Standing at Point B, Alone

Author's Note:

Here we are, again, at the end of the semester. Mission accomplished.
I lead over 200 students from Point A to Point B.

As I've mentioned before, this
arrangement suites me just fine.

I savor the journey each semester, quite thankful for
the students who cross my life.

And then, as those beloved students scatter off at
the end of each semester, I deeply enjoy the solitude.

************************************************

Today is one of my favorite days of the year.

I'm standing at Point B, alone.

The view is fabulous and familiar.

Quiet. Secluded.

No cellphone reception.

Later on, after entering all the final grades, I will find the quietest spot, face the wind and let the sun warm me as I wish each and every student great blessings and wisdom on their roads to Points C and beyond.

Then I will take off my heels, put my hair in a ponytail and swim alone in the sinkhole of a lake I found up here at the end of a particularly challenging semester when I was stuck a bit too long at Point B.

My swim will be a cleansing baptism to release regret and remorse, especially the haunting tortuous ideas of what I could have done better.

I will swim until I am exhausted, sated, smiling, and hungry.

After that, I sneak down my secret shortcut back to Point A again, where students will meet me on May 8, ready for their adventures.

Until then, I guess I'm just on vacation.

Ruined!!!

Dear this semester's students -

Your portfolio essays are amazing.

They are exceeding my hopes and expectations by leaps and bounds.
I had no idea that I've been surrounded by such a talented pack of writers, comedians, and storytellers for the past four months.

There is no way I could have predicted that so many of you stepped up, brought your A game, and took this assignment so seriously.

Some professors complain about the declining quality of writing that they see each year. I disagree. This is the best overall writing I have seen as a grad student or a professor (1990-2007).

Which, of course, means that I am ruined.

I cannot even *imagine* how next semester's students could or would be able to hold a candle to you.

They, will of course, thank you ALL for the fact that I'm going to amp up the take-home essay portion of my class.

More one-page essays, more self-evaluation, more primary research.

That means they'll work *harder* than you did.

And I will probably curse you for all that extra grading.

You have totally ruined everything for everyone else.

I hope you are all happy.

Dear Brazil,

I have come to a point in my life where I choose to live in openness and daylight.

It is time for you and I to make our relationship public.

I can no longer keep our secret, especially in light of what I'm about to do.

The box, the suits, packing up.

But I get ahead of myself.

We had a good time for a few months in Spring 1994, when I took that Ph.D. level Research Seminar on the History of Brazil.

Remember how much fun we shared when I researched the colony of Confederates families who decided to escape the War Between the States? Remember how they loaded their slaves up and took a boat to Brazil where slavery was very very much alive? That was a cool paper.

Then things changed.

I started teaching survey-level Latin American history courses to freshmen who had no idea where Mexico was and who confused "encomienda" with "enchilada"

I had to teach them big picture things about Spanish colonialism, then the rise of nations in the wake of the Napoleonic Wars. Liberalism, socialism, export dependency, communist revolutions, indigenous rights, the World Bank.

1470-1994 is a lot of years to cover for 26 countries, so I cut the English speaking Caribbean.

And Guayana. But not Haiti. I never even considered dropping Haiti.

So, Brazil, I cut you. Not entirely of course, that would be irresposible. I assigned readings on you, but hid you from lectures. Connected you to nothing, and probably left you dangling in the student's minds,

I'm sorry.

Sorry I did that, and sorry I didn't say that I'm sorry sooner.

You almost got the last word, didn't you?

Remember how I almost failed my PhD comps and faced permanent expulsion from the Ph.D. program because of a "borderline essay" on Brazilian history?

Remember how I had to study you, sit in the library with you for weeks and weeks, fearful, annoyed, bored?

You do remember? Good. Because we know how it ends. Nine years ago (this week) I officially earned my Ph.D.

I no longer hated you, but I had absolutely no love for you, besides random references in my lectures to the Mad Queen Maria.

So, Brazil my friend, our friendship is thirteen years old. It is very very important to me.

I know we've had our ups and downs so I wanted to warn you about something.

This week I was talking to a Barb about how I need some support and encouragement packing up the kids too-small clothes and some of my too-big clothes and getting them to Goodwill instead of the garage.

Barb suggested I donate all the clothes to her brother and sister-in-law who just finished building a church in Brazil, and who send clothes and supplies to Brazil.

Brazil! GUESS WHAT????

I'm sending you 4 boxes of kids clothes (girls sizes 5 - 6x, boys size 2T), 1 big box of regular clothes, then one marked SERTAO.

Inside of that last box, you will find every bit of clothing I owned which had shoulder pads.

Before you laugh too hard I want you to know that most of the biggest-shoulder-padded-jackets have collected dust in my closet for years while I both refused to wear them AND ould not in good conscience allow them out of the house where they could tragically re-enter the wardrobe of an unsuspecting thrift-shop virgin.

It is my deep desire that this box of jackets be distributed far and wide in the provincial capitals of Brazil, from whence this fashion-forward-detail will spread into Brasilia and Rio, then up to South Beach, and finally to the racks at Target.

I promise you I will laugh about our "little secret" as your history splashes back into mine.

Sincerely,

Melissa

My Present to You!

Need a study break?

Tired of grading final exams?

Want to mentally doodle? Click on the link below.

Try looking at the art while you mentally rehearse some of the stuff you're studying.

Or daydream.

Find your inner artist and philosopher.

You have my permission.

http://www.jacksonpollock.org/

Hope, A Brother and Another

(To my friend who is gracefully allowing us hold her hand during this unexpectedly dark time)

Hope glowed through you, my friend.
Beautiful, peaceful, eternal, real.

Your child was visible
and loved
and welcomed by so many of us
who, too, feel the darkness today.

Now Hope has gone ahead
joining a brother
and another

Watching over the parents
they will love
unbound
for all eternity
a family.

Zack, Zoe Video--- Surprise Ending! (or is it???)

My Daughter Sends Me Hate Mail on Facebook

Subject OVER!
from Zoe Lemon
7:46pm April 16th

YOU AND I ARE OVER WITH LOVE AND I MEAN IT....................

------------------------------------------
Dear Zoe,

I am so proud that you are a good writer, that you love to read and that you have lots of stories to tell.

Please leave the "hating" for after you become a teenager.

Love,
Your Mom

(( the one who promised to take you to Pollo Tropical and will continue to hold that over your head to make sure you are a kind sweet girl all week.....))

Dear Tita, You Can Have Everything

My Mom, Tita, has everything. A fantastic career, an-almost-remodeled home, a skinny healthy husband, four new grandchildren, children and her parents.

That's right, Tita's parents are holding on to live to see the day that Castro dies and Cuba is free.
It's a battle of wills, and my money is on Abuela.

So Tita, I can understand why you'd want to spend Mother's Day with Abuela. She's fun, she's easy to please, and you can just sit on the beach, face the sun and have quiet time with your Mom on Mother's Day.

But at the same time, don't you want to see me?
My new dresses?
Your grandchildren?
Mickey Mouse?
Bibbidy Bobbidy Boutique?
Tiki Room?
The new ride at Mexico?

If we go early on Friday May 11, we can spend two days together.
Sunday you can leave extra early, go see your Mother, sit on the beach.

Abuela doesn't wake up until noon anyway, right?

Isn't she up all night watching Sabado Gigante? Waiting to hear about Castro?

Say YES!

Zoe' sPoem (March 11) FLowers

Flowers
by Zoe Maria Lemon

Roses
Nice as could be
Flowers on bushes, oh gee!

Jasmines, red and yellow
I think these flowers are fellows

And flowers galore
I bring flowers out to shore
I hope I grow more.

Zoe's Poem (March 10, 2007) Laughter

LAUGHTER
By Zoe Maria Lemon

If you don't feel laughter
on a good day
Laughter won't come to you
on the next day.

Zoe's Poem of the Day: "THE LOVE"

THE LOVE
by Zoe Maria Lemon
4/13/07

Love is laughter
it's love
is to capture
it's like a cap

sometimes it makes you laugh
it makes you happy not sad
plus glad

Love makes you glad when it rains

Love makes it feel like you're on a train

And when rainbows come

It will never be done.

Very Very Still

If and when I've had a hard day -- or week or month for that matter -- I have generally had better sense than to write about it.

Nope. Keep your best face forward, stay upbeat, smile through anything.

For a very very long time I distracted myself from pain by creating smaller pains, ones that I could manage and control.

 Or at least blame myself for, then fix.And if you think I'm going to write more about that, here, now, I giggle at your reckless optimism.

This has been a hard week.
You haven't read about it here, but it's been in my eyes, in my voice, on my face and all around me.

This time, I stood still.

I didn't fear the pain.

The wave will pass, the flowers will bloom again, and while cute dresses don't fix everything, they do certainly keep good company.

Fish: Hostages or Pets?

I can think of no good reason that Zoe should not be allowed to fish in Lake Goldfish.

Except that the fish have names, and we would miss them.

Roscoe, French Fry, Neptune, Fatty, Mr. Clown, Lena, Lexi.

I was clearly not around for the naming ceremony, but I think I know which fish is which.

Which is why I get upset when I see Zoe fish round-bellied orange white and black spotted Roscoe out of Lake Goldfish with a net, toss her in the air like a pizza, then laugh when Roscoe cannonballs back into the water.

Maybe this is how Zoe is showing she is ready for a dog?

It could be time. She needs something to run with, play with, to blame when she can't find her shoes in the morning.

Nah.

I'm buying her a fishing pole.

(ps--> Zoe just read that all out loud and is punching me. Shouldn't she be in bed? Helloo? Tita?? Come put your grandbaby to bed. Thanks. Hurry. Ciao ~)

I Did Not Walk Out in Anger

Just in case you hear it differently, I want to explain my side and maybe offer a pre-apology to innocent bystanders.

When I walked out today, it was not in anger. My anger drives me to fight, win, stay put and battle.

Anger is an engaging emotion. Today, I disengaged.

It was about respect.

Today was the tip of the iceberg, the last moment after a series of events, attitudes, small and big things that I had hoped to either fix or ignore.

Ignoring a consistent pattern of disrespect became unacceptable and exhausting, so I did the most appropriate thing.

I gave notice and left.

I think my exact words were "If you're going to act like I'm already done and gone, then I'll just leave."

And so I spun around in my navy blue wrap dress, left, and didn't look back.

Which means now I must make amends to the ones who did absolutely nothing wrong.

After I work out.

Because even if I'm not angry, a little sweating wouldn't hurt.

Zack Singing to a Chair

Zack is always singing little songs to himself, inventing new rhythms, humming, happy.

I captured a bit of it here for you!

Zack Dancing Before School

Zack Dancing Before School this morning.

And, I think, eating Easter candy.

This is a regular Tuesday morning rock out session in my little world.

Kids Crazy on Sugar

Zack dressed as Iona; Zoe Bossing Him Around

Not What You Would Expect

Zoe has her arm protectively around her brother, escorting him to the door for an evening outing with their father.

Zack is squirming from her sister's dominating hug, weilding a red plastic hanger, squealing with delight while whacking the crap out of my good sofa.

I am in the kitchen making fat free pumpkin spice muffins, which I will only bring to work tomorrow if they turn out good.

I don't have a great feeling about them so far, and am poking through cabinets looking for something interesting to add.

Bran flakes? Maybe Raisins? Probably. Pineapple? Interesting.

Then I found a can of cranberry jelly that I will never ever eat because I do Thanksgiving Cuban-style, and decided to throw it away. Immediately.

As I was lunging down from the stepladder I overheard Zoe telling her brother -- in a very very motherly tone -- "Now Zachary, I don't want to see you pull out your pee-pee tonight...."

More Random

My worst habit is that I hang up clothes inside out.

Awful.

Rotten.

I hate that about myself.

Here's my big secret. Sometimes I get angry at my clothes. I'll pull them on, then curse part of the outfit because it doesn't work with my bra, my pants, this sweater or whatever.

I yank the offending garment off and condemn the garment to the closet floor.

Then I regroup, pick it up from the floor, give it an apologetic hug and promise to wear it another day.

But since I'm always trying to run extra and extra more early, I throw it back on a hanger, inside out.

By then, I'm dressed, ready to make lunches and do the rest of the morning dash.

If I go fast enough, I can have a nice cup of coffee before waking the kids up. Watch CNN. Eat slowly.

So that's why my shirts are inside out.

It's a bad bad habit that I'll kick in a few years and probably miss.

Random

I am so so sick of the two shows Zack and Zoe love the best - Dora the Explorer and The Naked Brothers Band.

Maybe better parents would steer their children away from the TV, but I need my rugrats to be distracted while I cook, write, do laundry.

So it seems to me that perhaps I share co-parenting shifts with Nickelodeon, Comcast, crayola, Go-gurt, fritos and the Easter Bunny.

It works.

From the Other Day

YES I have other writing to do. And yes, grading. Loads. But here are some new pictures.

The one of me is a from after the shoot 2 weeks ago ~ I took it when I got home to prove the point that photo-ready makeup only looks good in pictures. The makeup artist put this purply stuff on my eyes and it didn't look so good in "real life".

Oh, can you tell I was trying to look stern? No?

My eyes were laughing. As usual.

The pictures with the kids are documenting a new ritual called "worship the bunny" -

Enjoy.

Incomplete List of Things I Cannot (Will Not) Say No To

1) chocolate covered malted milk ball easter eggs

2) free oil change ( as if anyone has offered!)

3) any chance to take a long walk on the beach

4) MAC lip glass lipgloss

5) pin-up styled polka-dot dresses with swirly swingy skirts

6) a really cute pair of open-toed high heeled pumps

Buddha Bush Easter Joy

Behold my Buddha bush, the formerly sullen red climber I think is really called Don Juan.

On Ash Wednesday I pruned this bush, fertilized it, wrote with on the trellis "all that we are is a result of what we have thought - Buddha."

Can you see it?

It isn't very good.

I agree.

About three words into it I hated it, but since I was already balanced on garden rocks, reaching up six feet, trying to maneuver a slippery Sharpie pen between thorns, I figured I might as well consider this "practice" and finish it quickly.

It was more important to get it done immediately than make it into a work of art.

Just like my pretend throne-grotto-Santeria altar which I started back during Spring Break and haven't yet finished.

I am not at all bothered by the fact that there are things in my life which are undone, loose ends, not-quite-perfect yet.

My poetry garden is a work in progress.

Like me.

I had the most transformative Lent imaginable.

Every single day for the past six weeks I have found time to visit my Buddha bush, read his poem, and meditate by the Lake Goldfish. That helped me give up the one last thing that was holding me back from finally growing up all the way and becoming who I'm going to become.

Now I have tan legs, twelve new size 8 dresses, sixteen roses, a big smile and peace.

Happy Easter from me and my Buddha bush ~

The Dude, Country Bunny and the Princess

Morning Rush

So yesterday Zoe and I posed in her messy bathroom before school. And yes, I've cleaned the bathroom since then. With lysol....

Who could make this stuff UP?

Yes, More Lysol-ish Ads

http://scriptorium.lib.duke.edu/adaccess/BH/BH02/BH0213-72dpi.jpeg

Lysol, A Multi-Purpose Product

http://i80.photobucket.com/albums/j186/momsquawk/lysol.jpg

OK, for those of you who have heard about the Lysol story....
here is the ad that I use discussing consumerism....
And sex.
And odd things that have been used for birthcontrol.

Picture This

This is the dress I am wearing today.

Do you LOVE it? Very 80s retro.

Of course, that isn't me in the picture.

I stole that pic from Macys.com.

This poor model has NO tetas, no culita,

too many bracelets

and a freakishly large jaw.

Guessing from the vacuous look in her eyes

(and the large hoop earrings)

she probably hasn't finished HER Ph.D. yet.

Melissa, 2000

This weekend I bought dresses.

Several of them.

And this is a very, very big deal.

Seven years ago, before kids, before a temporary career change, before gaining (and losing) baby weight, I wore dresses every day.

After having Zoe, I didn't buy any dresses because it is impossible to breastfeed in a dress without showing underwear (think about it....)

After having Zack I didn't buy any dresses because, well, things were tight.

I wore hand-me-down suits, bought a few shirts, and made due.

All the extra money went to the kids, the house, grown-up things.

It was the right thing to do. Then.

But now I'm back.

I'm a dress girl. I'm me, again. And it feels fantastic.

I feel latina, I feel curvy, powerful and a bit ballerina-like.

So please excuse me if I spin around, laugh, and completely sink back into my freedom again.