And at the End of the First Quarter...

The last week of first quarter begins tomorrow.  It is always amazing how quickly the time goes by.  One minute it’s August and you are nodding off during a professional development session that seems painfully familiar to something you talked about at the last professional development session you went to, and the next minute it’s October and you have three weeks worth of grading to complete in seven days.  As this milepost approaches, it is a fine time to check and see how the year is progressing.

To this point, my classes are going wonderfully.  My freshmen are great kids.  They are attentive, funny, and curious on most mornings. And, even when they are not at the top of their game, they usually do very little to make things more difficult for themselves or me. That counts for a great deal in my world.  My sophomores--more numerous and spirited--are still pretty good students.  They too are engaged, interesting, and curious.  A recent class chat about their own use of language and about a New York Times article on the President’s use of language was a really rich discussion. My sophomores are particularly social, and I am trying to use that strength of theirs by giving them more discussion-based lessons.  So far, I like it, they like it, and it really encourages them to think about things (score!).

Yearbook, always a work in progress, seems to be getting itself off the ground after a slow start.  I have some real go-getters (and a few sloths) who are shining right now.  I will do all I can to keep them doing what they do (and nudging the sloths to action).  I am encouraged.

In general, my “I’m okay, you’re okay” philosophy is serving me well.  I am seriously busy all the time, but that has always been the case.  I only occasionally feel like I am going to completely lose my shit because I have three weeks of grading to do in seven days, but that has also always been the case.  I do not feel as if I am particularly being put upon any more than in the past (okay, maybe a little bit--but it's okay).  However, I do feel (for the most part) calm and happy, which is a really great headspace to be in, but (again) no real change from the past.  Truth be told, I still get overwrought while watching sporting events, but that is no change from the past, either.

So, I find myself asking myself, what is the benefit of this whole “okay” thing anyway?  Well, it is probably like the Romney-Ryan tax cut plan: it is too complicated to explain the math. Suffice it to say that I anticipated that this year would involve a lot of stress-management challenges (and it has involved them), and I hoped that being aware of them, prepared for them, and accepting of them would make them less stressful. So far, so good.

Here I am, feeling pretty good, but as I type this I see, just at the edge of my periphery, a folder full of papers that compose a mere quarter of what lies before me to be assessed.  And, so, I will leave off this particular entry to tackle that job, for before me looms a distraction from my professional responsibilities, as my beloved and oft-maligned Baltimore Orioles face the dreaded New York Yankees in the MLB Divisional Playoffs.  Yes, that’s right, the playoffs. After fifteen years.

How can I not be okay?

Even Sugar Free Jazz Couldn't Mess Up The Night

And it's cool and clean as
Sugar free jazz
--Soul Coughing, "Sugar Free Jazz"

A beautiful summer night, the end of June. Monkey and I decided, with no real premeditation to head down to the Sheldon Museum's sculpture garden for the final performance of the Jazz in June concert series. Monkey was going to be out visiting a friend, but she was going to be downtown, so I biked down and met her.

The bike ride was a bit convoluted, as several trail closures resulting from on-going construction and renovation sent me on a few short, unintended detours, but, all in all, it was good to be riding. I haven't done much lately, what with the increased work commute and other physical ailments of the last few months. This evening was a perfect one to be in the saddle. We've had some massive storms lately, and the forecast is for temperatures to push the three-digit mark, so this might be the last pleasant night for a while.

The weather being what it was, the concert was almost an excuse just to sit outside. Neither Monkey nor I knew anything of the performer, so that was not what drew us. It was just a reason to be downtown and to experience a communal civic event.

Long ago, in a city far away, summer meant festivals. Mostly ethnic or cultural festivals. Baltimore was the place to be for the Polish festival, the Lithuanian festival, Afram, the Greek festival, and on and on. There were (and are) other festivals, mostly focusing more on neighborhoods than ethnicity or culture, but the ethnic festivals were the ones that got my family out of the house. It was wonderful to be out amongst people enjoying the heat, the smells, the sounds, the tastes, of all of these civic parties. I loved them. It seems that time is wearing down this tradition back in my old hometown, but some festivals are apparently still hanging on.

Later, in CoMo, a spring/summer tradition was the Twilight Festival, which was a sort of downtown hodgepodge of music, merchants, horses, and kettle corn. I don't think Monkey and I missed many of those Thursday evenings, strolling the streets of downtown Columbia (uh...I mean, "The District"), running into people, listening to this bit of bluegrass here and this patch of folky strumming there. Again, a tradition that died while we were still in CoMo, but it was fun while it lasted.

So, here in Lincoln, Jazz in June seems to have picked up the communal experience slack where time and distance have intervened in my life. So, it made no difference that the music I listened to this evening, in my opinion, basically sucked. It made no difference that the "jazz" that I heard tonight was sort of soulless, clean, simple (syncopated, but simply so). The performance was spirited, as the sax man wandered the crowd with his cordless microphone, bouncing around like some smooth Pied Piper, enticing young and old to embrace the faux-funk that he was spewing. But, for Pete's sake, the crowd was clapping along in 4/4 time...that's not jazz. Not to me, anyway. But, you know what? There were kids bopping around to the funky groove, and people smiling and clapping along. There were people just chatting with their friends, or munching on the ubiquitous Midwestern delicacy...yes, kettle corn. And, even I, a man who takes his music rather seriously, who likes his jazz to swing or bop (neither of which this music was doing), even I had a wonderful time.

And after, as Monkey and I walked my bike to the car so she could drive us home, as the sun was settling in for the night, and as the chimney swifts were fluttering off to hang from there stone-walled perches, I couldn't recall a single lick, one tiny riff I had heard all night, but, at least I got out with the people.

Getting Out of the Sweltering City

In Baltimore, a little way up Harford Road, you'll find Clifton Park. It's on the east side of the road, and stretches all the way over to Belair Road. There's a public golf course, and, nearby, you'll find what used to be called Lake Clifton High School. Clifton Park, if I am not mistaken, used to be the country estate of Johns Hopkins, the man who now has his name on a prestigious university and hospital, and is a well-known patriarch of Charm City. As I understood it, Clifton Park was where the Hopkinses used to retire during the hottest of the summer months, to escape the unpleasantness of the sweltering city. I always found this odd, since Clifton Park really isn't that far away from what would have been the city limits back in Johns' day, but, when you think about it, an August day in Baltimore in the 19th century was probably pretty heinous. Not in the muggy quality (which it certainly possessed), but in the funkiness. I can only imagine that the garbage, the water, the ships, the sailors, all were pretty offensive. So, being hot and sweaty in the middle of a giant park was clearly a respite from the hot and sweaty and stenchy (What? "Stenchy" is not a word?) conditions immediately surrounding a harbor town.

So, in that great tradition (not the philanthropic one, in which I make millions and then found a university, an orphanage, a hospital, and art museum, etc., etc.) Monkey and I are off to escape the dog days on the Plains, the mid-nineties, the high dew points. Our destination is the cool and mountainous Eastern Slope. Colorado, here we come!

We hope to return with a plethora of stories to shock and amaze (or at least entertain), and a multitude of images to share. We hope the weather is better than last year, that our hikes are dryer, and that our spirit remains undaunted by any set backs. We'll communicate with you again when we return. Westward, ho!

The Magic Begins Again

Alright, I'll admit it, I am a sucker. Today is an excellent day on my annual calendar, as Spring Training begins for my old hometown ball team, the Baltimore Orioles. Another sign that spring is soon to arrive has been reached, as the tradition of Spring Training leads into the anticipation of Opening Day, a sign, itself, of summer's impending arrival. I am sure I am not the only person who finds some joy and solace in this annual occurrence, yet I still feel like a sucker.

I feel like a sucker because Mark McGwire is now a coach with the St. Louis Cardinals. I feel like a sucker because guys who won fewer games than they lost last year were awarded with multi-million dollar contracts. I feel like a sucker because the Orioles will most likely finish this season just as far out of the running as they have in each of the last dozen years. I feel like a sucker because I know I care far more about those 25 strangers than they ever will or can about this one.

But, you know what? I don't mind feeling like a sucker in this case, because, maybe it's not a sucker that I feel like. It's more like a kid. I feel like a kid, who wants to oil up his glove and toss the ball around, a kid who wants to watch the big guys take on the best ball players in the world, a kid who thinks, "Maybe this will be the year."

And that's okay.

It' s Sunday. It's Dark. It's Snowing.

December arrived determined to wipe away any memories of a balmy November. Global warming is not on any one's mind today, here in Cornopolis. It's pretty chilly out there, and the snow has been falling slowly since about ten this morning. The next couple days could bring us six inches or so, all told. It probably won't close schools tomorrow or Tuesday, but it might be enough to make Parent Teacher conferences pretty poorly attended tomorrow night. You know how much I love PT conferences, eh?

It has been a pretty good weekend. The Florida-Alabama game was enjoyable. It wasn't a great game, but I was pulling for the Crimson Tide. I don't know why, but I have always liked Alabama, even as a tyke. And, equally inexplicably, I have never been a fan of the Gators. But, now that I think about it, that's probably Steve Spurrier's fault. Anyway, the Big 12 Championship game WAS exciting (unless you like offense), and unexpectedly competitive. Monkey asked me before the game if I thought it was going to be ugly. I told her I thought it would be, but I didn't mean ugly in the way it turned out.

In addition, the Steelers lost to the Raiders today. I feel a twinge of guilt, getting joy from others misery (see Florida, as well), but, when it comes to the Steelers, I know that their fans get as much satisfaction out of watching the Ravens flounder as we get out of their losses. But, in a less spiteful vein, Pittsburgh's loss (which is kind of inconceivable...as well as their loss two weeks ago to KC) opens up one more door, ever so slightly, for Baltimore to make it into the playoffs. Of course, the Ravens need to win on Monday night, and they need to keep winning, and they need Jacksonville to slip up at some point, but, with Pittsburgh's loss, they have an opportunity to move closer to the wild card.

Okay, no more sports talk.

Except to say that I jammed my finger playing b-ball this afternoon (not in the snow, in the church gym), and now I can't get my wedding ring on. Monkey is distraught, but I am wearing it on my right hand, and hoping the swelling subsides sooner, rather than later.

Okay, no more sports talk.

Except to say that the local ESPN radio station pulled my favorite talk show off the air this week. It was a show called THE SPREAD, and it featured former Husker All American Jason Peter. I liked the show for several reasons. One, it was on during my drive home (when I drove), so it became part of my routine. Two, Peter, a former defensive tackle who played a few seasons with the Carolina Panthers, was an unpolished, but thoroughly entertaining radio personality. And, three, Peter, a New Jersey native, had one of those East Coast accents (and attitudes) that used to make me a little homesick. Why the show was canceled, no one knows, but one day they were on the air, and the next day, they were gone. That happens in radio a lot.

Okay, no more sports talk.

Saturday, Monkey and I bought a new TV. But, they didn't have it in stock, so we have to pick it up Tuesday. I was thoroughly bummed, since we were going slightly larger, slightly more 16:9 aspect ratio, slightly more 1080p, and slightly more 120Hz. In sum, we were moving into the 21st century of TV receivers. I was thinking we would bring our shiny new LCD TV home on Saturday, hook it up, watch the Big 12 Championship, and then, on Monday, we could dig on the Ravens' Monday night appearance in all of their bright and shining (in black and purple) glory. Unfortunately, that ain't gonna happen. I got over it, but Monkey will tell you, I was one grumpy dude at the grocery store. At least I can watch the Army-Navy game (Go Navy!) on Saturday on the new tube.

I know, that non-sports item was awfully sporty. And, I haven't said a word about NCAA basketball.

Tales From the Road

Hey! I've got some time and online access, so a short update on what the Monkeys have been doing since Tuesday.

Wednesday was a travel day. No big news to report. Uneventful short trip to Minneapolis; switched planes; uneventful longer trip to BWI where we were met by a Monkey Mother for a slow crawl up the "express" ways of Central Maryland. We traveled light, with no checked luggage. Hell, if we can manage two weeks in a foreign country with one carry-on, then we can manage ten days back home. It was great just getting on and off the plane without having to worry about baggage pickups or transfers. Highly recommended.

Today, Monkey and I went for a run together--yeah, I have started to run with her. I don't know if I'll be knocking out any half-marathons, but I thought it would be fun to at least provide Monkey with some company while she is here. It rained most of the morning, so our jaunt was not terribly pleasant, but we both finished and nobody got hurt--a good run!

After breakfast, we headed to my favorite museum in the world: the American Visionary Arts Museum. Boring Election, Monkey and I discussed our gross oversight in not telling you about this place before you came to Baltimore last week. Next time you come out, you MUST go here. You would love it, for sure. We had lunch at Sabatino's and picked up some cannoli (of course) at Vaccaro's (looks like they are remodeling). Tonight, we have dinner with Monkey's mom.

Tomorrow, who knows?

Things I am remembering that I love: downtown, food options, museums, familiarity.
Things I am remembering that I hate: traffic, traffic, traffic. By the way, parking in downtown Baltimore is an easier proposition at almost any time that it is in Lincoln. Go figure.