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 18: Latent Echo, Freer Passage, New Cartoon

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.

Scrooge is visiting his childhood school with the Ghost of Christmas Past.  He is a little reflective, a little melancholy.  It's not a very happy description.  Mice and drips and despondent poplar.  It's pretty bleak and depressing.  Mournful even.  I would expect a description like this one in the stave featuring the Ghost of Christmas Future.  However, the Past, at this point, is just as dark as the Future.

It is late summer in the Upper Peninsula.  The leaves of the trees are beginning to turn color.  The temperatures in the morning dip into the forties instead of the sixties.  During the day, the temperature may reach the mid-seventies, if we're lucky.  Yes, autumn is right around the corner.  School will be starting back up in a couple of weeks.  The university is already gearing up for the influx of undergrad and grad students.  It's a time of change.

I'm a little depressed about the change of seasons.  I've really enjoyed this summer.  Hot weather.  Running in ninety-degree heat.  Swimming.  No papers to grade.  No outside obligations.  The Olympics.  It's been a really good four months.  And now that's all about to change, and we all know how well I do with change.

I know, by this time next month, I will be comfortably settled into a new pattern of normal.  Teaching will be routine.  Work will be routine.  I will be getting ready for Halloween and Thanksgiving.  It will no longer be a time of leafless boughs and despondent poplars.  It will be a time of costumes and candy and turkeys.  It will be a time of looking forward instead of looking back.

Saint Marty isn't looking forward today.

Confessions of Saint Marty