Just need to Find me some good good good love

1.      “All the Things you hate I find Fun.  Things you want to do are just done.”  --“Midnight Run.”
 

          At the dinner table, I am already ready to leave.  Your friends have watched me for an hour, after an hour of taking care of Amelie, before putting her to bed, Hollie decided we were having guests.  She pushed through the door with a large grocery sack in hand and stared at me. 

          “You are always behind,” She said, dropping the sacks on the table, “We’re having guests, so change that stupid shirt and pants and put on the new shirt I bought you.”

          “It’s 9 o’clock, and I got home at six and you didn’t tell me we we would eat with your deuschey friends.”

          “I deserve some fun and you never take me anywhere,” She said, and then she looked at me, “Get dressed, or spend the evening alone.”

          The fact she claimed I never took her anywhere was complete bulls—t.  She knew it too, but she wanted some kind of dinner party, and I had had to come home at six, feed Amelie and then get her out of the tub and in bed.  It didn’t matter to her that I had been working since 8 a.m. and she had spent the morning in bed until noon, and her afternoon at Starbucks.

          So, there I was at the table, Bryson, who she called “Brysypoo” affectionately, but somehow this made me want to vomit every time she said it, and Bryce’s flavor of the week, some guy named Vincent, who would probably empty Bryce’s bank account, steal his silverware, and leave him a shell of a man was already drinking most of our good wine and opening another bottle.  It was almost 10:55 and I wanted to Watch Doctor Who, but the look on her face, curled into a snarl.  

  

“Stop being such a child.” She said.

First Day of Class.
Me:  We're going over the Syllabus.  This is the general overview of my class. Notice some very important things.  This is my office number.  This is my email.  This is a detailed Schedule of papers, and readings.  This schedule should not change for readings, but given need or request, we might have to change paper dates. Notice carefully,the number of days that you cannot miss.  4 class periods, equals a decided shift, and if you miss 4 you cannot get an A.  If you miss class, 6 times, this constitutes an automatic F for the course.
Bear in mind this is a monday/wednesday/Friday class. Most students piggyback their courses on MWF, meaning they come at 8 in the morning, and leave at 5.

Asked about two weeks in:  What's your email?  Its on the syllabus.
Student:  Syllawhat? (Proof that student hasn't read the syllabus.)

Take out your books.  80 percent of the class takes out their books.  Bear in mind, last night each had two reading assignments from the book.  Me:  Where is your book?  Student:  I left it at home.   Me:  The syllabus states you must bring your book to class everyday, or you may be turned out of class.   Student opens his booksack which has almost nothing in it.  Attempts to try to find book in empty booksack.

This is not normally an issue.  Over weeks, same student seems to never have book.  Me:  Can I talk to you after class?  Where is your book.   Student:  I forget it at home.   Me:  Do you forget every book?  Your booksack is empty.  This is the 4th time.  (Yes, i count)  Once is a mistake.  4 Times is a fact.  You don't have a book.  You've been lying to me for about four weeks now, and not doing the reading.  Student:  No, i just forget it.  Me:  Bring your book next time so i can see it.

Student shows up with a book.  Brand New.  Spine isn't creased. Student still has reciept sticking out of pocket.

Handwritten homework:  Read this essay and list the adjectives in the essay on a sheet of paper.  I have counted them, they range about 54 adjectives.  Student turns in assignment, with a list of 12 adjectives,  which happen to stop about the third paragraph.  Student turns in paper, without name on it. (Fact:  student attempted to do last night's homework in the hall. Student forgot to put name on it, in the time of 20 minuites before class.)


Each essay has three to four words that are difficult.  Students are told they can send me words they don't know if they look them up, online for extra credit.  Students, ask me in the middle of class what certain words mean.  Students blatantly displays he/she did not read essay.

Students are assigned essay titled "Yearning" to read.  Three days after, i discuss "Yearning" concept with them.  One student asks "What is Yearning?"   I look student directly in the face and say. "That tells me, you didn't read the essay marked Yearning."

Students are told first day,and in the syllabus that if you miss class, you need not tell me, nor may you ask me, "What did I miss?"  You hve forfeited the lecture from that class.  ALL OF THIS IS IN THE SYLLABUS.  Students are informed, however, that homework will be posted on "BlackBoard" and should check that first, and not ask me.  Students are also told, i don't need excuses for missed class, check the blackboard for what you missed.  Don't email me to apologize.

Student Email:  "I am so sorry i missed class.  I had a doctor's appointment. (My first inclination is to ask, what time the appointment was? and did you miss other classes for a one hour doctor's appointment?)  Second half of email?
"Can you tell me what homework i missed?"

How One Moves On?

It's been a while since I wrote here. Secretly, i wanted to try and reclaim the pieces of my life, shortly after returning from Edmond's washington, where I underwent a distinctive, therapeutic month, of working and missing all my friends. All that time, i faced some nagging questions about myself, and my Father, my relationship to my Grandparents, but i was never sure if any of it, was utterly me. When I came back, I continued to feel as if it was utterly me. I felt lost and abandoned, to a place, that I felt had promised me more than I had achieved. I felt broken, and my return was less than spectacular, it was a return to little or no money, which felt like God had abandoned me, for I wanted to put so many things into a new order, but I couldn't pay rent.

The second thing I felt was that I had let my mother down again, moneywise, and I was unhappy. My relationship to Hollie began to disintigrate and I continued to feel as if there was no answer to a returning, nagging depression that could easily take over me. All of this was in relation to an unhappiness i felt--my world was different, and so I moved out,and then, I lost Hollie. Hollie and I were no more, not inthe way that I once rememered, so, the truth of the matter is, the banner you see aove will have to change. All of this was hard and the future looked dim. There will be more soon, because at I have just started to pull things together and write again.

More indeed soon.

Tonight Hollie was Baptized.

To see the way that Jesus is working in Hollie’s life is indeed a miracle. The way he has lifted her heart and those around her, still amazes me, though recently, I broke down completely at Recovery and said, I want you in my heart Jesus and I don’t want to wait.

Tonight at Presonwood—Hollie was onscreen for 10 Minutes. She cried and every eye cried with her. She was brought before everyone in a very real, very intimate way, and she was a living stone, a testament unto Jesus. And when she appeared in the Baptism tank, the entire congregation stood and began to clap. They clapped for the woman I love, and she has made her conversion a living example and a flame of righteousness. I repent often of my jealousy, but tonight, I was proud. I love you Hollie Taylor.

More soon,

James

A long time gone and going somewhere fast

It has been a while since I came to this blog. All of my students are working hard on writing and I am struggling into a new position with the love of my life, and my life as I know it. My life is about to change. This month alone I will be learning to squeeze a penny so hard, that it will probably scream. My season in the sun is now over.

It has been two months from returning from the Center, and you can learn about my other blog, which has also been on hiatus. The almighty creative "word" has left me. The Word of God is still inside me, but I wonder for a month did my savior and God have me think strongly on how it is I write and what I write about. This month alone has been hard. I have struggled with no money in the bank, or hardly any. I am still struggling with being a Father, which comes and goes in spurts of happiness, and I am overcoming my addictions. Inside the bubble of therapy, I felt secure in my ways, but it is in the real world that I am coming to terms with my future. The distant horizon looms like dreamy and scary future. I will probably be moving out, so that my relationship with Hollie can be made legitimate and that is something I deperately want in the sight of my God.

All this week, God has been taking from me in order to know that I have real needs, not material ones and that my soul is at stake for the things I worship in Idolotry. This is a hard message to take for a man who loves the image on the screen, who sees the larger than life director/author/auteur figure as his model. This is going to take some work.

Today is the first day with money in my account--money that is already fleeing my account, but I am going to pray with strength.My future is bright, and if all this seems abstract, I do indeed need to be able to make it clear. I am having the strangest season ever. My life is deeper, but I have less stuff.

That in itself is a mystery. Hope this wasn't too philosophical.

Back Again Soon,

James

My Uncle and His Legacy

My Uncle was a great man, a pillar of his community. The reason I know this is because, most of my life I have sought elusive things, that came with a price--fame, through means that when I was younger caused me much embarrassment. Wealth--through means, sometimes that drove me to ignore fellow human beings, and distempered my actions among fellow human beings and the people I love. Popularity: which follows some of the same paths as Fame, but is centered on almost nothing except the infantile understanding that people think you are something which is really nothing.

Following this line of thinking might make your head spin, but each of us can remember high-school. High-school breeds that kind of destructive thinking that pushes men and women to do things that make no sense, and it also pushes them to commit offenses against other people.

My Uncle who lies in rest at Rose Hill Cemetery in Georgia. One space away from my Father. My Uncle was a great man to my father, a great friend, and confident, and my Uncle wept openly when my Father died at the age of 56. My Uncle told his daughters, that he had hoped that he and "Jimmy" would be around to see the golden days of their retirement. My Father saw some of those days. And he went on trips with my Uncle and his family. He visited Hawaii with my Uncle--he always thought well of my Uncle.

This is why it is fitting that they lay next to each other, and that at my Uncle's funeral, the church was packed with people who loved him, and who at his own visitation, the funeral home was worried it would have to extend its hours of operation, because, my friends, the friends of Uncle David simply did not stop. They came around the corner of this small Georgia Funeral home, and parked across the street and in vacant lots.

They had their husbands and their wives park cars two blocks down, all to pay tribute to a man who lived an unassuming life, and who made an impression on everyone he met, in a community that was small, but loved him for being simply himself.

My Aunt and my Mother are currently looking through my uncle's paperwork. They discovered the will yesterday, and today, my Mother is helping her settle all his accounts--and on the top of his desk is a set of trophies. Little white and gold trophies--marble bases with small golden footballs.

These trophies are from the Kiwanis Club--an organization that he attended and was a model member of. The truth is I never knew what the Kiwanis Club was, but I was proud he was a member. He was a member in good standing, and every year the Kiwanis club has a "football Picks" championship. My uncle loved football, and so he knew his football and his stats, so here's what happened, my uncle was the pic champion for 87, 88 and 89.

Three years in a row, my uncle David picked the most winners and they gave him a little trophy for being the first place winner (with the most picks.)



The story I heard from my Mother is that a year or two after, they wouldn't let him play again at least, by what the trophies say, for 3 years, wherein, he was rewarded second place at unknown year and second place in 2004.

Now, I laugh at the story, and I know in my heart that it is true. You see, I've been to gradschool, and from what I can remember, from other gradstudents, is when you are good at something, you become a targest for other gradschool students. You become what they must eliminate, and I believe with my heart that someone told my uncle not to play anymore (at least for 3 years or more), and I know this about my Uncle, by his kindness and the life he lived.

I believe this-- he didn't care.

If I can learn anything from my Uncle, he was above that kind of petty jealousy, jealousy of the type I have let eat up my soul, have let shape my actions and my anger and have lost it over. As I sit in my Uncle's office and type this, I know something more--I too can be above it.

At my Uncle's funeral, I have never seen so many people cry. I have never seen my Grandfather weep so openly and even though I know he is sick and the medication he is on makes him overly emotional, I know he wept genuine tears for my Uncle, in the same way, his son-in-law wept for him, and in the same way, when I was woke at 3 a.m. by the woman I love and hope to marry, that I leaned into the couch and cried a little, leaned closer to Hollie and wanted to hold her.




I love my Uncle, David , a rock of our family, and I know he has gone on to his rich reward after this, one I hope to go onto myself If I am good enough. God Bless you Uncle David. I hope you and my father are enjoying your new bodies, while we wait a bit longer to join you. I know you and my Father, two great men will be the first to greet us at those tall, great gates.

Maranatha.

More Soon.

Me

Elisabeth Sladen Dies and I don't know how I feel

With a title like that, I'm pretty sure glossing over her would be the wrong thing to do. Yes, I'm one of the nuermous guys out there, who flocked to doctor who and now, with my appreciation of classic who, I'm stuck with a quandry. Sarah Jayne Smith has passed on. She's gone--and i considered her to be around for a good long time.I thought she would surely be around for a 12th doctor, but i think about the Brigadeer who also past recently. All that is left in the club is Tom Baker. Today, I read a little of Marcus Aurelius, who spoke of fame being fleeting, and that generation after generation would forget those who came before them.

The good news is, that I have a couple of wonderful students who really love literature, and through them I can see that Literature will do just fine. One Student, has her own Blog, and it looks to be going very well. She works very hard, and as a teacher I'm proud of her. Check out her blog: The Life of Loza.

Another student seems to be doing very well. Two students from another class are fantastic editors, and I told them so last week. I know they will do well--I can sense they are cut out for College.

The world goes on, and so do we. This post has little of great value in it, but I don't know how I feel. More soon.

James

This Sunday beneath a overcast sky

Outside, my woman is tending her garden. Basically, I am told this is her womanly spring thing, and at times, I almost don't care--the truth is I care, but i'm only barely into it. These pages were supposed to be regularly filled, but at present, my blod is as empty as you can imagine. Today is Sunday, so i can expect the to-be-inlaws over, roast beef, russet potatoes and cooking shows deep into the night. All of this doesn't bother me. I am moved by these Sunday dinners. I am moved lately by intricate gatherings of generous and fine people, and I know that in my life, I want more of this.

More soon...

James

Tonight I lost what I never knew I had

For over 20 years I've used floppy disks--a lot of them. I collected disks--I scavenged disks, kept things on disks--transferred writings to disks, where they sat on disks, in the dustbin of my desk and waited and waited for me to use them.





They waited on me, or at least I thought they waited on me...

I dreamed they waited on me. My disks were my life, or what I thought were my memories, of everything I thought I had to save.

I kept them, thinking i would look at all my old writings, would go back to them in desperation, or in triumph and people would look at what I wrote, even as an undergraduate, and I would have to transfer all that I wrote from that time in my life--I would transfer everything back from the "dust bin of History"--My history.

That is what I thought, so i sat and let my disks sit, for years and years, and i held onto those disks which i thought were me. And it took a good woman to help me let go of those disks.




It took her to make me give them over and to let her take them outside and smash them with a hammer. I couldn't watch that of course--as the hammer went down upon the fragile plastic and what were in my mind's eyes my memories.--my father. I heard the sickening crack of them, and i rolled on my side and let her do it--because I knew she was trying to save me--albeit rough and brutal. She was trying to help me.

And she did.

More soon.

James