Smithsonian Castle

Where to begin? You could spend a week at the Smithsonian, and not see it all.

I'm back here, 17 years since my last visit. No kids in tow this time, and Karin is off doing her PhD residency sessions with Walden U. How strange to be on an outing without any kids.

But, oh there are kids here. Plenty of 'em. I'm sitting on a bench in front of the Freer Gallery of Art, waiting for it to open. Off to my left, a school group is cuing up behind grinning teachers--it's early in the day--and other kids, with another group no doubt, are dashing about on the grass and whooping it up. A small bus pulls up directly in front of me and discharges a dozen or so 7- or 8-year-old girls in green blazers, gray skirts and black stockings. They are quiet and serious looking. Behind them, now are a half-dozen boys of the same age, wearing grey slacks, green coats and shirts with ties. All are well behaved, save one. "Jason, get over here," an adult commands.  He complies, and they form a straight line with military precision. The group then sets off looking like a co-ed outing from a Madeline story.

A dog barks in the distance, but is invisible in the mist that shrouds the more distant buildings in the Mall this morning. I watch as more and more buses pull up in front of the now-congested drop-off zone.

My plan was to visit "The Art of the Video Game." I arrived at the information desk at 9:30 am, and I was surprised to learn that the video game art exhibit didn't open until 11:30 am. But as I thought about it, and the gamers I know, it seemed appropriate that the thing doesn't kick off until nearly noon.

Still, I express a bit of surprise to the  person helping me. "Seems a bit late."

"But it stays open much later that the other museums", she responds. I guess that figures, too.

My helper had that impeccable look of all the museum people here, and it may well be to her credit that she had to look up the information on the exhibit--which opened just last week--since she'd never heard of it.

So much for my carefully-planned schedule. I look behind me, and there's no one in line. So, I decide to make conversation and relax a bit. I have two hours to kill. "What's your favorite exhibit?" I ask. Who better would know than someone who works here?

"The Freer Gallery," she answers without hesitation. "The exhibits are amazing." She pulls out a brochure, with the oh-so-famous "Great Wave at Kanagawa." This is a stunning image, in azure and white, of a tsunami. Mount Fuji is in the background. And that's why it is included in this exhibit of  "Hokusai: 36 Views of Mount Fuji." The show will continue through June 17th, 2012. Based on her advice, and the fact that the Freer is the closest exhibit to the "Castle" where I'm now standing, I pick it as my first stop. I thank the helper, and wander over to spend the next 25 minutes waiting for the Freer to roll open it's massive doors. But no sooner had I sat down, when the show really began. It was hard to miss the scores of kids getting ready to go. They're there, I suspect, for the interactive "Math Alive" in the S. Dillon Ripley Center. Talk about potential energy.  The last visit I had my hands full with four of my own, it's fun to see someone else trying to hold it together when outnumbered by little people.

Now it's getting near 10, and three large yellow buses have pulled up, brimming with the sounds of excited young people. The children are not immediately released, though. A commanding, adult voice is heard above the babble.

"No talking!"

But there is no discernible drop in the chatter.

"I mean it!"

Still no results. I feel that someone in there is in for a long day.

The steps are now full of people eager to get in,  mostly school children of all sorts. They form orderly or ragged lines.  But I have my bench pretty much all to myself.

The doors open. I hang back and watch the kids enter. It looks like the start of a marathon, with some pressing ahead to get a momentary advantage, while others, older and wiser, conserve their energy and bring up the rear. I'm dead last in this heat, and that suits me. Plenty of time to wade through crowd an take in the sights. Later, when the video art exhibit wakes up, I'll be over there. I'm wondering what sort of crowd will be there. Will the green-and-gray 7-year-olds be there? These kids don't seem like the sort who spend a great deal of time in front of video games. But so much the better, I suppose, to let them have a peek. I can't wait to find out.

Since I was doing it for everyone else, and had the numbers at my fingertips, I thought "why not," and filled out a FAFSA for myself. This begs the question: "If I got another degree, what would it be?" I've had my master's degree in communications now for something like 23 years, and I love my discipline. But I'm not sure that I'd want to do a PhD in it. I've long thought about getting another advanced degree in the performing arts, directing or playwrighting, but those are hard degrees to pursue and still work. We live in the age of online degrees, and my life-long passion, since grade school, really, has been to write "The Great American Novel." So I browsed around for suitable degrees in writing.

There are a staggering number of choices in this area, and I realized immediately that I needed some sort of rubric to evaluate the programs. Fortunately, there are a number of websites that have reviews of these institutions. One of the first things that comes up on a Google search, at least for me, is the Atlantic's review of top MFA programs. In my case it has to be a "low residency" program, one that requires a limited number of days each year on campus. These are typically in the summer, or between terms. It looks like they design these programs with teachers in mind. The only caveat is that this article is from 2007. So, you have to know that the faculty and programs may well have changed in the interim.

Here's their top 10

Ten Top Graduate Programs in Creative Writing
(in alphabetical order)
Boston University
University of California at Irvine
Cornell University
Florida State University
University of Iowa
Johns Hopkins University
University of Michigan
New York University
University of Texas, Michener Center
University of Virginia

Of particular interest was this list:

Five Top Low-Residency M.F.A. Programs
Antioch University
Bennington College
Pacific University
Vermont College
Warren Wilson College

So, what I did, when it came to my own FAFSA, was to plug these five into the list of colleges that would get my request for financial aid. If nothing else, I thought it would get me on their mailing list. The FAFSA allows you to submit up to 10 colleges, and I decided to add a few more in, "just for fun," as Mom used to say when she was doing something nuts. Here's where things got interesting. Google searches of "low residency MFA creative writing" yield zillions of hits. I began to think that every new Starbucks must have an MFA program on the menu. And once I strayed away from the vetted institutions, I was on my own as to how to evaluate these.

I'm going to be posting some of my efforts to do my own review, as I have my own unique criteria. But for now, I'll just mention the five I added, more at less at random. I can't say I'm proud of my weird criteria that I used to just grab five more names out of a hat. But in the interest of full disclosure, I'll tell you how I did it.

The first one that caught my eye was the University of Nebraska. They have a playwrighting option, which intrigues me. Yes, I still would rather do a novel, but the performance arts have long been a passion, and closely related to what I do is speech/debate/literature in performance. Besides, all the people I've met from Nebraska seem nice. I think the total number I know is three, and that has to be half the state, right?

Another one on my list was picked just the name sounded cool. This is my inner teenager talking, OK? It's the University of New Orleans. My thinking was that the residencies would be fun. Think of summers on Bourbon Street-jazz, wild parties and Cajun food. So, on the list it went. Later, when I did some follow-up research, I realized that the joke is on me. UNO does its summer residencies in Edinburgh.  While that's OK, it was a bit of a letdown. I mean, how much Cajun food is there in Scotland? And as my wife can tell you, I will gnaw my arm off rather than listen to bagpipes. So, I have to admit right off the top, that hasty choices can have a downside.

As I continued to fill in the blanks of potential colleges, and as my family in the next room urged me to finish up so we could go and get some dinner--I saved my FAFSA for last--I began to worry a bit about the travel costs. I looked to the Pacific Northwest. I thought staying closer to Northern California, home, would save me some money. So I looked at Northwestern University. I was impressed with the faculty and offerings, and had added it before I realized that "Northwest," in this case, meant Evanston Illinois. Before I get hooted out of the room on this one, I have to say in my own defense that I don't follow football or basketball. And for those of you who KNOW where Northwestern is, and didn't go there, would you have know if you didn't follow sports and know it was a big-ten school? Really? Anyway, I left it on the list and made sure the next school was from Washington State.

I can't say that this program is the best in the Northwest, but I can at least assure you that it IS in Washington State. It's the Northwest Institute of Literary Arts, the MFA in Creative Writing. It looked interesting in that the residency is on Whidbey Island. Now, I couldn't tell you where Whidbey Island is to save my life, but I'm willing to bet that I don't have to change my greenbacks to Euros and listen to bagpipes while working in my residency. So, for now, it's still on the list.

My last choice, numero ten,  was pure whimsy. I was thinking "north," and I noticed that the University of Alaska had just opened a low-residency program. How much father "north" can you go? I plugged in their code into my FAFSA. Of course, when I returned to do some further research, I realized that I have already blown all their normal deadlines. I also looked at their faculty, and none of them seemed like they'd walked off the set of "Northern Exposure." This was a bit disappointing; I was hoping for more quirk. I'll post more on this as I continue to research them.

So there it is, a list of 10 possible choices for an MFA. Now whether or not it makes any sense at all to get an MFA is another matter. But given that the first "F" in FAFSA is free, it's at least a cheap fantasy at this point. It will get pricey when I start sending off the applications, if I decide to do that. We'll see how I'm courted, to the degree that I am. The New Orleans people and the Vermont folks have already sent me some stuff. It gave me a warm feeling, to be wanted. It also surprised me a bit. I didn't think anything moved fast in Vermont in early March. So, I'm already learning.

Lucy's Look

I’m working on “The Christmas List,” and I can see Lucy, my wife’s dog, watching me.

Now, Lucy’s a pretty smart pooch. She knows that when I put her on the leash, it’s time to go to the vet. Usually, on Lucy’s morning walks, my wife does the honors. But when it’s just me, Lucy dutifully plods straight to the car rather than barreling down the driveway. She knows what’s up.

So it’s entirely possible that she sees “The List” and grasps its significance in just the same way that she understands the sound of food rattling into her bowl or the sight of my wife pulling on running shoes before a walk.

I ponder, and Lucy comes over. Big brown eyes look deeply into mine, and she puts her Anatolian-Shepherd head on my knee. Maybe she’s been reading my mind. It’s been a tough year, and I’m wondering just how generous I can afford to be. Most of the kids are out of the house, so the fussing volume has subsided. I can stop and reflect on the economics of gift-giving. Maybe I can dial it back a bit, but then there’s this dog and its sustained stare.

I try to remember what the dogs got last Christmas. They have their own stockings, of course, and I seem to recall that they had a better year, stocking-wise, than I did. Not that I’m jealous or anything. I don’t know that I really wanted jerky, a leather chew bone, or the studded collar. Well, not the chew bone anyway….

But the budget? Maybe I could kill a tradition, and hide the animals’ stockings in the ornament box, buried under that hideous blue-and-green wreath. The wreath is another tradition, an heirloom given to us by a fashion-impaired relative. We never use it. I dare not give it away, and so it sits in the bottom of the box, year after year. This is, I think, the perfect hiding place. But, then, I’d have to explain to the wife why I neglected the critters. Nope. Not a pretty picture.

I in my defense, I was in the pet store the other day. I got stuffer shock. Even the cheap stuff seemed to be at least $5 a throw, or more. Then I did the math. You have to get each animal at least two--I think that’s in the US Constitution somewhere. And it’s not just the dogs, even the naughtiest cats get them. It all adds up.

Up and more up, that’s the way things tend to happen around here. With four kids, pets for each of them, and a wife who never met a dog she didn’t like, we’re pushing double digits. The funny thing is that when the kids moved away, the animals remained. I’m not just talking about the ones buried in the backyard, I’m talking about the ones that are still walking around here, chewing up the upholstery and eating the houseplants.

A small voice in my head says, “Can’t we start being practical?” Would the furry ones really miss being crossed off “The List?” I can definitely cut the cats. What would they care? Every day must seem like Christmas. Turn your back, and they’re up on the counter feasting away. And doesn’t it set a bad example to have them all jacked up on cat nip while we gather around the tree?

This is beginning to sound almost convincing, and then Lucy leans against me and sighs. She sounds, well, disappointed, and my inner Scrooge misses a step. I absently stroke her fur, coarse and fuzzy at the same time, and I wonder…. What DO we owe our pets? I look at Lucy, and I reflect on what she means to my wife, and, well, to all of us. It has been a tough year, and more than once, hugging that silly dog was the high point of someone’s day, even mine.

This explains why Lucy will stay on “The List.” After all, she is almost-well-behaved, better than me, really. Besides, I don’t think I could face those eyes on Christmas day and have Lucy wonder why Santa forgot her. I pencil in her name. Just then, she licks me, wags her tail, and saunters away. I hear her toenails clicking down the hallway, and the room is still.

So much for the budget. Maybe she’ll share the jerky.

]]> http://robblightfoot.com/2011/12/16/doggone-christmas-list/feed/ 2 http://robblightfoot.com/2011/12/12/and-the-elves-came/ http://robblightfoot.com/2011/12/12/and-the-elves-came/#comments Mon, 12 Dec 2011 08:15:00 +0000 Robb http://robblightfoot.com/?p=31 Is the singular form of "Elves," "Elvis?"

Our tree, and Evil-the-Cat

The Elves came...

I'm hoping to be decorated before Christmas

Just a reminder that all of my teaching and class resources are on www.shastastudents.com.

Robb