Just like that, I'm at the National Council of Teachers of English meeting in St. Louis. It's an annual, moveable feast and I've been privileged to attend and present for many years. I complained a lot the day before I left. I'm a homebody. I don't like to go places. I like to *be* places, but I don't like getting on an off airplanes since they are basically sardine cans with recycled germ air where I usually catch a cold or some other disease. I am always sure I'll get dysentery on the way home. Once I get on the plane though, things go fine. But mark my words - nothing good happens in an airport.
Honestly, I am surprised at how easy my trip in was. I got up at 5, hit the airport by 6:30 or so, and hopped the first of three flights. Both of my layovers were about half an hour so things had to be timed well or else disaster could strike. My second flight, which was four hours long, had me seated next to a woman with four boys, aged 14 down to 8 months. The mom was "out to here" pregnant. Her youngest sat on her lap and her three year old was in the seat between us. Just one mom and four kids. I expected a long and screamy flight and mustered all the patience I could and gave myself a pep talk that she was doing the best she could and that it was just a temporary inconvenience and to not be a jerk outwardly. I was wrong. So wrong. They both cried sometimes but everyone was calm and for the most part everyone slept the whole way, even her two older boys. Not a peep from them. I was really impressed; like supermom impressed. And a little embarrassed at my own dread when they sat beside me. I also wondered what her secret was. Benadryl? NyQuil? Dramamine?
I love seeing my old friends and acquaintances at this conference. I go to their sessions and they would go to mine - I'm not presenting this year - and we catch up and talk about our research and our lives since grad school. And my mentor is here. I had lunch with him and we caught up and talked about ways I can support rural teachers in Oregon. He's going to send me information on rural teachers and housing relief.
In other news, my mom made an announcement that she's got follicular lymphoma. She'll be having treatment over the next five weeks. It's in early stages so there is an excellent chance of full recovery. How blasé we are these days when talking of cancer. It used to be a death sentence. My sisters and I are concerned, naturally, but I am struck at the lack of urgency on our parts. We just sort of assume that Mom will be fine.
I offered to multitask and work during my conference. My boss said not to worry, that a report due next week could be completed next week and that I should "immerse myself in the conference." So I am. Except that I'm answering work emails. And talking to my cat sitter. And texting with one of my sisters. And emailing four people who couldn't attend the conference this year. "I miss you!" "I'll have to come visit you then." and "I hope that you get the grant. Sorry about the deadline! See you next year." And updating my social media and writing a blog post. I can't help it. This conference and these people spark my creativity. Tomorrow night there is a poetry reading and I'll probably get up there and give a few of the limericks and other stuff I've been writing lately. The organizers and my old college buddies.
So there you have it, in one day: A microcosm of living and dying, of coming and going and all of the movements in between. I am a part of this continuum. I like puzzles and I like where I fit now as my own puzzle piece. My edges touch others and as long as I have a lot of hand sanitizer, things are going to be ok.
Honestly, I am surprised at how easy my trip in was. I got up at 5, hit the airport by 6:30 or so, and hopped the first of three flights. Both of my layovers were about half an hour so things had to be timed well or else disaster could strike. My second flight, which was four hours long, had me seated next to a woman with four boys, aged 14 down to 8 months. The mom was "out to here" pregnant. Her youngest sat on her lap and her three year old was in the seat between us. Just one mom and four kids. I expected a long and screamy flight and mustered all the patience I could and gave myself a pep talk that she was doing the best she could and that it was just a temporary inconvenience and to not be a jerk outwardly. I was wrong. So wrong. They both cried sometimes but everyone was calm and for the most part everyone slept the whole way, even her two older boys. Not a peep from them. I was really impressed; like supermom impressed. And a little embarrassed at my own dread when they sat beside me. I also wondered what her secret was. Benadryl? NyQuil? Dramamine?
I love seeing my old friends and acquaintances at this conference. I go to their sessions and they would go to mine - I'm not presenting this year - and we catch up and talk about our research and our lives since grad school. And my mentor is here. I had lunch with him and we caught up and talked about ways I can support rural teachers in Oregon. He's going to send me information on rural teachers and housing relief.
In other news, my mom made an announcement that she's got follicular lymphoma. She'll be having treatment over the next five weeks. It's in early stages so there is an excellent chance of full recovery. How blasé we are these days when talking of cancer. It used to be a death sentence. My sisters and I are concerned, naturally, but I am struck at the lack of urgency on our parts. We just sort of assume that Mom will be fine.
I offered to multitask and work during my conference. My boss said not to worry, that a report due next week could be completed next week and that I should "immerse myself in the conference." So I am. Except that I'm answering work emails. And talking to my cat sitter. And texting with one of my sisters. And emailing four people who couldn't attend the conference this year. "I miss you!" "I'll have to come visit you then." and "I hope that you get the grant. Sorry about the deadline! See you next year." And updating my social media and writing a blog post. I can't help it. This conference and these people spark my creativity. Tomorrow night there is a poetry reading and I'll probably get up there and give a few of the limericks and other stuff I've been writing lately. The organizers and my old college buddies.
So there you have it, in one day: A microcosm of living and dying, of coming and going and all of the movements in between. I am a part of this continuum. I like puzzles and I like where I fit now as my own puzzle piece. My edges touch others and as long as I have a lot of hand sanitizer, things are going to be ok.
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