If I could be a character from a book, I would be Mary Russell from The Beekeeper’s Apprentice by Laurie R King. The beekeeper, in this case, is a retired Sherlock Holmes, and Mary becomes his apprentice. She is a renaissance woman — she is a student at Oxford in chemistry and religion, she takes up acting and other escapades, and she helps Mr. Holmes solve crimes, often in disguise. I would love to be the sort of person to attract the attention of Sherlock Holmes.
The best compliment I have ever gotten is from my friend Celia, who told me once that I reminded her of Mary Russell. Wow, how could I live up to that? I wasn’t an adventurer, but I had an encyclopedic knowledge of a lot of disparate things. Not deep, per se, but wide.
I don’t think I could live up to Mary Russell, but I can sure fantasize about being her.
To be honest, there’s probably not a job I would do full-time for free, because I like to be able to afford food. But part-time? I would take care of cats and dogs at the humane society for free. I would pet them and give them lots of pets and hugs.
I would walk the dogs and play with the cats. I’d like to walk the cats, but cats generally don’t go for that sort of thing.
I would do this for free, and have done it (minus the litterboxes — they don’t have guests doing the litterboxes). I had a student who would now and again stop by my office and proclaim, “kitty therapy time!” at 4:00, and we would go to the humane society to play with cats. The humane society welcomes this because it helps socialize their cats.
In a workshop I participated in, my town was described as two towns united by a football team, This is most certainly true, even today. One town can be described as the college campus with its more liberal professors and staff, and the other is full of what are called ‘townies’ elsewhere. The football team is the six-time Division II national champion Bearcats.
Maryville is a town with a streak of hatred. In the Thirties, we had a lynching. In 2013, a fourteen-year-old’s rape was blamed on her. Confederate flags occasionally fly, and black students report getting harassed in town businesses. This is not happening from the University side. I don’t want this to happen here.
It’s hard for me to live in Maryville because of this, but as this is where I work, I stay here. I would like to live in a bigger town with a kinder presence. I am not sure anything like this exists in the US; we are a mean country.
One thing you can do when writing a book is to skip to another chapter when you’re stuck on the one you’re currently writing. This is done so you can continue to write the book rather than bog down into writer’s block. I’m doing this right now, because I feel my first three chapters (or maybe just the latest chapter) are writing the same thing over and over. Not much action, too much expository.
Wouldn’t it be nice if real life were that way? If you could just skip over a day gone wrong and go to the next activity? If you could slide past the boring parts and get to the more interesting ones? I could skip a work week and make it to the weekend early.
It doesn’t work that way. The work still needs to be done. The boring parts are necessary to enjoy the good parts. Life is supposed to flow rather than happen in fits and starts. We can’t skip any of it — not the aggravation nor the grief. No skipping chapters in real life.
My morning starts with waking up at five AM, usually before the alarm rings. I sit in bed and read till twenty after, and then get upright, do my bathroom activities, and get dressed. Richard gets up at about the same time, although more reluctantly.
We wander downstairs and Richard makes breakfast, which is cereal, milk, and bananas. I then move to the loveseat, where my computer is, and I write this blog over coffee. When I’m done with writing and coffee, I go down to the basement and tend to the seedlings. Then I come back up and check the internet and talk until 7:30, at which point I ride with Richard to work, where he drops me off before he goes to work.
On Wednesdays and Fridays I work from home, so no going to work on that day. On weekends, we play music over coffee. Today it’s baroque, but often it’s modern classical and classical-adjacent.
So those are my morning rituals. I never thought about them as rituals, but they don’t change much. This morning I didn’t get up until seven, and I feel like everything is thrown off. Off to water the seedlings…
I have never, in my fantasies, wanted anything named after me. If I were rich, I’d donate money for a building to be named after someone else who actually accomplished something other than accumulating money. My favorite revenge fantasy was to name a building after a colleague who greatly disliked me, so she would have to take the honor remembering where it came from. But, alas, I haven’t come up with any money.
Daily writing prompt
What’s something most people don’t understand?
Mental illness is no big deal when it’s under control. There are lifestyle changes — for example, I can no longer stay up late with my bipolar (II) disorder. I have to have a set sleep schedule every night and sleep for about 9 hours a night. This is necessary not only to help monitor changes in sleep (which could be mood swings) but to keep from creating mood swings. I also monitor my energy levels for the same reason, and I don’t push myself beyond my limits.
I would not say my mental illness is horrific, but the potential consequences of mood swings are great. So far, hypomania has yielded some tension in relationships, incomplete projects, and somewhat risky behavior. My examples of the latter are going fishing in a deserted park at 2 AM and getting in the car with a drunk driver. It could be so much worse. Depression on the other hand is not only unpleasant, but can lead to suicide.
My bipolar is a lifetime thing controlled by medication and taking care of myself. I have not had either a depressive or hypomanic state for many years, so it’s mostly maintaining medication and good health practices. I regularly talk to my psychiatrist to monitor my moods and meds. I can live with my disorder; it’s neither trivial nor horrible.
I laugh at quirky circumstances. There was the time in high school when a classmate started his announcement on the PA three times, thinking he wasn’t being heard. The third time, he started his spiel with “My name is X, and if you don’t know by now …” I was the only one laughing.
I laugh at silly things. My husband and I act silly toward each other — making faces, making silly noises — and I laugh when that happens.
I laugh at really dark humor. I grew up with a sick sense of humor. I can’t give examples of what I laugh at, because I’m a little ashamed of this. Let’s just say I laugh at a lot of the depressing humor coming out of this political cycle.
Kittens. Kittens make me laugh. My husband shows me pictures of kittens all the time so I can laugh. And otters. And baby sloths. Cute things make me laugh. The latest thing was an AI video of kittens in Starbucks aprons making cappuccino. I could watch that for hours.
I laugh at clever wordplay. Especially bad puns. Okay, I groan at those, but close enough. ‘What is the difference between ignorance and apathy? I don’t know and I don’t care.’
I think laughter is a great way of getting through life.
When I was five, I wanted to be a doctor. I think that’s because doctors seemed so different than anyone else I had encountered at that age. They had their own offices, they wore white coats, and they talked to little kids instead of over their heads.
When I was eight, I aspired to be a poet. My third-grade teacher taught an ambitious unit on poetry where we actually wrote in different forms (my diamante was less than desirable, but my limerick was pretty good). She had posted my Groundhog Day poem (free-form) on the door of the classroom. I told my mother I wanted to be a poet and she asked, “Do you like to eat? Poets don’t make enough money to eat.” That was the end of my vocational aspiration, because I did like to eat. I went back to wanting to be a doctor.
When I was ten, I saw a lot of doctors for a stubborn malady. At that point, I had had enough of doctors, and that cured me of wanting to be one. My career aspirations were on hold until I hit high school. When I was sixteen, I wanted to be a dietitian because I had lost a significant amount of weight. I was what they would call nowadays an orthorexic, someone who followed a strict diet and lost more weight than advisable. I held that aspiration until my sophomore year of college, when I started gaining the weight back and feared the organic chemistry classes I would need to take. I changed to Foods in Business, a corporate foods career.
By the end of my sophomore year, I wanted to be a professor. I didn’t know what I wanted to be a professor of, but I had a friend whose father was a professor and I wanted a lifestyle that would keep me in academia. It took me till my first semester senior year to find the answer. I took a family economics class as an elective, and I fell in love with the class. We talked a lot about why women earned less than men, and I found the discussion intriguing. After class one day, I asked the professor if grad school was a possibility. She escorted me down the hall to the department office and introduced me to the department chair. Thus, I got into graduate school in Family and Consumption Economics pretty easily.
Once I got my PhD, my jobs have been only slight detours in my field. I teach a few psychology classes, due to my many hours in Psychology along the way. I teach human services classes, which in my case are akin to what I trained in. At one point, I wanted to be a winemaker when I retired, but I now think that would be too much physical labor. Now, I want to be a writer when I retire.
Words Like Me 