I've just gotten back from the first meeting of the Windsor Writers' Group. It was held at Pause Cafe in downtown. Technically, the cafe was closed, but the owner (whose name I can't recall) held it open just for us.
I am very bad at guesstimating crowd sizes, but certainly more than 20 people were in attendance. I had to chuckle as it appeared that I was one of the younger people in the crowd. That's really saying something for a middle-aged English teacher. The meeting was organized by Lenore of Cranberry Press and Elaine of Walkerville Press, both local self-publishing companies. They both mentioned that the city of Windsor had not had a proper writer's community, but small pockets of writers who regularly got together. This meeting was an attempt to bring many writers together for mutual support and idea sharing.
There was a fair amount of discussion about what people were looking for from a writers' group. Not everyone shared, but the loud-mouth that I am, I tossed in my two cents. It was decided that the people in the group would e-mail their ideas to Elaine and Lenore. For example, should poets just meet with poets and prose writers just with prose writers? How would the group come back as a whole to share or hold readings? Hopefully, all of those issues will get hashed out quickly and the writers can really sit down and get to work.
I am really looking forward to this group for a lot of reasons. One, it's important to be reminded that others are struggling with some of the same issues as me. Whether it's writer's block or that eternal struggle between balancing work, child-rearing, and the writing passion, we all suffer at one time or another. why reinvent the wheel when others can offer valid help. Moreover, I hope to make real connections in this group. Not working in Windsor doesn't give me a natural entree into the Windsor social scene and I've been relying on others to help me. Frankly, after eight years of living here, I still basically know no one. That's my fault and I hope to rectify that by meeting people with common interests.
Since the concert on Friday, I've written quite a bit. I "finished" Chapter Seven and I started the eighth. I find that I need a fair amount of external stimulus to help my brain generate ideas. If I spend too much time in my own brain, I get mired in stale musty cobwebs. I hope that just getting out of my normal routine and talking about writing will shake things up for me a bit.
Having said all that, I am looking forward to the next meeting.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Patti Smith at St. Andrew's
One of those goals I set for myself this year was to attend a few concerts (the non-Tilbrook kind). Last night, I kicked it old school (such a ridiculous phrase I just had to write it) and went to St. Andrew's on Congress in Detroit to see the legendary Patti Smith. Going into the show, I knew very little of her music, but I did know that she is a poet, had been on the cutting edge of the emergent US punk scene, and had married Fred Smith - guitarist from the legendary Detroit band the MC5. If you don't know the name of the band, you are likely to know their most famous lyric, "Kick out the jams motherfuckers." To be honest, I really only knew one song, "Because the Night," a song she had written with Bruce Springsteen and she recorded. Tickets were only $20, so I thought that was a bargain to see a legend and to hand out in St. Andrew's, so I dragged my girlfriend Laurie and we went.
We had dinner at Sweet Water Tavern. It's a BBQ place, so an odd choice for this beginning vegetarian. Luckily they had fish and chips on the menu, and it was quite delicious. From there, we walked across the street to St. Andrew's. All ticket holders were sent around to the back and sent down into the Shelter (oh my, those were the days) to wait to go up to the show. Considering that the gross majority of the audience consisted of aging punkers 40 or older, I'm sure we were sent in to save us from the nippy winter air.
I wasn't watching the time, but I figure we were in The Shelter for about 15 minutes before being sent up stairs to stake out a spot. At this point, my back started hurting quite badly and I truly thought that I wasn't going to make it to the concert. We eased our way over to the bar and at least I could brace myself against that for a while.
The opening act came on around 8:45. It was Patti's daughter and son-in-law. She played keyboards and he played vibraphone and sang. The music was remarkably lullabyesque and threatened to put us to sleep. From those around us, there was a general polite tolerance for the opening act. They seemed to play for about 45 minutes.
Finally, at 10, Patti Smith and her band hit the stage to thunderous. Much of the music was familiar to be, but I did not know the names. I just know that the woman on stage in the hate, long dark hair, man's sport coat, and t-shirt kicked ass. She told the story of how "Because the Night" came to be written and reason behind the line "love is a ring, the telephone." Apparently she sat up very late one night waiting for Sonic (Fred Smith) to call her, which he eventually did - five hours late. One surprise highlight for me was her cover of Jim Carrol's "People Who Died." I know that I haven't bounced and danced like that in forever.
The show ended with an amazing finale. She performed an astounding cover of "Gloria" which then merged into "People Have the Power." Throughout the evening, she exhorted us Detroiters to take back our city and to bring it out of these hard times.
The one funny crowd story I want to share involves some people we met and started to hang out with during the evening: two women and one man. At some point, I looked over at one of the women and she was talking with a young man who was, uh, um constructing some smoking material for her! I looked at someone who had squeezed in next to me and she looked at me and we both just smiled. I went back to enjoying the show and I could smell the smoking material to my right and I knew the transaction had been completed. The material had been passed off behind us when I noticed the bouncer coming our way. I tried to impede his progress, but he was a much bigger person than I and pushed right past me. He got to the guy (a stranger) who now had the smoking material and took him away. This is the funny part, ten minutes later, the smoking guy came back with a huge smile on his face. Apparently, he had been allowed to finish his smoking material and come back to the show with no further consequences.
Who doesn't love sex, drugs, and rock n' roll?
We had dinner at Sweet Water Tavern. It's a BBQ place, so an odd choice for this beginning vegetarian. Luckily they had fish and chips on the menu, and it was quite delicious. From there, we walked across the street to St. Andrew's. All ticket holders were sent around to the back and sent down into the Shelter (oh my, those were the days) to wait to go up to the show. Considering that the gross majority of the audience consisted of aging punkers 40 or older, I'm sure we were sent in to save us from the nippy winter air.
I wasn't watching the time, but I figure we were in The Shelter for about 15 minutes before being sent up stairs to stake out a spot. At this point, my back started hurting quite badly and I truly thought that I wasn't going to make it to the concert. We eased our way over to the bar and at least I could brace myself against that for a while.
The opening act came on around 8:45. It was Patti's daughter and son-in-law. She played keyboards and he played vibraphone and sang. The music was remarkably lullabyesque and threatened to put us to sleep. From those around us, there was a general polite tolerance for the opening act. They seemed to play for about 45 minutes.
Finally, at 10, Patti Smith and her band hit the stage to thunderous. Much of the music was familiar to be, but I did not know the names. I just know that the woman on stage in the hate, long dark hair, man's sport coat, and t-shirt kicked ass. She told the story of how "Because the Night" came to be written and reason behind the line "love is a ring, the telephone." Apparently she sat up very late one night waiting for Sonic (Fred Smith) to call her, which he eventually did - five hours late. One surprise highlight for me was her cover of Jim Carrol's "People Who Died." I know that I haven't bounced and danced like that in forever.
The show ended with an amazing finale. She performed an astounding cover of "Gloria" which then merged into "People Have the Power." Throughout the evening, she exhorted us Detroiters to take back our city and to bring it out of these hard times.
The one funny crowd story I want to share involves some people we met and started to hang out with during the evening: two women and one man. At some point, I looked over at one of the women and she was talking with a young man who was, uh, um constructing some smoking material for her! I looked at someone who had squeezed in next to me and she looked at me and we both just smiled. I went back to enjoying the show and I could smell the smoking material to my right and I knew the transaction had been completed. The material had been passed off behind us when I noticed the bouncer coming our way. I tried to impede his progress, but he was a much bigger person than I and pushed right past me. He got to the guy (a stranger) who now had the smoking material and took him away. This is the funny part, ten minutes later, the smoking guy came back with a huge smile on his face. Apparently, he had been allowed to finish his smoking material and come back to the show with no further consequences.
Who doesn't love sex, drugs, and rock n' roll?
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Digital age problem update
I wrote a very simple happy birthday on said person's wall. I took a peek to see if she had removed it ( I don't know why I thought that). She had replied with a thank you to every other birthday wish - except mine.
Well. isn't that interesting?
Well. isn't that interesting?
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
A digital age problem
I am really quite bad a remembering birthdays. Unless I am specifically reminded or we have made plans, I will forget your birthday. I know that on some levels that makes me a shitty friend.
Here is an example of technology to the rescue. Facebook reminds a person of all his/her "friends'" birthdays. Now, it's easy to write a superficial "happy birthday" on someone's wall. Plus, when it's your special day, you'll feel the FB wall love yourself. Now, what happens if the friend with a birthday is a real life friend with whom you have recently had a silent falling out?
I don't want to get too far into the details, but this is a person whom I considered sister-like and my son adores her and she him. The cause of the falling out is inconsequential, but considering where I think my life may be headed, the rift is likely irreparable. The question is: do I write a quick "happy birthday" on this person's wall. I would very much like to retain this person's friendship and love, but does this reach out a tentative hand to aid in that endeavor?
Here is an example of technology to the rescue. Facebook reminds a person of all his/her "friends'" birthdays. Now, it's easy to write a superficial "happy birthday" on someone's wall. Plus, when it's your special day, you'll feel the FB wall love yourself. Now, what happens if the friend with a birthday is a real life friend with whom you have recently had a silent falling out?
I don't want to get too far into the details, but this is a person whom I considered sister-like and my son adores her and she him. The cause of the falling out is inconsequential, but considering where I think my life may be headed, the rift is likely irreparable. The question is: do I write a quick "happy birthday" on this person's wall. I would very much like to retain this person's friendship and love, but does this reach out a tentative hand to aid in that endeavor?
Monday, February 8, 2010
Still alive
I totally have the mid-winter blahs. I go through this every year. I feel like I have nothing to offer the world and I should crawl under a blanket and stay there. I'll get over it, but I think that I need to sneak away for a long weekend and curl up with a book and my book and see what happens.
Perhaps in the meantime, I will begin to plan my big European tour for my 45th birthday. I think that I have the team assembled: Laurie, Laura, and Amy. We've got our destinations" one week in London, one week and a bit in Paris, one week in Ireland, and a couple of lost days consuming brownies in Amsterdam. The trip isn't until the summer of 2012, but I'm so excited at the prospect of seeing these wonderful places, I can hardly contain myself. I think it's time to start assigning research jobs to everyone so we can get a sense of the cost and properly save. That and a road trip should pick up my wintry soul.
Perhaps in the meantime, I will begin to plan my big European tour for my 45th birthday. I think that I have the team assembled: Laurie, Laura, and Amy. We've got our destinations" one week in London, one week and a bit in Paris, one week in Ireland, and a couple of lost days consuming brownies in Amsterdam. The trip isn't until the summer of 2012, but I'm so excited at the prospect of seeing these wonderful places, I can hardly contain myself. I think it's time to start assigning research jobs to everyone so we can get a sense of the cost and properly save. That and a road trip should pick up my wintry soul.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Cheese please
Last year, I started a tradition with Andrew. Every Sunday, he and I go the the cheese market to purchase cheese that he will take as a snack to school. Before I go further, I have to tell you that Andrew has always (or almost always) had an adventurous palate. He loves olives and beans of all sorts. I have been very lucky that he is not a picky eater. It makes planning meals much easier.
Anyway, he and I go every Sunday to choose his snack cheese for the week. The people at the cheese shop are super nice and will give customers a small taste of a cheese if requested. This is an essential part of our tradition. Andrew points to a cheese and politely asks for a taste. We get a taste and he proclaims that he either likes it or not. If he does, we purchase enough for a week's worth of snacks. He, true to his adventurous nature, does not stick with the simple cheddar cheeses of the world. Nope, has tried everything from Wesleydale (with a variety of fruits inside) to some strong Dutch cheese, that most adults can't handle. He has had dozens of world cheeses and has liked them all. I really need to remind myself to keep track of all of them.
Today at the market, he declared that he wanted brie for lunch (oh, okay, twist my arm) and that for snack, he wanted a French cheese, that he had NOT tried before, that also contained no wine. I thought the ladies behind the counter were going to bust a gut. Then, he asked me to read the signs that were at the top of the display case. He did not wish to hear about the Canadian cheeses nor the Quebecois cheeses. The next sign said French and this was our stop. I read through the list and nothing caught his attention until the last one- Chaumes. It was of course, the most expensive French cheese available. We tried it and it was lovely, so I dug in my pocket and bought 6 ounces, along with some fancy crackers. I have a feeling that my kid is the only one in his class to not bring string cheese to school and I am way beyond okay with that.
Anyway, he and I go every Sunday to choose his snack cheese for the week. The people at the cheese shop are super nice and will give customers a small taste of a cheese if requested. This is an essential part of our tradition. Andrew points to a cheese and politely asks for a taste. We get a taste and he proclaims that he either likes it or not. If he does, we purchase enough for a week's worth of snacks. He, true to his adventurous nature, does not stick with the simple cheddar cheeses of the world. Nope, has tried everything from Wesleydale (with a variety of fruits inside) to some strong Dutch cheese, that most adults can't handle. He has had dozens of world cheeses and has liked them all. I really need to remind myself to keep track of all of them.
Today at the market, he declared that he wanted brie for lunch (oh, okay, twist my arm) and that for snack, he wanted a French cheese, that he had NOT tried before, that also contained no wine. I thought the ladies behind the counter were going to bust a gut. Then, he asked me to read the signs that were at the top of the display case. He did not wish to hear about the Canadian cheeses nor the Quebecois cheeses. The next sign said French and this was our stop. I read through the list and nothing caught his attention until the last one- Chaumes. It was of course, the most expensive French cheese available. We tried it and it was lovely, so I dug in my pocket and bought 6 ounces, along with some fancy crackers. I have a feeling that my kid is the only one in his class to not bring string cheese to school and I am way beyond okay with that.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
I know that I can't bring them home with me, but...
Over my 15 year teaching career, I have had far too many students with heartbreaking stories. No child should have to experience what these babies had to endure. There was the boy whose mother was a prostitute who was murdered in a hotel. There were the sisters who witnessed their father kill their mother and then himself. There are the far too many to count kids with addicts for parents. There was the kid whose mom called him an asshole in front of me. With all of them, I have tried my best to be both sympathetic and empathetic, without giving up my own comforts and life, because I know how it easy it would be to try and take on their burdens.
Today, I gave a student a ride home. He is a special education student with a reading level around 3rd grade. I've been trying to work with him, but he has been very reluctant. He is a very nice young man, who occasionally acts far too impulsively and immaturely. He has no parents. Well, after giving birth to a series (4 or 5) of babies, his mother lost custody of them. I haven't even attempted to ask him about his dad, though I will. This young man with a big cheery smile has raised himself. Sure he's been in foster care and boys' homes, but as he told me today, he has taught himself all the survival skills he currently possesses. That doesn't make me feel very good.
He does not live in Hamtramck (where I actually teach), but in Detroit. He has not always lived in this current location, but this looks like it's going to be home for a while. He usually catches a ride or the bus, which is a hell of a ride. I think that he said he had to be on the bus by 6 a.m. if he is going to be on time for the 7:50 start. As we drove to his street, the main street became rougher looking, with fewer and fewer open store fronts. I was too busy chatting and driving, but I did not see anything that resembled a major grocery store. When we approached his street, he warned me to be sure to go slow, because there were huge potholes and sure enough, there was a construction barrel in the middle of the street, sitting in a hole about three feet wide and a half-foot deep. I didn't count, but at least 90 percent of the homes were abandoned and boarded up. He told me that he never goes outside in this neighborhood because some crackhead will start harassing him. When he gets home from wrestling, he goes in the house and watches t.v. Homework doesn't happen because his skills are too low and he lives alone - no adult supervision. This is the first year that he has been my student and he did not start off in our system. He is supposed to graduate in June. What will he do? I want to wrap him up, bring him home, and make sure that someone finally looks out for him. I can't, but he will be my project for the rest of the year. He cannot leave high school with so few options.
He's just one kid. Now think about a city like Detroit where the poverty rate in through the roof. How do we let our babies down like this?
Today, I gave a student a ride home. He is a special education student with a reading level around 3rd grade. I've been trying to work with him, but he has been very reluctant. He is a very nice young man, who occasionally acts far too impulsively and immaturely. He has no parents. Well, after giving birth to a series (4 or 5) of babies, his mother lost custody of them. I haven't even attempted to ask him about his dad, though I will. This young man with a big cheery smile has raised himself. Sure he's been in foster care and boys' homes, but as he told me today, he has taught himself all the survival skills he currently possesses. That doesn't make me feel very good.
He does not live in Hamtramck (where I actually teach), but in Detroit. He has not always lived in this current location, but this looks like it's going to be home for a while. He usually catches a ride or the bus, which is a hell of a ride. I think that he said he had to be on the bus by 6 a.m. if he is going to be on time for the 7:50 start. As we drove to his street, the main street became rougher looking, with fewer and fewer open store fronts. I was too busy chatting and driving, but I did not see anything that resembled a major grocery store. When we approached his street, he warned me to be sure to go slow, because there were huge potholes and sure enough, there was a construction barrel in the middle of the street, sitting in a hole about three feet wide and a half-foot deep. I didn't count, but at least 90 percent of the homes were abandoned and boarded up. He told me that he never goes outside in this neighborhood because some crackhead will start harassing him. When he gets home from wrestling, he goes in the house and watches t.v. Homework doesn't happen because his skills are too low and he lives alone - no adult supervision. This is the first year that he has been my student and he did not start off in our system. He is supposed to graduate in June. What will he do? I want to wrap him up, bring him home, and make sure that someone finally looks out for him. I can't, but he will be my project for the rest of the year. He cannot leave high school with so few options.
He's just one kid. Now think about a city like Detroit where the poverty rate in through the roof. How do we let our babies down like this?
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