As I Was Saying…

Chatter, memories and rants. Please, don't stop me if you've heard this one before.





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Confessions from the new New Frontier

Here’s why English teachers are actually judging you

Tuesday, December 16, 2014 - 5:50 pm - It’s holiday party time, which means teachers are thrust into social situations with non-teachers and are reminded of how much the public at large misunderstands what we do and why we do it. Actually, teaching high school English is neither adorable nor terrifying. And you really don’t have to worry that I’m evaluating your grammar [...]

Artemis: a few years (not quite millenia) late

Sunday, July 21, 2013 - 4:38 am - I found this poem tucked in the diary I kept during my sophomore and junior year of college. I’m not sure when exactly I wrote it; in fact, I have no clear memory of writing, only of having written it. But it is definitely from sometime during those years. It owes a lot to Billy [...]

Seeing Red

Monday, July 8, 2013 - 8:42 pm - At the end of every school year, I spend a week or two at my parents’ in Portland as a reboot, and to that end, my mother and I got our nails done yesterday. It’s not the kind of thing I do often, since I never like to give the impression that I fuss over [...]

Accidents Will Happen

Monday, June 24, 2013 - 3:18 am - From: gregory hunter <hunterg166@xxxxx.com> To: Elizabeth Sampson <ebef12@yahoo.com> Sent: Friday, February 2, 2007 1:31 AM Subject: Re: God Only Knows sorry for the jaunty note. i (for some reason) figured the note would be returned to me. you were gone, i surmised, off writing some arresting novel elsewhere. teaching, studying… away. a different address. i [...]

Archive for October, 2008

The Familiar Face of a Stranger

October 31, 2008

Recently I’ve written a lot about faces. I think that’s mostly coincidence, because when I wrote the first “game face” post I hadn’t yet seen the photos of my cousin Rusty sent to me by my aunt Toni.

Rusty passed away recently at the age of 66. He lived in South Carolina, and I hadn’t seen him in more than 50 years. In fact, I only ever met him once, when my parents took care of him for a few days back in about 1954. I was about eight then, so Rusty would have been about 12. He didn’t have much use for me or for my friends and spent most of his time alone. The only other thing I remember about his visit was that he wrote his name and the date on a rafter in our unfinished attic. When my father and I finished the attic, we sheetrocked over what Rusty had written. The likelihood is that his name is still hidden there.

Through the years, I never thought about Rusty much. He grew into manhood, and so did I. He got married, and so did I. But our lives were as separate as those of total strangers. I couldn’t have told you the name of his wife or kids, if he had kids. I don’t know what he did for work. I don’t even know the cause of his death.

What strikes me now are the photos of him taken near the end of his life. I never saw him as an adult, but in the photos of him, I see my own face. I also see my father, my uncle Alfred, my cousin Dennis. There is a family look that, as an only child, I never recognized while I was growing up. I only see it now when I look at my own 60-plus face and compare it with photos of my father and my uncle at about the same age.

Rusty’s face belongs in that same lineup. He was a stranger to me, and I recognized him immediately.

Posted in Chatter | 2 Comments »

Game Face, Part Two

October 26, 2008

As I may have mentioned in this blog, my mother suffered from Parkinson’s Disease. She didn’t have the tremor, but she suffered horribly from the dementia. By the time she died in 1999, she didn’t know who I was about half the time.

Only one detail in the whole tragic story is amusing, and it relates directly to my previous post here. At the time Mom was diagnosed with Parkinson’s, one of the “symptoms” her doctors relied upon was what they called the “Parkinson’s Stone Face.” When a nurse took me aside and explained this to me, she was probably astonished—maybe even offended—when I burst out laughing.

“Stone face?” I said, when I regained my composure. “You really don’t understand. She always looks that way when she’s thinking about something. So do I. So does my daughter.”

The nurse shook her head and walked away. For all I know, she’s still telling the story the way it looked from her point of view. Maybe something like this:

I quit nursing because I was sick of dealing with the crazies—not the patients, the families! Just about the last straw was the guy who burst out laughing when I told him his poor mother had Parkinson’s Disease. What could he possibly have been thinking?

If you’re reading this, nurse, then now you know.

Posted in Memories | No Comments »

Keeping a Game Face On

October 20, 2008

Elizabeth and Pete, 10/18/08For the last month or so, I’ve moved my blogging to the Caringbridge.org site that details Marge’s progress in her fight against ovarian cancer. That’s the compelling story in my life right now, but it’s not the only one.

Another ongoing story for me, and one that belongs on this blog, has to do with faces. The picture here, for example, shows me with my daughter Elizabeth and was taken last Saturday. We are wearing our game faces here. Among the many traits we share, however, is a tendency to drift into private thought during quiet moments. In such moments our muscles relax and faces slip into an expression that might signify despair in another context. The result is that we are often interrupted by concerned friends who conclude that something is terribly wrong. Sample dialogue:

ME: (saying nothing because I’m a million miles away in thought)…
FRIEND: Pete! Oh my God! What’s wrong?
ME: (startled) What? What are you talking about?
FRIEND: You look absolutely stricken! Are you OK?
ME: (confused) I, I don’t understand…

Because this sort of thing also used to happen to my mother, I guess the “stone face cum sightless stare” counts as a family quirk. Current research documents the close relationship between mood and facial expression. That’s just common knowledge. The surprising new idea, however is that facial expression is mood, not just a reflection of it; that the configuration of facial muscles at any given moment determines the mood which the mind/personality will experience; that mood, in short, is something that is pushed into the mind–not something that flows out of it. The whole “let a smile be your umbrella” school of thought seems to be based on an intuitive belief in this principle, but I have to insist that it isn’t the whole story.

I’m more concerned than usual about this right now because during the course of Marge’s cancer treatment I do have stricken moments. I don’t want to squander my friends’ concern for me by looking stricken when I’m, for example, only idly wondering who decided which way “clockwise” would be or whether a necktie knot could be formed from inelastic material or why German uses “sie” as so many different pronouns if it’s supposed to be so damned precise.

It’s a pretty good idea for me to have my picture taken fairly often so that I can see how I’m doing with this. That photographer on Saturday, for example, had to snap the picture three times before he caught me with a facial expression he considered acceptable. I mean, come on people, it was a baby shower. Reveries happen even there. When he tried to take my picture I was just wondering how it came to be that in the years since Elizabeth was a baby, so much baby equipment came to look as if it was designed by Klingons.

Posted in Chatter | 5 Comments »