Pam Webb

a writer's journey as a reader

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07 Jul 2015
7 Comments

Cricket’s Hamlet Adventure: Day Four–LOC, Death by Folger, and Abe


Waking up at 3 a.m. either means I am not adjusting well to the time difference or I am so excited about another day of Shakespeare I can’t wait to get going. It’s probably both. Today was especially exceptional. 

I did manage to go back to sleep after working on my lesson plan that is due on Friday, but I still woke up early. The problem is museums and such don’t open until 10 a.m. and Folgerizing begins at 9 a.m. I did manage to get 15 minutes of looky-looking at the Library of Congress. Here–ooh with me: 

outside entrance

  

ceiling

  

stairs leading up to gallery overlooking reading room

 
Amazing, eh? I applied for my reading card on-line and needed to pick it up. Unfortunately, that was at the Madison building across the street and I was now out of time. Nicholas Cage made it look way too easy popping into the LOC to check out

books during his National Treasure stint. I’m determined to spend more time there. I guess I’m foregoing lunch tomorrow at the corner bistro.

Other highlights of the day:

  • Handling rare books and diving into further Shakespeare research.
  • Practicing for our upcoming group scene–I dibbsed Horatio for Act Five, Scene Five. I have always appreciated Horatio’s quiet dedication to Hamlet.
  • Learning how to sword fight from a Shakespearan actor, and we were all filmed for an upcoming documentary highlighting the Folger Academy.
  • We then received lines and “died” on the Folger Library lawn.
  • I couldn’t end the day so easily, so I roused myself and trotted off to the Lincoln Memorial. I would probably still be walking if I hadn’t come across a DC bike rack. I rented the bike for the very reasonable amount of $8.00 for 24 hours and trekked down the path. At 9:30 at night it was teeming with tours, families, and people of all ages and walks of life. I can’t imagine what it must be like during the day. 

The Lincoln Memorial was a prime directive on my touristy checklist. When I finally got up the steps I got the wobbly little smile and that welling of tears that comes with being reunited with a dear friend. Abraham Lincoln’s memorial is beyond description. His presence is both comforting and mesmerizing. I wanted to hang out for awhile to absorb and reflect but energy, darkness, finding my way home all pressed upon me. Here are the pics: 

    
 
I did arrive back to the hotel safely, although a bit drenched with the effects of humidity. When it’s 84 degrees at 10 pm, you can imagine day temps are a bit overwhelming.

So this Hamlet quote is devoted to the DC Bike folk:

“For this relief much thanks.”

Posted in Americans, education, Libraries, Reflections, travel, Uncategorized and tagged , , ,
06 Jul 2015
5 Comments

Cricket’s Hamlet Adventure: Day Two


After going to bed well after 11pm, drifting to dreamland to the continuing firecracker pops of Fourth of July celebrants and the  police sirens indicating aforementioned celebrants needed corralling, I realized my depth of tired from my very full first day. 

Second day

I slept in: 7:10 am. Jet lag, so far, proves no problem. 

Hmmm, whatever shall I do until 3 pm when I return to prepare for the welcome dinner? Since I’m walking, not being adventurous enough to attempt tour buses, taxis, or Metro buses, I fiddle with Google and determine the Smithsonian American History Museum is doable. I plug in Siri and her Google Maps expertise, and off I trot.

Forty minutes later I arrive with only five minutes until opening.

Highlights:

  • Third one in the door and I bee-line it to American Stories and gaze upon Dorothy’s Ruby Reds. 
  • I then promptly lose my school district’s iPad by leaving it on top of a display case. Great–fifteen minutes newly arrived as a tourist and visions of an angst filled day erupt. Prayer, and an angel of a docent, *shout out to Craig* my iPad and I am reunited via lost and found. The security man admonishs me to be “more careful” and I shall be.
  • Continuing on as a thankful and much more careful school teacher tourist, I return to discovering the Americana that reminds me how unique America is in its history. For instance, two favorite presidents as I’ve never seen them before:

The first statue of George Washington. They had gyms back then? Pretty impessive abs, GW.

  •    

Lincoln’s life mask. A bit macabre until realizing this was first cast when he was alive in 1860. Photographs are one thing, but this impression indelibly reveals a realism photographs can’t deliver. Moving through the Civil War exhibit I come across his last known photograph. I tear up. What a great man. What a great loss. I am emotional in each of the various military exhibits, reflecting upon family members who have served or plan to serve, and those, not just family, who have sacrificed for our country. Eyes and throat swelling with emotional realization of what sacrifice means, when I entered the Star-Spangled Banner exhibit, especially viewing the Ft. McHenry flag–yes, THE flag. 

Other highlights:

  • First Ladies inaugural gowns which both caught both the personality of the First Lady and a reflection of the time period.
  • A video of a nurse who had a reunion thirty-four years later with the Vietnamese baby girl rescued and was christened Kathleen. “They said we were killing babies during the war; here’s proof we saved them,” stated the nurse.
  •  DC is amazingly clean and everyone is so nice. From docents to other tourists, everyone is polite, friendly, and helpful. This teaches me to not believe in Bruce Willis’s Die Hard movies. DC does not stand for downright corrupt. It’s clean and nice, at least in my encounters so far.
  • I briefly stopped in the National Art Gallery. The beauty of exquisite masterpieces rendered me speechless at moments. Being inches from a Rembrandt reminds me how beautiful is the creativity of the human soul. 

    one of the many paintings that I beheld

     

After a much needed nap, I readied to meet my Hamlet Homies. We pizza-ed, we chatted, and we were briefed on our itinerary. We shall be Hamletting from 8am to 9pm Monday through Friday. This is the reason I’m here. “This isn’t the beach,” the director gently admonished us. “There are sixty other people who would love to be where you are.” Gulp. The pins she handed out carry a new meaning: 


To be or not to be committed to giving up my personal agenda of wanting to be a DC tourist (at least more than one day) and instead immerse myself in my Shakesperean scholar potential. 

We will see what Will holds in store for me. Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow…

 

    Posted in Americans, bloggers, education, Literature, Shakespeare, summer, Uncategorized, Writing and tagged , , , ,
    05 Jul 2015
    3 Comments

    Cricket’s Great Hamlet Adventure:Day One


    The day was certainly full:

    • Up at 3 am to catch a 6 am
    • Fly over at least 3 time zones
    • Learn quickly how to ride the MARC from Baltimore to DC
    • Figure out my hotel from Union Station
    • Where to eat dinner? Back to Union Station because the pub next dinner is not on my budget
    • Move with the masses to the Mall for fireworks–crowds are not my fave, but Fourth of July at the nation’s capitol? I got over myself and blended, absorbed, dodged, and weaved.
    • I claimed a spot and waited.
    • There were so many cultures represented I felt I was at an outdoor Ikea festival (okay, my odd personal reference since whenever I go to an Ikea it’s like a UN day, either that or my smalltown bubbling is showing)
    • The big moment: 
       

    NOTE: our smalltown event lasts about 10 minutes consisting of very dramatically spaced singular shots. I was indeed properly dazzled by this pyrotechnic dazzlement. 

    • And then my approximate 19 minutes back to the hotel turn into an hour long “lost, yet flowing with the masses walking tour of DC at 10 o’clock at night”–it would have been scary except for there being two cops for every second block. Locals were very friendly and helpful in redirecting me. At one point after asking directions once again (I forgot to turn on my precise location indicator on my Google Maps–now corrected) a nice young woman caught up to me on the sidewalk and sincerely cautioned me about steering clear of the sketchy 8th street area. And I thought DC would be harsh and sense my smalltown girl and chomp me up. Everyone, especially the police, have been very nice.

    DAY TWO: squeezing in Dorothy’s shoes before dinner

      Posted in America, Americans, celebrations, summer, travel, Uncategorized and tagged , , ,
      25 Apr 2015
      13 Comments

      NPM: #25–the Poe in poetry


      Most of Poe is a favorite. I don’t care for the macabre aspect, the chop-him-up-cause-I-loved-him-so stuff. Makes me nervous walking across floorboards when he does that kind of writing. My students like Poe because they like the scary aspect of his writing, although they don’t always understand his diction, they get his intent of setting people offside with mixing real with horror. So, it is with surprise that I’ve come across a Poe poem that is actually upbeat. Which Poe are you most familiar with–the scary guy or the dreamer?

      Dreams

      Edgar Allan Poe, 1809 – 1849
      Oh! that my young life were a lasting dream!
      My spirit not awakening, till the beam
      Of an Eternity should bring the morrow.
      Yes! tho’ that long dream were of hopeless sorrow,
      ’Twere better than the cold reality
      Of waking life, to him whose heart must be,
      And hath been still, upon the lovely earth,
      A chaos of deep passion, from his birth.
      But should it be—that dream eternally
      Continuing—as dreams have been to me
      In my young boyhood—should it thus be given,
      ’Twere folly still to hope for higher Heaven.
      For I have revell’d when the sun was bright
      I’ the summer sky, in dreams of living light,
      And loveliness,—have left my very heart
      In climes of mine imagining, apart
      From mine own home, with beings that have been
      Of mine own thought—what more could I have seen?
      ’Twas once—and only once—and the wild hour
      From my remembrance shall not pass—some power
      Or spell had bound me—’twas the chilly wind
      Came o’er me in the night, and left behind
      Its image on my spirit—or the moon
      Shone on my slumbers in her lofty noon
      Too coldly—or the stars—howe’er it was
      That dream was as that night-wind—let it pass.
      I have been happy, tho’ [but] in a dream.
      I have been happy—and I love the theme:
      Dreams! in their vivid colouring of life
      As in that fleeting, shadowy, misty strife
      Of semblance with reality which brings
      To the delirious eye, more lovely things
      Of Paradise and Love—and all our own!
      Than young Hope in his sunniest hour hath known.
      Edgar Allan Poe

      Eddie, do you need a hug?

      image: Academy of American Poets

      Posted in Americans, creativity, Reflections, Uncategorized, writers and tagged , , ,
      23 Apr 2015
      3 Comments

      NPM: #23–purses and tributes to mothers


      Getting Close

      by Victoria Redel

       

       Because my mother loved pocketbooks

      I come alive at the opening click or close of a metal clasp.

      rest of poem

      Victoria Redel renders a stunning tribute to her mother. It’s odd how certain objects breathe life into dormant memories. The days of women ensconced in their handbags, pocketbooks, purses is one I do not currently relate to, as I am no slave to fashion and its requirements. Yet, Redel’s poem nudges a few faded portraits of “going somewhere” because my mother had a “certain purse” draped on her arm. Outings had a sense of special due to the requirement apparel, such as a matching purse crooked upon the arm.  I am still drawn to old handbags and their cousins whenever I browse thrift shops. I only hold a fondness, a remembrance; I have no desire to have one perch upon my arm. I am of the backbag age, the unique tote age, the “why-would-I-switch-everything-from-one-bag-to-another?” age. Still I do look, and still I do appreciate Redel’s own penchant and tribute.

      Posted in Family, Poetry, Reflections, Uncategorized, Words and tagged , , , ,
      22 Apr 2015
      5 Comments

      NPM: #22–bumbershoots and such


      L’Avenir est Quelque Chose (The future is something)

      by Dobby Gibson

       

      All day for too long 
      everything I’ve thought to say
      has been about umbrellas…

      the rest of the poem

      I own a passel of umbrellas. Some I have adopted, since they get left in my classroom. A few I inherited from my mother-in-law who actually had an impressive collection of them, ranging from the impressive wooden-handled proper British brelly to the cheapy insurance company giveaways. I have bought my own umbrellas when the mood strikes. I carry an extra one or two in the car. Once, I stopped and gave one to a child shivering in the rain while she waited for her school bus. In fact, I toy with the idea of becoming an umbrella aficionado and giving them away as I see fit. I will wait for white hair and the Social Security checks for that to transpire. A crazy old lady is considered harmless–at least I hope my umbrellaling will be considered benign, if not quaintly amusing.

       

      image: Morguefile/garbofromhungary

      Posted in creativity, Nature, Poetry, Reflections, Uncategorized and tagged , ,
      01 Mar 2015
      12 Comments

      ReReReReally Rejected


      Starting the month of March with four rejections shadowing me from the last week of February prompts a bit of reflection.

      1. Perhaps I should check my email more often. This would prevent rejections from multiplying if left unattended.
      2. One rejection is par for the course, two rejections is irritating, three rejections is laughable, four rejections is laughably ridiculous.
      3. Repeating “It’s not me being rejected, it’s my writing,” is great only in theory because me I wrote it, right?
      4. I’d rather have one big punch than several smacks. A bruise is a bruise.
      5. Cheery demeanor: “Well, at least I know now and can move on to submit the piece elsewhere.”
      6. Bad attitude: actually I don’t have one–rejections are part of the landscape of writing.
      7. Overall takeaway: just one more story I get to store up for when I am keynote speaker at my award acceptance banquet.

      Okay–back to updating my submission ledger…

      Posted in creativity, Reflections, Uncategorized, Writing and tagged , ,
      27 Dec 2014
      20 Comments

      Winter Wondering Land


      Our region is experiencing the strangest winter. Usually the first snow hits around Thanksgiving and keeps increasing until even the snow aficionados are satisfied. Not this year. No snow outside. Nada. Nuttin. It felt more like Easter service than Advent Sunday service stepping outside of church recently. Sunny skies, a light, yet chillish breeze, a hint of better weather around the corner. I am not complaining. Not at all.

      My idea of winter. See that touch of touch way up on the mountain? image: morguefile

      Originally I grew up in the wet Northwest and snow at Christmas was an unexpected bonus. I even participated in the usual winter sports of skiing, skating, and sledding. I moved away and traded the dreary rainy winters for snowy ones. Change of pace? No, temporary insanity. Snow is definitely for the younger crowd. Growing older, having to deal with snow as an adult, the fun factor gets zipped out when one must zip into the expense of snow tires, the heave ho of shoveling snow, and surviving the tedium of four months of various shades and stages of this winter wonder as it passes from winter wonderland to icky icy mess.
      Yet, Christmas is a bit more special with the lacings of snow. I’ll concede that point. Look at all those Christmas movies that require snow as part of their plot.
      So, out of curiosity I hope you take my snow poll:
      Show of hands, please…
      “Bring on the snow!”
      “No way, no snow.”
      “Snow in the mountains only, thanks.”

      Posted in Reflections, Seasons, Uncategorized, Writing and tagged , , ,
      11 Oct 2014
      15 Comments

      Pedestrian Thoughts


      I do my best writing while out walking. There is something about the synced coordination of brain and body both exercising at the same time–I now understand the trend towards the new kinetic desks.

      After an hour of sitting down at the laptop I get antsy and start moving around, tidying up, doing laundry, futzing and such. Writing in lock down mode doesn’t work well for me. Writers who state they sit down and work office hours have my admiration. This is why I appreciate Ray Bradbury’s short story “The Pedestrian.”

      Set in the future a man is out walking one night, his accustomed habit, when he is pulled over by the metro police–suspicious behavior since no one walks anymore, especially at night. The pedestrian ends up being taken in for “further questioning” when he reveals he is a writer–no one reads anymore either.
      Fortunately, my walking habit is not deemed odd in our own days and times. Our little town has a refreshing diversity of walking paths and I do relish my times of walking briskly, revving up the muse and muscles. The exercise unknots plot stoppage, uncramps stiff dialogue passages, and opens up new avenues of thought, like blog posts. This one, matter of fact.

      Posted in Blogging, creativity, Reflections, technology, Uncategorized, writers and tagged , , ,
      07 Oct 2014
      2 Comments

      Home Again, Toto


       

      Thomas Wolfe is credited with saying you can’t go home again. Of course there are multiple layers of meaning in that statement. I noticed at least one aspect of meaning, the one where home becomes more of a memory as time goes on, after a recent visit to see family.  I’ve learned that it isn’t always a good idea to revisit former places of our childhood and jotted down my reflections as I walked through old neighborhoods.
      A garbage sack mocks the spot where Mom’s potted azalea graced the front step. A gated barrier replaces the hand-carved mahogany doors. Weeds gather in loud conversations supplanting Dad’s meticulous landscape.

      The donut shop remains the same odd little shaked chalet busied by Toyotas and BMWs alike. It’s a strange little anachronism among the neon corporate stores surrounding it. As I pass by it a memory flickers on. I remember back to high school. My stern take-no-prisoners-driver’s ed teacher revealed a soft spot one day by instructing me to pull into the donut shop parking lot. She disappears inside and returns with sack of donut holes. No one at school would have believed us. A secret only to be dredged up someday at a reunion possibly.

      The town: a grace of upscale suburbia, an old community, struggling to maintain its dignity as its unique shoppes and colonial clapboard frontage succumb to being slowly replaced by box stores and parking lots. The stylish luxury apartments converted into condominiums are showing their wear, much like wrinkles found in a linen skirt mark the evidence of use.

      Childhood memories remain, yet become increasingly marred by these yearly trips home. Perhaps it’s true that you can’t really go home again because home is now relegated to the past, then again sometimes home presents itself in a sound bite: the speed boat chop on the lake reminds me of teen summer fun; the smudgy glance into favored memory flashes by as I drivepast an icon building, the steepled church where youth group met ever so long ago. Upscale Neighborhoods slip into weedy shabbiness, stretching sections from nice to nervous when walking through.

      A hodge-podge of cultures, a grab bag of mixed socio-economic populace is startling while browsing for dinner ingredients at the local Safeway, and becomes a reminder that going home is a state of flux.

      I concur with Dorothy–Kansas, metaphorically speaking, is not the same because it’s changed  and so have I.

      Dorothy5 Dorothy, I know how you feel–there’s no place like home. Then again, home is sometimes just a memory or that special place in our heart. (photo: wizardofozpictures.com)

       

      Posted in Americans, Family, Reflections, travel, Uncategorized and tagged , , , ,

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