"Let us all hope that the dark clouds of racial prejudice will soon pass away and the deep fog of misunderstanding will be lifted from our fear-drenched communities, and in some not too distant tomorrow the radiant stars of love and brotherhood will shine over our great nation with all their scintillating beauty." -MLK, Jr.
Thinking about how I can, everyday, rehearse the norms of the Kingdom.
Eating leftovers Curling up under an electric blanket Returning to Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire A glass of red wine An insanely early bedtime
What I'm looking forward to tomorrow:
The wedding of a best friend's little sister and getting to see some hometown faces! A brisk run out in the cold Some time cozied up on the porch swing with blankets, if I can stand more of the cold
What I'm looking forward to on Sunday:
Being with my church in the afternoon A Golden Globes viewing party afterwards (it's almost time to decide on my character and a costume for the 2012 Oscar party!)
I don't really make new years resolutions, so I'm going to post a new year's poem. May 2012 be a year that "won't compute."
Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front by Wendell Berry
Love the quick profit, the annual raise, vacation with pay. Want more of everything ready-made. Be afraid to know your neighbors and to die.
And you will have a window in your head. Not even your future will be a mystery any more. Your mind will be punched in a card and shut away in a little drawer.
When they want you to buy something they will call you. When they want you to die for profit they will let you know. So, friends, every day do something that won’t compute. Love the Lord. Love the world. Work for nothing. Take all that you have and be poor. Love someone who does not deserve it.
Denounce the government and embrace the flag. Hope to live in that free republic for which it stands. Give your approval to all you cannot understand. Praise ignorance, for what man has not encountered he has not destroyed.
Ask the questions that have no answers. Invest in the millenium. Plant sequoias. Say that your main crop is the forest that you did not plant, that you will not live to harvest.
Say that the leaves are harvested when they have rotted into the mold. Call that profit. Prophesy such returns. Put your faith in the two inches of humus that will build under the trees every thousand years.
Listen to carrion — put your ear close, and hear the faint chattering of the songs that are to come. Expect the end of the world. Laugh. Laughter is immeasurable. Be joyful though you have considered all the facts. So long as women do not go cheap for power, please women more than men.
Ask yourself: Will this satisfy a woman satisfied to bear a child? Will this disturb the sleep of a woman near to giving birth?
Go with your love to the fields. Lie down in the shade. Rest your head in her lap. Swear allegiance to what is nighest your thoughts.
As soon as the generals and the politicos can predict the motions of your mind, lose it. Leave it as a sign to mark the false trail, the way you didn’t go.
Be like the fox who makes more tracks than necessary, some in the wrong direction. Practice resurrection.
I know one of the things that'll be occupying my time this Christmas...
My kindred Emily Martin has gifted the general public with free printable paper doll projects for the winter - meet Dot & Roscoe (my dad used to call my brother Roscoe all the time when we were little!)
"Dot and Roscoe love to go on walks in the winter, because they love to come home with cold noses and dash to the kitchen to make Dot some hot chocolate. Roscoe is content to burrow under a nest of blankets while Dot knits mittens for her sweetheart."
Dot, Roscoe, and their little winter wardrobe just might be adorning my tree as garland this Christmas.
Because, as the ADS alarm system guy exclaimed, "Girl, you ain't got enough ornaments on that tree!!"
This weekend we had Hardin Christmas in Starkville. 'Twas a good time - I don't have many pictures, because Hailstorm was home and therefore all the best ones were shot with her camera.
Granny, Nita, me & baby Campbell (whom I met this weekend for the first time!!!)
Nita's gingerbread house
Admiring her handiwork (it was so hilarious to watch her figure out that the frosting was edible)
And my sweet baby nephew Shepherd
And the 18 wheeler I stalked all the way from Gordo to Tuscaloosa so I could catch him at a stoplight for a picture (I think I made him nervous, actually). When the kids and I write narratives at school, we work on eradicating their "This is a story about..." habit in favor of interesting leads. I like to give them leads to begin stories a lot, and ideas find me in the oddest places. I'll be using this one next.
Inspiration is everywhere!
I'm home now, pulling on my Cuddle Duds and cranking the space heater. This little house and I, we're going to get along just fine (a few photos coming soon!).
This might be risky, but I'm going to share something here because it's ridiculously hilarious. You won't think this is funny unless you've known me for awhile.
I sent these videos out in an email, but I don't think anyone could open them. The other day in class I started noticing that some of my kids had worms. I pretended I was taking candid photos, which I do often, but captured the mini-me's on video instead.
I'm so glad I did.
Also, I cannot cannot CANNOT WAIT to read Jacob T. Marley, a prequel to A Christmas Carol!!!!!!! It has the potential to be sorely disappointing, but I think it looks so good!! I'll be asking Pippi for this for Christmas this year.
This Christmas album, produced by musicians at my church.
Each and every song is absolutely beautiful, and it's even sweeter because they are sung by some of my favorite people and dear friends.
You can listen and download it here for $5. Well worth it, I assure you.
Also, I bought a house and moved, as you probably already knew - I love every second of being in this house - it was built in 1928 and is so filled with character. There is much I'd like to do to it, and the fact that it will take me years is going to be an exercise in both patience and stewardship. The only downside so far (and I walked into this knowingly) is that it. is. frigid. in. here.
There's never a point in setting the thermostat above 60, because the house will likely never be above 57 or 58 degrees. And I'm cold natured. Thank goodness Alabama winters are only truly harsh for a couple of months of the year.
So, to combat the cold without draining my wallet trying to heat my house, I've invested in a few pairs of Cuddle Duds. My friend Melissa (whose song on Half Spent, "The Wexford Carol," is stunning!) opened my eyes and my world to these, and I'm forever grateful. Apparently I'm the last person alive to find out about these, but ya'll. They. are. amazing. I got them a couple of days ago and have yet to take them off. I like to sit around in them, like this...
They are so soft and so warm. If you're somewhere really cold or are trying to save money by keeping your heat really low, you need these. I'm wearing them under everything.
Hope everyone's having a warm and peace-filled advent season so far.
Every so often there comes a day when I just know that I cannot go to school the following day. It hits me that until I have a day off, my being at school is not doing anyone any good.
Today was one of those days - with Homecoming week (which really turned out to be two weeks) and nine-weeks grades behind me, there's not much of me left.
I'm physically sore from being stampeded by herds of middle schoolers at yesterday's pep rally (and maybe also from the students vs. faculty volleyball game), my voice is gone from repeating things like "Don't climb on the windowsill!" and "You only space ONE time after each sentence when you're using MLA style!" and "For the love of everything that's good in the world, DO NOT unzip your pants unless you are in the bathroom!"
So, today I called my trusty sub and wrote my principal a brief note letting him know that I would not be in tomorrow.
Here's a glimpse of why I might need to put away anything flammable that I have access to:
I do exaggerate. They are really sweet kids. I tell them all the time that try as they might, I am seriously more thug than they are. I love these faces more than I can even tell you.
But they drive me to the brink of insanity. Exaggeration...maybe. Or maybe not.
So this weekend, when I'm not passed out flat on my back, I plan to finish off this treat of a book, continue my end of summer summer love affair into the fall, and hang out with good friends at my favorite Greek cafe down the street while it's still within walking distance.
Yes, I might be moving at the end of this month! :)
I've been short on blogging material lately. If you follow Don't Test My Gangster, then you know that either I've quit posting to it or my students aren't saying anything particularly funny this year. Unfortunately, it's the latter, so far.
I don't know if it's the group of kids or if it's me - but the ridiculousness hasn't been abundant this year.
Today, though, I do have something, but as it's too long for Don't Test My Gangster, I'm saving it here.
While we were working on parts of a short story and discussing Rudyard Kipling's Rikki-tikki-tavi, there was one young man who was concentrating particularly hard on his work.
"Gosh, he must really be GETTING internal and external conflict," I thought, as I watched him hover over his desk, head hunkered, eyes squinty with concentration. He was writing ferociously.
This was yesterday. Fast forward to today, when I found this - in his handwriting and on the orange sticky notes he was using....
Last year I found
baked beans on top of my house
and I ate them.
I got butter in my shorts.
So crispy, so tender
Got those BK chicken tenders.
Those crispy crispy bites
inside tender white meat briiiiite.
Got's to get me some,
Got that yummy yum.
CHEEEEEEEESE!
How come turkey bacon isn't crispy
Dad, da, da
Dada, I love to eat pie
Da, da, da, da, da
It helps me fly
Da da da da da
Dadadadadada
Remember how I said that 7th graders' brains are literally always in a really thick fog, kind of like they're constantly smoking weed?
I think I might take a mental health day tomorrow.
Oh how we love pumpkin season. You did know this gourd-ish squash has its own season, right? Winter, Spring, Summer, Pumpkin.... We anxiously anticipate it every year.
I'm allowed to post a one man shot for a post like this, aren't I? Good.
I admit that I've been thinking about this list ever since yaya published hers, and come my 30th birthday, I was still stuck at #16.
Maybe I'm growing more and more hard-headed with time? A scary thought. I'd like to think I have just learned SO MUCH over the past 10 years that I could never get it organized into a list of 30 things. Something like that.
Anyway, I think I did learn a few things, and most are things that I am really thankful to have learned.
Here they are:
30 Things I Learned in My 20's
1. Hot chocolate is exponentially better when made with milk vs. water
2. It's worth whatever I might be missing out on ( 95% of the time) to go to bed early.
3. How to appropriately correspond with someone who wants to sue me. Thank you, Matt Jackson.
4. I am, in fact, more like my mom than I thought. And that's a good thing.
5. Root canals aren't as bad as most people think they are. But it is still a bad idea to watch a cartoon video of the procedure the night before.
6. The astounding impact a Volvo can sustain while keeping a person relatively unharmed.
7. That sleeping in my contacts for months is, in fact, a bad idea after all.
8. That I am a lot tougher than I thought I was.
9. That #8 is singularly by the Lord's grace.
10. That children's literature is some of the very best there is.
11. How to negotiate a ridiculous deal with used car salesmen.
12. That being single throughout my 20's is a lot more fun (and fulfilling) than I thought it would be.
13. That cable TV is not worth the money it costs. Nor is Tivo.
14. That I will give up cable TV, but probably not Netflix.
15. That Dave Ramsay knows what he's talking about.
16. The unspeakable value of the oldest of friends.
17. To trust my gut...but only sometimes...
18. Because my gut knows how to play tricks on me (thanks Kathryn Evans)
20. That email will never, ever replace the handwritten, mailed letter. At least in my world it won't.
21. When to speak up, and when to shut up (at least, I think I have a better grasp on this than I did ten years ago...)
22. Cheesy, but this song helps to articulate A LOT of what I learned in my 20's (not surprisingly, it's Sara Groves):
"so conditioned for the win
to share in victor's stories
but in the place of ambition's din
I have heard of other glories
and I pray for an idea
and a way i cannot see
it's too heavy to carry
and impossible to leave
I can't just fight when I think I'll win
that's the end of all belief
and nothing has provoked it more
than a possible defeat"
23. That Clifford IS hilarious and NOT because I was 12 when I discovered it. It really is a work of art. Say what you want.
24. That I will always, always sleep better with clean sheets on my bed. Yes, this took me 30 years to learn.
25. That being a part of a church that I LOVE (by choice, mind you, not because it's got everything together) is something that I need far more than I thought I did.
26. That I can eat on $25 a week if I have to.
27. I consider my discovery of Patty Griffin one of the best things I learned in my 20's.
28. That when in doubt, listen to Dad (I realize most people learn this earlier in life. Oops.)
29. That being tan isn't worth what the sun is doing to my skin.
30. That just like my 20's, my 30's will be fleeting, but that's okay, because the best part is what will be eternal anyway.
So far, the summer has been filled with time in the park, avocado smoothies, afternoon naps, good friends, a middle school writing class (only eight days; I temper my exposure to adolescents in the summer), morning runs, and today, I watched The Book of Eli and, I hesitate to admit to
you, crafted a cat bed out of fabric and a cardboard box. Because during the summer, there is time for things like that.
Among other happenings:
The baptism of a dear friend's baby boy, Jaxon (Isn't he adorable?? Look at those shoes!!)
The wedding of another dear friend, Amanda Blake. One of the sweetest, most beautiful weddings I've ever seen.
The little chapel
That morning, setting up for the reception
A visit from Dwana, Tyler, & Biggie!! Other dear friends from New Orleans. I lived with them during my time there last summer (you might recall my somewhat dramatic departure).
I've been meaning to share this with you for awhile now...one of my students - I'll call him A - gifted me with this drawing on the last day of school. Let me first tell you that this kid is (and I know I say this a lot) one of my favorite humans on the planet. He's 13, but you'd think he's 8. He's about 4 feet tall and skinny like a pipe cleaner. But what he lacks in stature he more than makes up for in personality - the kid is brilliant. A voracious reader, articulate and dynamic orator, and analyst of global news (he's the one that credited me with the sniping of Bin Laden on my days away from school), he's constantly debating, declaring and proclaiming, and spouting wry commentary about everything. He is truly hysterical. He regularly gets himself so worked up that he breaks his glasses on a daily basis (granted, he sneezes and they break) so half the time he's got them taped up with masking tape, which only adds to his charm, in my opinion.
I give you this intro because I think it makes this even better.
Anyway, if you know me then you know that I have a somewhat distinct, yet unconscious, way of walking, particularly when I'm on a mission. It dates back to high school (or maybe middle school, now that I think about it) when I steadied my backpack and carried books with one arm and would swing my other arm ridiculously fast so that I could maintain my desired pace (which is notably swift).
In college, it was coined by several as "The Gorilla Walk" and "The Speed Skater," among others. At every school I've taught in so far, the kids have perfected it themselves and have taken great pride in showing off their renditions of what has become, to them, "The Hardin." Yes folks, I am a verb.
So you can only imagine my delight when A proudly yet casually handed me this drawing on his way out the door on the last day of school. I love the detail - the cropped pants, flats, and ponytail I always wear + the "swangin arm" and if you look closely...very closely...you'll see there's a worm in my hand.
It's scary how much attention to detail they exercise on a daily basis. Makes me wonder what other evils they've noticed in me, particularly on my worst days. I'm astonished at the levels of grace they give - I've been the recipient of a whole lot. Heaven knows I don't deserve their affection. Pretty sure I teared up when little A handed me this, gave me a hug, and hopped off on his sprightly way.
As grateful as I am for my relationships with these kindreds, I am so, so unbelievably thankful for summer and for the respite it brings.
Hope you're having a happy June - soak it up - can't believe it's half over!
Did you know there is some kind of dance called the Cat Daddy?
Well, there is. And 104 13 year olds cheered and chanted for me to do this strange dance at our honors and awards program yesterday. I declined, made some less-than-witty comment about saving it for the after party and sat down, baffled and red-faced.
Afterwards I gave everyone a stern talking-to about taking me off guard and putting me on the spot like that in front of their families and my bosses.
And then I learned the Cat Daddy. I'd say it's pretty white girl friendly, but apparently it was still the most hilarious thing my kids had ever seen.
I don't know what they were laughing at. I mean, can't you see me killing this?? For a prime demo, go straight to the 2:10 mark of this video.
I'll be back soon to share some more goodies from the last days of school (how did I end up with a job that kills me over and over again every single day and yet I keep going back for more??) but for now, I have a few book reviews.
I'm one of the five people who have never seen this movie - and I'm not anti-scary movie - I think I've kept it up on a pedestal as the phoenix of all horror, and I somehow didn't think I'd survive the viewing. I did survive the book, though, and loved every page of it. Is it sick to admit that I loved Hannibal Lecter's character? I thought he was hilarious. Again, not sure I should be admitting this, but there it is. Masterful suspense. And, now I understand why people have always greeted me "Hello, Clarice."
I've not seen this movie, either, but the book was a very quick and completely absorbing read. Written simply and cleverly, it's the story of a nine-year-old German boy, Bruno, who befriends a Jewish boy, Shmuel, at Auschwitz (his father is one of Hitler's commandants) and doesn't at all have a clue what is happening around him. It's a very innocent account of a child's perspective of the atrocities of the Holocaust, and for that reason it's especially poignant (I feel like such a wannabe book reviewer using that word, but really, it's the best word for the job). I loved everything about this book.
I guess I'm on a roll here with novels-turned-movies (and hyphens, it turns out). The preview for this movie got me intrigued enough to read the novel (I think people should make trailers for books!) but I'm sorry to report that both book and movie were kind of a let down. Maybe it was that I'd recently finished Silence of the Lambs, but I thought the plot unfolded rather slowly. A lot of times that's okay, but I don't think this guy is a good enough writer to get away with a really slow plot. That said, it was entertaining, and I don't usually take to science fiction, clones, organ harvesting, that sort of thing. I liked it just barely enough to think about reading The Remains of the Day.
I'm reading this one right now, and as it turns out, so is my pastor's sweet little 8 year old daughter. It's pretty golden - it's about four sisters, their dog Hound, and their widowed father vacationing at a summer cottage where they meet some interesting characters (and two rabbits). I'm of the opinion that the best adult lit usually doesn't hold a candle to really good children's books - it's in the children's section that you find the best stories, characters, humor, wit, and often, writing. The Penderwicks is no exception - I laugh out loud reading it - it's really a treat. I can't wait to follow it up with The Penderwicks on Gardham Street and The Penderwicks at Point Mouette.
(See Matthew 27:1-61, Mark 15:1-47, Luke 23:1-56, John 18:28-19:42.)
"On Thursday night in Gethsemane, Jesus was arrested—betrayed by one of His own disciples and abandoned by the others. The Chief Priests and the Sanhedrin called for secret trials in the dead of night, and the verdict handed down was that Jesus would be crucified. This was something the Roman Prefect, Pontius Pilate, would have to execute. And reluctantly, he did.
After a severe beating, Jesus was nailed to a cross where He’d remain for six hours until dead.
Never before or since had more been lost and gained at the same time as at Jesus’ crucifixion.
The world gained the atoning sacrifice of Christ. But for those present, either the significance of the moment was lost on them or their hearts broke because the One they believed to be the Savior of the world was dying at the hands of Rome. They couldn’t stop it and they didn’t realize it was for them. They hoped in Him, and though He had told them He would suffer many things and rise three days later, (Mk 8:31)how could they have possibly known this was what He meant?"
Today my mind keeps wandering to those who were present at the crucifixion. The very moment they were given life itself; the very moment they received the complete and unmerited mercy and grace of eternity seemed, by all accounts, to be the single most devastating event of their lives.
I don't understand it, but I'm so, so thankful that His ways are not mine, that from sorrow will come song, and from tomb, breath and life.
This poem...oh, this poem. I'm sharing it with my kids today. Risky? Yes. Do I care? No.
A Night Poem (For Easter) Andrew Peterson
I lie in bed these sweet few days When the windows yet are open And the weather yet is fine, And love to hear the dead of night Announce its living presence With hoot and croak and creeping vine.
I love the knowledge that for years As I have waited on the bench Beneath the juniper tree, And paid such close attention, There is an owl I’ve never seen An owl, I know, who watches me.
I love the sound of secret things, I love to hear their nearness, And to feel their wildness, too. (Three days ago we sowed the seeds And every hour I check the dirt For seedlings pushing through.)
I lie in bed awake, alert, Aware of the God of the Garden. I sense in the seed a promise, An unfolding resurrection In the furrowed row, in soil And root, in husk and humus.
I sense an ancient heart alive Who haunts these moonlit acres, Blessing, bringing life from death, Dawn from darkness, song from sorrow. The night owl swoops, the zephyr sighs; I hear within the tomb: a breath.
I'm excited about this book because 1) It is the story of Mary Tudor, the younger sister of Henry VIII and the courtly commoner Charles Brandon and 2) I don't think I have ever read a copy of a book this old - this book is copyrighted 1898 and it was a Christmas gift to a Mabel Miller in 1899. I found it on eBay for pennies, and something tells me this copy is worth far more than what I paid for it.
I think this book has the kind of quirk in it that I dearly love (and it's a children's book, go figure) - the four main characters - two of whom are named Constance and Sticky (I rest my case) - travel to an isolated school where children are being trained by a criminal mastermind to participate in his schemes to take over the world. Bottom line: Any book that has a place in it called the Whispering Gallery has my attention.
This one seems really interesting: An upper middle class journalist tries to live on the wages of unskilled jobs in three different locations in the US. The author describes her experiences and tries to relate them to a larger frame of reference by laying out statistics about the US.
John Ames, a 76 year old preacher in Iowa, is writing a letter to his 7 year old son to leave to him an account of his life. It's a meditation on fathers and children, particularly sons, on faith, and on the imperfectability of man.
I started reading this one at the very end of last summer, and was surprised by how much I liked it. Sadly I had to put it down in August and have yet to pick it back up so I'm excited to finish it this summer. It's a mix of social history, politics, and science - sounds pretty boring, I know - but what could very easily be a pretty dry account of the 1927 flooding of the Mississippi River turns out to be (at least in the first few chapters) a really engaging story of the transformation of American society.
Granny, Nita, me & baby Campbell (whom I met this weekend for the first time!!!)
2. 