Conversations

Monday Morning

Standing at the printer, I wait for the final copies to spit out from the side. Today, we start a new unit in the Comp 1 classes: Literary Analysis. My goals for the freshmen students with this paper are three-fold:

1. Learn to think for yourself and arrive at your own conclusions.

2. Use examples from the text to support your assertions.

3. Speak in the present tense. (This is a fundamental when speaking about literature.)

Coming on the heels of the persuasive essay, I plan to connect the idea they just learned (making a point and persuading readers) to discussing literature. I want them to have their own ideas based on evidence they can see, so this week's homework uses short stories from new writers. I found these stories in university Literary journals and checked to make sure students couldn't find something about the story on Google. No paraphrasing what others have said. Even if they're tempted to do that, this time they can't. Only two of the poems and a few of the stories we examine will be older stories that have stuff written about them, but this week's homework requires original thought.

So, in class we read two pieces of literature. We read it in class because I'm certain about a third of the class didn't read the homework.

First, we read and review a short poem by James Wright: Lying in a Hammock at William Duffy's Farm in Pine Island, Minnesota. I wanted to start with a poem because with poetry, every word matters. I chose an older poem because I'm familiar with it and feel confident in guiding students through the imagery in this poem. "Look at the colors. What do you see?" They spout back the colors throughout the poem: bronze, green, black, and golden. One student notes the "darkness" and the "sunlight" are also present and add color. I ask, "What is the connection between bronze, green, and gold?" I already know I'm going to have to give them this answer the same way Professor Irwin gave the answer to the class when I was an undergrad. "The connection is that all these colors represent finances, precious metals and cash." Ah-ha! The opening of minds is visible on several student faces. One student spits out, "That's why in the last line the narrator says, 'I have wasted my life.' He was chasing the wrong things." We talk about how the "golden stones" in the poem are horse manure and how this narrator's values shifted as he lay on the hammock. This change of direction is evident in the middle line of the poem as the narrator shifts perspective.

I tell the students to flip the poem over. On the back is Crystal McQueen's flash fiction: Dandelions. It's five paragraphs. We read it. The big question at the end is who spread the dandelion seeds, but there's a deeper thing going on in this story, so I lead the students to examine this in order to make sense of the seed question. "What's really going on?" I ask, hoping students can bring more clarity to the discussion. One student notes that the father's frustration with his lawn parallels the son's frustration at work. Ah-ha! I see light of understanding dawn on some student faces. Students feel more confident and speak up. "Where do you see that in the text?" I ask, prodding to ensure they use evidence to support their views. Next, I lead them toward a discussion of theme as I ask about two words in the second paragraph: "Sisyphean task." No one knows what this is. "Have you heard of Sisyphus?" I ask. One quiet student responds brightly, "He was condemned by the Greek gods to roll a boulder up a hill for all eternity." Ah-ha! More lightbulbs! We talk about the futility of rolling a boulder up a hill only to have it roll back down. Sisyphus would do this over and over, continually. Then we examine the word "futility" in the final paragraph and pinpoint that as the theme.

Leaving class, my mind spins. There's a strong connection between the Wright poem, the McQueen story, and where I am today. What am I doing, sitting in front of a class or a computer from sunrise to past-sunset? For what?

Wednesday, noon-ish

I've got 15 minutes between the Comp 1 and Studio classes, and I have to shift gears. I'd used a narrative poem in the first class, and now I'm rushing down the hallway to pick up the stories we'll use in the next class and...maybe if I hurry...go walk Buena.

The Assistant Dean walks toward me, and we stop to talk.

"Have you heard about my proposal?" I ask, my remaining sliver of hope about this job wrapped up in being able to not be here in January and February when temperatures are below zero.

She says she heard about my proposal. "But you'll have to do the work from Colorado. Since you're a state employee, the work has to be performed in the state."

We talk about this for a moment, while my mind thinks about Colorado locations where I could put root for a couple of months. The nights are cold all over the state.

"It doesn't always get to -20 or -40," she says. I don't know who you heard that from."

"Lots of locals," I respond, wondering if she wants me to start listing people starting with the old ladies in Walmart who talked about the caterpillars and other signs in nature that indicate a harsh winter for Craig, Colorado.

I rush away to get my materials for the next class. Buena will have to wait an hour and fifteen minutes. I'll walk her after class.

Thursday Morning

While getting ready in the dim light of the RV as I prepare for a long drive to the other campus for my hybrid classes, my heart settles.

The drive is about a ninety-miles, but BossMan wants me to do some in-person connection with these hybrid classes. I don't mind. I kind of like the drive.

While traversing that early morning highway, the light settles on the tops of the hills, leaving the valleys and hollows in frosty shadow. Just outside of Maybell, steam rises from the Yampa River. The water temperatures are warmer than the surrounding air.

What if I just call it quits after this semester?

My heart leaps at the thought.

I've tried everything I can think of to find suitable housing that's within 33% of my take-home pay. I think about this as I take the gravel-road cut off through the Desperado Mine Road. It's the shortest point between two state highways, and I like seeing the mine trucks, the 50,000 volt warning about the powerlines, and the thing that takes the mined material from one end of the mine to the other. In addition, I can run Buena along a half-mile stretch of the road.

When I'd mentioned the 25 - 33% housing rule for budgeting to a colleague a few weeks ago, she'd argued, "That's for conventional people. You're not conventional, Pyra. You don't have to live by regular budgeting rules!" I tried telling her that I haven't lived by conventional budgeting rules, which is why I'm in this constant financial pickle and I'm trying to get it right this time. But, instead, she'd shushed me and said, "You're problem is that you're not thinking outside the box! There are solutions to every problem."

At the Rangely campus, I drop my stuff in the classroom and walk to another building to find a friend-colleague I knew from a long-time ago. I explain the housing dilemma to her and my proposal to my BossMan. I finish with the statement my colleague made to me. "She said that I'm not thinking outside the box. What do you think?"

My friend laughs at this. "She obviously doesn't know you! If anything, you're trying to figure out how to get back inside the box!"

Thursday Afternoon

The day has turned warm, and I drive with the windows open as I drive back to Craig.

Somewhere along the way, my heart and mind settle on a solution. The only solution.

I know what I've got to do.

I don't feel like going into the office for the remainder of the day. All I'll do is grade papers, and I can do that later...after the sun goes down. Right now I need some Vitamin Sunshine.

I take Buena to Cedar Mountain and we hike around for a bit. There's good cell service in the entire area, so I call Laura. She lived on the desert in Havasu; now she's in New York, settling her mother's estate and living in a house.

"A house has benefits, doesn't it?" I ask rhetorically.

"Yeah. A toilet and running water is good."

"Isn't it amazing when hot water comes out of the tap?" I ask, thinking about how at the college I have access to a free shower with hot water.

"It amazes me every time."

Then we talk about heat and about returning to the desert.

"Once you've lived this life, it's hard to leave it behind," she says.

Friday Afternoon

I can't put it off much longer. If I've learned anything from our government officials over the last few years, it is to drop heavy news on a Friday.

I ask BossMan for a meeting, and he comes up to my office. We sit at the table across from each other.

"I can't do this," I say. "I've got to put in my notice..."

"Will you stay until the end of the semester?"

This surprises me. Why wouldn't I?

"Of course," I say. "I wouldn't abandon my students or put you all in a bind." Then I tear up and tell him how much I've enjoyed the students and faculty here. "It's just the housing."

"I know," he says.