My hissy fit about Southern Writers.

For the past week or so in my senior lit class we have been exploring poetry. I have had a bit of a struggle. For the most part I can pull the kids in, get them interested. I know that everyone will not love it but I at least want them to appreciate what poetry is and be able to understand it. Long story short I have had some resistance. I mean some major resistance like they are meeting underground at night to find ways to undermine my whole system of reeling them in. I even had one student say, "Poetry is just an author who is lazy." Ahhhh! So on I trudge to my hissy fit I had with the Sunday Morning Dem Gaz at my kitchen table. Today in the style section was a whole article on poets living in Arkansas. My first thought was "Yes! A way to show how poetry is alive right here in their state!" My mind was making lesson plans with the article before I even read it. "Good Stuff," I was already patting myself on the back. As I read the article the two poets weren't native Arkansans but have made Arkansas their home. Ok so far so good. Both poets were asked a set a similar questions including something similar to ...did it make a difference being in Arkansas as compared to New York or Tokyo. Both said that place didn't hinder the artist within but one continued to talk about the place in which he called home. He said southerners had an ego the size of Texas (ok.....we do agree....because obviously we have reason to!) and something along the line of Southern Writers being overrated. I would quote the article here but in my rage I threw the paper into the trash which quickly was covered and smashed in the trash compactor. I was beside myself. I begin throwing names of Southern Writers who should only be revered and circled the kitchen island as my poor husband was utterly confused. How dare an artist live in the south and then declare such a blasphemous statement. Whether the gentleman truly meant what was printed I'm not sure, but he surely insulted anyone who has ever fallen in love with Southern Literature. I feel better now that I have had the opportunity to rattle on about the matter for a second time. I did get one good quote to combat the resistance in my class tomorrow: "A poet takes 14 lines to write what an author says in 500 pages."

Rain Rain on my face....

We've all heard the old cliche "When it rains, it pours." There are times in every one's life where this seems to be a truthful idiom. As I am sitting here writing this it is literally outside pouring down rain, but the truth of the matter is that what happen in the rain that has made it a trying week. I know that I should be very thankful for all that I have in light of the many in Haiti who have gone through so much but it has been hard dealing with love ones in pain. This week my husband's grandfather broke his hip and my grandmother is in the hospital with pneumonia. Papaw has had surgery and is doing fabulous for a 94 year old man. My grandmother is still in step down at the hospital. Both are such sweet loving souls that every time you see them or talk to them they seem invincible but really they are as fragile as their ages and that is something that I have to come to terms with. In my eyes the "adults" in my life have never aged. They have always been the rocks I could lean on. My shields, my strength. Yet recently I have noticed they have aged. More and more they are becoming dependent on me. Life is like a river....ever changing as it flows. The rains seem to come more and more and the river ever flows as does time.

OK Here it goes.....

I'm not afraid to try new things....but I often don't finish what I start. (like the at home wax kit that is in my bathroom trash can as I'm writing this) So this is the new adventure for myself....creating this blog. I've tried to keep a journal before but within a few weeks I've neglected my beautiful leather bound beauty or I'd lost my expensive journal pen that I bought especially for journal writing. So no more excuses.....

About the title:

Yes I am half Mexican. I can't speak Spanish. My identity has been an issue all my life. Not that I've wanted it to be an issue, but the world has always wanted me to fit into some box that I could easily check when filling out forms...but to be honest its not that easy.

Am I Mindless? Well no, but I can't promise what will be the purpose of this blog. I'm not sure. I was hoping this adventure would help me to figure this out.

Meandering? Life is full of twists and turns and mine has been no exception. "Life for me ain't been no crystal stair." If life was perfect, there would be no reason to write, have art, to create.

So thus I will begin my blog....about what I'm not sure.....but it will be Mindless Meanderings of a Half Mexican.