February 24: All Work and No Play, Mary Oliver, "White-Eyes"

The day is beginning to darken.  It's about 6 p.m., and the wind and snow have been screaming outside all day long.  This weekend's weather has piled white again my kitchen windows.  One more storm like this, and they will be completely buried.  If I were a less stable, grounded person, I would be sitting in my kitchen "office" typing "All work and no play make Marty a dull boy" over and over and over.

In the midst of blizzards, it's difficult to appreciate their fierce beauty.  It's like the world is reminding us who really is in charge.  I must remind myself tonight that this snow is a gift.  A really heavy, wet, impossible gift.

Saint Marty is not snow complaining this evening.  He's snow meditating, like Mary Oliver . . .

White-Eyes

by:  Mary Oliver

In winter
     all the singing is in
          the tops of the trees
               where the wind-bird

with its white eyes
     shoves and pushes
          among the branches.
               Like any of us

he wants to go to sleep,
     but he's restless--
          he has an idea,
               and slowly it unfolds

from under his beating wings
     as long as he stays awake.
          But his big, round music, after all,
               is too breathy to last.

So it's over.
     In the pine-crown
          he makes his nest,
               he's done all he can.

I don't know the name of this bird.
     I only imagine his glittering beak
          tucked in a white wing
               while the clouds--

which he has summoned
     from the north--
          which he has taught
               to be mild, and silent--

thicken and begin to fall
     into the world below
          like stars, or the feathers
               of some unimaginable bird

that loves us,
     that is asleep now, and silent--
          that has turned itself
               into snow.

January 8: Getting Some Work Done

In the second week of my vacation, I can't quite relax the way I did in my first week.  I have work I need to get done.  I finished a good portion of it this evening.  I put together my syllabi for this semester.  They are printed, hole-punched, and filed in my binder.  It took me a little longer than I anticipated.  It wasn't just a matter of changing dates from last semester's Intro to Film class.  Because of Spring Break, I had one less week to work with.  Therefore, I changed one movie and eliminated one movie.  We are not going to watch Annie Hall or It's a Wonderful Life.  Instead, the last film of the semester is going to be Stranger than Fiction.  My reasoning is simple:  I love the movie.

It took me about three hours to get my crap together.  Now, with the copying complete and the rest of the night stretching out before me, I will once again return to Stephen King land.  I didn't get much reading done this afternoon, so I have to play catch-tup.  My goal of having 11/22/63 finished before I return to work next week is becoming less and less realistic.  I'm hoping, with my school prep done, I'll be able to concentrate a little more on pleasure reading.  (Is it really pleasure reading if I've given myself a deadline and a daily assignment of pages to complete?  Sounds more like SK 101:  Introduction to Stephen King.)

My daughter is through with dance class in about an hour.  That allows me to read about fifty or so pages.  Or I may just sit at my desk and stare off into space.  My mind is beginning to implode a little.

To paraphrase Stephen King, all work and no play make Saint Marty really, really tired.

...and Saint Marty, too

September 20: All Work and No Play...

I remember that great scene in The Shining with Jack Nicholson where Nicholson's wife looks at the book he's been writing the whole movie.  For pages and pages and pages, all Nicholson's character has typed is "All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy."

That's what I feel like right now.  All I've been doing all day long, for the last three or four days, is working/teaching/going to meetings/preparing to teach.  I'm a little tired at the moment, and I have to go teach mythology now.  I've reviewed the chapters, but I still have to come up with a definite lesson plan.  More work.

Don't get me wrong.  I'm not complaining...OK, maybe I am complaining a little.  But I'm feeling a little like Jack Nicholson right now.  That doesn't mean I'm going to grab an ax and start chasing people around with it.  It just means...

All work and no play makes Saint Marty a dull boy.  All work and no play makes Saint Marty a dull boy.  All work and no play makes Saint Marty a dull boy.  All work and no play makes Saint Marty a dull boy.  All work and no play makes Saint Marty a dull boy.  All work and no play makes Saint Marty a dull boy.  All work and no play makes Saint Marty a dull boy.  All work and no play makes Saint Marty a dull boy.  All work and no play makes Saint Marty a dull boy.  All work and no play makes Saint Marty a dull boy.  All work and no play makes Saint Marty a dull boy.  All work and no play makes Saint Marty a dull boy.  All work and no play makes Saint Marty a dull boy.  All work and no play makes Saint Marty a dull boy.  All work and no play makes Saint Marty a dull boy.  All work and no play makes Saint Marty a dull boy.

Yup, that's about it.