The Relief

I finally have a break! I'm tearing up with gratitude.

This has been the most exhausting semester I've ever had. Not necessarily the hardest, although teaching both live and on Zoom at the same time was somewhat difficult and gave less than stellar results. But long and exhausting, waiting for students to drop in on Zoom, sitting in a empty office, scuttling from office to restroom with my mask on. 

The sunny days out the window seemed so distant from where I sat, even though I have the best view on campus out my window. Then the leaden skies came, and at least they matched my moods.

There was the constant threat of COVID. There was a point where 9 out of 60 students were out over either isolation (COVID positive) or quarantine (contact with a COVID positive). The virus swept through peer groups and Greek life, and although I taught social distanced and masked, the random trips through hallways and in bathrooms worried me.

I focused on the task, knowing that thinking about any of this, much less all of this, would break me. And so I became an automaton, checking off each finished class session, each office hour. Not waiting for break, because that seemed too distant. 

Now I'm here, at break, and I want to cry. After this week, I have a week of waiting for students to ask questions over Zoom (and they never do too much of this) and finals week, where their exams are essay and take home. I will be at home, comfortable, during all of this. So, in effect, I have survived the semester.

And I feel like crying. 

Really fluffy towels

This is the Grotto (spa) at The Elms in Excelsior Springs, MO.
I wish I was there right now.

Editing Apocalypse (for the fortieth time) is a real bear.

One moment I think it's looking good, the next I know I'm feeling discouraged. I feel I have it all together, and then I think it's missing something. I forget I'm reading for character and start changing grammar in sentences.

It's a frustrating time.

I think it may be time to go on to something else. I need to make a poster of my latest research for an online convention poster session. Great idea, I think. My mind is tired of six hours of reading a day. Of course, it will take me at least six hours to do this poster, so ...

Sigh. I need to take a break. One that involves a spa and really fluffy towels. 

Taking a vacation

Feeling a little down. That happens at the end of every semester. I think it's because I'm always in high gear to get through the semester, and then nothing. I don't know what to do with myself. I'm tired yet antsy. I suddenly have no goals. It's hard to deal with. 

Too much time to think. I suddenly have to fight a bunch of negative self-talk, I don't feel inspired to write. I get grouchy.

The solution: get up, do something. Go to the cafe and perhaps try something new. Conversely, get lots of sleep and meditation. Do something different for a change of pace.

In other words, take a vacation.

Tha

Because our families are so far away and it's no fun to cook for two and our house is too chaotic for guests (with now four cats, as Buddy has been shunning our house for brighter prospects with his buddy the black-and-white cat), my husband and I go somewhere fun and eat turkey there.

This year, we're off for a couple days to a mini-holiday in Kansas City: Staying at a bed and breakfast on the Plaza, eating turkey at a restaurant in Waldo (all together: where's Waldo?), knocking around and watching shoppers on Black Friday. The bed and breakfast -- Southmoreland on the Plaza -- promises to be a treat, with afternoon sherry and turndown chocolates.

I started dating my now-husband on Thanksgiving break in 2005. He got acquainted to my ritual of watching Black Friday shoppers rather than shopping (much cheaper, fewer hassles). I think that's why we got married: he liked my quirk. 

So this should be a pleasant break before going back to work (I'm a professor of human services) on Monday. But there's only one week of work, then finals, then I'm off for Winter Break. That's just strange.

Time to Go

I'm heading out today for my moulage stint at New York Hope, housed at the New York State Preparedness Training Center, otherwise known as Disaster Disneyland. This is a wonderful opportunity to take a working vacation, as my husband and I take the train (California Zephyr; Lake Shore Limited) and get a sleeper car.

I will try to post on the trip, at least a little. Maybe some photographs. You've been on this trip with me before.

Strange activity on the blog

Occasionally, my blog will get bursts of energy, with several countries visiting all at once -- a bouquet of visitors from Japan and Ukraine and Moldova and Sweden and Moldova. All on the same type of browser. All reading the same note -- which is not the current post. Usually a day or two after I've last posted on a slow post week.

The most obvious solution is that my post count has been increased by a bot, probably one that can spoof countries. But why? Why bother spoofing different countries? Why bother actually connecting to a post? (I've noticed times when my hit count has increased with no specific blog posts hit). It doesn't seem to be an effort to disseminate porn links (which happens now and again). If it's a DDOS attack -- well, it's too modest for a DDOS attack. 

The only thing I can think of is that something or someone is trying to inflate my reader numbers. Thanks, I think.

*************
Today I'm at the Graduate Hotel in Iowa City, IA, home of the Iowa Writers' Workshop (the ranks of which are too rarefied for me).  Here's a picture, apropos of Gaia's Hands:

To my family

I don't get to see my dad and sister often, owing to the fact that I'm about seven hours' drive away from them. I see them twice a year, at Memorial Day and Christmas, and Christmas is a bad time for my dad since my mom died at that time.

I'm very different than my dad and sister, having collected a few college degrees along the way and having a larger vocabulary (I can't help it, Lisa, I like using the right words). And the fact that I'm an extrovert, and I couldn't tell if they were listening to me because I wouldn't get much of an answer. It was hard to be around them, then.

But now, I get an inkling of who they are when I come visit. I am reminded of the family I came from, full of compassion and anger banked into sarcasm. The family whose fortunes turned sour when a fifteen-year-old Gerald Leach chose the farm rather than the foundry which now makes most of the garbage truck hoppers in the United States. The descendants of both Michel Cadotte (the spelling varies) and Iksewewe. Child of a man who served in the army and became a pacifist. A family that accepts me without marveling at me, which makes me happier than could anything.

Thanks, Dad and Lisa. I had a wonderful time.

Coffee and atmosphere and people's stories. This is what I do on vacation. ("Did you get to the Parthenon?" "No, but there was this really great espresso bar down the street.")

I'm sitting at Higher Grounds Coffee in Beaver Dam, Wisconsin. Wisconsin is full of picturesque place names, including Native American (Oconomowoc -- we can tell you're not from here by how you pronounce this) and French (Prairie du Chien -- yes, for those of you who are translating, that's "Dog prairie".  It's also pronounced badly -- "Prairie d'SHEEN" 

The meeting of my Metis ancestor Michel Cadotte and his bride Ikwesewe, the daughter of the head of the White Crane clan, happened up in Chippewa County, where I have a lot of distant relatives that descended from that union. I claim myself as a Wisconsinite, although I have never lived there, because of my family and their history there. I also claim myself as a vacationer, having been let loose in a country of bratwurst and Danish pastry, beer (I don't drink), brandy (ok, maybe a little), and my favorite type of cheese, brick. Lest you think we eat and drink here all the time, we also fish (much fun), hunt (except for me, because they don't want anyone to die of my ineptitude), and boat (I  so wish I had access to a boat, even the black carp boats that shine lights in the murky water at night and harpoon invading supercarp. 

This morning, I listened to a woman's stories of twenty-plus years raising golden retrievers, and my mind was full of puppies on the way to Higher Grounds. Now I'm drinking honey in my coffee and remembering part of who I am, the part I forget when I'm far from Wisconsin -- a person who can sit still and listen, not driven to do anything and everything now, happy to swap stories.

My family doesn't quite know what to do with me, because I'm not totally that person. I'm also the person taking graduate classes after getting a PhD, the one who writes books, who needs to be doing something almost all the time. The "smart" one, who journeyed to a life they can't imagine and who comes back to bewilder them with her otherworldliness. The irony is that my life isn't that much different. The irony is that I came from a very intelligent, if not highly educated, family, who don't know how interesting they are.

Wisconsin is a great place to visit, but I don't feel like it truly accepts who I am. It takes me by the hand and thanks me for being a guest, and it's cheerily helpful while I'm here. Then it sends me on its way, back to where I live, which I don't feel a part of either.

Boy, Do I Need a Break!

I get off work at 1 PM today, and after that? Spring Break. Americans don't get as much vacation as do people in many European countries, and when we do get vacation time, we frenetically spend our vacations going places -- usually places in the southern portion of the country where it's over 60 degrees.

That's not what I intend to do with my spring break. We have such a paltry train system here that long-distance car driving is the only way to travel distances, and the scene from the interstate is less than enchanting. I'm also not fond of beaches and drunken crowds (which is what happens at Palm Beach, Tijuana, Fort Lauderdale and other southern beach properties.)

If I had the money to travel for spring break, I would travel to one of the following:

• Thailand, to apprentice to a fine cook there and eat durian till I'm banned from public transportation;
• Vancouver Canada, in the hopes I discover my next career there (not likely to happen)
• The British Isles, hoping to secure a non-tourist tour that exposes me to real life.
• Somewhere in Europe, but only if invited, and knowing my husband is coming with me.

In other words, I want slice of life, authentic food, and connections with real people.

What will I be doing for Spring Break?

• On Saturday March 17, I will be watching the World's Shortest St. Patrick's Day Parade and eating traditional Irish faire at the Historical Society. Oh, yes, and celebrating my 11th wedding anniversary (in case you've wondered, I'm part Irish (and Welsh, German, Ojibwe, French, Polish, Dutch, Irish) so a St. Patrick's wedding day makes sense. On the other hand, Richard (although his name is Leach-Steffens) is German and Chinese. 

Us, eleven years ago. We get better with age.

• On Sunday March 18, we'll take a trip to The Elms in Excelsior Springs again for a reasonably priced two-day writing retreat. I don't know if Richard will write, but I plan to work on Whose Hearts are Mountains, the next installment in the Archetype books. (I'm saving finishing Prodigies, a YA novel, until Camp NaNo in April.)
• From there, it will be garden work and finalizing my annual portfolio. Not much we can plant now except peas, lettuce, cabbages and maybe root vegetables.

Overall, not exciting. I'll probably post during vacation (like I managed during Atlantic Hope, Missouri Hope, and New York Hope -- nothing can stop me, not even depression) 

But here's a new thought -- if you want to, send digital postcards to lleachie@gmail.com. It's the next best thing to having coffee with me.