January 9: The Blackness, Sleepless in the U. P., Piece of Peace

A dozen times during the night Wilbur woke and stared into the blackness, listening to the sounds and trying to figure out what time it was.  A barn is never perfectly quiet.  Even at midnight there is usually something stirring.

Wilbur is waiting for dawn.  Charlotte has promised to reveal herself when the sun rises, and the little pig can't wait to meet his new friend.  So he sleeps fitfully.  He listens to the sounds of the night.  The rat gnawing.  The goose chuckling.  The night stretches on forever, like Miley Cyrus' 15 minutes of fame.

I have always been a light sleeper.  Any little noise can wake me up.  The furnace kicking on.  My son farting in his bed.  My daughter grinding her teeth.  I try to combat the distractions.  I wear a sleep mask.  I do deep breathing.  I've tried listening to my iPod; I woke up with a Doris Day song blasting my eardrums.  And, of course, the time I get the most tired is about an hour before my alarm is set to go off.  Just call me "Sleepless in the U.P."

Last night, I didn't sleep well, despite the fact that I took a sleeping pill.  Too much on my mind.  The impending start of the new semester.  The dwindling days of my vacation.  The caramel corn in the kitchen.   The new season of Girls.  The crap at church.  Fitful doesn't even begin to describe my night.

I did go back to bed once I got the kids off to school this morning and made a valiant attempt to enter R.E.M. sleep.  Didn't happen.  I sort of flipped from my left side to my back to my right side and so forth.  I dozed.  Woke up.  Fretted.  Dozed off again.  More fretting.  I gave up after a few hours.

Right now, at 11:44 p.m., I am pleasantly tired.  I should go to bed right now, but I know, as soon as my head hits a pillow, that my brain will decide to go on safari.  I wish I could sleep like my son or daughter or wife.  Nothing disturbs them.  If the phone rings in the middle of the night, I'm the only one who jumps out of bed.  Smoke detectors are useless in my house.  I'm the only person who would hear them.

I don't want to be the human smoke detector tonight.  I'd prefer not to lie awake like Wilbur, staring into the blackness.  I want my piece of mind to be peace of mind tonight.

Maybe Saint Marty should make himself a nice hot toddy and go to bed.  Heavy on the toddy, light on the hot.

Maybe I should skip the hot altogether

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