May 21, 2014

Cantaria sang for the old folks at Lake Junaluska last night. Magnificent vistas all around, and I think we did well enough, and were appreciated out of all bounds. Had sublime lemon cake for dessert–like eating lemon cloud.

The end of the night was dominated by dreams that A had died. It was those half-conscious dreams where you are able to question your waking life about the veracity of the dream, and I was baffled because the dreams were so precise, but yet I couldn’t verify them from the last memories I had of consciousness the night before. When I woke, I checked the Internet first thing. A is well.

The first listing under her name was her Rate-My-Professor page, so I went to that and read it, then read B’s (he is widely hated for the very reasons that I dislike him, though by far worse measure than any attitude I have). Then I did something I swore I would never do: I read my own Rate-My-Professor listing. Far less devastating than I feared–in fact, not devastating at all, not that everything was positive, but that the remarks were clearly so much more diagnostic of the student than of me that it was difficult to take either too much offense or too much credit. Some love me, some hate me, and it is usually according to their dedication to the class. I probably hated my haters right back, though the number of students I’ve actually hated in thirty years is, I think, three. Polar opposite perspectives from the same class: I’m cordial and helpful; I’m distant and unhelpful. I’m an easy grader; my grading is hard, arbitrary, unfair. Enough think I’m brilliant to satisfy me. One student thought my happy demeanor and interesting classes were a cover for some sinister malevolence she couldn’t quite identify. Two students remarked that I was lazy, and that is curious to me. Because I don’t use notes? Because I don’t use Powerpoint? You search for the deed or attitude which might have set a comment off. I will address a student concern–even if idiotic–if I can. One student said I was always late, which is materially untrue. Common attribution of motivations or convictions which have never crossed my mind. Several accuse me of disorganization, which often is said, but which I never understand, because in my own mind I’m brilliantly–if somewhat organically–organized. So, I shouldn’t have looked, but I did, and it is an incident rather than a bend in the road. I came off rather better than I had imagined, having assumed Rate-My-Professor was more purely a grousing ground for disaffected failures. One comment still lingers in my mind, the observation that I have favorites. I acknowledge this is true (I’m sorry that it shows) but I must say that the favorites always choose me, by participation, sunniness, interest, brilliance, and never the other way around.

A day, finally, with NOTHING pre-planned to do. The birds sing. The sky is pale cream yellow.