I just opened my email and found that I've been paid my first royalty check, which is actually a direct deposit. I'm in almost as much wonder and shock as I was when I first saw my book published on Kindle.
Today has been largely about tidying up loose ends: filling out forms, checking in with the Queen of Paperwork at school (who set me on the right track!) and generally taking care of business. I don't like doing things like that, so I tend to procrastinate. Today I wouldn't let myself get on the computer until I had taken care of everything else. When I did ---- BINGO! I'm a paid, published author!
Last November 30, up against the NaNoWriMo midnight deadline, I fell when I came out of school. I was carrying a basket of my children's NaNo books and going home to write the last 3,000 or so words of my own. When I fell, I hurt my right hand, especially my thumb. Since I couldn't find an open urgent care and I really wanted to finish the 50,000 word novel for NAtional NOvel WRIting MOnth before midnight, I simply gritted my teeth, slapped on the ice pack, took ibuprofen and set to work. I reached my goal and uploaded it before midnight to collect my third NaNoWriMo completion. The next morning I went to the doctor and found out that my thumb was fractured and my shoulder was hurt as well. I spent the next six weeks in a splint and had 6 weeks of PT after that.
And the point is?
When I look back, I can see that fall as being a pivotal event, though I didn't know it at the time. It triggered a slide into feeling more frustrated, unable to do all my normal activities, worried about aging because it was not the first bad fall I've had, getting behind in work and using up all my sick leave on appointments. Ultimately, it led me into the deep depression which finally resulted in retirment from my teaching job this month. It wasn't possible to connect those dots during the time it unfolded.
It is a truism that good can come from bad. That fall I took set off a cascade of events that brought me to doing what I've always wanted to do ---- to write. It was never a serious possibility for me before. Once I started to slow down, listen to my inner self, operate more from could and less from should, and open my heart and mind to possibility, it no longer seemed like a pipe dream to be a writer, a novelist. The New Women has readers, even people I don't know! The next one is nearly ready to go up on Kindle. I'm determined to put them in print form, too. I see my stories go out into the world and I don't know where they'll land, but I'm so happy to launch them.
Getting a royalty payment is another affirmation that I am taking a chance on my dream, and it's working out. Today is the only day I have, that any of us has. Today I write and publish novels. And wonder of wonders, I even get a little money in the bargain. Mmmmmmm, love that frosting.
Friday, April 29, 2011
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Who is expendable?
I had an interesting conversation with my brother last night. He's the one who self-identifies as an "Aspy" --- mind you, that's self diagnosis, not something formal. But I do concur, that had he been born in the last decade instead of nearly 60 years ago, he might have been identified as having Aspbergers. What he told me last night about his experiences in the school system enlightened me, and made me mourn for the person he might have been. No matter how vehemently one believes that getting ahead in life is a function of the will and ambition and boot-strap effort, (as we hear so frequently in what passes for social/political debate) it's hard not to feel for the child who was a square peg trying valiantly to fit into a round hole.
School in the 1950s and 60s had not changed too much over several generations. There was a great emphasis on authority, predictability and conformity. It did not feel oppressive, but it also didn't encourage or reward original thinking. My objection was that the class moved too slowly, especially in reading. I would read the entire year's reading book in the first week and be bored the rest of the year. I was also given to correcting my teacher's spelling and grammar, the direct result of being my father's daughter. It wasn't well received. But I was sociable and always had a circle of friends, so life was pretty good.
My brother, the only boy in the family, carried the burden of being very intelligent and creative, but always confused about human interaction. He spent hours and days playing in his room, setting up elaborate worlds with toy soldiers, cardboard boxes and blankets. He was comfortable enough in the family, but the outside world of school, Sunday school or community activities was very challenging. He never knew how to fit in. Throughout those teen years, he was a loner, riding his bike, writing a novel, going to movies by himself.
I do remember how indignant I was when I was in fourth grade and he was in first, and his teacher would not allow him to write with his left hand, going so far as to immobilize it so that he wouldn't do that. To this day, you can hardly read his writing. Other teachers through the years, he told me last night, let him know in no uncertain terms, that not following the pacing guide, not staying with the class, stating his own ideas and questioning the material, would only result in punishment and bad grades. At one point, he independently finished the 8th grade math book so quickly that he simply stopped going to class and spent his time in the band room and theater instead. He scored the 3rd highest grade on the final exam, but still flunked the course. The next year he was put in remedial math.
OK, you say. Now, we know better. That was in the olden days. It couldn't happen today because we have so much emphasis on individualization and differentiation. And that's good, especially for the kids who fall behind or struggle to keep up. But what is happening to our children whose minds don't follow the beaten path? What about the young Bill Gates, Steve Jobs, Mark Zuckerberg? Are we losing out on thousands and thousands of young people who are discouraged before they even get out of middle school, because they don't pass the bubble tests, they become convinced that there is something wrong with them, they don't have friends, they don't fit the mold? How many people are we losing like my brother, who has continued to have a difficult time getting traction in life?
There is precious little attention paid to social and emotional intelligence, and when you combine that lack with the undervaluing of creativity and wide-ranging thought, the people we lose are legion. We, as a society, can't afford that. We need them. We need everyone. If we are to survive and thrive, we can't afford to throw anyone away.
School in the 1950s and 60s had not changed too much over several generations. There was a great emphasis on authority, predictability and conformity. It did not feel oppressive, but it also didn't encourage or reward original thinking. My objection was that the class moved too slowly, especially in reading. I would read the entire year's reading book in the first week and be bored the rest of the year. I was also given to correcting my teacher's spelling and grammar, the direct result of being my father's daughter. It wasn't well received. But I was sociable and always had a circle of friends, so life was pretty good.
My brother, the only boy in the family, carried the burden of being very intelligent and creative, but always confused about human interaction. He spent hours and days playing in his room, setting up elaborate worlds with toy soldiers, cardboard boxes and blankets. He was comfortable enough in the family, but the outside world of school, Sunday school or community activities was very challenging. He never knew how to fit in. Throughout those teen years, he was a loner, riding his bike, writing a novel, going to movies by himself.
I do remember how indignant I was when I was in fourth grade and he was in first, and his teacher would not allow him to write with his left hand, going so far as to immobilize it so that he wouldn't do that. To this day, you can hardly read his writing. Other teachers through the years, he told me last night, let him know in no uncertain terms, that not following the pacing guide, not staying with the class, stating his own ideas and questioning the material, would only result in punishment and bad grades. At one point, he independently finished the 8th grade math book so quickly that he simply stopped going to class and spent his time in the band room and theater instead. He scored the 3rd highest grade on the final exam, but still flunked the course. The next year he was put in remedial math.
OK, you say. Now, we know better. That was in the olden days. It couldn't happen today because we have so much emphasis on individualization and differentiation. And that's good, especially for the kids who fall behind or struggle to keep up. But what is happening to our children whose minds don't follow the beaten path? What about the young Bill Gates, Steve Jobs, Mark Zuckerberg? Are we losing out on thousands and thousands of young people who are discouraged before they even get out of middle school, because they don't pass the bubble tests, they become convinced that there is something wrong with them, they don't have friends, they don't fit the mold? How many people are we losing like my brother, who has continued to have a difficult time getting traction in life?
There is precious little attention paid to social and emotional intelligence, and when you combine that lack with the undervaluing of creativity and wide-ranging thought, the people we lose are legion. We, as a society, can't afford that. We need them. We need everyone. If we are to survive and thrive, we can't afford to throw anyone away.
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Love is never wasted
I was already thinking about this even before hanging out with the Unitarians this Easter morning. If you're not a Unitarian Universalist ---- and most people are not ---- you might not understand about UU and Easter.
In many churches, the regular kind, there's a core group of people who attend a lot and keep the ball rolling and then there are the Christmas and Easter folks. They're nostalgic or guilty or unusually busy or something, but they tend to just show up for special occasions, like Christmas and Easter. That means that Easter, in many mainstay churches, is a big day, requiring extra seating and someone directing traffic.
At UU it's not really like that. First of all, in the usual eclectic way, the people who show up are dressed in everything from jeans and t-shirts to the fancy dresses and hats. This morning the one who took the cake for me was the 3 or 4 year old beauty in a sparkly, pink, frothy dress and headband with a large pink flower attached.
Costuming aside, it looks like almost any other Sunday of the year. Attendance is on the low side of normal --- UUs are often on spring break, so people tend to go to the beach or Disney World or Jakarta or London. We had a pretty reasonble crowd this morning but no records were broken.
Since there is no creed or theology that everyone must adhere to, the Easter story from Christian tradition is only one of many possible topics for this day. Even when it is recounted, as it was this morning, the interpretation is likely to be outside the usual sermon about Jesus and the resurrection.
So today, what I loved hearing about was love and renewal. Events in my life and those around me lately, have led me to think about love and continuity, and the cycles of life. Today is about spring and the renewal of life that every spring brings about. It's a renewal not only of life, but beauty. We had a flower communion today. Cut flowers that people brought in were banked up front, and the children distributed them to everyone at the end. It didn't matter if you brought in flowers or not; we all went home with that symbol of new life and beauty.
I've been thinking about love and death and life. I've been thinking about relationships that have come and gone. I have never been hurt by love, though not all loving relationships have lasted. And loving has never been wasted. The love I have felt for people who are no longer in my life did not disappear. It was there, and it contributed to me and to the other person and to the world at large. I think about the love I've felt for the children I taught; they carry some of it with them, and so do I. My two ex-husbands and others I have been intensely in love with? There is no loss, as I look back. The loving was there and real. The obstacles were stepping stones to necessary lessons. And loving parents, grandparents, people who have died? If anything, love softens and becomes more buoyant as time passes.
Not only that, but a little love can go a long way. If someone smiles and says a genuine hello, even if I don't know them, it lifts my heart and makes me view the world with a more positive spirit.The same thing happens in reverse, as well. Wanna see a day get better? Read the nametag of the store clerk at the checkout and say "Thank you, Darlene" (or whoever) ---- You will experience connection with a person, not an automaton. And that, my friend, is love.
In many churches, the regular kind, there's a core group of people who attend a lot and keep the ball rolling and then there are the Christmas and Easter folks. They're nostalgic or guilty or unusually busy or something, but they tend to just show up for special occasions, like Christmas and Easter. That means that Easter, in many mainstay churches, is a big day, requiring extra seating and someone directing traffic.
At UU it's not really like that. First of all, in the usual eclectic way, the people who show up are dressed in everything from jeans and t-shirts to the fancy dresses and hats. This morning the one who took the cake for me was the 3 or 4 year old beauty in a sparkly, pink, frothy dress and headband with a large pink flower attached.
Costuming aside, it looks like almost any other Sunday of the year. Attendance is on the low side of normal --- UUs are often on spring break, so people tend to go to the beach or Disney World or Jakarta or London. We had a pretty reasonble crowd this morning but no records were broken.
Since there is no creed or theology that everyone must adhere to, the Easter story from Christian tradition is only one of many possible topics for this day. Even when it is recounted, as it was this morning, the interpretation is likely to be outside the usual sermon about Jesus and the resurrection.
So today, what I loved hearing about was love and renewal. Events in my life and those around me lately, have led me to think about love and continuity, and the cycles of life. Today is about spring and the renewal of life that every spring brings about. It's a renewal not only of life, but beauty. We had a flower communion today. Cut flowers that people brought in were banked up front, and the children distributed them to everyone at the end. It didn't matter if you brought in flowers or not; we all went home with that symbol of new life and beauty.
I've been thinking about love and death and life. I've been thinking about relationships that have come and gone. I have never been hurt by love, though not all loving relationships have lasted. And loving has never been wasted. The love I have felt for people who are no longer in my life did not disappear. It was there, and it contributed to me and to the other person and to the world at large. I think about the love I've felt for the children I taught; they carry some of it with them, and so do I. My two ex-husbands and others I have been intensely in love with? There is no loss, as I look back. The loving was there and real. The obstacles were stepping stones to necessary lessons. And loving parents, grandparents, people who have died? If anything, love softens and becomes more buoyant as time passes.
Not only that, but a little love can go a long way. If someone smiles and says a genuine hello, even if I don't know them, it lifts my heart and makes me view the world with a more positive spirit.The same thing happens in reverse, as well. Wanna see a day get better? Read the nametag of the store clerk at the checkout and say "Thank you, Darlene" (or whoever) ---- You will experience connection with a person, not an automaton. And that, my friend, is love.
Friday, April 22, 2011
Evolution in progress?
I love NPR. I've listened since the early 1970s, back when all you needed were two tin cans and a long hank of twine. Back when a big contribution for the pledge drive was $30 --- a year.
So I was listening the other day and heard an interview concerning the PBS series on autism that is running this week. It made me think about the children I've taught who were diagnosed or suspected to be on the autism spectrum. They weren't the easiest children to teach, but they were always interesting and intriguing.
One of the factoids that emerged during that interview was that researchers have found genes and genetic markers that are associated with autism, but peculiarly enough, sometimes two parents with none of those genetic factors create children who have unique genes --- from neither parent. That would make it a mutation.
That makes me wonder.
Just as it is always hard to see a situation you're in the middle of, wouldn't it be hard to know if we are in the middle of an evolutionary change? Teachers and parents often joke about consulting children to get their electronics to work properly. We are astounded at the facility they have with technology, even with little exposure.
One of the fascinating attributes of people on the autism spectrum is their intensity of attention to whatever has captured their interest. Many of our most outstanding scientists, engineers, inventors and mathematicians are high functioning ASD folks. (My brother sometimes refers to himself as an "aspy") It is very common for this "disorder" to be associated with extraordinary intelligence. We are all familiar with the stereotype of the absent-minded professor ---- someone whose mind is so taken up with technical details that s/he cannot deal with people or life skills effectively.
So people who are not strong on social skills, but very adept at technology take the lead in developing the devices and systems that we are increasingly dependent on for business, education, comfort. Social media takes the place of sociability. Interactive software takes the place of teachers. The loss of electricity means that the simplest transactions become arduous or even impossible.
As technology increasingly seems to separate people on a face-to-face basis, the pace of social and technical change has jumped into high gear. Children have never lived in a world without cell phones, personal electronics, or internet. As humans, we are less tethered to our physical world and more bound by the reality created by our electronic connections. Fewer people live together, smaller families abound. And even though, for now, this is most common in the so-called developed world, it is spreading inexorably into all corners of the globe.
I distinctly remember when I saw my first walkman. I was at a state park in Ohio, hiking with a friend. He pointed out an approaching young man who had headphones on as he walked, and said that was the wave of the future --- someday we'd all be walking around the world oblivious to each other and the environment around us. He was a congenital pessimist, and has now been dead for several years, but he was an early consumer of electronics --- one of those guys on the Spectrum ---- and in that moment, showed prescience.
What do you think? Are we in the midst of an evolutionary change? Are we genetically selecting for less social interaction and more technical facility? Is that what is needed in order for the species to survive? Or is this an evolutionary dead end?
So I was listening the other day and heard an interview concerning the PBS series on autism that is running this week. It made me think about the children I've taught who were diagnosed or suspected to be on the autism spectrum. They weren't the easiest children to teach, but they were always interesting and intriguing.
One of the factoids that emerged during that interview was that researchers have found genes and genetic markers that are associated with autism, but peculiarly enough, sometimes two parents with none of those genetic factors create children who have unique genes --- from neither parent. That would make it a mutation.
That makes me wonder.
Just as it is always hard to see a situation you're in the middle of, wouldn't it be hard to know if we are in the middle of an evolutionary change? Teachers and parents often joke about consulting children to get their electronics to work properly. We are astounded at the facility they have with technology, even with little exposure.
One of the fascinating attributes of people on the autism spectrum is their intensity of attention to whatever has captured their interest. Many of our most outstanding scientists, engineers, inventors and mathematicians are high functioning ASD folks. (My brother sometimes refers to himself as an "aspy") It is very common for this "disorder" to be associated with extraordinary intelligence. We are all familiar with the stereotype of the absent-minded professor ---- someone whose mind is so taken up with technical details that s/he cannot deal with people or life skills effectively.
So people who are not strong on social skills, but very adept at technology take the lead in developing the devices and systems that we are increasingly dependent on for business, education, comfort. Social media takes the place of sociability. Interactive software takes the place of teachers. The loss of electricity means that the simplest transactions become arduous or even impossible.
As technology increasingly seems to separate people on a face-to-face basis, the pace of social and technical change has jumped into high gear. Children have never lived in a world without cell phones, personal electronics, or internet. As humans, we are less tethered to our physical world and more bound by the reality created by our electronic connections. Fewer people live together, smaller families abound. And even though, for now, this is most common in the so-called developed world, it is spreading inexorably into all corners of the globe.
I distinctly remember when I saw my first walkman. I was at a state park in Ohio, hiking with a friend. He pointed out an approaching young man who had headphones on as he walked, and said that was the wave of the future --- someday we'd all be walking around the world oblivious to each other and the environment around us. He was a congenital pessimist, and has now been dead for several years, but he was an early consumer of electronics --- one of those guys on the Spectrum ---- and in that moment, showed prescience.
What do you think? Are we in the midst of an evolutionary change? Are we genetically selecting for less social interaction and more technical facility? Is that what is needed in order for the species to survive? Or is this an evolutionary dead end?
Monday, April 18, 2011
Twister-bred Thoughts
I fancy myself to be something of a free spirit. I've lived a lot of my years as a nomad, moving from job to job, house to house, relationship to relationship. I said I couldn't work for someone else, so had my own business for 14 years. I said I didn't like structure, so I set my own schedule, worked partial days most of the time, built in my time off. I said I wasn't hardwired for monogamy and settling down, so I slipped and sloshed through relationships, not fully engaged.
Sometime in my late forties that all started to change. I still don't know if I got old and tired, started getting some wisdom, or finally grew up. I came out of the closet. I got a "real" job. I committed myself to being honest with someone I was romantically involved with.
Does this mean I lost my free-spiritedness? I'm not sure.
What I do know is that I have found out how much easier and more satisfying it is to tell my truth. How much less fearful I am when I'm honest and willing. How much more serene I am when I don't try to control anybody else.
Structure? I like knowing what I'm going to do next, for the most part.
Schedule? If the sheets are always changed on Sunday, they're always fresh on Monday.
Stability? My family knows where to find me when they need something.
How about trust and dependability? When I say I'll do something, I usually do it if I possibly can. And I'm not covering my tracks about anything.
The past two days have been out of the norm, away from safety and predictability and structure. Since the tornado came through on Saturday, I've felt like my brain is wrapped in cotton. It's hard to do more than one thing at a time, hard to plan ahead, hard to follow through. Every small thing seems difficult when there's no electricity, I can't go to the fridge or the stove to fix supper, I can't follow my usual routines.
At the same time, it's a pause. There's no tv. No movies. No internet. For awhile, no cell phones even. My world has shrunk down to our house and yard, except for a few forays out for medical care or coffee shop networking. Yesterday afternoon, we sat out on the deck just talking and sipping water (no ice!), planning what to do with the downed tree, watching the electric company workers and their big machines. Last night, we put candles around the living room and played mancala for the first time in years. It was fun!
As for my free spirit, I think in many ways it is freer now than it ever was. My mind ranges widely, I read and think. Few things are so urgent they need immediate attention.
I feel as though I am rising and soaring to unknown regions.
Sometime in my late forties that all started to change. I still don't know if I got old and tired, started getting some wisdom, or finally grew up. I came out of the closet. I got a "real" job. I committed myself to being honest with someone I was romantically involved with.
Does this mean I lost my free-spiritedness? I'm not sure.
What I do know is that I have found out how much easier and more satisfying it is to tell my truth. How much less fearful I am when I'm honest and willing. How much more serene I am when I don't try to control anybody else.
Structure? I like knowing what I'm going to do next, for the most part.
Schedule? If the sheets are always changed on Sunday, they're always fresh on Monday.
Stability? My family knows where to find me when they need something.
How about trust and dependability? When I say I'll do something, I usually do it if I possibly can. And I'm not covering my tracks about anything.
The past two days have been out of the norm, away from safety and predictability and structure. Since the tornado came through on Saturday, I've felt like my brain is wrapped in cotton. It's hard to do more than one thing at a time, hard to plan ahead, hard to follow through. Every small thing seems difficult when there's no electricity, I can't go to the fridge or the stove to fix supper, I can't follow my usual routines.
At the same time, it's a pause. There's no tv. No movies. No internet. For awhile, no cell phones even. My world has shrunk down to our house and yard, except for a few forays out for medical care or coffee shop networking. Yesterday afternoon, we sat out on the deck just talking and sipping water (no ice!), planning what to do with the downed tree, watching the electric company workers and their big machines. Last night, we put candles around the living room and played mancala for the first time in years. It was fun!
As for my free spirit, I think in many ways it is freer now than it ever was. My mind ranges widely, I read and think. Few things are so urgent they need immediate attention.
I feel as though I am rising and soaring to unknown regions.
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Puppy Love
Jill came furnished with dogs, 2 of them. Lucky was famously fierce --- she barked and lunged at anyone who had the temerity to come near. Torrie was much more sedate, a lover not a fighter.
I had cats. In fact, I was in danger of becoming The Cat Lady when Jill and I met. Izzy, Ramon, Carlos and Porch Kitty dwelt in my house on Wait Ave, a quaint little old cottage with uneven floors and no air conditioning. Within months, we were joined by little kitten Bianca, who was thrown from a moving car when we were out for a walk one day. Sweet, tiny, slightly "special", pure white kitty.
Jill had never been around cats and was pretty leery at first. I didn't know much about dogs, except that I thought they were too high maintenance. We both had to do some adjusting.
Three years into our relationship, Jill and I moved in together. Cue the scoffing lesbian jokes --- no U-Hauls on the second date, and we didn't have to turn in our lavendar membership cards. One of the reasons we took our time was the cat/dog conundrum.
Lucky wanted to eat the cats. She still does. We had to put in an extra door, create a safe part of the house for cats, modify, accommodate, adjust. Jill built an outdoor cat run so they could go in and out safely on their own. Six years later it's still an uneasy truce between the animals.
Which brings me to Buddy. I've never been in love with a dog before. I never would have expected it. Buddy was running the neighborhood last December, a skinny, skittish puppy half-grown. He wouldn't let us near, but he would come up and eat food if we left it out. I didn't pay much attention. Jill was always fretting over strays.
The first time I tried to talk to him, he cowered back and then snapped at me. It didn't look as though he was going to be easy to deal with. It was very cold, nearly Christmas, and it snowed. The stray dog disappeared for a few days. On Christmas morning, we heard him on the porch again, only this time he came right up to the door. We all piled out in our pajamas and Jill got close enough to pet him. She made him a nest of blankets, gave him food and water. He ran around the neighborhood a couple more days, but made our front porch his home base. We began to talk about taking him in, trying to find his family, checking him for a chip. We started calling him Buddy.
I saw him down the street and called out "Buddy! Here Buddy!" and he came bounding up the sidewalk, ran up on the porch, climbed up on my lap and started licking my chin. In that instant, he was mine. It was love at first lick!
Buddy has been a whirlwind of activity who destroyed books, shoes, pillows, ----- and a brand, new crate. He's kept us laughing and moving, demanding attention and play, offering us both cuddles and kisses. Our two old dogs, who hardly moved at all anymore, started playing again.
Buddy came along right when I needed him. I was slipping into the hole of depression. For days and days on end, Buddy rested beside me, his head on my lap, adoration in his eyes. Whatever I was feeling, it was all right with him. He brought me his toys and urged me to go out in the yard and run with him. It never failed to make me laugh.
Somehow, without even noticing how, I've become the Dog Lady. My relationship with the other two dogs has become more tender. I take them for each for walks, play with them, care for them. My pockets and my purse carry dog treats and plastic poop bags. There's a leash in my car, and a water bowl. When I go to the grocery store, Buddy rides shotgun.
I love this little dog who looks at me with knowing eyes, sleeps with his feet against my back and wakes me up with doggie kisses. Jill and I share this little fella, the first of our critters to be ours together. My life is richer for the love of a puppy.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Kissing the classroom good-bye
I've been writing letters to my students, which is bittersweet. Day after tomorrow they are presenting a puppet show and giving me a retirement party. I guess it's my last hurrah.
As I write these letters, I focus on what I know of each child. Despite my difficulties with teaching, it was never about the kids. The children were the part of the job I loved. I don't pretend to really know them, but I tried to interact with them as the individual people that they are, and always to keep in mind that they were somebody's baby.
So this letter-writing is tender. I describe who I see them to be, and what I hope for them. Some who have the most challenging behaviors, are the ones who tug at me the most. These are ones who need to be accepted just as they are, and they make that very difficult. One boy is a voracious reader and remarkably original thinker. He's a scientist or inventor in the making. Another boy, who can never be still or quiet, is the most compassionate, forgiving child you could know. A girl who came to me in first grade with a complicated reputation for defiance, is an extraordinary reader and writer, who wants to be seen and listened to on her own terms. One little harum-scarum girl reminds me of nothing so much as Pippi Longstocking, and that just makes me laugh. I wish I could know what their life paths become.
Each student has a story to tell, a life away from school, fears and hopes that may not even have words yet. Each one will grow up to be somebody unique. I hope my influence, how ever great or small, was a positive one. I hope that something I have said or done or taught makes a difference to the very real human beings who have passed through my classroom.
And I think that's what teachers hope for. It's not about curriculum or tests or homework or paychecks or unions or politics. It's an individual teacher who has an effect on an individual child, for better or for worse. I hope the balance in my case has tipped toward the better.
As I write these letters, I focus on what I know of each child. Despite my difficulties with teaching, it was never about the kids. The children were the part of the job I loved. I don't pretend to really know them, but I tried to interact with them as the individual people that they are, and always to keep in mind that they were somebody's baby.
So this letter-writing is tender. I describe who I see them to be, and what I hope for them. Some who have the most challenging behaviors, are the ones who tug at me the most. These are ones who need to be accepted just as they are, and they make that very difficult. One boy is a voracious reader and remarkably original thinker. He's a scientist or inventor in the making. Another boy, who can never be still or quiet, is the most compassionate, forgiving child you could know. A girl who came to me in first grade with a complicated reputation for defiance, is an extraordinary reader and writer, who wants to be seen and listened to on her own terms. One little harum-scarum girl reminds me of nothing so much as Pippi Longstocking, and that just makes me laugh. I wish I could know what their life paths become.
Each student has a story to tell, a life away from school, fears and hopes that may not even have words yet. Each one will grow up to be somebody unique. I hope my influence, how ever great or small, was a positive one. I hope that something I have said or done or taught makes a difference to the very real human beings who have passed through my classroom.
And I think that's what teachers hope for. It's not about curriculum or tests or homework or paychecks or unions or politics. It's an individual teacher who has an effect on an individual child, for better or for worse. I hope the balance in my case has tipped toward the better.
Monday, April 11, 2011
Bringing it down a notch
In the interests of reducing stress to livable levels, I took this early retirement. It has worked, to a large degree. But since my stress originates within, I can still find plenty of opportunities to practice.
Stressors du jour:
> Waking up in the middle of the night to do mental budget planning. My income has plunged dramatically, somewhat akin to that first, breathless dive on the giant roller coasters. Saving money is never far from my calculating mind. So this morning, at 3:55, I was mentally strategizing the food, medicines and veterinarian parts of the budget. I must have come up with something satisfying, since that's the last thing I remember before 9:30 this morning. I wonder what I decided.
> Exercise. I'm spending hours upon hours with a computer on my lap. Very comfy. Too comfy. So what seems reasonable and possible, for starters, is a three-pronged approach. Walk the dogs. Use the elliptical machine in the back room. Wii Fit Plus, which is getting dusty. This morning, that led to -----
>Walking the dogs. There are plenty of things in this world that I'm good at, but walking two dogs at the same time is not one of them. That's especially true when one is an energetic puppy and the other is about 85 years old. When I was still teaching in my Montessori classroom, I was able to keep track of 21 kids, address several questions and problems at once, and still sit on the floor with a small group who were practicing their math works. But I can't walk two dogs without getting the leashes tangled, or tripping them, or tripping myself, or dragging the slow one while keeping the little one out of the street. I won't be doing that again. I'll get more exercise by walking them one at a time, anyway!
>Keeping my mouth shut. I went to a recovery meeting today. It's the first time I've gone to a daytime meeting since official retirement. You know how when you buy a car, suddenly you see the same car everywhere? I'd never noticed, in these meetings, how many of the people are OLD and RETIRED. Duh. I picked one I'd been to before that's convenient to my house. It started well, then got hijacked off topic into territory that was going places it didn't need to go. I've been in recovery a long time. 30 years, in fact. I'm one of those "old timers" or as they used to be called when I was starting out "senior saints". But I sat there evaluating whether I had enough investment in this situation to state my thoughts and decided not to. Instead I walked out. I think that's only the second time I've ever walked out of a meeting because of content. I decided I didn't want to expose myself to the stress of getting involved in it, and that I had better things to do with my time. I hope that's personal progress. I hope I didn't simply turn my back on a responsibility.
So the stressors are there, but I'm looking at them differently and acknowledging my own part, at least part of the time. Progress, not perfection.
Tip of the day, from my sister, the massage therapist:
If you touch the tip of your tongue to the back of your front top teeth, you will not be able to clench your jaw.
(Jaw clenching is one of my major ways of somatizing stress --- and keeping my dentist in his beach house.)
Stressors du jour:
> Waking up in the middle of the night to do mental budget planning. My income has plunged dramatically, somewhat akin to that first, breathless dive on the giant roller coasters. Saving money is never far from my calculating mind. So this morning, at 3:55, I was mentally strategizing the food, medicines and veterinarian parts of the budget. I must have come up with something satisfying, since that's the last thing I remember before 9:30 this morning. I wonder what I decided.
> Exercise. I'm spending hours upon hours with a computer on my lap. Very comfy. Too comfy. So what seems reasonable and possible, for starters, is a three-pronged approach. Walk the dogs. Use the elliptical machine in the back room. Wii Fit Plus, which is getting dusty. This morning, that led to -----
>Walking the dogs. There are plenty of things in this world that I'm good at, but walking two dogs at the same time is not one of them. That's especially true when one is an energetic puppy and the other is about 85 years old. When I was still teaching in my Montessori classroom, I was able to keep track of 21 kids, address several questions and problems at once, and still sit on the floor with a small group who were practicing their math works. But I can't walk two dogs without getting the leashes tangled, or tripping them, or tripping myself, or dragging the slow one while keeping the little one out of the street. I won't be doing that again. I'll get more exercise by walking them one at a time, anyway!
>Keeping my mouth shut. I went to a recovery meeting today. It's the first time I've gone to a daytime meeting since official retirement. You know how when you buy a car, suddenly you see the same car everywhere? I'd never noticed, in these meetings, how many of the people are OLD and RETIRED. Duh. I picked one I'd been to before that's convenient to my house. It started well, then got hijacked off topic into territory that was going places it didn't need to go. I've been in recovery a long time. 30 years, in fact. I'm one of those "old timers" or as they used to be called when I was starting out "senior saints". But I sat there evaluating whether I had enough investment in this situation to state my thoughts and decided not to. Instead I walked out. I think that's only the second time I've ever walked out of a meeting because of content. I decided I didn't want to expose myself to the stress of getting involved in it, and that I had better things to do with my time. I hope that's personal progress. I hope I didn't simply turn my back on a responsibility.
So the stressors are there, but I'm looking at them differently and acknowledging my own part, at least part of the time. Progress, not perfection.
Tip of the day, from my sister, the massage therapist:
If you touch the tip of your tongue to the back of your front top teeth, you will not be able to clench your jaw.
(Jaw clenching is one of my major ways of somatizing stress --- and keeping my dentist in his beach house.)
Thursday, April 7, 2011
I'm still strawberry
More than 30 years ago, when I moved to San Francisco from Illinois to live with my former husband, my friend who he had left me for, and our son, I learned the difference between decision and choice.
The back story here is a whole 'nother narrative. Suffice it to say, it was the seventies and we were earnestly trying to create family from the shambles of two broken marriages. It had been a couple of years since the explosion. Emotions had cooled. But I still carried with me the questions of: "What makes her better than me? What is wrong with me?"
One evening, she and I sat on the couch in front of the window that overlooked Golden Gate Park, in our upstairs flat in the Sunset District. We had been living and functioning as a family unit for a month or two, but that night I was feeling bad. According to house rules, we needed to talk about it. He was pacing, as always, while we sat on the couch.
Suddenly he said, "Which is better, vanilla or strawberry?" We looked at each other and looked at him. He repeated the question, directing it at me.
"Well, I guess strawberry."
"Why?"
"Because...I don't know, because I like it."
"But is strawberry better than vanilla?"
He continued, pointing at me, "You're strawberry." He pointed at her. "You're vanilla."
"Vanilla isn't better than strawberry. It's just vanilla. Strawberry isn't better than vanilla, it's strawberry."
And in that instant, I got it! There was nothing inherently better about either of us.
Aside from our son, that was probably the best gift he ever gave me.
I started reading a new book last night called The Scalpel and the Soul by Allan J. Hamilton, MD, FACS
He reminded me of this.
I like being reminded that I'm always at choice.
The back story here is a whole 'nother narrative. Suffice it to say, it was the seventies and we were earnestly trying to create family from the shambles of two broken marriages. It had been a couple of years since the explosion. Emotions had cooled. But I still carried with me the questions of: "What makes her better than me? What is wrong with me?"
One evening, she and I sat on the couch in front of the window that overlooked Golden Gate Park, in our upstairs flat in the Sunset District. We had been living and functioning as a family unit for a month or two, but that night I was feeling bad. According to house rules, we needed to talk about it. He was pacing, as always, while we sat on the couch.
Suddenly he said, "Which is better, vanilla or strawberry?" We looked at each other and looked at him. He repeated the question, directing it at me.
"Well, I guess strawberry."
"Why?"
"Because...I don't know, because I like it."
"But is strawberry better than vanilla?"
He continued, pointing at me, "You're strawberry." He pointed at her. "You're vanilla."
"Vanilla isn't better than strawberry. It's just vanilla. Strawberry isn't better than vanilla, it's strawberry."
And in that instant, I got it! There was nothing inherently better about either of us.
Aside from our son, that was probably the best gift he ever gave me.
I started reading a new book last night called The Scalpel and the Soul by Allan J. Hamilton, MD, FACS
He reminded me of this.
I like being reminded that I'm always at choice.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
The old lady with purple socks
We've all seen her. She's the little old woman in the grocery store who is wearing those shoes that might actually be slippers, purple (or pink or orange or white) anklets, knit pants that just graze the top of the socks, an oversize t-shirt that may or may not have Mickey Mouse emblazoned on the front. There is no indication of any sort of foundational undergarment present. Remember her? The age is indeterminate, but whatever it might be, you take one look and wonder how anybody could leave the house looking like that.
Now I know!
I get up in the morning and throw on my sweats or plaid flannel pants (red or blue), and either my huge red shirt from the Pleasure Island Jazz and Blues festival 2007, or my purple glow-in-the-dark goddess t-shirt. Those are the most comfortable ones, so they're usually conveniently draped over the quilt rack. I slip into a pair of backless shoes and go outside to throw the ball around for Buddy. Once he's run out of energy, I'll turn my attention to the day --- writing, sweeping, talking to the cats. At some point I'll have a sudden inspiration to make (fill in the blank) for dinner and grab the car keys, call the dog, and off we go to Food Lion. No bra. No socks. Jammy pants.
I'm HER!
There was a time in my life when I would not leave the house without taking a look in the mirror. There was even a time when I wore make-up and wouldn't go downtown in shorts. I know, it's hard to believe. (My grandmother also cautioned me that women do no eat on the street, not even ice cream cones. And you NEVER go barefoot!)
I'm not sure what this means. I'm old and I don't care? I'm not trying to impress anybody? I don't expect to see anyone I know because this is such a big town? Maybe it's just that I have other priorities nowdays.
Anyway, when I see her in the store or on the street now, I feel a sisterhood. I've walked in her houseshoes.
Now I know!
I get up in the morning and throw on my sweats or plaid flannel pants (red or blue), and either my huge red shirt from the Pleasure Island Jazz and Blues festival 2007, or my purple glow-in-the-dark goddess t-shirt. Those are the most comfortable ones, so they're usually conveniently draped over the quilt rack. I slip into a pair of backless shoes and go outside to throw the ball around for Buddy. Once he's run out of energy, I'll turn my attention to the day --- writing, sweeping, talking to the cats. At some point I'll have a sudden inspiration to make (fill in the blank) for dinner and grab the car keys, call the dog, and off we go to Food Lion. No bra. No socks. Jammy pants.
I'm HER!
There was a time in my life when I would not leave the house without taking a look in the mirror. There was even a time when I wore make-up and wouldn't go downtown in shorts. I know, it's hard to believe. (My grandmother also cautioned me that women do no eat on the street, not even ice cream cones. And you NEVER go barefoot!)
I'm not sure what this means. I'm old and I don't care? I'm not trying to impress anybody? I don't expect to see anyone I know because this is such a big town? Maybe it's just that I have other priorities nowdays.
Anyway, when I see her in the store or on the street now, I feel a sisterhood. I've walked in her houseshoes.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
A lifetime's work
Since I've started settling into this retirement phase, I'm both looking forward and looking back. I said that I want to write and rabble-rouse, now that I have the time. Today I was penciling in my rabble-rousing on the calendar for this week: Monday a 15 minutes of silence rally on the museum mall downtown at noon. That's to honor the memory of Martin Luther King who was killed on April 4, 1968 while supporting the sanitation workers. Now here we are all these years later and labor is in the forefront again. Tuesday is another rally to oppose proposed legislation that would drastically reduce worker protections in North Carolina. Same place, 1:00.
I've been a worker, in one way or another, all my life. I've always identified with people who work for a living, because I am one. It's never been my ambition to be rich; simply being able to support myself and the people I love is what has mattered. I've spent most of my life on the lower rung of the middle class, financially speaking, but I've never been tipped over the edge into homelessness or hunger, and for that I am grateful. I did put in my time as a welfare mom in the 70s though. That was no fun at all.
I've been thinking about the jobs I've had, good and bad ---- and awful. So I thought I'd make a list.
My first paid job was teaching swimming to kids in the AYA summer rec program. I made .75 an hour. They got their money's worth --- I didn't really know how to swim, so they gave me the beginners and a long pole to fish them out with. My youngest sister was in the class. Different times, back in '63.
Babysitting --- lots of babysitting. 35 cents an hour
I got married less than a year after high school, after one semester of college. I thought I would be staying home and having babies. He thought I'd be getting a job. I got a job.
assembly line -- building detonators for bombs in a munitions factory --- worst job ever.
kitchen and dining work in the mess hall at Bainbridge Naval Training Center
File Clerk -- NRMC
Work study - library U of Ill
Waitress - Tom's Steakhouse
Waitress - Lums
Bartender - HoJo
Bartender and waitress - Shanigans
shipping clerk - vacuum factory
child care
Teacher - 5th and 6th grade
file clerk - Dept. of Labor
computer operator - EDS
file clerk - DOL
retail gift shop - Beefeater Shop Lajes AFB
Crisis Counselor
Grad Teacher Asst - Illinois State Univ.
concession worker - Checkerdome (yes, the year that NC State won basketball)
Family group counselor
Home Day Care
Tutoring
historic interpreter - Lincoln Log Cabin
teacher
waitress
Census worker
business owner - Travels through Time - 14 years
also waitress for the first 5 years of TtT
Durham Arts Council Interim CAPS director
Teacher - Poe Montessori Magnet School WCPSS
RETIRED!!!
That's all I can think of for now. I'm sure I missed some. No wonder I'm tired.
I've been a worker, in one way or another, all my life. I've always identified with people who work for a living, because I am one. It's never been my ambition to be rich; simply being able to support myself and the people I love is what has mattered. I've spent most of my life on the lower rung of the middle class, financially speaking, but I've never been tipped over the edge into homelessness or hunger, and for that I am grateful. I did put in my time as a welfare mom in the 70s though. That was no fun at all.
I've been thinking about the jobs I've had, good and bad ---- and awful. So I thought I'd make a list.
My first paid job was teaching swimming to kids in the AYA summer rec program. I made .75 an hour. They got their money's worth --- I didn't really know how to swim, so they gave me the beginners and a long pole to fish them out with. My youngest sister was in the class. Different times, back in '63.
Babysitting --- lots of babysitting. 35 cents an hour
I got married less than a year after high school, after one semester of college. I thought I would be staying home and having babies. He thought I'd be getting a job. I got a job.
assembly line -- building detonators for bombs in a munitions factory --- worst job ever.
kitchen and dining work in the mess hall at Bainbridge Naval Training Center
File Clerk -- NRMC
Work study - library U of Ill
Waitress - Tom's Steakhouse
Waitress - Lums
Bartender - HoJo
Bartender and waitress - Shanigans
shipping clerk - vacuum factory
child care
Teacher - 5th and 6th grade
file clerk - Dept. of Labor
computer operator - EDS
file clerk - DOL
retail gift shop - Beefeater Shop Lajes AFB
Crisis Counselor
Grad Teacher Asst - Illinois State Univ.
concession worker - Checkerdome (yes, the year that NC State won basketball)
Family group counselor
Home Day Care
Tutoring
historic interpreter - Lincoln Log Cabin
teacher
waitress
Census worker
business owner - Travels through Time - 14 years
also waitress for the first 5 years of TtT
Durham Arts Council Interim CAPS director
Teacher - Poe Montessori Magnet School WCPSS
RETIRED!!!
That's all I can think of for now. I'm sure I missed some. No wonder I'm tired.
Friday, April 1, 2011
April 1st
Today is my Happy Coming Out Day Anniversary!
Thirteen years since I came to my senses --- I never said I'm a quick learner.
Thirteen years since I came to my senses --- I never said I'm a quick learner.
Turned in my keys
Today I turned in my keys and badge at school. That felt more final than signing the resignation or filling out the retirement papers. I got to go to lunch with many friends. My grade level team gave me a bag full of "writer's gifts" which were funny and encouraging. Everywhere I turn, I am reinforced for this new beginning.
I've moved a lot in my lifetime, though not so much in the past 20 years or so. I moved 33 times in my first 30 years, so I like being much more stable now. I've also held many jobs over my working life. Leaving this job was exactly what I needed to do. At the same time, it's hard to leave the people I work with. When you go through such intense levels of stress --- and joys ---- together, you form a bond.
So tonight I'm feeling slightly melancholy, grateful, relieved and curious about what will happen next.
Also very glad it's Friday. Jill cooks dinner on Friday! (and Saturday and Sunday)
I've moved a lot in my lifetime, though not so much in the past 20 years or so. I moved 33 times in my first 30 years, so I like being much more stable now. I've also held many jobs over my working life. Leaving this job was exactly what I needed to do. At the same time, it's hard to leave the people I work with. When you go through such intense levels of stress --- and joys ---- together, you form a bond.
So tonight I'm feeling slightly melancholy, grateful, relieved and curious about what will happen next.
Also very glad it's Friday. Jill cooks dinner on Friday! (and Saturday and Sunday)
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