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| June 1, 2008(wanna try a new narrative style, so gonna borrow an opening from Garrison Keillor here and variate it a bit.)
Its been a quiet week in Thomasville, where I live and teach. School has ended for the summer, much to the pleasure of thousands of students and even more so for their teachers. Graduation exercises at the local high schools marked the turning point in life for hundreds of seniors who, after a few nights of partying and celebrating, have finally awoken to the fact that they are once again freshmen. These same graduates who once declared how they could not wait to rid themselves of the chains that bound them to their alma mater and to the sleepy town now find themselves in trepidation about finally having that taste of independence that comes with the life of a college student. Their teachers watch them depart tearfully because they will miss the unique personalities of their students who they have watched grow and mature and begin actually behaving in some ways like adults. Teachers mourn the loss of the experience these students had and their higher order thinking abilities that have finally been established. No more was "Hamlet" just a lecture about revenge and psychosis, but a heated discussion and debate about human nature and the relationship between emotion, reasoning, and action. "Macbeth" was suddenly comparable with "Oedipus Rex" and "Death of A Salesman" not because a teacher said so, but because the student thought so and could intelligently discuss the parallels without prompting. Yes, the teachers shudder to think that they have to train another crop of students to actually use the brains given to them rather than just access them. Its comparable to using a computer. People know how to perform certain functions, but when they learn how those functions are performed and assessed and how to modify those functions, a whole new world of understanding is opened to them. Suddenly they CAN question the status quo and have an opinion, not because someone influenced them to do so, but because they are compelled to by thought. That remarkable transformation occurs under the noses and careful tutelage of diligent teachers and is a truly wonderful thing to witness as it bonds teachers and students together, which is what will bring the graduates back year after year to visit their old teachers, searching for a sign that they too have changed and had their minds opened like the college student has, but alas, to them their teachers remain the same. And thus, the graduates slowly stop visiting, stop fooling themselves that they somehow were the greatest student their teachers ever had, that life at their Alma Mater has become chaotic and unbearable without their existence. And so the teachers mourn the loss of great minds for training new ones is not an easy task at all. But teachers also mourn the great minds that will be lost to the over-indulgence of independence that college also inevitably brings. They watch bright futures dashed because despite all their lectures and projects and imbuing of knowledge, they could not instill responsibility. And so teachers watch their graduates depart the small town with a tear in their eye for so many reasons. But also because they still have to work another week without any students. This may seem like a holiday, but a school without pupils is like a library without its books (which is a surprisingly close analogy since the library of the county high school is being torn down and a new one built!), a body with no soul, it is a lifeless entity. The teachers and administration enjoy the solitude of the hallways and not having to deal with discipline, but after a few days of paperwork, meetings, cleaning, and pre-planning for the next year, the silence seems to envelope them a bit too much, entombing them in their classrooms with a radio or stereo system to drown out the incessant tick of the clock as it points out how truly long an hour is when one is not actively doing something. Like teaching. That fateful day comes for a teacher when all the cleaning is done, the paperwork complete, the meetings finished, and all that is left is to enjoy the summer. But alas, it is only lunch time and the teacher has another two full days of "post-planning" as they call it. So they help other teachers finish their work. Or they clean again. Or they close their door and watch television the rest of the day. But they find themselves mirroring their students, waiting for that final bell, even asking if they can "just go ahead and leave."
With the schools out, one can now hear the sound of children playing in local parks and along the sidewalks as their mothers stand and gossip nearby. By mid-day the heat has become nearly unbearable and the joyful sounds become an oppressing hum of cars and bugs. From the window, the green park looks welcoming with its small creek and shady oaks. But from the park, the creek looks contaminated with sewage and refuse while the oaks crawl with ants and spiders and other undesirables along with the spanish moss, which houses the most dreaded "red bug" or "chigger." From the park, the air conditioning in the window with a nice tall glass of clean water looks much more enjoyable than little red itching bumps from chiggers. A local church youth group dedicated itself to cleaning out much of the spanish moss one summer, not trying to completely rid the park of it, but merely as a cosmetic touch-up to alleviate the creepy horror-movie look it gave the park at times. The park looked quite improved afterwards, but the feat was not attempted again after the pastor found himself preaching to a congregation full of scratching, but well-meaning, youth. And so the children retreat indoors around noon for lunch and to enjoy their backyards where they can turn on a sprinkler to play in despite the water restrictions or to run around the house and cause no-ending trouble for their mothers. In the evening when it has cooled, the frazzled mothers send their children back out into park and streets to play for and hour or so until the streetlamps come on, which often precipitates the falling darkness by mere minutes. The teenagers climb into their cars and drive to parking lots of local businesses to do nothing more than climb onto truck beds or hoods of cars with their friends and talk and laugh loudly for several hours, feeling free to curse and make derogatory comments safe from the ears of their parents and, despite being in plain sight of whomever might be driving by, indulge in illegal drugs and even some alcohol. People feasting outside at the nearby Sonic often joke how they are getting high merely from the smell of the pot in the air wafting from the parking lot across the street. The police drive by often, just to keep the order. By eleven o'clock or so, the teens have decided they have better places to be or that the smell is sufficiently out of their clothing to return home without raising suspicions. If around nine o'clock, one drives across town, he begins to see the effects of the town being a "retirement town," namely that everything has shut down save a small handful of fast food restaurants and the Walmart. Of course if one were to visit the Walmart on Friday night, he would see everyone he knows or recognizes because in a small town like this, going to Walmart on a Friday night is a big deal, comparable to the market days of old. Young people gather to walk around without buying much more than a cheap movie or a snack for later. Old people gather their supplies for the upcoming week, shopping lists firmly in one hand and coupons in the other. The college students have departed for the larger towns thirty or forty-five minutes away though still just going to Walmart because "this one just doesnt have what I need." If one desires an escape, all one needs is an excuse.
Godspeed-ryne
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| November 28, 2007to whom it may or may not concern...
update on my life as of late:
September - began substitute teaching in Dalton while i worked on my master's course online. wrote for and helped found a new clown/puppet ministry, LOL Ministries. had first performance at our church. huge success. was settling into routine.
October - routine is turned on its head. had two interviews with two different schools over two days. was offered both, one in Huntsville, AL and the other in Thomasville, GA. I accepted the latter. moved, set up shop and began teaching. began search for new church home.
November - took students to one-act competition in Lee County, placed third out of four, vowed to do better next year and began plans for another one-act competition in Savannah. put the ball in motion. began plans for spring show, an original murder mystery dinner theatre. set ball in motion. excitement is building. refining search for new church home.
thats the past three months in a nutshell folks. i promised more on that story, dont worry its coming. i also have several new scripts in the works currently, one a dinner theatre (one mentioned earlier) and a one-man sketch that is and will continue to stretch me to the very edge of my emotional capacity both as a writer and as a performer. needs to be completed by june as it is a special piece about fathers. i'm keeping it hush-hush, but its my best stuff in years i think. i auditioned for a community theatre show and got a very minor part, which is good since i'll be excessively busy in the spring. enjoying my teaching immensely despite its trials. mostly because of how excited the students are becoming over what i have planned. but i lack friends. there is quite the absence of young adult activity in this town. i spend most my nights watching movies or reading....after a nice nap. meanwhile my friends' lives move forward. some are engaged, married, or in some area of the family process. others are sending me tidings from school about how things are. and i'm happy for them all. i am. i'm strangely content in my lack of relationship status. and as much as i miss college, its nice to have a sizeable, consistent income and no homework save what needs to be done for school. it'd be nice to have a few friends in the are, but other than that, i'm content. life is starting.
Godspeed everyone.
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| beginning a new storyto whom it may or may not concern...
i had inspiration for a new story recently. this is the very beginning. i think this one will be quite the epic. or as epic as i can write. leave me feedback.
The windowpane matched the rest of the weathered house which
happened to be in perfect harmony with the old forest that provided its
shade. The house itself had been built with trees from the very same
forest, their absence long forgotten by the undergrowth and great oaks
who had lost more brethren than could be recalled. It had been so long
ago that it now seemed as though the house had grown up with the trees
from an acorn or whatever it is from which houses might grow. The
forest and the house indeed seemed like close friends whose childhood
and even adulthood had been spent inseparable from each other. The
window that sat in the old windowpane in the old house in the ancient
forest also fit the scene, being discolored and bursting at the bottom of
its confining pane, but when compared with the other windows on the
front of the cabin could be considered pristine as one could still
actually see through it as much as one can see through such a
translucent port. It made a fitting frame then for the portrait of
serenity in the old man staring out of it onto the forest. His
countenance was one of content and accomplishment as though he himself
had grown the forest and matching house from seeds. In truth, the house
was not originally his. It had come to him many years before from a
previous owner, also not the original proprietor, in its current state
of disrepair and neglect. The old man had made no changes to it as he
was both too old and lethargic to do so. The changes and repairs he did
make were done out of necessity rather than improvement, for instance
when the roof leaked in an inconvenient place or tending to the grass
when small animals took up residence around or on the steps. Despite
its worn façade, the house was full of love, from owners who had filled
the nights with laughter and life, from tenants who had lived entire
lifetimes in the house, and from the old man to the house for he did
love the house, most especially the window where he spent his days
peering out patiently. What he sat looking at exactly was an old path
some fifty yards through a small clearing in the woods which he did
take extra care to keep clear lest his view be obstructed. There he sat
day after day, watching the old path, waiting for passers-by, travelers
journeying unaware that they were the subjects of grand stories that
the old man told himself. If there was one thing that we can say about
this old man it is that he could imagine. A young man headed to town
for food on this wooded path became to the old man a knight questing
after his love who had run away for fear that the curse on her home
would eventually kill the knight she loved. She had come through the
same path days before (in reality a milkmaid going through the woods to
tend to a sick relative) in a haste because she knew that for her
beloved to die due to her curse was worse indeed than the dangerous
quest she would now undertake to break the curse for her and her
family’s sakes. No one who passed by the road was lost as a character
in the old man’s imagination, nor did he often forget one. Thus was the
life of the old man sitting at the window in the old cabin in the
ancient woods, staring out at an archaic path.
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| art of the fugueto whom it may or may not concern...
what is it that draws each of us to some unique part of life, a
fascination with a concept that we feel no one else understands in the
same way we do? perhaps it is that within us that cries to be
individual and unlike anyone else we have met. it is the same desire
to be appreciated and admired for that which we do well (or for that we
wish we could do well or in a situation we wish to exist that we could
excel in). we know the moment in the sun only lasts for a moment, but
it is that moment which we long for and seek. to be amazing. to be the
best. i digress.
the concept we identify with. that which we are
intrigued by and we seek to understand why we are so piqued by it, yet
hoping our interest is never fulfilled for fear that it departs us.
mine
are flight, variations, and fugues (essentially the same as variations
but with a bit more complexity). but by now you already knew that if
you know me at all. flight: one of the few physical gifts man was not
naturally granted by the Creator, it represents true freedom.
overcoming earth's gravity and feeling every part of the body move free
from the restraints of the ground. i long for the mental freedom to
feel the sensation of flight through words and creativity, unhindered
by criticism and social acceptance. i await the spiritual flight that
will only be achieved when this body passes away and i soar to meet my
Father.
variation is a natural progression of man's creativity. it
takes the essential elements of something and changes them to create
something novel, yet familiar. most obvious example is that of music.
music is created by artist, recreated in a new way by another artist,
etc.... we take good ideas and make them (in our opinion) better by
adding our own unique touch. a computer can variate something, but
only a human can create in an artistic way. i think that man is able
to variate because man himself cannot be variated. God created man,
but man cannot change his essentials for God is the ultimate creative
artist. we cannot just decide to not have a nose or ears.
the
art of variation leads me to fugue. a fugue is a combination of
variations on a theme that all work together to create a new and
beautiful piece. the altering of a theme and rebuilding it upon itself
is the ultimate form of creativity because it is the interpretation of
a piece and restructuring to maintain the essential beauty of a piece
while creating new aesthetics.
what is it with me and creativity tonight????
i
feel the weight of profundity as never before. i want to undergo a
great change. this variation is yet another that is building together
to set this fugue off and allow my creatovity to fly.
what concepts fascinate you and why? leave a note
till creativity strikes again, Godspeed-ryne
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| to whom it may or may not concern...
neglect has gotten the best of my blogs. but this is not one of those "time for an update" blogs because 1) noone reads them, and 2) i have very little to update, all of which is inconsequential and not worthy of me wasting anyone's time to read by writing it. therefore, i shall merely say this: i am learning to rely on God's providence more each day as i hope and pray i do not get sick and miss a day of student teaching. i miss seeing my friends around campus, but have found much deeper friendships in those people with whom i do interact with more frequency. i am praying and waiting for the right job to come along in may and for some tiny indication of which way to go in order to travel in His will. i am tiring myself by jumping through hoops to achieve May. the creative process is rewarding far more now than ever. i am seeing (through God's good grace) the dreams of four years coming to fruition. i am relying on others and am constantly perplexed at how little faith i have put in them. let us continue to seek truth and even more importantly, its understanding. the journey is fulfilling, but the end seems more satisfying....for now. "for now" appears to be the theme of my life currently, waiting patiently and making do, waiting for that "until". i still feel as though i have something to prove here. some unsatisfied need for praise and acceptance. but this is not the way it should be. i am seeking the praise for others more and more. my time is done, i now pass the torch to others and i revel in their achievement and applause. and i move on silently, silently into the shadows where i can rest, knowing my role is complete. i thank you God.
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