Welcome to Forgotonia

Things I Had to Force Myself to Throw Out–with Difficulty–While Attempting a Bit of Decluttering Last Week

Listed in Reverse-Chronological Order of Carbon Dating

1.  A wedding-planning guide that I never even opened, (re-discovered on this, my six-month wedding anniversary);

2.  a “reaction paper” about Julius Caesar (Act I, Scene 2), from English 362, Shakespeare Seminar, (dated Oct.  12, 1998), on which I received an A-, (a subject matter about which, however, I could now tell you almost next to nothing);

3. hundreds of photocopied reading assignments from two literature courses from my senior year in college –13 years ago–which I’m pretty sure I kept out of guilt all these years because I never actually read them when they were due (but would definitely read them “someday in the future”;

Oh, Virginia...you're in the recycling now.

4. a scrawled note from one of my best friends, which in itself is unworthy written on the back of a note-taking moment in junior year (high school) English, circa 1993. How do I know the year and the class, you ask? Because this is what was on the backside:

“Simon–religion

Piggy–intellect

Jack–chaos

Ralf–leadership

Symbolism of shell

Simon–Christ Child

IRONY

Symbolism of Piggy glasses”

(ready for your quiz now, dear readers?)

5. several notes one looseleaf notebook paper from the one and only boy I could legitimately call my “boyfriend” in high school (for all of the few months it lasted), one of which is on the back of a spelling test, upon which (though I ignored it at the time) he only got an 11 out of 20;

and finally,

6. a note from several girlfriends telling me “congrats on the I Heart You,” commemorating the first utterance of those (forced, if I remember) words from said boyfriend, (capped by a final note of “Get on him!!! After you go to Planned Parenthood.”)

I’m thrilled to announce that I have a short piece appearing in the new issue of Hippocampus Magazine, published today!

I responded to this prompt from the online journal:

“Oh. My. God. What is that smell?”

I wrote about the day that Chris and I came home from our mini-moon to Starved Rock. It’s the first one on this page, with the title “A Threshold for Stench.”

It  might be a small credit, but, unless you count my newspaper column, it’s really my first piece of writing that is not self-published. (As an adult, anyway. Do kiddy talent searches from the 1980s count?? Just wondering.)

Anyway, head on over to Hippocampus to check it (and the other published stories) out!*

(I’m aloud to overuse exclamation points today, dammit!)

(screen capture)

It was a lovely day today for the ceremony and a brief reading for 2012 Quad Cities Iron Pen Contest, held at the beautiful Bucktown Arts Center in Davenport, Iowa.

Participants had 24 hours to respond to an emailed prompt sent by staffers of the Midwest Writing Center, phrase or a line from a poem by Hart Crane: “A bridge will be written.”

I got third place in the nonfiction category.

Here’s me trying to take a decent picture, which is always a struggle for me… People always say, “Give me a big smile,” and I say, pissily, through frozen lips and teeth, “I am giving a big smile!”

"do I look writerly?"

This is how I feel much more comfortable in front of a camera: acting like a dork.

Iron Pen placer-- hear me roar!

OH, AND: every elevator in the world should have art pieces on the floor and walls like this one, inside Bucktown

Twistin' it up while I'm goin' down

The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks by Rebecca Skloot

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

An amazing story that’s disturbing and entertaining (as this writer tells it) at the same time.

I would’ve had no interest in the subject matter if the author hadn’t presented the story in the way she did, like a family mystery unfolding.

There were times when I started to lose my grip on the understanding of exactly why the “immortal” cells in question were able to live on the way they have–has there truly never been another living human whose cells could be as valuable in research as Henrietta Lacks’ have been? But otherwise the author breaks down the scientific matters to a level that the layperson can understand.

I read this book while I was (and still am) in the process of teaching African American adults who struggle with literacy, and I have to say I had serious trouble sleeping one night because of the way the black family in this book was left in the dark (until the author steps in with her investigation) about what had occurred after their mother’s death. The author also recaps certain medical experiments done on humans (but particularly blacks) that are unfathomable.

Overall, though, I thought the book was uplifting despite some of its disturbing subject matter, and inspiring to see how one journalist helped a family find answers and closure (and, to some degree, peace).

P.S. I read this book on my Kindle, and I “checked it out” from my local library, and, despite what I might have thought previously, I survived!

View all my reviews

The building where I’m teaching English to immigrants, refugees, and American-born citizens who need help learning to read and write–the job I started doing part-time in October, and which I’m beginning to think may become a real career shift for me–is located in a weird, windowless building in downtown Davenport, Iowa.

I’ve been told it was once a car dealership, and also that it was once a fallout shelter. I lose my cell signal when I’m down in the basement, which is where we ESL and ABE teachers dwell.

no takers yet this morning, as of 8:40 a.m.

At some point in the near future, the center where I’m teaching is supposed to re-open in a brand-new, multi-million-dollar, state-of-the-art (that’s a lot of hyphens) building in a more suburb-y part of Davenport.

the current building is ...er... *not* state-of-the-art

The move-in date has been pushed back several times since I started late last fall. I’m telling my students that I promise I’ll give them the heads up as soon as I know the date for sure. Most of them are excited. One is concerned about how she’ll get there now that the bus route she’d have to take would double in length.

I’ll try to remember to share some “after” photos of the new, fancy-schmancy location. (I’m excited about the move, on the one hand. On the other, I’d be content just to have a locker or a cubbyhole to park all of my books and papers, wanderin’ adjuncter that I am. Or some index cards [for homemade flashcards] that I didn’t have to purchase with my own money. Or…you get the drift.)

From laughter to near-tears, in less than two hours flat

I snapped these photos with my phone in a nervous moment this morning when none of my students had yet arrived.

I have to admit, I was most worried about the absence of D____, an African immigrant, usually the most punctual student, who also happens to be the one I’ve been high-fiving and doing little excited dances around because he’s making such awesome progress. When I see that I’m actually helping him recognize and read words for the first time in his life, I feel so excited I make loud whooping noises that I’m sure prompt some of the other teachers to wonder about me.

But he didn’t show up today. He missed all of last week, too.

Three other students did show up, about five minutes after I snapped these pictures. And we ended up laughing a lot. We did an exercise that depicted two people stuck in an elevator, and one of the students noticed that, in the drawing, the man’s shirt was un-tucked when he and his lady elevator-traveler emerged, finally unstuck after 19 hours.

“They talked, and talked, and talked,” the caption had read. R____, an American who is in her 60s, said slyly, with a cocked eyebrow, “Look like they did somethin’ else up in there, too.” The whole class cracked up.

But about a half hour after class, my phone rang, and I knew it would be D____, and I knew that he’d be telling me something was wrong.

I was correct on both counts.

D____, I learned, has found himself to be in a situation that has left him homeless. He might be living out of his vehicle–or, if he can get enough money together, a hotel.

I wasn’t sure what to say. I told him I was sorry about his situation and wished there was something I could do to help. I dug up some phone numbers for shelters, though they seemed to require certain specifications, none of which apply to him. I told him I very much hoped he’d be able to come back to class.

I’d been warned, in my little online trainings before starting the job, that adult learners often experience  “outside circumstances” that effect their education.

Somehow, though, that doesn’t make it feel any less heartbreaking.

–

Things I Love About Davenport, cont’d:

3) That you can stop in to Boozie’s (above) for a beer, and then head downstairs to Faith Explained, the Catholic store. (But only if you make an appointment.)

Here were today’s most interesting teaching challenges (from my morning Advanced ESL group)

1. When the word “partner” came up, (as it will frequently, since nearly every page of our new textbook encourages the students to work with a partner), one student said, “I say ‘partner’ one day at work and someone say to me, ‘Are you gay or something?’ Is ‘partner’ like a bad word or mean gay or something?” (…thus resulting in my awkward attempt to explain use of “partner” for “person with whom someone makes a home, but who said person may not …uh…be married to…”)
2. and, (from the same student, after I had said, “Good question. Please speak up if you have questions about any other words”), thus resulting in an awkward charade that I hope no one noticed as they walked past my classroom): “What is ‘wrestling‘?”

My parents bought me a Kindle for Christmas.

And, ingrate that I am, I’m going to publicly list everything I don’t like about it.

I feel the need to do this, you see, because I once hated the idea of the iPod, (which I now can’t live without).

I’m aware that I’m on the brink of abandoning something I care about deeply (the book, the printed word, the future of human civilization, blah blah blah). So,

I Knock Before I Try, Because:

1. The damn things necessitate accessorizing. I dread this scenario (which I’m sure will happen in the not-too-distant future): Person 1: “What color Skin did you purchase for your Kindle?” Person 2: “I got a pink polka-dotted one to match the pink supply of Air that I purchased to breathe for this month.”It’s like taking the last decent, non-materialistic part of our culture and turning it into one more consumer experience. This is just simply wrong. (Never mind that a certain person  may or may not have added a bright pink, lighted cover to her Amazon Wish List today).
   
2. Books were the last things that encouraged patience, sitting still, focusing on one thing at a time. Now you can buy another book when you’re supposed to be reading the one in your hands. Soon we’ll see the new Amazon “Order with One Blink” option. (Amazon Prime will provide a free tube of Latisse.)
3. Libraries, which you could say are central to democracy, are already struggling. So, you’re already down, eh? Well here’s a big swift kick in the arse!
4. The way people defend the necessity of the Kindle’s existence by saying “It’s so much more convenient.” Really? Holding a small paperback in your hands was seriously “inconvenient”? I will allow this line if you are, say, Susan Orlean, or the President, and are therefore traveling constantly and reading and researching a lot. (That’s the kind of President I hope for, anyway). But otherwise, the number of books you’re reading simply cannot be breaking your back. My great-grandmother probably hauled water for the wash–which she conducted with a washboard–from the well to the farmhouse and back again. My ancestors’ ghosts laugh at your definition of inconvenience. (Take that, Jeff Bezos.)
5. Magazines don’t mind if you drop food on them. (I read at the table when I’m eating lunch. A lot.) Kindles probably cannot tolerate such abuse. (Wimps.)
6. The fact that I know I’m going to be an underdog here. Just like all those poor fools who are trying to save the U.S. Post Office from going under. (If only the U.S.P.O. had invented Blink Mail or colored Air.)

Left: books I received for Christmas. In this corner (right) the opponent awaits.

Chris and I joined some of his co-workers for a small gathering at the Bierstube in Davenport, during which I consumed:

1. Blue-cheese burger (on a pretzel-roll bun),
2. Waffle fries (whole serving, nary a crumb left behind), and
3. Three–three!–of these tall boys. (I am part German, [and part Irish], you know).

Oh, and then half a cheesy pretzel (split with C-Nor).

In other words, B’DANKA! That’s the sound (in German) of my big ol’ butt falling off the Weight Watchers wagon. Ouch!

It was delicious, though. No regrets. (Until I try to put on my jeans tomorrow…)

Thankfully, I’m settled in–for the most part–into my new life in Iowa.

On the one hand, it’s not too huge a change from my past life; it’s not like I’m living in a commune of cult members or de-boning fish on a boat in Alaska.

But I did leap from full-time employment in writing/editing/marketing/public relations to part-time status as an ABE (adult basic ed) teacher; from living in a rental house that I had all to myself, to sharing a small apartment with my husband.

(More about the moving misadventure here. And, as I’ve mentioned recently, I’ve chosen this time to finally deal with the large mountain I’ve amassed from the detritus of my youth.)

When I moved into my husband’s already-established apartment, he gently pointed out (or, um, pointedly stressed) the fact that we wouldn’t have much space, so I should bring with me only what I truly needed, and deal with the rest later.

Rather than rent a storage locker, we  parked all of my sentimental and /or not-totally-utilitarian stuff–books, CDs, photo albums, family history fragments, creative projects in half-assed state–at my in-laws’ house in a spare bedroom. (They live nearby).

STUFF MOUNTAIN, only partially pictured

The good news: my in-laws are kind, patient people, and they’re okay with me storing this stuff here temporarily.

The bad news: we probably need to have a talk about the difference between “temporarily” and “indefinitely.”

In other words, I still need to find a place for, and/or otherwise “deal with,” every single one of the things in these boxes.

Maybe it doesn’t look like that much.

But it feels overwhelming to me.

I’m starting to wonder if I should just toss it all and enjoy the freedom of having absolutely no tangible reminders of my past. Like a soap opera character who wakes up in the hospital after the bridge explosion (for at least the second time in her character’s existence) with amnesia.

Or maybe, the next time either my husband or one of his parents brings up the subject of the pile, I should suddenly become stricken with said affliction. (What boxes? Who am I? How did I get here?!?