Summer Bumps!

Ah, my first year of graduate school is finally over!! Praise Jesus!!!!!!!!!!!! I have never been more tired, more burned out, or more determined to make good on something as I am with this program. All I can say, is thank God its only one more year! I'm not even thinking about my doctoral program -- more power to my friends Erika & Laura -- I'm just wanting to get that hood thing attached to my robes & strut across that stage yelling "Look Ma, look Dad, check me out Honey, I did it!! Maybe I'll get lucky & my whole family, kids, grandbabies, parents, relatives, bestest friends, everyone, can all come for the graduation. By the time I finish my doctorate (if I even get that far), I'll be too old to walk across stage & I'm be in so much debt, I'll be working 24/7 just to make the loan payments (don't laugh, its true!)

So, today I decided to do a little substitute teaching with my favorite elementary school kids at Scenic Park Elementary. A kindergarten teacher needed a substitute for the day & that was just what the doctor ordered. What a great bunch of kids -- so full of energy, questions, answers, even tears for a few. I told them the secret of the "summer bumps" -- they were so excited & asked me to write down the story. So, that's what I'm going to do -- write a children's book. I've always wanted to write children's literature (its so much funner than all that cloak & dagger garbage my husband reads or the sexy vampire novels I read). So, I've drafted the storyline for the summer bumps & I'm going to ask my brother to do the art work. This oughta be fun!!

Ok, go read a good book, enjoy a snuggle with someone you love, and remember that I'm always out here, mentally wandering around just waiting for a friend.

Prayers & Sorrow for VT families

Sitting in my classroom yesterday waiting for the final 5 literary theory classes of the semester to begin, word came in that there had been a horrible shooting incident at Virginia Tech. As more information poured in and word of the number of wounded & dead reached us, my mind began to travel towards the family & friends of those caught in the horror of the moment. Now, reading news reports, I find that the young man will go down in history for committing the worst mass shooting rampage ever was one of those students that could have easily been in one of my English courses -- one of the ones many of us tend to ignore. Recent research work has lead me to understand that this young man was in a group more marginalized than many realize -- he was what we in the writing center world refer to as "Generation 1.5." My research has shown me that these students, often more than those students identified by many as ESL or international students, was a young man without a real nation to call his own. Foreign-born, U.S. educated, living on the fringes of the Anglo society, &, clearly, suffering from emotional problems, I can see how he is now being viewed as a bomb ticking down to destruction.

Many cultures do not recognize mental illness & seeking assistance, especially as a male, can be an embarrassment for both the person & their extended family. Problems are to be dealt with through perseverance & within the private privileges of the family. Having witnessed the horror that accompanied a fellow middle school instructor's son's suicide years ago, the only son of a proud Chinese family, I came to recognize how short-sighted some cultures are about mental illness. My own family, including myself, has a long history of severe depression, suicide, & other mental illnesses so recognizing & addressing these concerns is something that I have worked hard to make my children aware of. Reading about how the faculty & students who knew this young man were concerned enough about him & the writing work that he did for classes to turn refer him for counseling tells me that this "child" was in desperate need of intervention. More attention must be taken by the public to actively pursue help for those showing signs of emotional duress so that horrors such as those at VT, my friend's son, the fellow UAA student who committed suicide last week, & so many others can be helped.

Today, my prayers go to those families & individuals at VT & in its surrounding community who have suffered the losses created by the desperate acts committed yesterday. I also pray for & weep with the family of the young man who was moved to such destructive measures, to the taking of both his life & the lives of others. A suicide note, rambling or well-composed, will never tell us what was really happening in the mind of those who commit such atrocities - what we can know, without a doubt, is that had more aggressive action been taken on the part of the man's family & the university, many lives would have been saved. So, pray -- pray for the families, pray for the victims, pray for those injured & recovering, &, more importantly, pray for those who sit on that edge even now that help may find them or they may find their way to help so that no more tears need be shed for useless losses.

Suicide -- tragedy or relief?

Last night, as I was checking my email, I received a "breaking news" alert from my local newspaper which I subscribe to online & in paper form. Opening the article, I found that the body of a woman in her mid-30s had been discovered in Cook Inlet -- an apparent suicide. Busy with school work & not wanting to really think about something as depressing as a person taking their life when Spring is finally on its way here in Anchorage, I clicked the delete button & went about my business. This morning, walking into my first class of the day, I saw my baby sister sitting alone (unusual for her to say the least) & appearing deep in thought. Since I hadn't talk to her in a few days, I went up to give her a hug & chat for a few minutes.

The conversation started normally (wuz up sweetums?), turned toward the play she had written for her theatre class, & then, almost without warning, she says "And I'm sad because my good friend, H---, drove her Jeep off a cliff into the inlet yesterday. I was in shock -- the "breaking news" had been about a person I had met, albeit briefly, through my sister, who was an active church member, & who had two small children. As my sister provided more details, I kept thinking, why? Depression -- Yes. Drugs -- in the past. Other problems -- most definitely. But, why now? When the world seems to be breathing a deep sigh of relief after a long, hard winter -- why now? But then, why ever?

Just over a year ago, a friend of mine from school decided to end his life. 32 years ago, my grandfather chose to take his own life. Several other relatives of mine have attempted, some multiple times, to end their lives. I've been hospitalized under "suicide watch" twice as has my father. So, what am I getting to -- where is this all going? I'm not sure except that I find myself straddling a fence of sorts, one that sees suicide as a means to an end that brings, at least for the person committing the act, the end to the pain & struggle that has gone on, often, for years & years. I mean, is suicide all that different from finding out you have a terminal disease & chosing to allow the disease to take its course instead of going through chemotherapy or other methods meant to extend your life? We lost one of my aunts this week -- to aggressive lung cancer. She chose to live her life out, whatever time was left, without scientific intervention that would prolong the inevitable. Staying home, using ground up pain meds to get through those last hours, she died as she lived -- by her own will.

Life is a mystery to me yet it is one that I meet each day with a feeling of joy, even on days like today when the semester nears its end, I'm way behind in my writing process, I've got a head cold that just won't go away, & I'm catching a plane to Texas tonight to present at an international conference. The pain I have suffered in my past was difficult &, at the time it was happening, I was unsure I would get through it. Still, I persisted &, thank God, so did my family. I have a difficult time thinking of what might happen in my life that would convince me to decide to end things, to make death more welcome than life. But, & here it goes again, I have known people who suffered so greatly & for so long, with no familial support that the pain becomes more than they can handle. My sister's friend had a loving church family & children who loved her but it wasn't enough. What is enough?

It seems the more I think about this subject, the more confused I get. See, I think what my aunt chose to do was fine -- she had a right to live & die her way. Maybe the fact that she had a terminal disease made her decisions easier to accept -- I mean 8-12 weeks of living life as fully as possible or 6-8 months of chemo side effects, radiation burns, & still knowing you weren't going to see next Christmas. Suicide seems, at first glance, such a selfish thing to do. It seems such a slap in the face to those who loved the leaver, who gave their tears & hearts to supporting that person -- as if to say, "Sorry folks! You just didn't come up to muster so I'm out of here." I don't think that my friend, my sister's friend, or my grandfather would say, "Yes, that's why I did it." Instead, they would talk about the pain their were in for so long & how life became too difficult to bear. My grandfather & my sister's friend were Christians -- I believe that they called for Jesus at their final moment & I believe that Jesus came to them. Even my friend who didn't profess a love of Christ was held gently by the angels who stayed with him, so that he was not alone. I just wish there was some way I could tell these people that sticking around isn't such a bad idea. I'm one of those who wants to give the world a big hug & make it all better but I know I can't. All I can do is lend an ear, pray a prayer, and hope that those around me here me when I say, "Suicide may be a relief for you, in this moment, with this incredible pain -- but its permanent & the tragedy of your leaving will forever affect those who remain. Say awhile, rest awhile. Let tomorrow be the day you choose your final destiny but for now -- let it go."

"Advanced" Education

Who is it that came up with the idea that the more college education a person had the more intelligence and knowledge that person contained? Coming to the conclusion of my first year of graduate school, I have begun to feel that my mind gets increasingly foggier as the semesters pass. At the rate I'm going, by this time next year, I will have succeeded in the completion (or near completion) of my master's degree program and I won't have a single brain cell left with which to make logical choices. Even now, I can no longer pick up a novel and read it for the sheer enjoyment that reading has always provided me in the past. Instead, my mind teems with details of literary critical theory and I find myself wondering how Marx or Freud would assess the writings of J.D. Robb or James Patterson. Education has always played an important part in my life and in the life of my family. However, being the first one of the family (out of three children & two parents) to acquire my college degree much less move on to a graduate program, I have started rethinking my position on higher education. What, you may ask does this mean? I have no clue. My heart's desire has long been to be a teacher -- but one at the collegiate level, not a K-12 instructor. This, of course, requires the earning of a doctorate as well as the specialization in a specific area of knowledge. My prayer is that, with the passage of a few more years, I will be able to find a balance between the joys that learning have always brought me and the stress of becoming "specialized" in a specific area of study. Right now, my goal is to reach the end of this semester & complete my final exams without having a meltdown -- the rest will come after I spend some time communing with God, nature, and my family while taking a break from being a "pro" -- thank GOD summer is almost here!

The "Canon" of Literature

Today is the annual Pacific Rim Literary Conference at the University of Alaska, Anchorage. This year's topic is called "Shakespeare in the Bush" (or something like that) and addresses the idea of teaching literature from the "canon" to students in what are often considered "marginalized" cultures. Being a life-long Alaskan but not an Alaskan native by heritage, I find myself more attached to the rich culture of my state instead of aligning myself with the good ole "white man way" of my familial past. The question of canonical items has long been one I've toyed with. I remember receiving a list of the "Top 100 books to read for college-bound high school students" when I was a junior at East Anchorage High. My honors English instructor gave us this list with the expressed sentiment that we should work to read every one of these important texts over the summer if we truly wanted to be successful in college. Well, let me tell you!! As the first family member planning to attend college directly out of high school, I took what she said to heart (I mean, lets face it, she was the "expert") and proceeded to the local library to check out several of the texts even before summer break began. I was also duly impressed with myself to find that I had read at least 10 of the books already so that meant I was ahead of the game -- go me!

As I began to plow my way through "Jane Eyre," "The Bell Jar," and "Waiting for Godot" I found myself becoming less enamored with the idea that some books are better than others. Truly, what was wrong with my reading "Misty of Chincoteague" or "Black Beauty" if I wanted to? Why were these books less "important" than the others? My eyes crossing from trying to figure out "Godot" and my heart weighed down by Plath's depressing "Bell Jar," I came to realize that it would rather read volumes of books that inspired me than one book that someone else told me was "great literature."

Now, almost 30 years later, I have read more of those canonical texts but, primarily, none of them by choice. As my interests have changed and expanded, I have sought out new texts to inspire me and, sometimes, that leads me to one of those books my teacher recommended. Still, as I read them, I do so looking for mental challenge and inspiration, not because someone else considered the text worthy of passing on to the next generation. There are so many wonderful texts out there -- text which never make that "Top 100" list that spans the ages -- that I have no time to take in everything. I would much rather read a text based on the recommendation of a good friend or a fellow librarian than depending on a list created by someone sitting alone, locked in their dark, little world of ancient literature, scrutinizing texts as their eyes grow increasingly dim, and comparing each line to some predisposed list of "rules" which define whether or not the text is worthy of placement on the almighty Canon.

For me, it comes down to this -- the difference between capital 'C' (Canon/Culture) and small 'c' (canon/culture). The Oxford English Dictionary (Canonical dictionary if ever I've seen one), defines "Culture" (my sense of Canon) as "1) worship;reverential homage; 2) the training, development, and refinement of mind, tastes, and manners." Johanna Smith, in her essay "What is Cultural Criticism" defines "culture" (canon) as "popular, folk, urban, and mass (mass-produced, -disseminated, -mediated, and -consumed) culture, as well as the culture we associate with the sol-called classics." Smith goes on to differentiate culture as I have, capital 'C' versus small 'c.' To steal from Smith, I stretch this to my 'canon' -- one that encompasses the classic texts AND popular texts, children's literature, or anything else I find -- as long as it inspires and challenges!

Virginia Woolf's "Room of One's Own"

I have been rereading a portion of Virginia Woolf's book, A Room of One's Own, and it has struck me again how deeply Woolf must have felt about her world after WWI. Although my studies of Woolf have led me to believe that she supported the enlightened attitude of her generation, I noted that she talks about how the musical qualities of pre-war conversation has been lost. Later in the same chapter, she mentions the death of romance and how modern poetry has lost the ability to envoke strong emotions in the reader. In fact, she states that ". . . one cannot remember more than two consecutive lines of any good modern poet" (14). I find her discussion of these post-war losses in direct conflict with her desires for women to take a more active role in society. When spending a semester reading and discussing many of Woolf's works, I often caught myself wondering if she was really a romantic at heart who would have preferred being taken care of or if she was really the feminist so many people have come to define her as. One thing is certain, the more I read her work, the more I see new things -- must be why she's so intriguing to so many!

The Minds of Men (and Women)

Earlier this week I read an essay by Edward Hoagland entitled "Heaven and Nature." In this essay, Hoagland discusses suicide -- I know not necessarily the subject one wants to contemplate at length -- but anyhow, what really caught my attention was the final line of the essay:

"Man is different from animals in that he speculates, a high-risk activity."

Made me wonder, is our tendency to think, especially to overthink, one of the reasons we can become so morbid, so depressed with out lives? I've been chewing on this thought all week and I have yet to come up with an answer. Of course, that means I've been speculating, the very activity Hoagland seems to warn against. Still, I find that I am not willing to believe that mankind's tendency to think long and hard about all sorts of things, to speculate about the world we live in, is one of our more endearing traits. Yes, a person can takes things to negative ends, finding only the worse in live but I will continue to believe that it is that need to speculate which has created some of our greatest achievements. Without speculation, Salk would never have discovered a vaccination for polio and people, like one of my grandmothers, would have continued to suffer from the painful effects of the disease, provided they survived at all!


So, men and women of the world, speculate away. Just remember that we must always seek a greater level of understanding, of oneness with our universe -- it is time to stop trying to make one more dollar and start taking care of that which we already have. I know, old idea but I'll keep saying as long as I have breath to breathe.

Getting Started

I'm beginning this blog (my 2nd attempt) as part of a course requirement for a graduate course I am taking at the University of Alaska, Anchorage entitled "Evolution of the Essay." As a English graduate student, you would think that I have no fear of placing my thoughts and words anywhere yet I find myself hesitant to expose myself to the eyes of so many 'unknowns' out there in cyberspace.

Yet, it is the genre of the essay that challenges me to free myself of this fear and tackle a world foreign to my very being. At some point in his life the father of the essay, Montaigne, had to have decided that exposing his innermost thoughts to a world beyond the scope of his immediate friends and family was a worthwhile endeavor. I would love to say that all authors have some incredible level of self-esteem to be able to put their pen to paper and then, to put those permanent pieces of themselves on display for all to see. However, being a fan of the likes of Virginia Woolf and Sylvia Plath, I know that many authors are "tortured souls" who seem to find their writings cathartic in some way. So, as I jump into this pool of unknown depths, I will hold fast to some of those writers who I admire and allow my mind to wander at its leisure in the hopes that my mental wanderings will come to some fruition, bearing some seeds of wisdom or at least, food for thought.


Join me as I begin this journey and let us see where our minds will meander.