so i was in a really dark mood (see below) which could have been caused by a number of things, but, fortunately, a very odd and unexpected story shook me right out of it. that is, it's odd that such a strange and twisted story could do that to a person, but it did, for whatever reason. i'll retell the story.

it so happens that right next to where i teach, in my new classroom, is a map of my own county in southern illinois, and the mississippi river snakes on down from saint louis on the southwestern edge of this county, on its way to cape girardeau and new orleans. but as i looked at the map i noticed that the river had cut a new course, actually shortening its run, but this new riverbed essentially isolated two little islands that are now east of the river, but still in missouri. so, even in the twenty-mile stretch that you could call the border of our county and the river, there are two places that are on our side of the river, but aren't part of our county. you probably always thought the river was the border between the states, eh? so did i.

but then, i told this story to a friend, who lives down there by the river, and always has, and grew up down there and all, and she told this story. i'm not sure how it came up; it's only indirectly related. in fact, the question at hand was this: apparently the river flowed backward after the great earthquake, which was what, maybe 1806. but that was before they had state borders, wasn't it? and when there was an earthquake, that's when it happened, she said. well, i'm still investigating that, but i'll do my best, and report to you.

anyway, the story goes like this. a friend of hers moved down to that bottomland and lived out there in the lowlands when the flood of '93 came by. everyone down there quick moved all their possessions to the second floors of their houses, and evacuated, and he did too. they figured that after a week or so, the river would go down and they could go back, hose off the first floor of their house, and take up where they'd left off. but the river didn't go down; it stayed up much of the summer. people got nervous and lots of houses gave in and went floating on down the river, never to be seen again.

people eventually got organized and saved what they could, and he, too, organized a boat to go out to his house, to see if he could save any of his possessions, which were still sitting there up on the second floor of his house. the river swirled below, still coming up most of the way on the first floor. but sure enough, he was able to take a boat out there, tie it up, crawl out of it, and open one of the second story windows. but when he did, he saw all his possessions: they were all still there, right where he'd left them. but they were completely, entirely covered with snakes. right then and there he got out of there, left, and never came back; eventually his house, like the others, broke off and floated on down the river.

now the question is, why such a horrible story could shake me out of my doldrums. somehow it reminded me, i guess, of the futility of hanging onto a lifetime of possessions. or maybe it reminded me of how lucky we all are, for basically just being alive.

lately it's been that in-between time when it got so hot that people complained, and finally pressured the university plant workers to change over from heating to cooling. this is always somewhat of a gamble, but it had been over eighty for almost a week, though it was still early march, and they finally concluded it wasn't going to get cool again, so they turned off the heater, and cranked up this enormous air-con machine that will essentially go all summer. but in that meantime, i couldn't take it; i opened my window; another secretary showed me how maybe twelve years ago and though i didn't ever really know how to open it, i left it ajar and it's been that way all along, more or less, since whatever key she used had unlocked it. i'm not too proud of this, having an open window, but there it was, open for a while, and a couple of wasps came in and availed themselves of the nice plant life and the chlorine smell eminating from my towel which i hang by the doorway after i swim. well these wasps, or hornets or whatever, are pretty scary to the students and other visitors, but i couldn't get them out of there, because the steady breeze kept coming inward, every time they got near the window they'd get blown back into the room, and they weren't strong enough, or didn't care enough, to fight the wind hard enough to get out. so rather than beat at them, or smack them with any newspaper or whatever, i just left them there, and when visitors would come in, to talk about how to learn english or whatever, i'd try to calm them down, and tell them, these things won't hurt you, if you don't hurt them. turns out the students feel they're in a wild exotic jungle, they sometimes break out in hives from the poison ivy, or the bugs, or something that they'd just never experienced back in their home countries. snakes, for one, are quick to spook them, even though the vast majority, around here anyway, won't kill you. same with spiders. watch out for the ones with the violins on their backs, i told her (common folk wisdom around here) - all the other ones are pretty much ok, though it might hurt if they actually sting you.

in general i've always found that i could communicate to them, and tell them that i meant them no harm, but in general it wasn't great to have them around anyway, because you never know when you'll sit in a chair, and there they'll be, only you don't see them, and now they're very upset like you betrayed them and they do sting you. now if i could be sure, and never sit in such a place, or even move anywhere near them, then we could both coexist, and i'd have a permanent way to keep the disruptions down during office hour. but why bother? i like people too. i want everyone to be comfortable.

i'm a do research on the shifting waters of the mississip...i'll get back to you.