Everything and More

This morning, I awoke to watch my DV-R recording of the Federer/Murray match. Despite a glimmer of hope in the third set that Murray might push it into a fourth, the match was decisively won by Roger Federer. This year, they tears in defeat belonged to Andy Murray.

Perhaps we here at Literature is Where I Go should give Roger Federer his due. The greatest tennis player of all time? Possibly. The greatest player of my tennis-watching life? Easily. Sorry, Pete.

Furthermore, there is no denying the beauty of Roger Federer's game. David Foster Wallace's 2006 essay, "Roger Federer as Religious Experience," comes closer to doing justice to Federer's style of play than anything else I've read. It's even more compelling because it continues to ring true several years later.

(David Foster Wallace is the author of Infinite Jest, which I referenced here. He is also the author of Everything and More, a book I know nothing about, but a title which seems appropriate for a discussion of Mr. Federer.)

The Deerslayer

This week, my reading buddy and I are trying to get through all 450 pages of James Fenimore Cooper's The Deerslayer. It's slow going. If my professor began the semester with this book to scare off the not-so-determined, it worked: we only had 5 people in class on Monday.

I'm trying to teach Oscar that the best way to get all your homework done is to get the boring stuff out of the way before you begin the fun stuff. I only learned to apply this strategy when I began graduate school. We are down to our last 80ish pages of The Deerslayer, so this weekend we will be free to enjoy Mary Austin's Stories from the Countries of Lost Borders!

Meanwhile, Billy is gearing up for a grand slam match against Andy Roddick-- on the Wii Grand Slam Tennis game. And in the wake of Andy's real life loss to Marin Cilic, I have switched my loyalties for this tournament to the Other Andy, who I hope can upset the winner of tonight's Federer/Tsonga match to win his first major. If you didn't see the unbelievable shot Murray hit near the end of his win over Cilic, you can check it out here. How did he even get a racquet on it??

Honest to Blog

I wanted to share a few blogs my loyal readers might be interested in:

Billy has started keeping a blog of his random personal musings. Check him out at www.wdepriest.com.

My friend Brooke published my guest post on taupe nail polishes on her polish blog. You can find that posting here.

And if you haven't already started reading Another Shoreline in Baltimore, visit their blog for ideas about ways to get out and about in Charm City.

Oscar reads all three!

The Downward Path to Wisdom

Though it's not well documented in this blog, my interest in pop culture is no big secret. I'm convinced that if Nate, Vickie, and I could compete in the competition they used to have on Vh1 called the "World Series of Pop Culture," we could easily make the finals. Although I've kicked my Perez Hilton addiction, I still rarely make it through a day without checking people.com and/or eonline.com. Some people seem to think that this interest I have in celebrity culture runs contradictory to my "serious" interest in pursuing a career in academia, but I don't see why I can't have both. Michel Foucault seems to have managed an interest in bondage and sado-masochism while still establishing himself as one of the most important thinkers of the 20th century, so I don't think I'm the first one to be interested in dramatically different activites. And while I don't appreciate celebrities telling me how to vote, I don't think that professional thinkers like Foucault have the monopoly on wisdom.

Today, I have been thinking about a few influential quotes made by celebrities. Last week, Billy and I tuned in to watch Conan O'Brien's final Tonight Show, and I was moved by the "goodbye" message he delivered. Though he waited several years for his dream job and held it for only less than a year, he signed off by saying, "Nobody in life gets exactly what they thought they were going to get. But if you work really hard and you're kind, amazing things will happen." I don't know if this is true; I hope it is. I do know, though, that everything good I've ever gotten in my life has resulted from a combination of working really hard and being kind, and some amazing things have happened to me. He can't be all wrong.

This morning, I woke up early to watch the quarterfinal match between Andy Roddick and Marin Cilic I had DVRed overnight. Andy hung in there in his last match against Fernando Gonzalez, and though he admitted to getting a fair amount of good luck, I believe it was his mental toughness that carried him through. I've seen Gonzo play in person, and he doesn't have that determination. I watched him lie down on the court on a hot day. Really-- del Potro climbed over the net to help him up. Today, Roddick's determination was not enough to get him the win. After losing the first two sets to Cilic, he was able to even the score by winning the next two despite a shoulder injury that made his fingers go numb. He was broken early in the last set, and you have to hand it to Cilic for staying in the match mentally after seeing a 2 set lead disappear. Watching Andy lose this morning reminded me of what he said immediately after losing to Federer in last year's Wimbledon final. I can't imagine what it must be like to be asked to speak publicly after the most devastating moment in your professional career. You might remember that when Federer was forced to do this after losing last year's Australian Open Final, he said "God- it is killing me," pushed the microphone away, and broke down in tears. There were tears behind Andy's eyes when he lost, too. But when the interviewer suggested that tennis can be a cruel sport, Roddick said "No, I'm one of the lucky few that gets cheered for. So thank you for that, I appreciate it," before saying he still hopes to get his name on the trophy one day.

Andy gets in a practice session at the Legg Mason Tennis Classic in DC, August 2009.

While I was getting ready for work, I was listening to Billy Joel's "Vienna" on repeat, per Anne-Marie's suggestion. In the song, he sings "Slow down, you're doing fine. You can't be everything you want to be before your time," and "You got your passion, you got your pride, but don't you know that only fools are satisfied? Dream on, but don't imagine they'll all come true."

As I was mulling all of these things over, I remember that when I chose my classes for this semester, I promised myself I would enjoy it. It could be my last semester in grad school for quite some time, so I intentionally chose classes I thought would be fun. I mean, look at all these books I get to read:

Left: ENGL631: Readings in American Literature: Women's Writers of the 20th Century
Right: ENGL748b: Seminar in American Literature: Color Lines and American Literature, 1840-1880.

So this is the new goal: remember that I promised myself I would enjoy it. I might not get into the PhD program, but I have to try to keep the anxiety from causing me to break a promise to myself.

("The Downward Path to Wisdom" is a short story by Katherine Anne Porter and currently available in her Collected Stories. It's mostly a story about a young boy and perceptions across a generational divide.)

Waiting for Godot

Today while I was on the Arc Trainer (the Elliptical's evil step-sister), it occurred to me that I've spent the past 27 years psyching myself up. But what do you do when you need to psych yourself down?

A lot of music is dedicated to helping you psych yourself up. For several weeks before my PhD application was due, I was listening to the Glee CDs on repeat. A sampling of lyrics from these tracks include:

-"I'm through accepting limits 'cause someone says they're so. Some things I cannot change, but 'til I try, I'll never know." (Defying Gravity)

-"Don't tell me not to fly; I've simply got to. If someone takes a spill, it's me and not you. Who told you you're allowed to rain on my parade?" (Don't Rain on My Parade)

-"Don't stop believin'-- hold on to that feeling." (Don't Stop Believing)

In the midst of composing my writing sample, I probably took a break to play to "Don't Rain on My Parade" no fewer than 20 times.

These songs aren't much help during the waiting, though. If there is a song along the lines of "I know I'm qualified, I believe I deserve it, but I'd like to prepare myself for the worst possible outcome," I'm not familiar with it. I'm not used to waiting for other people to make decisions that impact my life in such significant ways.

Pressure is mounting. I got my letter from Calvert County Public Schools last week asking if I am coming back to teach or extending my leave of absence. The semester starts back up on Monday. I received notice that I'm presenting a paper at our graduate conference, an event which all admitted PhD students are encouraged to attend in order to get a feel for the program.

For lack of a better approach, I have adopted the "try not to think about it" strategy. It's not going so well, but I've found a few good distractions.

1) The Australian Open. Thank you, tennis schedulers, for bringing me this glorious two week mental oasis, even if it is on in the middle of the night. Thank you, Andy Roddick, for making it through at least the first week. Kim Clijsters, any advice for me about preparing for a colossal disappointment? You didn't see it coming? Okay, thanks anyway.

2) Award season. So far, the Golden Globes and the Screen Actor's Guild Awards. Glee is doing surprisingly well. I was happy to see Sandra Bullock win for The Blind Side. My friends and I can discuss the fashion and beauty decisions ad nauseam.

3) Internet. For example, yesterday I came across this posting about what Pi Phis at Cornell are allowed to wear during rush (unintentionally hilarious). Today, I looked through the "Famous Literary Drunks and Addicts." Please do check it out: it lists each artist's vice(s), and for Hunter S. Thompson it simply says, "Everything." Plus, the photo of Faulkner is awesome.

4) Nail polish. Today I spent who knows how long preparing a guest post for my friend Brooke's nail polish blog, in which I admit to having four shades of nearly identical nail polish. Last night, I dragged Billy to Annapolis mall to pick up the fourth and most perfect shade. I'll let you know when Brooke publishes my guest post, but for now, check out the giveaway she's having!

5) Literature. The blog is, after all, called "Literature is Where I Go." The other day, I started reading A Jury of Her Peers. It's fantastic: the more I read, the more I wish that a) I'd started it when Patti gave it to me for Christmas, and b) I'd had it when I was teaching American Lit. (It's just been released in paperback if you were waiting to pick it up. I'm thankful to have the hardcover, though, because I'll use it forever.) Today, I began James Fenimore Cooper's The Deerslayer. So far, Natty Bummpo is annoying me with his self-righteous piety, and I think a lot must happen in this book before he can become the dreamy rogue portrayed by Daniel Day Lewis in The Last of the Mohicans. It's set along the banks of Lake Otsego, where Billy, Dad, and I visited this summer, so that is making the lengthy descriptions of the landscape more interesting than tedious.

6) Taking funny pictures of Oscar, who is enjoying the extra attention.

Thankfully, my classes start up in a few days, so I'll be busy again. Any songs you think might help me through, though, would be appreciated. : )

(Waiting for Godot is a play by Samuel Beckett. In it, Estragon and Vladamir are, naturally, waiting for Godot, who (spoiler alert) never arrives. I'm a little frightened to admit that these past few weeks have indeed felt like the inside of a story conceived by Beckett. I hope that once the decision is made I can get back to a nice, somewhat linear, causally-related storyline.)

The Contender

When I was growing up, I had a selection of "inspirational" quotes tacked to the wall beside my bed. One of them was this excerpt from Robert Lipsyte's The Contender:

"Everyone wants to be a champion. That's not enough. You have to start by wanting to be a contender, the man coming up, the man who knows there's a good chance he'll never get to the top, the man who's willing to sweat and bleed to get as high as his legs and his brains and his heart will take him." (35)

It's not great writing, but it's a good message-- especially for someone like me, who has always been good at quite a few things without ever being exceptionally great at anything. Last year, I ran over 500 miles and participated in 8 road races, and I still haven't managed to get to a race pace under 9 minutes/mile. Running far has always come easier to me than running fast. Last year, after I completed the National Half Marathon, there was no real goal except to keep running. Part of what helped me keep running was the Annapolis Striders running club, which hold races in my county every 6-8 weeks.

A few weeks ago, I officially joined the Annapolis Striders. This year's goal: qualify for the Championship Series. There are 8 races in the series, and to qualify, you have to run in at least 6 of them. The distances are 5k, 10mi, 10k, 1mi, 8k, Metric Marathon (26.2k/16.3mi), 5mi, and 15k. I ran half of these races last year, so I am also hoping to improve on my times for each of those. I'm also hoping to get under a 9 minute race pace so I can begin working my way toward an 8 minute race pace.

People sometimes ask, "How come you like to run?" It's simple-- to see how high my legs, my brains, and my heart can take me. Because, as the quote continues, "It's the climbing that makes the man."

Hard Times

The news coming in this week has ranged from anxiety-inducing to downright tragic. But I refuse to despair. Through it all, I choose hope-- Hope in humankind and the power of the individual will to do good.

I got my seminar paper/writing sample back from my professor, who as the director of the graduate program, plays a large role in whether I get into the PhD program. She was encouraging about my plan to use it for my capstone Master's project, but critical of its organization. I get to the point around page 9, she says. For a few days I felt like the hammer had fallen on my entire application. When I met with her, though, she told me, "This is good work, Liz. This is when revision really begins. Everything before was just drafting." This woman has command of so many complicated theoretical concepts that when she speaks in short, declarative sentences, the point hits home. It's good work. Maybe good enough to get me into the program. If not, still work I can be proud of.

Mark McGwire admitted to using steroids. He says he used them only to help himself recover from injuries, and that he wishes he had never played in the "steroid era." What a coward. I thought Jason Giambi's non-admission apology was as bad as it could get (particularly for those of us who are A's fans), but at least he didn't seem delusional. The good news, though, is that nobody is quite satisfied with McGwire's "admission." Everyone points out that he took too long to tell the "truth." And that he is possibly more responsible than anyone else for creating this "steroid era" that he laments. I think this means that baseball continues to head in the right direction. While many in baseball are skeptical about his intentions, several important people have shown him grace. Although Tony LaRussa was made to look like a fool for defending him, LaRussa is still keeping him on staff. The Maris Family and Hank Aaron say they have forgiven him. Maybe the generosity of these individuals will help him learn how to become a grown man who stops making excuses for himself.

Both of these pale in comparison, however, to the heartbreaking images that are coming out of Haiti in the aftermath of Tuesday's earthquake. It's really difficult, almost impossible, for me to watch. These are people whose everyday lives were difficult enough before all the walls came down. I'm deeply encouraged, though, that in this time of great need, all kinds of people are coming together to help. It's finally as easy to donate money to help the victims of a tragedy as it is to cast your vote for American Idol. That campaign has already raised over $10 million. The people of the Dominican Republic immediately came to the Haitians' aid despite the long-standing tensions between those countries. On the eve of the Australian Open, the world's top tennis players set aside their preparation routines to organize an exhibition match and are donating all of the proceeds to the victims of the earthquake.

I believe that humans are fundamentally good creatures, and that it is in our nature to want to make life good for ourselves and others. This belief is sometimes hard to maintain in a world where there is so much publicity given to the division between religions, countries, and politicians. I am thankful that humankind has shown, in the wake of this natural disaster, that humans still can set all of those issues aside, come together, and just plain try to help.

(Hard Times is Charles Dickens's shortest novel and among his, my favorite. As one who agrees that we reap what we sow, I can't help but be drawn to a text split into three sections titled "Sowing," "Reaping," and "Garnering.")

Infinite Jest

I finished Open, the autobiography of Andre Agassi. The revelations hyped by the press about his fake hairpiece and his crystal meth use were shocking prior to the book's publication, but within the context of his story, they made sense. He suggests that he has written the book for his children more than anyone else, and I think this also gives an indication of why he wanted to be what he calls "entirely honest." Maybe one day his children will wonder why he stopped wearing underwear during matches? Though I am fascinated by what goes on in the minds of elite athletes, I can say I never wished to know the story behind that, but now I now anyway.

There is a lot to be learned from Andre's story. My favorite moments were the ones he spent with his trainer and surrogate father, Gil. I think these were his favorite moments, too (at least, until "Stefanie" Graf agreed to start seeing him). At one point, Gil gives him advice that gets at why I am drawn to distance running and why I push myself so hard in school, so I'll excerpt that portion here:

But dreams, I tell Gil, in one of our quiet moments, are so damned tiring.

He laughs.

I can't promise you that you won't be tired, he says. But please know this. There's a lot of good waiting for you on the other side of tired. Get yourself tired, Andre. That's where you're going to know yourself. On the other side of tired. (155, my emphasis)

Andre seems to remember the minute details of everything, which makes the book better than a lot of autobiographies I've read. The story of his life is intriguing even if you are not particularly interested in the act of writing an autobiography. I am particularly interested in the idea of the autobiography, though, so that made the reading of the book a critical adventure, as well.

We all learned in school that an autobiography is the story of someone's life, told by himself. This raises so many questions, though. How does one decide what to say and what not to say? How does one choose to represent oneself? Charlotte Perkins Gilman's autobiography directly contradicts her personal journal and letters-- frequently. She clearly constructed a representation of herself that was not wholly accurate in order to serve her polemical purposes. S.S. McClure's "autobiography" was actually written by Willa Cather, and it conveniently fails to mention that he has lost creative control of his magazine. His autobiography reads like an article designed to encourage other people that they too can "make it" in America, when really, it may have also been designed to encourage him that he could make it back to the top. The Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas is actually written by Gertrude Stein, and in this book (novel? how do we categorize these things?), Stein not only ventriloquizes Toklas's "voice" but also constructs a representation of herself as someone who "wants readers not collectors," who "wants her books to be read" (245), despite their reputation for being imperceptible to a popular audience. I see what you're doing, Ms. Stein. One hundred years ago you were exploiting the possibilities of autobiography and posing questions about the genre that continue to fascinate me now.

The other reason I am particularly interested in autobiographies is because writing them is my dream job. Unfortunately, my life is not interesting enough to attract a widespread audience, but I feel like ghostwriting the autobiographies of others would give me the opportunity to combine my love of writing and my interest in celebrity culture. I'm always interested to learn about how celebrities choose the writers with whom they want to work. Agassi's autobiography doesn't list a ghostwriter. It's well-written, so I was baffled-- Agassi is a 9th grade dropout! I was relieved, however, when he explained in the acknowledgments that he worked with JR Moehringer to write the book. He chose Moehringer because he loved The Tender Bar, but when they went to publish, Moehringer said the story was Agassi's and therefore should only bear his name. So, in this case, you get to be a ghostwriter if you graduate from Yale, start writing for The New York Times, move to the Los Angeles Times, win a Pulitzer Prize, and write a memoir about your tumultuous childhood that a famous person loves. Ugh. I am a long way from there. But this is 2010-- maybe Andy Roddick will discover me on twitter.

Speaking of Mr. Roddick, after a several month hiatus after a knee injury, he began the 2010 season by winning a title in Brisbane! Last year, despite playing some of his best tennis, he only won one title, so here's to hoping this year will be more successful. In the other tournament this week, Davydenko beat both Nadal and Federer to win the title, and I am excited about his prospects, too. He won the year-end tournament in November, so I am hoping 2010 could be the year he breaks through. If that isn't exciting enough, both Kim Clijsters and the newly-unretired Justine Henin played a great match in the final, with Clijsters coming out on top. I hope their rivalry gets hot again this year. Is it time for the Australian Open yet?!

In other completely unrelated but even more exciting news, Clara is going to be a big sister!

(Infinite Jest takes place, in part, inside a tennis academy that I believe was inspired by the Nick Bollettieri Tennis Academy, where Agassi trained/"studied." I would love to read it. Why, David Foster Wallace, does it have to be 1104 pages long?! When will I ever have time to commit to this undertaking?)

The Californian's Tale

I'm not sure how many people who know me from my life in Maryland realize that I was born in California. Most know that I am from the west coast or that I grew up in Oregon, but I guess I don't feel much like a Californian anymore. I remember plenty from my first ten years there, but when I visit the town where I grew up, it doesn't feel at all like "home." Pleasanton's population has nearly doubled since my parents first moved there in 1983, and I hardly recognized anything besides Main Street the last time I was there. (As a side note, though, I'm reading Juaquin Murieta this semester and hoping there is at least one scene of him Zorro-ing his way through Pleasant0n.)

Although I never lived in either, the two places in California that remind me most of my youth are Lompoc, where my dad's family has now been living for generations, and Santa Barbara, where my mom grew up. This year, thanks to Mimi and Papa (my dad's parents), Billy and I were able to visit my family in both towns between Christmas and New Year's Day!!

After spotting John Waters in the Baltimore airport made me feel like some kind of official Baltimorean, we arrived at LAX (where, incidentally, we saw no celebrities). Our first stop on our drive up the coast toward Santa Barbara was at an In-N-Out Burger in Sherman Oaks that was seriously exceeding its 50 person capacity. Despite the crowd, we were actually in and out, and Billy gave the food the thumbs up. I forgot to ask them to hold the pickles, and Vickie informed me later that you can get your milkshake Neapolitan style. Perhaps my "Californian" card has been revoked, after all.

As we drove into Santa Barbara, I began recognizing street names that had been buried deep in the catacombs of my brain. The strangest sensation, though, was driving by the Montecito Country Club, next to which my grandparents used to live, and recognizing the smell. I'm not making this up. I put the windows down, and it got even stronger... and then it was gone. My mom thinks it was the eucalyptus.

We got to spend several delightful, sunny days in Santa Barbara. My Gramma Kingston had gotten us a room at her beautiful retirement community, and my mom was already in town for Christmas. It was nice to have the chance to sit and visit with both of them. I think Gramma really enjoyed showing Billy around her little "nest" (as she calls her condo) and the grounds of the community. We gave her a photo album of different photos of us throughout the years, so it was fun to go through them with her and talk about where we were in each one. Talking with Gramma is always entertaining because she has such a diverse collection of memories to draw from. I can never even keep up with her as she moves from one topic of discussion to another, so I just dig in and prepare for the ride. It is unbelievable to me that at her age she still has such a great memory. She has experienced so much change and innovation in her lifetime-- this is a woman who was born a week after Archduke Ferdinand was assassinated-- before World War 1 had even begun! Though she likes to throw up her hands and declare "oh, this modern world!" she has quite a firm grasp on a lot of the things that are going on. We also got to watch the video from her 95th birthday party this past summer, which I was glad to see because I was sorry to have missed the celebration.

On Sunday morning, we found what must be the only dive bar in all of Santa Barbara, and Billy found out what it is like to begin watching NFL football at 10am. The Ravens lost, but I learned the appropriate drink for a woman to order in this environment: a mimosa. After that, my Uncle Dean, my Aunt Andy, and my cousins David and Patrick arrived. I don't think I have seen them since I was in high school, so it was fun to catch up with them and hear a little bit about what they've been doing lately. (Patrick is a junior at UC Davis, and David works in San Franscisco.) Vickie got in that evening, so we got to celebrate her birthday with cake and ice cream.

On Monday, our close family friend/surrogate grandmother, Mrs. Whitney, met us all for lunch right on the beach in Santa Barbara. The location was beautiful and it was warm! Then we took Billy for a walk along the beach in town and went out onto the pier to take pictures and look in some shops. Then I made them all go to State Street in search of Pinkberry, the upscale frozen yogurt that is a favorite of the celebrities. It was delicious, but since State Street is the shopping district in SB, the people watching was even better. I loved that everyone there was consciously constructing a "look," and that every different type of look I know was represented: tailored, trendy, boho, surfer, emo, green, and more. There was not a lazy t-shirt and jeans anywhere to be seen. Billy just said, "this is what I thought people in California would be like." : ) We ended the day with family dinner at Gramma's and game night, which was also a lot of fun, and during which the cheaters were vanquished. The next morning, Mrs. Whitney took us all out to breakfast, and this time Billy and I got to spend the whole meal chatting with her, which was delightful. She is the first person I've talked to yet who seemed to fully appreciate my excitement about finding Cather's letter to Mencken. Mrs. Whitney knows a lot about everything, including space, so it was fun to listen to her talking to Billy about his job, too.

(From Left: Mrs. Whitney, Liz, Billy, Vickie, Patrick, Mom, Gramma, David, Uncle Dean)

After breakfast, Billy, Vickie, and I made the drive up to Lompoc, where we were going to be staying with my dad's parents, Mimi and Papa. It was fun pulling up to their house with Billy, because they have lived at 1124 N Gardenia since long before I was born. The tree out front that I crashed into when learning to ride a bike is gone, and they have replaced the blue shag carpet that was great for pick-up-stix, but it still feels like "home" to me.

After visiting with them for a while, Dad and Judy arrived, and Papa took us all on a tour of the Lompoc Valley. He took us up above the valley so we could look down on it, and he pointed out Vandenberg Air Force Base and the places from which they launch the rockets, some of which are affiliated with Billy's job. Driving around town with Papa is especially fun because he says things like, "I leveled the ground for this development," or "my crew carved out this mountainside to give clearance for the wings of the space shuttle when they towed it down the road." Billy got to see my Uncle Steve's farm and all the crops, too. We made a quick trip to a bar called Jasper's to visit with my (great) Aunt Betty before she left town. Outside, an older, homeless looking woman shuffled by, which struck me as strange because I have never in my life seen a homeless person in Lompoc (I thought they had all moved to Santa Barbara). Billy and I had to try to keep from laughing when, after she walked by, Papa said, "she was in my graduating class at Lompoc High," before pointing her out as Mimi's "friend," to which Mim said "she said hello to you, Donnie."

All of my dad's siblings still live in Lompoc, so it was a great chance to spend time with different family members. Our cousin Mackenzee is 13 now, and she was a lot of fun to have along throughout our visit. I kept my mouth shut about her plans to quit dance and stick with soccer but it was fun to hear her thinking through decisions like this on her own. Her brother Dalton is 16, so he was busy with friends while we were there, but he still made some time to come to family dinner at Mim's and stop by for some football. He says he wants to go to the University of Texas, so maybe this will finally give me an excuse to visit Austin. Their parents, my Aunt Kim and Uncle Craig, were great to see, and since Craig and Dalton weren't able to make it to Maryland for the wedding, I was really glad Billy was able to meet them. I was not surprised to find that Uncle Craig is also a Rob Dyrdek fan or that Billy noticed how unique my Aunt Kim's laugh is. : )

We also got to spend some time with Dad, Judy, Aunt Carrie, and Uncle Steve at Carrie and Steve's house. They just put in bar in their upstairs room, along with a 60" television, so this was the prime place to watch Navy destroy Missouri in their bowl game and to see Oregon fare less favorably in the Rose Bowl against Ohio State. Aunt Carrie also made dinner for us on New Year's Eve, including some fresh artichokes from Uncle Steve's farm and prime rib from the cow raised by one of Mackenzee's 4-H friends. (We didn't get to eat any of Luau, the pig Mackenzee raised from 30ish pounds to 240 pounds, though.) My Aunt Dana joined us for this dinner as well as the spaghetti dinner Mim had made the night before, and it was good to have a chance to hear what she has been up to lately.

I am very thankful that Billy and I got to stay with Mimi and Papa, who went out of their way to make us feel right at home, as always. Billy got to experience some of their bantering back and forth and their interjecting into one another's stories. These two have always cracked me up. I hope that when we are retired, Billy and I get to enjoy a life together like they have. This gives me about 30 years to convince Billy that we should get a motorhome, because right now, he is not enthusiastic about the idea. : ) Mim even made us breakfast every morning without mentioning the fact that when I was young, I called her velveeta macaroni and cheese "disgusting."

One moment that I think gave Billy a pretty good indication of my "family life" in Lompoc revolved around a discussion of Mike Leach, the now former head coach of Texas Tech's football team. The questions about whether or not he locked a player with a concussion into a dark room kept being discussed on the tv. Mimi and Papa kept talking about how unfortunate it was that this young man has brought down this coach's career when nobody really knows what happened. Papa pointed out that one of the other coaches called the player "uncoachable." Dad pointed out that Leach would have to be stupid to lock up that particular kid, because his dad works for ESPN. My Aunt Dana sided with the kid and was ready to condemn Leach, suggesting that they should "put him where they put Michael Vick." Then someone brought up the fact that earlier in the season, Leach said his players were doing poorly because they were spending time with their "fat little girlfriends." My Aunt Kim said that was awful, and everyone else agreed, and then after a pause, my Uncle Craig said, "Well, were they fat?" Kim shouted "Craig!", Mim said "well, that was not nice," and Billy and I cracked up.

This is life in the Chambers family, Billy. Welcome to it!!

("The Californian's Tale" is a short story by Mark Twain about California during its prospecting/ Gold Rush days.)

'Twas the Night Before Christmas

Billy and I enjoyed a really nice Christmas this year. We didn't get to see Billy's mom's side of the family because they celebrated together on the 26th, after we had already left town. But we got to see them all at Thanksgiving, and we stopped by MomMom's a few days before the holiday to spend some time with her. On Christmas Eve, we had dinner with Billy's dad's side of the family at Nana's house, which was relaxed and pleasant. After that, we exchanged gifts at Billy's parents' house before coming home.

On Christmas day, Billy and I slept late and stayed in bed to watch A Christmas Story with Oscar. I spent most of the day reading Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert, which I mentioned earlier that I was giving to Mom for Christmas. I like the hustle and bustle of being with family for the holidays, but I really liked spending a relaxing day at home with Billy and Oscar before heading to Patti and Chuck's to have Christmas dinner with both of them and Brian.

In Eat, Pray, Love, an Italian friend of Gilbert's tells her that every city has a "word," and every person has one, too. The word sums up the attitude of the city but also what drives its action and motivates its inhabitants. He says that Rome's word is "sex." She decides that New York City's word is "achieve" and that Los Angeles's word is "succeed," which is similar but not quite the same. Since reading this, I have been thinking about what my "word" would be. I think I've decided that recently, my word has been "discover." I think this operates in a couple of different ways. In my academic pursuits, I am always trying to figure out what there is to discover: in the books themselves, in the connections between them, in the relationships between the books and their historical contexts, and more. My discovery that Willa Cather's letter to H.L. Mencken says almost exactly what I would have predicted it would say was one of the most exciting moments of my semester.

I think that discover is also my "word," though, because I am also always trying to discover more about myself. Graduate school has allowed me to push myself to what feels like the limit, to go beyond that limit, and to learn that I am capable of even more than I realized. I think distance running appeals to me in the same way; it is a chance to push my physical body beyond the point at which I want to give up, to refuse to quit, and to discover that I'm capable of more than I might have thought. I think this focused process of physical, emotional, and intellectual self-discovery has helped me to feel much more at peace with myself and my surroundings since I started graduate school. I think it has made me happier in my life and has benefitted my marriage, even though all these pursuits put constraints upon my time. I have always enjoyed spending time with Billy, but lately I have been at peace in a way I had not been before.

I've also been trying to think of how I can apply this strategy of "discovery" to my work as an educator. Next year, I will most likely be back in the classroom, whether that is as a high school teacher or as a teaching assistant at Maryland. I'd like to figure out how I can use this approach to discover more about myself, my students, and my subject in my work as a teacher.

More to come about our trip to California...

('Twas the Night Before Christmas is the classic holiday story by Clement Clarke Moore that we read every Christmas Eve in my family.)