Late November and the Waning Sun

The days are getting shorter. When I awaken early, it is still dark and I am fooled into thinking it is still night. It's been an extraordinary November--filled with mild sunny days and cool star-filled nights. I'm finding my muse again--beginning to reserve some early mornings for writing. I feel out of balance when I go too long without paying attention to my art.

Kira wrote that it snowed in Antarctica and she never tires of snow. I don't completely share her passion for winter weather. I love the first snows--pristine and unexpected. Looking out my window from my hilltop view, I feel serenity until March, the longest month. By then I am craving light and warmth. The grayness of the days and lack of anything growing begins to nag at me. I follow cold rain eagerly, hopeful that soon there will be small sprouts and flowers pushing through the intractable ground.

Now I am settling in--awaiting the long evenings with stacks of books I want to read. Although I have far less time in winter, I seem to do most of my writing on cold, dark mornings when I am the only person awake and the tops of the trees are just beginning to be fringed by light.

Provincetown

Discovery

There are places I can return to with new discoveries each time. A weekend in Provincetown yielded horses running on the beach, a particular way the autumn sun hit the bay, an almost deserted Commercial Street in midday. It was surprisingly warm with lucky sun. Reading on the deck, walking on the quiet street, visiting with Scott at Joe's Coffee--all noble ventures. I never tire of the dunes, the rippling bay, galleries and street musicians. It's all part of the observation, the living that makes writing possible.

Kira with uke landing in Antarctica

Understanding Geography and Other New Learning

I awakened this morning thinking of my traveling daughter. When she was a freshman in high school, the subject she liked the least was geography. In the hands of a creative educator, this subject could surely come alive but she was faced with memorizing capitals and the topography of places unfamiliar. The irony is that she immerses herself in geography now, having visited most of Europe, China, remote Alaska, and living a year in New Zealand. She is presently in Antarctica. I wonder what her former teacher would think of that, having written her off as a mediocre geography student. Yet there are teachers who inspire students--my comparative literature professor in college, Glauco Cambon, who sadly died of a heart attack at 67. He made the Italian Renaissance come alive for me when previously it was just six pages in a history book. I happily immersed myself in all he recommended, encountering what is best about learning--discovery guided by someone who passionately loves the subject he is teaching. I have been lucky enough to have wonderful mentors in both my undergraduate education--Lee Jacobus and Jim Scully come to mind--and my more recent graduate education--Baron Wormser, Terrence Hayes, Laure-Anne Bosselaar Joan Connor, Barbara Hurd, and more. I know it makes a difference. I aspire to be this kind of educator--a writer who teaches, believing that the written word is a tool for change, inspiration, comfort, and just plain enjoyment. Reaching non-traditional learners is something I love because they are the non-conformists of the world. Interacting with material in a way I wouldn't have thought of, they teach me as much as I teach them. It is in this way that I remain fresh and engaged as a teacher. I know I cannot make every student enjoy poetry but I do believe I can make every student engage in one poem. One poem may lead to another poem in the same way that walking around the block may lead to walking a mile. We never lose our ability to learn and grow. My own children have taught me a great deal about wonder, risk-taking, critical thinking and engagement. The adventure can continue for a lifetime.