Author: bripike

Gobble, gobble, gobble…

This is the second Thanksgiving that RJ and I are spending together but not with our respective families. The first took place in Texas in November 2003. I was attending grad school and RJ was driving all over hell for his consulting job. We sat in my little studio apartment eating steak and drinking beer. Eight years later we will be spending Thanksgiving with other friends in Indy who have families in distant states like New York, Pennsylvania and yes, Texas.

This morning I will be participating int this event:

I feel a 2.5 mile run justifies the food I will consume later on.

To Autumn

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, 
  Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless 
  With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees, 
  And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; 
    To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells 
  With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees, 
Until they think warm days will never cease,
    For summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store? 
  Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor, 
  Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep, 
  Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
    Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep 
  Steady thy laden head across a brook; 
  Or by a cider-press, with patient look,
    Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours.

Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they? 
  Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,--
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day, 
  And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn 
  Among the river sallows, borne aloft
    Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies; 
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn; 
  Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
  The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft, 
    And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
 
~John Keats 
 


Finally, I would like to take this opportunity to officially say goodbye to autumn. I always feel that after Thanksgiving winter is whistling in the eaves and I can already feel the temperature dropping. Fall is my favorite season and this fall was especially lovely, so a few images to send fall out on a good note. See you in 2012.

Squash blossoms.

Pumpkins at the orchard.

Goldenrod on a walk in our neighborhood.

Ashley likes cider. Also, you should read her blog.

Juliet, Naked

I like it when people give me books to read. I especially like it when said book proves to be as enjoyable/inspiring/well written as the recommender has promised. I’ve become a bit weary of recommendations as of late just because I’ve had a few duds. However, last night I finished reading Juliet, Naked by Nick Hornby and I think it has restored my faith in book recommendations.

My sister* lent me this book and inside she wrote the following note “Washed up musicians and quirky British characters. One of my favorites.” Have I also mentioned I like it when people write notes in books? It’s neat. This is why I like buying books from second hand bookstores but I digress.

Most people are familiar with Nick Hornby because of the movies that have been made from his books. These include High Fidelity and About a Boy. I enjoyed both of these films and I’ve read a couple of other of Hornby’s pieces, so admittedly I had some expectations.

Cool covers are a plus.

I’m like most readers in the respect that I like characters I can relate to. I also like smart, funny writing. I think Hornby succeeds in both these areas in Juliet, Naked. I was immediately endeared to the main protagonist, Annie, when a few pages into a description of Annie’s long term relationship, we get this nugget:

The decision not to have children had never been made, and nor had there been any discussion resulting in a postponement of the decision. It wasn’t that kind of sleepover. Annie could imagine herself as a mother, but Duncan was nobody’s idea of a father, and anyway, neither of them would have felt comfortable applying cement to the relationship in that way. That wasn’t what they were for. 

I like the frankness of Hornby’s writing and I like when author’s write about flawed relationships in a way that doesn’t make the reader cringe, but instead makes them want to read more. While it is true that there is a fair dose of melancholy in this passage, there is also some irony. They don’t want to cement their relationship? They’ve been together for fifteen years. At this point was isn’t left to cement? Well, it turns out quite a lot as the story goes on.

I also love smart, humorous writing. I tell my creative writing students that humor is the most underrated tool among authors. Everyone wants to be so serious all the time and talk about “what does it all mean?” You are certainly allowed to do that and Hornby tackles some tough issues in this book: motherhood, romantic relationships, dysfunctional families, deadbeat dads & alcoholism just to name a few. However, all of these issues are surrounded by a hilarious, obsessive narrative about a washed up rock star. The book opens with Annie and Duncan taking a pilgrimage to honor this “star,” Tucker Crowe. The opening scene begins with:

They had flown from England to Minneapolis to look at a toilet. The simple truth of this only struck Annie when they were actually inside it: apart from the graffiti on the walls, some of which made some kind of reference to the toilet’s importance in musical history, it was dank, dark, smelly and entirely unremarkable. Americans were very good at making the most of their heritage, but there wasn’t much even they could do here.  


As an American who spent about six months in England, I also appreciate the slight jabs that Hornby makes at our great nation. They’re not mean spirited but the fact that the biggest f*ck up in the book is American is amusing in and of itself. Then there are just the little gems that make me snicker out loud. This was one of my favorites:

The night before, Duncan had come home late and smelling of drink; he was monosyllabic, curt even, when she’d asked him about his day. He’d fallen asleep quickly, but she had lain awake, listening to him snoring and not liking him. Everyone disliked their partners at some time or another, she knew that. But she’d spent hours in the dark wondering whether she’d ever liked him. 

Does it get much more relatable? This story is interesting and quirky and the characters are kind of hopeless but their story is not. Despite all of their hangups, and believe me there are a lot of hangups, you will laugh with them, you will sigh for them and ultimately you will hope for them.

*Thanks Ash!

A Night At the Art Museum

In Indianapolis we have the pleasure of a wonderful art museum that is free to get into. The Indianapolis Museum of Art (IMA) is amazing on many levels but I think what I like most about it is it a good museum to just hang out in. There are plenty of places to sit and sketch or take notes or just zone out. It is a very people friendly museum and I think that is an underestimated characteristic when it comes to public space in general.

I took my creative writing class to the museum to do some writing and while they looked for art that inspired them, I got to walk around and look at my leisure. Here are two paintings I wrote about in my journal:

Hotel Lobby by Edward Hopper

The House of the Deaf Woman and the Belfry at Erangy by Camille Pissarro

These are the journal entries about the two paintings. They’re pretty fragmented, but I think there are some poems brewing in there somewhere. From The House:

1886, Camille Pissarro, oil on canvas. When I think of Pissarro, I think of green. All different hues of green: yellow green, forest green, spring green, light (almost white) green & blue green. In this painting, green dominates. It is clearly the point. Trees, grass, shrubs, very few flowers. The woman is small, deaf to the rustling of all this green. Hunched over, knees deep in green, hands hidden. Weeding? It would be pleasant to feel if you could not hear. Could you feel young, new, sun, grass, green? Could you feel green? There is a belfry and a belfry equals  bells but she cannot hear. When she lost sound, she lost God? Is she trying to find God again in the green? Is she trying to find life? She seems so far away from the church. Isolated in this field of green.

From Hotel Lobby:

Oil on canvas. “Though this looks like a scene from a story, it’s not clear there really is one.” Two women and two men. Two older and two younger. Point of view seems to be from the doorway. Hopper’s paintings are always “busy” in terms of people but they are so lonely because the people always seem to be ignoring each other. Even in conversation they are lonely. Women are always young, blonde. There is a darkness in terms of color that seeps into the atmosphere as if something horrible is just below the surface. 



My Curiosity Jar

I like to collect weird little things from the outdoors. I picked this quirk up from my mother who (if I remember the story correctly) kept mice in a shoe box under her bed when she was a kid. Where my my mother and I differ, is that I don’t collect live things. However, since the age of about seven I’ve collected up rocks, feathers, shells, leaves, husks of seeds, etc. and kept them in various jars & boxes. This habit happens to drive my husband bat sh*t crazy. He doesn’t like much of anything about nature. He will tolerate it for the sake of a game of golf or perhaps a barbeque but otherwise, he’d rather stay inside the safety of our home reclining in front of the television. In the spring and summer I like to sit out on our back porch to work, blog or read and when he comes out to say hello, he squints against the sun in pain and the scurries inside like some sort of overgrown mole. It’s charming really.

Anyway. He finds it odd that I collect these little treasures from the outdoors and  tonight when he came upstairs to check on me*, he looked over and said “Are you building a curiosity jar?” The tone of this question was a mix of amusement and disdain as he peered at an apothecary jar that happens to be sitting on the far right corner of my desk.  My response to his query was a withering look and then I returned to the project I was working on before he busted in.

My curiosity jar

I must admit that I didn’t purposely “build a curiosity jar” but I like the idea of it (I don’t think this was my husband’s goal) and I will continue to add to it. I simply wanted a way to display some of the cool stuff I had found outside this fall, so I thought jar would be perfect. I also read recently that my favorite poet of all time, Elizabeth Bishop, also collected little pieces of interest from the outdoors. This furthers my theory that we would have been great friends if we would have lived during the same time period. Great minds…

 *When I say “check on me,” I mean he comes upstairs to procrastinate from writing his law school paper.

 A nut shell, a ginkgo leaf, a clam shell & a few crow feathers.

Where Have I Been? Well…

On November 5, 2011 I was here:

Absolutely gorgeous day.

I was doing this:

That’s me and my new husband.

This is not an excuse for my long, shameful absence from the blogging world but I knew I was in trouble when my mother, who was arguably more excited about my pending nuptials than I was, said to me not more than 24 hours after the wedding “When are you going to update your blog? Every damn time I look at it I see Midnight in Paris!”

Point taken & stay tuned.

Summer Schedule

The summer semester began this Monday. I was on campus Monday for most of the day; however, Monday will be the only day I’ll be on campus for the entire 8 week term. Am I teaching this summer? Yes. Am I teaching a full load (4 classes)? Yes. So how did I manage this schedule? Online classes.

I received my online certification two summers ago and from that point on, I’ve been teaching at least two online courses a semester. Online education, its pros and cons, could be an entire post on its own and I’m sure I’ll write that post later this summer. However, from a teaching point of view, I’d like to outline the basic reasons for why I chose this track for the summer semester.

Normally, I don’t like going totally online. This past spring I taught two face to face courses and two online courses and I felt like this was a good balance. However, summer term is a whole other ball game. For starters, it is only 8 weeks long. When I started as an adjunct at the same campus, summer term used to be 10 weeks long. I don’t like the 8 week term for a lot of reasons but most of my issues come from the way my institution has decided to organize this 8 week term. Most classes are in 3 hour blocks and meet twice a week. For example, last summer I taught two comp classes face to face and one met on M/W 8-11 and one met T/TH 8-11. This might not be such a problem if students were only taking one class but many times they are taking two or three or even four. This makes for a scheduling nightmare and it is exhausting. After teaching a 3 hour class, the last thing you want to do is turn around and teach another one and that is what many instructors are forced to do.

Also, it is not a particularly effective way to learn. Students feel pressured and if they get behind for some reason, there is virtually no room for them to move. The grading is completely insane, especially if students are writing papers all semester. It’s basically a marathon and it is dreaded by most faculty in my division.

Now, online classes are not easier by any means. They are not easier to teach or grade or set up and they are not easier to take (from the students perspective). However, you can work at home, which eliminates the dreaded three hour blocks. Also, I feel already, and we’re only three days in, that my feedback is much better because I’m not overtired from teaching six hours of class. I also feel like I use my time better. This morning I got up, ate breakfast, went to the gym and then came home and worked on my classes for about three and half hours. This is normal no matter if you’re teaching face to face or online but because I was home alone (well, Kwe and Nimbus were here but sleeping) and had minimum distraction, I was able to move through my work relatively quickly and thoughtfully.

Would I teach an entire load online for Fall or Spring semesters? Probably not. A 16 week term doesn’t give me nearly the headache and again, I like the face to face contact with students. However, I think that the flexibility of online classes also works well for our students during the summer. Students in all my online classes have to post an introduction on the discussion board and I’ve lost count of how many work 2nd shift, have children or grand children at home, have two jobs, don’t live in town, etc. This option allows them to complete a class without actually having to come to campus.
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Our CSA started this week. Aren’t they just beautiful? Kale, kholrabi, turnips & bok choy. We also got salad mix and pea shoots. I love summer.

Back to the garden…

It seems to be a tradition at the end of the spring semester (since we’ve moved into our house) for me to celebrate by going to work out my garden. This year I got a head start when RJ finally agreed to help me spread mulch throughout our flower beds. I also put in a few solid days of weeding before grades were due this week, but I think that was more like therapy. Sometimes after you’ve read several sub par papers, you just want to yank something out of the ground…

At any rate, the semester is over. I am glad. Graduation has come and gone and after one final meeting this afternoon, I will officially be on break for about two weeks before beginning my summer teaching schedule (more on that in a later post).

Yesterday I woke up feeling ambitious and spent the better part of four hours outdoors accomplishing the following tasks: 1) planting sunflower and zinnia seeds in a very large bed in our backyard. I planted a lot of seeds this year including sweet peas, lavender, bachelors buttons, and nasturtiums. If even half of the sunflowers grow, that back area is going to look awesome. Here’s hoping. It’s not a complete gamble. I planted just a few back there last summer as a test and they did pretty well.

2) Bringing up our patio furniture and assembling it. While this may not sound like a particularly arduous task, there are few things you have to take into consideration. It was 86 degrees yesterday by 11:oo am. The table, umbrella and chairs were down in the basement, so I had to lug them up the narrow, slick, muddy steps. The table was in pieces and we all know how good I am with spatial relations, so the fact that it only took me about 10 minutes to figure out how to put the legs on is a major accomplishment. But perhaps the biggest obstacle came when I discovered that Nimbus, our cat, had used the umbrella as a litter box. To say it was gross, well, that doesn’t even begin to describe it. At any rate, I had to disassemble the umbrella, wash it, and then put it back together. Good times.

And finally, 3) Sweeping off our back porch. Again, this doesn’t sound particularly complicated, but when you have a gigantic tree (I think it’s an oak) shedding seed pods (we used to call them helicopters when we were kids) at an alarming rate, well, let’s just say I don’t know why I bothered to sweep.

The reward? That came in two parts but both were equally gratifying. The first part came when RJ arrived home from work (yes, he started his new job this week. Hooray!) and said, “Wow.” The second part came when I came out this morning to sit on my back porch, with my tea and type this blog post. The pictures above are some of the flowers to bloom this year.