Weeping while Teaching

The Matron is currently teaching a class called Race, Gender, and American Culture. Yours truly is the sole faculty member in the Gender and Women Studies department at her college.

Everyday, course content in the above class brings at least one person to tears. The Matron has handed out plenty of tissues (she brings a box every day and is now sort of proud of her track record of hysteria) and heard a lot of personal stories. Most of these students are first generation college students, immigrants, poor. The Matron loves each and every one. Well, mostly.

Currently, the class is analyzing rap and hip hop to examine how the intersections of race, class, gender and heterosexuality operate in popular culture.

Students offered a couple of 'underground' links to revolutionary rap. Here they are:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7lCPXEARpE8

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j7Vl0peys90

Thanks to these students for helping the Matron during her dry spell AND allowing her to teach 24/7. She imagines most blog readers are not 19 years old and here's a glimpse into the world of young people who care about the well-being of all people.

Actual Conversation

In the van after school . .

Merrick: "Mom, when I gwow up can I be a bad guy?"

Matron: "What's a bad guy?"

Merrick: "You have a gun and maybe a mean dog."

Matron: "Do you have a mean dog right now?"

Merrick: "No."

Matron: "Do you have a real gun? One that shoots bullets?"

Merrick: "No."

Matron: "Are you happy?

Merrick: "Only if I can be the bad guy."

Pause.

Merrick: "Do bad guys weaw footie pajamas? 'Cause I need mine."

And, as usual, the minute they arrived home, Merrick ripped off his clothes, put on his footie pajamas, grabbed a stick and played with a couple of dogs. And then hung out on the tire swing.

Bad guy.

Documentary

More life . . that's Scarlett in the red page cut as Romona!

The Matron pretending she's 25

First day of school

One of the Matron's pet peeves is her husband's proclivity toward photography.

Here's the Matron in the midst of a birthday party full of four, five, six and seven year olds. She is sweating. There are presents to open, cake to cut, pizza to slice and young children to navigate. The latter means that arguments, jealousies and love fests ensue.

As she's (sweating) cutting cake and herding children, here's John.

John: "Everybody smile!" Click!

John: "Merrick, can you open that slower so I can film it?"

John: "Nobody move! This is a great shot!"

While the husband documents, the Matron labors. Here she is picking up tissue paper on Christmas morning or making Thanksgiving dinner while John takes pictures. She looks good in an apron.

Matron: "Uh, can you put down the camera and help out right now?"

John: "Never. You'll thank me for this later."

And with this post, she is.

Dry

The Matron's funny bone?

Broken.

Sentiment? Dried up.

Quirky kid stories?

Well, nobody's been quirky lately.

After nearly four years and 1500 posts, yours truly is in a virtual vacuum: what to say? Is there nothing new under the sun?

Like Scarlett O'Hara, tomorrow is another day. She's sure she'll be pithy, witty and wise. But for the past couple of days there's been pea soup and nothing magical. She also believes that just writing this sets the cosmic stage for excitement.

Hang in there!

The Matron Must Hire a Hit Man, Again

Regular readers might appreciate the antics of Satan's Familiar.

He poops in the basement with amazing regularity. If only everyone could be that reliable with bowel reduction.

His favorite place to sit? On someone's lap at the breakfast/lunch/dinner table. There are children in the household who foster this propensity.

But the new dog -- the now 80 pound blood hound has surpassed Satan's Familiar. Indeed Boc (sadly his name is an acronym for Big Old Canine, thanks to the children; the Matron preferred Othello) is stellar in the destruction arena.

Here are John and the Matron in the car on the way home from some event or errand.

John: "Dollar amount? How much destruction did Boc do today while we were gone?"

Matron: "Ten dollars."

John: "Eleven. I just won."

And he did. . .

Friends, not only does this dog eat socks, t-shirts and leftover food, he has an amazing ability to steal knives from the dishwasher. How he opens that it beyond her intellect, but he does.

Routinely, children are terrified. This is the end of March in Minnesota, which means the Matron wipes up all kinds of footprints and cleans up after Boc finds leftover goodies in the backyard from last spring (yes, we're talking poop).

Satan has landed the Matron another henchman.

But at least she can target the dogs as the rule of the devil instead of the teenagers. The young people should kiss each snout every day and thank their lucky stars that another being in the household is pure evil.

Tribute

Monday, the Matron went to a funeral.

She never met the man who died; he was related to her in a married sort of way and discretion shall prevail here. Let's just say there might be a brother or sister-in-law who lost a parent. But the Matron's husband knew the deceased well and demonstrated that he was capable of tearing up for 9 hours without pause.

Let's just note that the Matron was mightily annoyed about the whole funeral event, despite her spouse's investment. First, her children were on Spring Break all last week. Spring Break is a really bad idea, especially when it's 32 degrees and there's six inches of snow on the ground. Mostly it means trying to work while also feeding children.

Merrick: "Mom? Can I have lunch?"

Matron: "No!"

That's sort of how it went.

So there was juggling the jobs and the children for a week and the Matron was LONGING for Monday when they went back to school and she could catch up on work. Think! From 9:17 (not that she's counting minutes) until 3:22, there would be time to work.

Then, inconveniently, on the first day children went back to school, the Matron and her husband spent the day at a funeral.

The drive to and from the event? Over two hours.

The funeral itself? Nearly two hours. We Catholics know how to rock and roll. Ahem, she means stand and kneel.

But as the Matron sat in the church, crabby and critical of the artwork on the walls (really, really, really bad and let's just say the artist aimed for something beautiful and fell on his/herbelly) she couldn't help but listen to the sermon and eulogy.

A man who raised ten children died. There were nearly 50 grandchildren and already half that many great-grandchildren. They were all there and the emotion in the church moved even the crabby, non-committed, uninvolved Matron, who never met the man.

Let's pause here. If you're planning a funeral?

Here's what you do: have those 10 children, nearly 50 grandchildren and various great-grandchildren sing The Lord's Prayer in unbelievable harmony. Because that's what happened. The priest paused the traditional (LONG) Catholic ceremony to say the family had something to offer.

Fifty people harmonized to the Lord's Prayer.

The Matron is not a Christian (okay, stop following her right now if this bothers you -- she's a hard-core Buddhist) but that song? Breath-taking.

Here's how they sounded.

Well, okay. Like 20% of the King's. And that's good enough for her. Sort of sucked that crabbiness and impatience out of her and swung her into the present moment, in a church full of 200 grieving people.

Here's to the ones we love and how we lose them. Sort of the universal connection.

Lessons of the Heart

Recently, the Matron learned that her mother is unwell. Heart explorations and surgeries are in store, along with other procedures. The Matron will be traveling to New Jersey to care for her mother as needed.

The failing heart was not lost on the Matron.

Here's how the heart works:

You hold that baby, one minute old and look into the face of eternal love. You're exhausted and spent, but the love means you can sprint the globe.

There's the wedding. Yes, gifts and receptions are good. But those minutes alone with someone who loves you beyond all else?

You're in college and a horrible series of events ensue. You call your best friend (thank you Sherri) and not only does she listen, but she shows up in about an hour to help you move out of your dorm room into a better place. Without asking.

Every tooth your child loses. The Tooth Fairy is love.

Santa.

The day your 9 year old comes home with a question about what being White, Black or Asian means and wonders if he should feel guilt; he's confused because his family runs the racial gamut. The answer is no to guilt but understand history and current status. Not guilt, but resolution.

Your husband looks at you behind the backs of the arguing children and throws a kiss.

The 75 blood hound puppy throws himself on top of you at 5:30 am. The older dog, now six, is sound asleep.

Elizabeth Taylor. Let's just say she lived love. Good-bye, my dear.

Giving your father's eulogy. Just toss in an extra dollar with your tip and you'll be remembering someone the Matron loved.

Driving 3 hours a day to theaters, baseball, tennis, violin.

The end of the day . . . watching stupid late night TV and talking. Holding hands. Let's just say that 20 years is good. Please -- she knows this is sappy but it's true.

Making sure everyone does homework.

Watering the plants and tending to the garden.

Tucking everyone in at night.

This is the heart. Certainly, there's an organ that pumps blood and the Matron hopes hers -- and her mother's -- works hard for many years. But the heart? As metaphor and meaning in the world?

Watch the face of your child tonight.