Diciembre

I am proud to be a part of a block that shovels as diligently as I do.

Last evening, I shoveled while B made delicious baked pork chops and brownies. Not as one, mind you, like some Simpsons' casserole, but one for dinner and one for dessert. It was about 6 pm, and the whole block was outside shoveling. I caught up with my neighbor, John; I moved strips of the lightest snow from one side of the drive to the other; our Christmas lights were on in full force; it all was a little Griswoldy.

I give my last final tomorrow, and will also collect 39 final portfolios. Marathon grading? Sure. But then I will be done and won't worry about teaching until January 19th. Yessir. I've gotten a major leg-up on next semester's stuff, and am looking forward to a hard-partyin'. sleepin' all day, lotsa-drinkin' January. We'll see.

I like when a student asks me a question during their final exam, and I pretty much give them an example of what I am looking for, and they still narrow their eyes and say something like, "well, I don't know anything about that." Really? You haven't been awake and out into the world for the past 4 months? Well, that's cool, I guess.

The campus I teach at has had some interesting things going on lately. I am not so much in the loop, as I commute, but get all sorts of nutty e-mails about flowers being sent to this person, braided pastries for sale from this person, a student making threats against a faculty member, this dean taking (or not taking) another job. I never get any context, just a lot of two-line e-mails about what may or may not be going on.

Today at lunch, a man in a camo jacket touched my back like he knew me.

We are supposed to get more snow, and lots of it, tomorrow night. I don't mind, as I got some good boots. The birds that winter here have been hanging out on the feeder in the front yard: juncos, nuthatches, and some giant doves that B accuses of mating with pigeons.

I recently came across a poem by Pat Mora titled, "Immigrants." I've tried to approach 201 as a cultural studies course, and so made my advanced comp students write on it. I'm blown away:

Immigrants

wrap their babies in the American flag,
feed them mashed hot dogs and apple pie,
name them Bill and Daisy,
buy them blonde dolls that blink blue
eyes or a football and tiny cleats
before the baby can even walk,
speak to them in thick English,
hallo, babee, hallo,
whisper in Spanish or Polish
when the babies sleep, whisper
in a dark parent bed, that dark
parent fear, Will they like
our boy, our girl, our fine American
boy, our fine American girl?