Dept. of Nance

Don't Tell Them, But My Students Were Right

2013-06-14T16:30:00.000-04:00

Last weekend, my sister Patti and I drove St. Patsy to Gettysburg so that she could spend a month with her remaining sister and my favourite aunt, Shirley. She and her husband (my Uncle Dick) are former English teachers and avid history buffs, as is my sister. So...I was pretty much in heaven. We crammed as much Gettysburg Battle Lore into 36 hours as was humanly possible, leaving time for family stuff as well.

One evening, after a narrated tour of the Battlefield and a long-awaited, up-close viewing of the life-size bronze monument of General Longstreet, we drove to my cousin's home for a cookout. (No, I did not eat outdoors. Don't be ridiculous. And my cousin did a very sensible thing that I must mention: he had a large oscillating fan out on his deck. Not only did it provide cool air from the woods behind, but it kept bugs away. Marvelously smart, that.) As we sat around talking, I was immediately reminded of something my students used to tease me about.

You see, throughout my teaching career, my students used to swear that, because I was so enraptured with literature and constantly stringent with grammar and spelling, my idea of fun would be to sit around and talk about books and pick apart sentences and grammatical errors. To discuss symbolism in film and literature; to argue whether a character's dialogue was true; to discover themes in what we've read and seen. I used to fix them with an icy stare and simply move on.

At the big family table, my sister, my aunt, my cousin Mark (a former radio personality, writer, and journalist), and I immediately started talking about books. There is a new Lincoln book out, and Aunt Shirley wants me to read it. I want her to go and see the new Gatsby film. Patti had read a critical analysis of Gatsby and was rereading the book before she saw the film. And then we were off. Pretty soon, we went from there to everyday errors that irritate us: further vs. farther, irregardless (aargh!), it's vs. its, and so many more. It was absolutely wonderful. My students, of course, were right. There is nothing I love talking about more than books and The Language. And there is almost nothing I like more than the company of other English teachers. Or English-y people. Even when we don't agree--Mark reads a lot of fiction, and you know how I feel about that--I find their company stimulating and engaging.

At one point, my aunt mentioned her church group, the name of which tickled me. She is Episcopalian, and her group calls itself the Episco-Pals. You know, pals, as in friends. I got a charge out of that. I was informed that when a committee was organized for some project, they called themselves the Episco-Planners. "That's wonderful!" I exclaimed. "You can form a study group for the works of Edgar Allan Poe and call yourselves the Episco-Poes! Virtually anything that begins with P, really, can be EpiscoPized." It's true, you know. They can be the Episco-Painters, Episco-Pilots, and they can use their Episco-Power to stamp out Episco-Porn.

Okay, so, maybe not that last example. But it's fun to play with The Language, isn't it? I know that's not so just for those of us who used to teach it or write it for a living. It's a very satisfying contrast for me, to revere The Language in the gorgeous prose of Fitzgerald's Gatsby, in the speeches of Lincoln, and in the clean beauty of Whitman's poetry, but also to be able to tease it and twist it like the EpiscoPuns, slang, and creative neologisms that arise from every niche of our world.

It's Like Festivus In June

2013-06-04T17:00:00.000-04:00

Scores of people have told me that, since My Retirement, I have become a Changed Person. My family tell me things like "Welcome back" or "It's nice to have you back to your old self." Other people who have not known me for eleventy thousand years say things like, "You are so much more relaxed" or "I've never seen you so happy."
Rick says I am more "serene."

On Saturday, my friend Butch, who has not seen me since about January, said, "Wow. You're catching up to Rick in the grey hair department."

Chivalry. Dead as a flat skunk on the turnpike.

Anyway.

My Serenity and Inner Smile notwithstanding, I still have a few things to snark about. Do you? Howzabout we share, here, at the Dept.? I'll go first, and you can grouse around in Comments.

1. Brrrrrr. It is June, and I have my heat on right now. Allowing for the absolute fact that I Am Not Normal, it's still abusive that last night it was 49 degrees in NEO. It got so cold in my house without the heat on that my cheapo wine fridge refused to work. If it is exposed to temps below 61 degrees, its thermostat malfunctions. Well, guess whose reds were at a frosty 57 degrees until I unplugged it this morning to recalibrate? Right now, it is 64 degrees outside. On June 4th. It was 65 inside when I came home from the afternoon movie. I do not suffer in my house, so on went the furnace.

2. Duh. Speaking of the movie, my "daughter" Kait and I went to the noon showing of The Great Gatsby. Until a few teenagers showed up, Kait--at 20--was the youngest person there. (I was the second youngest, even though I used my AARP card for $2.00 popcorn and free soda.) At the end of the movie (possible spoiler!) the narrator Nick Carraway is shown placing a title page on the manuscript of the story he has been telling for the whole movie. It says "Gatsby by Nick Carraway". As he is doing this, a teenaged girl behind us said, "Wait. Wait. Is this a true story?" A few moments later, she said, "Hold on. Wait. I thought the book was called..." (another possible spoiler detail) and then in the scene, Nick is shown writing "The Great" above the title. The girl behind us says, "Nick Carraway? I thought the book was written by F. Scott Um..." and then I stopped listening because I knew that if I didn't, I was going to have to go back there and teach for about an hour in order to be able to go on with my life.

3. Hello? The media are all exercised about this Pew Research report that says over the last 50 years, many more women are the sole or primary breadwinner for their families, a figure jumping from 11% in 1960 to 40% in 2011. Well, holy crap, where the hell has everybody been? How many of my readers needed the Pew Research report to tell them that? How many of my readers have been living that stat? How in the hell can this be News? I guess I shouldn't be so intellectually disdainful. After all,
Erick Erickson, Fox News contributor says it's downright anti-science:

"I'm so used to liberals telling conservatives that they're anti-science. But liberals who defend this and say it is not a bad thing are very anti-science. When you look at biology -- when you look at the natural world -- the roles of a male and a female in society and in other animals, the male typically is the dominant role. The female, it's not antithesis, or it's not competing, it's a complementary role."

Hey, so there ya go. Ahem.

4. Grrrrr. I've said it here before, and I'll say it again. Until she said that stupid, condescending remark about the Hurricane Katrina victims, I liked Barbara Bush quite a bit. I still do like the way she speaks her mind and seems to be realistic about her family and politics. Everyone knew she was fully aware that the wrong son made it to the White House, and when she said there have been enough people named Bush at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, she was right. Jebby disagrees, however, and he is already starting on the stump for 2016. When asked about his mother's assertion that their family should end their aspirations for the Presidency of the United States, here is what Jeb said about Bar: "What can I tell you? All I can say is we all have mothers, right? She is totally liberated, and God bless her."

What can I tell you? If either of my sons said any of that condescending and chauvinistic bullshit, I'd call him out in the media for A) using empty, meaningless rhetoric; B) stating the obvious; C) being full of hot air; D) acting like a candyass. Barbara Bush has more restraint than I do, so I'm sure she did all of the above, but in private. She is totally liberated...what a perfect ass. Hey, Jeb! If it were up to people like Erick Erickson in your party, women would never have been liberated, such as we are. And we liberated ourselves, no thanks to you.

And the struggle continues.

Your turn now to unload your snark in Comments.

When I Saw Him Standin' There

2013-05-28T13:30:00.000-04:00

In our various travels this weekend, Rick and I stopped to get gas. The vehicle we started to pull in behind suddenly began backing out.

"What's going on with that guy?" I said without thinking.

"The car ahead of him probably isn't done yet, and he doesn't feel like waiting," my patient husband replied. In a few moments, he slid our Prius into the spot at the pump formerly held by the aforementioned Rogue Van.

As Rick was pumping gas, I watched the lackadaisical SUV driver ahead of us. He looked foreign, maybe Mediterranean or Slavic. His clothes were a rumple of two shirts, dark pants, and slip-on sandals and socks. He had hair falling into his eyes, and in his mouth was an unlit cigarette. Done fueling, he simply stood at the rear of the car, doing I knew not what.

Pretty soon he wandered away, probably to have that cigarette, leaving his gassed up car parked at the pump. In a few moments, a back passenger door opened. Tumbling out as if he had been ejected or had fallen, a boy of about eleven or twelve appeared. He was wearing a teeshirt and nylon basketball-type shorts, and his hair was moppy and Early Bieber-esque. He was extremely chubby everywhere, and as he stood there, he scratched his considerable stomach, stretched, and then continued to merely stand there, shielding his eyes a bit from the sun, now and then jerking his head so as to flip the hair from his face. A woman's voice called out something from the car, and he said, "But it's so hot in there. And I'm tired." Another admonition from the car. It was ignored, and the man was nowhere in sight. The boy stood there some more.

Rick finished up and got in the car. As he did so, the boy turned around, and I got a glimpse of his teeshirt's slogan. How good is this?

via www.spreadshirt.com

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Patience Is A Virtue, Or Good Things Come To Those Who Wait And Price To Sell

2013-05-20T09:47:00.003-04:00

The sun was shining, the breeze wafted the scent of lilies-of-the-valley, and there was no threat of rain. Birds of all feather sang in the trees, and every now and then we could look out the back door and see a mallard or two gliding by on the serene lake's surface.

My brother and I felt energized. We had gotten all the tables out in record time. Not a single item had been damaged in the storage shed over the winter; everything fit on the tabletops, and there was enough new inventory to freshen up the usual offerings that had seen several sales. We voiced and affirmed our Goals: This was The Year, I said. It would be sold This Year.

At nine o'clock the gates opened and a steady stream of cars began driving through the lake community. Here and there, an Amish buggy clattered by. We chatted with customers, marveled at the lovely weather, joked about this and that, and did our best to encourage sales. Suddenly, a woman returned after having had a conversation with me about my breadmaker (marked down from $15 last year to $10 this year!). She said her husband wanted it. I walked with her to the table and helped lift it and take it to her car.

As I returned to the table, a young Amish woman was paying my brother. He glanced up at me with a careful smile, a very, very restrained grin, for in her arms rested...

MY PUNCH BOWL.

It was all I could do to control my urge to break into a simultaneous peformance of the Halleluia Chorus and an interpretive dance demonstrating my extreme elation and relief, which would have looked something like a fist-pumping, twirling, leg-kicking, spasming victim of St. Vitus' Dance trying to escape a swarm of hornets.

She looked smug and thrilled at her five-dollar bargain and walked hurriedly away, my her punch bowl cradled in front of her like a precious baby. As if I would stop her! HA!

Two other Lifer Items were sold quickly after that: the Ghostbusters sleeping bag and a set of drapes and bedskirt, both of which had been in at least 5 sales. (Never underestimate Blowout Pricing.)

I knew you'd all want to share in My Victory. It's a Dream Come True!

In Which I Present A New Poet, Envy My Hair Products, And Write Such A Lot Of Stuff

2013-05-07T14:45:00.000-04:00

Did you ever have the sensation that nothing was happening in your life, yet you were very, very busy? I'm feeling that way lately, and I have to tell you, it's all very odd. Of course, these days, if I have anything to do, it seems like a big deal.

While I have a moment in my Big Honking Schedule, I thought I'd share a few Cranial Crumbs and tidy the space up a bit.

---|Google Is So Deep. Sometimes, when I'm doing a little research, Google likes to wax poetic in order to give me some perspective and some spontaneous poetry. For example, I was searching for something which began with the word "white." I got as far as wh, and Google began a poetry slam (punctuation is mine; line break is all Google):

white pages,
where's my refund?
what's the word,
white pages Ohio?

Wow. This really identifies the urban angst that is Out There, in The Mean Streets. Google really gets it.

I admit it. I like to nudge Google and make my research queries in the form of a question. I got this far in my most recent query and Google took it away: "Why are m-":

why are manhole covers round?
why are my boobs sore?
why are my hands always cold?
why are my cookies always flat?

Why, indeed.

---|Kickoff! I don't give a damn about football of any kind, but I got very excited about the Cleveland Browns first draft pick this year. Why? Only because he has the Best Name Ever. BARKEVIOUS MINGO. Oh, yes, say it over and over again. How fantastic of a name is that? I heard that name over a year ago and made a Solemn Vow to someday name something BarkeviousMingo, all together like that, because it is a kickass name. He goes by a wimp-out nickname, KeKe, but not in this house. He will always be BARKEVIOUS MINGO at the Dept. The Browns did a great job in the Name Department. They also drafted a Leon, a Jamoris, and an Armonty. Nice work.

---|I'm Organic, At Least. It occurred to me the other day that I would love to be my shampoo. You probably would, too. Just read the label. I really want to be a "sensual and alluring blend." Don't you want to "have great body and sparkle"? Wouldn't you like to hear someone tell you that being with you is "rejuvenating"? I sure would.

---|'Tis The Season. Friday was my birthday, and one of my best gifts was the weather. I actually wore flipflops out in my yard and was able to garden. Naturally, that is the only time I wear flipflops. Sadly, I know that A) most teens have been wearing flipflops for months now, and B) most people wear flipflops to weddings, restaurants, funerals, and other public places. I think my Original Point was, however, that the weather was warm enough that I could both garden and wear summer shoes. Sigh.

---|Animal House. Finally, just some general silliness. Since Rick and I got rid of cable, we're forced to talk to one another more often.

Nance: Where are you going?
Rick: I'm gonna go change before dinner and before I jump in the shower. I just feel gross.
Nance: Into what?
Rick: Huh?
Nance: What are you going to change into?
Rick: An elephant.
Nance: What kind of elephant?
Rick: A baby one.
Nance: Oh, good. How cute.
(Later, after dinner, Rick gets up.)
Rick: Okay. I'm gonna go grab that shower.
Nance: Why not just use your trunk?

Go ahead. Google that.

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