Tag: emily dickinson

Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul.  – Emily Dickinson

by AngelfromMontgomery, posted in Blogging, Cats, Expatriatism, Friends, Hamline University MFA in Creative Writing Program, Praying for peace., Quotations, Uncategorized
Last night was the last night of AirVenture 2011, aka EAA, where I worked as a cashier selling reusable cleaning cloths!  Some highlights were riding my bike in past all the cars in the morning, chatting with the prop technicians in the booth next door from Redding, CA, and, having worked the day, going out in the boat with EP and Jeff and watching the vintage aircrafts fly over Lake Winnebago from the water.

They were fast!

But, alas, another cobbled-together job has come to an end and now I find in front of me the only road left, the Real Job, the job that I can find and then relax, the job that I can be at Peace with.  I have a new Degree and no debt, and also no money which leaves me feeling like I am sitting on one of those little cloths I was selling, my butt hanging over the sides.  It is very well-constructed, but how does it get off the ground?

A moment can move on and still stay with us, it’s one of the most beautiful things in life, Robert Hass’ Mississippi John Hurt lines in the poem about his brother, Ryan Gosling honoring the spirit of Patrick Swayze in his recent film, and in a thirty-three year-old, not-even-really girl anymore, back to the drawing board again, or perhaps there, officially, for the first time, thinking back on what she has to give to the next phase of life.

In Istanbul post-undergrad/pre-graduate school I taught English, wrote in my journal, and watched the O.C.

…and the little book I came across last night that reminded me of those days.  Maybe it’s a non-sequitor, but I just don’t want to forget her.

 
Link

Time to start looking for what’s out there.  No pressure in a bad way.  I’m looking everywhere…

MA candidate stuff

by AngelfromMontgomery, posted in Uncategorized

When the professor handed us an “example” answer to one of the essay questions, written by a former student, Carla started crying. She had to have known ahead of time they were going to do Dickinson, Carla whispered angrily after he left, her small face silently overtaken by red splotches. There is no way she could have written this otherwise.

We all knew it was Annie’s paper, and the general consensus was that Annie had known prior to the exam that it was Emily Dickinson’s “Poem 435” students would be asked to explicate. I walked out of the room, away from Carla, and smug-smiled Lisa, and Louie with his constant Gardetto’s and energy drinks, and whoever else was in there. I walked home slowly for once, concentrated on my breathing, ate an apple.