Am I angry?

red queen

Yes. Sometimes.

But I think I’m at the life stage where it’s not so much “anger” as it is “resentment.” This may look like anger, and it can smell like anger, but anger is basically fear wearing a mask. Resentment is more like the sword of (in)justice ringing unsheathed–righteous indignation’s big brother.

: a feeling of indignant displeasure or persistent ill will at something regarded as a wrong, insult, or injury

What makes me resentful? Well, a lot of things: disrespect, ignorance, greed, the twins, Miss Communication and Miss Information (the two ugly step-sisters of Miss Guided). I wish I always acted the hero, always did what was right and just for the greater good, but alas, I do not. Resentment is the foundation of every decent villain worth his salt (and vinegar). The hero doesn’t do things because they are resentful–they do things and act courageously because it’s difficult, well-intended, and helps others besides themselves. The villain is just pissed off.
Recently I took offense at something that was created by Miss Guided, Miss Communicated, and Miss Informed. I didn’t take the high road –not even close. There’s still the “smell of anger” on my muddy mental shoes. Got down in the muck, and am covered in it, head to toe.
And now that I’m thinking about it, I really should get over myself. How about that? I’m not going to apologize for my opinion. I think I give out apologies too quickly, when I should allow myself to have an opinion for once, and not bend and be flexible. A fixed mind set is, well, rooted deeply. But sometimes my “bending tree” has slapped me in the face with a branch. But I will get over myself, and try to be a bit more full of grace.
But before I try on some humility–I might be right.
Okay.
I’m done.
I’d love to know how others “get over themselves.” I’m not very good at this one.

Directionally challenged.

topomapMy internal compass often goes awry. In other words, I get lost, easily. I am the Queen of U-Turns. If my mental map is fuzzy, the landmarks destroyed, or the destination is incorrect in Google maps, (it’s happened), MapQuest, (it’s happened) or I can’t figure out the car’s GPS (it’s happened), then, well, lost. But I am home now, so it’s not a permanent thing.

Technology tools are wonderful means to find my way; I have often printed out directions to many destinations. But I remember, too, what a thrill, what a sense of accomplishment, when I learned how to read a Thomas Guide when I moved to California, and properly use a compass on hikes. No batteries. No satellite. Just the position of the sun, stars, and moon make me aware that time and space are inter-connected, four-dimensional, and eternal. As far as I know Stonehenge is still standing, and someone knows how to read its clock.

Sometimes I am too entrenched in the visual, the spatial: I use any globe-like object to re-enact the moon’s phases (ping-pong balls come in handy for Luna). I love old treasure maps, maps from the glove box, and sea-faring maps. I love old globes that show political maps and boundaries that no longer exist. Those erased boundaries are steeped in blood: they are not merely annoying, fussy antiques to be sent to the dumpster. They are history.

Why do I save old love letters, but not emails? Why do I save old maps, but not the directions I print out from Mapquest? Why do I commit to memory the directions to a friend’s new house so I can visit with ease?

Recently I read a post by a so-called technology and education expert. He stated any educator who continued to purchase maps or globes should be fired.

Now I wonder who is really directionally challenged and lost.

(And no, I’m not going to put a trackback link or link to his post. Find it yourself.)

Star cross’d.

romeo-and-julietEveryone is a critic. A few students out of over 100+ did not respond to the last scene of R&J today.

And, sorry, William S., the secret is out. You based your classic tale of teenage tenderness and tragedy on Pyramus and Thisbe. But I still respectfully dip my quill to you– your version is so much more rich, more lyrical, more metaphorically magical.

I could only dream to aspire to write the scenes that make grown men cry, and make it feel as if your heart is being wrenched from its cage. The devastating moment of realization, or irony, that Pyramus recognizes the moment of death, as does Romeo in this film version. BUT…that is not the way W.S. wrote it. Romeo dies, and then Juliet awakens. Romeo goes to his great reward not knowing the Juliet knows that he knows that she knows…well, you get the idea.

How much more dramatic it is, then, that Romeo’s last gaze is upon Juliet’s open green eyes in this version.

The young critics stated a preference for the sword and tights version; that’s fine. The sword and tights version rocks. But I still think this ending is more powerful, more devastating, more heart breaking. I’m sure William would agree.

And for the record, I am not teaching Romeo + Juliet. I’m teaching show, not tell, writing, and how the simplest details can produce devastating, dramatic results.