Author: Maria

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Happy … meeting you?

Thirty-two years ago today I met my honey while answering the Spanish lines at the Jerry Lewis Labor Day Telethon at the Omni Hotel in Miami. I went with my cousins and the rest of the teenagers in our youth group, ComuniTeen, and he was there with his college Circle K group. I think he was the sponsor or chaperone or something.

Let that sink in a little. He was teaching computer science at the local community college. I was there with a youth group.

This is me, a little older — I might have been 18 in this picture…which, of course, meant we could actually go out together without a host of people giving him the stinkeye…

DING DING DING! Jailbait much? I didn’t exactly lie to him about my age, it just…never came up.

To be fair, he didn’t exactly look like he was old enough to drive, let alone look 21. (He had just turned 21 — he’s older in this picture. He was a hottie, no?)

So our ages never came up. We were busy answering phones and bonding over our tube socks. Yes, it was 1978. We were both wearing tube socks. With the same colored red and gold stripes. It was kismet — a sign! I’ve never been able to find that color combination. If I did, I would so totally buy it. Anyway, here’s what brought us together as soul mates, although the stripes aren’t quite right:

I never would have imagined that socks could be a sign of our destiny, but there you have it. God, on the other hand, does seem to have some ideas for us, and I must share with you that there’s a world of meaning in not just how we met, but the circumstances that revolve around it.

I’ve always been a fan of Jerry Lewis. I loved his physical comedy when I was a child, but as soon as I was old enough to understand what was the underlying theme in his movies, I loved him even more.  I don’t agree with the French on many issues, but I do agree with their assessment of his talent as a storyteller and filmmaker.  But I’m not going to talk about Jerry Lewis, explorer of the human condition. I’m going to talk about his charity, the Muscular Dystrophy Association.

That’s what John and I were doing when we met. We became friends because we had the same interests, which we discovered over the course of 24 hours spent sitting beside each other answering phones and chatting during the lulls in the wee hours. We were there because we liked Jerry Lewis, and were then driven to support his charity of choice. Needless to say, MDA became our pet charity. I don’t know how much money we’ve given to that organization over the years, and I suppose that is how it should be, but even in the lean years, we managed to cough up a little something to send. In thanksgiving, perhaps, for the organization bringing us together.

Or maybe, it was something else. If you’ve read this blog for a while, you’ll know that last year John was diagnosed with amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS –Lou Gehrig’s disease). Few people know the story of our meeting, and fewer still know of the direct connection between ALS and MDA. I’ve often thought that I would love to have a cup of coffee with God and just chat about all the things in my life that I have questions about. You know, all the “why’s” we subject ourselves to …. It’s a crazy idea, this coffee date, and probably useless. I don’t think I’d squander such an opportunity to question God’s motives any more. I’d just say thank you. If a disease was going to take us away from each other, there’s a bit of comfort in having  it be something that we’ve spent the last 32 years fighting to eradicate. I suppose I appreciate the subtle irony of it. God certainly does have finesse.

This weekend we’ll also celebrate 25 years of marriage. It was accidental that we got married at around the anniversary of our having met, but it does keep a sweet romantic connection, doesn’t it? I’ll entertain you with our wedding pictures on that date 🙂

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wanna be my student for a sec?

Look, I’m knee deep in the end of the quarter. That means annoying but necessary meetings and too much grading. It also means a little burnout. Couple that with some other things that I prefer to give my attention to, and the recipe is one highly distracted professor. I don’t want to profess anything. I just want to be left alone to play.

I intentionally time my end of term ennui with the poetry unit for several reasons. One, I don’t want to work too hard. Two, I want to play with what I love: poetry. Three, my students have decided to trust me and stay (or they don’t trust me, and have bailed). When those three things happen at the same time, we do poetry. My way. No recitations. No rhyme schemes and counting syllables (well, there’s always a joker that writes off-color limericks). Instead, I have students select any 5 poems from the hundreds in the book, and share them with the class. All they have to do is find something to accompany the presentation of the poems. I encourage them to be creative and think outside the box. I’ve gotten amazing things…musicians who write music for the words — artists who paint pictures — rappers who perform the poems. It is a very interesting leap of faith that can only happen at the end of the course.

I am ALWAYS pleasantly surprised. Yesterday, a delightful woman, maybe a few years older than me, presented a beautiful tribute to her children. She found poems that captured their personalities and she wove a story about them throughout the presentation of her selections. Finally, she ended with this video, which is a mother reading the things her son said as a child. It is called a “found poem.” They are fun to construct. The idea is that you look for words and phrases as they exist when you find them, and you put them together in a meaningful way. I am startled at the depth of the conclusion in this found poem constructed by Naomi Shihab Nye from her son’s statements. Enjoy it.

It reminds me of Sarah Reinhard’s tweets.

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John Wayne…meh

Thanks to Dulcinea’s whining about McClintock, I pulled good ole “GW” out of the John Wayne stack of DVDs and watched it. Again. There is a lot to like about the movie although I’ve noticed the trend in his movies is to be rough with his leading ladies. He “takes” his women, and I’m not a fan of that. At. All. I never objected to a spontaneous or “stolen” kiss, but I don’t like the forceful grabs and the spanking. Really? Spanking a grown woman? Pointing out that Maureen O’Hara took a pretty good swing at him doesn’t make it right.

Still, there is much to enjoy about the movie. For starters, I love Maureen O’Hara almost as much as I love Yvonne de Carlo, and both of these great actors are in the movie. But here’s what I really like about McClintock: it defends the sacred bonds of marriage. It really does defend the intimate relationship between a man and a woman in marriage, and I’m not talking about the obvious, you sillies, I’m talking about the intimacy that happens from experiencing life together…what happens when people make a commitment and keep it.

McClintock (Wayne) and his wife Kate (O’Hara) are living apart. When their daughter asks him about their separation, and then makes a disparaging remark about her mother, his wife, he tells his daughter that it is none of her business. He explains to her that she has no idea about the things they experienced in their marriage and how those events, so far in the past, serve not just as a foundation, but the grounding of their relationship through sacrifice and commitment. Whatever has driven them apart, temporarily, cannot surpass the depth of the experiences that bind them together. Then he shares his wish that some day his daughter should need to face the hardships of life, as well as the joys, with a husband by her side so that she may understand.

There is a riotous reconciliation at the end (and another ridiculous spanking) but on the way to the finale we see the steps leading to forgiveness, and the tenderness of an intimacy that comes from years together.

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