Cloister Commentary, Day 294: It Wasn’t (Quite) All Bad

I have been posting too much about the horror and foreboding that has been so occupying our minds in recent days. We aren’t even paying as much attention as usual to a pandemic that’s found another higher gear. Not going into it in detail further here, other than to say it’s affecting our sleep and causing us to fear the next 10 days (at least).

Nicole worked. I cleaned up the front yard and worked on my music blog. Some readers know that, at the end of every month, I update a list of new albums of the calendar year that I think are worthwhile. Partially due to distraction, partially due to fatigue, partially due to feelings of futility, partially to it being 2021, I’d resisted finalizing my 2020 list. However, I discovered that a writer I’ve admired and read for (wow!) almost 40 years had found some worthwhile listening from my posts, so that inspired me to follow all the way through.

One of my favorite people at Stephens e-mailed me to let me know my spring composition class wasn’t going to happen, but since I just learned she shares a song every morning with her administrative group, I sent a couple relevant Impressions songs her way as a measure of good faith. I also learned that both teacher interns I’ll be supervising this semester have been placed at my favorite local high school, Battle, and under the auspices of two very respected English teachers, one of whom is a former student of mine. Awesome.

In the evening, we had a Shakespeare’s pizza and some fresh Happy Hollow spinach, and I received a very inspiring message from a student I taught at Parkview High School 37 years ago. We reminisced, and he admitted that, though his mind was mostly on music, girls, and beer, I got his attention and he’s always remembered the class (though I barely knew what I was doing). He was in a band at the time, and he sent me a pic of us apiece from that year. That made my night.

I fell asleep thinking about the words of our departed friend, Jo Steitz: “If someone’s not adding color to your life, you don’t need them.”

Streaming for Strivers:

Always relevant, unfortunately.

Cloister Commentary, Day 293: It Was Carnival Time

I felt mentally and emotionally exhausted by the events of January 6–almost hung-over, and I was sober as a judge throughout. I threw myself into constructive activities (a Zoom faculty meeting–you know I was desperate when I put a faculty meeting in that category–a great book, a curbside library pick-up, some straightening and cleaning, getting Nicole’s lunch ready), but my body forced me into a snoring nap in the afternoon that I hope didn’t disrupt my wife’s teaching. After dinner, we had a strong discussion about the state of the country, then watched a cleansing music documentary, The Go-Betweens: Right Here.

Just before I fell asleep, I realized that the Capitol Shame caused me to miss musically celebrating the beginning of Carnival season for the first time in several years (I’m neither Catholic, nor a New Orleanian, but I like the feeling and the ritual). But at least, with a last glance at my damn phone, I could whisper, “Ding Dong! The Witch is Gone!” Her wreckage, however, remains.

Streaming for Strivers:

Better late than never. By the way, that’s FERNEST Arceneaux.

Cloister Commentary, Day 291: In the Chair, Happily

Most folks don’t enjoy going to the dentist. I’ve been going to the same one for almost 30 years (Dr. Shelly Lyle), and though I had one rough period when she seemed to keep the music tuned to “The Carpenters Station” and my usual hygienist liked to unsubtly trash Hickman even while knowing I taught there (“Aren’t there a lot of thugs there?” grrrrrrr), I have NO complaints, and I’ve actually been fascinated by how she’s kept the clinic up to date with the newest technology. Yesterday I had to go in for a cleaning (they open at 7 a.m., another cool thing), and it was actually a highlight of the day. My favorite hygienist of all-time, Jordan (John and Cecilia, she comes from great stock!), was back on the scene, she used a new anti-COVID aerosol suction that was more comfortable than the usual, and Dr. Lyle adjusted a crown replacement she’d done for me (free of charge; the original cracked), which made me feel like a new man–it had been quietly driving me crazy for months, and I’d written it off to my imagination. Also, Tina Turner was on the sound system.

Moral of the story: go get your danged check-up!

The other big highlight? I am sure some of you occasional fall asleep watching late-night programming, even when it’s fantastic, and because I rise before the sun and will occasionally have a late cocktail, I’m especially prone. I’ve raved in the past about director Steve McQueen’s masterpiece limited series Small Axe (available on Amazon Prime), but, after a long and stressful day, I’d zoned out for the middle 15 minutes of the final episode, “Education.” After putting it off for about a month, I re-watched it, and it hit me hard. It stands alone–every teacher should watch it–but the whole five-episode series, illuminating the experience of black West Indians in England, will ring through the coming years. I promise.

Thought about Georgia all day. Apparently those thoughts were not wasted….

Streaming for Strivers:

We are.

Cloister Commentary, Day 279: Tasmanian Devils on the Eve of Yule

Christmas Eve doings, with my love, my brother and sister-in-law, and mom all healthy, happy and in tow. (Well, Myra has a boot on, but at least she didn’t have to use it on anyone)…

Enjoyed a slowly unfolding morning with family company, coffee, good books, and Nicole’s cookies (both peanut butter and chocolate chip).

Got bundled up and took a long walk (I’d estimate around three miles) even though temp was in the low twenties. It was bracing and wonderful, as the sun shone on us.

Broke into the annual bottle of Tasmanian single malt whiskey my brother Brian brings that bears our name, then hopped onto the “International Overeem Facebook Group Page” (not its real name), posted a selfie, and got caught up. I wish I understood Dutch, but I appreciate the translations.

Played a fun round of Five Crown, finished last as usual, and played deejay. I hope Mom appreciated Mojo Nixon and The Toad Liquors’ Horny Holidays, as it is not exactly Andy Williams style! Opening line: “It was the night before Christmas / And everything was all [effed] up!” And it gets better/worse from there.

Supped upon Brian’s chicken and andouille gumbo–delicious, had to have two bowls!

Closed down the day with Netflix’s Dolly Parton documentary, Here I Am, which was a perfect way to end the day. I recommend it.

We agreed to stay masked except for when outdoors, eating, and in our bedroom. It was difficult, but we did it, and it was worth it. We were all missing Dad, but he’d have been happy we didn’t linger over it much.

Have a great holiday, readers, and thanks for following this project!

Streaming for Survivors:

An all-time favorite.

Cloister Commentary, Day 261: English Teacher’s Nightmare

A dream with COVID nuances, so it’s relevant.

I was invited back to my old school to be a guest speaker (I thought). Turns out I was invited back to guide and introduce the guest speaker, who turned out to be the very last person on Earth for whom I would want to do those honors. I didn’t find that out until I was already on-site and walking down the hallway to meet him. His security detail was the actor Tom Hardy. I led them to the auditorium, but as we were about to enter, the guest grunted, “I have to take a dump.” He and Agent Hardy went into the bathroom and, figuring it would be awhile, I went on out into the auditorium, which was packed with students in groups of 10-15, but maskless.

Immediately one of the students ran up to me and said, “There is a big problem and you need to figure it out before the speaker speaks!” I asked him, “Are you in Literacy Seminar, because the key will be in that room.” He said, “Yeah, it’s right over here,” and pointed to an open classroom and bookcase situated in the front right corner of the auditorium. I hurried over, looking for my long-time colleague Jessica, but instead there were three very robotic co-teachers teaching the class.

I told them with great urgency, “I need to find a specific book that always worked with my kids, but I can’t remember the title, the main character’s name, or the plot–if I can see the title it’ll come right back to me.” My frustration with my own memory was vividly palpable in the dream, since I’ve been experiencing it while awake.

One of the robots said, “Well, sir, that’ll be a problem,” and gestured toward the bookcase: all the books were shelved with their spines facing toward the back of the bookcase.

I burst out, “How the hell do you find a book around here?”

The robot replied, “You have to know exactly where it is. We haven’t read a book this semester,” then giggled and rolled her eyes.

I craned my neck and saw The Guest and Agent Hardy emerging from the hallway, both with toilet paper trailing a shoe.

At that point, I broke out of the dream and sat bolt upright in bed, trying to remember the protagonist’s name, but finally realizing there was no actual book. In the dream, I remember thinking the author was Corey Hayden, but dismissing that; all I know is the hero was a young girl who had powers of divination. But I am so grateful I awakened when I did.

Dreams are boring-ass boring, but this one was so Kafkaesque I had to share it. It was my second return-to-Hickman dream in a week. I dedicate this post to my friends Rex Harris and, of course, Mrs. Lucas.

Streaming for Strivers:

When I think of dreams and music, I often think of this plectrist.

Cloister Commentary, Day 257: Past-Tense Verbs Galore

Ended my semester tutoring at Stephens. Didn’t do any sessions in person, but it was encouraging that we did not have a decrease in tutoring requests but did have one in cancelled appointments. My only in-person interaction with students was to notarize a few absentee and mail-in ballots. I miss students, but I’ve stayed healthy and so have most on Stephens’ campus. Looks like more of the same next semester; I hope my on-line comp class makes.

Had to get another blood panel run (nothing major). The poor intern tasked with drawing my blood might have been too distracted by my kitten mask (made by my mom), since she couldn’t draw blood in three sticks. The head nurse got the needle in and blood drawn while I was still explaining the mask to the intern.

Made a decent effort to curb a few habits. Kept myself to one small cup of coffee and no unhealthy snacks. Nicole prepared an Indian dish with butter sauce that was scrumptious and found some good pre-packaged garlic naan at the store.

Spent the evening continuing to bury my nose in Lee Smith‘s Saving Grace. If you need a high-quality page-turner that is sure to beat the pants off Hillbilly Elegy, check it out. Also, listened to some VINTAGE Western swing from the Thirties. That stuff never gets old, and it’s got serious juice.

Dreamed I was substituting at Hickman. The hallways were realistic, but when I entered my room, first it was shoebox-size with 35 students (I counted), then it elasticized to the size of a lecture hall, with the students suddenly very socially distanced. There was a foosball table a few juvenile delinquent types claimed the teacher let them play every day (BS, but why the table?); the ten students that had to sign out to go to tutoring just left without my signature; the remaining students laughed at me for saying reading could save them, but then were surprised not only that I was going to teach the lesson plan but knew my sh*t. Then a cat woke me up.

I miss students.

Streaming for Strivers:

Wills and his Playboys in autumn.

Cloister Commentary, Day 255: Cold, Cold, Cold

Yesterday was the first realllllly cold morning of the pandemic, and I don’t know about you, but it felt much different than past first-cold-mornings. In some ways, one would expect this experience has toughened us up; however, the isolation–especially if one bit the bullet and stayed put this Thanksgiving–adds a new dimension to meeting wintery weather.

Work was slow for me. Few of Stephens’ students are on campus for finals, and neither of those facts held out the promise of a tutoring appointment. Also, the Success Center and library warriors–the only folks IN the library other than wee ones and their teachers on the top floor–are still sticking to their offices (though we don’t have to at this point, I’m keeping my door shut so I can comfortably work without a mask). Maybe that, too, made the cold colder.

I’ve mentioned this before, but The New York Times Magazine’s THE DECAMERON PROJECT collects pandemic stories from 23 of the world’s best writers (even more are featured on line). If you’re one who believes the only thing coming out of newspapers is “fake news,” I have news for you: the motto of the collection is “When reality is surreal, only fiction can make sense of it,” and these aces fully realize that motto. Names you might recognize? Margaret Atwood, Edwidge Danticat, David Mitchell, Tommy Orange, Karen Russell, Rachel Kushner, and Victor LaValle. It’s now in book form, but you can also read it on-line. I recommend Russell’s “Line 19 Woodstock / Glisen” as a teaser; Nicole and I both loved it.

Streaming for Strivers:

Hearkening back to my eight-track days–I played the pee-waddin’ out of this one.

Cloister Commentary, Day 249: Sip, Bicker, Banter, and Clown

Yesterday was Nicole’s last day of teaching before a five-day holiday break. I am happy to have her with me during those days relatively undistracted; we are not able to travel under these circumstances, and though we have spent more time in each other’s presence this year than in any of the 30+ years we’ve been together, I will really need her, and I suspect she won’t mind having me doggedly by her side.

While she taught, I read a terrific graphic novel by Mark Russell, Steve Pugh, and Chris Chuckry, Billionaire Island. It’s around 150 pages long, but I don’t think I even shifted my ass on the couch between the first and last of them. Stunning, unsparing–yeah, unsparing, especially for the reader–and relevant.

We had simple ol’ baked taters for dinner, and with drinks in hand (we would learn that was perfectly appropriate), we watched William Powell and Myrna Loy sip and banter and bicker and clown their way through The Thin Man. Not the most fantastic movie ever filmed, but their chemistry was worth it.

Streaming for Strivers:

Wish I was. Will be there in spirit.

Also, this player is 50 years gone as of today but what he left behind still cuts to the heart. This recording is from before his breakthrough but I treasure it.

Cloister Commentary, Day 240: An Ominous Pall

As I’ve previously reported, COVID cases are going through the roof in our county; we’ve exceeded 100 new cases in a day almost every day for almost two weeks, and our hospitals are becoming overwhelmed. Still, some folks are denying the virus even exists and refusing to take precautions (must their family and friends be struck for them to accept it?), and, with the city choosing not to report new cases over the weekend, we will be holding our breath awaiting today’s report. Nicole only has two more days of working in person during the week ahead (I am working on my campus, but in seclusion with only virtual interactions), but the occurrence of any feverish flash or sudden aches and pains can bring us ominous worry. What this had to do with yesterday, if it isn’t already apparent, is that ominous worry cast a pall over proceedings.

We were able to Zoom with family, piddle around, and feed ourselves (a friend brought by some eats later in the day, too). It was just a day where one didn’t even feel like going outside at all. We should have; that might have helped.

Streaming for Survivors:

Cajuns aren’t monolithic.

Cloister Commentary, Day 237: Musical Pharmaceutical

An explosion of COVID cases, over a week of 100+ new ones daily, has us reeling–“us” referring to the community as well as our household, as Nicole is currently teaching in person and battling with several students to get them to wear masks properly. I am fortunate to be very isolated in my tutoring work; I’ve found it surprisingly easy to tutor over Zoom, and the Stephens Success Center has actually experienced an increase in tutorial sessions and a decrease in cancelled appointments.

In other health news–well, let me first say that my friend and music-loving brother Bryan Stuart and I one strange night wrote and recorded a Johnny Cash parody entitled “Prescription Bound”; I’ve written and co-written a handful of songs in my life, and that might just be my favorite. Neither of our eyes were dry after knocking it out. Suffice it to say that “Prescription Bound” is what I was yesterday, rounding up refills to treat my high cholesterol and my sudden crop-up of afib. Our insurance won’t cover the best meds for the latter, so when my samples of that run out, I will probably be battling the side effects of the generic meds that are covered, particularly drowsiness, my least favorite state of being.

Speaking of music, friendship, and aging, Nicole and I spent our Thursday Movie Night on Springsteen on Broadway. I go way back with Bruce: he hung the moon for me from the time I was 15 to the time I turned 25–I remember once seriously hampering a date because my main concern was picking up Born in the USA at Liberty Sound in Springfield the day it came out in ’85–but we fell out soon afterward, and the combination of his growing self-seriousness and his shrinking sense of humor and fun kept me from making up with him (artistically speaking). It’s clear he’s a righteous dude, but that does not guarantee creative brilliance. I quite liked his memoir, and as a result sampled about 15 minutes of the show. I thought what I saw corny, strained, mildly self-aggrandizing, awkward, and strangely uncomfortable. However, and I’m quite used to this outcome, I was very wrong. We have the last 20-30 minutes to watch, but it is stunning in its myth-puncturing, passion, and nakedness. These days, I can’t much take the way he sings, but I love to hear him talk, and the balance is perfect. Highly recommended, and being an older gent myself who’s experienced some loss and self-discovery lately made the experience extremely real.

Streaming for Survivors:

Musical pharmaceutical, right here.