so this is what makes life worthwhile.....

spaztic attempt to get back into the swing of it.

2006-08-02T11:29:00.000-04:00

Listening to: The Ditty Bops.
Thinking about: how strange it is that the more sleep I get,the more tired I am.
Excited about: recent opportunities for music-making and poetry-reading!

JUST FINISHED READING 2 books this past week: Fancy Strut by Lee Smith (she makes such great characters) and Dharma Bums by Kerouac, which makes me wish for a simpler life.

...for any and all who even risk peeking at this page to see if it's been updated:

It's summer and it's the first summer since I became a teacher that I haven't moved or switched jobs or undergone any major or conscious life-altering. I've found myself creating a routine, breaking it out of respect of the season (who wants rules, schedules, and bounds in the most pleasant season off?) and re-creating a semblance of routine a third of the way into this time off.

summer will be playing music, reading and writing poetry, weaning myself off of myspace, drinking more lattes, breaking senseless rules, planning outfitis to wear for various social occasions, learning more French, remembering more Italian, eating vegetables, and hopefully simplifying life. salud.

he kicked him in the penis

2006-03-28T12:53:00.000-05:00

bloom where you're planted.

2006-03-08T12:53:00.000-05:00

This past weekend, I visited one of my best friends down in Raleigh, NC. In addition to fabulous Bahama food, shopping, a concert, and an attempt to play outside (next time, Dana!), we fit in a Sunday sermon. The little old papaw man preacher was talking about how we should bloom where we're planted. (Figuratively, friends).

I love this concept. For the longest time, I foolishly tried to fight God on certain things in my life: region, relationships, and right career. Who am I to doubt the work of God in my life? I still wonder about what my future holds and what God has planned for me. However, I'm so much more concerned with being as effective as I CAN be, where I am, right now, today. I'm supposed to bloom where I'm planted right now.

I debated for months whether to stay in this career or not and God is making it clearer, day by day, just how important it is for me to serve Him in this capacity. Somewhere, in the midst of prayers, papers and parents, parents, and Scripture, federal standards, and unmotivated students, the clutter of it all just vanished and the abundant opportunities to pray for and share Christ presented themselves. The people who walk past me every day and the students who become citizens of my classroom are in such need.

I'm not sure how long I'll stay at this particular school or even how long I'll stay in Virginia: whatever doors God opens and closes are at His choosing and it's my job to seek Him. I am sure, however, that as long as I'm teaching in the public schools, that it's my job, as a Christian, to pray for those surrounding me: those who need to know and see the love of Christ, those who need His comfort and healing, and those who need encouragement.

I left a law firm job because law seemed to be a very negative place for me (at that time). The hallways of academia are no more negative or positive than the law firms. Imagine what changes we would see in U.S. schools if the Christians who worked there got together to pray for their students, colleagues, and adminstrators frequently. That would truly be blooming where we're planted.

You might hear very similar ideas in sermons and Bible study books: "look for the opportunities around you." When you're drenched with stress, it's hard to even want to search, much less serve. Thankfully, we have a God on whom we can cast all our cares and with whom all things are possible.

goshers

2005-12-09T11:36:00.000-05:00

It's a snow day. Actually, an ice day. We had an ice storm from hell last night. Actually, it was more like from God, not hell. But you know what I mean.

I am thinking about asking Santa for an iBook this Christmas. I miss mine oh so very much. Not having a computer or DSL handy really prevents me from updating ye olde blogger!

Things I'm thinking about:
*how I'm finally over some things I should have gotten over a long time ago, hallejujah!
*finishing Christmas decorations in my beautiful antebellum aparment (it's finally all finished up and feels almost like home)
*going to graduate school for my MFA in Writing or an MA in Expressive Arts Therapy
*going to the OYSTER FESTIVAL in Charleston, SC this January with the chans!!!
*how I'm going to get things graded when they're sitting in homework trays in my classroom
*mustering up the energy for a frenetic game of BUNKO with the Bunko ladies tonight
*what to wear for the Mistletoe Mixer at Benjamin's
*how I really need to call a couple of parents to see what's up with their kids
*how we're going to pull off a Festival of the Gods, an exam, and our creation of our Zoo of Mythological Creatures all in one week next week in Mythology.

thus is my life.

not to mention, ALMOST READY to send out various manuscripts and poetry to publishers across the US. Keep your fingers crossed so I can get some real credentials here!

:)
(yes, that says zoo of mythological creatures. the Sphinx and the Minotaur are pretty bad-ass).

pauley shore

2005-10-06T10:29:00.000-04:00

Listening to: jazz
Thinking about: teaching in a private school or maybe not teaching at all, my constant conflict of wills!
Excited about: going to Charlottesville again this weekend and seeing NICKEL CREEK!

Let me just tell you: it's great to be living in central Virginia this time of year. Even the Rolling Stones are headed this way (tonight, in fact). Combine October and the Blue Ridge and I'm afforded opportunities to see The Pixies, Nickel Creek, Shawn Mullins, and Pauley Shore, just to name a few of the live acts that the region is bringing our way. (The Pixies were freakin' incredible; I've seen NC twice and don't plan on being disappointed; Shawn Mullins is an up-in-the-air event a few weeks from now).

Last night I went to see Pauly Shore at Lynchburg's infamous Cattle Annie's. I couldn't believe that Shore would hit such a conservative, small city on his road tour! My mom is a huge, huge Pauly fan, so I took her and the fam out last night to see her fave comedien.

Despite the smoke and somewhat low-budget audience (this IS Lynchburg), the show was awesome! Shore's opening acts were only mediocre, but the night improved quickly once he took the stage. From the moment he stepped out, he had the crowd hanging on his every joke. I laughed at every single one of his bits--a rare occurence when watching comedy. I mean really, how often do you think everything someone says is funny? (ok, ok, I know I'm easily amused, but think about the general public, people).

It was a great night. I wish I could have stayed around long enough to schmooze and get an autograph or two. Cattle Annie's reserved the tables for us, so there isn't even a ticket stub for me to cherish and prove to future grandchildren on that one day when they watch "Son-in-Law" that I was a mere fifteen feet away from the famed Pauly Shore. Oh well. I love that little Jewish funny man to bits.

New York, New York

2005-09-26T17:50:00.000-04:00

Listenign to: the electricity running throught the printer
Thinking about: how I need to stop eating 1 order of BK Cinni-Minis for lunch
Excited about: going to RICHMOND this weekend!

I have such a lukewarm relationship with Richmond. I hate it when I'm there and miss it when I'm gone. I used to feel that way about New York, but I'm so damn homesick for Long Island I can barely stand it!

Random friends from the South are all relocating to the City and it makes me wonder, "Hm, will I be next?" (Although I am somewhat content for now in Central Virginia).

I've been donning lots of black Ann Taylor clothing and flooding my ears with Billy Joel. Of course, Billy Joel makes me remember sweet nights with boys who maybe weren't so sweet in the end, so that's a short-lived listen--nothing a little Sinatra can't fix.

I'm craving Macy's and a bagel and the train like a mofo---hopefully a visit home will get this out of my system.....or else this carpet-bagger may need to return to her Northern roots...!!!

Check out the new, hot, funky acoustic artist AMOS LEE if you get a chance. He's on Blue Note records and he's super fine. He's my new love man :):)

bear and mushrooms

2005-08-11T10:33:00.000-04:00

My youngest brother is a writer--not a hobby writer, a professional writer for numerous rap and hip-hop entertainment magazines. He's quite good, I must say. We're awfully proud of our recent college graduate, with his name on the staff lists and articles abounding. He is definitely becoming accomplished, beyond what you might consider successful for someone the sweet age of 21.

You might describe him as ambitious, driven, disciplined, maybe--maybe--smart. But you weren't sitting at the kitchen table with him the other day, when he announced that half of all Americans don't like mushrooms.

Sound ridiculous?

Never you mind why we were having a discussion about edible fungi).

Add to it this line (and I quote): "Only old people eat mushrooms."

Ah, the promising youth of America....

back

2005-08-11T10:23:00.000-04:00

Honestly, I would be writing much more had I my beloved mac laptop around. Writing without him just isn't the same.

Summer for me has meant travelling and entertaining guests, moving from a luxury apartment in the city to a refurbished antebellum home in a small town, songwriting, new jobs, new vehicle, thai food, portobello mushrooms, humidity, motorcycles, stripping furniture, scheduling and rescheduling and postponing trips to the beach, to Nashville, to Richmond again, to Sparkle City, SC, and a perpetual search for the perfect curtains and throw rugs. It's also been such a huge time of spiritual feasting on God's word, lessons, and providence that I'm still digesting it all (thai food and mushrooms not included).

ch-ch-ch-ch-changes

2005-06-27T08:47:00.000-04:00

It's nearly the end of June. Within recent weeks, I have left my job, visited both Minnesota and I'm actually in Tennessee right now ,fed a goat, traipsed through mud in lavendar sandals, drank milk (jaws dropping yet?), been hit on by the old sushi man at Ukrop's, been called Miss America and invited to Dollywood by the German waiter at the Little Dutch Restaurant, was an accessory to a potential stalking crime with one of my crazy Richmond girls (she's nameless, ok?)..and so on. I'd have loved to have documented, beautified, and given life to all of these wonderful and bizarre experiences via the written word...but, alas, I had to return the iBook G4 to Goochland County and thus grieve the loss of daily publication.

Between travelling to the deep South from the upper Midwest, from pit stops at my parents' house and new hometown and just 4 days in Richmond since school let out, I'm almost exhausted! (But these trips and travels were all incredibly awesome so I'm not complaining one bit). I've been able to visit with lifelong friends and new ones and God has blessed conversations both for me to learn and to teach others. So, little did I know that this month would contain for me a series of what my friend Kristyn may call 'divine appointments.' (I might be taking a bit of liberty with the term). I prefer to think of each encounter with each individual as being a divine appointment and that life is a comprised series of such moments.

The month began with what I WAS referring to as a "Newton's law" week, until I was kindly corrected--I wasn't falling down all of the time and experiencing strange bouts with gravity but everything that could have gone wrong DID go wrong...so Murphy's law was in full effect. It was the kind of week where I had to trust God hour by hour, since that seemed to be the schedule Murphy's law was taking place that week. I covered and bathed everything--and I mean, EVERYTHING--in prayer--and God is faithful and He brought me through it all. I think that, as someone who calls herself a Christian, I should be like this all the time; you know, rely on God hourly, and not being "anxious about anything, but in everything bringing my concerns and petitions to God." I wonder why it took me so long to get it and to live it.

In the midst of this, good friends--the kind that know your ins and outs and continue to love you, and you reciprocate equally--came to see me in Richmond, on an afternoon's notice. A friend I haven't seen in over 2 years was in town the same weekend I was recently, and even last night was the most blessed time of fellowship. Three of my closest girlfriends from Carson-Newman (two of whom were roommates) and I were able to visit and sip coffee and talk and laugh--those moments were so precious to me--in college, you don't realize how awesome it is to be able to share every meal with your best friends or live in the very same building as some of the people closest to you--and you don't get a chance, really, to have that occur again with any sort of frequency. As we were together, I truly felt as if not a day had passed since those times.

I am so thankful for this cushioning of true fellowship that God has provided for me. He sends encouragers and teachers at the right time, all of the time. As I enter the summer, I have only vague, unstructured ideas about where I might be living and what I might be doing--and I'm the girl who loves to have a plan. Can you believe that I'm not terribly stressed about the uncertainty of a not-very-distant-at-all future? I really believe that these divine appointments have relieved me of anxiety and helped me build up my trust in a big way. Locationally and professionally, changes are coming.I think I've finally heard God say, "Charlotte, see what happens when you go along and make your own plans and try to forge your own way? Why don't you leave the plan for your life to Me from now on?" And this is amazing.

for fun

2005-06-26T07:08:00.000-04:00

Charlotte Andrea Frazer's Aliases

Your movie star name: Bagels James

Your fashion designer name is Charlotte Oslo

Your socialite name is Punky Manhattan

Your fly girl / guy name is C Fra

Your detective name is Puppy Garden City

Your barfly name is Rolls Chambord

Your soap opera name is Andrea Mayfair

Your rock star name is Reeses Time

Your star wars name is Chahom Frahug

Your punk rock band name is The Melancholy Globe

The Amazing Meganame Generator

love the band name. don't you dare steal it, now, you hear?

bastard story no. 2

2005-05-24T18:15:00.000-04:00

Listening to: the not-half-bad piano jazz here at the coffeeshop
Thinking about: how the results of this facial I got today are going to look in the morning.
Excited about: the prospect that Bo may indeed be crowned our new American Idol (!)...and that God is good (random, but true).

I don't know if you've had the privilege of hearing the 'bastard story' yet. I have shared this story with very few people, with fear that any more find out and that I will be fired. I WAS going to begin by asking, "How come the most insane things always happen in my classroom on a daily basis?" Statements like those listed below fly out of kids' mouths every day in room 203:

1. "I'm a puberty fanatic!"
2. "Will got his period today."
3. "When am I going to get man-breasts?"
4. "What, you don't know what a hermaphrodite is?"

No! I don't teach health, sex ed, biology, or anatomy. I teach English. I join you in wondering just where these comments find a home in a class that should focus on communication and expression through the study of literature and writing. Then again, I teach middle school, a prime location for any and all topics related to puberty.

The bastard story, in short, goes a little something like this: we were reading "Number the Stars" by Lois Lowry; Tiffany was reading aloud; instead of ending the sentence the way it appeared on the page...'silly,' she added '..silly....silly bastard." What, do mine own ear deceive me? Stunned, I asked her to repeat herself and she did, displaying fully her naivete while the whole class roars and cheers with, "you don't know what a bastard is/it's a cuss word/hey, i'll look it up in the dictionary, miss frazer/my mom says I'm a bastard" and so it goes. Pandemonium had taken his strike and down we went.

Well....today....the kids are out of control anyway now that tests are finished and we're 'killing time' until June 10. I took a break from showing movies with this same class and we read some stories and had a family meeting instead. I began reading a Poe favorite, "The Cask of Amontillado" to them, when halfway through I was thinking that the vocabulary would be too difficult for them to understand, no matter how much I used my voice and face to connotate the mood and meaning of the text. I rambled on regardless, seeing a few faces that were still enthralled with the tale.

I get to the part where the narrator tells Fortunato to run his hand across the damp wall of the catacombs and decides to leave Fortunato behind..still forging on with voices and character...too involved in the energy of the reading to skip up ahead...and this is what it reads:

"...."The Amontillado!" ejaculated my friend, not yet recovered from his astonishment.....""

WHAT!?!?
Did I really just read that word in front of people? In front of my eleven-year old students? In front of these boys!?!??! And worse, in front of my girls!?!??!?!?!?!

Are you kidding me? Have I really lost my mind??!!!! What a bloody nightmare. The bastard story was innocent and funny to repeat to a select few, but this is just embarassing!

So yes. At the root of this situation lies incredible humor. Events of this nature are becoming commonplace and I won't ever complain about it.

intermission

2005-05-22T04:59:00.000-04:00

Listening to: the ac blowing air around, as it's supposed to
Thinking about: going back to sleep
Excited about: learning new songs on my git-tar

I had a terrible dream around 3:30 this morning, so frightening that I actually called my parents and woke up my father to make sure they were ok. I turned on all of the lights in the apartment and played my little guitar for a while (much quieter in the wee hours than Leroy can be). And then I wrote. And then I read. And then I decided that I should have waited to go to bed for longer than I did after that yummy sweet bourbon salmon from Lonestar. And then I decided that all of the laughing with my crazy friend Dee Jay probably didn't help me while I was eating, ab-aching laughter and all: alas, the root of my ill slumber. And then I thought to myself, self, you really should be working on some poetry to send out in the packages right now and might as well clear off the desk while you're up at 4 a.m. That didn't seem as appealing as catching up on the writings of various friends and then looking at E! online for the first time ever and engrossing myself in archives of the Fashion Police, which has brought me back to a level of sleepiness--

In the intermission between sleep and rest, here's something fun for you to try:
(and this amuses me. apparently, I would've had more Yankee if it weren't for one word: y'all...the shame, the shame...this is what living in the South for 10.5 non-consecutive years will do to you...or your accent).

Your Linguistic Profile:

50% General American English

30% Dixie

20% Yankee

0% Midwestern

0% Upper Midwestern

What Kind of American English Do You Speak?

the (inspiring) avett brothers

2005-05-21T00:42:00.000-04:00

After a grueling week of state testing and rowdy kids, there's nothing like chilling out at your favorite coffeeshop to hear one of your favorite bands perform live.

When you see The Avett Brothers perform, however, there really isn't much 'chilling' involved in the 'chilling out.' They completely suck you in to their Avett Brothers world, and you're perfectly content to abide there until the lights go out.

This was the second Richmond show since January by the three handsome brothers from North Carolina, and these guys totally delivered. If you can imagine the lovechild of The White Stripes, Ben Folds, Nickel Creek, and Patsy Cline, then you might be slightly on your way to a vision of what this group is all about--but they're their own genre-defying brand of ear candy. The harmonies, drastic changes between screaming punk loudness and quiet lullabyed hushes, the insttrumental prowess plus a wicked sense of humor combine to produce a sound that only these boys can make.

I was experiencing this unfamiliar musical/creative dry spell in late autumn/earlyi winter, and never thought I'd get out of it: I wasn't singing, playing piano, or even singing along with En Vogue on "flashback fridays' on the morning commute. What was wrong with me? I'm still not really sure. But I am Definitely Sure of this: it was that January Avett show that pulled me out of the musical darkness and into the light of grooving again. Like tonight, I was superglued to every song, stompin' feet and tappin' toes--

Upon wisdom once granted to me from the beautiful poet Naomi Shihab Nye at a reading last year, I emailed Scott Avett shortly after their first concert to say thanks for the inspiration (in so many words, not half as nerdy as that). He replied promptly, and I was able to meet him tonight and chat with him after the show, pretty much reiterating the sentiments I first shared in that long-ago email.

True art is expression and communication and ideally inspires. The band continues to be a spark for my imagination and a blessing to me; they rescued me from the lack of music in my life! And if you know anything about me, you know that there is always music in my life.

So I love The Avett Brothers.
And their Carolina accents. Ow ow!
Most of all, I love their humorous, loving, geniune genius.

Check them out!

http://www.theavettbrothers.com/

p.s. to musings

2005-05-17T23:48:00.000-04:00

On a more positive note, without musings or literary anything...

1. An 11-year-old today proclaimed that "North Dakota is a myth. So are the SATs." I now believe this child is a genius.
2. With the help of some kids, I discovered a new talent of imitating lawn mower and motorcycle sounds very well.
3. Despite some love buried inside of me for tennis and the fact that I live a few hundred feet from some tennis courts, I haven't played since I moved into this apartment.
4. I really miss doing belly dancing on a more regular basis.
5. Bo Bice is going to be the next American Idol and I can't wait until his CD comes out, or in the words of Leigh Ann, hubba hubba.

musings on a may evenin'

2005-05-17T23:41:00.000-04:00

Listening to: a car pass by that almost sounds like howling March winds of the Blue Ridge Mts.

I thought a lot today about how for the first time in a few years, I probably won't be unlocking the door to my own classroom this fall.

What a strange idea.

There was a time that I dreamed of teaching. There was a time that I was too afraid to get up in front of people and speak.
There was a time that I believed no school was ever going to hire me. There was a time that on the day before I started my first job, upon seeing all the many teenagers outside of William Fleming, I thought there was no way I could do this and went to Hardee's to kill time until the kids were safe and sound in class.

So now I'm waxing sentimental for a bit and almost allowing that emotion to cause me doubt, such as this: sometimes I wonder if we screw up God's plans for us. You could debate theology all the livelong night about this one, but still, it is something I wonder from time to time.

I'm sitting in the dining room well past bedtime and thinking about how I used to stay up late into the night planning lessons and trying to figure out what I was going to do for tomorrow's class. It used to excite me so much! Teaching used to be much more challenging for me. Somehow, between the parent emails, standardized tests, and school politics, I've lost a bit of that gusto that defined me and my classroom. Maybe it was the poor high school where I used to teach; maybe it was the kind of kid that was most likely to walk into my room--or walk out on any given whim on any given day, or maybe it was just the passion that accompanies your first year of something new...

...my guidance counselor was Wanda Gail, and Trina, our secretary--we were good friends of mine last year at Fleming. Together we would roll our eyes at the uptights, the rule-abiders, and the politicians of our school. Under the leadership of Coach George "Killa" Miller, we resigned ourselves and our hearts to doing the very best we could to relate to the kids, reach them, build rapports, and ultimately infect their education and lives with the knowing trust that someone did indeed give a damn about them. Trina signed a card for me last Christmas with the token yearbook-sounding words, "Don't change," except I knew she was meaning, and geniunely: "Dont' become one of 'them.' "

Have I?

A friend and colleague told me recently that she doesn't want to waste her energy anymore on becoming a disciplinarian. What wise words she spoke---so much of teaching middle school (or teaching in general, perhaps) is really crowd control, or "classroom management" as the ivory towers calls it...and I absolutely hate having to be mean with the kids/ask repeatedly for quiet during instructions/raise my voice/etc...I believe I both prayed more and drank more my very first month than maybe ever before in my life. I remember sitting at the Italian restaurant with the gaudy decor on my third day of teaching and telling my parents I couldn't do it anymore, forget the contract and the license, I wasn't going to go in there and have to be some mean, strict, unpleasant person everyday, that it would rob me of being me.

Has it?

Room 203 in Goochland Middle School is notorious for being the loud, crazy classroom--it always looks like nothing productive is going on, but there usually is a great deal of learning taking place, or at least I think so. I used to pride myself on connecting to the kids and developing creative lesson plans and instructing however I needed to--I even told another teacher that I couldn't share my methods because they weren't anything I was taught and after all, "you can't bottle the essence of me." Pride certainly took a toll on me for a bit.

But not for very long.
My fourth block students did terribly on their poetry terms test. I re-examined them today and saw little improvement. I told them they were going to take the test until they passed it......!??!?!? What??!??! I know in my heart it's that kind of attitude that makes kids hate poetry.....so why was I doing this? Have I become what I despise among educators of English?

Lord help me.

One of my sweetest, chunkiest-cheeked sixth-graders asked me if I had another sheet to study from, and I didn't have any extra at that time. The image of his defeated glance at the floor, waddling steps, and humbly spoken words of well-wishes for a nice afternoon is what has me awake and wondering. This child is in my heart, but I can't help but wonder if I have failed him. I should know better: the fact that he is even in my heart and on my mind tells me that I haven't.

not strangers anymore

2005-05-14T21:37:00.000-04:00

listening to: Over the Rhine
thinking about: not a lot......such a nice feeling :)
excited about: art

A mere 10-minute drive north of here and you would never realize that Short Pump existed. Red barns, horses, and antique shops dot the landscape along a winding oak-treed road. I savored each second of the never-before-taken thirty-minute drive to one of my student's softball games this morning. I missed a turn on the way back home but didn't flinch--I knew where I was and another way to get back on track. What a startling thought--I've lived here long enough to know my way around lost directions. Once unfamiliar roads are home to landmarks I now recognize: the Verizon store, the park, the lone white church in the pretty field.

With less than three months of living left to do here in Richmond, it's odd to finally feel a slight sense of familiarity with these surroundings that I've emptily called home since August. I've done my best to make it feel like such: I continue to pursue new furniture arrangements to make the place "just so" and finally, finally, finally switched a few photos and paintings around today to perfect the apartment.

Well...I say I've done my best, but an honest reflection will prove differently. I began this part of my life thinking (in addition to other things) in the temporary---"the contract is over in June, the lease is up in July, and you can always go somewhere else if you don't like it here."

I am not in love with Richmond, and I don't think we'll ever be more than fair acquaintances, but at least we're not strangers anymore. And this is okay. Lesson for today: no matter how much exploration I may have conquerered in my local travels or how many times I lean a photo here or put the bookcase there, no place will ever truly feel like home until you treat it like it is.

God and friends

2005-05-12T22:11:00.000-04:00

Listening to: Holly Williams--a few iTunes--sounds like sweet ole Tennessee to me
Thinking about: trying out for American Idol :) and covering this beautifully melancholy song called "Nothing More"
Excited about: that I actually did some SONGWRITING this past weekend--a rare occasion

Since living in Richmond, I've often felt like God has pulled me into a time of solititude and (hopefully) growth. I need to remind myself of this especially on the here and there days when I've been by myself for too long. On other occasions, I welcome this time of reflection and renewal and voluntarily cocoon myself and close friends start to wonder what's going on with me. It's unusual for them NOT to hear from me, since I'm the initial communicator and prime social coordinator in our group of friends (Richmond excluded).

True friendships astound me, especially the relationships that included prayer, worship, and/or true fellowship as their building blocks along the way. Friendships that are somehow spiritually unified are beautiful and one of the blessings in life for which I am most thankful. What amazes me further is the idea that there once was a time in life when these friends and I lived in the same place; now we are scattered around the earth (from Africa, Europe, and all over the U.S).

There are few day-brighteners better than a phone call from a good friend. My phone rang thrice today from such folks. It is with a wistful sort of bittersweetness that these phone calls finish: familiarity, laughter, and understanding naturally infuse the conversations; reminders of the passage of time and distance invade them.

I thank God for rescuing us from feelings of loneliness and sending us reminders of His love.

cold nickel creek

2005-05-05T21:59:00.000-04:00

Listening to: my breathing
Thinking about: pending sleep
Excited about: freedom of the spirit

You can tell a lot about a place by the way a crowd acts at one of the concerrs there.

Last night, I went with a friend of mine to see the amazing Nickel Creek in concert. This was the second time I've gotten to see the band perform live--they are just incredibly talented musicians; I've never seen anybody manipulate instruments and have full reign over them quite the way they do.

It's been rather chilly in the evenings here in the great state of Virginia, and I, the girl who wears flip-flops at the mere sign of the word April, didn't pay attention to the cold front that was heading into town last evening. I didn't let the frosty air keep me from enjoying one of my all-time favorite groups!!! And even though Nickel Creek started off playing some slower, instrumental numbers, they were still pretty groovin' up there--this was beyond toe-tapping music; this was foot-stompin'! All the better reason to get up and dance around like yo mama ain't watchin' (plus, all that dancing would keep you from getting even colder).

So it's chilly, the music is hot, and there's no reason not to be on your feet---I glance around the audience several times in between songs, and I see the most dismal looking group of folks ever. You'd never know they were at a show; they looked like they'd been watching a marathan of Masterpiece Theatre in black and white all day long or something.

As a musician, I felt so bad for my newgrass-playing friends onstage. Can you imagine looking into a sea of faceless and faint energy and trying to connect with a a crowd of absences? I wanted to apologize to NC on behalf of the Innsbrook crowd for the dull folks crowding the lawn. I kept trying to get my friend to dance around, but he's really German so I suppose they're more refined---I'll give him the benefit of my doubt, at least--the rest of these fools? Excuses have they none.

When, oh when, will I no longer dwell amidst the Muffys and Buffys of the world and be able to dance in a crowd of fine rugged joy?

www.nickelcreek.com

resign

2005-05-01T22:27:00.000-04:00

Listening to: The Be Good Tanyas
Thinking about: eating dinner since I was too into my reading to take a break to eat before
Excited about: seeing my youngest brother graduate from college on Saturday!

It almost doesn't fit. You dont't imagine someone in their mid-twenties leaving a job unless they have something else "lined up. That person is hoping for a job, a foot in the proverbial door, a chance to establish themselves about entry-level salaries. That person was me, even if for a very short while. Instead, I resigned from my job as a middle-school English teacher this week: I will finish out the school year but declined the contract they offered me for 2005-06.

This decision came slowly and painfully, but it came. I'd been contemplating this choice since January. It wasn't one event in particular that made me want to leave--and maybe I should have had more faith and hope that things would get better for me personally and professionally next year.

But what's the point in forcing youself to make something work when it clearly isn't? Is there some sort of social or ethical award bestowed upon you if you manage to keep your head above the waters of misery for an extra year? The "You Stuck It Out, Congratulations" award?

Now, I haven't exactly been miserable with my job--I adore (most of) the people I work with, and the kids are hyper but fun to be around; but I don't really feel like this is the love of my life, either. I put my heart into everything I do, and if my heart isn't there, then forget it. I have felt half-hearted about my experiences here, and half-hearted is not an emotion I'm familiar with.

Frost's two roads diverge in front of our very eyes when we're in our twenties and thinking about things like identity, love, and profession. The paths are namely these: choose a profession early. Stick with it, and climb your ladder into a nice resume, promotion, retirement..... or choose to follow each whim so that you won't feel that 'what if' regret wounding you in the side later on. This week, I have chosen the latter lane.

life story in 100 lines, completed thus far

2005-05-01T21:29:00.000-04:00

I'm a copy-cat. My friend Melissa did this, I thought it was great, so I copy her. Feel free to do one on your own blog site!!!

1. I was born in Oceanside, NY, which is on Long Island.
2. I have lived in: New York (twice), Tennessee, and Virginia (Bedford once, Richmond twice).
3. I love being by the water: The Chesapeake Bay, Long Island Sound, Charleston, SC...
4. I'm looking for a laid-back city with good landscape, small-town feel, and metro restaurants/music clubs.
5. Thai is my new favorite ethnic food. Vietnamese is not.
6. I joined the Brownies because I wanted to sell the cookies and make the big bucks and quit when I found out the truth.
7. My parents planned for years a big move to the South long before we were actually able to make one.
8. I have problems making committments because of that move (pending for years).
9. I am fiercely loyal after I do committ.
10. I'm a Scorpio on the cusp of Libra!
11. I have always loved school and deep down, I always wanted to be a teacher.
12. I’ve kept journals of poetry since I was 9 and banned myself several times from Barnes and Noble.
13. I have terrible vision.
14. I’ve been playing piano for 18 years, by ear since I was 7 and started lessons from 10-13.
15. I was a total frizzy glasses clarinet nerd at West Hempstead Middle School in NY.
16. I honed my speaking, reading, and writing skills in Italian when I was there.
17. We moved to Midlothian, VA right before I started high school where I twirled flags, rifles, and sabres.
18. My Aunt Kristie died in May, 1994. She was only 32. She died unexpectedly and it still bothers me.
19. We moved back to Long Island in February, 1996. My parents didn’t tell me until 6 days before.
20. I didn’t date anyone in high school. I was incredibly shy back then.
21. I love to play tennis, but just to volley.
22. I'm always the friend who calls everyone up to invite them to do something
23. I wanted to go twirl at James Madison University in Harrisonburg, VA--the only school I didn't get in.
24. I didn’t want to go to Carson-Newman College in Jefferson City, TN; it was my “safety school.”
25. Everyone on Dad's side of the family went to an Ivy until the last generation.
26. I'm the first to graduate on Mom's side.
27. I applied to 9 schools and was accepted at 8. None were in New York.
28. One of the best trips ever: spending a week with Dad touring all 8 colleges over Spring Break.
29. I changed my major 3 times before I became a sophomore and had a different roommate each year.
29. My roommates and their roommates comprise my closest circle of friends.
30. Most of my closest gal pals from college are still single; the boys have almost all married. Ironic!
31. I've struggled with my body type; only recently have I realized that I’m pretty damn sexy.
32. My students last year told me I was built like a black girl. Yay for boobs, hips, and booty!
33. I was captain and choreographer of the Color Guard for 2 years at Carson-Newman.
34 I was on-call pianist for almost every musician at our college and for the gospel choir.
35. I have more gay male friends than any single straight woman I know.
36. I tried playing the bass in a band called Worthless Tuesday.
37. I had another band called Little Japanese Girl.
38. I had two different Japanese roommates in college, neither of whom were really traditional “Japanese.”
39. For a while, I thought about going to Japan to teach ESL.
40. I eventually decided not to live abroad as a single American white woman.
41. Maybe when I am married I’ll go.
42. I LOVED CARSON-NEWMAN. I loved the people, my English professors, and campus life.
43. All of my college relationships were with guys that I was already really good friends with.
44. Carson-Newman is Baptist; I'm not, I don't like labelling myself and I don't like the SBC either.
45. I like blending into Christianity the reading the Taoists and the Quakers, going to Taize services, and going to non-cookie-cutter worship services.
46. I have learned from the Frazers not to care what other people think. Most of the time I remember this lesson.
47. I love dogs, but I used to be petrified of them.
48. I enjoy algebra and chemistry but hate arithmetic.
49. I became addicted to American Idol this season.
50. I have a degree in English and Creative Writing with a minor in Communication Arts.
51. I hate and am allergic to cats and most other non-canine pets, particularly small ones.
52. I have six graduate hours in Education from Lynchburg College.
53. I've never even tried smoking anything.
54. I didn’t get my driver’s license until I was 22.
55. Following the family law tradition, I worked for a lawyer for almost 2 years.
56. At the time, I also completed an internship in Events Planning with Bedford Main Street.
57. Also at that time, I had a band called Aunt Hoo Fung that played regular gigs.
58. My first year of teaching was in an inner-city type of high school.
59. I worked in Roanoke, but hated Roanoke.
60. I thought I would like Richmond, Virginia, more.
61. I wasn’t the first choice for the job I have currently.
62. I would choose elsewhere to live instead of living in Richmond again.
63. I've always wanted to run in a field of yellow flowers like Laura does in the opening sequence of Little House On The Prairie.
64. I make art based on the faces of famous rockers, such as John Lennon and Beck.
65. I initially designed my house according to a book called “The Feng Shui of Love.”
66. My favorite cereal of all-time is a fresh box of Kellogg's Frosted Flakes.
67. In the words of my friend Lindsey, I don't want to waste my energy being a disciplinarian anymore.
68. I miss St. Croix.
69. I can carry on conversations in French, Japanese, and Turkish, and am near fluent in Italian and proficient in Spanish.
70. I will rarely order Italian food out, especially out of the Tri-State (NY NJ CT) area.
71. I will never dye my hair or drink tequila again.
72. Mom made us memorize our heritage like this: Italian, German, English, Irish, Scottish, Dutch, and Norwegian.
73. We are mainly Italian and Norwegian.
74. I love that both New York and random Southern small towns feel like home to me.
75. I want to live in a house with wooden floors and lots of land on a river or a lake one day.
76. I've been to at least 6 Bela Fleck concerts.
77. As the daughter of a realtor/mortgage broker, I adore looking at properties and house hunting.
78. I've met Harry Connick Jr. (independently) and many other famous folk.
79. I look forward to seeing what my future kids are going to be like.
80. 95% of the artwork in my home was given to me and made by artist friends.
81. I find spending time with friends in nature and in art galleries/musuems almost worshipful.
82. I hope that my dad will read this and buy me that canoe I want.
83. I actually enjoy hiking and climbing mountains, despite popular contradictions.
84. I used to be an over-achiever in every area of my life but I've mellowed out in some areas.
85. I have never climbed a tree.
86. I am obsessed with my eyebrows and eyelashes.
87. My two younger brothers are pretty much my two best friends.
88. I hate sharing bathrooms with them.
89. My father has only called me by my first name only 4 times in 25 years.
90. I had a traumatic experience involving a goat, hay, and milk (not in that order) when I was 7
91. Although thoughtful, nobody in my immediate family has a quiet personality.
92. The furthest west I have ever been is Nashville, TN.
93. I'm not a good barfly but more of a coffee-shop person.
94. I’ve always had this weird fascination with the mid-west. I believe Manhattan, KS an oxymoron.
95. I love swing, salsa, and belly dancing.
96. I don’t really collect anything but feel like I should.
97. I love solid colors and black and white.
98. I love newgrass, pizza, jeans, flip-flops, and dark brews from Barley’s.
99. I also love bebop jazz and dressing up and drinking gingerbread martinis.
100. I love any movie with Tom Hanks or Meg Ryan in it.

ps
101 I have a keyboard named Leroy and a doggie named Homer.

I think I could keep going. If there's anything else you want to know, just ask!!!!

buona notte amici

be them yellow, black, or white

2005-04-24T22:09:00.000-04:00

This morning, I went to Jerusalem Baptist Church to hear one of my student's drum for the band. He warned me that I might be the only white person there. When he said that, it didn't bother me at all; I've played for black churches plenty of times, been the only American in a roomful of friends on many occasions, and don't draw racial boundaries in my social life.

Two men directing the flow of parking-lot traffic. They waved me onwards, smiling, but looking kind of confused. Several people were also pleasant but confused as I made my way up the walk to the front doors. I was sure they were thinking, "does she know if she's in the right place?" or something.

Thus far in life, my denominational heritage hails from Roman Catholicism to Southern Baptist to everything in between. I am thankful for the theological diversity and challenges brought to me by being exposed to different outlooks on the Christian faith, but I am most thankful that my childhood church was so racially diverse. We had white families, black families, Taiwanese families, Hispanic families, and many mixed families. Growing up, I never assumed that congregational compositions would look any differently from my own.

I've seen, in some predominantly white and predominantly black churches, the slight discomfort that shrouds parishoners when someone different enters the sanctuary. A few years ago, I even witnessed an usher asking a man of a different color if this was the church he intended to attend that morning. Maybe that man thought his question was innocent, but it sounded appalling to my eavesdropping ears. I understand that we all have our own preferred styles of worship (contemporary, silent meditation, traditional, loud, etc) but shouldn't a sanctuary designed for prayer and worship of a mighty God equally embrace all of His children?

I was so glad that Timothy's church did. I saw him as soon as I stepped through the doors. I was able to meet his entire family, including aunts and a great-grandmother. A few other students were there, too, and it was fantastic. Everyone was so pleasant, welcoming, inviting. They all wanted to know why I was there, and I told them I came to hear Timothy on the drums, since he's been braggin' on himself all year long (he was, in fact, quite impressive--he was so right on with every rhythm and realy inventive with certain fills).

It was an amazing experience for me to partake in worship with my students, and even more, to be led in worship by one. The service was so beautiful to me: the preaching was heartfelt, the congregation was warm, and even though I'd never met those people or entered that buildling before, it was so familiar to me. I am absolutely certain that such familiarity can only come from the presence of God's spirit and His people's heart for worship.

homer beam

2005-04-24T21:20:00.000-04:00

Listening to: HBO's Deadwood in the background--not my fave of all the HBO series-but yeah.
Thinking about: how I need to quit procrastinating grading.
Excited: that I am becoming a smarter shopper. (I always make great purchases,friends, but now I just make them more infrequently and of less quantity)!
Also excited that: I bought a little plant tonight--two years ago I was a mass plant murderer, but have since repented and I love this little guy!

Once or twice a year, I get a craving for my native Long Island: the Sound, the beaches, the Italian familes and pastries, a decent bagel, Macy's, Bloomie's, Lord and Taylor, high school friends, and the city. It's been years since I could claim New York as my residence; nonetheless, it remains a part of my definition of home. Lately, I like to go home to visit my folks, my brothers, and my mountains in Bedford, Virginia. Four years ago, I didn't want to even hear about anything related to Bedford or Virginia; now it's "home."

A day on Long Island reminds me of why I loved it and why I left, and driving back to Richmond from my weekends in Bedford makes me miss my mother more than ever.

It also makes me want to kidnap my puppy.

Granted, Homer Beam (after "Simpson" and "Jim"; named by the great James Frazer) isn't really a puppy any more--he'll be 3 in the fall. Our family never kept pets before Homer--James somehow connived my parents into thinking that having Homer would be good for them, becoming empty-nesters and all.

Indeed, Homer's been great for my parents; he's like their fourth child. Literally. This dog has a high-budget indoor wicker dog-house, gets fed leftover lasagna, steak, and pumpkin bread, and gets a present every time Mom goes to Wal-mart. Homer has special "sleeping music" (I can't believe I'm sharing this information with the world) and listens to "Frank and friends" on the local a.m. station on Sunday afternoons. My mom even puts on the Christian stations for him on weekday mornings so he "has church." Can you believe this?

I absolutely love my parents, and they're definitely entertaining, amusing characters, but is this normal?

Sigh....so yes, I miss my puppy. I must confess to spoiling him in my own ways, too. I'm like a five year-old child when he begs for food at the end of meal and I toss him scraps...he's not supposed to get up on the furniture but I designated him a spot on the hassack....he's not allowed upstairs but I always sneak him up there....

Before I moved to Richmond, I stopped in this wacky store on Main Street called "The Prissy Parrot." After browsing a bit, I spotted him. Bernie: a stuffed dog that was too adorable for words. I have never bought a stuffed animal for myself, and I haven't even really dealt with one since I turned, oh, about 20 or so. Bernie, however, was irresistable. I decided he was my Homer substitute for Richmond.

Every Sunday, I skim the pet section in the classifieds. I'm always tempted to call and visit one of the puppies, you know, to see if I could take him home, but I can't. Never mind that I'm out of the house constantly and it's too small a space to be fair to a dog--I can't bear the thought of cheating on Homer.

**excuse the Hallmark gaggy factor of this essay. I'm a little off this weekend. Just ready for the summer to get here already!!!**

worthless tuesday and dating Leroy

2005-04-23T11:28:00.000-04:00

Listening: to some horn player on NPR
Thinking: about getting off me arse and going to the Y
Excited: about making music this weekend-and today is Shakespeare's assumed birthday and documented, um, er, death-day. (That sounds incredibly morbid. Let's just say he entered and left this world on April 23rd, many years apart. My students were equally appalled and fascinated). The weekend means time off from deep thought. At least according to me and just for today...onto fluff of a musical nature. Do not read unless you are prepared to think little and go along with it:

I

True or false: switching instruments is never a good idea.
Ask Flores, "the sexy Mexi" or Josh of Aunt Hoo Fung fame. You don't have to go too far to consult James Frazer about this poor idea. When it comes to playing music, I should either stick with what I know or committ enough to get better at something else, or both.

The only time an instrument switch has ever been effective: WORTHLESS TUESDAY. You know it people: the infamous Carson-Newman band of many members, none of whom played their own horn. I, in fact, was the bassist on several hits, including "Santeria." We did fun covers and made up songs as we went long and recorded this genius process. I am still waiting (!) for Aaron Jones to send me these live recordings; there are many and I have only 2 CDs. Forgive me for using this entry as a shameless plea and advert (haha, how British) for someone to get on the phone with Bones. Also consider this a shameless advert for a summer reunion and now MAK can join us since she's picked up ye olde mandolin.

II
So, I have this keyboard. His name is Leroy, because he is big and full of soul. (And I don't know a single white guy named Leroy). Leroy and I have been together for four years now. I remember the day I met him: Daddy and I went to Sam Ash, former mecca of music stores, whom I still prefer over Guitar Center. For several months, I was checking Leroy out. I'd go into the keyboard section, try out a Roland or two, and eventually work my way over to the beautiful Yamahas in the corner. Leroy had everything I wanted: a true piano sound, not too many crazy buttons, and a real weighted feel in the keys. Perfect. Charlie (that's my dad) made sure I could pick Leroy up and carry him around in his case--you can't always assume someone's going to be around to help you with equipment. Leroy came home that day.

Of course, this was back during a time when I had plenty of musician friends and we were making music on a daily (or nightly) basis. Leroy got a lot of action. He never stayed in one place for very long, until I came here. (Here meaning Short Pump, which is the very newest and poshest section of the West End, for you non-Virginians...wait, I'M a non-Virginian).

I am guilty of ignoring Leroy these days. He's been camping out in my car for two weeks and hasn't gotten any play in the same amount of time. I've been busy but that doesn't mean I haven't been thinking about him. My dad has warned me plenty that leaving him out in the car is a bad idea: someone else may come along and take him away or his circuits could deteriorate in the damp weather and he could bail. I've neglected him, and just hope he stays faithful to me and doesn't leave. Moral of the story: treat your Leroy well.

author's note: this story is neither symbolic nor metaphorical of any assumed topic; it is merely the author's weak and cheezy attempt to personify her keyboard (no crack was involved). I warned you not to get too deep.

tarnished, hidden, and buried.

2005-04-21T22:25:00.000-04:00

Listening to : Travis (the band)
Thinking about: things that are bothering me
Excited about: the existence and proximity of a weekend

Jamiroquai: "I guess I'm just an educated fool."
The Counting Crows: "Believe in me, cause I don't believe in anything, and I want to be someone who believes."

I have plenty of theology, some strong beliefs about Christ, and I even go as far as to call myself a Christian, although I sometimes hesitate to use that term since folks like Jerry Falwell have sullied the name in certain parts of Virginia (where I live, obviously). It has taken me all of my years until this very day to truly comprehend that no matter what you think about living in this world and the potential thereafter, it's of no use unless you live as you believe. What you believe about any given topic dictates your approach; alas, too many people use beliefs to prescribe themselves a code of conduct. However strict or lenient, it remains a code.

The two philosophies by which I abide are based on the love of Christ: experience it to its fullness, love him equally as well, then share that love with others. I so strongly believe in these ideas; they help compose my foundation! But how can I even claim these are my truths when I neglect to experience that same love? I neglect by failing to simply trust, hope, and believe. I sometimes allow doubt, comparisons, opinions, and standards of the world to tarnish my trust, hide my hope, and bury my ability to believe. Thankfully, grace exists and sends us reminders lest we forget.

peace sign

2005-04-20T21:33:00.000-04:00

Listening to: Ben Harper--and now he's over so it's back to my main man, John Legend :) LOVE him.
Thinking about: how it feels to be slightly sunburned and have a fan blowing on your skin--like summertime
Excited about: 36 class days left until summer....

I find the idea of peace fascinating. Your entire perception and approach to the world around you and the life you live alters in such a magical way when you experience peace. Call it a state of mind or a gift of God (interdependent?) but a tranquil and easy-going spirit relieve the difficulty of the day.

For months I felt unsettled but came into a season of peace. It seems that when we try too hard to keep our hands in everything, we wear ourselves out and ultimately succumb to the peace that would have guided and guarded us the whole time. I might soon find myself unsettled again in terms of home, career, et cetera. Shouldn't I be scared, worried, ready to draw out a blueprint for Plan C? Wouldn't a wise woman make logical decisions to advance professionally and progress personally?

I imagine that the truly wise woman, by taking a knowing glance at her own heart, mutes the voices of modern reason and listens to the calm, still spirit within herself that beckons her to patience, trust, and enjoyment of each step along the way.

invitation

2005-04-18T20:55:00.000-04:00

Anthony makes these lists all the time on his blog; I know someone in Minnesota who keeps all kinds of crazy lists on his computer. "Real Simple" magazine did an entire story on list-making. I, myself, am a hard-core list-maker, although I usually prefer to write them in a very inky pen or else a nice pencil on soft pads of paper....because those were important details I felt like sharing...? Every New Year's Night, I concoct a list of goals for my year. Note that these are not resolutions, since promises can be broken easily. Goals, though, provide a direction, give you hope, because you can still mess up and get yourself together enough again to achieve whatever it is that you have hoped to achieve. It is my religion for that night of each year.

Since I just posted about 'dreams,' I thought it would be appropo to share some of these tangible dreams with you (because I believe that they are, indeed, tangible):

go whitewater kayaking one day
see Mount Everest
live in a place above a store in an old part of town
live in a quiet house on a pond/lake/river
own a canoe
sell everything and move to Italy (or maybe just put it in storage for a while)
be a buyer for Ann Taylor Loft
single-handlely change the face of U.S. education by becoming the Secretary of Education
teach creative writing full-time
do missions work/ESL overseas
write for magazines
become a real poet (not like the fake faker I am today)
tango like a mofo
own a kickin' coffeehouse
lead the band at a very smoky sort of jazz/blues lounge/club (but it won't really be smoky)
have a torrid love affair with a hot Australian (for the accent, you know)
or just find that best-friend-sort-of-person-who-you-happen-to-fall-in-love-with kinda deal. In a Meg Ryan movie kinda way.

Aren't they lovely?

foolishness and cliches abounding

2005-04-18T20:32:00.000-04:00

So every now and again, I assign my students an essay where they have to discuss their goals, their plans, etc. I had them write to me about "a dream that they have" last week. The proscrastinator that I am, I finally read these journal entries this morning. They dream, and they dream big.

I have always dreamed of getting married (we're still waiting on this one). Before I got to college, I dreamed of going to college. Before then, I dreamed of a huge social life. Before then, I dreamed of being an accomplished musician, either when I banged out tunes to a pretend Grammy audience in my living room or singing Debbie Gibson songs into a brush and dancing in my mirror. And in between these, I dreamed of walking into a book store and seeing my name on the shelves.

A few years ago, I was a college graduate without any real sense of direction for a career. It's not that I was a drifter-sort, or even unmotivated. Quite the opposite-there were just too many possibilities, and unfortunately most of them required a great amount of committment, even in the beginning. I dabbled with law and decided to enter teaching instead,seemed so much better for me. I mean, whoever goes to a lawyer for a postive reason, really. So, I was consumed with the idea of finding a career, a profession. Perhaps I equated my defintion of self with one's job? (very likely). I also allowed myself to believe that once you find something that you love, that's it.

Last year, I felt so driven to get out of bed and unlock the classroom and make a difference. Make a difference, make a difference, heal the world and make it a better place (mj, how ironic)--this was my theme for the year and even now. I can't imagine a better platform for reaching out and building rapports with kids and MAKING a difference in the world than in the very classroom in which I teach. So why have I been so unhappy this year? Well, I do laugh every day, I do love my students with my entire heart and mind, and I do see that what I do can plant more seeds than pollen spreads--but something is different......

Aha! Aside from living alone in a new city and feeling overwhelmingly displaced, I've nearly succumbed to something that I've made a mission to avoid: mediocrity, specifically in terms of lifestyle.

"Climbing the ladder," "building my resume," and "job security" are all ideas I almost adopted (and probably did, for a short while) this past year. I think I almost lost my imagination from growing so familiar with a yuppie life. How foolish for a twenty-five year old young woman without a committment in the world. "Everything happens for a reason." Trite and true--it's my very same students from this wretched professional year that have taught me how to dream again.

Twenty us

2005-03-29T12:02:00.000-05:00

Listening to: Tom Jones
Thinking about: not a whole lot
Excited about: SPRINGTIME!!!!!!! MY FAVORITE SEASON is finally upon me!!!

I caught Jamie Cullum doing a televised concert a few weeks ago. At first I thought he was pretty cool, and then I thought he was fairly generic. I'd heard about him this past fall from my friend Hunter but never really listened to him until this show. He has this one great tune, though, that truly captures much of what I think you and I, friends, are feeling at this point in life.

Not all parts may be true for you (like, the eight pints and fights); most will. The Shakespeare definitely does for me. Definitely :)
enjoy!!!

After years of expensive education,
a car full of books and anticipation,
I’m an expert on Shakespeare and that’s a hell of a lot but the world don't need scholars as much as I thought.

Maybe I'll go travelling for a year,
finding myself or start a career.
I could work for the poor though I’m hungry for fame
we all seem so different but we're just the same.

Maybe I'll go to the gym, so I don't get fat,
aren't things more easy with a tight six pack?
Who knows the answers? Who do you trust?
I can't even separate love from lust.

Maybe I’ll move back home and pay off my loans,
working nine to five answering phones.
Don't make me live for my friday nights,
drinking eight pints and getting in fights.

I don't want to get up, just let me lie in,
leave me alone, I'm a twenty something.

Maybe I'll just fall in love that could solve it all,
philosophers say that that’s enough,
there surely must be more. Ooooh

Love ain’t the answer nor is work,
the truth eludes me so much it hurts.
But I’m still having fun and I guess that's the key,
I'm a twenty something and I'll keep being me.

doh dah duh dah, do duh dah dah dah
doh dah duh dah, do duh dah dah dah
doh dah duh dah, do duh dah dah dah
doh dah duh dah, do duh dah dah dah

I’m a twenty something.
Let me lie in, Leave me alone.
I’m a twenty something.

doh dah duh dah, do duh dah dah dah
doh dah duh dah, do duh dah dah dah
doh dah duh dah, do duh dah dah dah

John Legend

2005-03-28T16:26:00.000-05:00

He's my new man.
He gives me such hope for today's r&b music.
I love you, John!!!!!!!!

fickle

2005-03-28T08:29:00.000-05:00

Listening to: Ella Fitzgerald and raindrops on my parents' back deck and this one bird chirping. Ah, spring.
Thinking about: how nice it is to be off from school. Ah, spring break.
Excited about: visiting a couple of chans this week. Ah, the chan chan kingdom.

Can I just speak on behalf of those who consider themselves out-loud-thinkers?

I am one. No confession necessary; this is just an obvious character trait of mine.

I like to gather facts, opinions, evidence, pros, cons, and the lot of it before I make any sort of decision. Now, I don't mean, "What should I eat for dinner tonight?" or "Where should I spend my weekend?" kinds of choices. Try, "Should I sign a contract with these people for ten more months?" or "How should I invest this money?" or "Where am I going to live after this lease is up?" I believe these are worthwhile questions to spend considerable time pondering, praying over, and thinking about; however, I am an out-loud-thinker, so many people confuse my slow decision-making process and weighing-of-the-options with pure fickleness.

On any day one choice might look better than another, so I, being the enthusiastic person that I am, get really into whichever idea I'm entertaining at the moment. Does that imply that I am marrying myself to this thought? Definintely not. When did it become so wrong to imagine all of the possibilities?

Friends call me fickle.
Others might say I'm non-committal. I might have agreed at one point, until I realized I have no problem committing when it's something I'm excited about and ready to committ to.
My dad just says "It's more like vacillating." Riiiiiight.

I don't think I'll stop being an out-loud thinker, but I might choose my audiences with the same carefulness that I explore each and every possible opportunity that stands ripe fo the seizing.

*to those dear friends and readers who may want to know what the out-loud-thought-of-the-moment is, ask*

march, rant, and rave

2005-03-10T20:44:00.000-05:00

Listening to: apartment sounds
Thinking about: it's almost 9 p.m and I'm already this tired, and does anyone even read this anymore?
Ticked about: Elton cancelling the Richmond show. Get well soon, mofo!
Excited about: Thai food, my new favorite.

It's been awhile....

I used to have this away message on messenger that read, "I sold my soul to gcps" (my school district). Up until so very recently, I feared my principal--she's orderly and militant in her adminstrative style and it makes me feel so uptight. There's so much to be done, to get ready, to have turned in by, and yada yada ya, that it can almost rob your joy if you let it. As a teacher, my biggest joy lies in knowing that God could use me to reach a child and make a positive impact in their lives.

Unfortunately, my school district--along with many others--seem to care more about test scores,funding, and statistics than they do about the individuals who pass through their halls each day. The priorites are out of place and the focus is no longer on any child being potentially "left behind;" it's more like a focus on "we don't want to be reprimanded, so let's cover our selfish heinies and go along our embittered way." This unspoken mentality pervades each school, each administrator, and attempts to penetrate the optimism of each teacher. It finds success with some and drains others.

I am one of the others who has felt drained. I can't let corrupt politics and poor policies deter me from where I am called to be...although it is tempting to leave and pursue another passion...

Teachers in today's America have to learn how to say no, to stop cavorting in the lounge, to stop closing the door in fear that gossip may be overheard, and to stop allowing acts like "No Child Left Behind" to scare them out of their jobs. They need to continue on in the best interest of their students, not the best interests of the Board of Supervisors. They need to stop playing marionette to whomever wants to tug at their strings.

For me, this entails finding time for myself and saying no to the requests of colleagues--I've already implemented this mindset for myself and the resulting joy has been amazing. This entails ignoring the demands of any Central Office and instead cater to the larger demand: the growing minds and appetites for learning that my students can have. The need to have strong, good teachers is so acute and dear, yet we wonder why there is such a high overturn rater with educational professionals. It's because of the lack of hope and vision in our educational "leaders" --teachers must absolutely supply their students with careful, concerned, nurturing for both their hearts and their intellect.

pocky

2005-02-20T16:59:00.000-05:00

This week has been crazy. I look to cheap quizzes on the internet for fun in times like these--

Among my many college roomies were two Japanese girls. Etsuko thinks she's Euro but is really the most American person ever: come on, chan chan, Hardee's, Walmart, and Tennessee football? Nothing so Parisian about that! Ai is just super cool and even goes by Aiball. It was when I lived with Aiball that I discovered POCKY! It's the Japanese super-snack that has tantalized my tastebuds for 7 years now, or whenever 1998 was (hi, I'm an English teacher--can't do math). I found Pocky at Worldmarket yesterday and did the Balki Bartokumus dance of joy----do you rememeber Balki? Anyways, they only had chocolate. Strawberry Pocky is my favorite. Look below. Take the quiz. Have fun!

(real writing returns soon)

You Are Banana Pocky

Your attitude: fun and lighthearted
Unique and unforgettable
You are cutie everyone falls for

What Flavor Pocky Are You?

not pacino, but close.

2005-02-15T23:19:00.000-05:00

Listening to: Sigur Ros
Thinking about: how I need to go to sleep so I can be a teacher in the morning
Excited: that Valentine's Day is over

I don't have my mother's classic dark hair and eyes. I live in the South and I'm not stuck in a kitchen (though I do make a mean sauce) and donning crucifixes around my neck. I didn't grow up in the neighborhood. I hate gangs, crime, and guns. I believe faith is a little more than attending a Mass ritual. I'm not a Catholic anymore and am not sure I ever really was. Still, I can be considered Italian, or at least partially Italian-American.

Both seventy-five percent of my mother's blood and one of the three languages flowing from my tongue can be claimed Italian. I have a weakness for Sinatra, All In The Family, and sfogliatelli. I know people named Al and Lou, several actually, and am related to all of them. Even though my eyes are green, my heritage reaches from Norway to Kentucky plantations, and not all of my relatives came over on the boat and settled the grand county of Queens, a small part of me is still very much "a good Italian girl." Need some more proof? I recently became a godmother.

I have a certificate from the priest and everything.

Like Southern Baptists, Italian Catholic New Yorkers can be a lovable but strange bunch of people, but I suppose Tony Soprano's stereotype may have already told you. Even though many of them aren't sure what the Church believes, don't attend Confession, and aren't sure about the Saints--or even Christ at times--they will get incredibly defensive in honoring the traditions and rituals of the Church. Putting down the Church is like dissin on yo mama. It's kind of like the idea that it's ok for you to gossip about your relatives, but anyone outside the family can fuggheddaboutit. The criteria for becoming a godparent: that you yourself were once christened. Don't mind your spiritual growth and development after that point, if there is any; it's that one sprinkling of water and guaranteed entrance to God's kingdom (in their theology) that matters.

Some godparents don't do too much after they stand in front of the church and watch the baby being held in the Father's arms and getting sprinkled. They send birthday cards and gifts throughout the years, but then they forget. I hope I am Never like that.

So, today is my godson's 1st birthday. Just think, this is his very first! It all becomes rote after this point, and his memory cells aren't developed enough yet to comprehend this beauty. It is a huge honor for me to be in Thomas' life, even though he doesn't really know who I am right now. I pray for him daily, hope to make a difference in his life, and want to help him cultivate the most astounding faith in God.

As Christians, we are all given the oppotunity to become 'godparents.' You don't need to be Italian, Catholic, or in the Mafia. I don't want to come across as a crispy fundamentalist Falwell follower, and I'm not talking about witnessing, passing out Bibles and then abandoning your preaching fields--I'm talking about nurturing relationships, planting seeds for new ones, and resigning yourself to pray specifically for one person. Make it two. Make it in earnest, and make it consistent. Imagine the impact.

It has been four months since I've seen baby Thomas, and the Long Island girl that I am is dying to take him to Jones Beach, grab a slice, and play on the swings as soon as the sun shines more. I wish I could have watched his big brown eyes grow huge and spiky blonde hair stand up straight as he blew out his first-ever birthday candle today. If you happen to read this, say a little prayer for blessings on Thomas and his first birthday :)

aunt hoo fung shooey?

2005-02-12T23:44:00.000-05:00

Listening to: Jack Johnson
Reading: selections from Foster's "Celebration of Discipline: The Path to Spiritual Growth"
Excited about: Ringling Bros is coming to town. I hope someone will go with me to the circus!!!

When I first moved into this apartment, I knew I had to do things right. And that meant consulting The Feng Shui of Love.

Yes, while browsing around my favorite wellness shop in Bedford, Virginia, I saw the cream-colored shiny book and its title pleaded with my inner hippie. Fifteen dollars later and weeks before the West End, I spent some time mapping out which piece of furniture would go where. Never before had I thought about windows, doors, sharply pointed angles, and the "source of positive energy." Even my plants were plotted out. To the disapproval and bewilderment of my more fundamentalist friends, I decided that feng shui might actually work, and at the very least, couldn't really hurt.

My skeptical and assanine dad keeps asking me how the "fung shoo-ey" --as he calls it--is going.

Since consulting The Feng Shui of Love, I have fallen out of love, been hurt in love, feigned interest in love, forced myself to feel like I was in love, and gotten out of the entire bloody mess of it all. My fickleness factor is at an all-time psychotic high, and I've experienced more negativity than I could ever get used to. Ironic: the theory is that this eastern idea is supposed to bring a calming, peaceful, positive arena to my life and spirit........hmmmm.....

So I spent my entire afternoon pre-spring cleaning. When it's sunny out, when you're having company in a day and when the contents of your closet have been vomitted into every room of your apartment, it's time to pre-spring clean. I was hard at work in my bedroom and decided to "let the sunshine in" (can you hear Hair in your head?) and noticed that I am almost able to catch sight of some trees if I look out one of my windows. Seeing trees from your window's view is a huge deal in this community. Usually I just see parking lots, cars, other buildings and the occasional other tenant. Forgive my cliche, but I struck gold today.

While singing along with the immaculate version of Madonna and revelling in the joys of nesting, I decided to forge on and forget the feng shui theory. It was time to change some things, to move things around. I placed my grandmother's slipper chair diagonally opposite the tree window and beside a small book shelf. It's absolutely lovely and seeing nature just steps away is much more enlightening to my spirit than any furniture arranging gods could ever claim otherwise.

me and mcgee

2005-02-12T00:58:00.000-05:00

Pat, that is. And his Band.

Upon advice and propaganda from my friend John, I went to see the Pat McGee Band perform tonight @ The Canal Club. Now, my friend is a music teacher, and has never steered me into a wrong musical direction. In fact, it was he who turned me on to Toad The Wet Sprocket (who I LOVE). I figured that his choice must be gold.

I had gone on their website a few nights ago, and listened to a few songs (as per John's suggestions). They had a very acousticky-rock sound, not dissimilar to Toad. The Canal Club usually books good acts, so we went and tried out The Pat McGee Band this evening.

Talk about disappointment. Maybe I'm a total music snob now, but I prefer original music when I go to a concert--or at least covers done in a completely unique way. These McGees were repetitive radio jargon canned and shipped onto the stage. I will give them credit for some harmonic guitar work and a rippin' version of a Fleetwood Mac tune...I can just imagine my Aunt Hoo Fung boys mocking it now.....it was white people music. This Amazon, curly-headed girl was going nuts and singing along with everything--it was like she had never heard anything better in her entire life. I was so sad for her. Some early college boys were jumping up and down like Kris Kross was demanding them to do it right then and there. Hootie and the Blowfish had more soul appeal. Let's put it this way: My jaws have never practiced yawning so much. Sorry, John darling, but they're not for me.

As a creative person, you always aspire to getting your work out in hopes that people GET it. Despite experiencing exhaustive ennui, I remained awake. The people-watching was prime. I was most amazed at the multitude of young folks who came out to hear this band, cheering, fists in the air, jumping around, smiling, and knowing every word. My head swivelled back and forth between the crowd and the cheezy band in awe that somehow, this McGee was reaching people in his audience; and even though I may not be diggin him, by way of some sort of cosmic craziness, his job as an artist was complete.

my first love

2005-02-07T21:58:00.000-05:00

This entry has no particular meaning. There is not depth of insight, cryptic symbolism, nor open, heartfelt thoughts contained within this page. Just one announcement, and one announcement alone:

I love you, Paul McCartney!!!!!!

my drug of choice

2005-02-05T23:39:00.001-05:00

Listening to: my former house settling in for the night
Thinking about: the many possiblilties for next year
Excited about: a) putting together the photo, frame, and mat scheme @ Cindy's gallery today-I'll now have springtime in
my house year-round
b) Arleen fixing my hair color back to normal. Praise you Jesus.

inspiration is the most wonderfully addictive drug on earth when it's available to you and the worst craving possible when you can't get a fix.

The cycle of withdrawal symptoms fall into this pattern:

1. Exhaustion: you're just too wiped out to create for a while.
2. Distraction: you put any leftover energy into other various pursuits.
3. Denial: you tell other folks about what your latest project was (but it was quite some time back, now).
4. Sadness: you remember what it used to feel like to get so high.
5. Apathy: self-explanatory.
6. Depression: sad about being apathetic.

I'd been clean for too long and got my fix this week, baby. It was the most messed up junk: It was the poetry slam, it was the coffeehouse we did for my seventh graders, it was conversations with creative minds, it was a night of exhibits, it was a warm afternoon in an artisan's gallery in a main street town. Poems put away six years ago finished themselves, untouched pianos were played after months without getting any, and now a little girl named Punky F. has an insatiable urge to paint. (She also developed the most genius idea for a sellable book this week, but you can't ask her about it. You will want the idea and, in her druglike-induced state of consciousness may have to break your legs, Italian-style).

I'm on an overdose of this overdue soul medication for now. If only I was afforded the time to take this trip and see what crazy beauty can come out of it...

root beer renewal

2005-02-01T22:14:00.000-05:00

Listening to: my heater
Thinking about: how much I don't want to do any more grading, dammit
Excited about: going home to see my puppy on Saturday

Lesson realized today: When recent days have felt like a child's cloggy cold and there's too much noise and too much stress, the best thing to do is to run to what you love.

There should be overflow in the category of "things that you love." What you love should be seeping out of your every spiritual pore. What you love should flush your face and make frown-lines nonexistent and Botox-free. When asked, we can think of the oh-so-many loves of our life. Sometimes, though, the noise and the stress give you headaches, block your arteries and it's harder to hear what your heart is saying.

Mine said to stop stealing milkless bowls of Frosted Flakes, to get off the sage and suede couch, and to go to a poetry slam for the first time ever last night and even the angry political poets that turned me off helped revitalize my energy to Do. On the way home, I cracked up like a five-year-old telling jokes in the ridiculous ride through a drive-thru--the Green Grand Marquis always flirts with the wall and I never can order without laughing at myself--and my gut was sore with happy hysteria. My best Richmond friend (who's secretly a North Carolina gal) didn't go, but she joined me at the best barbeque place this side of the James to succumb to the sinful comfort of a honey root-beer float, sweetly creamed corn fritters, and some friendly gossip... Wouldn't you know it, the headaches vanished.

wee hours

2005-01-30T05:01:00.000-05:00

Listening to: Bela Fleck--Pepetual Motions
About to read: The Devil Wears Prada (I need some fluff)
Excited about: getting paid on Monday. Finally.

It's 4:25 a.m.

I can't remember the last time I voluntarily stayed up so late. Maybe it was on a road trip with Mateo a few years back, travelling through the muggy June air of the Carolinas. It could have been when I groggily watched movies and played chess with the boy I fell hard for (who didn't fall back). I haven't pulled an all-nighter since Senior Seminar, when we sat down at the diner with our literary criticism, injecting caffeine by way of bottomless pots of coffee and a dish of chocolate chips. I spent many nights worth the extreme lethargy that ensued the next day and have vivid memories of the bizarre conversations and fits of laughter shared by those with whom I stayed awake.

Tonight is different.

I don't hear the frustrated tapping of pens and the assignments no longer exist. I'm not feigning intrigue or energy to retain the potential interest of a man, and I'm certainly not in a truck headed to tomorrow's gig. There aren't any parents around telling me not to fall asleep on the chair and hassack and to make it an early night.

It's all together strange and lovely to be 25 and stay up near dawn just to think. When you're occupied with thought, the loneliness leaves you for a short while. What's strange is that I haven't spoken one syllable in several hours. The loveliness lies in the ice outside keeping me from a superficial social scene, giving me time to simply Be.

goat in the garden

2005-01-27T23:14:00.000-05:00

Toying with a schedule is never a good idea when it involves hungry little people and bells. The genius with the dogs and the bells caused disaster with some sixth graders. Of course I made bunches of food references, intensifying the cravings...I really must enjoy self-torture in some sick, subconscious way, since I myself haven't eaten anything that required moderate chewing since the wisdom tooth ordeal last Tuesday--I've had enough jello, pudding, and soup lately to make me feel like a gummy hospital patient...or a person who'd just gotten their wisdom teeth out...no wonder the school's food looked so incredibly tempting.

Tonight would be different; it had to be. Tonight would be a night of change, of ambition, of chewing! I told my friend Hunter to forget about soup and spaghetti, that it was pizza on which we would feast! Considering that one of us is a vegetarian and the other can't chew mozzarella yet, deciding what to order wasn't simple. We finally came across a pie (pizza pie for you non-New Yorkers) that any pizzaiolo would have been proud to toss: fresh roma tomatoes, spinach, roasted garlic, and goat cheese. De-lish, right?

It definitely pleased my eager palate until I remembered its name on the menu, "goat in the garden." Who wants to eat anything called a goat in the garden? Who wants to eat anything from a garden where goats roam around? Or graze around? Or whatever it is that goats do? WHO came up with that name, and why does it bother me so?

Maybe I'm still trying to get over the mental block I thought I had passed with goat cheese. It sounds like cheese from the actual goat instead of cheese from a goat's milk...hmm..not sure which actually sounds worse.....either way...I send up a big hallelujah for getting back into the world of food tonight by meeting the goat in the garden.

P.S.
(It was from Bottoms Up Pizza here in the West End. It really was very good, just strangely named).

princess a definite misnomer

2005-01-27T01:01:00.004-05:00

I have this phone from Steinmart that is an exact replica of the 1950s' "Princess" phone. It's a chrome piece that isn't cordless and has a fake-out rotary dial. Let me just say that I love this phone: it looks perfect on my desk, it fits perfectly in my grip, and it's reliable. I prefer it to any phone I've ever used and I can even deal with the fact that it doesn't have Caller ID.

What I don't love is the ring, which is a shrill, vibrating, soprano banshee of an alarm. The Princess phone strikes once and I'm summoned! I'm hurdling across neat piles of apartment junk, dashing into my desk nook, and praying with all I've got that the caller hasn't hung up after my Olypmian efforts to satiate the siren. The ring startles me so much that my heart rate zooms to an unhealthy pace every time someone tries to reach me on my house phone. If you've ever wondered why I'm out of breath when I answer, you know now.

I was nearly asleep when I heard it one hour ago. At 25 you can't worry about who might be calling so late; you're still young. All I cared about was how I needed to pick up that damn phone and extinguish the strident signal before it penetrated my eardrums any more...

I've had the phone since Halloween, and am (obviously) not used to it. How did the original 1950s users ever cope with it? Thank the Lord for writing. It takes way too much time to calm your breathing down after hearing the Princess phone clanging away.

Well, I'm tired now. It's 1 a.m. and as Jenny used to say, I've got to be a teacher in the morning...wait...in a few hours....maybe I am getting old, after all....

melting

2005-01-26T17:16:00.000-05:00

It's hard to come back to work on a snow day, even if some part of you does want to be there. As a teacher, you use those snow days to recondition your entire being to know again what it's like to to not have to deal with crowd control, repeat yourself, ask for quiet, or be interrupted. Inevitably, a school's re-opening will tire you out by the time it's one o'clock.

Just when I was convinced that my kids hadn't been learning anything, David shocks me by asking what the word "modify" meant. His next question: "So, an adverb modifies a verb, right? And an adjective modifies a noun?" Glory hallelujah! My boy had apparently been paying attention and soaking it in the whole time. But my feelings of pride and triumph didn't last long--I want to teach them something bigger, grander, deeper, more necessary than identifying part of speech. Sure, I have "done my job," but it doesn't seem good enough. Have I made an impact? Have I imparted both wisdom and love to my students? Is what I am doing really making a difference?

One little cutie pie, Travis, came to see me as I was packing up at the end of the day. He was complaining about another teacher, about how she screamed at him again today, about how mean she is. (I secretly agree). Of course, I couldn't really allow my student to keep bashing this colleague. I unconsciously made a face, a face that said I understood and it was ok-- Travis had the same look about him, and we shared a smile. He gave me a huge hug and said, "I love you, Miss Frazer! Thanks for not being like" you-know-who. I couldn't help it; I had to laugh.

A day where I'd rather be anywhere else turned into something good because the kids unknowingly got rid of my recent self-defeating attitude towards teaching. I must have been engrossed in our classroom world today; I didn't even look out the window to see that the snow was melting into slush outside. For the first time in weeks, the sun was shining.

signs

2005-01-25T23:30:00.000-05:00

listening to the Aunt Hoo Fung mixed CDs from Bubba
finished reading Saving Our Schools: Saying No to No Child Left Behind
excited about going the Elton John concert in March!!!!

Can I just say one kind word to the city of Richmond: Thank you for breaking me of my intense shopping addiction. ~We thought it might be a fiscal nightmare to have me living directly across the street from the Short Pump Town Center, which houses BOTH Ann Taylor and Ann Taylor Loft. Whether it's a cold January, an open-air mall, or the way prestige, status, and image run this part of town, I just don't have it in me anymore. This Long Island girl has about called it quits with her power shopping. I'm almost afraid and ashamed to even type that, but it's the truth. I just can't shop like I used to anymore. It might just be a temporary condition...not sure if this is good or bad, but it's definitely a sign....

It astounds me that Ray Charles' version of "Somewhere Over The Rainbow" did NOT make it to the "Sleepless in Seattle" soundtrack. I've had the soundtrack for years, but never actually seen the movie until this evening. I must be the only person in my generation who hasn't seen this Tom Hanks/Meg Ryan film (which is particularly awful of me, because my favorite films are the Meg Ryan kind). I keep holding onto this pyschotic shred of hope and surreal idea that my life will develop much like a Meg Ryan movie...I know, I know better than this, but what's a girl without hope?

One underlying theme of the movie? Destiny; specifically, signs. In my own life, I have spent hours wondering about them. Talk about having an overactive intuition: I see a commerical for Italian hotels--should I go; does it mean something? It all means something, surely. I can't get more involved with it than that.

What I'm learning is that signs aren't tangible, they aren't lightning bolts, they aren't even feelings all of the time. The biggest one today was a phone call from a dear, dear friend--he and I are in the same place in life. He was driving home to Tennessee from California, and so we chatted during the three hours to go before he reached Nashville. The sage advice and encouragement that he offered: that we are not stuck. We are capable. We are qualified. A college degree does mean something. Most of all, that we are to go after our happiness and ignore the opinions and values of the world.

I came to Richmond seeking change and what I want more than anything is change again: to rewind time eight months past and try again in another way. Other then a lease to complete, a binding legal contract, and a Nebraska wedding, June is looming and I have nothing planned-- I know the signs will come, so I will listen.

my first time

2005-01-25T01:41:00.000-05:00

Blogging, that is. Get your minds out of the gutter, kids.

I suppose a girl can spend an enormous amount of time thinking about life and everything right and wrong with it after 4 1/2 snow days, wisdom tooth surgery, and way too many hours alone in an apartment.

It was bad enough to be by myself after oral surgery--and then the snow started. Combine the snow with Richmond's infamous black ice and you have insane driving conditions, even though my crazy Czech neighbors were pulling in and out of the parking lot like it was in their blood, ya, to be travelling about in the nasty wintry mix. So, except for the sound of the Czechs pullng their car out of the garage, I'dbeen isolated for five days. That may be plenty of time for the biggest introvert to be alone, but at some point, you have to have human contact--otherwise you turn into the woman from "The Yellow Wallpaper."

But it is this otherwise dismal hibernation that provoked my thoughts. I found out a lot; I found I knew very little:
I thought I had finally discovered "what it is I am supposed to do" when I started teaching. I'm from New York, so I thought I wanted to be near a bigger city and that it didn't matter to me how far or near my family lived. I thought a lot of things. I thought I KNEW a lot of things, about myself, my beliefs, and my surrounding world.

In order for me to know myself better, to give fuel to creativity, and to just figure it out, I need to return to writing. It's time for me to start over again, in all of the contexts that 'starting over' can entail--I begin by deciding what it is is that I really hold to be true, and venturing on from that point.

Yes, it's definitely the hermit lifestlye forced upon me a week ago that made me decide to blog.

Welcome.