Venetian Blinds

I've had this image knocking around in my head for the last week or so. It arose as the tiny memory of sitting in my grampa's room; I was probably 8 or 9 years old, staring in awe at the sight of shadows of tree branches dancing over the slats of his venetian blinds.

Venetian Blinds. I love them.

Simply put, they are (sometimes) wooden slats held together by cords and some sort of pulley-system. They cover windows, allowing varying amounts of light through them depending on which way you adjust the cords. They allow us to look out, but—depending on how we adjust them—protect us from the gaze of others.

To me, they mean so much more. 

Not just a memory of my grandfather (who I honestly don't even remember being in the room, although I'm sure he was or I would never been allowed in there), but of the beauty and mystery of memory itself.

So much of what we remember of our lives is  like those shadowy branches. Like a tree in the wind, memory seems to wave at us from the screen of our mind, carrying the images we've gleaned from the outside world. Yet unlike the actual tree, our memories are never really its branches. They are only the shadows left behind by the people and events that came before.

Although he died nearly 30 years ago, I can still see my grampa’s face so clearly. I can hear his laugh. I can picture the twinkle in his eyes when he would announce that he bought ice cream snowballs for us because he knew they were our favorites—although I knew even then they were his favorites, and that our visits offered him a rare chance to eat them without suffering a lecture on the care and feeding of diabetes from my grandmother (which she sometimes delivered anyway).

I can still see the Venetian Blinds in his bedroom, shimmering with the light and shadows they drew into the room.

I have a feeling I'm going to be playing with this for awhile. I can already feel the churning of ideas and images nearly ready to pour out onto the page. I have a feeling I'm going to be peering out through a lot of venetian blinds. 

But that's ok--I have them in every room of my house!

 
https://c2.staticflickr.com/8/7428/10129022593_0c51393af4_z.jpghind them.

On Procrastination, and moving on...

As a general rule, I don't put things off. Oh, I can be distracted, pulled away from things I plan to do by things I find along the way. But for the most part, once I know something has to be done, I  will do it.

I've been planning to write this post for at least two weeks now, but haven't been able to get myself to start.

The last few weeks have admittedly been busy. I've been working on final revisions to my project defense--that lovely "little" forty-eight page document that shows my committee (and the world) that I learned something about diaries, audience, identity, autobiographical acts and the theory that underlies all of them, as I completed the capstone project for my MA degree. At its heart, the MA degree is all about learning to do real academic research-- and my defense was meant to prove I did just that. My committee all signed on the dotted line--agreeing that I'd proven my case--and with that I was  approved for graduation. I've printed copies of the manuscript and defense, mailed a few off to those who needed to see them, and have moved on to researching publishers while I work on revisions of the novel.

I've also been putting together a final project for my independent study on the use of journals in the college writing classroom--creating a syllabus for a course I'd love to teach someday. Although I had little idea what I was doing, it was a great experience and I'll find out this afternoon how close to the mark I got with my first draft.

There's little (or maybe even nothing) left to do before I draw the curtain on my academic career. I've accomplished a great deal over the last 5 1/2 years, and I'm pretty happy with the way things have gone and proud of  all the hard work I've put into it.

But come Friday, it will be over. I went back to college at 52. I became a student in classrooms filled with people who were, in large part, younger than my children (and not only survived, but thrived). I learned to love it all--and now it's ending.

And that makes me more than a little bit sad.

I could very happily have done this forever--and being a professional student would be fun. But everything ends eventually, and I know its time to move on to the next phase of my life.
I have no idea what that will be yet, but I know something is coming (even if it's some time off and a chance to finish the revisions on my book).

From here on out though, I will no longer be a college student. Any book I chose to read will be my choice (now, I've got to admit, that sounds kinda nice...). Even this blog will change. I won't be writing about being a graduate student anymore, but about being a writer trying to publish her first book. I'll probably post bits and pieces from my book and thoughts on the publishing process.

Who knows! But today, I stopped procrastinating and wrote this post to say good bye to college.
It's time to move on with the next step...

(so...whenever you're ready, Future, you can show yourself! I'm ready to get moving, here!)