Hi blog! I hope you had a great day.
Today was regular, minus the fact that Rachel and I have a delightful before chorus dinner, and I had my first chorus this semester! I just love chorus. Enough said, I think.
I know I promised I would update this every day--and here I am--but I think sometimes the updates will feature the words of others.
So, here is a poem by Elizabeth Bishop (1911-79). It's a poem that serves as the text to one of my chorus pieces, "I am in Need of Music."
We're all in need of music, and our dear friend Elizabeth (I hope she was nice) is going to tell us why.
Sonnet
I am in need of music that would flow
Over my fretful, feeling finger-tips,
Over my bitter-tainted, trembling lips,
With melody, deep, clear, and liquid-slow,
Oh, for the healing swaying, old and low,
Of some song, sung to rest the tired dead,
A song to fall like water on my head,
And over qruivering limbs, dream flushed to glow!
There is a magic made by melody:
A spell of rest, and quiet breath, and cool
Heart, that sinks through fading colors deep
To the subaqueous stillness of the sea,
And floats forever in a moon-green pool,
Held in the arms of rhythm and of sleep.
- Elizabeth Bishop
Sleep. A good idea, Elizabeth.
Sleep Well,
Love,
Claire
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Monday, January 23, 2012
Promises, Promises.
I'll be the first to admit it.
This blog has been full of empty promises. Promises to write, promises to update. Empty.
It's a good thing I'm not running for office right now (well, I think applying for jobs is kind of like running for office...), becuase someone would certainly call me out. In fact, someone already did. On a brisk and lovely walk this evening, I was telling Mark that my wonderful Millsaps writing class had completely slipped my mind (not to mention that it conflicted with #BachelorBracket), and I was upset that I wouldn't be motivated to write. I have noticed, more and more in the past few months as I have been traveling from place to place and spending a great deal of time sitting in airports, that I often think in essay form. My people watching starts in short sentences in my head, and then evolves into an essay. I told my mom about it, and asked if that was "normal," and she basically said no. So, I started to realize that yes indeed--I need to write.
Mark, in his infinate wisdom, said "Claire, remember your blog?" Oh yes, my blog. The one about Southern States of Mind. The one I was going to update every day with pictures and stories and questions and haiku relating to my two years in Jackson, my two years of teaching and learning about myself and others and everything in between. My blog--my place. Sometimes it was my place--I have 19 posts to my name, people--but it sort of got left in the dust. I filled its void with my writing class, with other short projects, and with thinking about writing, not actually doing it. But now that's over. "Claire," Mark pontificated, "I'll even give you short writing assignments! Like a class!" But no, dear Mark, I can do it on my own. I should do it on my own. Why? Because writing makes me feel as if everything can be organized. It doesn't make things necessarily better, but it gives me order, and the space and time to be with myself. It's scary to click "post" and watch that space become public. But it's important. And it's not as if I have a following. Let's be real people.
Anyway, the point is that instead of taking my writing class, so that I can stay up-to-date as to who Ben is going to choose (Kacie B. please--I hope SOMEONE knows what I am talking about), I'm going to update this blog as often as I can. Every day if I have a computer, every other day if I'm on a visit in Virginia or Oklahoma or Arkansas or Alabama and am writing essays in my head, instead of on a screen.
I have six more months to be here, to be present (thanks for that much needed reminder, my darling Sara Lynn). To explore and investigate and figure out before "real-er" things are supposed to happen. It has become clear to me over the last few days, after so many conversations with so many wonderful, wonderful friends, that "real-er" is not actually real. The last few weeks have been hard--applying for jobs, not exactly knowing what I want to do, but knowing where I want to be. Not knowing what everything (or almost anything) is going to look like after I leave. I'm not good at that. But if I try hard, and if I write and sing and laugh and remember how much I love Jackson, how much I love my job, how much I love my friends, I think it will be fine. And if I'm held accountable by this blog--by my Southern States of Mind--then by golly, it might should have to be fine. No, that wasn't a typo.
Once, during a time that was Hard, Suzy and I wrote a poem with a sentence that popped into my head as I was thinking about what I was going to write tonight.
"It's hard to exist in capital letters."
That's what we wrote.
It is hard to exist in capital letters. Bold and sure and great and more than fine. But I'm going to try.
To capital letters, to words, and to friends who always remind you who you are, even when you forget.
Love,
Claire
PS- Keith? I'm sure you stopped reading around the second sentence. Tomorrow, haiku.
This blog has been full of empty promises. Promises to write, promises to update. Empty.
It's a good thing I'm not running for office right now (well, I think applying for jobs is kind of like running for office...), becuase someone would certainly call me out. In fact, someone already did. On a brisk and lovely walk this evening, I was telling Mark that my wonderful Millsaps writing class had completely slipped my mind (not to mention that it conflicted with #BachelorBracket), and I was upset that I wouldn't be motivated to write. I have noticed, more and more in the past few months as I have been traveling from place to place and spending a great deal of time sitting in airports, that I often think in essay form. My people watching starts in short sentences in my head, and then evolves into an essay. I told my mom about it, and asked if that was "normal," and she basically said no. So, I started to realize that yes indeed--I need to write.
Mark, in his infinate wisdom, said "Claire, remember your blog?" Oh yes, my blog. The one about Southern States of Mind. The one I was going to update every day with pictures and stories and questions and haiku relating to my two years in Jackson, my two years of teaching and learning about myself and others and everything in between. My blog--my place. Sometimes it was my place--I have 19 posts to my name, people--but it sort of got left in the dust. I filled its void with my writing class, with other short projects, and with thinking about writing, not actually doing it. But now that's over. "Claire," Mark pontificated, "I'll even give you short writing assignments! Like a class!" But no, dear Mark, I can do it on my own. I should do it on my own. Why? Because writing makes me feel as if everything can be organized. It doesn't make things necessarily better, but it gives me order, and the space and time to be with myself. It's scary to click "post" and watch that space become public. But it's important. And it's not as if I have a following. Let's be real people.
Anyway, the point is that instead of taking my writing class, so that I can stay up-to-date as to who Ben is going to choose (Kacie B. please--I hope SOMEONE knows what I am talking about), I'm going to update this blog as often as I can. Every day if I have a computer, every other day if I'm on a visit in Virginia or Oklahoma or Arkansas or Alabama and am writing essays in my head, instead of on a screen.
I have six more months to be here, to be present (thanks for that much needed reminder, my darling Sara Lynn). To explore and investigate and figure out before "real-er" things are supposed to happen. It has become clear to me over the last few days, after so many conversations with so many wonderful, wonderful friends, that "real-er" is not actually real. The last few weeks have been hard--applying for jobs, not exactly knowing what I want to do, but knowing where I want to be. Not knowing what everything (or almost anything) is going to look like after I leave. I'm not good at that. But if I try hard, and if I write and sing and laugh and remember how much I love Jackson, how much I love my job, how much I love my friends, I think it will be fine. And if I'm held accountable by this blog--by my Southern States of Mind--then by golly, it might should have to be fine. No, that wasn't a typo.
Once, during a time that was Hard, Suzy and I wrote a poem with a sentence that popped into my head as I was thinking about what I was going to write tonight.
"It's hard to exist in capital letters."
That's what we wrote.
It is hard to exist in capital letters. Bold and sure and great and more than fine. But I'm going to try.
To capital letters, to words, and to friends who always remind you who you are, even when you forget.
Love,
Claire
PS- Keith? I'm sure you stopped reading around the second sentence. Tomorrow, haiku.
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Time.
It's CRAZY to think that it has been a year since this phlog ("ph"ake blog--since I just am really, really so bad at updating it) was created.
Tomorrow I'm off to Saratoga for graduation with some of my favorite 1-year alums and soon-to-be alums, and it's just weird. It doesn't feel the same, it really does feel like Time has finally shown up and waved hello and goodbye (perhaps at the same time).
So really maybe I will try to promise to update this more, now that I have zero GRE to worry about, zero visits for a few months, and a new cast of characters to look forward to in a few weeks.
I think one of the weirdest things about going back for graduation is that I keep looking at noaa.gov (my favorite weather website, thank you, Dr. Rumpp from 8th grade science. Yup, Rumpp. With two p's), and realizing that I don't remember what it's like to have a low of 50. I'm worried I'm going to be cold and wimpy and not myself--I packed my fleece, and I had to dig it out of the recesses of my closet.
I'm not saying that it's always sunny in Philadelphia (Mississippi, not Pennsylvania), but it's warm. It's 70, not 52, and not raining. I used to miss the rain and the chill, and I'm worried I won't miss it anymore. Well. We'll just have to see.
So, here's to another year, another graduating class, another weekend with some of my favorites, another time when leaving from the Albany airport will be sad and cold but happy and warm at the same time. Another year, more time.
Love,
Claire
Tomorrow I'm off to Saratoga for graduation with some of my favorite 1-year alums and soon-to-be alums, and it's just weird. It doesn't feel the same, it really does feel like Time has finally shown up and waved hello and goodbye (perhaps at the same time).
So really maybe I will try to promise to update this more, now that I have zero GRE to worry about, zero visits for a few months, and a new cast of characters to look forward to in a few weeks.
I think one of the weirdest things about going back for graduation is that I keep looking at noaa.gov (my favorite weather website, thank you, Dr. Rumpp from 8th grade science. Yup, Rumpp. With two p's), and realizing that I don't remember what it's like to have a low of 50. I'm worried I'm going to be cold and wimpy and not myself--I packed my fleece, and I had to dig it out of the recesses of my closet.
I'm not saying that it's always sunny in Philadelphia (Mississippi, not Pennsylvania), but it's warm. It's 70, not 52, and not raining. I used to miss the rain and the chill, and I'm worried I won't miss it anymore. Well. We'll just have to see.
So, here's to another year, another graduating class, another weekend with some of my favorites, another time when leaving from the Albany airport will be sad and cold but happy and warm at the same time. Another year, more time.
Love,
Claire
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Lifetime.
A Trio of Haiku:
this Lifetime movie,
one "My Stepson, My Lover,"
is not very good.
Moral: do not wed.
Your husband may be crazy.
It's reason enough.
PS-your stepson!
He is quite handsome! But looks
can be deceiving.
(he is probably crazy).
this Lifetime movie,
one "My Stepson, My Lover,"
is not very good.
Moral: do not wed.
Your husband may be crazy.
It's reason enough.
PS-your stepson!
He is quite handsome! But looks
can be deceiving.
(he is probably crazy).
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Hey, You Should Update Your Blog.
Sometimes it just takes a virtual voice from Paris to remind you that you need to keep writing. Thank you, Daniel.
In most places today is Halloween. In Jackson, it's Sunday--a day for Church and family lunches. We had our fair share of trick-or-treaters last night, many of whom were driven door-to-door by their parents, a custom I have yet to encounter elsewhere. Winning costume? Probably "Sponge-Bob Dead." Or the tiny girl dressed in a beautiful red velvet dress who didn't quite understand that when you gave her candy she didn't have to give it back to you. She also would have spent the evening hanging in Emily's hallway if her parents didn't remind her that it was time to move on to a different house.
We were a pretty eclectic bunch, I'd say. My streak of attempting to be something "local" every Halloween (I think I exhausted every Skidmore place or thing there ever could be) sort of worked out; there is a local bar called the Electric Cowboy, so of course I donned by new boots and plaid and old gold leggings (a staple in my wardrobe, I think) and attempted to carry around a lightblub. Electric Cowgirl. Get it? Sort of. We went to a Jackson Halloween gathering right across from the Capital and saw Hitler and Anne Frank (really? Really.), "God's Gift to Women," a chasidic man, Flo from the Progressive commercials (Jul, your costume was better), a great dinosaur, and several other notable figures. I met a TFAer who went to Bates and knows the One and Only Mikey Pasek. Basically it was totally Jackson, totally lovely. The Taco and the Man in the Sombrero drove me home to our Belhaven abodes, I somehow found "B'loons" online and now miss Alex and Ray terribly, and went to bed!
Today Sara and I are going to engage in the age old tradition of eating bagels on Sunday (obviously the bagel place is open on Sunday. Go figure), Traci and I are going to see "Waiting for Superman" which finally came to Jackson, and eventually I'll grab Lauren from the airport and hear of her Philadelphia Adventures.
I really do promise to update this more often. A few days ago I decided I should write a haiku a day, because I love writing haikus and I have decided that I am going to become famous one of two ways: 1) independent wealth, or 2) writing a really great blog that rivals that 14-year-old fashion blogger who had the hilarious New Yorker profile. It could happen, right?
So here is the haiku for the morning. Or, rather, of the afternoon. But it's the day after Halloween, so really it's morning:
Candy Corn Jesus
I hope you are not angry
Today is Sunday.
Love Always and More Stories Soon,
Claire
In most places today is Halloween. In Jackson, it's Sunday--a day for Church and family lunches. We had our fair share of trick-or-treaters last night, many of whom were driven door-to-door by their parents, a custom I have yet to encounter elsewhere. Winning costume? Probably "Sponge-Bob Dead." Or the tiny girl dressed in a beautiful red velvet dress who didn't quite understand that when you gave her candy she didn't have to give it back to you. She also would have spent the evening hanging in Emily's hallway if her parents didn't remind her that it was time to move on to a different house.
We were a pretty eclectic bunch, I'd say. My streak of attempting to be something "local" every Halloween (I think I exhausted every Skidmore place or thing there ever could be) sort of worked out; there is a local bar called the Electric Cowboy, so of course I donned by new boots and plaid and old gold leggings (a staple in my wardrobe, I think) and attempted to carry around a lightblub. Electric Cowgirl. Get it? Sort of. We went to a Jackson Halloween gathering right across from the Capital and saw Hitler and Anne Frank (really? Really.), "God's Gift to Women," a chasidic man, Flo from the Progressive commercials (Jul, your costume was better), a great dinosaur, and several other notable figures. I met a TFAer who went to Bates and knows the One and Only Mikey Pasek. Basically it was totally Jackson, totally lovely. The Taco and the Man in the Sombrero drove me home to our Belhaven abodes, I somehow found "B'loons" online and now miss Alex and Ray terribly, and went to bed!
Today Sara and I are going to engage in the age old tradition of eating bagels on Sunday (obviously the bagel place is open on Sunday. Go figure), Traci and I are going to see "Waiting for Superman" which finally came to Jackson, and eventually I'll grab Lauren from the airport and hear of her Philadelphia Adventures.
I really do promise to update this more often. A few days ago I decided I should write a haiku a day, because I love writing haikus and I have decided that I am going to become famous one of two ways: 1) independent wealth, or 2) writing a really great blog that rivals that 14-year-old fashion blogger who had the hilarious New Yorker profile. It could happen, right?
So here is the haiku for the morning. Or, rather, of the afternoon. But it's the day after Halloween, so really it's morning:
Candy Corn Jesus
I hope you are not angry
Today is Sunday.
Love Always and More Stories Soon,
Claire
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Wall of Shame (Back By "Popular" Demand)
Dear Annie (and, of course, my other devoted followers),
It's shameful that I haven't written a new one of these in...oh, six weeks. I don't even know what has happened. It's finally Fall here in Jackson, which is just wonderful. We are doing a lot of bike riding and meeting new people and gearing up to start our Fall visits--mine start the weekend of October 8, in Auburn. And the week after that I am off to Saratoga to reunite with some of the best and the brightest (hopefully someone from 60s will read this, like maybe Elena).
Today begins Simchat Torah, the Jewish holiday where you start the whole story from the beginning. It's also the anniversary of my Bat Mitzvah. So maybe both of those things mean that today it's time to start fresh and rekindle this endeavor--bring the love back to the blog. Or something like that. I'm sort of tired.
See some of you in 16 days.
Love, Claire
It's shameful that I haven't written a new one of these in...oh, six weeks. I don't even know what has happened. It's finally Fall here in Jackson, which is just wonderful. We are doing a lot of bike riding and meeting new people and gearing up to start our Fall visits--mine start the weekend of October 8, in Auburn. And the week after that I am off to Saratoga to reunite with some of the best and the brightest (hopefully someone from 60s will read this, like maybe Elena).
Today begins Simchat Torah, the Jewish holiday where you start the whole story from the beginning. It's also the anniversary of my Bat Mitzvah. So maybe both of those things mean that today it's time to start fresh and rekindle this endeavor--bring the love back to the blog. Or something like that. I'm sort of tired.
See some of you in 16 days.
Love, Claire
Thursday, August 19, 2010
my dear friends,
I know I am behind on this endeavor, as many of you point out on a daily basis.
I am sort of overwhelmed by how much I have to share, and I'm not exactly sure the form in which to share it. Poem? Prose? Picture? Vignette? Well,
regardless, it's bed time (according to me and according to Elissa on skype, and she's usually right about bed time), so I'll just leave you hanging for a little bit longer while I get my bearings.
...But that doesn't really seem fair. In the last few weeks I have been to Auburn, Tulsa, and Macon. I had a birthday. I read the most beautiful book of short stories I have ever read (Memory Wall by Anthony Doerr). Saturday I am off to Hattiesburg, next Wednesday to the great state of Texas, and then to Hot Springs.
I have been taking notes and talking and doing a lot of thinking. I guess because I have been thinking a lot, it feels like I have been blogging. Or something like that.
So, the point? More later, more always later.
Love Always,
Claire
I am sort of overwhelmed by how much I have to share, and I'm not exactly sure the form in which to share it. Poem? Prose? Picture? Vignette? Well,
regardless, it's bed time (according to me and according to Elissa on skype, and she's usually right about bed time), so I'll just leave you hanging for a little bit longer while I get my bearings.
...But that doesn't really seem fair. In the last few weeks I have been to Auburn, Tulsa, and Macon. I had a birthday. I read the most beautiful book of short stories I have ever read (Memory Wall by Anthony Doerr). Saturday I am off to Hattiesburg, next Wednesday to the great state of Texas, and then to Hot Springs.
I have been taking notes and talking and doing a lot of thinking. I guess because I have been thinking a lot, it feels like I have been blogging. Or something like that.
So, the point? More later, more always later.
Love Always,
Claire
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