Monday, November 30, 2015

November 30, 2015

Sunday morning found a dead baby raccoon in the driveway, It had been gutted, but whether that was the cause of death or the result of scavenging I don’t know. I felt bad. Left it, though, to see what would happen. Today there is significantly less of it.

Finished reading through my 50 students’ forty page journals. Some were barebones; others were full of keen insight or deep thought or pleasing humor. I’m pretty much a hit as a teacher. The best in the program, according to rate-my-professor, which I know not because I ever looked but because some of my students revealed their reasons for selecting me. Those who don’t like me fall (this time) into a single category– those who are more worried about their grade than they are about learning anything. It is true I’m not helpful to them, preferring to say “pay attention in class” or “wait for it all to fall together” rather than holding hands or handing out study guides. I do not make Powerpoints. I expect them to listen, and if they don’t know how to listen, to learn how. College is about learning new things. The boy/girl J hates me–and said so–largely, I think, because I did not take her/his grade anxiety seriously enough. Seldom have I felt such anger burning from a page. But THAT much anger is pathological and beyond redress, so one moves on. Most say they are thankful to have had me for Humanities, and I agree with them, for I loved what I did and presented it to them as an act of love. Something still must happen to punish The Boy. He's a little Caligula with the will but not the imagination of evil.

Many Christians in the class (revealed never IN class but always through the safety of the journals) and many of them remarkably ignorant about the faith they profess, to the point of not knowing the difference between the Old and the New testaments, of thinking that Jesus had written the bible, of not realizing every bible they have ever read has been a translation.

Student academic presentations in the morning. I divided the time between listening critically and looking at the back of K’s head, imagining making love to him. Probably approximately what goes on in that seat every class period. . .  with a change of personnel.

Remarkable continuity of rain. This is the last evening at home for a very long time.

November 29. 2015

Much singing at church (Advent One), then much singing in rehearsal for All Is Calm. The second went far better than it had the last time, so my stomach rested easier inside me. It is considerable comfort not to be the worst.

Sunday, November 29, 2015

November 28, 2015

In dream I had a desperate need for white cyclamen, to plant in the cement planter I brought over from 62 when I was feeding DJ’s fish. In a later dream, I had come late to some task. I was paid for it, but the payment was bitter because I had not really done the work. Then I had to carry a stepladder from the downtown Y in Akron all the way up Market Street.

Ordered odd peonies, which they said I could plant as long as the ground wasn’t frozen.

How the writing is bringing back memories of Hiram!

Searched, and there were no white cyclamen to be had, despite the dream. Planted huechera against the turning of the season.

Harry and Jan and their friends came by on their bikes. They caught me sleeping. I caught myself standing in the lawn in my bare feet.

Bought a bed.

Saturday, November 28, 2015

November 27, 2015

Blazing egg shaped moon when I rose, which seems to have rounded before pale morning.
Rescued cement planters from 62, which Will seems to have moved to the periphery.
Working nonstop on the Hiram novel. The writing is beautiful. The gatekeepers will hold that against it.

Friday, November 27, 2015

November 26, 2015

Moon and glittering stars at rising, moon and glittering stars when I lay down again to sleep. Writing in between. Writing and TV, lest I give myself too much credit. I scattered bread so the crows could have their Thanksgiving.

Wednesday, November 25, 2015

November 25, 2015

Fully suited for my freezing study in P-coat and toboggan.

Harry sees WP, complains how he fell in love with the actresses and then I killed them off. MM praises WP, says it “has legs.” Didn’t expect him to see it, actually.  My cup is pretty full regarding that production of that play.

First rehearsal at NC Stage. It was awful, but actually not quite as awful as I expected. Nor was my throat as raw as I anticipated afterwards. Even the backs of the heads of the actors are handsome. Stopped at Southern for a drink (and a kale salad, as it turned out) on the way to my car, and met Hap, a friendly bearded guy from Chattanooga who’s been here for a couple of days looking in on the music scene. He saw my music for All Is Calm and said, “except I don’t really have to READ music.” He does singer/songwriter gigs around, and will be having Thanksgiving with his family in Waynesville. Half the places he knows in Asheville I never heard of.

John Bridges is dead. Squirrels have gnawed gaping holes into my pumpkins

November 24, 2015

On the radio yesterday with CF-M for All Is Calm. Always pleased when I don’t cough or cuss.

Playwrights dazed at the end of the semester, much gossip, little art. I was the same.

Considered making an application for a Rockefeller Foundation residency, but stopped because of having resolved long ago never again to enter to apply for anything that requires letters of recommendation.