Saturday, February 28, 2004
Hey, if you've been to Acapulco
We need some advice. Trying to go down there for a conference (I swear!!). "Dragging" Jason with me so he can have fun in the sun while I talk to colleagues about teaching Spanish. Looking for deals on hotels and airfare, so if yo have any advice, we welcome it.
Last night I watched a classic film from my formative years: Pump Up the Volume. A great little flick about freedom of speech, teen angst, and the potential power of our voices. With a fab sound track too! I first watched it when I was 16 and never forgot it. I bought the DVD for $5 somewhere. A steal!
We need some advice. Trying to go down there for a conference (I swear!!). "Dragging" Jason with me so he can have fun in the sun while I talk to colleagues about teaching Spanish. Looking for deals on hotels and airfare, so if yo have any advice, we welcome it.
Last night I watched a classic film from my formative years: Pump Up the Volume. A great little flick about freedom of speech, teen angst, and the potential power of our voices. With a fab sound track too! I first watched it when I was 16 and never forgot it. I bought the DVD for $5 somewhere. A steal!
Friday, February 27, 2004
Chocolate gravy
Since the theme for the week is obviously food, and my obsession with it, I thought I would share a little Pitman family secret (that's my mom's family). Chocolate gravy. Oh yeah. You eat it on warm, homemade biscuits. Granny made it almost every summer morning when we were kids. It is some magical combination of Hershey's cocoa powder (the real stuff), sugar, butter, and milk. I'm not exactly sure how to make it, because every time anyone but Granny has tried, it never works. There's some secret step or extra ingredient that she hasn't shared with us yet. And I've asked her to write it down, but she doesn't know the measurements. So she guesses, I try it, and it doesn't work.
There are a few recipes on the web, like this one. But I don't remember the vanilla. I don't think it goes into my Granny's version. There are also some versions without the milk. That wouldn't work. And some with cornstarch. Wrong. Wrong. It's not just the ingredients, though. It's the cast iron skillet, the smooth and constant motion of her wrist, the spoon she used to stir. It's the timing, the waiting, and the knowing eye. The way the ingredients are added. I remember she used to put the dry ones in the skillet first, and use the back of her spoon to stir them together in a strange, slow circular pattern that traced the skillet. Scrape, scrape, scrape in a hypnotizing rhythm. I remember the bubbles, too, when it was almost ready. And the smell of it.
Once I made the mistake of spooning some of the cocoa into my mouth because I thought it would taste like dry gravy. It was horrible. I screwed up my face in disgust and spit it right out into the sink. I didn’t understand why anything chocolate would be so nasty.
When I miss her, I smell the chocolate gravy cooking on the stove, so thick you can eat it with a fork. Three biscuits for me, four for my brother, two for my sister. And she mostly stood there and smiled at us. I never saw her eat a single biscuit with that stuff on it.
Since the theme for the week is obviously food, and my obsession with it, I thought I would share a little Pitman family secret (that's my mom's family). Chocolate gravy. Oh yeah. You eat it on warm, homemade biscuits. Granny made it almost every summer morning when we were kids. It is some magical combination of Hershey's cocoa powder (the real stuff), sugar, butter, and milk. I'm not exactly sure how to make it, because every time anyone but Granny has tried, it never works. There's some secret step or extra ingredient that she hasn't shared with us yet. And I've asked her to write it down, but she doesn't know the measurements. So she guesses, I try it, and it doesn't work.
There are a few recipes on the web, like this one. But I don't remember the vanilla. I don't think it goes into my Granny's version. There are also some versions without the milk. That wouldn't work. And some with cornstarch. Wrong. Wrong. It's not just the ingredients, though. It's the cast iron skillet, the smooth and constant motion of her wrist, the spoon she used to stir. It's the timing, the waiting, and the knowing eye. The way the ingredients are added. I remember she used to put the dry ones in the skillet first, and use the back of her spoon to stir them together in a strange, slow circular pattern that traced the skillet. Scrape, scrape, scrape in a hypnotizing rhythm. I remember the bubbles, too, when it was almost ready. And the smell of it.
Once I made the mistake of spooning some of the cocoa into my mouth because I thought it would taste like dry gravy. It was horrible. I screwed up my face in disgust and spit it right out into the sink. I didn’t understand why anything chocolate would be so nasty.
When I miss her, I smell the chocolate gravy cooking on the stove, so thick you can eat it with a fork. Three biscuits for me, four for my brother, two for my sister. And she mostly stood there and smiled at us. I never saw her eat a single biscuit with that stuff on it.
Thursday, February 26, 2004
Stuff and things (and snow)
It is snowing again. A beautiful snow, this one. Huge flakes the size of caterpillars some of them. And it's windy, so they're zipping around like they're alive. Flying like little bugs, mezmerizing Hootie and Cola. Nothing like snow fall to make you think about the passing of time. Think about it: I left campus at 12:30. Not a flake. Then a few started falling. Nothing was sticking. I do some grading, look back out the window just a little bit later, and some is kind of on the roof. Then I come back and look out a bit later still, and there's some on the grass. So far, it's not really accumulating, though. Meanwhile, I'm grading exams. Craving pizza now that Jen brought it up on the phone. The cheeeeeeeese. I've said it before, I'll say it again. I love cheese.
It is snowing again. A beautiful snow, this one. Huge flakes the size of caterpillars some of them. And it's windy, so they're zipping around like they're alive. Flying like little bugs, mezmerizing Hootie and Cola. Nothing like snow fall to make you think about the passing of time. Think about it: I left campus at 12:30. Not a flake. Then a few started falling. Nothing was sticking. I do some grading, look back out the window just a little bit later, and some is kind of on the roof. Then I come back and look out a bit later still, and there's some on the grass. So far, it's not really accumulating, though. Meanwhile, I'm grading exams. Craving pizza now that Jen brought it up on the phone. The cheeeeeeeese. I've said it before, I'll say it again. I love cheese.
Monday, February 23, 2004
Mousse: the food of the future
Happy Anniversary to me and Jason! And happy Lundi Gras. Yes, they correspond for a very good reason. Three years ago today we ran away to New Orleans to get married in the courthouse with our oldest mutual friend, Kevin, as a witness. He is there now, his 10th? year in a row, and we are here celebrating instead. Had a fantastic dinner at 411 West, our favorite Chapel Hill restaurant, thanks to a generous gift certificate from our sweet friend Chrysty. The food we consumed was abundant and incredible: artichoke dip/focaccia bread appetizer, Riesling, shrimp polenta with mushrooms, leeks and prosciutto (me), penne with grilled chicken in a sundried tomato cream sauce (Jason), creme brulee (Jason), and OH MY GOD, dark chocolate mousse (me!!!!)
Dark chocolate mousse.
Dark chocolate mousse.
I'm still high from it.
Mousse: the food of the future. What a wonderful texture. Imagine if we could put all of our nutritional needs in mousse form. We could eat out of a tube everyday! So light, airy, creamy, and yummy!
Happy Anniversary to me and Jason! And happy Lundi Gras. Yes, they correspond for a very good reason. Three years ago today we ran away to New Orleans to get married in the courthouse with our oldest mutual friend, Kevin, as a witness. He is there now, his 10th? year in a row, and we are here celebrating instead. Had a fantastic dinner at 411 West, our favorite Chapel Hill restaurant, thanks to a generous gift certificate from our sweet friend Chrysty. The food we consumed was abundant and incredible: artichoke dip/focaccia bread appetizer, Riesling, shrimp polenta with mushrooms, leeks and prosciutto (me), penne with grilled chicken in a sundried tomato cream sauce (Jason), creme brulee (Jason), and OH MY GOD, dark chocolate mousse (me!!!!)
Dark chocolate mousse.
Dark chocolate mousse.
I'm still high from it.
Mousse: the food of the future. What a wonderful texture. Imagine if we could put all of our nutritional needs in mousse form. We could eat out of a tube everyday! So light, airy, creamy, and yummy!
Review session
I'm sitting in Dey Hall, waiting for my "review session" to begin. This is a thing spurred by the guilt that came from all the class I had to miss this semester to go on job interviews---where I had to teach groups of students who weren't my own, while mine back at Carolina had subs.
So, here we are, review session about to begin. Optional, of course, an hour to chat with me about grammar or vocabulary or any subtle nuance of the Spanish language. Some students come prepared, worksheets blazing, red pens at the ready, notes severely crumpled and creased from over-use. Others just sit there, hoping to soak it all in, as if the words could magically put together he puzzle that's been broken inside their heads for three weeks during class time. Like this one precious hour could make all the difference. They are there to listen passively, not to ask questions or beg me to write verbs on the board. In fact, some of them aren't quite sure what they know and what they still don't know. They're just hanging out to see if some last nugget of wisdom might fall in their laps before the exam on Wednesday. Well, here we go. I'm hoping most have questions, or it will be a boring and wasted hour.
I'm sitting in Dey Hall, waiting for my "review session" to begin. This is a thing spurred by the guilt that came from all the class I had to miss this semester to go on job interviews---where I had to teach groups of students who weren't my own, while mine back at Carolina had subs.
So, here we are, review session about to begin. Optional, of course, an hour to chat with me about grammar or vocabulary or any subtle nuance of the Spanish language. Some students come prepared, worksheets blazing, red pens at the ready, notes severely crumpled and creased from over-use. Others just sit there, hoping to soak it all in, as if the words could magically put together he puzzle that's been broken inside their heads for three weeks during class time. Like this one precious hour could make all the difference. They are there to listen passively, not to ask questions or beg me to write verbs on the board. In fact, some of them aren't quite sure what they know and what they still don't know. They're just hanging out to see if some last nugget of wisdom might fall in their laps before the exam on Wednesday. Well, here we go. I'm hoping most have questions, or it will be a boring and wasted hour.
Sunday, February 22, 2004
Check it out!
Is this a cool gift, or what?? This one is from Bridgette and Andy, and it rules!! I can't wait to wear it all around Chapel Hill so people can either say: "Hey, my (uncle / neighbor's daughter / best friend's boyfriend's sister) went there!" or "Where is Sewanee?" Of course, I also can't wait to wear it under my robe when I teach there! Yes, for those of you who didn't know this already, one of the many quirky Sewanee traditions is that the professors wear academic robes. It's not required, and I probably won't do it for long. But the good news is, I guess, if you zip it up, you can wear whatever you want under it. Pearl Jam t-shirt? No problem. Pajamas? Why not? Most people leave it unzipped though. In fact, most people kind of dress up to teach there, which will be a bit of an adjustment for me. One of many, I guess. Hey, thanks for the shirt, Bridge and Andy!
Is this a cool gift, or what?? This one is from Bridgette and Andy, and it rules!! I can't wait to wear it all around Chapel Hill so people can either say: "Hey, my (uncle / neighbor's daughter / best friend's boyfriend's sister) went there!" or "Where is Sewanee?" Of course, I also can't wait to wear it under my robe when I teach there! Yes, for those of you who didn't know this already, one of the many quirky Sewanee traditions is that the professors wear academic robes. It's not required, and I probably won't do it for long. But the good news is, I guess, if you zip it up, you can wear whatever you want under it. Pearl Jam t-shirt? No problem. Pajamas? Why not? Most people leave it unzipped though. In fact, most people kind of dress up to teach there, which will be a bit of an adjustment for me. One of many, I guess. Hey, thanks for the shirt, Bridge and Andy!
Saturday, February 21, 2004
Monster
Saw Monster last night, a bit behind the Oscar times, perhaps. I'll never, ever watch it again. I'm glad I did, but it was one of the hardest movies to watch for me since way back when Leaving Las Vegas was up for some statues. And that's not to talk about Trainspotting, which, despite being an utterly brilliant film, is the only movie I've ever almost walked out of. Not because I wasn't riveted. And it's not because I don't like these movies. I do, and I appreciate them. But when I say hard to watch, I mean that every muscle is clinched almost all the way through. No time to relax, no time to relax.
But now I know: Charlize really does deserve that Oscar she'll probably win. Wow. You forget where you are, she's so good. And you want to run screaming, far from all the pain and sadness. But then you remember that you're in a movie theater and soon the lights will come up and you can go back to your own world which, hopefully, is safer.
Get home, and three messages from my family. This is uncharacteristic. They call only when something is wrong, okay? So, something was wrong. Sister-in-law Angie, about 23 weeks pregnant, had emergency gall bladder surgery. But she's okay, and baby is okay. When my brother leaves a message like this: "Call me when you get in," you know he's scared. But everyone's feeling better today. My family has been in the hospital a lot over the last month...they're becoming regulars there. I feel a bit weird being here, and not being able to go to visiting hours.
Saw Monster last night, a bit behind the Oscar times, perhaps. I'll never, ever watch it again. I'm glad I did, but it was one of the hardest movies to watch for me since way back when Leaving Las Vegas was up for some statues. And that's not to talk about Trainspotting, which, despite being an utterly brilliant film, is the only movie I've ever almost walked out of. Not because I wasn't riveted. And it's not because I don't like these movies. I do, and I appreciate them. But when I say hard to watch, I mean that every muscle is clinched almost all the way through. No time to relax, no time to relax.
But now I know: Charlize really does deserve that Oscar she'll probably win. Wow. You forget where you are, she's so good. And you want to run screaming, far from all the pain and sadness. But then you remember that you're in a movie theater and soon the lights will come up and you can go back to your own world which, hopefully, is safer.
Get home, and three messages from my family. This is uncharacteristic. They call only when something is wrong, okay? So, something was wrong. Sister-in-law Angie, about 23 weeks pregnant, had emergency gall bladder surgery. But she's okay, and baby is okay. When my brother leaves a message like this: "Call me when you get in," you know he's scared. But everyone's feeling better today. My family has been in the hospital a lot over the last month...they're becoming regulars there. I feel a bit weird being here, and not being able to go to visiting hours.
Thursday, February 19, 2004
A week to remember
This week has been so uneventful, which has made is absolutely wonderful. I was really aching for a week like that. Today I walked in the sun, short sleeves and sunglasses, and I was in love with the world.
There's nothing like walking to make you feel connected to a place. How odd to think about leaving here, this place that has been my home for almost six years. I think I like walking better than any other form of exercise because it is solitary. I hate going to gyms because you have to be with tons of people you don't know. That makes it feel like working out to me. But when I walk, it feels more like therapy. Time that I've carved out just to look around, absorbing what is around me. I like "working out, " I guess, when it feels like special "me time" and not working out. The exception to this is walking with a great friend, which is even more fun. I have gone through a few different walking partners (Amy, Jen, Bridgette. Karen), and that always makes it more like social time than working out. What I'm saying, I guess, is that I have to trick myself into sweating. When I go to Sewanee, though, one thing I can't wait for is to hit the trails. The 10,000 acre campus is famous for them, and the views are supposed to be spectacular.
This week has been so uneventful, which has made is absolutely wonderful. I was really aching for a week like that. Today I walked in the sun, short sleeves and sunglasses, and I was in love with the world.
There's nothing like walking to make you feel connected to a place. How odd to think about leaving here, this place that has been my home for almost six years. I think I like walking better than any other form of exercise because it is solitary. I hate going to gyms because you have to be with tons of people you don't know. That makes it feel like working out to me. But when I walk, it feels more like therapy. Time that I've carved out just to look around, absorbing what is around me. I like "working out, " I guess, when it feels like special "me time" and not working out. The exception to this is walking with a great friend, which is even more fun. I have gone through a few different walking partners (Amy, Jen, Bridgette. Karen), and that always makes it more like social time than working out. What I'm saying, I guess, is that I have to trick myself into sweating. When I go to Sewanee, though, one thing I can't wait for is to hit the trails. The 10,000 acre campus is famous for them, and the views are supposed to be spectacular.
Wednesday, February 18, 2004
Flowers for me
These are from my incredible friend Chrysty, a congratulatory bouquet. That's right, folks...soon I'll be signing a contract as a tenure-track Assistant Professor at the University of the South. Also known as Sewanee. I never thought I'd say this, but we're moving to Tennessee! It was a great combination of a lot of things: a wonderful school full of great students, dedicated faculty, 3/3 teaching load (which means a variety of courses AND some time to research), funding for travel and conferences, a good salary, close to family, a school known for its dedication to the Liberal Arts. Yes, it's definitely a bit isolated, on top of a mountain known as "The Domain." But luckily, the two of us are smalltown kids all the way and prefer the tranquility and safety of a small village to the hustle and bustle of a city. I am breathing a bit easier these days, excited yet nervous to think about this next chapter of my life. Mainly, I'm tired. But every time I think about what lies ahead, I smile. It's a good feeling.
These are from my incredible friend Chrysty, a congratulatory bouquet. That's right, folks...soon I'll be signing a contract as a tenure-track Assistant Professor at the University of the South. Also known as Sewanee. I never thought I'd say this, but we're moving to Tennessee! It was a great combination of a lot of things: a wonderful school full of great students, dedicated faculty, 3/3 teaching load (which means a variety of courses AND some time to research), funding for travel and conferences, a good salary, close to family, a school known for its dedication to the Liberal Arts. Yes, it's definitely a bit isolated, on top of a mountain known as "The Domain." But luckily, the two of us are smalltown kids all the way and prefer the tranquility and safety of a small village to the hustle and bustle of a city. I am breathing a bit easier these days, excited yet nervous to think about this next chapter of my life. Mainly, I'm tired. But every time I think about what lies ahead, I smile. It's a good feeling.
Tuesday, February 17, 2004
Just this once
Could I, just this once, wake up when I mean to? When the alarm goes off and not 30 minutes later? The hour when I tell myself (and Jason) that I plan to wake up? That is my goal tomorrow morning: to set a reasonable (but early enough to get !@#$ done) time and actually get up AT THAT TIME.
My uncle is better. He is going home tomorrow, and I can breathe a little easier.
Could I, just this once, wake up when I mean to? When the alarm goes off and not 30 minutes later? The hour when I tell myself (and Jason) that I plan to wake up? That is my goal tomorrow morning: to set a reasonable (but early enough to get !@#$ done) time and actually get up AT THAT TIME.
My uncle is better. He is going home tomorrow, and I can breathe a little easier.
Monday, February 16, 2004
Open message to my pals
Everyone who has stuck by me and talked me through some crazy stuff this semester, I appreciate it. That doesn't quite capture what I want to say here, but I mean it. I've learned a lot about myself in the past two months: how much stress I can take, what stress does to my body and mind, the value of time, how to pay attention to your instincts, and the amazing value of people in the world who care about you. So I guess this is just to say thank you. Not as personal as a Hallmark card, but until I can get my wits about me and do this properly in person, I hope it is okay.
I'm so tired. All I can think about is flannel sheets and an 80's flick (perhaps something of the John Cusak variety). But there is school today, and I have 19 faces waiting to greet me this morning. Here I go.
Everyone who has stuck by me and talked me through some crazy stuff this semester, I appreciate it. That doesn't quite capture what I want to say here, but I mean it. I've learned a lot about myself in the past two months: how much stress I can take, what stress does to my body and mind, the value of time, how to pay attention to your instincts, and the amazing value of people in the world who care about you. So I guess this is just to say thank you. Not as personal as a Hallmark card, but until I can get my wits about me and do this properly in person, I hope it is okay.
I'm so tired. All I can think about is flannel sheets and an 80's flick (perhaps something of the John Cusak variety). But there is school today, and I have 19 faces waiting to greet me this morning. Here I go.
Wednesday, February 11, 2004
Why are decisions so hard to make?
Sometimes decisions get made easily because everything seems so crystal clear. Or sometimes you have a strong feeling in your gut. This time, though, it is harder. Jason and I are in the midst of some major, heavy-duty, important decision making. We knew this time would come, but I think it has creeped up on us faster than we could have imagined. I can't say much more than this now, but soon all will be illuminated. I have a few more days of thinking to do, and probably a few restless nights. But soon, we will know what the future holds for us.
Sometimes decisions get made easily because everything seems so crystal clear. Or sometimes you have a strong feeling in your gut. This time, though, it is harder. Jason and I are in the midst of some major, heavy-duty, important decision making. We knew this time would come, but I think it has creeped up on us faster than we could have imagined. I can't say much more than this now, but soon all will be illuminated. I have a few more days of thinking to do, and probably a few restless nights. But soon, we will know what the future holds for us.
Monday, February 09, 2004
Student Central
Sometimes I think that "Student Central" is really my office, not that on-line thingie that students use to register and check their grades and such. Today was a particularly busy day in the student contact department. Luckily, it is one of my favorite parts of the job. Here's the tally of the folk I saw today:
Sometimes I think that "Student Central" is really my office, not that on-line thingie that students use to register and check their grades and such. Today was a particularly busy day in the student contact department. Luckily, it is one of my favorite parts of the job. Here's the tally of the folk I saw today:
- 2 students came by for help with grammar (pre-quiz)
- 2 got help on their compositions
- 1 former student (from 2 years ago) asked for a letter of recommendation
- 1 student came to complain, which I had to mediate because of my position as course coordinator
- 1 former student came by to "check in," say hi, catch up
- 1 student I had never met before saw my door open and struck up a conversation about being a professor (she wants to be one someday)
- 2 different former students came by to get my opinion on a couple of vocabulary and grammar issues that they're learning about in their advanced classes
Saturday, February 07, 2004
Home again but not for long
Home from trip #3 in as many weeks. I'm exhausted. One more to go, next weekend. That's four weekends in a row. The most recent was a wonderful little pueblo tucked away in TN called Sewanee. The typical response to this is one of these two: a) oooh, it's beautiful there! or b) where?
I'm too tired to think about it all right now, but there will be more blogging to come.
Home from trip #3 in as many weeks. I'm exhausted. One more to go, next weekend. That's four weekends in a row. The most recent was a wonderful little pueblo tucked away in TN called Sewanee. The typical response to this is one of these two: a) oooh, it's beautiful there! or b) where?
I'm too tired to think about it all right now, but there will be more blogging to come.
Tuesday, February 03, 2004
Words and smells
It was a smell. Inside the tiny Wachovia office on campus, I suddenly smelled Morehead, Kentucky. And I was inside a bookstore/Hallmark/coffee shop on Main Street, the tiny place where I was invited to read my poetry almost 10 years ago. A mic just for me, 30 minutes to bare my soul. I smelled it, in Chapel Hill, and I wanted to run home and write a poem immediately before the smell wafted away. But instead, I pulled my crisp 20 dollar bill from the machine, bought a cup of coffee, and began to grade papers. My words, now bruising and purple, bleeding in the margins and footnotes of someone else's musings.
It was a smell. Inside the tiny Wachovia office on campus, I suddenly smelled Morehead, Kentucky. And I was inside a bookstore/Hallmark/coffee shop on Main Street, the tiny place where I was invited to read my poetry almost 10 years ago. A mic just for me, 30 minutes to bare my soul. I smelled it, in Chapel Hill, and I wanted to run home and write a poem immediately before the smell wafted away. But instead, I pulled my crisp 20 dollar bill from the machine, bought a cup of coffee, and began to grade papers. My words, now bruising and purple, bleeding in the margins and footnotes of someone else's musings.
Monday, February 02, 2004
Uncle Kimmy
In the midst of all the chaos that has marked my life this semester, I got a stark reminder this morning that other things are important, too. Not just my own life, my problems, my goals. My Uncle Kimmy is in the hospital with a severe case of pneumonia, complicated by emphyzema and some heart problems. Thinking about him lying there, hooked up to an IV, heart monitor, and oxygen, it makes other things seem very trivial.
Kimmy is my mother's only brother and somone that my brother, sister, and I grew up with. A complete pain in the ass sometimes, he also has the distinction of being tremendously more intelligent than everyone else in my family. He used to be a rebel, someone who spent a lot of his life unhappy and restless because he couldn't figure out how to fit in. Everyone has that one uncle with a bad reputation, right? Now that I'm an adult, I think he broke laws and raised hell because he was bored and, as I said, too smart in a place where being smart really wasn't accepted or acceptable. Now he's a father of three beautiful boys, an old man lying in a a hospital with a gray beard, gray hair, and bifocals. Thinking about the passing of time frightens me, and his ailing body symbolizes that fear. When I was a kid, he was the wild young man with invincible red hair, cranky and poetic, mysterious and scary in a fascinating way. Now he is sick, and his three little boys at home are scared.
Life must be kicking me in the pants and telling me to call home. It has been a while since I did that, too wrapped up in my own stuff.
In the midst of all the chaos that has marked my life this semester, I got a stark reminder this morning that other things are important, too. Not just my own life, my problems, my goals. My Uncle Kimmy is in the hospital with a severe case of pneumonia, complicated by emphyzema and some heart problems. Thinking about him lying there, hooked up to an IV, heart monitor, and oxygen, it makes other things seem very trivial.
Kimmy is my mother's only brother and somone that my brother, sister, and I grew up with. A complete pain in the ass sometimes, he also has the distinction of being tremendously more intelligent than everyone else in my family. He used to be a rebel, someone who spent a lot of his life unhappy and restless because he couldn't figure out how to fit in. Everyone has that one uncle with a bad reputation, right? Now that I'm an adult, I think he broke laws and raised hell because he was bored and, as I said, too smart in a place where being smart really wasn't accepted or acceptable. Now he's a father of three beautiful boys, an old man lying in a a hospital with a gray beard, gray hair, and bifocals. Thinking about the passing of time frightens me, and his ailing body symbolizes that fear. When I was a kid, he was the wild young man with invincible red hair, cranky and poetic, mysterious and scary in a fascinating way. Now he is sick, and his three little boys at home are scared.
Life must be kicking me in the pants and telling me to call home. It has been a while since I did that, too wrapped up in my own stuff.