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Heimat - De File
Does Collecting Make You Feel Dirty?
I had a long talk today with a graduate student who will be taking his qualifying exams shortly. He seems extraordinarily "collected" -- the adjective I used in our conversation -- for someone whose day of judgment is approaching. In fact, he's so calm and well-prepared that we were finally able to indulge in our long-deferred discussion of the fact that we went to the same elementary school in rural Pennsylvania and, better still, were only three years apart.

I mentioned that Skylar had just started kindergarten, then asked him which teacher he had had at Springfield. At the name "Moyer," I asked, "In the old schoolhouse?" It's funny how well you remember that sort of thing. When Skylar was giving her "Marvelous Me" presentation in her class at Manzanita an hour later, Mrs. Simpson mentioned that she had students put down the name of their teacher in their books so that they could remember it years later. My office-hours chat still in mind, I said, "It's not likely they'll need the reminder." I mean, you may forget the name of your classmates from the previous semester of college at the slightest provocation, but your kindergarten teacher is special. Mine was Mrs. Wommer, in the main school building. She was older, severe, far less touchy-feely than Mrs. Moyer. But I loved her just the same.

You know what I just realized? My sister was in Mrs. Moyer's kindergarten class the year after my graduate student was. Somehow that trips me out more than just about anything I've realized lately. Must be due to the fact that thoughts of Miriam -- let's go with "Mi," to keep things more familial -- have been making my brain sag like an overused trampoline. Then again, it is the anniversary of that wonderful Richard Buckner show with Howe Gelb at Solar Culture, back on 9/9/01. I was preoccupied with her then. Why not be preoccupied with her now? Time to go call Eric. We're going out to a show. That Buckner show was the first one we attended together. Anniversaries all around, but at least that one's happy.

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Muse: Peacherine Rag - Scott Joplin - Original Rags

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kdotdammit From: kdotdammit Date: September 10th, 2004 07:12 pm (UTC) (LINK TO SPECIFIC ENTRY)
I forget my kindergarten teacher's name. I do, however, remember the principal -- Mr. Twitchell -- ridiculous name for a ridiculous bald headed spaghetti shaped fool. I rememember him, of course, because he suspended me for beating up a boy (or defending myself rather, but girls aren't supposed to defend themselves with fists, and definitely not against boys). But the teacher . . who knows? I'm sure it was Mrs. Something-Or-Other.
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