What's Next?

When I was growing up, guns were an everyday part of my life.  We lived in the middle of 3200 acres of wooded land, and we were poor. My father was a hunter, and he shot deer, ducks, pheasant, quail, rabbits, wild turkey, geese, and probably a few things I don't know about or remember. Meat didn't come from the grocery store, it came from the freezer in the barn. Beyond hunting, my father loved competitive target target shooting for the sport of it. He owned handguns, and he took the time to teach both my mother and me how to shoot accurately and safely. My parents belonged to a gun club, and their friends were people--often couples--who also competed. I remember at least twice going to the National Pistol matches in Camp Perry, Ohio for our summer "vacation." It was a far cry from roller coasters at Cedar Point, but as an only child, I didn't know the difference. Did anyone get upset about a six-year-old shooting at targets? Not that I remember. Even when...

It’s December 23, 2015, and in 7 days I will be formally retired from a nearly 50-year-long work life. So far, it’s okay. I’m likin’ it. Because it’s nearly Christmas, not much has changed. Working in higher education, I’ve become accustomed to the ebb and flow of semesters, summer teaching, and holidays. This feels like most Christmas breaks, with one exception; there’s no voice in the back of my consciousness reminding me to write my syllabi for the spring semester, set up an assignments calendar, and make sure that textbooks have been ordered. Well, the voice is actually there, I’m just ignoring it and smiling to myself. I really didn’t realize how burned-out I was after this year. The combination of guilt because I couldn’t do enough to teach my students, guilt because I couldn’t spend more time with my grandchildren, guilt because I couldn’t volunteer more, and all the other sorts of guilt that women of my age accumulate, finally caught up with me. I’ve taken the past t...

On this day, several--maybe three--shooters shot 14 people and injured 17 others in San Bernardino, Cal. The shooters attacked Inland Regional, a social service agency that cares for those with developmental needs. In America, we've reached a time where barely a day goes by without one of these mass shootings, so I feel very sure when I say that America's public health is in great danger. I am filled with rage that this can happen in MY country, filled with rage that any person feels compelled to do this, and filled with a great desire to solve this problem and get it done and over with. I'm smart, organized, capable, experienced, and trained to lead, so why can't I--or for that matter--others smarter than me--come up with a way to stop this? As an academic, I turn first to research. There's some, but it offers no answers. Jonathan Metzl (both MD and PhD) and Kenneth MacLeish (PhD), wrote in the February 2015 issue of the American Journal of Public Health  about...

My Dad never graduated from high school, because he got too tall for the desks. At least, that’s what he told me. He used to flex his knees and break the flat surface away from the seat, an activity which landed him in the principal’s office one too many times. In spite of not graduating, he was the most avid reader I’ve ever met—except for my Mom, who read just as much and maybe more. She used to get up early just to have an hour to read. It’s easy to understand why they felt it was important for me to learn to read as soon as I could hold a book. Daddy’s favorite teaching method was the daily comic pages. In those days, my city had both a morning and evening edition of the newspaper, so twice a day I got to snuggle onto his lap and “help” him read the funnies. That lasted for about six months; after that, I had learned enough words so that I read the funnies to him. Mom didn’t criticize, but she did read me regular kids’ books, so that I wouldn’t think the world was all jokes ...

On Monday, two days from now, I will arise at 6 a.m. to teach an 8 a.m. class of conditional college freshmen. They are EIP students--Eagle Incentive Program--who have the potential skills to survive in college, but must prove themselves by taking three courses over five weeks in the summer. I've done this once before, and the students really give it their all, because they really want to be in college and away from Mom and Dad. The class is ENGL 1101-- a class I have taught many times before, but not five days a week for five weeks. It took some work to revise my syllabus, but I think I can get all of the important information across in that short period of time. Best of all, the end result is a summer paycheck, something most adjunct faculty are very grateful to have. I am feeling a little ambivalent. My heart has retired, but my body still has to work for a semester. I hesitate to wish my life away, yet here I am, confessing to my blog that I am doing just that. This summe...

It's been an interesting week. The chair of my department offered to "rehire" me in a new university process that would allow me to work two more years. I said "How kind of you to consider me as a candidate! No thank you!" I was able to change my summer teaching schedule to an 8 a,m, class instead of a noon class, thereby allowing me to watch my grands on Tuesdays and Fridays while their Mom works. Thanks, Dan! I went to Florida over Memorial Day and really enjoyed watching my dear friend Nancy (who teaches at a private K-12 school)  grading research papers and creating tests while I read mysteries and napped. Nancy could retire, too, but I do believe she will hold out for at least another year, and maybe two. She thinks about money and health insurance; I think about how much I don't want to be in the university system. Retirement can't come soon enough for me, even if I will be poor. Well, not really poor, just in the same boat the other 99 ...

After five weekdays of no teaching, no grandchildren, no and obligations, I'm starting to feel the joy of retirement.  No, I'm not there quite yet -- it turns out that I started working in the University System in October 2005 -- so I'll be teaching one class this summer and five more in the fall. THEN, I'll be able to retire. That means more annual dollars in the long run, so I can survive until December 30. But for right now, and until June 20, I am in rehearsal for retirement. It took two days of afternoon naps to get up-to-date on sleep. Monday and Tuesday I kept trying to read, but after three pages my eyelids dropped and I was sound asleep. Having the cat climb up on my lap makes a nap even more likely. I went to the gym each morning for my treadmill and machine work, but on Wednesday, I decided that it was time to get myself in gear and my house in shape. For those who know me well, it's no secret. I hate to clean. I always keep the kitchen counter...

After 10 years in Statesboro, I've seen change happen every day. After I moved here, the bypass opened, the Statesboro Crossing shopping area bloomed, residents got Olive Garden, Cracker Barrel, Steak and Shake (debatable improvement, but signs of the times), Panera, Parker's convenience stores, and 5,000 more university students. But no change has been as uplifting as the one I saw today. I attended the ribbon-cutting and opening of the newest location of the Averitt Center for the Arts. The new location, which serves about 500 children over the course of a week, holds a black-box theatre, named for distinguished director and actor Mical Whitaker; a ballet studio, named for ballet director Jurijs Safonovs, and an impressive new gift shop. Located at 41 West Main, about a block from the Averitt Center's Emma Kelly Theatre and the galleries, the new site is designed to nurture the children in Statesboro and the surrounding counties through art classes, dance classes, thea...

It's the height of the February blahs, and I say, "Enough already!" In February, 1997, we took our daughter to an orientation session at the University of South Carolina, in Columbia. Traveling in from Lake Erie regions, I was thrilled by the warm sun, the warm breeze, the pink azaleas, and the lack of snow. Many years later, when I moved to Georgia, I was looking forward to those glorious February days. But now, I've been here 10 years, and I find that the weather has changed its tune, and here I am, sick and tired of gloomy, gray, and grouchy February 2015. This month's weather has been the coldest February (here) I can recall, and the rainfall is plentiful. Sometimes I imagine that the temperature plunges, and that we have the same 100 inches of snow that Boston does. Oh, good, a SNOW day! So here I am, whining. I still have to get out of bed each morning and go to work, where my colleagues are also whining. Worse than that, everyone--faculty and stu...