earlier, i thought i wasn’t smart enough for grad school. but right now, i think i am.

think.

no more tears, i’m done with them. awwwwww who had a Bad Day?

Some fun stuff, some serious stuff, and some really heavy stuff:

On the coffeetable:

“Michael Pollan’s Food Rule #22 is: Eat mostly plants, especially leaves! For a crispy treat buy Tuscan kale and spray or brush with olive oil, sprinkle with salt and pepper and place on a baking sheet. Bake at 400 until crispy.” — thank you, Beaverton Farmers Market

“It’s one of life’s lessons: I’ve learned how to be generous, because I’ve allowed myself to receive.”

— my girl Suzanne

And now, for a little light reading:

On the coffeetable:

You know what all this learning hurts? My brain. Seriously, why was I thinking graduate school was a good idea? And not some correspondence-course grad school, either, oh no. It has recently come to my attention that you can get a master’s degree by just sending away for one by mail. (Or e-mail.) But no, I had to sign up for “rigorous program.”

Intellectual discipline is so over-rated.

Also, this week’s episode of “Glee,” the one with Kurt’s dad?, made me cry my head off, especially when Mercedes sang “Bridge Over Troubled Water,” and when Finn did “Losing My Religion.” So what did I have to go and do? Yeah, that’s right. We went to my daughter’s band thing last night (really fun), then when we got home, Steve made us grilled cheese sandwiches and I made the mistake of drinking two glasses of wine and watching “Glee” again. I was a hot mess after all that was over. Damn “Glee.”

Now, I work out and study.

xo

me

“I will not die an unlived life
I will not live in fear of falling
Or of catching fire
I choose to inhabit my days
To allow my living to open me
Making me less afraid
More accessible
To loosen my heart
So that it becomes a wing, a torch, a promise
I choose to risk my significance.
To live so that that which comes to me as seed
Goes to the next as blossom
And that which comes to me as blossom
Goes on as fruit.”

— Dawna Markova

“Washing one’s hands of the conflict between the powerful and the powerless means to side with the powerful, not to be neutral. ”

— Paulo Freire

“For apart from inquiry, apart from the praxis, individuals cannot be truly human. Knowledge emerges only through invention and re-invention, through the restless, impatient, continuing, hopeful inquiry human beings pursue in the world, with the world, and with each other.”
— Paulo Freire (“Pedagogy of the Oppressed”)

On the coffeetable:

My daughter read “Beastly” and loved it. If I can, I’ll talk her into writing a review and I’ll post it later. Modernized version of “Beauty and the Beast,” sounds great. (Middle school and older.)

“Octavian Nothing” wins the prize of having the best, craziest title of all time. OK, now I will say this: M.T. Anderson’s stuff gets read a lot in middle school, but I’m going conservative on this one and saying high school and older. This book (and “Feed”) are both great. (I’ve heard the sequel to “Octavian Nothing” is not as outstanding as the first book, however.) But they scare me too much and I had to put them down.

The End.

— wm

“Writing is a way of talking without being interrupted.” — Jules Renard, author (1864-1910)

don’t i know it.

so, we attempted to enjoy a day at the beach yesterday. here’s the thing about the Oregon coast — it is what it is. times 100. so even when you know that it’s going to be blustery and cold, it’s still nice to take a not-too-long drive and get there, just for the sake of breathing the salt air. (from our new place, it’s 71.5 miles to the nearest beach — less than 2 hours by car, and I really do wish the trains still ran to the beach. i’ve heard tales and it sounds so good.)

all i wanted to do, with my one little measly day off, was walk on the beach (we brought our boots and raincoats), breathe in the good, wet air, have a bite of lunch somewhere, do a little window shopping at one of the chi-chi overpriced boutiques (seashell assortment, anyway? fudge? ice cream? Christmas ornaments shaped like ugly little elves?) then drive home.

but Hockey God and Hockey God Jr. had a different plan, namely, horse around in the ocean, get run over by a sneaker wave and almost die.

I like my plan better.

Also, this is where I really, really hate the whole “parenting together” thing. So when my son, soaking wet, sandy, exhilarated because they didn’t die, isn’t that great? told me, “Dad said you were going to punch him in the face for this…” well, OK. Let’s slow this down for a minute.

1) I’m glad they didn’t die and wow, that really is great, sweetheart. However…
2) If they hadn’t been reckless in the first place, this wouldn’t have cussin’ been an issue (see: a) don’t turn your back on the ocean b) stay out of the ocean pretty much Oct-April in Oregon and Washington c) why don’t you ever listen to me? You don’t see sneaker waves getting mommy, do you, now? d) aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargggggggggh)
3) they now have new sweatpants (thank you, overpriced gift shop!) and really awesome matching bright red sweatshirts and T-shirts. Hockey God’s says:

Cannon Beach
Established 1890
Oregon
Search & Rescue
Mouth to Mouth Certified

(which is hilarious! because he’s not.)

Jr.’s says:

Cannon Beach Oregon
Beach Patrol
Off-Duty
Save Yourself

That is more fitting somehow, no? Anyway, I don’t think I really should have rewarded them with a way to commemorate the whole cussin’ thing, but they were both nearly-drowned rats, I had to get them some warm stuff to wear. And no, I didn’t punch Hockey God in the face. On the one hand, I’m glad that he and the kids take some risks, live a little, blah blah blah. But there’s being adventuresome, and then there’s being unnecessarily reckless. I hugged my son, and told him, “You, I care about. Daddy, I don’t.”

My daughter: “Mom! That is not very nice!”
My husband: “You really are the meanest wife.” (looks worried.) “Are you going to punch me now?” (offers up his arm.) “Here! Punch me here! Just get it over with.”

I cried a little, then I calmed down and told my husband that if one of my kids (mine, not his, just mine. Cuz I’m the one who carried them for nine months, nursed them and kept them alive, they’re my babies til the day I die, mine, mine, mine) ends up harmed or worse because of his recklessness, then he had better go ahead and drown himself before he comes home. Cuz I can’t guarantee his safety.

That’s fair, isn’t it?

OK. Deep breaths.

— wm

In a recent post, Busy Mom described herself as being “a bit stabby and morose” and really, that phrase is going to be my new answer when anyone asks me the following:

1) Why I blog.
2) What I blog about.
3) Why I read other blogs.
4) What is a blog, anyway? (yeah, that’s precious, isn’t it?)

1) “…am a bit stabby and morose.”
2) “…being stabby and morose.”
3) “…enjoy reading about others being stabby and morose.”
4) “…a place to put everything, when you’re feeling stabby and morose.”

off to school now, ta-ta. Yes, I know it’s Saturday. And 7:16 a.m.

xo

wm

who knew I had another paper due? uh, I did? way back there in the far recesses of what is left of my brain. so that means music, folks. I could watch and listen to this video 3 or 4 times a day and still not get sick of it. my family would though, so I resist the urge to repeatedly stare at Stewart Copeland’s arms. Sting i can do without, nowadays, but i do love the old, old stuff.

back to writing, and i wish you auf wiedersehen, for now.

— wm

is that my favorite song? no, but this is:

i like it when Josh Turner turns upside down.

really, ttfn, i need to get to sleep soon!

It’s midnight and I JUST finished my paper. I hope I did it right. Now… to watch some TV (i’m wired. again) or get some sleep? Sleep? TV? TV? Sleep?

Life: Always with the dilemmas.

Sleep it is.

Talk to ya later.

— wm