July 4: Taking It Easy, Tracy K. Smith, "The Good Life"

If you can't tell, I am taking it easy today.  Trying not to stress about anything.  I am living the good life, being a rainbow.

Saint Marty doesn't do this very often.

The Good Life

by:  Tracy K. Smith

When some people talk about money

They speak as if it were a mysterious lover

Who went out to buy milk and never

Came back, and it makes me nostalgic

For the years I lived on coffee and bread,

Hungry all the time, walking to work on payday

Like a woman journeying for water

From a village without a well, then living

One or two nights like everyone else

On roast chicken and red wine.

August 29: Taking It Easy

Going to be very brief with this post.  Tired,  Hungry.  Ready to take it easy.

Week over.  Done with teaching.  Still sore from operation last weekend.

Daughter waiting to use my laptop.  Going to brush my teeth.

Saint Marty's done.  Good night.  (Cormac McCarthy eat your heart out!)

August 26: Feeling Better, First Day of Teaching, Magic 8-Ball Monday

I woke up this morning feeling a lot better than I have for a long time.  I'm still sore, but I'm not moving like a 95-year-old man on morphine.  I made some phone calls--scheduling doctor's appointments, canceling office hours at the university, arranging time off from my medical office job.  Then I did my lesson plan for teaching this afternoon.

I'm a little tired at the moment.  Perhaps I did a little too much, but I got so much accomplished.  I have a feeling I'm going to have to lie down before I teach.  I was planning on going for a walk after I was done typing this post, but I'm not too sure that's going to happen now.  First, a nap.  Then, maybe, a walk.

I'm not used to taking it easy.  I'm usually busy from the moment the alarm goes off until my head hits the pillow fifteen or sixteen hours later.  I like keeping busy.  Obviously.  I may take advantage of this down time and work on some new poems or my memoir or my 900-page study of the short stories of Flannery O'Connor.  Some slight diversion.

Well, it is Magic 8-Ball Monday.  I need to ask a question on this warm, humid morning.  Here goes:

Will I get to take the whole week off work?

And the answer from the Good Book of Salinger is:

While I was changing my shirt, I damn near gave my kid sister Phoebe a buzz, though.  I certainly felt like talking to her on the phone,  Somebody with sense and all...

Perhaps I need to listen to somebody with common sense.  My sister, who's a nurse, told me last night, "You just had major abdominal surgery.  Maybe you should take it easy for a while."


Saint Marty may have to follow that advice, even if he goes out of his head with boredom.

Do I stink?

August 11: Classic Saint Marty, Bon Appetit, New Cartoon

I'm totally taking it easy this afternoon.  Going back into the vaults for today's post.  This Classic Saint Marty originally aired on April 28, 2011, at the end of a long semester of teaching.  I also have a new cartoon for you guys.

Saint Marty's going to eat dinner now.  As Julia Child said, "Bon appetit!"

April 28:  Final Exam, Saint Peter Chanel, New Poem

I gave my last final exam of the semester this morning.  It really wasn't a final exam.  I gave that to my class last week.  Today, I simply handed back all of their graded papers and quizzes and tests.  One student, however, did take the exam today.  He wasn't able to take it last week because he had to travel downstate for a funeral.  Therefore, he showed up and took it today.

In general, I think exams are a waste of time.  They don't really test knowledge.  They simply test a student's ability to memorize and regurgitate facts on a piece of paper.  I'm really good at that sort of thing.  I'm the king of useless knowledge.  If you're playing Trivial Pursuit, you want me on your team.  In most of the courses I teach (which are writing courses), however, final exams are pointless.  That being said, I did give a final exam in my Good Books class this semester.

All of the books I selected for this class had something to do with hope.  I was trying to develop my students' thinking about maintaining hope in a world without hope.  We read The Lovely Bones, The Color Purple, Mr. Ives' Christmas, Hiroshima, and The Road.  Each of these works deals, in some way, with the idea of hope.  At the end of our last class last week, I told my students they were all full of hope.  One of the more jaded of the group said, "I think hope is unrealistic.  Hope doesn't really accomplish anything."  I stood there for a second, dumbfounded.  I couldn't believe I was hearing this from the mouth of an eighteen-year-old.

Today's saint, Peter Chanel, was born in Belley, France, in 1803.  After becoming a priest, he was sent as a missionary to the New Hebrides in the South Pacific.  When he arrived there, landing on the island of Futuna, Peter was very successful in converting the locals, including the son of the king.  The king, in retaliation, sent warriors to capture Peter.  The king's warriors caught Peter Chanel and clubbed him to death.  However, "within five months [of his death] the entire island was converted to the Faith."  In the face of tremendous opposition, Peter's message of hope continued to spread and bring people to God.

After my student made his statement, I stood silent for a moment.  Then I said, "Well, if you don't believe in hope, you might as well go home right now."  The student looked at me, confused.  I smiled at him.  "Why do you come to class?  In the hope of getting a degree.  Why do you want a degree?  In the hope of getting a job.  Why do you want a job?  In the hope of earning money.  Why do you want to earn money?  In the hope of buying a house or car, starting a family, having a good life."  I paused.  "If you think hope is unrealistic, you should quit college, go home, buy a lifetime supply of Cheetos, sit on the couch, and spend the rest of your life watching Dancing With the Stars and American Idol.  You might as well become an alcoholic and drug addict, as well.  Have some fun before you die."  My student stared at me, red-faced.  "Look," I said, quietly, "we all have hopes and dreams.  They're what keep us moving and living."  My hope-less student nodded.

Peter Chanel believed in hope.  So do I.

Saint Marty promised you a poem.  Here it is.  He prays you find hope in your heart tonight.

Final

I watch this student take
His final exam, hunched over
His desk, Ticonderoga No. 2 moving
Like a Geiger counter needle
Across the page as he answers
My essay question.  I want
To tell him it doesn't matter,
This hour-long effort to earn
An "A" in my course called
Good Books.  Whether he makes
The Dean's List or not, he won't
Win back the friendship
Of the boy he loved in high school
Who broke my student's nose
When my student confessed
His feelings.  He won't bring
His mother back from Florida,
Where she ran after her psych meds
Failed and she saw Hitler
Buying cabbage at Walmart.
I'm lonely, my student wrote
In his journal.  I have no
Friends.  My family's shit.
My test will not change
Any of these things.  Yet,
My student writes and writes,
In search of acceptance,
Praise, the perfect 4.0 life.
The final question I ask him
Is simple:  What have you learned
About hope in this class?

Confessions of Saint Marty