Wee Hob and the Honor Flight, and the Blues
Wee Hob just got back from the Great Lakes Region South Basic Encampment (Civil Air Patrol). He spent a week in a highly militarized and structured environment, and not only did he do okay, his flight (cadets in his little company of 10) was selected as the honor flight - best at the encampment. He has been regaling us nonstop since his return with tales of the great week he had and all the cool things he did. We can only hope he will begin to apply all the organizational skills to his own bedroom. (He did just cut his shower time from over 30 minutes to less than 2-- cool.)
He is not a little boy anymore, and while I am proud of him, it also makes me sad. I had the past brought home to me a little yesterday when one of my students had her little granddaughters with her, and the 2 year old decided she loved me. She and I conversed very gravely about matters of import to her, and at the end, she gave me a hug, and I remembered what it was like when I used to see my little birth daughter, or what it was like when Wee Hob was small. I don't know what it will do to me, honestly, when I am a grandmother myself. I missed so much. And those small kids I hold in memory now, are nothing like that now. And I won't ever get that back, even if they come looking for me.
I bought this Joseph Curiale CD last night; I heard "Wind River (I am)" on WGUC Cincinnati, and the only way to get it was to download the whole album, which is wonderful. It's not on iTunes: I had to buy it from CDBaby. Great writing music, and Wind River itself is reminiscent of both Copland and some of the Star Trek music (DS9 especially)-- the trumpet solo is reflective of that ideal of the West and of the Star Trek universe, of beings, human or not, who rise above. Who overcome with dignity and grace. I don't know if I can explain it.
But I will issue, not a fic rec, but a short story rec: James Baldwin's "Sonny's Blues," which I love even more every time I teach it. This time I realized: the Blues is born of sadness, but people who are defeated do not sing them. The Blues is a type of music for survivors-- for people who are going on. I pointed out to students, when I asked them to describe the blues for me, how many of them were smiling as they remembered some blues music they knew. The Blues is not about wallowing in the depression, but about living through the pain and rising up again in spite of it. They got it. Some of them.
I need to start writing again now. I have the week off, my grades are all in but one class (where some irregularities require input by the Powers that Be), and I don't set foot in a classroom again until July 6.
Have a good night, everyone.
He is not a little boy anymore, and while I am proud of him, it also makes me sad. I had the past brought home to me a little yesterday when one of my students had her little granddaughters with her, and the 2 year old decided she loved me. She and I conversed very gravely about matters of import to her, and at the end, she gave me a hug, and I remembered what it was like when I used to see my little birth daughter, or what it was like when Wee Hob was small. I don't know what it will do to me, honestly, when I am a grandmother myself. I missed so much. And those small kids I hold in memory now, are nothing like that now. And I won't ever get that back, even if they come looking for me.
I bought this Joseph Curiale CD last night; I heard "Wind River (I am)" on WGUC Cincinnati, and the only way to get it was to download the whole album, which is wonderful. It's not on iTunes: I had to buy it from CDBaby. Great writing music, and Wind River itself is reminiscent of both Copland and some of the Star Trek music (DS9 especially)-- the trumpet solo is reflective of that ideal of the West and of the Star Trek universe, of beings, human or not, who rise above. Who overcome with dignity and grace. I don't know if I can explain it.
But I will issue, not a fic rec, but a short story rec: James Baldwin's "Sonny's Blues," which I love even more every time I teach it. This time I realized: the Blues is born of sadness, but people who are defeated do not sing them. The Blues is a type of music for survivors-- for people who are going on. I pointed out to students, when I asked them to describe the blues for me, how many of them were smiling as they remembered some blues music they knew. The Blues is not about wallowing in the depression, but about living through the pain and rising up again in spite of it. They got it. Some of them.
I need to start writing again now. I have the week off, my grades are all in but one class (where some irregularities require input by the Powers that Be), and I don't set foot in a classroom again until July 6.
Have a good night, everyone.