Once Upon a Time...

… There was a girl named Charley who screamed to her self, “Damn it! What the hell were you thinking, going back to school?”

Sorry, just had to get that out.

I think I’ve figured out what has been blocking me from getting these projects to work. I know I say that almost every week, but I sat and thought about it for a long while the other day. I haven’t done that in years – no time for long periods of reflection with three kids, a husband, two-three jobs at a time, school, and a household to run, not to mention the menagerie that is trying to take it over. What I’ve been doing is reading the texts and highlighting the parts that stand out for me. Then I try to make those parts fit into the context of the assignment. But I have a tendency to add an additional layer, I’m beginning to believe, as a way to focus whatever it is I’m doing. I think it’s the challenge of the additional limit that I like. (Ooh, what does that say about me?) But I think I haven’t been looking deep enough into both the texts and myself. So, my new way to address assignments is to read the text, translate the entire reading into my own words, play with that for a while, and then translate my understanding of the text into the context of the assignment. The rules of the assignment will set me free. No added layers or limits. I have to see what is missing and put that in, and just that. When something is lacking from the whole, it doesn’t have integrity, and whatever it is that I am attempting to complete cannot work. (That last part is from today as we discussed the difference between morality, ethics, and integrity.) So, I have to “make it work!”

Of course, this realization came after I wrote my bedtime story for this class. I had fun writing it, and I “passed” on the “Did she do the assignment?” question (barely) after it was asked several times. But…

There’s always a but. The story should have been one page double-spaced. There was a miscommunication, so let’s just say mine was a bit longer. I got carried away with the journey of Alistair (protagonist). I kind of like him (he’s so special), so I had to see where his travels would lead. And as I’m sure you’ve garnered by now, if you have read any of this journal/blog, I can go on and on. Needless to say, I went too far, which diluted the theory that I was addressing. I didn’t have to do it again, but just like the sonnet, I felt the need to address the problems in my bedtime story. This is “Alistair of Indy (Edited version).”

Once upon a time in the land of Indy lived a young man named Alistair. Although he was quite different from everyone he knew, Alistair was much adored by his family and friends. But Alistair wanted to find others like himself. So he headed for the big city, Medium Popular.

When he arrived, Alistair went to a coffee shop and met Rachel, the waitress. While she got his order, Alistair looked through magazines. He saw girls who had redder lips and cheeks and longer eyelashes than the girls back home. The guys looked like guys back home, too. But the guys in the magazine looked like their skin was too tight. And no one looked like Alistair.

When Rachel returned she asked Alistair why he was reading a lady’s magazine.

He said, “I wanted to find the people like me in Medium Popular.”

“Well,” said Rachel, “You need to watch TV or go to the picture show.” Rachel told Alistair of her favorite hotel where he could watch TV. When he got to his room and turned on the TV, he saw a strong, pretty, little blonde girl named Buffy. He saw mostly guys on the TV, a few who reminded him of his father. But no one resembled Alistair.

When Alistair got to the picture show, Rachel was waiting. Previews for new movies came on with guys and a few girls as the heroes. After the movie was over, Alistair said, “I saw the people of Medium Popular on TV and in the movies, but I haven’t seen anyone like me.”

Rachel and Alistair

Rachel thought for a moment. She took Alistair by the hand and led him to an office. She turned on the computer, and Alistair stared at the monitor for a long time. He saw all types of people from all parts of Medium Popular. “There are others out there like me,” he said.

Rachel smiled, “Of course there are, Al. It just takes knowing where to find them.”

Alistair knew he could live happily ever after in Medium Popular.

Remember, this is a bedtime story, so stop your groaning.

I think everyone in the class actually had fun with this assignment. There were wigs made of leaves on the heads of mommy frogs, daddies playing dress-up, girl squirrels with swords, princes who would be kings, towns called Jollywolly, lullabies in French, tall, dark and handsome heroes, and big orange birds that fly whoosh! Now do you see how I got carried away with Alistair’s story (the unedited version)? Sorry about the picture at the end; I couldn't resist.

Quote (that was actually) for the day: Surrendering to something is not giving up or giving in – it is exhaling; it is a beautiful thing. VOR