A Picture Lines Each Sidewalk

I just went on a run through an empty campus since just about everyone else that goes to the University of Delaware is on spring break right now but me and my fellow student teachers.

But that's not what I want to focus on in this post. When I wrote the words "empty campus" I had an image of something else come to mind, that of an empty canvas. I was thinking that, as I am running, my shadow runs along side of me, covering the side upon which I walk, the ground upon which I tread. My shadow, alongside me, paints a picture of the places I go, a picture of myself that I too can see, along with everybody else with whom I surround myself.

Everywhere you go, you are painting a picture with the steps you make, upon the empty canvas of your world. Look to your shadow as a your mirror image, a brushstroke to guide you along as you paint your masterpiece, your life as it should be lived.

Life

Lately, the word I have been overusing is the word "life." I say it all the time, even when it's a weird place to say it. But I think it's a good word to overuse. I mean it's not a curse word, it has a rather positive connotation, there are no images of the grim reaper that appear when you say it. So I think you should think about this word, life, and what it means to you. Think about how often you say it a day. It may be more than you think. Think about what the word "life" means to you. Then use it in whatever way life compels you.

Macabre

Have you ever heard a song and just said to yourself, or to anyone around you, "I want this song to be played at my funeral!"

Probably not. But I have. And probably with that same exclamation.

There's something amazingly beautiful about Jeff Buckley's rendition of "Corpus Christi Carol" that brings tears to the eyes, and an image of a lost loved one. A beautiful summation of a life.

Here are the lyrics:

He bear her off, he bear her down
He bear her into an orchard ground

Lu li lu lay lu li lu lay
The falcon hath bourne my mate away

And in this orchard there was a hold
That was hanged with purple and gold
And in that hold there was a bed
And it was hanged with gold so red

Lu li lu lay lu li lu lay
The falcon hath bourne my mate away

And on this bed there lyeth a knight
His wound is bleeding day and night
By his bedside kneeleth a maid
And she weepeth both night and day

Lu li lu lay lu li lu lay
The falcon hath bourne my mate away

By his bedside standeth a stone
Corpus christi written thereon


I just love the image of the falcon. Who's your falcon?

The Click

Lately in student-teaching, I have been working my ass off. Some people might ask why (and they have). And I can never give them a great response. I'm just a hardworker, I always manage to say. And that is true. But it's something more than that. I know the end game; I can see it. I've had a click recently, and not just the one that Tennesse Williams tends to talk about. I want to be a teacher because I truly like kids, and I like the art of teaching someone something, especially something that I am fascinated with, something I love.

Now student teaching isn't always "all that and a bag of chips." I never really knew what that saying meant or where it really came from. A quick google search of the origin of the saying "all that and a bag of chips" comes up relatively short. With only links to Urban Dictionary and this quiz, which I failed to answer, the first question being "Are older men attracted to you?".

I guess, in that case, I'm neither all that nor a bag of chips. Damn.

But anyway, teaching certainly has its drawbacks. It eats up your time like that bag of chips that I can now eat without fear of being labeled a type of cannibal. I guess for now, I'll press on and keep working hard, so that the payoff is high and I can enjoy what I'm doing, sitting in my comfortable recliner, watching my life unfold before me, with nothing on my lap but the remote control and, oh yeah, what about a bag of chips?

You Can Call Me Al-Jazeera

Since in the past couple of days my family has decided that we may be going to Jamaica in June to celebrate my cousin's wedding, I need to acquire a passport, a long, arduous process, that will take quite a few months. One of the first steps is getting a passport photo. So, my Dad and I went to CVS today to accomplish just that.

Let me remind you that I just shaved my head. Now let me clarify: I did not bic it. I am not Mr. Clean in any way. There is still some hair, likened to a tennis ball, or a hairy egg. But the cheerful CVS photo attendant took my picture against a blank off-white canvas. Between the neo-Nazi shaved head and the sullen gloominess of my face on a Sunday morning, I look like a full-blown terrorist.

However, I still find the humor in the irony of this situation. My passport, the document that gives me allowance into other countries, bears a picture of me that I liken to that of a terrorist. I am in no ways a terrorist; far from it. I love my country to the fullest and would never produce harm to it, or any country for that matter. But with a shaved head and a little scruff, (and imagine if I had a tan!), well then like the famous poet Paul Simon once declared, you can call me Al-Jazeera.

Cue ball

So I wonder if I'm going through identity crisis or something. Because when I came home from school today, I was looking myself in the bathroom mirror, and I decided to shave my hair off.

I really don't know what I was thinking.

I think I felt like doing something random, something sporadic, but I was thinking too drastically. Maybe a nice, long country-road drive would have sufficed, or eating a slice of pizza topped with vanilla ice cream, but shaving my beautiful hair off?! Damn, I just about pulled a Britney Spears right there. I don't think I'll be admitting myself to a rehab center anytime soon, but I'll keep my dates open.

You know what though? A little change never hurt someone. And it is hair, which does grow back. And eventually I'm sure I'll get used to it. I can't wait to hear what my students will have to say tomorrow though...