Back to School, Back to Hiroshima

Yesterday was a delightful day.  Today will be delightful too, although it's a full day on campus, so it will be a different kind of delightful.  And I've been awake since 2, so I do worry about how tired I'll be by late afternoon.

My brain started churning at 2, churning with all sorts of worries and plans.  I need to sit down with a calendar and old syllabi and make some loose plans--or maybe weekly plans--at least that's what my brain was telling me when I couldn't go back to sleep.  My brain also jumped ahead to spring, and how I might teach the Intro to Lit class, and it's much too early to be plotting those classes.

Have I done the syllabus planning for this semester, since I was awake?  No, of course not.  I did some reading and ate some cranberry orange bread.  I did some fretting about muscle loss:  not my own, but my friend who had the catastrophic stroke a few years ago, and has lost so much muscle mass that she can't sit in the wheelchair very long.  I've wondered about other people in my life who aren't getting much exercise--but certainly more than my mostly bed-bound friend.

I am remembering 2 years ago, heading down to campus for a day that would have been even fuller, with a dinner for new faculty at the end.  I remember going to orientation sessions for new faculty and wondering how much would apply to me as a person with a one year position.  And I remember feeling so jealous of people who had the luxury of more permanence.

And now I am one of those people.

Of course, today is one of those days in history that reminds me that permanence is an illusion. Today is the day when the first atomic bomb used in warfare was detonated at Hiroshima, thus launching us into this brave new world where we find ourselves.  I think of those people headed to work when the bomb detonated, those burned into the concrete, and those further away, who would spend the rest of their lives being a walking specimen of what overexposure to radiation does to a human body before they died early.

The bombs used to destroy Hiroshima and Nagasaki were small by today's standards--but what damage they did! The effects of that bomb obliterated much of Hiroshima--and vaporized some of it. There were reports of people fused into pavement and glass--or just vanished, with a trace remaining at the pavement. The reports of the survivors who walked miles in search of help or water are grim. And many of those survivors would die of the effects of radiation in the coming years.

Through the years, I've seen many a documentary about the rush to build nuclear weapons, about the uncertainty of what would happen with those first tests and explosions--would the very atmosphere around the planet dissolve? I have yet to see any footage of scientists who wondered what might happen to civilians on the ground when these bombs exploded.

I've lived long enough to see history being made to know that the choices can be fairly ghastly. In this case, far better to develop the weapons before the Germans. I know many people who believe that the use of these bombs helped avoid more years of grueling battles in the Pacific that would have left us with even more dead--one could argue that the sacrifice of the populations at Hiroshima and Nagasaki were worth the avoidance of more years of war and that loss of life.

I've also done enough reading and thinking about pacifist approaches to wonder if there might not have been another way if we had acted much earlier.

I remember during our grad school years we went to a beautiful anti-nuclear vigil on August 6 in a city park.  I remember paper cranes and seeing some of our grad school professors there.  That would have been in 1988 or 1989.  I wonder if any groups mount anti-nuclear vigils in August anymore?

It's not that the world is any more of a peaceful place these days.  In fact, in recent years, it feels like we're sliding back to a world that's much more dangerous.  Sadly, the world still needs the blessings of the origami cranes.  They're not as easy to fold as they look--that, too, makes them an appropriate metaphor.  But they are worth the effort--and peace is worth the effort too.

Delights Planned for the Last Day of Summer and an A for Paul Class

In many ways, today is my last day of summer 2026.  A year ago, I'd have been going to CPE early and then driving to Williamsburg to help my parents recover from my mom's near death pneumonia hospitalization--I am so grateful that this summer's end is more mundane.

Our transition to the school year is a gentle one.  Tomorrow we have a very full day of teacher training and meetings.  On Friday and Monday, we have one meeting per day.  I'd prefer to have both on one day and the other day free for syllabus prep, but I'm fine with the schedule.  Having more time off is a game changer--in my younger days at community colleges, I'd have been irritable at being expected to do any of this at all.  

Of course, in my younger days, I spent much more time being irked.  Now I am older and wiser and more laid back and a better shepherd of my energy, meaning I ask more questions about situations and whether or not my irritability/anger is worth the energy and time.

On this last day of summer, I'll fill my day with delights:  a morning visit with a neighborhood friend doing creative work together in her studio and an afternoon with the LWR quilting group at the local Lutheran church.  I'll do some reading and some writing.  For one day, today I won't do any teaching work:  I turned in final grades for my online classes last night, and I still have time to create syllabi before classes start on Tuesday.

But I'm just remembering that I need to put an announcement in my onground class course shells that gives a welcome and says that more information is coming soon.  Since the shells open tomorrow, I'll do that cut and paste work today.

I'm happy that my work-for-pay still leaves me with time to see friends and do creative work of all types, along with writing and reading.  I'm grateful that my teaching life doesn't consume all my free time.  I know I say this a lot, but it's worth remembering and retreating.

It seems fitting that on one of the last evenings of summer, last night I got my grades for my summer TEEM class on Paul:  an A on each of the two papers, and an A for the class.  My teacher gave thoughtful commentary that made me feel seen and heard and understood.

I mention my reaction because last night I also got my supervisor feedback for the summer online class that I taught for SMC.  Overall, it was positive, although there is room for improvement:  more personalized feedback and more depth of feedback.  My first thought was that using names of students in grading feedback (a suggestion) would take too much time.  But it really won't take that much more time and maybe it would help students stay engaged.

I'm grateful for my return to school in late middle life for many reasons, but it's been revelatory to remember what it's like to be a student.  I used to think that A level papers don't really need much instructor feedback, but as an A student, I would feel cheated if my papers got the kinds of A level feedback that I give as a teacher.  Maybe that's too strong; I'm remembering all the times I got minimal feedback on A level papers and didn't feel cheated.  But every time I get more involved feedback, I'm grateful.  And A level students are more likely to have the time and mental space to care in a way that isn't possible for students who can't care as much because their lives are falling apart.

Midway Points: Inspirations and Revelations

I am grateful to have been blogging for so long, grateful for many reasons.  I often go back to re-read old blog posts--by often, I mean at least two or three times a week.  I go back to see what I was thinking/doing, to find recipes, to find rough draft ideas and inspirations, to spark my brain when I feel I have nothing new to blog about.  This morning I found this blog post about a poem idea I forgot I had for a poem called "The Holy Spirit Takes a Holiday"; I haven't finished the poem, now, a year later, but I still have the rough draft.

This meandering made me think about a summer project, making a rough draft into a finished draft each week.  And yes, that's one of my new year's aspirations that has fallen apart as the year progressed (this January blog post has details about my specific intentions for 2026).  But that's the joy of early July--there's still time to adjust my trajectory.

Speaking of inspirations, during my driving to the grocery store yesterday, on NPR's Fresh Air, I heard an interview with romance writer Kennedy Ryan.  She's the first African American to win the RITA, the highest romance writing award.  I started thinking about romance novels and wish fulfillment and the voices and faces that aren't characters in romance novels.  I thought about older women characters who might get one last shot at their dreams coming true.  Romance novels need an obstacle, and the inability to see oneself as romance worthy could be that obstacle.  Another potent one would be that one dream is coming true, and the inability to believe that multiple dreams could come true at once.

If I wrote romance novels with older female protagonists, I'd approach it as alternate life Kristin explorations.  But I was also attracted to this idea, from yesterday's interview, about creating an imaginary town, a place that becomes an escape, like all those clergy novels of the 90's.

Before I head out on my morning walk to beat the coming heat, let me also record this snippet from last year's blog post on this day:  "I wonder where we will be at the halfway point of next summer. Hopefully I will be meeting with my candidacy committee to proceed to endorsement, which is usually a halfway point to ordination, but in my case, I'm doing things a bit out of order. At Lutheran seminaries, students would do CPE much earlier, often in the summer after the first year, and then they'd get to endorsement sometime in the following year, before internship (year 3 of seminary) and the last year of seminary."

Last year Kristin had no idea how much would have changed and for the better.  My candidacy has now transferred to a different synod, which means I can progress towards ordination more quickly.  A year ago, I was expecting to have to do a part-time internship which would last two years, in addition to needing additional seminary classes, which would mean that summer of 2028 would be the earliest I could be ordained.  Now I am on track to be ordained in the first half of 2027.

Last year Kristin had hopes that she might get a tenure track job at Spartanburg Methodist College, but she would have assumed that it probably couldn't happen soon.  And now I am an Associate professor on the tenure track.

This morning, I'm feeling a bit fretful about the electrical work happening at our S'burg house--we bought all sorts of fixtures thinking that the installation was included in the expensive cost to rewire the house, only to be told we'd get an update on Monday.  Does this mean a proposal/invoice, as it sounded on the phone with the scheduler?  Or just an update on timelines?  It's tiring.

Tiring, but fixable--let me remember the saying that I first heard in one of Anne Lamotte early books, when one of her friends said that a problem solved by an infusion of cash is not really an interesting problem. It's especially not a problem when one has the money.

The sun is up to begin the day's roasting--let me go for my walk.

Rethinking Paul

Yesterday was our first TEEM class on Paul.  It was riveting.  I'm still not much interested in preaching using Paul's letters, but because Paul has been so influential and so misused, it's good to find out what's really there.

The most interesting way of thinking about Paul that was new to me is to see him as a Jew framed by apocalyptic thinking, the apocalypse being when God comes to earth to judge the living and the dead, an event which will begin with the dead rising up from their graves as they come back to life to be judged.

So when Paul meets Jesus on the Damascus Road, a man who has been dead brought back to life and speaking to him, he assumes that judgment day is under way.  Being a good Pharisee, he would assume that Jews will be O.K. on Judgment Day--as people of the Covenant, God has chosen them.  But Gentiles are in danger.  Thus, off he goes to tell them how to be saved.

I asked the question that some of you might be asking.  Did Paul see a human Jesus on the Damascus Road?  I have always thought of that event as the heavens splitting open and the voice of Jesus speaking to him, not as an encounter with Jesus in his human body.  My professor talked about the different depictions of that event, including recountings of that event that we find in Acts and the letters of Paul.  In some of them, the encounter does sound disembodied, the voice from the heavens.  In others, we could interpret it as an encounter between Paul and a human-appearing Jesus. 

I still maintain my long-standing approach to Paul.  He wrote letters to specific churches/communities with specific problems.  Taking those letters and applying them to twenty-first century life makes very little sense--unless we're experiencing similar problems.  We had an interesting session looking at 1 Corinthians, the passage where Paul excoriates the Church for eating the good food before the whole community arrives and connecting this behavior with Communion.  How do our own Communion practices exclude or include in similar ways?

I still can't see myself preaching on Paul or even having the kind of Bible study that would interest most people.  But I'm very glad to have had this educational opportunity.

A Short TEEM Report

This morning has less blogging time, but I have finished my movie review, the first assignment for my TEEM class on Pauline letters.  I have done the practice quizzes one more time--I've been doing them over and over in the hopes that I'll do well on the quiz that will begin today's class.  

We have another quiz tomorrow, and I haven't done any practice for that one.  So tomorrow may be a light blogging day too, as I practice and practice.  I have not taken a quiz for course credit since undergraduate school.  Of course, I've taken quiz after quiz as part of HR training--those quizzes that you can take over and over again so that you can continue to be employed.

Each quiz counts for 10% of the course grade.  My inner good girl wants to make an A.  My pragmatic older self knows that whatever grade I make will be fine.  I'm not even sure if TEEM classes show up on a transcript.

And then, part of me wonders why I care about my official record.  Am I going to do more graduate work?  Maybe--and that's why I care.

Yesterday's TEEM training was a workshop on stewardship.  When I first heard about the workshop, I felt a bit of despair.  I've already had so much stewardship training.  But it was a great workshop.  We talked about a much broader vision of stewardship:  what do we value?  How do we protect what we value?  It's far more than money, budgets, and a finance team. 

I've been part of small churches, with attendance below 50 members, so these are not concepts that are new to me.  In a very small church, one can't assume that others will pick up the slack, unlike in a church that has over 100 members in the pews on Sunday.

Our workshop leader, Tim Brown, was both compelling and entertaining.  We had worship in the middle of the day, followed by Indian food.  It was good to have that long break.

Let me bring this writing to a close so that I can get some breakfast before the day begins.  Onward!

Women and Authority and Southern Baptist Decisions

I wonder if the social media feeds of other people are full of rage at the Southern Baptist governing body and their decisions about women in leadership.  In many ways, it's not a surprise:  they've forbidden women pastors for decades now.  The recent decision seems to say that women can't even be church council members or Sunday School teachers or speak in worship at all--no lectors, much less assisting ministers.  

Obviously, I disagree with these decisions.  I am lucky to have other denominations, including my own, the ELCA, the more inclusive expression of Lutheranism in the U.S.  I am not Southern Baptist and neither are most of the people filling my feed with rage.  Living in a "free" society and believing in free will does mean that people get to make their own decisions, no matter how much I think they are on a wrong path.

I do wonder who will do all the work, if women aren't allowed to do even volunteer work, even the work traditionally done by women, like teaching of all kinds.  Are there really all these men, waiting in the wings who have been chomping at the bit to do the work?

It's hard for me to believe that they do.  Of course, I've been in congregations that are tiny, where everyone who is breathing has been put to work, churches that don't have the luxury of excluding half (or more) of the congregation.

I am happy to be part of a church that welcomes everyone into the circle to do the work of kingdom building.

Pioneer Scholars and a Hope for the Future

Yesterday was Pioneer Scholars Day at Spartanburg Methodist College, our first ever.  Last year, we had a smaller, precursor event, where students had time to present posters they had created for a class project.  For those of you who go to academic conferences, you're probably familiar with posters as a way to present research.  If the idea of a poster is unfamiliar, think of the posters you might have made for school projects, but more sophisticated in appearance (i.e. not made with markers and glue) with proper citations of research.

The presentation of posters was still a big part of Pioneer Scholars Day.  In addition, in the morning, we had panel presentations, and an art display.  I was judge for the art display.  During the other morning  events, I heard a panel of papers written for History classes and later in the morning, students presenting their musical compositions on a iPad app.

In the afternoon, graduating seniors presented their capstone projects, a wide variety of work.  The day culminated in a late afternoon celebration of graduates, with happy hour type food.

I signed up for the morning shift, so I didn't stay for the afternoon events.  I was very glad to have a chance to be part of the morning shift.   It was so wonderful to see students presenting their work in a variety of ways--and wonderful to see the variety of work.

Although I went to Newberry College, a small, liberal arts college, I have spent most of my teaching life in other types of schools.  I've found kindred spirits there, particularly in schools that had an English major.  It's refreshing to be teaching in a school where the value of having a diverse education, of becoming a well-rounded human, is a value we all support.  

A few weeks ago, as I was walking to my car, I saw this tire cover on a jeep, with a reference to Thoreau:

Not for the first time, I reflected on how lucky I am to be here, at this point in my life.  Teaching these students, most of them no older than 21, makes me feel hopeful for the future--these students will be able to figure it out, no matter what the future holds for them.

 

Catechisms and Croziers in Confessions Class

In yesterday's Lutheran Confessions class, our professor closed our session on Luther's large and small catechisms by asking what the role of the historical church documents is today which led us to an interesting discussion about good ways to educate children--and acknowledgement that now, as in Luther's day, adults may need some basic Church/Christian education too.

At some point in class, we talked about protests and whether or not clergy would be allowed at twenty-first century protests.  Our professor, who is president of the seminary and has been a bishop in the past, said of course clergy are allowed to go to protests as long as they remember that they are answerable to the larger Church, which includes bishops.

Along the way, we had a talk about the authority of bishops, and our professor said that he used to go to protests for causes that aligned with his faith, and he would go in full bishop regalia, including crozier.  He did this for a variety of reasons, but mainly to remind everyone whose authority he claimed.  He knew that if any clergy member was going to be arrested, they'd start with him, and he figured that they might resist, since it wouldn't make a great visual, arresting a bishop in full regalia with a crozier.

We had a few minutes of amusement, thinking about the police trying to figure out how to handle the crozier and envisioning the police car driving away with the crozier sticking out the window.  Then it was back to the serious business of thinking about the future of the Church in light of Reformation history.

Crystalline Shards and Fragments

 I am feeling fragmented today, so let me capture some fragments:

--Part of why I'm feeling fragmented is the shifting forecast.  Will we be able to go to Bristol on Sunday?  It's very unclear.  There's a system that will likely snow on part of the Carolinas--but will it be closer to the coast?

--So, should I write a sermon?  Yes, I probably should.  And if church is cancelled this Sunday, I can probably tweak it so that it works for next week.  This Sunday is the call story of Peter and Andrew in the Gospel of John, and next week is the same story in Matthew.

--Why do we have these two call stories?  I'm assuming it's because of where the moving holidays fall, specifically Easter and the Baptism of Jesus.  

--If I have to write a sermon about each, what on earth will I say?  The Gospel of John has the words "Come and see."  The Gospel of Matthew has the fishing for humans language.

--My brain zings back to class planning.  It's not unpleasant, but it does remind me of why/how the times when I'm teaching in-person classes is SO different from the times when Spartanburg Methodist College is on a break.

--All of my classes have met for their first day.  They all feel good, with at least a few students who seem bright-eyed and ready to get going.

--So now the easy part is over.  Now I need to focus on what we're going to do each day.  I have broad ideas.  I understand why some people start the semester with day by day course plans, but I never have done that.

--If I did that, would I feel like I have more time to focus on other things?  I would feel that way, but I would probably not do the other things, like poetry writing.  

--I think about sermon writing, which I do every week.  If I had a weekly poetry assignment, like a paid column, would I be more focused week after week?  Yes, if I had a paid gig, I would.

--I think I will walk this morning.  It's going to be cold and windy all day, so I might as well walk early.  And maybe there will be snow flurries!

--I was hoping for a bit of snow yesterday afternoon, but alas.  We prepared as if there might be snow:  charging the phones, bringing the portable heater inside, making a pot of chili, that kind of thing.  Despite the lack of snow, it was cozy and nice.

--We're getting a bit more light outside, a very filtered light just before sunrise.  I think that it might be snowing now.  Or perhaps it snowed more last night than I thought.  But as I look across the trees, it does look snowy.

--When I took the last of the recycling to the curb a half hour ago, the air itself seemed crystalline. There weren't many snow flurries, but I could feel tiny shards of ice on my face--not altogether unpleasant, but not the joy of snow either.   

Gratitude Before the Start of Quilt Camp

Quilt Camp starts today.  This time, unlike last Quilt Camps, I'm part of the leadership team.  I will help with set up today, I will deliver the very short sermon for Saturday closing worship, and beyond that, I'm not sure what being on the Quilt Camp leadership team means.

In the early days of summer, when I thought about Fall Quilt Camp, I thought I would head to Spartanburg today, do my teacher duties, and then arrive for Quilt Camp.  But as the semester has gone on, I've changed my mind.  My students can use today to get caught up, and I'd like to be a bit less tired when Quilt Camp starts.

I am so grateful to be working at a place where I have this kind of flexibility.  I am so grateful to be at a place where when I say, "I'll be leading a quilt retreat this week," and no one says, "What does that have to do with you as a teacher?  No, you can't be off campus this week."  I'm thinking of past bosses who made their disapproval known, even as I was using my personal vacation time to be away.

Make no mistake:  I do get teaching inspiration from retreats.  It may be a different kind of inspiration than I would get at a literary conference, but I am a different teacher, a better teacher, because I go on these retreats.

I am also grateful that I live closer to camp.  When I first heard about Quilt Camp at Lutheridge, back in 2018 or 2019, I lived in South Florida, a twelve hour drive if all the traffic went smoothly.   I was torn--on the one hand, it was a longer retreat, so the drive would be worth it; in those days, I never would have made the drive for a retreat that started Friday night and ended Sunday morning, as so many retreats did then.  But on the other hand, it was such a long drive.

Because I live here now, I have the best of several worlds.  I don't have a long drive.  I get to sleep in my own bed.  I don't feel like I'm abandoning my spouse or my other duties at home.  Of course, that benefit has a shadow side--it's also hard for me to completely disconnect on retreat.  But that was true of past retreats too.  My brain is always working at various levels, and it's hard for me to focus on just one.

This morning I realized another value to coming to Quilt Camp from my house that's less than a mile away.  I feel less pull to do the other area attractions:  apple orchards, fabric stores, and Appalachian arts and crafts.  At least my active brain will calm down around the other wonderful outings that I would want to be taking, if I didn't already live here.

On this morning of the day when Quilt Camp begins, I am most grateful to be feeling like my life is in better alignment than it was back in 2018/2019 when I thought about the possibility of coming to Quilt Camp and decided I couldn't make it work.

A Wonderful All Saints Sunday

 We had a great All Saints Sunday.  Much as people complain about the time change, every autumn when we turn the clocks back, I have a night of wonderful sleep.  This year was no exception.  Because of the time change, we were both up early, and we headed over the mountains to Bristol early.

It was wonderful to travel in the daylight, to see the trees in their full and fading autumnal glory.  This year, various trees are on their own schedule.  Some are still green.  Some have lost all their leaves.  There's every variety of in between.  It's not as full and blazingly beautiful as two or three years ago, but it's been a treat, especially considering last year.

I was glad for the extra time, because we had a lot to unload.  I knew that the confirmation class, and perhaps all the youth who arrived for Sunday school, would set up the space I envisioned for people to put photos and other mementos of loved ones who had died.  I brought all the supplies:  fabrics, fairy lights, candles (both traditional and electronic), candle holders, 2 yellow mums, and a small table.  I gathered 2 additional small tables from the sacristy.

The youth did a great job of working together to create the space.  They are two pairs of siblings, and the siblings are cousins, so we had a head start in working together.  They seem like the kind of cousins who are more like siblings, siblings who like each other and have fun together.  I was so impressed with what they created:

The congregation came through too--we had plenty of pictures, so many that we added two additional flat spaces (flipped boxes with white tablecloths to hide their identity).  

After church, we spent some time in the front, hearing stories of the loved ones whose pictures had graced our worship space.  I had made extra bread, and people ate bread or took some home.  It was delightful, a way of having a picnic with the ancestors.

My sermon went well, which is always a treat for me.  What I mean by well is not that everyone loved it, but that I felt good about my delivery (not too much reading, not getting tongue twisted).  If you want to view the recording, it's here on my YouTube channel.  If you want to read a version, head to this post on my theology blog.

We came home and relaxed, as we always do.  Sunday afternoons come after very full mornings, so we're not going to be doing much of substance.  We watched a great PBS show about a man who was taking a last trip on a buckboard wagon pulled by his 36 year old mule on their last trip in Hyde county, NC.  It was oddly compelling.  I did a bit of sewing on my quilt top and headed to bed.

Today I have two days of work, and the rest of the week is spent at Quilt Camp, just up the hill at Lutheridge.  I'll sleep in my house and spend the rest of my time at Quilt Camp.  I'm hoping to make progress on a variety of projects.

It sounds heavenly, and it will be, but first I have to do the prep work so that I can be gone from my full-time teaching job.  I am probably further along on that project than I think, but I feel a bit of anxiety.  At the same time, I'm sure it will all be fine.  It's nice to be at a school where I can rest easy in the knowledge that it will all be fine, even as I'm feeling a bit of anxiety.

Halloween 2025

 And so our beautiful October comes to a close.  

Today is Halloween, and I live in a house that will have no trick-or-treaters.  We have discovered a Roku channel that offers nothing but NYPD Blue, so we'll probably watch some more of that.  I used to watch the show in the 90's, and I forgot how compelling it is.  I stayed up later than I meant to last night as I hoped to see how a narrative arc about a serial killer would end, so I may go to bed early tonight.

In my adult life, I approach Halloween as the beginning of an important time that lasts three days.  I'm a theology geek, so I call it a triduum.  Halloween emerged from its pagan roots as a natural bridge to All Saints Day (November 1) and All Souls Day (Nov. 2). More on those holidays in the coming days.

This year, I'll spend Halloween writing a sermon.  This year, what scares me is the willingness of politicians to let SNAP benefits expire.  I can create an All Saints sermon that references the Biblical texts, our current political situation, and all the saints who have come before us.

I still have to teach, of course.  But the semester has revealed that my classes on MWF are nothing to fear or dread; no classes are, but I'm trying to use Halloween words today.  In Brit Lit, we'll cover Joyce's "The Dead," in a bit of serendipity.  In English 101, we'll sketch leaves and pinecones and acorns while we explore how sketching might impact our ability to describe things.

That class will probably be more openly enthusiastic than the Creative Writing class where I did the experiment yesterday.  Every semester, I know that each class will have a different dynamic, but each semester often surprises me in how that dynamic plays out. 

I will wear my candy corn earrings one last time.  Here's a picture that I took at the school's pumpkin patch a few weeks ago (look at that glorious blue sky!):

This morning, I'm thinking of past Halloweens:  in childhood, where I'd spend months planning my costume, the joy of all that candy.  I'm thinking of 2016, where Halloween was my first day as an administrator at a new job, and my first impression of people was the costume contest and the joy with which they approached the idea of a costume contest.  

I'm wishing I had time to bake, time for more contemplation.  Well, maybe next year when Halloween will be on a Saturday.  This year, I'll continue to enjoy these elements of my best life:  getting ready for my Sunday at the country church I love so much, fun classes to teach today, and cozy time in the evening as we cook together and then revisit quality TV from decades past, while I stitch a new quilt top for the well-worn quilt on our bed.

Forbidden Fruit

Much of my teaching this week revolved around apples, which I wrote about in this blog post.  These are the Pink Lady variety: 

We also discussed apples in the Genesis story.  Of course, apples aren't in the Genesis story; it's just forbidden fruit.  So I also got to talk about Milton and "Paradise Lost."

It's interesting to think about how many of our ideas that we assume are Biblical are actually from British Literature.  And these days, I'm thinking about how many of our Biblical metaphors are from agricultural times that not many people understand these days.  

The bushel as a unit of measurement is probably not in the Bible, but I had my students lift the bushel box of apples, just so they would have a sense of how much it weighed.

Spring Schedule Wrinkles and the Ironing

I didn't write a blog post yesterday, and I didn't walk.  I was feeling grumpy and tired and there was an on again off again drizzle, plus I've had a dry cough for a few days.  It's the autumn game that I haven't had to play in the past few years:  is it a cold or is it allergies or is it dust or is it the change in the weather back and forth?  Do I have a fever or should I simply turn the AC back on?  I had a wrinkle in my spring schedule, and I spent a lot of time composing an e-mail to try to sort it all out--happily, by the end of yesterday, it was sorted, but it took time and mental energy.

Long story short:  because I went to a Methodist seminary, I still need to take at least one class at a Lutheran seminary.  The Lutheran theology class is offered once a year, a synchronous class, and the day and time that it's offered changes each year, which makes planning hard.  Last year, there was a conflict with a class that I was teaching, plus I was finishing up MDiv classes, so I decided to wait another year.  I had hoped that it wouldn't be a time conflict with my teaching schedule, but Tuesday, I discovered that there would be a conflict.  

Happily, I was able to strategize with my department chair, and we rearranged classes.  I had to let go of the American Lit class that conflicted with the Lutheran theology class on Thursday morning, but at least I can keep on my slow track to ordination.

I ended yesterday with some retreat planning and then went right to bed, as I will do tonight.  Last night's retreat planning was for Quilt Camp, tonight is Create in Me.  In the Spring, if I feel sad about my schedule, let me remember that taking classes in the evening, the way I did for much of my MDiv program, was not my ideal schedule either.

I began this morning by looking at the travel pictures of friends.  One of my friends just got back from a month long trip following the Mississippi River from its headwaters in Minnesota to the Gulf of Mexico.  Just looking at the pictures makes it sound phenomenal and makes me wish that I was at a retirement point.

Of course, chances are good that even if I was at that retirement point, I'd be staying home, baking goodies, reading, writing, and doing some sewing.  My friend's trip sounds like nothing but fun and feasting, but because I had a chance to talk to her before I saw the photos, I knew that the trip had challenges:  the rain, the extra time that it took to go through small towns, the set up of the campsites that took longer too.

So let me continue with the work at hand, and the work of appreciating the life I have.

The Autumn of Life

 Yesterday I found myself in my Creative Writing class with my plans for the class upended.  I had planned to give them time in class to write, but we changed the due date to Tuesday, so it makes more sense for Tuesday to be the writing day.

Happily, I had come prepared with the worksheet that I described in this blog post, the Build Your Own Ode to a Season worksheet.  While they did that, I pulled up Keats' "To Autumn" on the Poetry site (the site that has the materials from the magazine, along with many other resources).  We listened to the poem without following along, and then we listened while we followed along, with the poem projected on the larger screen.  And then we talked about it.

What a treat to talk about this poem.  The more I read it, the more perfect it seems.

Because it was a Creative Writing class, we talked about the symbolism of autumn, the symbols themselves and how a story or a poem set in autumn might use that season as a symbol.  It made me think about who is in the autumn of their lives and who is not.

When Keats wrote this poem, he knew that he had TB, and he must have known that he was likely to die--so he was in the winter of his life.

I am 60 years old, so clearly in the autumn of my life.  But I want to think it's early autumn, September not late November.

Last week, I posted this picture, mist rising off the lake.  I can't always capture the mist, but I think I was successful here:

Yesterday I read the first line of "To Autumn":  "Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness."  I asked my students if the mornings had been misty lately.  They looked startled.  I realized that they probably wouldn't know.  They're probably up after the sun has risen and burned off the mist.

But here at a higher altitude, it's been very foggy/misty, and I've really enjoyed watching the swirls.  I've thought of past generations, surrounded by fog and mist and smoke, and it's no wonder they believed in ghosts, that they described ghosts the way they did.

I'm feeling a bit haunted myself.  It's strange to teach this poem to students who are not much older than Keats was when he wrote this perfect poem.  It's strange to think how much older I am than my students.  When I first started teaching, I was only a few years older than my students.  Now I am decades older.

Like Keats, I'm haunted by my mortality.  Let this haunting prompt me to do my best work!

Poems and Chocolates and U2 on a September Tuesday Morning

 It's been a strange morning, strange but satisfying.  I began it as I do most Tuesday mornings, by reading Dave Bonta's weekly Poetry Blog Digest and exploring some of the blog posts.  Rachel Barenblat's post includes an amazing poem, which made me weep.  It's the perfect poem for a week of shootings, and sadly, multiple shootings is a hallmark of almost every week these days. 

I also wanted to hear U2's "Shadow and Tall Trees," so I went to a YouTube site, and after each U2 song has come another.  But they've all been from the early years, The Joshua Tree and earlier--such powerful music!

Some of it I haven't heard in decades.  I'm getting deep cuts from the October album for example.  I remember it as an album that I bought and didn't really listen to much; I wanted to be listening to War, and so I did.  And yet, I remember the songs still.  I don't listen to music that way much anymore.

I am also struck by the way the lyrics twine together contemporary politics and ancient religious texts and concepts.  Wow.

As always, this music takes me back to earlier falls:  the autumn of 1983 when I first bought a lot of this music on vinyl (War and October and Boy), the autumn of 1984 when I had The Unforgettable Fire in constant rotation.  That music made me think of listening to my own recordings on cassette as I drove across South Carolina to see my grandmother in Greenwood, SC.

Those memories made me think of her Whitman's Sampler and the time I got one of my own, on sale, at a local drugstore, during the spring of my last year at Newberry College.  Finally I could eat as many of the chocolates as I wanted!  My grandmother only ate one at a time, spaced out across many days, making that box last as long as possible.  It will surprise no one that being able to eat as much of the box as I wanted in one sitting was not as satisfying as I always imagined.  Ah, the heartbreak of grown up life!

I've been trying to write a poem out of it all, and I'm a bit haunted by thinking that I've already used this material but I can't remember if I really have or if I thought that it would make a good poem.

I've continued with the poem composing, and I like this line:  Sugar soaked mouth unsatisfied

I've also done some sketching and noted the way a mostly dried up marker looks like tree bark on the page.  That, too, seems like it should be a metaphor for something, but in a different poem.

I woke up this morning thinking that I was going to blog about reading Mary Shelley's Frankenstein this past week, and being struck by how it speaks to our current conversation/argument about generative AI.  Frankenstein seems timeless in so many ways.  Last year I read it for a seminary class, and the isolation of all the characters was what grabbed me.

I feel so lucky to have this life, and I'm amazed that I managed to stumble into it, being able to teach undergraduates in a small, liberal arts college in South Carolina, just up the road from my the small, liberal arts college where I spent my youth listening to U2 and reading British lit and dreaming of being a poet myself.

Sunday Update: Satisfying Sermons and Disappointing Pizza

Yesterday's worship service went well.  Come to find out, the seminarian who asked to give the sermon is at a Lutheran seminary, and her sermon was just fine.  She did not talk about some of the more polarizing parts of our society, like justice for Palestine or Trumpian politics.  She didn't talk about the assassination of Charlie Kirk.  Her sermon was much more universal, about the need to avoid writing people off, the way that God threatened to do with the Israelites when they worshiped a golden calf.  She tied in all the readings in a way that I rarely do; I usually focus on the Gospel alone.  Hurrah!

On our way home, we talked about the fact that the visiting seminarians will probably be eligible for ordination before I am, and we wondered if they would be interested in the job that Faith Lutheran could offer them.  My guess is that they probably have something different in mind, but I could be wrong.  If it would work out, I would be fine with that.  My goal has always been to be a good caretaker while they found something more permanent.

Our afternoon was more disappointing.  We got a pizza from the Ingles deli, and it was blah, blah, blah.  The one advantage:  it was quick to heat up.  We won't be doing that again.  My problem is that I want pizza made by one of our local places, in all its greasy glory.  My spouse objects to that kind of pizza on every level, primarily cost, but also, it's often structurally compromised (not cooked through, not enough toppings, too greasy).  So we get disappointing options, trying to work around those objections, and often, we're neither one of us happy with the meal.

I was surprised at how hard I had to work so that my disappointment didn't derail the whole rest of the day.  I could have ordered the pizza that I really wanted, but I had already eaten so many bad pizza calories that I didn't like.  My spouse took a nap, and I drifted around the house trying to decide what to do next.  I knew that I was still hungry, so I started a batch of focaccia.  I also made the lentil-barley combo that anchors my weekday lunch.  I'm always looking for ways to make it more interesting, so this time, I tried this recipe from Smitten Kitchen, the lime-cilantro dressing part of the recipe.  It wasn't as heavenly and sublime as the recipe makes it sound, but I decided to use it anyway.

And now it is time for another week to begin.  We are at that time in the semester where I feel a bit panicked about running out of teaching ideas, particularly in English 100, the class before the college level English Composition class.  But I know that I have plenty of ideas, and there's still plenty of time.    

Adopting a Tree and Other Types of Awe

At Spartanburg Methodist College, first year students take a required, one credit class that trains/reminds them of the techniques that can make them successful:  academic techniques, meet and greet techniques, involvement techniques.  There are many reasons why I love being at a liberal arts college, and this commitment to student success at every stage, and with a wide definition of success, is one of them. 

One of my colleagues teaches one section, and on Tuesday, she asked me, "Do you have your students adopt a tree?"  I smiled and said yes.  She said, "I saw that written in the calendars of a few of my students, and I knew they must be in your class."

I felt like I had been paid a great compliment.  Even better, I knew that my colleague meant it as a compliment.  I've said it before, and I'll keep saying it--it's WONDERFUL to be at a place where my creative approaches are seen as normal--admirable, too, but normal.  It's WONDERFUL to be at a place where I'm not the only one doing creative approaches.

These days, even people who aren't inclined to take creative approaches are experimenting, often in an attempt to come up with assignments that can't be fed into generative AI.

Today I will begin using the green, brown, and gray paint swatches that I got on Tuesday:

My English 100 students will take the swatches outside with them, to help them learn to describe the colors of their tree more precisely.  My English 101 students will do that, and we will also talk about the names of the colors on the paint swatches, in a way to think more poetically/with more imagination about colors.

Earlier this week, I had my classes try to write instructions:  get us from this classroom to the tree.  Don't just say, "Go outside."  What if we go to the door on the other side of the building.  They wrote directions and then tested them and then wrote about what they learned.

Granted, they weren't as tough testing each other's directions as I would have been.  But they seemed to be learning what I wanted them to learn, and they worked in different small groups than the peer editing groups.  This year, I am looking for ways to have them be in small groups occasionally, since I do think it has benefits, even if I'm not as big a believer in some of the practices, like peer editing, as I once was.

It's good for all of us to move away from the traditional model:  students in desk, teacher at the front, no one moving, not much student talking, too much teacher talking.  As the fourth week of classes comes to an end, I think I'm doing a good job of mixing up activities:  some individual writing, some instruction, some group work, some inside work, some outside work.

 These ideas could be adapted for church groups too (retreats, Sunday School, etc.).  So many of us have forgotten how to see; teaching ourselves to see again can inspire awe, not only for creation, but for our Creator God.

A Good Week: Teaching and Sewing

It's been a good week, one that has left me a bit more tired than usual, but tired in a good way. 

We're at the end of the third week of in-person classes at Spartanburg Methodist College, and I'm happy to report that my classes are still in a collective good mood.  Yesterday, despite a bit of chaos at the beginning of class as I printed last minute submissions of rough drafts and rearranged the room, peer editing in my English 101 class went REALLY well.  Usually peer editing is a much more mixed event.

What's made it a tiring week is that I've been doing Quilt Camp on either side of teaching.  It's not ideal, but I'm glad to have had the time at Quilt Camp.  I've had a chance to spread out my fabric and remember what I was planning, back in May when I put fabric away as CPE was about to start.

I've been working on this quilt top:

I've been sewing strips to make it bigger.  I had planned to make this quilt completely random, but in fact, each strip has various smaller bits that go together.  I like how the whole quilt looks, and it's even more fun up close.  I've enjoyed sewing the strips, but as the quilt has gotten bigger, I've enjoyed it less.  

Note for the future:  I could sew the individual strips by hand, and then sew them all together on a machine so that the process goes faster.  Do I have a machine?  No.  One of the Quilt Camp folks is going to bring me a small machine to see if I want it.  Many people would not, because it can only sew two types of stitches, with no computer.  Plus it's small--she seemed to say that I could put it on a shelf.  We shall see.

In the meantime, I now will have some sewing to do in the evenings, as I try to stay awake until it's bedtime.  This kind of sewing can be more mindless than sketching in the evening or writing notes.

This Quilt Camp was promoted as a stripped-down Quilt Camp:  no teaching time, no planned excursions, no evening devotions/worship.  Fewer people have come, primarily because it's not a great time in August, the days leading up to the Labor Day week-end.  It's not great for me, because it's so early in the term, and I had already needed flexibility because of my mom's hospital scare and my need to be gone for a day to finish CPE.

But I'm glad I've made the effort.  It's been wonderful to have a chance to talk to people, to see other people's projects, to get inspired.  The quilt I'm working on has been inspired by this type of quilt, where the kind of small scraps that most people throw away have been sewed together into bigger blocks:

Here's an inspiration from this year:

Every square is different.  The quilter has followed a pattern, which boasts of 100 different squares.  I love the idea of following my own whimsey. 

I've enjoyed Quilt Camp, although it's been strange:  when I'm at school, I've almost forgotten that I had been sewing, and then when I've been at Quilt Camp, I've been immersed.  Wait--am I finally learning to exist in the present moment?

No, not really, although I am getting better at living in the present moment.  It helps to be living in a house and an area that we can afford, to have several jobs that I love, and that I'm not taking classes at the moment.  I am glad to be here in this place.

Glory Days: 1995 and Now

Yesterday was the kind of teaching day that made me so grateful to have a chance to do some of this again, to do some of it for the first time.

I got to my office and sent an e-mail to my English Dep't colleagues to let them know that I had volunteered to be the faculty sponsor for the Poetry Club.  Lo and behold, another colleague had also volunteered, so we strategized about how to move forward.  We're both relatively new to Spartanburg Methodist College, so we're both grateful not to be going it alone.  Later, we talked to the student who is taking leadership too; she's in my Creative Writing class, and I like her energy.  As an added bonus, she's got visual art skills, so she'll be making the posters and flyers for the Involvement Fair on Monday.

I got grading done, so I'm caught up until Monday, and I've strategized my classes for next week.  The two classes that I teach on MWF went well.  In fact, after my Brit Lit survey class, one of my students said, "This is the only class where I wish it could go longer."  I think he was being sincere, not giving me empty flattery; he had been engaged for the whole class.

Yesterday we talked about Dorothy Wordsworth in all her Grasmere Journal glory.  She's now in the Norton Anthology of British Literature.  When I first started teaching her in the early 90's, I was bringing in handouts to augment the mostly male anthology.

As I drove home, I wasn't as interested in the NPR stations, so I listened to a station that was in the middle of a 90 minute "rock block"--and several songs in a row were from 1995, when I would have been driving back and forth from my home base near Charleston, SC, where I had a full-time teaching job at Trident Tech, to Columbia, SC, where my spouse was back in grad school.  As I listened to Seven Mary Three's "Cumbersome," I had that time wrinkle disconnect:  here I am in a tiny, fuel efficient car, driving on I-26, after having taught Dorothy Wordsworth to a group of students who were incredulous/aghast at the idea of Mary Hutchinson being willing to marry into the William-Dorothy dyad.

As I said, I am so grateful to be having a chance to relive some of my glory days, while at the same time wondering if I should be sad that my glory days don't involve something more transgressive (spoiler alert--I'm not sad).  Most people have glory days that revolve around ill-fated but glorious love affairs or some sort so sports/athletic achievement or some other advancement.  And mine revolves around a time when I was teaching literature I loved while writing poetry that amazed me.

We settled into our Friday night routine.  I bought the series Back to the Frontier only to find out that we would be getting it episode by episode, with each episode available early on Friday.  It's been another kind of time wrinkle, discovering that the whole series did not drop at once.  And I've enjoyed tuning in each week, just like we would have in 1995.

The show owes a HUGE debt to the PBS show Frontier House, which we watched in 2002, when it was on the air.  Three families see if they could live like Homestead Act settlers did in the late nineteenth century.  It's compelling, even as we realize that they are living a much safer variation:  no other humans attacking them and no animals attacking them and if the weather turned really ugly, they'd be rescued.

I discovered that we could watch Frontier House on YouTube, and so we watched about half of it last night.  It's not as compelling as when we first watched it, perhaps because we've had so many variations of reality TV since this early pioneer of reality TV aired.

My spouse and I always try to analyze how we'd do things differently.  We would not make for good reality TV--we would know what we signed up for and not whine constantly.  Of course, I'm not sure whining makes for good reality TV.

I do know that if I viewed my morning by way of some camera, this morning would make me long for such a life:  a good week teaching and pumpkin cinnamon rolls rising on the kitchen counter, my spouse sleeping while I'm writing.  Perhaps I have died and gone to Heaven, where I get to keep reliving these glory days.