Musing About Family

Fiorella received a sweet card from her cousin Julie the other day, and it touched her heart. "We three sisters wish we lived closer to you," she said, and Fiorella could not help but think of what a joy it would be if she and her cousins lived in the same town and could help each other from time to time-- like now, when Fiorella is overwhelmed with responsibility. She also thought about how wonderful it would be if she and her own children lived closer enough together to help each other. Thus Fio could take Baby two or three time a week, which would reduce childcare costs for Bastrop son and bring her joy.

But tribal living doesn't pay off in the long run. One always has to follow the crops and the jobs. It's called survival.

The Truth and Nothing But

MR. ROGERS: Older Son was mesmerized by him, but Fio thought he was weird--until she saw his puppet opera and realized she too could write an opera, but her opera, of course, would be for the women in her choral group. And she did--The Three Little Pigs, which was performed at a couple of day-care centers and old-age homes. Fio, of course, not only wrote the music and the lyrics, but also made the scenery and the head-pieces. The three houses are long gone, but the porcine ears and tails are are still around here somewhere. Hopefully, the score is too. (PS: Fio played the wolf.)
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Dogs exist to love and be loved. Every home should come equipped with one.
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Fiorella has been assigned to this world so therefore she is responsible for it. She will do her best.
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Undocumented immigrants are probably the safest drivers on the road. They don't want to be stopped and asked for their driver's licenses.
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Some guys look just as ridiculous with beards as they did with mohawks. A combination is even worse,

Overload

Somewhere in the world there are people who wake up every morning and think "What can I do to occupy my day?" Fio is not one of them.  Her daily routine is to leap out of bed, grab her lista amarilla, and think "How can I possibly get all this done today?" There's the house and the yard, the husband and the dog, the friends and family, the woods, the writing, the Spanish, and maybe a bit of art and music. And now she's wracking her brain trying to figure out a way to topple Trump and his dirty crew.

Yes, your Fiorella is a responsibility kind of a gal. Maybe because she has strong maternal instincts, maybe because she was the oldest child in the family, maybe because she feels guilty when anything--ANYTHING--goes wrong. Whatever, she's driven, so don't try to rein her in. Instead, join her cause. Together, we can bring Trump down.

Teaching Philosophy

In a former life, this was my teaching philosophy.

My teaching philosophy is very simple:  I assume responsibility for each and every student in my classroom, not just the eager scholars on the front row, but also the long-legged guys in the back of the room, the shy girl hiding in the corner, the rambunctious rebel who sees every teacher as an enemy, and the paraplegic woman who cannot even raise her hand.

To this end, I work to establish a supportive atmosphere in my classes. I encourage students to consult with me during my office hours, and I list my home phone number and e-mail address on my syllabi. I often end up doing personal counseling too—of students, former students, and absolute strangers whom my students have referred to me. 

I run a rigorous classroom, with daily question-answer sessions that run up and down the rows, with comprehensive exams at various points in the semester, and with specific requirements in writing assignments.  

Above all, I strive to be the very best role model possible as a teacher and as a human being. I want my students to learn not only composition techniques and literary analysis, but also cooperation, tolerance, and kindness. 

Students frequently ask me about a pin I often wear.  A gift from a long-time friend, it symbolizes a helping hand and a loving heart.  I try to live up to it.

Fio, the Killer

Fiorella has traced that guilt she told you about--deep inside herself, she still believes that, when she was a very young child, she killed her grandmother.

She's told you about it before, how, as her grandmother lay dying, Fiorella was told to stay in the large foyer outside the front room.  She remembers staring at the umbrella stand, at the front door, the stairs, and around at the empty room, and she knew her grandmother was in bed in the room off the other side of the front room.

Fio can only guess that, because she was alone, she probably entertained herself by singing.

Someone came through the door--a woman whom Fio, of course, cannot identify--and told her she should be quiet because her grandmother was dying. So when Grandma passed on soon afterwards, Fiorella assumed she had killed her by making noise in the foyer.

Yes, she actually believed she was a murderer, and she kept her horrible secret for forty years--until she finally faced the memory and realized there was no way a child could kill a person by making noise.

Unfortunately, though, the belief is still embedded in Fio's psyche.

But strangely enough, it has helped Fio become a better person than she might have been otherwise.  She knew she had to tread the straight and narrow because she had already committed such a terrible crime, a crime she had escaped rightful punishment for. It also gave an overload of responsibility because she apparently had great power.  Yes, Fiorella is out to save the world.

A final thought.  After looking at the dates, Fiorella told you it was her grandmother who was dying, which occurred when Fiorella was four and a half.  But through the years, she always thought it was her great-grandmother who was dying, which occurred when Fio was two and a half.

Take your choice.

Overload

Why is Fiorella always so busy, with a continuing list of commitments and responsibilities?  Why aren't other people trapped in this web of constant activity?  What is their secret--elves, fairies, magic wands?  Where are Fiorella's little helpers?

Well, so much for the gritching.  Got to get back to work, which means finishing my laundry and sending out a chapter of one of my unsold masterpieces for critiquing.  But maybe those two are one and the same.

Movin' On

When Fiorella's fourth grade teacher talked to the class about small thefts that had occurred in the classroom, Fio went home that afternoon and checked her bureau drawers to be sure she wasn't an unknowing kleptomaniac.  Yes, your Fio has an overly strong sense of guilt.

But some people have no sense of guilt at all, no sense of right and wrong, no conscience.  It's marvelously freeing to be around a person like that, to be able to express whatever snarkiness comes to mind and laugh about it, to be coaxed out of post-utterance guilt.  But ultimately, there's a price to pay--a lack of conscience means the person has no sense of responsibility to anyone, including you.

Fio has been wrestling with the dregs of this situation for months.  The only way to bury it is to understand it.

But it still makes Fiorella sad.

Continuing Guilt

It's not just guilt--it's a yen for control. Taking responsibility for the things that bad people do to us gives us the idea that somehow, we could have prevented our victimization.

In actuality, we have no control over our lives. People are mugged for no reason and stolen from at the least opportunity. Qualified, hard-working people can't get jobs or are fired out of hand. Madmen kill good people at random from university towers. We develop strange illnesses or conditions. We age when we don't want to.

So we, who are powerless, embrace the illusion of power and call it responsibility.