May 16: Ready for a Nap, Shel Silverstein, "Hey Nelly Nelly"

It has been a long day.  Really long.  I still have miles to go before I sleep.  Miles to go . . . Well, you get the idea.

I am ready for a nap.  I spent about four hours this afternoon working on the online class that I start teaching next week.  Got my syllabus done, sat back, and thought, "Holy shit, this is going to be a lot of work!"  My life for the next month-and-a-half.

I am not complaining.  I am fairly educated.  A published poet.  A father of two great kids.  Husband to a pretty great lady.  Healthy.  Employed. 

Saint Marty has to remind himself every once in a while that his life is pretty good, compared to other people.

Hey Nelly Nelly

by:  Shel Silverstein

Hey Nelly Nelly, come to the window
Hey Nelly Nelly look at what I see
He's riding into town on a sway back mule
Got a tall black hat and he looks like a fool
He sure is talkin' like he's been to school
And it's 1853

Hey Nelly Nelly, listen what he's sayin'
Hey Nelly Nelly, he says it's gettin' late
And he says them black folks should all be free
To walk around the same as you and me
He's talkin' 'bout a thing he calls democracy
And it's 1858

Hey Nelly Nelly hear the band a playing
Hey Nelly Nelly, hand me down my gun
'Cause the men are cheerin' and the boys are too

They're all puttin' on their coats of blue
I can't sit around here and talk to you
'Cause it's 1861

Hey Nelly Nelly, Come to the window
Hey Nelly Nelly, I've come back alive
My coat of blue is stained with red
And the man in the tall black hat is dead
We sure will remember all the things he said
In 1865

Hey Nelly Nelly, come to the window
Hey Nelly Nelly, look at what I see
I see white folks and colored walkin' side by side
They're walkin' in a column that's a century wide
It's still a long and a hard and a bloody ride
In 1963

August 17: Preparations, Classic Saint Marty, New Cartoon

After I'm done typing this post, I'm going to work on my syllabi for the upcoming semester at the university.  I've already completed a lot of the preliminary stuff.  Looking up important dates, classroom numbers, exam times and days.  Now, I have to plug all those things into my existing syllabi, switch a few numbers around, and Presto!  Instant semester.

It's a tedious process.  Busy work, mostly.  However, it will keep me sane for the next three months.  I can't go into the fall feeling unprepared.  It causes way too much stress in my day-to-day existence.  Tonight, I'm registering my kids for dance.  Once I have those schedules figured out, I'll be able to set my university office hours.  That's the last piece of the puzzle.

I know none of these things is very interesting to any of my disciples.  That's my life right now, though.  I'm at an in-between place in my year.  No longer summer.  Not yet autumn.  I'm not ready to let go of August, and I'm not ready to grab hold of September.  Limbo.  That's where I am.

Today's Classic Saint Marty finds me in that same limbo.  Between chlorophyll green and frost yellow.

This episode aired almost four years ago, before Saint Marty was Saint Marty.

August 21, 2010:  Saint Pius X

Two days before I start to teach for the fall semester at the university.  The weather has been swerving from grey and raining to cool and sunny to humid and hot all weekend.  It is the end of summer, even though there's still two weeks of August left.  These last days of summer always fill me with melancholy.  I know, I know.  No big surprise.  I usually spend this time planning and preparing the next three months of work for myself.  Read this book this week.  Papers to grade the next week.  Quizzes to create that day.  Reading journals to review the following weekend.  I am no longer free to do what I want.  I have obligations, 50 students depending on me.  Lesson plans.  Schedules.  Deadlines.  Less day.  More night.  Basically, everything that is the opposite of May, June, July, and August.  And don't even get me started on Christmas music and programs at church.  Yes, it starts this early.  You thought Wal-Mart was bad.

It doesn't help that I just started rereading Cormac McCarthy's The Road for class, which is one of the coldest, bleakest novels ever written.  The first time I read it, I was sitting by a pool in the middle of July during a heat wave, and I still found myself getting chilled.  If you haven't read the novel, you should.  It's one of my favorites.  It's about a father and son trying to reach the Pacific Ocean in post-apocalypse America.  They're starving and desperate.  They encounter bands of cannibals who capture and keep people like livestock, harvesting them for food.  The father and son have a handgun with one bullet for protection.  Oh, and the father is dying of some ailment that causes fits of bloody coughing.  This all takes place in a landscape of charred trees and baked earth, where sunlight is a memory and everything and everyone is covered in grey ash.  Constant snow and rain.

So, throw that uplifting piece of literature on top of my already end-of-summer melancholia, and you have the recipe for a pretty shitty day.  I know I should feel blessed in my life.  I mean, I'm an English major with advanced degrees, and I have jobs that don't require me to run a deep fryer.  Let's make it even simpler:  I have jobs that allow me to pay my bills.  In this economy, that's pretty damn good.  I'm feeling sorry for myself when some people I know don't have the money to make their next house payment.  That's pretty fucked up.

I used to look forward to fall and winter, the shortening of the days, the long reach of the night.  I waited for the maple leaves to turn yellow and orange, the evenings to ice the throat when you breathe.  I've always been a lover of the dark.  That may shock some of you.  I never opened windows or curtains in my house.  I was the neighborhood Boo Radley, with kids walking by my property and whispering stories about the crazy English professor who only comes out under the cover of darkness.

Nowadays, I look forward to those long summer days, when the sun is in the sky at 5 a.m. and sticks around until nearly 11 at night.  I like the bright heat, opening windows and airing out the dead moats of autumn and winter.  I crave those dog days when just shifting in a chair from one ass cheek to another can make you break a sweat.  The thing is, in the hot months, I don't have to do anything that makes me sweat.  School's out, and, aside from punching the clock at my second job, I have the freedom to simply...do...nothing.  That freedom comes to a close tomorrow.

I don't do well with things ending, especially things that I've enjoyed, like vacations or friendships or movies or books.  It's a selfish impulse, wanting a happiness to continue forever.  In his last will and testament, today's saint, Pius X, who was one of the first popes of the 20th century, made the following statement:  "I was born poor, I have lived in poverty, and I wish to die poor."  Maybe, because of my mood, I read those words as meaning poverty of body, mind, and spirit.  Right now, I'm clinging to the happiness of the last month or so.  It has been a time of stability and relative peace in my usually chaotic day-to-day.  I've really enjoyed that.  But usually, when things are going that well, the earth shifts, and I find myself in poverty again.

Poverty is not a bad thing.  It brings you back to the basics, makes you realize what wealth really is.  Wealth has nothing to do with the tangible--money or possessions.  It has everything to do with the intangible (peace, love, security, hope), because the tangible always ends up slipping away, like sea water through your fingers.

Cormac McCarthy writes in The Road, "All things of grace and beauty such that one holds them to one's heart have a common provenance in pain.  Their birth in grief and ashes.  So, he whispered to the sleeping boy.  I have you."  It's a father cleaving to his son.  A man cleaving to something pure, something sacred, something intangible.  It's the way, I imagine, God cleaves to us.

Through pain.  Through darkness.  In light like summer.  That's unchangeable.  That's wealth.

Confessions of Saint Marty

August 20: Being Productive

I love being productive.

I knew this morning that I had a lot of busy work to get done.  Detail work.  Little tasks that amounted to a whole pile of time.  Well, I have accomplished everything I set out to accomplish today and more.  I actually completed my syllabus this afternoon.  I didn't expect to finish a final draft of that until tomorrow afternoon.  However, once I started working on it, I just kept going.  It's done, and I feel great about myself.  Yes, I am patting myself on the back.  This means that I can pretty much relax this evening after my meeting at church.

I wish I cold always feel this productive.  I like being ahead of schedule.  It puts my mind at ease.  But I'm not generally this organized or ambitious.  I tend to be a terrible procrastinator.  If I hadn't finished my syllabus this afternoon, I probably would have pushed it off until Friday, and then I would have been in a state of panic, considering classes start next Monday.  I want to be over-prepared for stuff like that.

I have these two opposing natures:  wanting to be over-prepared versus wanting to put everything off until the last minute.  It's a terrible dilemma.  When push comes to shove, my over-prepared persona wins out.  However, I can be easily persuaded by my procrastinating persona to sit on the couch and watch a rerun of M*A*S*H instead.

No M*A*S*H for Saint Marty today.  B. J. and Hawkeye will have to stay in the Swamp, drinking by themselves, unless they can convince Colonel Potter to join them.

Sorry, boys, not tonight

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 17: Weakness, Power Reaches Perfection, Embracing the Thorn

In Paul's second letter to the Corinthians, he talks about having been given "a thorn in the flesh, an angel of Satan to beat me and keep me from getting proud."  Paul begs God on three separate occasions to take this thorn away.  Three times, God answers, "My grace is enough for you, for in weakness power reaches perfection."

We all have thorns to deal with.  My previous blog post spoke of the envy I  have of my sister- and brother-in-law's house.  That was a huge thorn for me last night.  I found myself at one point during the birthday party just sitting on a flight of stairs by myself, sulking.  It wasn't an attractive sight.  I have a lot of thorns like that, thorns that bother me on a daily basis.

I frequently feel slighted by people.  For instance, my sister asked me last week to pick up an annual discount card from a local school's football team.  This card provides all kinds of savings on groceries and gas and movie tickets.  It's a great deal.  I went out and bought her a card for ten dollars.  I went to her house last night and delivered her card.  She took it and thanked me.  That was it.  She didn't offer to reimburse me the cost.  Nothing.  In fact, she complained a little about a change in one of the offers on the card.  That's a thorn.

I am an adjunct instructor at the university.  Currently, the contract for the full-time professors is under negotiation.  The full-timers want a pay raise and better health insurance, among other things.  Very few of them have a concept of what an adjunct makes per semester, without benefits or raises.  I've been making the same small wage per class since about 2001.  That's a thorn.

My car needs about $800 in repairs, plus four new tires.  That's a thorn.

My house needs a coat of paint, according to the insurance company I just switched to.  Thorn.

I have a cold.  I still have to create my syllabus for the fall semester.  I have to clean my house this afternoon.  Thorn, thorn, thorn.  Every day, there are big and small thorns in all our lives.

It's not the thorns that are important, however.  That's what God tells Paul.  It's how we deal with the thorns.  By surrendering to the thorns, accepting them, we gain the power of faith.  God gives us grace to deal with the imperfections of this world.  And through God's grace, we achieve power over the thorns.

Saint Marty needs a lot of grace this morning.  He's going grocery shopping at Wal-Mart.

So many thorns, not enough roses