Here’s the problem. There’s so much crap going on all around these parts that I don’t know where to start to put things into words. Sooooo, I sorta quit.
I’ve been in a small group that’s working through Julia Cameron’s Walking in this World. Kinda like The Artist’s Way on steriods. Part of the deal is that we were supposed to come up with an actual project to work on during the 12 weeks. Not necessarily finish, just get started. After much thought, I decided my project would be to work up the really nice piano piece my professor wrote so I could play it around 9/11, the piece being a tribute to the victims and all.
But I just couldn’t get into it. I read a couple of things to the group early on as “show and tell” and they all suggested, emphatically, that I work on writing. Of course, from that point on I haven’t been able to put two words together for any reason, period. So I’m floundering around.
In the meantime I realized I had a gift certificate good for one class at The Sawtooth Center that was about to expire. I found a class called “I Can’t Draw…Yes I Can!”. It’s a lot like “Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain”. Turns out I can hold my own against some folks that are already visual artists and are taking this class for a number of reasons, none of which have anything to do with their inability to draw. So I’ve been practicing drawing cute things like fruit and bowls and a teddy bear and junk. My oh-so-over-talented son actually gave me a compliment on my scribbly things.
Speaking of oh-so-over-talented son, he’s headed for Guilford College in Greensboro, NC this fall. This is amazing to me because a. Guilford is small, private, and expensive; b. he researched the school online before applying and decided he wanted to give it a shot; c. his high school GPA is not exactly stellar, but his SATs were, which must have helped because the percentage of applicants accepted is pretty low. After four years of having to threaten him by various means to take school seriously, he has suddenly become diligent and is, I can’t believe this, excited about college. It’s funny, he came home from school a while back and said “Mom, if every day of high school could have been like today, I would have loved it!” Turns out it was Senior Skip Day, he didn’t skip, and his classes had about 8 people in them. Guilford’s student to faculty ratio is something like 15:1, and everyone is addressed by their first names, from students to support staff to faculty to the president, whose name is Kent, by the way. Thank heavens for scholarships and federal grants.
What else? The fibromyalgia pain level has been high, which stinks. Enough said.
We had someone plow up a decent garden space in our back yard. It’s rained ever since then so we haven’t had a chance to plant the first seed. Which is probably a good thing because we’re supposed to get frost tonight. Daughter and I planted some stuff in those little indoor starting pot thingies and we’ve little plants all over the dining room table. Maybe by the end of this week they will actually make it into the garden.
The other thing trashing up the dining room table is son’s “senior project”, which is the culmination of very many stupid members of the NEA and NCBOE who decided that seniors need to go through an excruciating ordeal of performing a dissertation-type project before they are allowed to graduate. After much cursing (me, son and dad…and some teacher friends I have) we’ve decided that this exercise in insanity was created because the teachers knew they weren’t getting the job done, so we’ll throw this project on the seniors just to cover our (the teachers) potentially over-exposed hineys. Any deadline missed on any phase of the project (research paper, tangible product, portfolio, oral presentation before and panel of Lord-knows-who) results in immediate assignment to summer school. Many of my son’s friends are already signed up. I love what Ron White (one of the blue-collar comedians) says: “You can’t fix STUPID!”
Then there’s the junk I’m having to go through with our friends in Washington DC. I can’t even begin to explain what a mess that is. It’s like this: yesterday, after I got off the phone with a friendly government employee with SSA, I screamed at the top of my lungs for a prolonged period of time.
There’s more to this iceberg that I can’t discuss for fear of retaliation.