Most awkwardly funny moment of the holiday so far–wait, let me set the scene. We were in the incredibly beautiful and highbrow lobby of the Ritz-Carlton–Buckhead in Atlanta over the weekend. Just past these Dickensian carolers:
Resplendent Santa standing by the fireplace, creating a perfect Christmas tableau, with adoring children all around. Without warning and with great, earnest conviction, five-year-old grandson Daniel yelling, “He’s a Fake!” His parents threatening loss of Christmas coming.
Minding my own business over the weekend, peacefully walking along the river in downtown Savannah, not at all trying to start something that would have to be finished, my joyfully calm day became something altogether darkly different when an overly confident Toy Soldier started to–.
Wait, let’s back up a second. Some of you know that I occasionally find myself, through no fault of my own, smack dab in the middle of the most painfully demanding staring contests. Renaissance men, famous football coaches, even Pirates all have been my adversaries in this universally accepted battle of true manhood and endurance.
Anyway, back to my story. As I was trekking through the lobby of the Riverfront Marriott, hoping to find some free holiday punch and maybe a cookie to further cheer me, and thinking about the feasibility of writing a letter to Santa at my age (that confession might be borderline funny if it wasn’t so very true), I heard a Snicker, a Snigger, and felt inexplicably Scorned, Scoffed. Initially thinking, Ebeneezer Scrooge-ishly, that the interruption might simply be the result of the fried duck and waffle breakfast I demolished earlier at B. Matthew’s on Bay Street, my sauntering slowed as I heard/felt the intrusion again. So I turned casually around …
… only to see a Smirk, a Sneer on a colorful (I’ll give him that), sorta French-looking Toy Soldier. I tried to be polite and friendly (afterall I write a happiness blog), but TS obviously had other plans, jerking his head one way, then the other in an only-partially-successful effort to intimidate me.
Finally after what felt like only minutes later, the feeble, old-enough-to-be-MY father concierge told me (rather rudely in my opinion), that I had to get out of his lap, and that no, his table was not big enough for both of us to sit behind. So I marched right back over to the Toy Soldier (he was perched by the only exit), knowing a battle awaited. Gathering my gumption, I flung myself headlong into Staring Contest #4.
And as is usually the case, whenever I stop trembling, Neal’s courage arrives. Holiday revelers gathered round, about half of them backing up TS, the others for yours truly.
Big deal that his fans were more festively dressed and enthusiastic than mine.
The battle intensified.
And even though I really had to use the bathroon after having sipped all the concierge’s cocoa, I held my own. The game I’m talking about.
As faithful blog followers know, I have a buddy “named” Riboclavin who is quite a character. (And of course we all know his name isn’t REALLY Riboclavin, come on, but as I said in a post from way back, “I’m just not very good at giving people fake names if they don’t want their real names ‘published’ on my blog because, heaven forbid, the ‘tens’ of people who follow my blog might see their name and … and … idk.”) Anyway, here he is, rocking. And even though that dualistic rocking chair looks über huge, Riboclavin looks comfortable and relaxed. And, really, isn’t that what counts?
[By the way (true story), on my 16th birthday, I received a rocking chair from my parents as my main gift.] [Therapy has helped. But only so much.]
Ribo loves two things in life (maybe more than two, but right now only these couple come to mind). One, he LOVES his dog MisterDillHarris.
Here’s MisterDillHarris with a big ole bone:
Two, he LOVES (or maybe hates, I’m not sure) his obsession with health, or actually his perceived lack of health. The guy can be standing in line at the movies to see, for example, Miley Cyrus in The Last Song, and all of a sudden he HAS to take his temperature. Don’t believe me? Well, here he is taking his temp.
And, look, here he is taking his dog’s temperature:
(For me, pretend this is normal. Thanks.)
So anyway, recently Riboclavin texted me a video link, and as usual, made NO attempt to introduce or explain the link. You can surely understand by now my trepidation and why I came two hairs close to deleting the text and pretending I never received it (as I do with any unwanted or ill-timed text, email, voicemail, regular mail, fax, postcard, Hallmark card, smoke signal, etc.). Afterall, his most recent link took me to a medical site where a disgusting surgical procedure was in full “operation,” causing me to gasp and snort and vow to never speak to Riboclavin again. But for some reason I decided, even with the high risk, to open the link. And I was pleasantly surprised! (If you’re near wood, please knock on it for me.)
Here’s the video, entitled “Dog Steals Cabbage.”
Now isn’t that cute … and happiness-worthy? Please tell Riboclavin thanks, and wish him good health.
I spent my undergraduate years basking in the incredible natural and manmade beauty of Berry College in Rome, Georgia. I will never forget the JOY of studying on the world’s largest campus, surrounded by sites so breathtaking that occasionally, even as a green freshman, I would stop in my tracks on a journey across campus and stare, openmouthed, at the afternoon light shimmering off of Swan Lake or, on a cold February morning, gaze entranced out my Dana Hall second-floor, frosted dorm window into the ordered courtyard below and smile as deer delicately ate holly leaves and startling red berries in the snow. I can still hear my young footfalls on the ancient wooden floors of Berry’s gorgeous chapel (modeled after Christ Church in Alexandria Virginia). And here’s where I ate my meals, the Ford Dining Hall:
What fond and HAPPY Berry memories I have. Oh my gosh, that place was magical!
So, of course, I never thought that another school could compare with Berry.
But for the past twenty-four years, I have taught English at Georgia Southern University in Statesboro. When I first arrived, my limited vision focused, uncomfortably, on sand, 100 degree summers and beyond-belief pesky gnats. (Why is that “g” there? Why are gnats ANYWHERE?) “Who could live in this desolate place?” I wondered. But slowly the tall pines and the amazing spring azaleas and (inexplicably) even the hot, humid summers wooed me, and I gradually fell in love. As I adored beautiful Berry as a student, I came to cherish GSU as a professor. The school and the land have been so very good to me.
I have watched GSU’s campus grow and develop into an enclave of living beauty. But far too often, in my busy business of teaching and grading and conferencing, I would forget what thrived outside my office window. So recently I decided to take a leisurely walk across my campus home. Come with me.
Let’s begin at the Akins Blvd. entrance off Veterans Parkway:
The RAC (Recreational Activity Center) where I spent many an hour trying to hold back the belly bulge.
Let’s ride over to the two eagle statues.
Now let’s climb a tree.
Look, I’m an Olympic hero.
Did you know that the “S” in GSU also stands for my last name, Saye?
When I sit down and think about it, I realize how much I have loved this school and this beautiful land.
Georgia Southern University has allowed me to enjoy a great career of helping young people progress and mature into their greater lives. I’ve been involved in a wondrous building process!
I’m so happy that both Berry and Georgia Southern are part of who I am.
Since after 14 hours I finally won Staring Contest #1 a while back, I decided to challenge a master, former GSU legendary head football coach Erk Russel in Staring Contest #2.
Oh I forgot to tell you, before the struggle of the two titans began, I invoked the time-honored tradition of rubbing the coach’s head to ensure victory.
(Hours, days pass.)
Yes!! Triumphant once again! So why is his name still up there?
I love students. They’re so “learny” and all. Well today I gave my first of three finals of the week here at Georgia Southern. My Everyday Creative Writing class is such a wonderfully cool and fun group of students. (Although I could easily say the same about each of my classes this semester.)
Here they are at the beginning of class today, writing the reflection portion of the portfolio:
Such hard workers.
And here they are, soon after I began a little lecture comparing taking a final exam to running the race of life (Lesson 42 of my Listen to Neal and Learn series):
And, look, here they are when I stood in front of the room and asked them the first fifty-point exam question: “Who is the best professor in the universe?”
They REALLY are a SMART group of students! I’m just so very proud of them.
And, look again, here they are when they received the second fifty-point question: “Who is wearing the coolest shirt in the room?”
I have to say that some of their facial expressions got on my nerves a bit. Like THEY had on hip shirts!
One of the most incredible benefits of being a professor is that students teach the prof SO much about life: about being excited and interested and vibrant. About believing that all things are possible. (I forget that from time to time.) About taking risks. About taking naps. About being happy. About enjoying NOW. About enjoying hot, fresh french fries from McDonald’s. About living life with fervor.
Simply put, my students lift me, they raise me up.
(Can you tell I’m sort of horizontal there?)
I dedicate this song to all my WONDERFUL students who daily lift me up. Thank you. You add much joy to my life.
1. Baked Lays. I really want to like them because they are supposedly better for you, but to me they taste a little like very thin cardboard. The next time I’m at Subway, I’m thinking about buying a bag of Baked Lays and a bag of regular Lays, switching the contents, and from then on keeping the regular bag with me as my cover.
2. Wal-Mart Greeters. I know, this is so mean of me, but REALLY, come on.
3. Green Tea. I drink it, but I don’t like it.
4. Elves. I don’t care if they’re from the North Pole or not, elves are creepy. I know I’m a fine one to talk, with my ears and all, but still.
And here are four things I like but pretend not to:
1. Susan Boyle. She’s the best thing that’s come along since The Beatles. I love this song:
(Maybe the outfits are a bit much for the English countryside.)
2. Gold Bond Powder. You don’t want me to get started. Let’s just say that if I can’t find my GB, everything this blog stands for disappears. EVERYTHING!
3. Pork Rinds. Barbequed, the kind they peddle at the Statesboro Fair in that little back alley where all the locally made food items are sold. I buy one BIG bag for immediate consumption and another for a midnight snack. The barbequed variety are really pretty hot, and I can’t feel my mouth for a day or two after the gorging, but they are worth the temporary inconvenience.
4. The Greeters at Moe’s. Like everyone else, I make fun of them: “Welcome to Moe’s!” I jokingly yell occasionally. But when I rush in for the Ruprict Nachos at lunchtime, and the workers behind the sneeze guard greet me with such enthusiastic passion, I get a little choked up, like they really care, and that I’m, well, “home.” (Now, if the Wal-Mart greeters did the same thing, the first list might just have three instead of four items.)
Now you know. And you’re smarter because of the knowing.
NealEnJoy 