Couples

Today is the Third Wedding Anniversary for one of my most favorite couples: Krista and Jordan Hoffmann.

This means that three years ago today, they made me fly to Hawaii to celebrate their wedding.  To call it a third anniversary, though, seems a little bizarre, because they started dating when we were all seniors in high school.  So they've actually been together for around ten years now.

In those ten years, I have happily spent countless hours as their third wheel.  Krista and I have been friends since we were 10, when her mom made her invite me to her birthday party even though my haircut made me look like a boy.  And though it took Jordan a few months to win me over at the start, those days seem like ancient history after all the time we've spent together laughing at Krista's expense.

Good Friday always reminds me of these two, too.  While we were in college, Jordan and I somehow got roped into attending a Good Friday service at Krista's parents' church.  I could try to explain to you why it was so hilarious that there was a woman crouching behind a table in the pitch black church, periodically snuffing out candles, but there's no way to do it justice.  All I can say is that Jordan and I were laughing so hard that we were shaking the pew.  And Krista was ready to kill. us. dead.  But we couldn't stop.  It was all very Mary-Tyler-Moore-at-the-funeral.

I remember this because it was funny, but also because I had come home that weekend while recovering from the single devastating heartbreak of my life.  And, as usual, Jordan didn't mind me tagging along during his precious little time with Krista away from West Point.  I also remember it because being with these two has always reminded me what love can be like, and how stable relationships with the right person can make us better versions of ourselves.

I've heard that some women feel jealous or slighted when their best friends get married.  Not me.  Three years ago, I got to attend the wedding of one of my best friends to a man who has been so good to her, and a couple that together has been so good to me, that it was honestly one of the happiest moments of my life.  And I'm not sure I've ever told them that, so I wanted to say so today.

Krista and Jordan, I love you both.  I believe Clara and baby-to-be-named-later are two of the most fortunate children on this earth simply for having you two as parents.  I can't wait to see how high you teach them to climb.

(Couples is a novel by John Updike which features couples who are nothing at all like Krista and Jordan.  Which, if you've read the novel, you'll realize is a compliment to them.)

Scholar Style Guide

Hi all!  I'm excited to announce the blog that Katie, Anne-Marie, and I have been working on.  We decided to bring our conversations about style and what and how our clothes mean to the blogosphere because we're hoping others will get involved in the conversation, too.

We've decided to call it Scholar Style Guide because we see dressing as an act similar to composing a written text.  We'd like to see our blog become a reference we and others can consult just as writers consult composition style guides.

You can find us at:

www.scholarstyleguide.com

You can also become a fan on facebook and follow us on twitter.

(Thanks to Billy, we are all set with technological features!)

The Big Lebowski

My dad had his latest round of diagnostic tests this week.  He found out that the tumors in his liver are essentially the same size they were in November, before he underwent an invasive radiation treatment to try to kill them.  The fact that the tumors are not larger than they were then indicates the treatment may have helped.  The fact that they're not gone or even significantly smaller indicates that the treatment didn't "fix" the problem.  My dad has decided to work through April and then go on extended medical leave so he can focus on feeling healthy instead of work.  He works for a company that gives him great benefits and he feels very fortunate about the medical leave options that are available to him.

Since he is going to be away from work for a while, he is starting to plan out his next year of vacations, so he called the next day to tell me that he is planning to take me and Billy to the Australian Open in Melbourne in January 2011.  He and my mom went to Australia when Nate and I were young, we had an Australian exchange student living with us for a year when I was born, and I think he has always wanted to go back.  I cannot help from talking every year about how watching the AO is almost painful because I'm so excited that tennis is back, the people there look so happy, and their summer weather is so beautiful that it makes our winter doldrums seem almost unbearable.  Earlier this year I called it a "two week mental oasis" from my regular life.

With six years of post-secondary study of literature and language under my belt, the best I can think to say in response to two these two events of the past week is (to quote the Dude from The Big Lebowski, and more recently, Jeff Bridges himself)

"Strikes and gutters, man."

Post Script: It occurred to me when I went running after posting this that "Strikes and Gutters" is also the name Nate gave to his blog, which he hasn't updated in a year, but is worth a return visit nonetheless.

A Lost Lady

Where have I gone?  I'm trapped inside this paper.  A Lost Lady is the novel Cather published between One of Ours and The Professor's House.  I haven't read it yet, but I can't help feeling like it is an eerily prescient title given that I am currently lost in between those two books, too.

I binged approximately 12,000 words last week.  I'm currently down to 10,100ish without a conclusion.  I'm supposed to end up around 10,000 total.

I feel really good about the ideas I'm working with.  Sunday night, after a long week of working on it, I felt really good about the progress I had made.  (I also felt good that Andy made it to the finals at Indian Wells, though I did not feel so good that Ljubicic's unbelievable run through the tournament ran straight through my feel-good story of the week.)

But I am starting to panic.  My official deadline is one week from today and I can't help feeling like I still have so much to do.  So much that I should not be writing this blog entry, in fact.  So back to work I go.

The Year(s)

Today they held the National Half Marathon in Washington, D.C.  This means it has been one year since I ran the race to raise money for the Lance Armstrong Foundation!  (Read about that here).  It's nice to think about what the LAF might have been able to accomplish in that year with the money you donated in support of my race.  Thanks again for your generosity!

On my 7 mile run today, I was thinking about how I could have quit running again a year ago, and trying to figure out why I didn't.  I think the thing I like about distance running is that no matter how miserable the last few miles are, the finish line is pre-determined.  If you can make yourself more miserable by trying to run faster, you'll be rewarded by reaching the finish line sooner.  Then comes the feeling of gratification and the relief of gulping down water-- every single time.  Life's not like that.  Not even in books.

Today it occurred to me on my run that determination is like anything else-- it can get horribly out of shape if you don't exercise it.  Running distances has helped me keep my determination in shape this past year.  Forcing myself through the burning lungs and sore feet to reach the finish line has helped me to endure the difficult moments when I didn't know quite where the finish line was going to be, and it taught me that chasing down mile markers is a good way to make a distant finish line seem closer.

The little victories help, too.  Today I shaved 4 minutes off the time it took me to run 7 miles last weekend.  Part of that was because I ran in the pouring down rain last weekend, and the water was ankle deep on some sections of the trail  (today it was sunny and almost 70).  But mostly it was because I was trying to run faster-- because I knew when I got back I had to tackle this writing project again, for the sixth straight day in a row, and I knew the feeling of gratification from posting a good time would help carry me through.

(The Years is the last book Virginia Woolf published in her lifetime.  Though it spans around 50 years and 3 generations, she focuses on individual events that happen in the characters' lives.  For me, she might have zeroed in on a random 7 mile run on the most beautiful day of the year yet.)

Bird by Bird

Hi again!  What am I doing back so soon?  Procrastinating, of course.

All my friends in my program and I, we're all doing the same thing this week, during our "Spring Break": trying to make decent headway on our Master's Writing Project essays.

Every time I begin a new draft, I feel like I am purging myself of all my ideas and trying to force them into a Word document.  Once it is all there, I can take a deep breath and begin the part of writing I enjoy-- the making it sound right part.  I love that part.  I do not like the purging.  Sometimes I start trying to make it sound right while purging and I get unbelievably frustrated.

Nearly every time I begin a new draft, I think I must be the only one who suffers this difficulty.  Then I remember Anne Lamott's discussion of "Shitty First Drafts" from her book, Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life.  A good excerpt is available online here.  If you're in the midst of a shitty first draft, or you're trying to force yourself to begin one, or you want to feel good about the fact that you've moved onto the second draft, please read it.

And if your Writing Project director actually told you that you could just "revise" the paper you already wrote, and you therefore do not have to write a shitty first draft this time around, keep that to yourself.  I don't want to hear it.

Time to refill the coffee mug and get back to purging.

This is the scene on my dining room table.  I promise that it is not staged.  This is really what it "Liz is writing" looks like.

Finnegan's Wake

Happy St. Patrick's Day, from our house to yours!

Thanks for the care package, Mom!

We don't usually get into kitschy holidays around here, but I am thankful that St. Patrick's Day comes around once a year to remind me of the trip my roommates and I took to Ireland during Spring Break of our senior year at Valpo.  It is one of my favorite memories from college: Ireland is a beautiful place, the people there were unbelievably friendly, and I had a great time with my friends.  If I'd planned ahead, I would have unearthed some beautiful photos from that vacation.  Instead, I'll offer you Oscar eating his breakfast.


(What's is James Joyce's Finnegan's Wake about?  Your guess is as good as mine.  "Puns" would be my answer.  It appeals to me today not only because Joyce was Irish, but also because he worked on writing it until he went blind.  And then he kept working by dictating it.  Since I am about to begin writing the third draft of a paper I have been thinking through for a year, I am beginning to think I understand how he felt.)

High Fidelity

Before I left campus for "spring break" yesterday, my director stopped by to tell me she had changed my the status of my application from "wait list" to "admit list" and I would receive my official notification from the grad school in the next few days.

I GOT IN!!!!! Show them how it feels, Melanie:

When my director told me I was now "admitted," my first reaction was to be completely stunned. My brain went absolutely blank, and she kept talking to me, but I could not process anything she said. I believe I just kept saying "wow" and "okay" until my brain finally caught up again and I could talk to her about it.

Since finding out, I have felt: stunned, overwhelmed, proud, relieved, humbled, and excited. Those of us who work with words everyday are aware, though, that words can never adequately express feelings. I used to tell my high school students that there was no better feeling in the world than to work really hard for something and then to accomplish it. I should have added that the feeling is even better when your family and friends have offered you unwavering support throughout the process.

Everyone keeps telling me I "earned" it, and I believe you are all right, but I know that it is something I never could have done on my own. So thank you, everyone, for believing in me enough to carry me through those moments when I doubted myself. I know I will need that kind of encouragement over the next four years if I am going to be successful at finishing this degree.

Oscar helped me celebrate in my Maryland sweatshirt. (Don't mind his demon eyes.)

Billy helped me celebrate with a bottle of champagne. We drank it out of the flutes my dad gave us as an engagement gift, which we also used at our wedding. I want to thank my husband most of all because he is here every. single. day. to stabilize me, coax me through the periodic breakdowns, help me pay the bills, fold the laundry while I might spend an hour staring at the same sentence, and remind me that everyone needs to take a break once in a while.

So now I can take in a deep breath, let out a sigh of relief, and spend the next week working on my Cather project and watching Indian Wells. The girls and I also have another blog project in the works that I can't wait to announce!

(High Fidelity is a novel by Nick Hornby. The main character owns a record shop, so the title refers to the reproduction of sounds, but he is also trying to make a romantic relationship work, so the title also suggests a level of intense devotion. I think my commitment to earning a spot in the PhD program could be described as "high fidelity." Furthermore, High Fidelity is my favorite read-for-pleasure book and this is now my favorite blog post. I loved the movie version, too, even though it takes the story out of London and places it in Chicago.)

Cliffs Notes: My Ántonia

My dad thinks he is pretty clever. Today I was excited to receive a package from him in the mail, but I didn't even have to open it up before I realized what it was. I'd recognize these severe black stripes juxtaposed against a gold background anywhere.

He sent met the CliffsNotes for Cather's My Ántonia to remind me that next year I'll have students again, and some of them will prefer shortcuts. : )

I actually don't have a problem with Cliffs Notes. Right inside the cover there's a message from Mr. Cliff Hillegass which concludes, "A thorough appreciation of literature allows no short cuts. By using Cliffs Notes responsibly, reviewing past criticism of a literary work, and examining fresh points of view, you can establish a unique connection with a work of literature and can take a more active part in a key goal of education: redefining and applying classic wisdom to current and future problems." Sounds good to me, Cliff. (I'd like to ask him to elaborate on what he means by "classic wisdom," but he's dead, so I can't.)

I like that Cliffs Notes get students to begin thinking about the implications of a text instead of just focusing on plot points. Obviously, I would much rather have my students read the original texts in their entirety, but I'll definitely take a student who has consulted a study guide over one who hasn't prepared for class at all. Students who are familiar with the book's content can at least participate in discussion. After a good classroom discussion, students who skipped the reading sometimes go back and read the source text. I think it's my responsibility as an educator to make them want to read the text rather than just requiring them to read it.

I do have a funny story, though, about SparkNotes (the free online study guides). When I used to teach Huck Finn, one of the questions on a reading quiz required the students to name a character. I used to tell them that if they couldn't remember the character's name, they could describe the character and still get partial credit. On one question, they kept writing "Tom's cousin." I had no idea where this came from. I looked back at the text to see if I had missed something, but it didn't say anything about the character being Tom's cousin. I went to the SparkNotes summary, though, which identified the character as Tom's cousin. I guess that relation is explained in Tom Sawyer, which I have never read, and so whoever wrote the Huck study guide added that info. I really enjoyed letting them all know that I caught them, and I left the question in every year. Showing the students that I was "onto them" was one of the things I enjoyed about being a high school teacher.

Mostly, though, my dad's gift reminds me that next year, I WILL get to have students again. I can't wait. My first year out of the classroom felt like a nice break because I could focus on my own interests again... but now, I really miss teaching. I'm thankful for the office job I have on campus that has funded my Master's degree, but I can't say I'll miss cross-referencing spreadsheets or pestering faculty members to approve their timesheets. I hope to have the opportunity to begin teaching undergraduates, but high school students have their own special charm, too.

This long, difficult journey all began for me back in 2000 because I really wanted to be a teacher. I left the classroom because I wanted to get better at teaching, and I can't wait to try my hand at it again now that I've done two straight years of advanced thinking about these texts.

Before I can get back to the classroom, though, I have to get through this Master's project. For the next week, it's back to Miss Willa. I think I have settled on which specific issues my paper will address, so now I just need to re-read The Professor's House before I can sit down to pound out the third installment of my Willa Cather Great War project.

(Cliffs Notes actually have some interesting parallels to Willa Cather. Their creator, Cliff Hillegass, was born in 1918, when My Ántonia was originally published. And guess where he lived and worked? Nebraska!)

Fever Pitch

I wish I had never quit playing soccer when I was 14. Yes, I'd probably still miss it now, even if I'd played right through age 18. The thing that gets me every time I get back out on a soccer field, though, is that I have no idea why I quit. All I remember is that I just didn't try out as a sophomore.


I have had a few returns to the field: I played intramural soccer in undergrad, I played pick-up soccer on Friday afternoons when I taught at Northern, and yesterday I joined my fellow English grad students in an IM game on campus. I'm upset that our "season" only consists of two games.

Yesterday we were definitely outmatched. I knew we were in trouble when I heard a British sounding guy call it "football." If you call it soccer, I believe you're automatically at a disadvantage. I don't remember the score. We didn't score any goals, and they scored several.

But Billy came to watch, and it was a beautiful day, and I got to run around and kick the ball. One time I even had enough of an opening to begin to dribble upfield, but then it was like I forgot what I was doing and I lost the ball almost immediately. Billy says I knocked a girl down. I really think she tripped over the ball I was kicking. I was making a concentrated effort to keep my elbows in.

And have you ever played on this FieldTurf? Evidently, when you attend a large university with a prestigious athletic program, even the intramural teams get to use nice facilities. I am wondering, though, how long I will be finding rubber pellets in my shoes. Billy and I decided that football players, who tackle one another on this stuff, must be perpetually clogging their drains with these pellets.

The day was made even better by the fact that before I left for the game, I had pieced together a decent draft of a paper on The Golden Apples and I had already finished reading Clotel, so my homework was almost entirely done. Some days I really love you, graduate school.

And I love you, too, sunshine. Thanks for the visit. Stay as long as you like, and please come back again soon.

(Fever Pitch was Nick Hornby's memoir about what it means to be a desperately devoted soccer fan long before it was a mediocre baseball-themed romantic comedy. It was also first made into a soccer movie. But read the book: you won't regret it.)

The Tortoise and the Hare

I have never been late for anything in my grad program. I'm on time for every class and meeting. I've even been known to turn assignments in early. I take a lot of pride in being reliable and respectful of other peoples' time.

So when I walked in late to my own talk yesterday, I WANTED TO DIE. Yes, there was a good reason: Billy and I got held up by a parking predicament that resulted in us practically sprinting across campus. But when I walked in, one of my co-panelists had already begun giving her paper, and I had to slide into my seat at the front of the room. I was out of breath, I was nearly breaking a sweat, and I really wanted to melt right into the floor.

It took me about ten minutes of staring at the speaker before I could bear to look up at the audience. That only made it worse, because so many people came.

I managed to compose myself before it was my turn to speak. I had a really hard time looking up during my talk, though, because seeing everyone there made me feel really emotional and humbled. Every time I looked up, someone would give me an encouraging "you're doing great!" look and I could feel the lump in the back of my throat grow. I hope it will be easier to give the talk to a bunch of strangers in Cleveland.

It made me feel better knowing Billy was there. I knew that he would tell me he was proud of me no matter how I felt about the session. Afterward, we were able to talk about how different the hard sciences are from literary studies, and how we share the same level of intellectual curiosity but apply that curiosity in completely different ways. It was great to feel like he understands a little bit more about what I do.

It also meant a lot to me to have so many of my classmates there. In some ways, they feel like older siblings. People say the middle child in a family gets the raw deal, but that has never felt accurate to me. I have always had an older sibling to lead the way and a younger sibling to follow in my footsteps, and I've always been conscious of both of those things. I only really understand myself or my place in the world relationally.

Many of my classmates are a lot further along in their thinking than I am. I am definitely taking the tortoise approach to literary studies, but rather than making me feel inferior, these people encourage me and push me along in my work while also demonstrating through their own work how much further I have to go. After I gave my paper, several of my classmates asked me thoughtful and insightful questions. I'm don't really think I gave good answers to any of them, but they all gave me important things to think about. Some of our professors say that our program needs to be more "cutthroat," but I don't think so. We take a genuine interest in one another's work, and we focus on giving one another constructive, insightful criticism. I do my best work when I'm encouraged, so I have been able to do great work here.

In the fall, my director suggested that I should apply to the PhD program at Johns Hopkins in addition to our own. My first reaction was to think "Wow, I really have fooled her into thinking I'm smarter than I actually am," and my second reaction was to realize that I could never finish at a program so well known for it's competitive nature. In some ways, it was unfortunate that I could only apply to Maryland, but really, this is the only place I can imagine continuing. This is the place where I feel like my chances of finishing are the greatest. I am a Terp.

I want to thank these people publicly, because although only a few of them follow my blog, I believe that language is performative. When we put words out into the world, they make a difference. So thank you, Billy, Anne-Marie, Katie, Nate, Porter, Lew, Peter, Jenn, Michelle, Dr. Richardson, and Dr. Coletti for coming to hear me talk. For taking an interest in the work I'm doing. For asking me questions that will keep me thinking. For making me feel like Maryland is the very best place for me to be. And for making me forget, momentarily, that I had shown up late to my own presentation.

(The Tortoise and the Hare could be the story of my life. I get everywhere slowly, but I don't stop moving. It always seems fitting to me that Marland's mascot, the Terrapin, is a turtle.)

The Golden Apples

I'm supposed to be writing a paper on Eudora Welty's The Golden Apples. The other day I mentioned this to Nate, who said "Isn't that from Greek mythology or something?" Turns out- yes. So thanks, Nate and Wikipedia.

I learned that Atalanta's golden apples are what got her off track. She didn't want to get married, so she said anyone who wanted to marry her had to beat her in a foot race. Some guy came in with his golden apples from Aphrodite and threw them in her way, so she was distracted by them and he beat her. Darn you, shiny, beautiful objects.

I have a lot to do this week, including this paper. I also have to give a presentation tomorrow on the same paper that I'll be presenting at the Narrative Conference in April. The problem is, there are also a lot of golden apples. These include:

1) The perfect home manicure.I have officially perfected the home manicure. The key is Orly Sec'n'Dry quick dry topcoat. The topcoat makes the polish dry to the touch almost instantly, even after two or three coats of polish. This weekend, my mother-in-law, Patti, asked me which OPI polishes I've had my eye on. A few nights ago, she dropped off three brand new bottles to congratulate me for all my hard work so far. I'm currently wearing OPI Bubble Bath, which is Giada De Laurentiis's signature color and quite possibly my new go-to neutral. I'm polished and ready for tomorrow's presentation. (Though my paper could use another run-through.)

2) Tuesday night, Billy was meeting friends for drinks at Applebee's. How could I pass up Tequila Lime Chicken?

3) Last night, Maryland played Duke at home on senior night. I didn't have tickets, so I had to catch as much of the game on TV as possible. Now the Terps have won 12 of their last 14, can win a share of the ACC title, and have cracked the top 25!

4) Tonight, Jim and Pam are having their baby! (Yes, I realize they are fictional people. Don't you realize that much of my time is devoted to fictional people?)

5) Tomorrow, Billy is coming to watch my presentation, so he and I are getting dinner with Jamie and Katie afterward.

6) I've agreed to play on my friend and fellow Tolkien enthusiast Peter's intramural soccer team, and we have a game Sunday. In College Park.

7) Sunday is packed, actually. Sunday night, Danielle and I WILL be watching the Oscars. Sorry, Golden Apples.

Somehow, it will all get done. I hope.