May 2: Early Start

I have to get my daughter up early tomorrow.  I'm not looking forward to it.  My daughter is thirteen-years-old and wakes up like a hungry grizzly after hibernation.  If I'm lucky, she won't even speak to me until she takes her shower.  If I'm not lucky, she will whine and scream when I rouse her.

She is feeling better today, with several doses of antibiotics in her system.  But she went to bed quickly tonight, which indicates that she's not 100% yet.  She would still be awake right now, diddling with her iPod, if she were completely healthy.

Wish Saint Marty luck tomorrow morning.  He's hoping not to lose any appendages.

Go ahead.  Wake her up.

May 2: To the Fair, Howell, Fairy Tale Road Trip

"Everybody in!" called Mr. Arable.  He started the motor.  The ladies climbed in beside him.  Mr. Zuckerman and Lurvy and Fern and Avery rode in back, hanging onto the sideboards.  The truck began to move ahead.  The geese cheered.  The children answered their cheer, and away everybody went to the Fair.

This edition of Saint Marty comes to you from Howell, Michigan, home of a Holiday Inn Express and the WiFi I am currently using.  We are not going to the Fair, like the Arables and Zuckermans.  We are here for another dance competition.  My daughter and her friends will be competing all day tomorrow, with very few breaks.  Considering that my daughter is currently recovering from strep throat, I have a feeling it's going to be a really long day for her.


The trip was fairly uneventful.  No major catastrophes, unless you count my five-year-old son asking "Are we there yet?" every five minutes.  I'm not exaggerating.  It was a cold, rainy journey, and I am sad to report that Howell is not much warmer than the Upper Peninsula of Michigan.  I was hoping to be surrounded by spring.  Flowers.  Green grass.  Sunshine.  The only hint of spring I encountered was the smell of manure wafting across the fields of corn stubble.  That's it.  The only evidence of the beginning of May.  Cow shit.

Once upon a time, an adjunct English professor/itinerant saint named Marty went on a long road trip with his family.  On the trip, he encountered rainstorms and fog and a lot of roadkill.  When he got to his destination, he was so tired that he ordered pizza and went to bed.

Moral of the story:  Jet's Pizza is pretty damn good.

And Saint Marty lived happily ever after.

Saint Marty cooked tonight!

May 1: In My Book Bag, John Green, "The Fault in Our Stars"

OK, let me lament a little bit more at the beginning of this post.

I just spent almost an hour boxing up the belongings in my university office in preparation for my move to another office in a brand new building.  I have to say that I'm kind of tired of putting my life in boxes.  I did it all morning yesterday, and now I've done it again this evening.

So much of my life seems to be changing, and not for the better.  At least, I don't see any light at the end of this tunnel yet.  This weekend, I'm venturing into the lower peninsula of Michigan for another dance competition with my daughter.  And when I get back, it's my last week of work at the medical office.  It's going to be a rough few days.

In my book bag tonight, I'm carrying John Green's The Fault in Our Stars.  I have not begun reading it.  It's my trip book.  I have avoided this book for a while, despite glowing recommendations from people whose opinion I usually respect.  I don't know why I've been balking at reading this novel.  I guess I don't like being told I "have" to read anything.  That's why I never finished Moby Dick.

Anyway, my next post will be coming from bustling Howell, Michigan, which is very close to Ann Arbor, home of the University of Michigan.  It's going to be a long day of driving tomorrow, and my son is a little impatient as a passenger.

Pray for Saint Marty.

This is your life, Saint Marty

May 1: Empty and Forlorn, Packing Up, Leaving

...The Fair Grounds were soon deserted.  The shed and buildings were empty and forlorn.  The infield was littered with bottles and trash.  Nobody, of the hundreds of people that had visited the Fair, knew that a grey spider had played the most important part of all.  No one was with her when she died.

Sorry I was away yesterday.  It was kind of a depressing time.  I packed up my belongings at the medical office in the morning.  Seventeen years' worth of stuff.  Books.  Notebooks.  Pictures.  Mugs.  Cartoons.  My goal was to erase all evidence of myself from the place.  By the time I was done, I had accomplished that goal.


When I left at the end of the day, I looked back at the desk.  It used to be my desk.  Now, it's just the desk.  It could be anybody's desk.  Impersonal.  Clean.  Uncluttered.  I actually got a little emotional walking out of the dark office.  It didn't pass until I got home.

Then, I graded exams and papers.  Thirty-five exams.  Ten or 11 essays.  It took me until well past 11 p.m.  I had every intention of posting after I was done, but I was absolutely exhausted.  At the moment, I'm sitting in my classroom, handing back those exams and papers.  It's quiet.  I'm watching the film Capote, which was not a good choice given my current frame of mind.

When I'm done here, I'm going back to my university office and packing my belongings there.  I'm being moved to a new building this summer, so I have to box up my books and binders.  I don't have much.  I've learned, in my long career as an adjunct instructor, not to put down roots in any office.  It's an impermanent kind of faculty existence.

So, I don't have anything wise or thought-provoking to share.  The Fair Grounds are empty.  The buildings and sheds are forlorn.

Saint Marty will turn out the lights when he leaves.

So long, and thanks for all the fish, as Douglas Adams said