Monthly Archives: August 2018
TGIF
I am so glad it’s Friday. Even though I had Tuesday off, it still feels like it’s been a long week. There has been a lot to get done. I will be especially busy at work today. I’ve got some writing to do for the next exhibit, which opens next Friday. The weekend will be spent grading. I hate to have to spend the weekend grading, but the term ends Sunday. I have one more term teaching online at this university and then I will be done with them. I do not like or agree with their style of learning.
Exercise
I’m trying to get back into the routine of exercising again. I joined Planet Fitness and have been going with a coworker of mine. It’s so much more helpful/motivational when you have someone to go with you. So far we have just been doing the elliptical and treadmill. I’m not in very good shape and my workout partner had a foot injury and has not been able to exercise much in the last few months, so we are starting out slowly. Each time we are working out more and more. I need to start eating better and working out more. I’ve got to get my weight down to something more manageable.
Annoying Things
Vermont can be an annoying state. With all their rules and regulations, they go overboard. Case in point, I’m having to go have my car inspected for it’s Vermont inspection. It’s already been inspected in New Hampshire where I bought it. I bought my car in New Hampshire because it was a couple of thousand dollars cheaper over there. Though it’s been inspected in New Hampshire, it is not a valid inspection in Vermont. I was told by the DMV, “We are looking for different things.” How ridiculous is that? Should all car inspections be the same no matter what state it is. I grew up in Alabama where inspections were not required. I like that way better.
Coastal Plain
Coastal Plain
by Kathryn Stripling Byer
The only clouds
forming are crow clouds,
the only shade, oaks
bound together in a tangle of oak
limbs that signal the wind
coming, if there is any wind
stroking the flat
fields, the flat
swatch of corn.
Far as anyone’s eye can see, corn’s
dying under the sky
that repeats itself either as sky
or as water
that won’t remain water
for long on the highway: its shimmer
is merely the shimmer
of one more illusion that yields
to our crossing as we ourselves yield
to our lives, to the roots
of our landscape. Pull up the roots
and what do we see but the night
soil of dream, the night
soil of what we call
home. Home that calls
and calls
and calls.
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The Closet Professor 