We've decided to postpone our trip to Montreal.
I am so, so sad about this. I was looking forward to a few days away, spending time with Stephen's parents, spending time with Stephen.
Alas, in this instance Stephen was the adult and took into consideration our work loads, his dissertation demands, and while guilty made the decision that we'd postpone for now with hopes of being in Montreal the first week of the new year.
In time for Ukrainian Christmas.
Provided the weather co-operates.
Of course.
There is less than one month remaining of this term.
Inconceivable!
(Hmmmm. . . .maybe I'll watch The Princess Bride this weekend.)
Stephen was certainly correct when he presented within his argument for not going to Montreal that we both were functioning under the weight of a significantly heavy workloads.
I currently have close to 50 intro crim classes proposals to mark before Tuesday.
Because if I want them to write a decent paper (at least that was the idea when I conceived of this idea in the fall) I need to have those proposals back as quickly as possible.
Otherwise, what's the point of a proposal?
I am down to the final few crime and popular film papers.
Yeah me!
But there are a stack of second interviews and research question rewrites that are waiting to be examined, graded and returned to their rightful owners.
A pile of emails from my crime and film class, attached to which are the answers to questions 4-6 of the film autobiography assignment.
That need to be added to questions 1-3.
Trust me, it makes sense to me.
And a set of participant observation assignments coming in today.
Now you can understand why I was so desperate for the long, quiet drive to Montreal, a ribbon of highway stretching before me, freedom from the trials and tribulations of my everyday life.
Just for a few days.
But the very reasons I want to escape are the ones pinning me down like a highschool wrestler on a mat.
Sometimes responsibility feels like a burden best ignored.
Today is the last teaching day of a long week.
A week of 5 am mornings to mark assignments and prepare lectures in an attempt to showcase some semblance of organization.
Tomorrow morning, the 5 am wake up will not be mandatory, but you can bet your sweet bippy that my finely attuned to routine body will ensure my eyes open at the same moment the clock strikes 5.00.
The only difference is that I'll at least think I have the choice to stay in bed.
I won't, of course, as our equally finely attuned canines will being their morning romping in an effort to remind me that it may be a sleep in morning for some people, but certainly not for me or them.
Their bowels rule this roost.
Don't ever think otherwise.
November 11 is a day I struggle with every year.
I grew up in a military family, just outside a military base.
Went to school with military kids.
Briefly married a military man.
But in the years between then and now my understandings of war and violence, senseless death and the use of the mass populace as expendable puppets by small minded politician puppet masters has made me question the ideals and principles upon which I was raised.
Making my current quest and belief in non-violence unpopular with many people.
My father included.
Unpopular ideas however does not mean that you supress those ideas.
The feelings I have when I drive through Oromocto, home of CFB Gagetown, are always conflicting, uncomfortable as I see giant ribbons bedecking the businesses who existence solely depends upon the custom of military members, a sea of red t-shirts in support of violence.
Offensive bumper stickers adorning people's vehicles that state:
. . .make me sad that we've been reduced to a society where divisions are determined by whether or not you think violence is a viable means to resolving conflict.
How is such a bumper sticker a representation of what it means to be Canadian?
Students in my classes who are in some way connected with the military often disagree with my position, my arguments against sending people into war zones where their risk of death increases exponentially at the whim of politicians who wouldn't fight in a war zone if their lives depended upon it.
So no, I don't agree with war, with soldiering, with spending a day remembering violence and chaos.
I don't agree with military action, with ceremonies that glorify death and loss.
I prefer to spend the day contemplating peace and use my time and energy engaging in ways to ensure that no one ever feels they have "fight for peace."
Isn't that an oxymoron?
Title Lyric: Gimme Peace by Tom T. Hall
I feel the same way, Dawne.
ReplyDeletePS: I loathe that bumper sticker.