analogies

Some time ago, a student gave me a list of the most beautiful metaphors and analogies, supposedly printed from an article by Norm Rozinsk's of Northbay Biz Magazine. I can track down neither Mr. Rozinski's credentials nor the original article, so this may, in fact, be purely manufactured. That said, genuine or otherwise, these analogies, allegedly drawn by high school students in their essays, brought tears of mirth to my eyes. Here are some of my favorites:

1. Shots rang out, as shots are wont to do.

2. It was an American tradition, like fathers chasing kids around with power tools.

3. He was as lame as a duck. Not the metaphorical lame duck, either, but a real duck that was actually lame, maybe from stepping on a land mine or something.

4. He fell for her like his heart was a mob informant, and she was the East River.

5. The hailstones leaped from the pavement, just like maggots when you fry them in hot grease.

6. He was as tall as a six-foot, three-inch tree.

7. They lived in a typical suburban neighborhood with picket fences that resembled Nancy Kerrigan's teeth.


And my all-time favorite:
8. John and Mary had never met. They were like two hummingbirds that had also never met.

before spring break

I'm not always wholly certain why I write here. Blogging is almost a sort of pressure valve for my creative juices, and letting out something is better than nothing, I guess, unless the nature of that something is inferior to what it might build to if left to grow and ferment in stillness and silence. Lately, I've let many things stir in silence, and have resisted the urge to 1) reach outside what is real and urgent and write about the irrelevant, and 2) throw precious things into the cybervoid, to everyone and no one particular. I think, on the whole, my decision has been for the best.

But today I think maybe I want to share anyway. Fermentation will not sweeten or deepen this thought. It's too ephemeral.

Today was the last school day before spring break, and I am even now sitting at my desk in front of rows of empty chairs, watching out my window as teachers drive away, into whatever life it is teachers can realistically have outside of school.

To my students' chagrin, today I gave tests to three out of four periods, and as I sat on a wooden stool at the front of the room, scanning the room as they stared at the tests, I almost couldn't stand the sight of their long eyelashes and new shoes and clumsy, stained mechanic's hands and holey shirts. It was all too beautiful and sacred. I had to look away.

Sometimes when I stand in front of them and look into their eyes, my breath catches. Sometimes the big blue eyes are so naive, so sweet, and sometimes other eyes seem older than mine, challenging, very very awake. In the presence of such strong, old souls and such open, vulnerable ones, I feel... unworthy. I cannot find my way around the strange transactional nature of education, this two-directional teaching and learning. There are moments when I feel sure that I am not the wisest in the room.

On days like today, I feel that I am sharing this space, not with students, but with eternal things. The merely human in me senses the presence of the divine in them, and I tremble a bit.

magic blanket

When I was a little girl, my parents always made us take a Sunday afternoon nap. I hated forced naps. Now I really wish someone could override my responsibilities and make me nap. How lovely!

The only thing that made nap time passably fun was the Magic Blanket. My father's aunt had given my parents a quilt as a wedding present, a quilt with brilliantly colored silk squares and a faux fur backing.

My siblings and I would argue over who got to sleep under the Magic Blanket every Sunday. I remember laying beneath that heavy rug of a thing, running my fingertips over the silky top, staring at the dry-walled ceiling. I would try to keep my tongue still, neither touching the roof of my mouth nor the bottom of it. I would hold every fiber of my being immobile, trying to calm my mind enough to sleep. I would concentrate on the feeling of the fur on my bare legs, the silk beneath my fingers.

Aladdin himself never had it better.

Why yes... yes, it is.

All my furniture is moved out. I now basically live with a futon mattress, a yoga mat, and a computer. Oddly, my apartment feels less stressful to me.

With the magnetic poetry on my desk at school, some students recently wrote this:

story I heard today

My friend Mandi is getting married in April. Today at her bridal shower, I sat across from her future mother-in-law. She told me this story:



When Tom's Mom (TM, we'll say) was in 10th grade, she had to move from her childhood home in Minnesota to California. Her best friend, Carol, was loathe to see her go, and the two promised that whatever happened, they would be each other's maids of honor whenever matrimony should find them.

Shortly after high school, TM was planning on getting married, and could not get ahold of Carol. She asked a California friend to take her place, but dear Renee (probably not her name as I can't remember such things) said that if Carol showed up, even the day before the wedding, Carol should be the maid of honor.

Oddly enough, a week and a half before TM's wedding, who should call but Carol? Carol was staying in Sacramento with her aunt. TM asked if Carol would come, and Carol did so, delighted to fulfill her old promise.

Fast forward eight years and Carol was living in Chicago. Carol called one day, shortly after TM had had her second child and had bought a new house. Carol said she was getting married and would TM be willing to fly out in April to be her matron of honor? TM was sad to say that money was too tight and the baby was too young. April wouldn't be possible. Carol hung up and called back half an hour later. What about August? Carol moved back her wedding, and TM kept her promise.

Don't you think that's an extraordinary story? They just don't make friendships like that anymore.

ways in which I wish my life resembled the Gilmore Girls

1. Endless variety of worthless movie/TV marathons.

2. The most ridiculous junk food diet, and yet neither Lorelai is ever apparently sick, sluggish, or fat.

3. Love interests around every corner, and only a few of them profoundly annoying (read here: Jason Stiles).

4. Coffee. All day every day.

5. Lots of parades and town events, some of which include lots of small children walking around in apple costumes.

6. Everyone Rory knows is well-read.

7. Sukie St. James. I want to be her friend very much.

Obama

Two nights ago I had a dream that Barack Obama was hanging out with my family at our old church in Pennsylvania (which was really the central office building for a group of Mennonites). Anyway, we had a nice old talk before he had to jet off to another speech somewhere, and I remember telling him that I sure hoped he would be able to find some time to take a vacation after these Texas and Ohio votes were done. He seemed to think that was a good idea.

Apparently, my subconscious seemed to be less worried about the fatigue levels of Clinton and McCain.