Archive for the 'School Stuff' Category
March 9, 2009 @ 8:22 am | Filed under: School Stuff, The Writing Life, Uniquely Me
“Talent without discipline is like an octopus on roller skates. There’s plenty of movement, but you never know if it’s going to be forward, backwards, or sideways.” — H. Jackson Brown, Jr. Author
I’m considering this quote this morning as I sit at the computer and try my best to put the busy weekend’s activities behind me, and begin yet another week of writing and school work. It would be nice right about now to be able to lasso the euphoric feelings of this past Friday afternoon when I contracted the fever while at Hobby Lobby. Instead, it’s not only Monday morning but Daylight Savings Time Monday morning. I have the yawn factor, puffy eyes, and slightly disoriented feelings to prove it!
Not a lot has changed between five o’clock on Friday and now except the need to once again apply pressure that just doesn’t feel so good. Especially on Monday mornings, right? It’s time to dive back into full story mode and - write. And study. And be as diligent as possible at both. I keep waiting for the “warming up” period of writing to be obselete. But you know what? I think I’m beginning to realize that this apprehension, this hesitancy when I first sit down to the keyboard, is just going to be part of the game plan.
So as I try to rein in my thoughts, corral my emotions, and begin the arduous task of enforcing a huge dose of self-discipline, I’m thinking about the words in this quote. When I begin a story, I have a pretty good idea of the road map the story will ultimately travel. What I don’t know, however, is how it will GET there.
It’s always a faith walk with me, and maybe that’s one of the reasons I feel such uncertainty on some days. I’m relinquishing control, and asking God to once again speak through my words. I learned long ago that giving over that control brings the greatest sense of liberty and productivity. But it still doesn’t make it an easy task, does it?
For me, it means becoming quiet in spirit and in mind. While it’s not always easy getting there, it’s only when I’m enclosed with Him, that I can finally tap into the inspiration I need to get the work accomplished. So - with a fresh cup of coffee at my side, my manuscript on the screen in front of me, and His truths blazing in my heart - I begin this day.
What about YOU? How do you self-motivate?
What works for YOU?
February 28, 2009 @ 7:49 am | Filed under: Friends, School Stuff, Uniquely Me
“Mathematics is not a careful march down a well-cleared highway, but a journey into a strange wilderness, where the explorers often get lost.”
—W.S. Anglin
THANK. YOU, Mr. Anglin.
I couldn’t have said it better myself.
For me math is, at best, a grand test of patience, endurance, and that gnarly feeling you get in the pit of your stomach when you know (you just…know) that things are about to get very, very bad.
Math and I go way back. All the way back to first grade, in fact.
The relationship started off well, with grainy, purple-ish mimeographed pages (remember these predecessors of color copies and laser-printed sheets?) of neatly printed addition and subtraction problems.
“Staci, meet the plus sign. Plus would like to add two apples to your pile of four oranges. How many pieces of fruit do you have now?”
As long as I could equate math with fruit or cookies, or even pencils or pennies, it was all good. Dare I say, even a tad bit…fun?
It all began to go awry mid-semester of my freshman year in high school. One word says it all, seven little letters. A-L-G-E-B-R-A.
I went into the class a little cocky (because I’d never had to work very hard to make good grades before) and more than a little naive (who knew that polynomials and variables could BE so obstinate?)
By the time I’d managed to crawl through Algebra I by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin, I walked into Mrs. Payne’s sophomore geometry class with my tail tucked between my legs.
I was cautiously hopeful that isosceles triangles and terms like area, volume, and perimeter would be kinder and gentler in nature - but I was not holding my breath.
Good thing.
It became a joke in the class that I would treat myself to a banana split at Braums if somehow - by the grace of God or osmosis or whatever worked - I managed to pass the increasingly difficult tests.
Mrs. Payne had the very annoying habit of reading the test grades aloud before handing them back. As if the humilation of a failing grade wasn’t enough on its own, now we had the added bonus of wanting to crawl beneath our desks whenever our name was called.
“Rogers,” she would peer over her half-rimmed, silver reading glasses and make direct eye contact.
With bated breath, I would wait like a defendant on trial to hear my fate.
“Looks like you’re going to Braums today,” she’d nod and give me the barest of grins. “You got a C.”
I still remember the cheers of my classmates and that afternoon, about four o’clock, found a large group of my friends and fellow geometry cellmates clustered around a white Formica table at our local neighborhood Braums.
Some things in life just need to be celebrated, you know?
When (NOT if) I manage to bag the three credit hours of college Algebra that I need in my degree plan, I will celebrate large!
Anybody want in?
___________________________
TODAY - February 2009
___________________________
Staci
TEN MORE WEEKS and math will FOREVER be behind me. It’s been three semesters of pure and total torture but, thanks to some friends who are truly gifted in math and who truly love my mathless goofy self, I’m beginning to see the light at the end of this tunnel.
And there WILL be an ice cream party when we emerge from this tunnel. Just wanted to let you know so you can get your spoons ready.
TEN MORE WEEKS!
June 16, 2008 @ 4:24 pm | Filed under: School Stuff, Uniquely Me
“Mathematics is not a careful march down a well-cleared highway, but a journey into a strange wilderness, where the explorers often get lost.” —W.S. Anglin
(this post was written in 2006, right after my return to college)
THANK. YOU.
I couldn’t have said it better myself.
For me math is, at best, a grand test of patience, endurance, and that gnarly feeling you get in the pit of your stomach when you know (you just…know) that things are about to get very, very bad.
Math and I go way back. All the way back to first grade, in fact.
The relationship started off well, with grainy, purple-ish mimeographed pages (remember these predecessors of color copies and laser-printed sheets?) of neatly printed addition and subtraction problems.
“Staci, meet the plus sign. Plus would like to add two apples to your pile of four oranges. How many pieces of fruit do you have now?”
As long as I could equate math with fruit or cookies, or even pencils or pennies, it was all good. Dare I say, even a tad bit…fun?
It all began to go awry mid-semester of my freshman year in high school. One word says it all, seven little letters. A-L-G-E-B-R-A.
I went into the class a little cocky (because I’d never had to work very hard to make good grades before) and more than a little naive (who knew that polynomials and variables could BE so obstinate?)
By the time I’d managed to crawl through Algebra I by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin, I walked into Mrs. Payne’s sophomore geometry class with my tail tucked between my legs.
I was cautiously hopeful that isosceles triangles and terms like area, volume, and perimeter would be kinder and gentler in nature - but I was not holding my breath.
Good thing.
It became a joke in the class that I would treat myself to a banana split at Braums if somehow - by the grace of God or osmosis or whatever worked - I managed to pass the increasingly difficult tests.
Mrs. Payne had the very annoying habit of reading the test grades aloud before handing them back. As if the humilation of a failing grade wasn’t enough on its own, now we had the added bonus of wanting to crawl beneath our desks whenever our name was called.
“Rogers,” she would peer over her half-rimmed, silver reading glasses and make direct eye contact.
With bated breath, I would wait like a defendant on trial to hear my fate.
“Looks like you’re going to Braums today,” she’d nod and give me the barest of grins. “You got a C.”
I still remember the cheers of my classmates and that afternoon, about four o’clock, found a large group of my friends and fellow geometry cellmates clustered around a white Formica table at our local neighborhood Braums.
Some things in life just need to be celebrated, you know?
When (NOT if) I manage to bag the three credit hours of college Algebra that I need in my degree plan, I will celebrate large!
Anybody want in?
UPDATE: June 2008
I sat across from my advisor a few weeks ago and waited impatiently as he perused my transcript, clicked his mouse a few times, rechecked a file, and then - finally - looked at me.
“Did you know-” he paused and - truly - spoke to me as though his gentle tone would somehow soften his news. “-that you have only science and math courses left to take?”
Of course, he meant before I could transfer full-time to the four-year campus.
“Yes.” I nodded and straightened in my seat. “I did know that.”
He glanced down at his screen again and I could see he tried to hide a grin. “I mean…that’s all.”
“Yes, I’m aware of that.” My words were kind and ladylike but in my mind I was coming across the desk, making a beeline for his scrawny neck and saying really mean things like Do you know that I’m twice your age and I could very well make your very existence nothing but miserable from this point on?
The truth of the matter is, though, that it is rather funny.
In an effort to make my return to college a tad less frightening and a lot more exciting, I spent the first several semesters taking courses that I enjoyed and…aced. And - at long last - I can no longer put off the inevitable.
I must face math and face my fear.
I am in my second week of my first summer math course and am ecstatic to report that there have no casualties, no bad words thought, no equation I could not conquer.
(Continue in prayer, please. More math reports will follow in the coming weeks.)
January 10, 2007 @ 9:24 am | Filed under: School Stuff
I sat in my philosophy class with a few other students, listening as they debated with passion the validity of mini-mesters. For those of you who aren’t acquainted with that term, it’s a ten day course that garners you a full 3 credit hours. You go to class for four hours a day for ten class days. Sounds easy enough, huh?
That’s what I thought too.
"I’m thinking of taking a Wintermester." I threw this thought into the hot debate.
"You know they are suicide courses, right?" One of the girls whipped around in her chair and stared at me with wide eyes. "You should only take these if they are a last resort. You know, like only if you have to have that credit immediately. Otherwise…STAY AWAY FROM THEM!"
I admit, I came close to taking her advice. However…
It was a communications course, for crying out loud. How difficult could it be? In my very limited way of thinking, I rationalized that it would be the quickest and most painless way to get through a course that makes me very nervous and uncomfortable. It made me feel better to think that in a mere ten days I could, not only have yet another course behind me, but also have climbed that difficult mountain labeled PUBLIC SPEAKING and lived to tell about it.
Ten class days.
Ten.
I could do this. I just knew it.
Fast forward to the first day of Wintermester when Professor Rhodes, my new and very funny Communications professor, stood in front of the class and asked, "Before we get started, can I just ask…why in the world you are CHOOSING to spend your holiday in a Wintermester course?"
She spread her hands out in question and raised arched eyebrows. "Do you people HAVE no lives?"
This should have been my second clue.
Instead, I buckled up my proverbial seat belt and prepared for what appeared to be a very bumpy ride. I wasn’t disappointed, but I did suffer through a bit of whiplash and maybe even a smattering of amnesia. I had been naive enough to think that the course would be an ABBREVIATED version of the real thing. I know, I know, can you say blonde…?
Instead of abbreviated, the course turned out to be more of an ACCELERATED version. All the work, all the projects, all the papers…just completed in ten class days instead of the normal sixteen weeks. When I broke it all down, I calculated that we were covering two weeks worth of material each and every class day. The four hours I spent in class was only the prelude to the hours I spent once I returned home.
The funny thing is, I DO have a life. Or did. I hope I still do. I’ll let you know as soon as the dust clears and I can see, think, and breathe with some semblance of normalcy again. There are things and people and events from the past three weeks that I can’t readily recall just simply because my days and nights have been one big blur of projects, speeches, group role-playing, tests, and papers to write.
Yesterday at three o’clock, the ride finally came to a swift, yet painless, end. I survived multiple papers, a self-disclosure speech, a demonstration speech, role-playing, a term paper, a Pay-it-Forward project, and a three-scene group skit using all the listening and communication skills we’ve learned from the course. All in ten days.
Now that it’s over, I feel something really, really great. It’s a unique combination of near exhaustion and heady exhileration. I have to admit that it feels good to push your body and mind to extremes that you didn’t know they were capable of reaching. While I certainly won’t make this way of life a habit, I do feel a great sense of accomplishment today.
Or maybe that’s just sleep deprivation talking, I’m not sure. At any rate, thanks to all of you who have been my cheerleaders during this endeavor. Mike - you were my rock! Nate and Jorge - thanks for all the Sonic runs you made to keep me in Diet Coke. It’s now almost a sure thing that I’ll be remembered most for this addiction requirement and - although I hope you remember all the hugs, conversations, and warm, fuzzy times more - it’s kind of cool when your sons just surprise you with a big ‘ol Sonic Diet Coke, just because they know you’d like one.
On Monday I begin a brand new story, which always thrills me. I’ll keep you posted here on the progress and I really look forward to sharing these characters with you. And then on Tuesday, I’ll begin Spring classes. But until then, I’m now on "vacation." For the next three days, I will be wearing pajamas, taking naps, catching up on housework and errands that have been neglected, and basically just enjoying the ability to breathe deep and savor the things around me again.
December 12, 2006 @ 11:08 pm | Filed under: School Stuff
Semesters, that is.
After fourteen papers, two research papers, and three major exams, my first semester is behind me! As I walked out of my history exam today, I experienced the most amazing feeling - sort of a strange combo of wrung-out sponge and high-flying kite.
Tonight was Mike’s Baylor EMBA Christmas dinner so it was a perfect opportunity to dress up, go out, and relax after so many hours of studying and working.
The annual event was held at the Hilton Lincoln Center and was lovely on every conceivable level. Festive holiday decorations, a chamber orchestra, and food like you would not believe.
It was a real treat for me to watch Mike interact with other MBAers. Some were from prior classes, like Mike, and still others are immersed in the program right now. I ‘bluffed’ my way through a few conversations and was able to hold my own in conversations on theories of constraint (thankfully I’ve read the Eli Goldratt book The Goal!). But when our table started to discuss ‘brokering great deals’, I just sat back, listened politely, and enjoyed my cheesecake. For me, brokering a great deal is shopping the clearance aisles at Target and finding an arm full of stuff that I just can’t go home without. Somehow I had a feeling these guys weren’t talking retail therapy deals. On the drive home, Mike seemed genuinely surprised when I asked if I had managed to fake my way through. He’d had no clue that I was feigning intelligence I didn’t really feel.
It’s going to be great fun in a few years to watch him at my Master’s program in Literature Studies (see? I didn’t let the semester get to me - I still have lofty goals!). Knowing his keen sense of humor and his way with conversation and with people, I have no doubt that he’ll ‘bluff’ his way through a conversation on the critical analysis of Ernest Hemingway’s "Hills Like White Elephants" with ease!
October 4, 2006 @ 7:01 am | Filed under: School Stuff
"There is nothing to fear except the persistent refusal to find out the truth, the persistent refusal to analyze the causes of happenings." – Dorothy Thompson
___________________________
The day of truth had dawned.
The clock struck ten o’clock and, again, Dr. J strode into the room with every bit as much purpose as she had on the previous Thursday. In her arms she carried what was most obviously our exams, which she plunked down on her desk and then fixed us with a steely gaze.
"I have to tell you that out of all my classes, THIS class had the lowest exam average." She didn’t even wait for that little bit of cheery news to digest. "The average in here was…a 63."
I don’t know what I feared the most: the results of my own exam or the tone in her voice and the expression on her face. The material I had committed to memory still hovered in my consciousness, names, events, places of importance. Despite my earlier doubts, I knew I had done my best. Still, you know I have that need to do well…uh, in everything.
"Here’s the results of the exam." Dr. J walked to the whiteboard and proceeded to list the following: 5 A’s, 7 B’s, 6 C’s, 1 D, and <gulp> 18 F’s."
I quickly glanced around, trying to mentally calculate where I might fall in this group. I’d certainly make it into the top twelve, right? A guaranteed A or B, surely.
Still…
Dr. J leaned over her desk, anchored her hands on the edge, and gave the most…awful…speech.
"Some of you seem to be operating under some kind of misguided preconception that community college is ‘play college.’ But it’s not. This is the real thing, and if you want any of your credits to transfer to a four-year university then - "
She broke off and, really, basically glared at us.
" - YOU’D BETTER LEARN TO STUDY!!!"
Ouch. Can you say panic attack, part deaux?
Finally the moment of truth approached. She began to call out names and I watched with compassion as one kid after another went up and snatched their fate from her hands. Their faces were transparent, and it was easy to tell the ones who’d managed to pass and the ones who fell into the F category. My mother’s heart went out to them, and I temporarily forgot about my own trepidation.
"Ms. Wilder."
I eased from my chair and moved up the aisle. Taking the paper from her, I held it to my side until I’d reached my desk. Even then I was…scared. Slowly, I turned it over, careful to keep the result hidden from any inquiring eyes around me.
My heart pounded and, again, I felt a few twinges of actual pain. It was the kind of pounding that you feel in your ears, you know?
The red numbers looked huge to my eyes and I stared a few seconds, making sure my eyes weren’t playing tricks on me.
Then I breathed. Deeply.
96.
October 3, 2006 @ 3:26 pm | Filed under: School Stuff
It all started last Thursday. Well, really, on Tuesday. Actually…it began five weeks ago but it took me until last week to realize just how much studying it was going to take to make the grade I want in history.
History, of all things.
I mean, how hard can memorization - a few battles, a few key players, a few important events and laws - be, right?
Uh-huh. That’s what I thought too.
On Tuesday night I pulled out the review sheet for Thursday’s exam. Now keep in mind that this exam is over one entire unit. To break it down, that would be six chapters. Or two-hundred thirty pages. Or everything from pre-Columbian days through the Revolutionary War.
You get the picture.
I attacked the review sheet with fervor, studying well into the night and the entire day on Wednesday. I paused a few times to wonder if maybe - just maybe - I was over reacting. What if I did all that studying and the test was an easy A?
Should I instead be washing a load of clothes, hitting a few golf balls at the driving range, or maybe even do a little…writing?
But the image of Dr. J, my History professor, hung like a banner on the front porch of my mind, refusing to be ignored or taken lightly. I’m mature enough to know when a person means business and her words, her mannerisms, and her body language had been giving the class a lesson apart from the ones in our textbook.
She would be tough.
The morning of the exam I awoke with a whole army of newly hatched butterflies swimming around in my tummy. I choked down a few bites of breakfast, drank too much coffee, and arrived at school early enough to go over my notes one. more. time. This was big. My poor brain hadn’t been subjected to the rigors of an exam in twenty years and it wasn’t exactly thrilled about this one.
Somehow I made it through Religions class and then walked with leaden footsteps to the history department. By the time I sank into my chair my heart was pounding to the point where I actually experienced a few twinges of pain. Can someone define panic attack, please?
The clock struck ten o’clock and Dr. J breezed into the room with firm instructions to take out our mini-essay books (scantrons & essay form in one), clear our desks, and prepare for the exam. I clutched my No. 2 pencil with sweaty, tense fingers, resisting the urge to tap out some kind of tribal beat with it on my desk. You know, something signifying certain impending doom.
Minutes later, the exams were passed out and I opened it with fear and trembling. Multiple choice and true/false statements made up 60% of the exam and then an essay question made up the remaining 40%. I read the first question and my heart sank like a rock.
I didn’t know the answer.
My mind spun around like a top and the lump in my throat grew enormous. My heart still hammered and I tried some deep breathing, hoping the steady in-and-out of air would somehow clear my muddled brain.
I stared down at the exam and reasoned with myself.
Staci, you know this stuff. You know you do, girl. You studied, what, for a good six or seven hours. You memorized each and every Navigation Act. You can define Anasazi and tell what they are known for. You can name the middle colonies and give a blow-by-blow listing of their religious affiliations, the crops they grew, and the type of government each had.
My breathing slowly returned to normal and I loosened my grip on the pencil. I could do this. Bending my head over the test I took it one. question. at. a. time.
One hour and five minutes later, I walked out of the classroom.
It would be five days before I learned the results…
(to be continued…)
September 13, 2006 @ 5:05 am | Filed under: School Stuff
History is a nightmare from which I am trying to awake. —James Joyce
___________________________
"I’m convinced our culture is trying to kill you. Either that, or help you develop a drug habit."
Hmm…
Considering these were the opening words of Dr. J, my history professor, I have to say she immediately received my full attention.
"You’re expected to perform 100% at school, 100% at work, 100% in your family unit, and I know you perform 100% in your extra-curricular activities." She shrugged and held out her hands. "How else can you do 400% in all of this and still find time to sleep?"
I immediately resisted the urge, but I’ve gotta say that I was really tempted to slip my hand high into the air. I glanced to my right at the girl with her head down on the desk, eyes closed in quiet slumber.
I thought for sure I knew the answer to her question.
"Okay," Dr. J continued, enthusiasm lacing her voice. "So how many of you are history majors?"
Poor woman. I think she really thought she’d see a show of hands. I was tempted again, as only one lone girl in the back of the class lifted her hand. I think I was reverting back twenty years, to the days when I was almost always the "teacher’s pet", the one who could always be counted on to give the right responses at just the right times.
"Does it count if your dad is a history teacher?" I wanted to ask the question, but somehow refrained. "And hey, what if your son is the biggest history buff on the planet?"
I bound and gagged the teacher’s pet inside of me. I couldn’t help this teacher, not this time. I think maybe the history gene skips a generation. I’ll have to look that one up…
Dr. J, a tiny woman in her early sixties, moved through the classrom toward the slide projector in the back. I cast an anxious glance at the girl next to me as Dr. J moved down the aisle beside us. But she was able to sleep on, undisturbed, as the professor launched a slide show of a recent trip to the ancient ruins in Mexico.
"This. is. so. bor-ing." The boy sitting behind me breathed the syllables as though the very effort was taking the last little bit of strength he had left.
I have to say I wasn’t so surprised when, just a few minutes later, I heard the sound of gentle snoring and realized that he, too, had figured out how to squeeze sleep into his very busy schedule.
September 8, 2006 @ 5:31 am | Filed under: School Stuff
The professor - sixtiesh, with gray thinning hair, and cobalt blue eyes (think Paul Newman) - walked into the room and strode to the desk.
Dressed in stone-colored Dockers that had been starched to within an inch of their life, brown leather loafers, and a blue polo shirt that almost exactly matched his eyes, he took a seat behind the desk, slowly picked up a stainless-steel coffee mug, proceeded to take a sip, and…
…just quietly stared at us.
For l-o-n-g minutes.
"G’morning." Finally, something. "My name is Dr. Kirk. Yes, like the Starship Enterprise. So if I levitate out of here, you’ll know what happened."
And that, folks, was the introduction to my first college class last week. Comparative Religion, the course I had chosen to satisfy the 3 hour humanities credit I need for my degree plan.
I pulled out my notebook, jotted down his name, office hours, and phone numbers as he began to rattle them off.
"And here is my email address," he walked to the whiteboard and hastily scrawled, "gypsyprof@…"
Oh, boy…I knew I’d better buckle up. My religion teacher’s screen name is…gypsy?
I glanced to my right where three boys and one girl seem nonplussed by the professor’s opening statements. The guys were easily young enough to be my own sons and, judging by the way they slouched in their chairs, I have no doubt they thought this class would be an easy A.
Or a good laugh.
Or maybe both.
The girl, tall with dark, dyed hair and multiple tatoos, stared with rapt attention at Gypsyprof. I tried to look casual as I perused her assortment of body art. I thought I was a fairly hip mom who’d seen quite a lot, but judging by the dress and expressions of some of the kids seated around me, I had a feeling I was about to learn a whole lot more.
"Okay," Dr. K walked to the front of the classroom and leaned against his desk, crossing one finely starched leg in front of the other. "Let’s go around the room. Tell us your name, your religious affiliation, and what role religion has played in your life."
And….we’re off.
Row by row, we went down the line. Four Baptist, two of no particular religious belief, two Catholic, one Atheist, three non-denominational, one Mormon, one Hindu, one Methodist, one Muslim, one Pentecostal (um…that’d be me).
I was hastily jotting down these stats in my blogging notebook (told ya I had one!) when Tatoo Girl startled me.
"My name is "A". My parents named me after a character in a Sci-Fi story."
I stared at the Panda bear tatoo on her left arm and wondered if there was any particular meaning that just below it rested a sun. Shouldn’t the sun be above…
I digress…
"As far as my religious background," she paused and I waited to hear. I was thinking, I don’t know…Scientology, Buddahism…
"I’m Quaker."
Say what????
She was serious and takes her religion very seriously. That taught me something I should have learned well many years ago. Never, ever judge a book by its cover. Because the words inside just might surprise you.
I had no sooner recovered from A’s revelation before we moved on to meeting the next person. Then the next, then the next.
"Uh, yeah." A guy in the rear of the class spoke up, his voice deep and his words s-l-o-w. "I never really had a religious upbringing. Uh, in the past few years I’ve been, uh, kind of, uh, checking things out for myself."
I have to say that at this point my heart truly went out to all the kids that surrounded me. These were impressionable eighteen and nineteen year olds, the very same ages as my own sons, that were obviously interested enough in all the possibilities that religion affords us to be sitting in a classroom looking for answers.
I felt myself so torn. On the one hand so moved by their longing that they’ve begun a search and, on the other hand, afraid that they might not find those needed answers inside the confines of this classroom.
"So, uh, anyway," the boy with the deep, slow drawl continued, "I baptised myself, uh, in a waterfall in Hawaii, uh, last year."
And that was my introduction to Comparative Religion, my eight-thirty class.
I’m thinking that with a full cup of coffee in front of me and these kids surrounding me I’ll be on the edge of my seat for this one!
August 31, 2006 @ 3:21 pm | Filed under: School Stuff
1. The Religions of the World. This text is for the class I’m taking to satisfy my philosophy credit. While I’m thoroughly enjoying the class discussions and the, um, very…colorful characters in the class around me, this text is B-O-R-I-N-G. That’s right, with all CAPS!
2. A hot pink 3-subject notebook, with built-in manilla folders. This notebook is making my life very simple. I have three classes. There are three compartments. One notebook. How handy is that?
3. An assortment of pens, pencils, and highlighters. Basically I just need A pen. But I tend to plan for the unexpected. You just never know when you’re going to need a neon orange highlighter or be called upon to whip out a handy, dandy mechanical pencil.
4. America: A Narrative History. This 758 page text is my U.S. History book. I thought I knew a lot about the history of this great country, you know, being raised by a history teacher-turned-principal and all. But evidently I must have nodded off a time or two during my high school U.S. History classes because I’ve learned lots of really neat facts…in just TWO days!
5. A bookmark from the Writing Center in the library. My Composition & Rhetoric class has a required lab attached to it: three hours in the writing lab. (Oh, come on, twist my arm - make me write!)
6. A maroon-covered academic dayplanner. I keep it tucked in the bag so I can jot down class assignments and be able to see at a glance what my week looks like.
7. My wallet. It holds my license, my school ID, library card, and - of course - a little cash. You never know when you might need a Diet Coke bottle of water or a granola bar. (Water, I meant water. Really.)
8. Making Literature Matter, An Anthology for Readers and Writers. Okay, I simply cannot say enough great things about my Composition & Rhetoric textbook. I love, love, LOVE it! Now granted, I’m a writer, a voracious reader, and a Literature major - but, folks, this book is like water to my soul. I flip through the pages, drinking in each delicious word, relishing the feel of the pages between my fingers. (I know, you’re wondering what my nerd quotient is, aren’t you?)
9. My keys. They somehow manage to find the darkest corner in the furthest reach of the bottom of the bag. The biggest challenge I have each Tuesday and Thursday afternoon is hunting for the ever-elusive car keys.
10. The Syllabi for each class. So I can double-check any ‘ol time I want to see just exactly how many papers I GET to write this semester for all three classes. Call me lucky, or call me crazy, but between these classes I will be writing a grand total of 16 papers this semester. I’M LOVIN’ THAT! (If I was skating around the edges of nerdiness before, I just now fell face-first into nerd-dom, didn’t I?)
11. My cell phone. This is the first time in I-don’t-know-how-many-years that I have to remind myself to check for messages between classes. This is my connection to my husband, children, and my real estate agent.
12. A bottle of water. Just to stay hydrated. I really AM being faithful to my Diet Coke ban and a bottle of water has become my constant companion. I am literally never without one these days. Except maybe at church. Then I leave it in the car.
13. Last but certainly not least…{drum roll, please}…my blogging notebook. Yes, you heard me right. I have a small 4×6 notebook whose sole purpose is to hold recorded notes on all the "characters" (just wait!) in my classes, funny things I overhear, class activities, and my personal take on all that this wonderful journey of going back to college is so lovingly granting to me.
To quote the now famous McDonald’s slogan: I’m Lovin’ It!
