Nemesis

Nemesis seems to have more meanings than I realized. Because I truly haven't many and prefer to forget hostilities with people, I have chosen to deal with the meaning: a source of downfall or ruin. Three nemeses(pl) come immediately to mind: grading research papers, keeping "stuff," and procrastinating.

Undoubtedly one of the happiest part of my recent retirement is that I will never again have to grade another research paper!!!!!!!!! Once or twice a year for the last 30 years I have lost the better part of eight weeks of my life reading and correcting 105, give or take 15, research papers or required parts(outline, intro, bib cards, works cited lists) of them. I dreaded them more and more as the years went along and the quality diminished and the plagiarism increased. Now, NEVER AGAIN!

My other two nemeses are still challenges I am far from mastering. Ha! I am still FAR from even getting a grip on either of them. And the procrastination exacerbates the "stuff" keeping to the extreme. Possibly some of my problem with saving everything comes naturally from being raised by my mother, God love her, who was one of a family of ll children raised during the Great Depression. But I am one of those people who firmly believes that within 2 months of getting rid of something that is still useful, I WILL need that very item and will waste time and money going out to buy another, less-well-made version of that same tool, utensil, whatever. But I am now in the late middle stages of losing my house in my junk. It is becoming a case of "I don't even know how to start," so the procrastination takes over and I think of all the easier things I need to do more or could complete in a nice short time. Then I convince myself that those completable tasks are a much better use of my time. Procrastination also takes on the persona of Guilt and won't let me do things I'd love to do, like read the stacks of wonderful, highly-recommended books I have all over the house----more of the stuff adding to the clutter---or spend more time writing, UNTIL I have really made a dent in recovering the house. It is a vicious circle, an endless frustration, a "Catch 22."

I think this particular writing is probably the poorest piece of writing I have posted because it goes nowhere and has no resolution or even conclusion. But perhaps its one successful aspect is that it certainly illustrates the definition I chose of nemesis: a source of downfall or ruin. Haven't yet figured out how to deal with these arch-enemies; can't even write about them effectively.

Heros

A hero can be anyone---male or female, old or young, of any social status or nationality---who in a bad situation selflessly does the "right" thing, regardless of personal risk or sacrifice. The most important aspects of this, my personal definition, are selflessly and the "right," as in moral, good, proper, as well as appropriate.

As a teacher, I can remember when all of us who taught junior high English began to realize together and with great dismay that approached horror, that young people had no real comprehension of human heros. Asking students to write either journal entries or character sketches of a personal hero had been standard fare for years, when gradually we all began to realize that students had no concept of "heros" except "super heros" as in comic books and movies. When asked to write about a hero, a very few would write about Abraham Lincoln or Martin Luther King, Jr. or one of our other historical giants. But most would go off into wild fantasy about Superman or Spiderman, Batman or WonderWoman, or--Heaven forbid--some video game champion, none of whom I can even name except what's-her-name the boob chick (oh, I remember, Laura Croft).

If it is not sacrilege to find some good out of the horror of September 11, 2001, then that good must surely include the enrichment of America's concept of the personal or everyday hero; which is, as far as I am concerned, the truest form of hero. First to come to mind, of course, are New York City's police and firemen, and next, the courageous passengers of United flight 93, who, fully understanding they could not save themselves, nonetheless, gave their last full measure of effort to keep their plane from becoming yet another deadly missle destroying more lives and property on the ground. However, even the ordinary working people who led or carried fellow workers and/or strangers from the twin towers or from the Pentagon, completely fit into my definition of hero. Many, many others do as well, in ordinary situations too numerous and varied to even try to list. On that day and in the months that followed, all the world could again see and point to examples of personal heroism.

Finally America's young people again understood what heros were. Now, again, as when I was young, students actually see the heroism in ordinary people. We now realize that the neighbor who goes into the house of an elderly or handicapped neighbor when a fire is discovered is a hero; that the first driver on-scene at the collision of one or several other cars, who not only phones 911, but goes to check on the people, pull them out if possible, and begin artificial respiration if needed, is just as much a real hero.

There are even everyday people who can be seen as heros because they represent a valued ideal or simply treat others in such a kind and honorable way that they present a standard others strive to emulate. In this vein, many of us may consider our parents or siblings to be heros, especially after they are gone.

Heros--male or female--enrich our lives and enrich the meaning of life itself. They show us the very best of humanity. They give us hope that this world is actually a little better place that the newspaper and television tend to make us believe. If you believe, as I do, in a heavenly afterlife, it might be said that heros give us a little vision of heaven here on earth.

Drive my own life

In many of my blogs, I have expressed a sense of loss for certain elements and attitudes of the America I grew up in during the 50's and 60's, but today's topic---Diane Ackerman's quote about not wanting to be a passenger in my own life---provides me the opportunity to celebrate one specific fabulous aspect of this America; that is our freedom as women of the late 20th/early 21st century to choose our activities and careers for ourselves.

As an American literature teacher, I have really enjoyed teaching Kate Chopin's very short story "The Story of an Hour." Chopin, in her time, scandalized society with her ahead-of-her-time willingness to acknowledge that women had ideas, dreams, and desires of their own. Most of my students today don't even understand the story without a second reading and some background information about the role of a wife in Chopin's time period. (They simply perceive the main character to be a selfish, unkind, unfeeling woman who never really liked her husband at all-----if that is what you thought also, go read it again, and pay attention to all the small details and their implications.) Those were the days when women were not even asked to share ideas with men in conversation, much less asked for input in decision making. One did exactly what one's husband suggested, cooked the foods he wanted to eat, went to the places he wanted to go, and otherwise stayed home having babies and raising them and doing the "women's work" necessary to keep the house running smoothly and in such a manner that nothing interfered with the master-of-the-house's peace of mind or digestion. Even if one had a very thoughtful & caring husband, the best she could expect was that he would do for her or buy for her things he thought she would like.

I really think my mother provided me with a wonderful role model of both ways: the first half of her life she was the driver of her own life, although she was a child in the first quarter of the 1900s. One of 11 children, they were told if they wanted a college education they must work their way through. Almost all of them chose to do so. But along the way she lived. At about 20, Mom and her next older sister booked passage on a steamer to Paris. Many were the stories she regaled my brother and me and my best friend with about the adventures of that trip. When they returned to the states she worked for money to go to college, then attended college on work-study programs. I believe she got her degree when she was nearly 30, but she also met Dad there, tho' they were not married until after he was involved in World War II. While he was overseas, she was employed by the government, living on ration coupons and working as a home demonstration agent, showing young homemakers how to stretch their money and foodstuffs to feed families while husbands were away. When Daddy returned, they started our family. At this point Mom became a typical 1950's full time wife & mother, like Donna Reed and Harriet Nelson. One might say she then became a passenger in her own life, but I don't look at it that way. This was a choice she made. She was home, showered and dressed, with dinner on the table when he came home from work; but in the daytime she was garden club president and active in the church in addition to getting the housework done.

I cannot imagine living the life my mother lived, even though I loved her in it and cannot wish to have had my childhood life situation any different. But my independence is something I value. Some might laugh that I believe myself independent, since I have been married to the same terrific man for over 35 years. But he was one of my early great choices. Another was the career that once I was led toward, I pursued with a vengence and further education. Our separate career choices actually may have provided me more personal independence than I expected or even wanted, because we have never worked the same schedules, but I am sure that has led to some of my feeling of being my own driver and decision maker. With my husband's support and endorsement, I even found a way to incorporate the dream of travel abroad into my life's work.

We women of today take the choices we are allowed to make so much for granted. Most of us never even consider what it would be like not to be able to choose the most basic aspects of each day, much less having major life choices made for us.

I thought of several quotes I really like about life choices and being in control of one's own life. Not too surprising, since music is another of the loves of my life, all the quotes I came up with come from songs. Two of my very favorite songs about living life to the fullest come from Garth Brooks songs:
1-- "Life is not tried, it is merely survived, if you're Standing Outside the Fire." (obviously metaphorical)
2-- "I could have missed the pain, but I'd have had to Miss the Dance"

I love the song Lee Ann Womack sang for her daughters, ..."and when you get the choice to sit it out or dance, I Hope You Dance."
And then there is the great one from Bob Dylan, contributed by my husband: "He not busy being born is busy dying."

Morning

She gave a moment's thought to hitting the snooze button, but knowing she had carefully pared the alloted time to the absolute minimum necessary to do all required morning chores, get ready and arrive at the office on time, she hit the "off" button and rolled over the edge of the bed. As she swung her feet to the floor, she could hear "Chubby Lady" outside the bedroom door, already starting her morning chorus of encouragement to hurry out and "FEED us, Mommy! Feed us now!!"

It was a good morning so far: no headache, minimal morning congestion, no more than the usual stiffness that is to be expected when one is "older than dirt." Strip off the nightgown and head for the bathroom, then weigh in for the weight chart. Another chorus of loud meows from the ever-impatient-at-food-time porker reminds her to begin grabbing up the various food bowls as she makes her way to the kitchen. Outside lights off; TV on; bring "Little Man" in off the porch; roll his pill toward him and hope he catches it before it goes under the stove or refrigerator---that's one of those things that takes up time not in the schedule. "Come on, Mom, let's hear some kibbles hitting the bottom of those bowls."

Breakfast bowls down for all three cats, it was now time to sort out the vitamin & suppliment in 2 separate piles for herself. "Remember to take the vitamin C with the calcium, leads to better absorption of the calcium," she reminded herself; "and don't forget the glucosimine/chondroitin; but the multi vitamin goes in the after-cereal pile with the B complex and the E, never at the same time as the calcium."

Next the coffee maker has to be set up. But never vitamins with coffee. Mix together those high fiber cereals. Add some protein powder and the frozen blueberries. Those will thaw while she puts washes her face and puts on makeup.

In the bathroom she leans into the tub and splashes her face with the coldest water she can get from the tap. "Hello! We're truly up and moving. Good morning new day."