It's not just me!

When April with his showers hath pierced the drought
Of March with sweetness to the very rooot,
And flooded every vein with liquid power
That of its strength engendereth the flower;
When Zephyr also with his fragrant breath
Hath urged to life in every holt and heath
New tender shoots of green, and the young sun
His full half course within the Ram hath run,
And little birds are making melody
That sleep the whole night through with open eye,
For in their hearts doth Nature stir them so,
Then people long on pilgrimage to go...
~From The Prologue of The Canterbury Tales by Geoffrey Chaucer, trans. by Frank Ernest Hill

Haven't read Chaucer in a goode longe tyme. Ask, if you'd like to know my sudden inspiration. :)

Maybe these sentiments, expressed in timeless rhyme, are why I can't reconcile myself to have a weekend without adventure. I traipse off to Michigan at the least provocation. I run away to the Tennessee Ren Faire (only 250 miles or so) for the day. And despite the fact that my "spring" cleaning (I know, April has come and gone and June is nearly here!) is barely begun, I'm looking for excuses to hit the road this weekend. I'm happy in my work and play here, but I have that old wanderlust hitting me strong...

Any ideas for a good cure? I'm afraid, if I don't get some of it out of my system before late June, I'll drive my mother nuts when we take our road trip!

So Worth It!

I may be, as my some-times boss commented, an idiot to drive some 900 miles for little more than a day spent with friends. It's possible many people would view the time and expense required to go to Michigan for a morning's Race for the Cure and an afternoon's shoveling brush somewhat exorbitant. I guess it all depends on your perspective.

What priceless things did I get out of this weekend?

1. Time spent with M., whom I miss incredibly
2. A brief grey walk through downtown Kalamazoo
3. A chance to further good acquaintances
4. A brief walk through the sunny woods
5. Playing in the dirt
6. A few large ugly bruises -- really not sure where I earned those
7. Camera-dodging, thanks to A., who can't seem to help himself
8. A day in the company of people to whom I have nothing to prove
9. Gorgeous drives!
10. Yummy cook-out with one of my "other" families


Really, I think it's the company that made this so worthwhile. Of course, there was M. -- even though we didn't solve the problems of the universe or anything, we simply spent time with each other. Amazingly refreshing! And the other friends -- honestly, rennies are the most accepting people I know. I don't need to be an amazing pianist, a faultless person, or brilliant on command. I can just be there, and they make me one of their own. Even in many churches, I don't feel that welcome. There's something special about being loved that way.

What is no longer true...

For some time now, I have felt qualified to say that I don't know beans about atonal analysis. I may have only been saying this for a semester, simply because I had no reason to mention it prior to this semester. I regret to inform you that, regardless of my personal feelings, this is no longer accurate. Though my final paper was not quite the overwhelming success of my Webern analysis (would you believe 102?!), the 100% I received on this four o'clock (am) attempt at coherence did the trick.

Apparently, I now know beans about atonal analysis.

Really, I still feel pretty clueless. I guess the part that matters is that I no longer _sound_ clueless!

So, how are you?

The inevitable question.

It has been quite the semester for me. Details shall remain off-line, but suffice it to say that I am older than I was a few months ago. Technically speaking, I suppose that's true for everybody. Are you familiar with the ideas of ontological, psychological, and virtual time? I've only met them briefly, through a short quote from composer Elliot Carter, but this is how I understand them: Ontological time is time as we measure it, the ticking of a clock, the turning of pages on a calendar. Psychological time is time as we feel it, as in "I spent a month there one night." Virtual time becomes a sort of combination of the two, wherein time moves in "fits and starts" according to the state of the observer.

This semester has put me in virtual time with a vengeance. If I were to write a book chapter on this, I would have no idea of most of the dates and figures, though I would probably have the general order of events right. My students tell me what day it is as I write in their notebooks -- I often have that strange feeling that I don't know When I am, if that makes any sense. I usually have Where pretty set, unless I'm mostly asleep (which apartment is this?), but When seems to make less sense and become more irrelevant than it once was. I spend days in limbo, such as my quick trip to Michigan this weekend (what an amazing, sunny, unexpected blessing!). I spend days in a tightly structured schedule, with every minute accounted for (do minutes really count?), such as yesterday when I returned to teach. And I sleep in great gulps, deep, solid hours at a time, as though I've found a beautiful oasis after an age in the desert.

When you're asleep, what sort of time are you operating in?

That's kind of my life right now. I'm in retreat mode, reacting to some of the things that have been a part of this season. I hide in fiction and nature, music and laughter, travel and sunshine. Mostly, I hide in solitude and work. Can you hide in your hermitage while you smile genially, answer the phone, kill ants, teach pre-schoolers? Sort of, I think you can -- if you divide yourself between times. Don't know if it's a good idea, but I do think it can be done.