Life of Pi

Just finished reading Life of Pi by Yann Martel (2001) this morning. I recommend it. Essentially, it's the story of a teenage Indian boy who survives the Pacific Ocean in a lifeboat with a Bengal tiger. It focuses on religious themes, survival, human and animal behavior, and maturity. I was repeatedly impressed with the protagonist's wit and intelligence--he's completely believable and incredibly clever. Several favorite parts: the scene where the pandit, imam, and priest all confront the protagonist about being a Hindu, Muslim, and Christian all at the same time; the carnivorous island chapter; the written transcript of the dialogue between the protagonist and the sunken ship's company representatives; and the breaking up of the book into 100 chapters (this significance is realized about 3/4 of the way through the book).

I'm not usually fond of author's notes preceding a novel, but Martel's proved to be particularly insightful, especially for those who struggle with creating a valid piece of fiction. My favorite part of his revelation is that he took one of his floundering novels and mailed it to a false address with an equally false return address, essentially sending it to post office heaven. Even for the pros, if one element is missing from the story--even if the plot, theme, descriptions, everything else is good--it won't work. Somehow there's comfort in knowing that you're not the only one who struggles with a good final product. Now, if I could just complete a story to even be able to evaluate it along such lines...

Christmas Reflections

What do you make of Christmas when it no longer feels like Christmas? As I grow older, I'm more frustrated by the fact that anything--the season, the birthday, etc.--is what we make of it. When you're little, Christmas seems to come riding in with a magic all its own extending from the moment Thanksgiving dinner ends until the last present is unwrapped and even a little later until the last Christmas cookie has disappeared, albeit in someone's stomach or the trashcan. However, I'm not finding that joy comes automatically with the season. I'm no scrooge, though, so I'll recount what has made the season joyful through 20/20 hindsight:

1. Christmas Caroling. No, the old-time tradition has not yet died, at least in the Davis household. Mom decided that, since we weren't having Christmas Eve service at church this year, we should carol to our neighbors, Christina and Clint's neighbors, and close relatives, much to my brothers' chagrin. It turned out to be an enjoyable night, with our repertoire of "Joy to the World," "Silent Night," "O Come All Ye Faithful," and "We Wish You a Merry Christmas." We had people cry, give us a donation for the church, join us in caroling to their family, shush us because the baby was sleeping, and photograph us for all posterity to remember.

2. Gift Unwrapping. The tradition in my family is to open gifts one at a time while everyone watches and oohs and aahs. We love it because, depending on the year and how many times we interrupt with a snack, gift unwrapping can last between three and six hours, and we always know what everyone received. Another tradition is that each kid receives one "big" gift. As a youngin', it would have been treacherous to have someone else open your big gift, let alone any little gift. I guess I can count it joy that I have reached the age where this faux pas, so horrid and unforgivable in the sight of the giftgiver, did not phase me. When Eric unwrapped my digital camera and then had to hand it over, I must say I handled it with much maturity, yet another sign that I'm getting too old (this mishap was due to the fact that my dad created a secret coding system to inform him of the intended recipient for the package and the contents within, but he unfortunately had major glitches in cracking the code most of the afternoon).

3. Gift Giving. I realized once again that much of the fun at Christmas is in giving the gifts, not receiving them. Seeing the surprise or the excitement of the person opening a gift from you is worth more than gold. I was a little disappointed that I only had gifts for two people this year; my dad's gift still has yet to arrive in the mail, and my siblings and I have taken up the tradition of exchanging names so we only have to buy one gift. It's all in all a better system--less money spent, better quality gift, but I sometimes wish I made six digits simple so I could buy quality gifts for everyone.

Alas, it's good to be reminded of God's gift at Christmas, and that should be the primary focus of the season; however, I miss the old time excitement over the decorations, the packages, the food. We need to start having little kids around again. Though they often carry chaos with them, there's nothing like a child to bring back the simple, unsearched-for joys of the season. No pressure on the married (or soon to be married) siblings. :-)

I'm a Star in my Imagination

Ever have those moments where you realize how embarrassed you'd be if somebody saw what you were doing? I'm talking about one of those heart dropping, blushing red all the way to the tips of your toes kind of moments.

I was in the copy room today, making my copies (last minute, of course) for the next block. When another teacher came in, I realized that there was actually a third person in the room, who, I'm sure, had been there the entire time I was there. I did a double take and then braced myself against the copier, racking my brain. Had I been dancing? twirling? picking a wedgie? Nope. I think I'm safe--this time, at least.

I suppose this fear comes from my habit of imaginatively expressing myself after hours. I wonder, sometimes, if they ever review the security cameras that I'm sure they have in the hall, for whether it's me simply staring at them with a perplexed look (is there really a camera in that black little bubble?), sliding down the empty hallways in my hose, trying to tap dance in my clickety shoes, or simply running (well, jogging would be more like it) from one room to the next, I'm sure that whoever views those tapes has to wonder what's wrong with me.

I think spending ten to twelve hours out of a cinder cell is explanation enough.

Howdy, Y'all

It's official: I can speak like Kentucky folk, or so one of my students informs me.

We are having a grand discussion about the religion of the World State in Brave New World, and as I finish reading a passage, one of my students cries out, "Miss Davis, you sounded like a Kentucky person when you read that sentence!" She proceeded to reread the specific line where my intonation had reflected the Bluegrass dialect.

Not quite as proud of my achievement as she was, I replied, "Oh, I'm so glad that after all this time I finally fit in." Chuckle, chortle, guffaw, snigger.

Let's hope it doesn't happen again. ;-)

Whew! What a weekend!

Although I miss having Saturdays to sleep in, I must say that staying busy always causes me to accomplish more. Friday night was filled with hesitant steps on the ice rink (I haven't been skating in at least three years), Saturday I woke up at the happy hour of 6 to take a student to Hazard, KY (a two+ hour drive each way; from all appearances, Hazard's not as crazy as everyone thinks), took a brisk, one hour walk, went to a friend's house for an international potluck, and then graded papers for nearly three hours at Coffee Times. Upon arriving home, I cleaned the kitchen and bathroom and fell into bed around 1:30. Sunday was church--I ran late, as usual, to first service--and then two girls from Asbury came over for lunch. We relaxed a bit, watched Raising Helen, and then it was back to the books for me until 11:00 or so. Good news: I finished grading a class of memoirs and made it half way through my creative writing stack, planned my Of Mice and Men unit, and came up with a contract for reading group.

Eternal Youth

I know this is a blessing in disguise, but I've heard this line one too many times: "You look like a student!" or, "Get back to class (ha ha ha)!" I've been trying very hard this week to look the part of a professional: I haven't worn my hair in any weird way, I've been wearing skirts, but you know, I can't help my height. Yes, folks, it's a fact of my life: I'm short. Can't do anything about that.

However, as long as people continue to make this comment as I grow older, I think I can manage. :-)

The Bluest Eye

"I don't think I could concentrate in your class. Your eyes are too beautiful." Or so said Coffee Guy tonight. I must admit, I was partially fishing for a compliment when I finally succumbed to the Kentucky Blue Bug. After pondering the idea for several weeks, I purchased my first University of Kentucky sweatshirt, a bit impulsively since I happened to be at the mall tonight, had forgotten my jacket, and walked by the Kentucky apparel store. In the back of my mind, I knew that the blue could only help my appearance since anything blue seems to bring out my eyes (of course, so does the mascara and the slightly tinted contacts--although the company tells me they're only tinted so they can be found when dropped--so it's not au natural). Anywho, it creates a bit of excitement to have someone notice me--or at least my eyes.

I saw my grandma today. Well, not really my grandma. But someone who I think would be just like her if she were alive: bubbly, vivacious, tall, thin, confident, smiling. I have these moments where random people or events will remind me of her, and I miss that I never had the chance to truly know her or for her to truly know me since her body was consumed by cancer when I was a freshman in high school. She was my first pen pal since she lived 800 miles away; we only saw my grandparents once a year. Every time I think of her, I see her throwing her head back to allow a great burst of gut laughter escape from her throat. Her laughter was sincere, and her whole body received a workout from one bit of humor--not only would she throw her head back, but she also slapped her knee and rocked back and forth a bit (not in a dementia sort of way, but a true, I'm-enjoying-this-moment-immensely kind of way), thin shoulders shaking the entire time. She would have loved to see her granddaughters grow up, to become the "fine young women" that she always told us we were becoming.

Like a Little Child

The little boy rests his head gently on his father's shoulder. Suddenly, his right leg swings back and forth; Father continues talking, hardly noticing the movement. Five tiny fingers slide around the man's neck, and calm ensues. Stillness. Rest. The thumb must taste like candy. His palm lies on his father's back, but his fingers pump up and down, giving his father comforting pats. Father returns the gesture unconsciously, laughing at the woman's comments while his thick fingers beat out a love song. Little Boy's large eyes roam the room, and settling on my attentive face, stare blatantly for several seconds before his lips slowly spread into a grin. Peek-a-boo! He stares out between the cracks of his hands, then around his father's neck. Is she still there?
I have to leave. I rise, grab my trash, toss it, and exit.

Some days I wish I could be a little kid again.

15 Minuets and Counting...

In case you are wondering about the posting name, let me explain: as an English teacher, I have my pet peeves in student writing. I also have my favorite errors. This is a case of my favorite typo. It endears the student to me when I am reading their writing, it's moving along at a good clip, it's developed, focused, etc. when I suddenly come upon a statement such as this: "And Suzy cried out to Bob, 'Hurry! We only have fifteen minuets until the movie starts!'" While this may not be particularly amusing to you, I have a brilliant image of ballerinas twirling rapidly through the air to an intense passage of classical music. While my dictionary tells me that I should not, in fact, be seeing ballerinas, but rather couples performing a slow, stately dance, I cannot help what appears in my mind. And that picture tickles my brain.

One such moment occurred today in class. It does not fail that in any batch of papers, my favorite typo appears. And, since I just created this blog and this name two days ago, it has been in the forefront of my mind, moreso than usual. Therefore, when I found that typo in one of my student's papers during her presentation, it was with great effort that I stifled the laughter of amusement welling up within me.