In a Writing Coma

The past two weeks are a blur. Seriously, I can barely remember anything that has happened. Why?  Because I've been in a writing coma. I have written a 31-page paper on textbooks published between 1890 and 1930--and I finished the rough draft tonight. To celebrate, I am in a scalding hot bath surrounded by bubbles in my favorite scent, Bath and Body Works French Lavender and Honey. And I'm catching up on my blogging. (Oh, God!  More writing!)

The constant writing has only been interrupted by the news from Paris. The city I love most in the world suffered a series of attacks from what John Oliver described as a "bunch of flaming assholes."  As horrible as it was, I love the way the world stood in solidarity with France. Or, at least parts of the world.  Mostly who I thought about when it all happened was my buddy Adrien. A young Frenchman, Adrien loves heavy metal, death metal, really anything remotely resembling Motley Crue. He's exactly the kind of guy who would have been at the death metal concert.  The thought of him being hurt as so many young French people were that night makes me furious. I hope the French and the Russians will do what the U.S. won't and blow those "flaming assholes" to smithereens. 

On Monday, after a weekend of nothing but research and writing, I had a one-on-one with Dr. H. about my paper. Mind you, all of us in the class had to do this. I watched as, one by one, my classmates went to his office, all leaving anxiously and returning with smiles. Yeah, that didn't happen to me. I went anxiously--and had a meltdown while in there. It was one of those meltdowns that had me wishing desperately for the touchy-feely guidance of a Debbie Fairweather. Now, that woman knew how to handle a Lorraine meltdown. Not so much for Dr. H.  But I was able to express some concerns that have dogged me since I got here and, after the shame of it all, I actually felt better (tears always make a good catharsis for me).  And he offered one excellent piece of advice. "Write."  Oh, and "take a deep breath."  Two good pieces of advice. I did both. I stopped freaking out about the research and just started to put words on paper. And damned if it didn't help. Writing is always a painful process to begin but, once begun, it makes the hours slip away. And, even though I know this current paper is not my best work, it's still at least a good complete working draft. Done, in this instance, is better than good. 

After the meltdown, I was fortunate to turn to two important comforts--my fellow classmates and pancakes. That night, I went out to IHOP and joined with fellow sufferers in the most ridiculously decadent calorie-fest EVER. And, oh, how I was comforted by the bacon, eggs, hash browns, and pancakes. 

Today, in addition to finishing my draft, I held the last of my discussion sections. What began as a nervewrecking exercise turned out to be a very rewarding experience. Students who wouldn't say a word in August came to join in the conversations more and more over the semester. Students who are bright and curious asked questions and made observations. I've gotten to watch as students became better at writing thoughtful analyses of historical texts and took away bits of knowledge that they won't soon forget (no matter how hard some might try). And I went from someone pretending to be a teaching assistant to someone comfortable enough in the role to lead what I hope were fun, stimulating discussions. Wow!  What a ride!

Of course, there's still a lot more to do before the semester is over. A 25-page historiographical essay for Dr. S. and a 10-page analysis for Dr. P. I've got 50+ essays to grade this coming week, plus 50+ final exams beginning December 4. Then there are final grades to tabulate, peer review of my classmates' research papers, and a few more things to read. The life of a grad student....

[disclaimer: I tend to use this blog to not only impress readers with my workload but to remind myself that there's still a lot more to do before I can relax.  Ugh!]

But tonight is about this bath and this blog. It is clear and cold outside, and the trees around my apartment are turning out beautiful fall foliage. Inside, well, it's a bit of a pigpen, I'm nearly out of clean clothes, and my cupboards are bare.  But, in the words of my gal Scarlett....

Knighty-knight from Knoxville....

My Love for AJ

In twenty-fifteen, I took a little trip

Along with my friend Matthew, toward the mighty Mississipp.

I took my credit card, vowed to spend within my means

And I paid my respects to the Hero of New Orleans.

This is a catch-up blog, necessary because I haven't written anything in two weeks.  To say that life has been busy seems inadequate to convey the hectic pace of the past two weeks.  The school semester is flying by, and I'm barely holding my grades together.  After this blogging, I'd damn well better hit the books!

It was just a week ago today and I pointed my beautiful Stella westward along Interstate 40.  Along the way, I picked up pal Matthew, and we headed down the autumny road toward Nashville.  Our destination:  The Hermitage, the home of President Andrew Jackson, the so-called "People's President."  Seriously, I can think of some people who may have a problem with that moniker.  Poor AJ came down on the wrong side of history on several issues.  But, it cannot be denied that he was enormously popular and influential in his day.  If you want to understand the antebellum United States, you'd better make room for AJ in your life.

So, I made room.  The drive westward didn't take too long.  We sped on under a pretty cloudy sky, but that didn't hide the beautiful colors of fall.  The Hermitage proved pretty darn easy to find--I got lost on the way to Matthew's but found AJ's house without a single mis-turn.  Just take Andrew Jackson Boulevard to Rachel's Lane and you'll be right there.

Gotta say--love the "Born for a Storm" name for the current exhibition in the Hermitage Museum.  That's the AJ I love, the dashing soldier who kicked British ass in the War of 1812.  

As we entered the Museum building, we were approached by a very nice greeter lady.  When I told her that we were students of Dr. Daniel Feller, it was like I'd said the magic words.  They LOVE Dr. Feller at the Museum.  The ladies were all so nice to us, hooked us up with tickets to get in and to use the audio wands.  As we began the Museum tour, it wasn't long before we found out just why everyone knows Dr. Feller.  In one of the main exhibit rooms, his handsome face looks out from a TV monitor on the wall, talking all about Jackson.  He's the MAN when it comes to my AJ.

The Museum was wonderful.  The collection of Jackson and Jackson-related objects can't be beat.  So weird seeing the veil that AJ's beloved Rachel wore in some many paintings, the uniform AJ wore on state occasions, his sword, her jewelry.  I paid close attention to the interpretation as well (can't seem to help this any more).  The Museum nicely covers the Corrupt Bargain, one of my favorite historical episodes, especially since I found the song by the same name from the musical Bloody, Bloody Andrew Jackson.  They may have spent more time on the subject of Indian Removal, but they covered his whole presidency thoroughly but without dwelling on it.  They gave the Bank War about the same space as Indian Removal, which seems fair as both were equally important at the time.

I love the way the timeline reflects AJ's marriage to Rachel.  That first marriage was "unofficial."  Hmmmm.  That's not what they called it at the time (see: bigamy).

Look at Henry Clay in the above--that's pretty damn scary!  Still, I'd bring back the Whig party if I could, especially during this current election season.

Once we finished with the Museum, we walked through the gorgeous grounds on our way to the house itself.  I can easily see why AJ loved this place--its beautiful.  

A costumed docent welcomed us at the front porch of the mansion, and we joined a small tour group. As you pass from room to room, there are different costumed docents waiting to speak to you. While they are dressed in period clothing, they don't try to pretend like we're not all living in 2015.  That's nice.

What I wouldn't give to live in this house!  It's designed to reflect the way the mansion would have looked when AJ came back here to live after his presidency.  Because the home passed directly from the Jackson family to a group that established it as an historic site, almost everything you see inside is actually from AJ's time.  The furnishings are gorgeous, the beds are high and huge, and the wallpaper is so precious that it has its own curator to take care of it.

This is actually a funny matter to me.  My parents have visited the Hermitage, and my dad has talked loudly and long on how damn ugly Rachel's precious Paris-produced wallpaper is.  Well, O.K., so it isn't what we may appreciate today.  The decorative impulse throughout the entire house reflects the classical world, and the wallpaper is no exception.  It looks like a mural, and it tells the story of the journey of Telemachus to find his  father, Odysseus..  It's got a lovely blue background and scenes from the story scttered across it.  I think it's pretty--Dad thinks its ugly.  You decide....

Once we finished the tour of the mansion, Matthew and I walked out to Rachel's garden and to where the Jacksons are buried in the back of that garden.  

AJ had this built for Rachel after she pass and would visit every day when he was at the Hermitage, right up to the point where he couldn't walk any more.  Even then, he had her portrait hanging in his bedroom just where he would see it first thing in the morning and last thing at night.  Say what you will about this guy, but there is something special about a man who loves a woman that much.  She was the great love of his life--and I'm such a weepy romantic!!!

Next stop was a strange one--a cotton field.  For the amusement of the Hermitage guests, I guess, a cotton patch lies within eyesight of the mansion and on the path to the slave cabins and the original log cabin that Rachel and Andrew lived in.  Like the two curious historians we are, Matthew and I stepped right in there to pick a few pieces of cotton. 

Oh, yes.  I kept my little pod of cotton.

After the relative luxury of the mansion, the slave cabin stood out as pretty stark.  The interpretation does not spare AJ and his family when it comes to slavery.  While AJ believed that he ran his plantation with a patriarical care for "his people," whoever provided the signage for the slave cabin and throughout the grounds made sure that visitors today could not be inclined to think of this as benevolent.  Slavery was slavery.  AJ sanctioned whipping, the selling apart of familys, etc., just as all slaveholders did.  Have to take the bad with the good when looking back in time.

The best part of the whole day came, as we expected it to, at the gift shop.  We looked at every piece of paraphanelia offered.  Matthew settled on just a tee shirt and coffee mug.  Me?  Not quite so thrifty, in spite of my good intentions.  An early United States map for my office, a Christmas ornament, a gift or two for a few select folks, a guide book, and, of course, a tee shirt.  Weren't Matthew and I cute when we wore our matching shirts the following Monday?  Dr. H. just shook his head.

The drive home seemed to take much longer, but we were both very satisfied with our visit.  Now its time to think of my next historic road trip, probably not until I head down to Montgomery for Thanksgiving with my Aunt Mona.  She's already cooking up lots of Confederate fun for us!

So, this has already been a long blog, so I'll sum up the rest of these past two weeks by saying workd, work, work.  And that's why I'm going to do now as well.

Until next week....