast, and opened its capacious palm, and floated on, out-pouring, with a generous hand, its bright and harmless mirth on everything within its reach.

Well, let's see.  Mirth.  Generous hand.  Blessings.  Exultation.  Looks like four more years for President Obama.

And Saint Marty says "amen" to that.

Even Charles Dickens wants this guy reelected

May 21: "Carol" Dip Monday, Publishing My Book, Contests

Welcome to Carol dip Monday.  Yes, this is the day where I ask a completely self-absorbed question about my life, flip randomly through my copy of A Christmas Carol, and land on a quote that answers my question.  Think of it as the Magic 8 Ball of literary analysis.  It has nothing to do with the artistic merits of Charles Dickens or the book, and everything to do with my ego.  If you are looking for profound insight in this post, you have come to the wrong blog.

With that little disclaimer out of the way, I shall proceed.  My question for today is about my latest collection of poems that I've been sending out to contests for the last year.  (I'm currently waiting to hear back from yet another competition.)  My question is very simple:

Will I get that book published soon?

And the answer from the book of Dickens is:

The joy, and gratitude, and ecstasy!  They are all indescribable alike

I kid you not.  That is exactly where my finger stopped, randomly, in the pages of A Christmas Carol.  It's a description of Belle, Scrooge's former fiance, and Belle's children.  It's a bright little passage, and it provides me with a very positive answer to my question this morning.  Joy.  Gratitude.  Ecstasy.  Either I'm going to win that poetry contest, or the university is going to offer me a full-time, tenure-track professor position with benefits.  Soon.  Or maybe a distant relative is going to die and bequeath me a small (or large) fortune.  Soon.  Whatever.  It's a win-win all 'round.

That puts me in a good mood.  It may be silly to base my happiness on a superstitious ritual that has absolutely no connection to reality, but I'm going to run with it this morning.

Saint Marty is in for a whole lot of happy, happy, joy, joy, to quote Ren and Stimpy.

Sing along, if you want!