August 7: My Will and My Intelligence. T-I-R-E-D, Grading

Santiago gets ready for the fight . . .

I wonder why he jumped, the old man thought. He jumped almost as though to show me how big he was. I know now, anyway, he thought. I wish I could show him what sort of man I am. But then he would see the cramped hand. Let him think I am more man than I am and I will be so. I wish I was the fish, he thought, with everything he has against only my will and my intelligence.

Will and intelligence.  Some days, that's the only thing that makes me get out of bed.

Coming back from a vacation is never easy.  In my experience, I usually need a day to recover from it.  Perhaps this is a sign of age.  Or maybe it's an indication that, like most people, I turn my time off from work into a kind of job.  There's road trips to drive, tickets to buy, and meals to plan.

I'm not saying I didn't have a good time with my family at Great America.  But I am t-i-r-e-d.  And today I had to finish the grading for my online summer course.  I had about 15 or 16 final essay exams to grade.  I started early this afternoon and worked for five hours straight.  I did it only by will and intelligence., because everything in my body just wanted to take a nap.

As I sit on my couch typing this post, however, I feel a sense of accomplishment.  The end-of-semester grading today was not as torturous as it usually is for me.  I made a concerted effort these past six weeks to be diligent in my grading.  I responded to student work every day.  A lot of the time, the turnaround for grading an assignment was less than two hours.

Looking back, I have to say this class is the most successful online course I've taught, and I've taught quite a few.  It's really easy, if you don't look your students in the face every day, to procrastinate on grading and posting assignments and lectures.  This is especially true if you are a contingent professor who works another full-time job to pay bills and maintain medical insurance.  The last thing I want to think about after working a nine- or ten- or eleven-hour day is sifting through a pile of papers or exams or discussion forums.

It's only by will and intelligence that I kept my head above water this summer.  And it was only by will and intelligence that I got shit done today.  Now, I have more time to breathe before the fall semester starts.  

Maybe I'll have a few more days off to breathe even more deeply.  Or write poems.  Read a good book.  See a movie.  Think about a friend who's seriously struggling to hold on to life every day.  Remind myself what's important.

Saint Marty's blessing for today:  time to breathe deeply and send love into the universe.

February 25: My Will and My Intelligence, Still Recovering, Leap Tall Buildings

Santiago wishes he was the fish . . . 

The old man had seen many great fish. He had seen many that weighed more than a thousand pounds and he had caught two of that size in his life, but never alone. Now alone, and out of sight of land, he was fast to the biggest fish that he had ever seen and bigger than he had ever heard of, and his left hand was still as tight as the gripped claws of an eagle.

It will uncramp though, he thought. Surely it will uncramp to help my right hand. There are three things that are brothers: the fish and my two hands. It must uncramp. It is unworthy of it to be cramped. The fish had slowed again and was going at his usual pace.

I wonder why he jumped, the old man thought. He jumped almost as though to show me how big he was. I know now, anyway, he thought. I wish I could show him what sort of man I am. But then he would see the cramped hand. Let him think I am more man than I am and I will be so. I wish I was the fish, he thought, with everything he has against only my will and my intelligence.

Santiago has a lot of wishes in the world.  Before this moment, he has wished several times the boy was with him in the boat.  Now, he wishes that he was the fish, with all of its strength and size.  The old man, with his cramping hands, is feeling small and a little unworthy.

My body is still recovering from the three-day snowstorm we had earlier this week.  And from the bout of COVID I had at the beginning of January.  My arms are sore, and I tire easily.  At night, I can barely make it past 9 p.m.  I used to be a night owl, staying up 'til one or two o'clock in the morning  and then rising at 5:30 a.m. to go to work.  Now, I can't get up off the sofa without making a noise.

So, I understand why Santiago admires the fish.  Because the fish is powerful and beautiful, even in its old age.  (A fish doesn't get that big without surviving for many years.)

I accept the fact that my body simply can't do some of the things it used to be able to do when I was younger.  It can't function on three hours of sleep.  Or shovel snow all day without needing three gallons of Bengay and a full-body massage.  That's what happens when you get older.

I've also learned that the pleasures in life become much simpler as you advance in age.  For example, tonight, my puppy couldn't get enough of me.  She flopped on the couch beside me, nudged my hand with her snout, and let me rub and pet her for about an hour.  The whole time I did this, she made those canine sounds of contentment.  That cross between a moan and snore.  

Saint Marty might not be able to leap tall buildings in a single bound any more, but he can make dogs smile in their sleep.