Yeah! I've changed my mind

Funny how since I've started teaching, I've lived my life in a constant state of flux. I am constantly making decision on the fly. I seem to be suffering from new toy syndrome. I have so many new strategies, techniques, best practices, whatever... that I don't know which one to use. I think I'm going to look back on this year and laugh at myself because I keep jumping ship and trying new things midstream.

All that to say that I said I was going to turn this blog into my classroom blog and then changed my mind and created a new blogspot for my classroom. If you are interested in checking out what we are doing in class, check out http:\\englishiiiamericanlit.blogspot.com.
And yes, if your a style maniac, I have used a lot of cliches in this post.

My Classroom Blog

So, I'm changing this blog into my English III and English III H Blog. Come here to find Assignments and enjoy samples of student work and links to missed worksheets.

Mrs. Maschmeyer

New Coffee

So, I've decided that the best coffee for home brewing is either Dunkin' Donuts Hazelnut or Yuban Regular Roast. And, if I've brewed my Yuban a little too strong International Delight Hazelnut creamer is just right for sweetening the deal.

And, I may be mixing my metaphors a little, but most any coffee is a very good thing.
Oh...and Yuban makes me look green, but I really didn't choose it for its greeny qualitities.

Adventures in Homemade metal polish

Several months ago, I bought a set of stainless metal canisters at a garage sale. I really liked the look and the price was great. However, they had nasty masking tape labels on them. I tried everything I could think of to get the labels off, but of course being masking tape they wouldn't come off easily. I finally got frustrated with them and used Kaboom on them. Not a good idea. Now they have hideous black tarnish on them. So began my adventures in finding a homemade polish that will take the tarnish off so that I can actually use the canisters.

The first attempt was just plain white vinegar on a soft cloth. Yes, it did take some of the tarnish off, but it would take a ton of elbow grease and soaking to get all of it off. I don't know about other mom's out there, but I don't have time for lots of elbow grease and soaking. So, I had to find something else.

Second try was this recipe
1 TBSP Flour
1 TBSP Salt
1 TBSP White Vinegar

Mix the flour and salt and then slowly add vinegar to make a paste
Spread the paste on the item to be cleaned and let dry
Rinse with warm water and buff.

This definitely lightened the tarnish, but it certainly didn't get them clean enough for my counter. I read that this method works really well for copper, but obviously not for unknown stainless looking metal.

I don't have silica or pumice and don't really want to try those methods.
I'm going to make an attempt with lemon juice, but I doubt it will do much better. So, I'm looking for a good homemade aluminum/chrome polish...to get my canisters clean.

The Dark Hills Divide

I'm trying to update myself on current young adult and children's fiction. So, while flipping through the library collection I came across this book.

The cover art is amazing and immediately attracted my attention. I was hoping for something good because I'd just been disappointed by A Certian Slant of Light by Laura Whitcomb. And, as the story began I found that I could really get into this one.

I'm one of those people who is constantly doing literary analysis in my head and looking for deeper meaning in everything. I'm looking forward to reading the rest of the books in the serious to figure out who the mysterious deity Elyon is. And like any good literary critic, I'll be doing some digging into Patrick Carman to find out what makes him tick.

This series is definitely one that I can offer to young readers without reservation.

Friends...

Do you sometimes see people who grew up together and know every thing about each other and feel a little jealous of them? Have you ever wished for someone who knew you so well that they could anticipate your thoughts and needs and you them? Have you ever had a friend like this and then they moved away or something broke in your relationship and it was never the same?

I have a string of relationships in my life that seem to go kaput as soon as I get to the point of intimacy. Now, I'm not looking for you to psycho analyze me and I don't want trite advice. Don't take this blog as some suicidal I hate the world note. I'm happy, really. I have the most beautiful children and I married my best friend. I'm just commenting on the strange and fragile nature of friendship.

Friendship is like a rose. It grows; it blooms; it's beautiful; then it wilts; it fades; and it dies. And the process continues. . . infinitely until you die....Depressing....why can't we collect a bunch of roses that live forever?

I think that every single person is created with an intense desire for intimacy. We strive for it and that's why sex is so glorified in our culture. But although sex is physically intimate it doesn't replace that mental, emotional, and spiritual connection that comes between friends who get each other.

I end up being a loner more often than not because I've spent time on one friend or another in my life and then events and directions change things and I lose my friend. I have this longing for a bosom friend like Anne of Green Gables had. But, I'm beginning to think at this stage in my life that it's a pipe dream. Maybe I have such a love affair with Facebook because I'm looking for an intimate intimacy that goes beyond what I have now. . . I don't think Facebook can move away from me. . . .or create awkward situations because I said something stupid and the other person is afraid to tell me. . . .

Okay, so I feel that at this point we need another disclaimer. I have a soulmate. He's the one I adore, and we are completely happy together. But, our relationship too has changed--once again let me say--I'm not looking for a diagnoses or advice--I'm just talking to you like you are my intimate friend, so no analysis needed...thanks. . . Anyway, we have kids, and the constant togetherness that we used to have has melted into early bedtimes, bathes, and chores. We used to go to shows, movies, restaurants at midnight and hang out all the time, but we've come to the point where we can't really enjoy those things together anymore without the need for elaborate arrangements. It's different and I'm mourning the loss of the way things were. This season in our relationship is different. It involves sleepy conversations as we pull the covers up at midnight and discussions about the theory of discipline and whether or not we should continue to allow Emerie to have her pacifier. And, all though I know that this too shall pass, I'm recognizing that I miss the past.

Another thing about relationships is something that leadership does to you...Watch any leader...do they have any intimate friends? Do you see them with people that they can really relax around? I'm destined for a life of leadership because of my chosen profession and the profession my BFF is training for. . . Why should I struggle to create intimate relationships outside of my family if I'm only going to loose them every couple of years. You can't be intimate with the people you're asked to lead. Can you?

I watched my parents (who are in positions of leadership) recede into themselves. Refuse to have friends. . . Refrain from socializing with anyone intimately because it's too hard to keep up the proper appearances in front of the right people and be real. In their minds it's too hard to allow friends into their intimate circle of trust because of how they might or might not hurt them....is that the way I'm going to be?

I'm tired of mourning lost relationships. I'm sad that there is only one person that I am friends with today that has known me since childhood...besides my sister...and she's in AZ and I've missed the last 5 years of her life because we're both married now and we don't have time to be close.

And then I consistently fear that people don't like me...although as I get older that fear recedes further into the background of my mind. I am attempting to build relationships...Don't get me wrong...I don't want to be a hermit, but it's almost a J. Alfred Prufrock moment...."Do I dare disturb the Universe?" (That's a T.S. Elliot allusion for my non-poetic Friends).

I find myself using the term friend too lightly. Do you really know what it means to be a friend? I hope you do, and I hope you're thinking about your friends and are thankful for those people in your life that really get you and are intimate with you.

I guess the reason I'm wandering around on this path tonight is that Saturday I saw a girl that I used to have an intimate relationship with--We traveled together and I tried to fix her up with my BFF's best friend. Now granted when I saw her....I did nothing out of the ordinary to attract her attention...something about being self-conscious--you know--but I did put myself where she could see me three or four times and attempted to catch her eye and she totally ignored me. ...Our relationship ended badly over a misunderstanding....It was ridiculous and I thought it had been long enough...She accepted my friendship on Myspace... but sadly no. That friendship is still dead. I guess I can add that name to my list of deadened friendships...I'll set up a little graveyard somewhere and mourn all the people I've invested in that are no longer in my life...


So, Debbie Downer on a rainy night...Oh! and just so you know...I'm happy remember...

Do I dare disturb the universe?

T.S. Eliot (1888–1965). Prufrock and Other Observations. 1917.

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock


S’io credesse che mia risposta fosse
A persona che mai tornasse al mondo,
Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.
Ma perciocche giammai di questo fondo
Non torno vivo alcun, s’i’odo il vero,
Senza tema d’infamia ti rispondo.


LET us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherised upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question …
Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”
Let us go and make our visit.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

And indeed there will be time
To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair—
[They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”]
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin—
[They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”]
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

For I have known them all already, known them all:—
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?

And I have known the eyes already, known them all—
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?

And I have known the arms already, known them all—
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
[But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!]
It is perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?
. . . . .
Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows?…

I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.
. . . . .
And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep … tired … or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head [grown slightly bald] brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet—and here’s no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.

And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”—
If one, settling a pillow by her head,
Should say: “That is not what I meant at all.
That is not it, at all.”

And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor—
And this, and so much more?—
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
“That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all.”
. . . . .
No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—
Almost, at times, the Fool.

I grow old … I grow old …
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think that they will sing to me.

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.