Application Status: All Graduation requirements have been met, the degree has been awarded.

… aaannnd exhale.



Ever since I picked up my (empty) diploma folder at the UALR commencement ceremony three weeks ago, I’ve had this nagging worry that maybe I hadn’t completed all of the hours I needed to graduate. This anxiety led me to check the status of my graduation application daily. Up until today, the status has been “pending.” I just knew that because I’d told everyone I was graduating and had my family sit through a two hour commencement exercise, I would be informed that some obscure thing had been overlooked:

“Uh oh, looks like you’re shy three credit hours. Didn’t your faculty advisor tell you about our new  Underwater Basket Weaving requirement? No? Oh, it’s a wonderful course – exposing students to artistic design, wicker, snorkels…”

“Is it a companion course to Seminars in Career Perspectives?”

Today I got the news that I am, indeed, a college graduate. In a few weeks I will get notification that I can come back to campus to pick up my diploma. (Somehow the thousands of dollars I’ve spent on “student fees” don’t cover a manila envelope and postage.)

Having already taken eighty hours in the ‘70s, I embarked on completing my college education in 2007. I didn’t know that was what I was doing; the original plan was to just take a few writing courses. The thing is, you have to meet with a faculty advisor before you are allowed to register for classes every term and these advisors treated me like a real student. I was enjoying the classes and, I admit, the validation so I decided to go ahead and finish. My kids were grown and I got a tuition discount so, why not?

Five years and sixty-two credit hours later, I got my Bachelor of Arts in English with an emphasis in Creative Writing. My GPA for those sixty-two hours was a 3.9, but unfortunately the courses I took during the “lost” years of the ‘70s dragged that grade point down too low to graduate with honors. It’s amazing what sobriety maturity can do for one’s work ethic.

My time at UALR was a rewarding experience, one of learning and self-discovery interlaced with regular doses of mortification. I could count on two, maybe three fingers the number of professors that were older than me. I remembered my Speech teacher from when his T-ball team played my son’s.

Friends ask me how I feel now that I’m finished and I tell them, “Semi-retired.” I sleep through the night again because I’m no longer awake worrying about completing an assignment. All I have to do is go to my job and then my time is all my own. I can read what I want without highlighters and sticky notes and not retain a damn thing. I can work in the yard and cross stitch without the guilt of neglecting my studies.

All in all, I’m glad I went back and got my Bachelors, but I’m ecstatic that it’s over.

Arkansas' "Mud"

I finally saw "Mud," the film written and directed by Arkansan Jeff Nichols (pictured with Matthew McConaughey).  The movie is also set and filmed in Arkansas, specifically on the White River and in and around Dewitt, Dumas, and Stuttgart.  As in his previous movies, "Shotgun Stories" and "Take Shelter," Nichols writes and films true to location and character.  The movie may have been a little too true-to-life for some in the way that some scenes did not lead to a big dramatic effect on the overall story.  For example, when Neckbone's uncle, played by Michael Shannon, spies on the boys on the island with Mud, one would expect something to come of it, be it sinister or simply a loud confrontation with Neckbone.  What Nichols gives us however is a quiet exposition of the type of relationship the uncle and nephew have.  I doubt a lesser actor than Shannon could have pulled off the subtlety needed to portray that character.  The same can be said of Ray McKinnon as Ellis' father.  The only adults in the movie that were not fully fleshed out were the bad guys.

Tye Sheridan and Jacob Lofland, as the 14 year olds Ellis and Neckbone, respectively, were the central characters and turned in outstanding performances.  No doubt due to their own acting abilities guided and honed by Nichols.

I saw Nichols' previous two movies on DVD at home.  I saw "Mud" at a Saturday matinee in a North Little Rock theater five weeks after its opening.  The theater was packed.  I cannot remember the last time I encountered so much audience participation at a movie.  It was impossible not to laugh along with everyone after practically every line out of Neckbone's mouth.  We moaned in unison out of sympathy or distress.  On the screen, it was apparent this was an Arkansas film but not any more so than it was apparent in that audience.  We Arkies love our creative artists and are as proud of them as we are our own children in their class plays and dance recitals.

Snapshots in My Mind

My daughter was married this weekend. The wedding was beautiful and unique, as it should have been since it was a year in the making. Every detail was meaningful.

I’ve not seen any photos or video yet so I have the luxury, right now, of putting my own slant on the images in my memory. I see makeup being tossed across a bed in a suite full of bridesmaids all laughing or asking, “Has anybody seen my …” I see Laura, extremely stressed, holding a tissue to her mouth to stop the bleeding from where she bit the inside of her lip. I see Ali putting Laura’s hair up and Lou putting makeup on 10-year-old Franny. I see Jawanda sitting in a chair, taking it all in. I see Laura step into her dress. I see friends at the site and am overwhelmed by how surprised I am even though I knew they were coming. I see Laura crying as pictures are taken before the ceremony. I see wonderful friends so carefully decorating mantels in the parlors of the Terry House Mansion. I see Erni being escorted down the aisle. I see Ben’s face the first time he catches sight of Laura at the end of the aisle. I see 8 beautiful girls strut down the aisle while my brother sings “Dimples.” I see Dan give Laura away. I watch as Laura and Ben recite the Pledge of Fidelity I wrote for my own wedding. I see them kiss and walk under the sabers of an honor guard. I see Laura get smacked in the butt by a saber as she is welcomed to the army and then I see Ben saber a bottle of champagne on the first try. I see Laura dance with her husband and then her father.

The most vivid image in my memory is also the most bittersweet. It took place when we were leaving the hotel for the ceremony. It is of Laura floating across the lobby of the Capital Hotel, employees rushing from the office behind reception and gasping as she passed. I held back and watched as she drifted away from me, toward … home.

I'm Hopeless

I bought sunflowers from the Russian Farmer at the Arkansas Certified Farmers Market this morning. I carefully selected each one for color and texture and took them to the aforementioned farmer to pay. Feeling like the Arky version of Mrs. Dalloway, I handed him the money. He looked at my, I thought, well put-together bouquet, held out his bear paw hand and said, “Geev them to me.” I obediently handed them over whereupon he added another sunflower, cut the stems, arranged them to his liking and put a rubber band around them. He thrust them back at me and said, “There, now they look ceevilized.”
I try to be an adult, I really do, but foreigners see right through me, because they really are adults and they‘re not putting up with any unruly sunflowers.

The 'Butt is Most Displeased

My son asked my husband and me to foster an abandoned dog that a friend of his rescued. We put up a brave show of resistance but of course we took the dog. They say he’s a Lab but I think he’s a Lab mix. Black Lab’s don’t normally have a white stripe on the chest. He also has some white toes on his back paws and is smaller than most the Labs I know. But, overall, he looks very Lab-like. His name is Ben – coincidentally the same name as my future son-in-law.

Chase and Emily brought the dog over last night to help us decide whether we would take him in. Of course, Ben didn’t leave with them. He’s a lovely dog and can do something we’ve never been able to get one of our dogs to do – he can catch objects in mid-air. He loves it … he really loves it. All our dogs would just sit there while balls, Frisbees, treats, whatever, bounced off their snouts but this guy is an ace. I can’t wait to play Frisbee with him.

Oh, and he wuvs the cat. He just wants to play with him and thinks it’s so cute when Tiggerbutt growls and hisses at him. Ben looks from us to the cat and it looks like he’s trying to say, “Look! Look how fluffy! I want him. Please, please, Puhleeve give him to me! We’ll have fun. Promise!” The cat makes a break for the door, imitating a pinball, never touching the floor. I swear to God it was like watching “Thunderdome.” That cat’s amazing. He ran on the wall. As long as Tiggerbutt doesn’t try to jump over Ben, he should be just fine. Right now the ‘Butt has taken refuge on top of one of the den bookshelves:



Who wouldn't want to play with that?

Sneezing Requires All My Concentration

My daughter is getting married. In six months. It’s serious get-to-work time. Of all the daunting things that can be thrown at a MOB (mother of the bride - nice, huh), the most disconcerting for me has to be the, almost as an afterthought, statement, “Oh, I need you to send me your measurements.” It’s not the measurements really, it’s the acknowledgement that I actually have a body. I’ve made a concerted effort over the last several months to totally ignore my body -- and that’s been working out okay. I really don’t even know how much I weigh, but now I must get out a tape measure and do the deed. I’m sure I will be appalled. I wish my daughter did not work in a bridal shop so far away. If I was getting my MOB dress close by, I could go in, request a blind fold, hold my arms out, have a lit cigarette placed in my mouth and stand there while a person I’ve never seen before and will never see again (specified in writing) wields the tape measure and whispers numbers (preferably metric - I’ve never figured out metric) to a tape recorder.

Confronting the inevitable, I was inspired this morning to go for a walk. Where I live, this time of year is pollen season. No, not pollen season -- that’s too innocuous for what occurs in my neck of the woods. It’s more like pollen Armageddon. Leave anything outside for five minutes and it will change color to yellow-green. I’ve always felt that it is particularly unfair that the first open window weather of Spring is accompanied by a dust storm of screen-mocking pollen. I’m one of the lucky people that doesn’t suffer from allergies but even I have my limits. I was near the end of my walk when the stuff got to me and I had to sneeze, which made me realize that sneezing requires all my concentration. I must come to a complete stop and focus my attention or, let’s just say, the rest of the walk will not be pleasant.

On the plus side, I just had an eye exam and my nearsightedness is actually being counteracted by age-induced farsightedness. Cold comfort is better than no comfort at all.

"Alabama"

Vhat choo tink ’bout Alabama?

This question was asked of me by my Austrian step mother yesterday as I was trying to watch the delightfully surreal 1937 Jack Benny movie, Artists and Models. If there was ever a movie intended to be viewed while stoned, this is it. (I just ordered a copy.)

Turning my head toward her but with my eyes still on the screen, I replied, “Well, I think Saban’s turned the program around and they should have a good season next year.”

She said, “No, de president – Alabama.”

That got my attention, so I turned to her and said, “Well, he’s only been president a week…”

“He gonna bring socialized medicine. You vatch, he selling America.”

I just stared at her. This is the same woman that grew up with socialized medicine and has touted it over the American system of healthcare as long as I can remember. I pointed out that we practically had socialized medicine what with the HMOs dictating medical care now. I didn’t have a clue what she was talking about with the selling America statement. Experience has taught me not to pursue her more ludicrous pronouncements, e.g. “Silber Satin give you yeast infection.” (Silver Satin being some kind of liqueur). There’s no point arguing with her. She will never like “Alabama” because he’s a Democrat and black. Just like I never liked Bush because he was a Republican and a moronic Cheney meat puppet.