Writer's Workshop Wednesday

Wednesday's Assignment from Mama's Losin' It is to write of an encounter with a former teacher. I have exactly the person in mind.

My sophmore year in high school, I had an English teacher who hated me. I was never really sure why she did not like me. I thought I was pretty cute and likable. I worked really hard in school. I came to class, I studied hard, I tried not only to grasp the knowledge but to apply it.

I went to a private all girl's school. I hated it. I wanted nothing more than to just go back to public school where the rest of my friends went, but my parents would not hear of it. I had a full scholarship to this school and they insisted that I take advantage of the opportunity. (they were quirky like that) In retrospect, I guess I could have tried a little less in my academic endeavors and that may have taken care of the whole "but you have a scholarship" dilemma, but it never crossed my mind.

Many of the girls who went to the school had summer cottages in the town where I lived. Many of the girls in the school looked down on me because I lived year round in the summer cottage town. My family did not have a regular home, a summer cottage, and a ski cabin. We had one house. It almost seemed to me that my English teacher saw me in the same light as the summer cottage crowd.

Often in class, she would suggest engaging our families in a discussion of classic literature around the dinner table. I'm sure she meant for this to be a positive, enlightening experience. However, my family did not discuss Anna Karenina or Great Expectations at dinner. We discussed the Red Sox. Charles Dickens would not stand a chance.

Often in class, she would ask students to share with one another the content of those dinner discussions. Some students would share their mother's point of view as she wrote in her term paper at Wellsley. Other students, like me, looked down at their desks and tried to disappear. And always -- ALWAYS -- she would call on me.

"What did your family think of this novel?" she'd say.

"Um, I don't know" I'd stammer. "We didn't talk about it."

I still remember the way she'd look down her nose at me. Through those black rimmed half glasses. (She always wore black rimmed glasses, black ribbed turtle neck sweaters over skinny black pants and black boots) "Well, I guess some people think they don't have to pay attention to assignments."

In those moments, I'd actually feel ashamed of my family! Nobody in my family had gone to college! Nobody wrote term papers about t.s .elliot! Nobody cared to compare and contrast Much Ado About Nothing and Othello! I'd sit in class and seethe, thinking that this was her intent all along, to make me feel like I was a little less than her.

One day, during a discussion of A Farewell to Arms, we were talking about somebody's dad's opinion of Hemingway as the greatest American writer and the novel as a classic love story. As usual, she asked me to weigh in on it.

"I don't think they were in love at all," I said. "I think the characters were a couple of alcoholics who were afraid of being alone. So they just hung on each other and drank and said 'I love you, I love you, I love you' so they wouldn't have to be alone."

She looked down through her glasses at me. "Obviously, somebody has not been paying attention in class all year. I try to teach you girls how to read great literature and appreciate great writers. Hemingway HAS been referred to as the greatest American writer of all time by many scholars. You would know that if you cared to do the work in this class."

"But I did read the book," I argued back to her. "I just don't think its a love story. I think its sad!"

After lecturing the class on how I didn't know the difference between a "book" and a "novel" she gave me an extra assignment to research Ernest Hemingway and write an essay on Hemingway as the greatest American author of all time.

Big mistake. BIG MISTAKE. Because in my research of the greatest American writer of all time, I learned a few things that she had neglected to mention in class. Like how he was a raging alcoholic. How he had a series of failed relationships including one with his nurse during World War I. How he was referred to as a member of "the Lost Generation" by Ezra Pound. How he was thought to have suffered from bipolar disorder and ended his life by committing suicide.

I did HER assignment. However, I wrote MY essay. Somehow in between the lines of the paper, I managed to suggest that somebody ELSE hadn't been doing her assignments. (seriously ---who the hell teaches Hemingway and neglects to mention the Lost Generation and the alcoholism?) I managed reference my ass off about his dark period in which he wrote this novel. I managed to turn that paper in, feeling like she was a little less than me.

(I still have that essay tucked away in a hope chest. I might dig it out this weekend and read it again. Just because.)

Apartment Frustration

This weekend seemed to be one thing after another that just did not happen. Saturday morning at 6:00am, I found that my sprint triathlon had been cancelled. Later, I attempted to do some shopping and get a book from the library, but I was thwarted again as the things I wanted to obtain were not there. On Sunday, some plans I had with a friend fell through, so I decided to go to the beach. But every time I tried to go into the ocean, I was tossed out again by the remnants of Hannah. Nothing was panning out!

Just as I started to give in fully to my frustration, I remembered that a friend of mine was spending his weekend apartment hunting. In my opinion, that is THE most frustrating activity on earth. (which probably explains why I still don't own a place of my own and am living over my best friend's garage)

Years ago, when I was apartment hunting in Boston, one guy showed me a basement apartment that had no sub-flooring, no carpet, no cabinets, no kitchen floor, no closet doors, no sheet rock, broken windows and no appliances. It was the 24th of the month. He wanted a decision on the spot, because he was hoping to get somebody to move in on the 1st of the next month!

The next apartment I looked at was at least fully constructed. The realtor showed it to me and 4 other people at the same time. At 2:00 pm on a weekday. (I had to go into work early, run out of work to see the apartment and then go back and work late.) After showing all 5 of us the apartment, the realtor guy basically said that whomever could get to HIS office first to fill out the paperwork could have the apartment. Like some kind of strange amazing race. Skewed to favor people who didn't have a job to go back to.

Years later I was apartment searching in California. Though I had several years and 3000 miles in between, aparment searching had not changed much. I had given some thought to sharing a place with roommates. The place I looked at had advertised 3 bedrooms. In actuality, it had two bedrooms. The people living there had taken some cubicle dividers and sectioned off some of the living room. About 5 feet by 8 feet. The rest of the living room formed an "L" that was 2 feet in width on one side and about 3 1/2 on the other. Into which a sofa and a widescreen TV had been stuffed. There was one bathroom. For this luxurious set up, they were asking $750 per month.

After quickly dropping the roommate idea, I checked out a rather promising one bedroom apartment. Unfortunately, when we entered the apartment, I was overwhelmed by the strong odor of cigarettes and cat pee.

"Now, this would be thoroughly cleaned before move-in, right?" I asked.

"Oh, its already been cleaned by the crew" I was told.

"This place really does not look like its been cleaned" I said as I opened the refrigerator to a sticky greenish brown stain on the bottom.

"No, it has." the apartment manager said in a bored tone.

Then we went into the bathroom where, floating in the toilet, was a GIANT TURD. An "I had lots of mexican food last night" turd.

To this day, I'm not sure what disturbed me more: the fact that there was a sequioa log greeting me in the loo or the apartment manager's reaction to our unexpected visitor.

"Oh" she said in a matter of fact tone and reached out to flush. Then she again assured me that the apartment had already been cleaned.

WOW! Both my weekend and the garage-majal look astronomically better.

5 current addictions

I've never done one of these "tagged" things before, but I just got tagged by Mrs. D for a little game started by Being Brazen.

I'm supposed to name 5 things that I'm currently addicted to and then tag 2 more people.

Seriously...FIVE things I'm addicted to? FIVE? I've been trying to find more balance in my life! But if I can't find balance, I've been trying to NOT THINK. As innocent as this little game appears on the outside, it is in actuality a cruel way for life to thumb its nose at me and let me know that I have absolutely no control or will power. Hey, Thanks Mrs. D and Being Brazen!

Ok, anyway... I'm currently addicted to:

Diet Coke: Of course. Isn't everyone? I'm not fully convinced its only caffeine in there. Its probably heroin. I can't get thru the day without at least two 16 oz bottles. Sometimes more. I need to cut down.

Peanut M & M's:Again, I never claimed to be creative with my addictions. I've been doing so much partying this past month that I've been accousted with peanut M & M's wherever I turn. Yesterday a patient brought a bag of peanut M & M's to the staff as a special treat. I could not walk by the bowl without grabbing a couple. I'm actually eating some now. I need to stop.

Triathlons: Yeah, I know. This summer has been life changing. What I thought would just be one more thing to check off my life list has turned into an obsession. Where this year I was kind of "playing" at the training, I have made the decision to actually train next year. I'm planning my life around it. I feel like I have been swept away by a power greater than myself. As far as addictions go, I think its a good one. I don't need to stop. I'm going with it.

Blogs: Hey, you know, after work and working out, I just jump on the computer and check my email and surf around for a little while and, you know, just see what people are up to. And post something. And leave. But, you know, maybe just check one more. And maybe check to see if I got any comments. And, hey, maybe start another blog dedicated to an obsession or something. But, you know, I'm in complete control here. I don't need a lot of sleep.

Jason Mraz: Sometimes I need to mix it up a little. The good old standby's are so dependable: Van Halen, Jane's Addiction, the Chilli Peppers, and my boy Chris Clouse. (If you are not familiar with him, you should be. Check him out. He is one of the things I miss most about California).
Anyway, I chucked a new CD in the ipod for workouts, into the car for commuting, into the computer for listening while blogging. I have been rocking and grooving and beat boxing with ol' Mr. A-Z for a few weeks now. I can't get enough. I enjoy the fact that NONE of my friends like him. I'll chuck him in the file with Ozomotli and only listen by my lonesome. I'll grow out of this one eventually. Or maybe he'll become an old standby. Who Knows?

Now for the difficult part. Who to tag? Who to tag? I suppose I'll actually have to start leaving some comments on my regular visits rather than skulking around in the dark, so people will know who the heck Hebba is.

Tag...Tutu Girl and Reb

The Ultimate Guy-Weekend Accessory

So last Saturday, I got some relentless texts from Nerd. He was supposed to be on a "guy's weekend". So you can imagine my surprise when he was texting me. Texting girlfriend-type people is strictly prohibited on guys weekends, as I understand. Of course, I'm also the person who thought female wingmen existed, so don't take this as fact.

Anyway, I soon discovered that his buddies, incapable of determining north from south or operating a Tom-tom, added 2 1/2 hours onto their trip. He was in Hyannis by himself for the next 4 hours on a rainy day. Since I was already on Cape Cod, I buzzed down to hang out until his buddies arrived.

In true guy form, he worked on trying to get a back rub out of me. In true physical therapist form, I only did so after reviewing his stretching regeime and developing a new one for him. "Make sure you do this every time after you go to the gym", I said.

"You know," he replied, "I don't think my back hurts from the gym. I think its because my man-bag weighs too much."

"Your MAN BAG!" I said "What the hell do you have in a man-bag?"

"Too much stuff. It weighs about 40 pounds. I just took out the umbrella, though."

I was incredulous. "You carry an umbrella around all the time?"

"Not anymore. But you should see my umbrella. Its super fancy! When I use it, I feel like I should be wearing a trench coat and a matching hat, like Humphrey Boghart"

I looked at him. "Dude, seriously? You have no idea why people think you are gay?"

"Just because I have a man-bag? I got a lot of stuff. I think I should try switching it to my other shoulder."

"No," I told him, "You should stop carrying a purse."

MY LAST 3 EMAILS

I was toying with the idea of writing the letter to my 10 year old self when it dawned on me that I was much more well adjusted at age 10 than I am now. When I was 10, I ate, breathed, slept, and lived for gymnastics. I was the youngest girl on the "elite" team at the gym. I weighed 52 pounds. I excelled at school and was part of the "popular" crowd in 5th grade---whatever that is. (Of course, that was before junior high when the popular crowd took on a whole new meaning) My biggest worry at age 10 was that most adults thought I was a very articulate 6 year old.

Flash forward 28 years, and I don't seem to have things figured out nearly as much as I did when I was 10. I suppose this should be a clue to me to examine my life and try to get it back on track. However, that would entail lots of deep thought and that is in direct conflict with my new life philosophy.

So instead of writing a letter, I decided to examine the last 3 emails I sent:

1) I sent an email to my friend, Char, to solidify our plans for a girls weekend in 2 weeks. Our last girls weekend in Texas was 2 years ago. At the time, I hadn't seen Char in a couple years. It came as a bit of a shock to find out that she was extremely unhappy. I felt like a pretty bad friend that I had not known she was so unhappy! Unfortunately, the next year was even worse for Char. Her boyfriend of 3 years left her, she got her identity stolen, and she lost her job all in one year. I wanted to fly down to Texas, but she wanted to be alone. All I could do was email her and call and text her, trying to be a good friend. Things are finally turning around for her. So in 2 weeks, Char, D, and I are going to get together and laugh our butts off about anything and everything. I just had to email to confirm.

2) I sent an email to a wheelchair vendor to clarify the specs for a patient's new chair. Things are getting much busier in the wheelchair clinic at work. That had been one of my work goals: to expand the wheelchair clinic. However, now that it's expanded itself beyond my time constraints, I end up taking work home to get it completed. Be careful of what you wish for.

3) I sent an email to Nerd. Nerd is probably going to be moving soon. Either to another country for a few months or to another state, possibly permanently. My close friends are upset. They think he should turn down the offer and stay here. They don't understand why I'm not as upset as they. But I'm happy for him. I don't want him to turn down the offer. I think he should go. The only regrets I've ever had in my life are the times when I turned down an opportunity to travel somewhere or work in a great situation in order to stay with somebody. Inevitably, when things did not work out, I was resentful. I wouldn't want Nerd to resent me like that. I do wish our timing was a little better, though.

When you look at those 3 emails in line, it seems like my life is pretty well balanced. Then why does it seem so disjointed?

For 10 year old letters from people a bit more well adjusted than me, go to Mama's Losin It

the meaning of life

My life has no purpose, no direction, no aim, and no meaning; and yet I'm happy. I can't figure it out. What am I doing right? ---Charles M Schultz

So this week brought about the hatching of mass quantities of teeny, tiny, little green gnats; gnats so tiny that they fit right through the holes in my screens! They flew in great swarms all around my apartment, up into the recessed lighting in the ceiling, where they were propmtly fried by the light bulbs. Then they rained down like volcanic ash all over everything I own; they fell on the computer keyboard, the bookcases, on the freshly washed dishes drying in the dish-rack, on the coffee table. Fortunately, I had the foresight to leave the lights over the bed OFF, but my lovely white canvas IKEA sofa looked like it was grey tweed (their little bug bodies, while green when alive, turn black when deceased)

Then the spiders came. They were psyched! They clearly thought I had opened up some kind of arachnoid all-you-can-eat-buffet. Normally, I don't mind sharing my place with a spider or two. I really liked Charlotte, so I figure her friends are ok, too. But when they try to take over the place, its time to put your foot down. I had to break out the big guns -- the vacuum cleaner.

And as I vacuumed up tiny little insect carcasses, I thought about how lucky I am to have been born -- you know-- a HUMAN, rather than an insect with a lifespan of less than 24 hours. I can only hope that my life has a little bit more meaning, as well. (You never can tell though. Remember "Horton Hears a Who"? Maybe we are the ones whose lives are insignificant and those gnats actually accomplished something grand) Well, before getting sucked up a vacuum hose.

HAPPY SEPTEMBER

Well, Labor Day Weekend has come and gone and honestly, it may have been the best weekend of the summer. It's a toss-up with last weekend. Went to a party on Saturday nite, went bike riding all around Cape Cod on Sunday, and went to the beach today. Hung out with friends all weekend, saw my Dad, and watched a James Bond movie with nerd.
I would say "Good bye Summer", but I always think that September is better weather wise than June pretty much every year. So I unofficially extend summer in my own mind until October 15 or so.

August Goals:

1) Daily Meditation: I'm gonna give that a thumbs up. I think that when it comes to being silent and looking within, we all need to find our own way of doing things. Sometimes its sitting and being silent in the room (which I do), sometimes its being physical and letting your mind go silent (which I do even better), and sometimes its writing until all the chatter in your mind spills onto the paper and is silent (which I started doing again this month). We'll see where it goes from here.

2) Rock climbing: a bust. Didn't happen this month. Hopefully next month.

3) Outdoor concert: that didn't happen either. It rained alot this month.

4) Simple Abundance: It's less of a read through book, and more of a daily book of assignments for the year. Its been helpful in the whole meditation goal.

5) Bought the bike! Love it, love it, love it!!!!

6) Gave away 9 things and then some.

7) Bought the "going back to school outfit" with the gift card. Five out of seven ain't bad!!

AND NOW FOR NEXT MONTH:

I gathered all the past months goals into a folder and went through them this month. So in the spirit of back to school and all that jazz, I'm going to try to remedy all of the unfinished business for the year:

1) For 30 days I will exercise outside every day.

2) I will stick to an eating plan for 30 days.

3) I will pull out 4 crafts from my untouched craft box (one a week) and either complete it or get rid of it.

4) I will go to a museum.

5) I will go to an outdoor music event.

6) I will go rock climbing.

7) I will read "Downshifting"

8) I will get the finances in some sort of order

9) I'll tune and play the guitar at least 2 times per week.

10) I'll go hiking and camping at least once.

Quite a list. But cleaning up is always a big project, eh?