What's Next?

Lately I've been struggling with pain. No, don't worry, Mrs. B. is not sick. In fact I am moving toward wellness, which is part of why I am in pain. The other part of my pain is teaching feshmen to write. As I've written before, I am working toward wellness at Ladies' Workout Express, a mellow gym filled with kindly women who empathize with my goals. While the RAC at Georgia Southern is a beautiful building, it's full of students who might show up in my classes, and skinny 18-year old girls who can fit into one leg of my leotard. At LWE I am safe, and no one cares if I sweat. I care, however, because with the sweat comes pain. If I don't stretch, my legs hurt. If I don't use the jacuzzi, my back hurts. I have bones that have been inactive far too long. Although I have lost 20 percent of my body fat, I haven't changed the pain. More pain: teaching freshmen to write. One of my colleagues put it well this afternoon when I went looking for solace. "You ...

On Sunday afternoon I went with a group of friends to see Eat Pray Love, a movie based on a book by Elizabeth Gilbert. Because I had read the book, I knew what to expect. It's a good thing I did, because my 84-year old neighbor panned it big-time. She didn't like the men in the movie (they were scruffy, she said) and she didn't like that some of the characters spoke softly. She also didn't like those people with accents. Since the movie was set in Italy, India, and Bali, it's no wonder she didn't like it! The greatest strength of the movie had to be Julia Roberts,a fine actress by anyone's standards. She sails through the movie spot-on, with each scene evincing the appropriate emotion from the audience and keeping us moving forward with her quest for self-understanding. Her character, Liz, found ways to adapt to each new country's demands with grace, humility, and a sense of humor. Other actors, especially the actor who portrays Richard Hill, are excelle...

I knew the day would finally arrive when my sedentary lifestyle and my love of sweets would catch up with me. My primary care physician has allowed me to put it off for a long while, but this year he caught me with some "questionable" liver enzymes. Nothing serious; just start taking 800 IU of Vitamin E, eat a low-fat diet, and exercise regularly. And he would run more blood tests and call me back with results. Was I scared? Not totally. Did it motivate me to do something about my lardly life? Yep. We have three gyms in the area, but I know people who went to Ladies Workout Express and they didn't seem to hate it. I went there, met some nice young ladies, got some encouragement, and dropped a hundred bucks to get started. I went back immediately for my first "personal training" meet, and I learned what a standard workout would include. When I arrive at LWE I drop my keys on a peg and head for the stationary bikes, where I do 5 or more minutes of cycling to get m...

Although I knew Smith Banks for only a few short years, he was, for me, the heart of Statesboro and Bulloch County. I met him soon after I moved here from Pennsylvania in 2005, and I learned quickly that he had the answer to any question I had about Statesboro. His memory, the turn of his words, the twinkle in his eye, and the ready smile were his trademarks, and he welcomed everyone with stories about his life. We often joked that we must be related somewhere along the line, since his family name – “Brannen” – was so similar to mine. I was privileged to have the opportunity to write about him for the Statesboro Magazine, a 1200-word piece that delved into his collection of southern folk art. He donated a sizeable number of pieces to the Betty Foy Sanders Art Department at Georgia Southern, resulting in a southern folk art gallery for student learning and public enjoyment. Smith held history in his heart, and I can identify with that. His imagination and his vision kept his ancestors...

I am having one of those times--they usually last a week or two--when I am not really sure who I am. Am I a writer? A teacher? A mom? A counselor? A grandma? A caregiver? I'm making gradual changes in my life, and this week they are not changing smoothly. This week I am no longer a teacher, just a grader. I have taught five classes all semester long, and this is the week the s**t hits the fan. Everyone wants an A this week, but no one wanted to work hard and get extra help on papers 1-4 during the semester. No one wanted to arrange a spectacular portfolio two weeks ago week, but today they want an A. Some will settle for a B, and some will grimace at their C. If you didn't come to class--too bad. Then I become a counselor. "But Mrs. B, I tried so hard ..." says the person who is having their view of my office. "But I was sick so much of the semester ..." Well, I cannot do much for you at the end of the semester. My counselor shingle is now DOWN. A writer? We...

Final exams in writing-intensive courses are neither appropriate nor necessary. All they do is ensure that the professor WILL be sitting for hours on end grading writing that is not significantly different from the student's last paper, which was propbably handed in that same week. That said, I believe that any time I give a student an opportunity to write, it's a good experience for them; however, timed writing is not always their best work, and it is seldom reflective of how they will be writing in the rest of their academic career. Putting students through timed writing exercises in a week when they are sleep-deprived and concerned about the four other exams they are taking doesn't reflect their true abilities. I propose that the College of Liberal Arts, or whatever authority oversees this policy, make a change for the coming semester. I don't want to ignore University policy, but I don't want to do this fruitless grading exercise any more, either. And now that I...

As I sit here with five folders in front of me, facing the afternoon's work, I am struggling as usual with how to assess the work of each student. Because I teach small classes, I know each student fairly well; that's good, and that's bad. If I could give a good multiple choice test for writing, have a standard correction sheet, and grade accordingly, they would each feel they were treated fairly. In writing, however, it's different. Each student begins the semester with their own level of expertise. For some , the work in my class challenges that level; for some, it's a breeze. The B that one student struggles for is the one another student earns with no work at all. I try to challenge good students and grade with some knowledge of each student's abilities, but it still becomes a chore at the end of the semester. And there's the expectations. They got As and Bs in high school--why not in college? Why are commas important here when they weren't in high s...

I went to the mailbox. I looked. The memo did not promise me anything. It only told me I could make an appointment for an interview next month. So it looks as though I'll be waiting another 30 days or so to find out if I have a job next year. Life goes on. As this process becomes more drawn out, I find myself less and less concerned with it. I keep reminding myself that I am a professional; that I am experienced; that I know how to keep students learning and growing. Writing is my existence, and I try to make it their existence, too, but I can only sell some, not all. They are going to survive in a different world than the one I conquered. All I can do is accept their ways and hang on. At least until May. Mrs. B

The word is out. Check your mailbox by the end of the day to find out if you have a job next year. Only 5 more hours to wait. Being a temporary faculty member is cool most of the time. My colleagues, tenure-track or not, all treat me well, and they are good people to have on hand. With years of experience, t hey have an answer for every question I can pose. But in March and April, when the University begins to look at temporary teaching lines and gets out the budgetary ax, it's not so cool. At my age, you'd think I could get over it. I have had three really steady, long-term jobs in my life, and I knew this would not be one of them. Given my experience and ability, I would earn more pay almost anywhere else, except that I wouldn't have the perks: large chunks of time for myself, my writing, and my family. But every year, I get that "poor me" sense of insecurity, and I start reading the help wanted ads again. Hunh - like I could pick a job out of the help wanted ad...

Yesterday I spent my lunch hour at the Son's Light Church on Rt. 301. It's an old roadside motel, left over from the time when 301 was the snowbirds' main pathway between the frozen north and Florida. But it's no longer a motel; it's a place where so much is happening that it's hard to keep track of the action. I began my interview by sitting down with a group of volunteers who were there to carry out the normal Monday routine: Open the Thrift Store from noon to 5, Operate the Food Pantry from 1-5, and do whatever else needs to be done to keep Christian Social Ministries active and thriving. Christian Social Ministries (CSM) is a benevolence program of the Ogeechee River Baptist Association (ORBA). Its programs are located at Son's Light Church in spaces that were once motel rooms, and it is, by all evidence, a thriving program. Volunteers collect, sort, and sell donated clothes and household goods, and the money made in the Thrift Store purchases food for t...

My first and only child was ten days late. On each of those days, my sister-in-law Dot called me, not necessarily to find out how I was. She wanted to know if there was a new baby for her, and the rest of the family, to celebrate. And when we took Rachel to visit her Aunt Dot, she always made it a point to check out a diaper change. She complimented me often on the fact that Rachel never had diaper rash. She let me know that I passed her test: my baby was clean, well-fed, and happy. I was a good mother; so was she. Like my husband, Dot was the a much-loved child of Roy and Florence Brandon. The original family included eight brothers and four sisters: Vernie (Buzz), Verna, Jim, Sam, Charlie, Ken, Geraldine, Don, Dorothy (Dot), Bonnie, Herbie, and Thomas. By the time I joined the family in 1974, Charlie and Thomas were gone, and they were followed by Buzz in 1991, then Sam, Geraldine in 1996, Herbie in 2002, Ken in 2007, Jim in 2008, Verna in 2009, and Dot in February, 2010. Don and Bon...

Security is my middle name. Well not actually (it's Ann), but I rarely do anything if I am not secure in the outcome. I lock my doors (house and car), avoid unsavory strangers (at least after dark), and prepare my lessons before I step into the classroom. Until this semester. My ENGL 1102 students are focusing this spring on Feeding Statesboro, a new non-profit organization focused on feeding the hungry in Statesboro. Are there hungry people in Statesboro? Yes. Nearly half of the K-12 student population is eligible for free or reduced lunches. Are there hungry people in Bulloch County? Most likely, since about half of Bulloch County residents live below the poverty line. This week we began developing our group projects for Feeding Statesboro. Posters, flyers, brochures, Facebook pages, are all coming together (I hope). Lab today seemed haphazard; every group is at a different step in their process. It doesn't help that the lab is cramped and not group-friendly. Group members ar...

I did it for Haiti. When I began to read about the terrible earthquake in Haiti last week, I realized that social networking was --in the beginning--the only way for information to leave the island. What a great communication case study for my students, I thought. And then I thought,"oh, drat! I'm not on Facebook. So I taught the first two classes with students pulling up the pages and demonstrating. Then I went back to my office and signed up for FB. I heard back immediately from my daughter, who wrote "Aren't you supposed to be working?" My son-in-law also accepted me as a friend, so I thought, "Good. Easy access to grandchild photos." And closed my computer. When I opened it again, I had 10 friend requests. When I opened it again, I had another six. I told my students not to friend me, but it seems my nieces and nephews (all 46) and my great-nieces and nephews (all 72) are on there. The great-greats are still too young, but it won't be long. Act...

On a New Year's walk, my daughter and I talked about the number of trips and the distance my granddaughter, Lily, has traveled in her short 7.75 months. It turns out that Lily has traveled from her home in Savannah north to Lake Erie, south to Boca Raton, and up the east coast to Baltimore. This distance involved three separate, weeklong or longer trips, and involved visiting more than eight different homes and a variety of hotels and motels. I, on the other hand, never got further south than Harrisville, Pa. until I was 12. The 60-mile trip to my mother's parents' home seemed as though it took forever, and it was all farmland. Stopping at Isaly's ice cream in Grove City was always the highlight of the trip, which took more than 2 hours. When I was 12 my parents took me to Washington, D.C. - not to see the nation's Capitol, but for my father to buy guns at the international dealers in Alexandria, Va. The closest we got to a landmark was the Smithsonian's Air and...