Have you ever had a piece of really fine, Southern-cooked cornbread? Bacon grease, buttermilk, and an iron skillet are all involved in creating the delectable treat. Its rich, flavorful, crunchy-soft texture makes it perfect as a bread or a "sopper" - a side dish designed to mop up grave or juices so nothing of a delicious meal is wasted.
It's obvious, is it not, that I am a fan of cornbread. But this story has nothing to do with actually eating cornbread. There was no cornbread in either of the Christmas meals in which I participated. Ham was the main dish at both sides of the family's gatherings. The breads of choice were potato rolls and yeast rolls. No, cornbread just popped into my mind one day. The sixth day of our holiday trip, I was sitting in the living room with many beloved family members, and the thought just occurred - "I feel like a piece of cornbread.". I was in the overwhelming emotional state of love, grief, exhaustion, recovery from illness, desire to help, desire to sleep - and I pictured myself as a triangle of cornbread. I don't mean that I had been stirred and baked at a high heat. I mean that the consistency and purposes of the piece of cornbread as it sits on the dinner plate seemed to perfectly portray my perception of how I react to all overtures and approaches to me.
First things first - I feel loved. I feel loved by friends. I feel loved at work. I especially felt loved when visiting the families this past week. It's so good to get to see the family. I love seeing and spending time with everyone. We're all different, yet all a part of the same group. I think of it as a meal on a plate - all your different items, and I'm the piece of cornbread. Nobody would not want the cornbread there - I belong.
I feel covered. I feel as if everyone wants to spread a layer of protection over me like so much butter! Thank you, by the way. I have needed a lot of protection this year. Sometimes, without that layer of people to step up to others and say "Do you know who this is?" or "Let me tell you what you're dealing with here...", I would have dried up and crumbled away. Many family, friends, and even social media acquaintances have spread a layer of protection over me by coming to my defense in some matter or sympathizing with their own experience stories that make me laugh and feel as if I'm not alone.
A good cornbread is a little crumbly. It's a coarse bread, so those pieces sometimes just crumble away. I can identify with the crumbly nature of cornbread. Innocent things - tv commercials, e-mails, greeting cards, comments, questions, advice - all of those can crumble me in a second. Just as the fork doesn't mean to hit the cornbread on its way to the vegetables, the world doesn't mean to stab me. My consistency right now makes it easy for little things to just stick in and knock a piece of me away. If anyone can actually give me a real, factual system for not being too sensitive, I will listen and try it. How do you change the way you are emotionally made? The important part, though, is that even though I may get a bit crumbled, so many others are there for me to hold me together.
To know I'm not alone is such an advantage. There are big chunks of time when I am now physically alone. (There will be another post someday on the advantages of dogs and cats.) But I am not alone in any way other than that. Just as all the servings of food on a plate bump into each other, and the juices roll around to be soaked up by the cornbread, I am surrounded, in spirit, with so many of you that drop everything to be there if I call, text, make a comment, or cry out through a status. You reach out and I soak it up. Thank you. Just as cornbread is made richer by soaking in some juice (I'm thinking good old-fashioned beans and cornbread, a little sausage with it....), I am made richer and stronger by your support. I am trying to take steps on the road to recovery. When I stop still and stare, it may be your simple smile or pat on the arm that gives me strength to pick up my foot and take another step.
So, here's to the new year. I can make an honest toast that says "May it be better than 2013." Even thinking that hurts, though, because 2013 contained my last months of my "old" life. The life I thought I'd live forever. Thank goodness for the love and ideas and wisdom out there that this little ol' piece of cornbread can soak up. I might sit and stare and act a little bland, but please know I gather in your wishes, hugs and love and convert them to the strength to go on. Happy New Year.
Monday, December 30, 2013
Saturday, December 14, 2013
I Want to Run With the Hobbit! 12/14/13
I saw the second installation of "The Hobbit" last night. Yes, I'm a fan. A regular fan, not a Comic-con level fan (although I have attended Comic-con, go figure!) I have read the book quite a few times during my life, including one time OUT LOUD, completely through, to my children. I love Bilbo, the dwarfs, their escapades, Gandalf, Gollum, even Smaug. Orcs and dragons are bad. Hobbits, dwarfs and elves are good. What's not to love?
What I love best, though, is the way that the characters that are small in stature think that they are setting out (in the beginning) to accomplish a small task, for themselves. The dwarfs want their homeland back. Bilbo simply wants to experience a little adventure. However, since they have to cross the paths of other species, travel strange lands and awaken old rivalries, they end up being elevated to little heroes whose somewhat selfish endeavors could actually save their world from evil!
(My own liberal summation, apologies to Mr. Tolkien and all the experts.)
I sat through the opening of the movie, wondering why I didn't feel sad. Last Christmas, our family of four saw the first one together. There aren't too many occasions on which an entire family can see a movie adaptation of a book they have all read and loved. We even saw it at a restaurant/cinema place, similar to the one we were at last night. But I didn't feel sad. I have the 'he should be here' thoughts, but the atmosphere, being with my girls, the food.....the sadness was not able to attack. I'm glad it wasn't, because it enabled me to enjoy the movie from the very opening, where I was completely inspired by two scenes.
Near the beginning, the dwarfs, Bilbo and Gandalf have to run from the Orcs. The director, Peter Jackson, (who is extremely passionate about bring these books to film - I suspect he is part hobbit...) takes advantage of the beautiful New Zealand countryside and shows a long shot of the whole group just running across a beautiful field backed by gorgeous mountains. They must have acted the hell out of that running, because it got me. I sat there thinking "I want to run with the hobbits!!" A few scenes later, they cross some similarly gorgeous landscape, only this time on Beorn's stately horses. Once again, I could only think, "I want to ride with them! Go, you dwarfs and hobbit, go!"
The dwarfs and the hobbit were running and riding away from evil Orcs, but they were also running with a purpose to accomplish some good. They don't realize at that point in the story just how much good, and at what a cost, but they were running! They were riding horses, fast! I am inspired to run to do my small good things. I am inspired that if I do some small good in my life, that it might fit together like a jigsaw puzzle with others who do small good in their lives......and greater good can happen!
Almost everyone I know strives to do their own good each day. I have been fortunate in life to always be able to surround myself with positive people. I do know that we live in the real world, not Middle Earth. But I hope that the good that we all put out there every day can make a difference. Our enemy is not an evil sorcerer/wizard. We all use our good to counteract neglect, meanness, hunger, poverty, disease, all those "bad" things in the world. I'm glad I saw the dwarfs and hobbit running. It gave me joy. It had me cheering for the good guys. And it let me know that small good can work together for bigger purposes.
Sometimes, though, I approach my day, my golden opportunity to put more 'good' out there, with a sigh. I've had some good reasons, but I think it's time to try and run. One sigh or one deep breath can help, but then it's time to run. Time to smile, time to look and listen and encourage. That won't be easy every day, but it's worth a try. I want to run with the hobbit - but since that's impossible, I will try to "run" to make my own small difference for good.
What I love best, though, is the way that the characters that are small in stature think that they are setting out (in the beginning) to accomplish a small task, for themselves. The dwarfs want their homeland back. Bilbo simply wants to experience a little adventure. However, since they have to cross the paths of other species, travel strange lands and awaken old rivalries, they end up being elevated to little heroes whose somewhat selfish endeavors could actually save their world from evil!
(My own liberal summation, apologies to Mr. Tolkien and all the experts.)
I sat through the opening of the movie, wondering why I didn't feel sad. Last Christmas, our family of four saw the first one together. There aren't too many occasions on which an entire family can see a movie adaptation of a book they have all read and loved. We even saw it at a restaurant/cinema place, similar to the one we were at last night. But I didn't feel sad. I have the 'he should be here' thoughts, but the atmosphere, being with my girls, the food.....the sadness was not able to attack. I'm glad it wasn't, because it enabled me to enjoy the movie from the very opening, where I was completely inspired by two scenes.
Near the beginning, the dwarfs, Bilbo and Gandalf have to run from the Orcs. The director, Peter Jackson, (who is extremely passionate about bring these books to film - I suspect he is part hobbit...) takes advantage of the beautiful New Zealand countryside and shows a long shot of the whole group just running across a beautiful field backed by gorgeous mountains. They must have acted the hell out of that running, because it got me. I sat there thinking "I want to run with the hobbits!!" A few scenes later, they cross some similarly gorgeous landscape, only this time on Beorn's stately horses. Once again, I could only think, "I want to ride with them! Go, you dwarfs and hobbit, go!"
The dwarfs and the hobbit were running and riding away from evil Orcs, but they were also running with a purpose to accomplish some good. They don't realize at that point in the story just how much good, and at what a cost, but they were running! They were riding horses, fast! I am inspired to run to do my small good things. I am inspired that if I do some small good in my life, that it might fit together like a jigsaw puzzle with others who do small good in their lives......and greater good can happen!
Almost everyone I know strives to do their own good each day. I have been fortunate in life to always be able to surround myself with positive people. I do know that we live in the real world, not Middle Earth. But I hope that the good that we all put out there every day can make a difference. Our enemy is not an evil sorcerer/wizard. We all use our good to counteract neglect, meanness, hunger, poverty, disease, all those "bad" things in the world. I'm glad I saw the dwarfs and hobbit running. It gave me joy. It had me cheering for the good guys. And it let me know that small good can work together for bigger purposes.
Sometimes, though, I approach my day, my golden opportunity to put more 'good' out there, with a sigh. I've had some good reasons, but I think it's time to try and run. One sigh or one deep breath can help, but then it's time to run. Time to smile, time to look and listen and encourage. That won't be easy every day, but it's worth a try. I want to run with the hobbit - but since that's impossible, I will try to "run" to make my own small difference for good.
Thursday, December 12, 2013
The Hardest Questions of All. Thanks, Santa. 12/12/13
Little ones ask so many questions. Personal questions - "How old are you?" Silly questions - "Can I have that bracelet?" Blunt questions - "Are those real diamonds?" But the two hardest questions of all occur this time of year: "Mrs. Rush, is Santa real?" followed by "Mrs. Rush, do you believe in Santa?" Elementary teachers have to face the fact the there are as many levels of belief in their classroom as there are students. We also have to face the fact that those students believe whatever we say. We are the teachers. We speak wisdom and truth! I bill myself as a teacher that only tells the truth. So, when I was asked these difficult questions today, as I have been so many years in a row, I gave an answer that has been many years in the making:
"Is Santa real? Jailynn says he's not." Oh boy, here we go. Carefully worded truth. These were second graders. I personally found out the truth from a kid in my class in third grade. I was angry and disappointed. Considering this little questioner was about the same age, I spoke very cautiously:
"Now, my little friends, you might be hearing all sorts of things about Santa from your friends here in your class at school. I think that Santa is very much alive in the spirit of giving. Different families have different ways that they share that with their kids, so please believe whatever your parents tell you. This season is about love and giving. Sometimes we give gifts, sometimes we give a song, sometimes we give our time to help someone. Santa is one of the leaders behind all that giving, but we are all involved in it. I hope that you have the chance to give a little bit this season and see how it makes you happy. Even if what you give is your best smile." (The room erupts into smiley faces.)
"But what about what Jailynn said?" "Well, her family still believes in giving and being sweet. Her parents just explain it in a different way from your parents. But that's ok if the real purpose is being nice."
"Why doesn't Santa bring presents to grown-ups?" "Well, it's not because all grown-ups are bad. I'm certainly not bad!" (giggle eruption). "I think it's because when you are very little you only know how to get stuff. When you get older, you learn how to give yourself, so Santa doesn't have to give you things to teach you that anymore." (Can we please sing now?)
Then, the granddaddy of them all: "Mrs. Rush, do you believe in Santa?" Dead silence. They think they've got me. "I have to say yes, my friends. I believe in Santa as he represents the spirit of giving. I believe in Santa in the idea that if you are good, good things come to you. I try to practice that all year long on you boys and girls by giving treasure box goodies to the well-behaved children. I believe that once you really know Santa as a grown-up, you understand that giving is so much more than a present. Giving can be a smile, saying someone looks nice, visiting someone, calling them, writing them a note, or singing them a song. This is the truth that Santa represents and in my heart I know it's true. Believe what your mom and dad tell you. That will be different for everyone in here, but don't we celebrate differences at our school?" (Nodding heads) "Santa wants you to grow up to have a giving heart, so he sets the example." (Quiet.....) "Now let's sing - please give me some beautiful songs with beautiful voices today!" Smiles - music - action. Thanks, Santa.
"Is Santa real? Jailynn says he's not." Oh boy, here we go. Carefully worded truth. These were second graders. I personally found out the truth from a kid in my class in third grade. I was angry and disappointed. Considering this little questioner was about the same age, I spoke very cautiously:
"Now, my little friends, you might be hearing all sorts of things about Santa from your friends here in your class at school. I think that Santa is very much alive in the spirit of giving. Different families have different ways that they share that with their kids, so please believe whatever your parents tell you. This season is about love and giving. Sometimes we give gifts, sometimes we give a song, sometimes we give our time to help someone. Santa is one of the leaders behind all that giving, but we are all involved in it. I hope that you have the chance to give a little bit this season and see how it makes you happy. Even if what you give is your best smile." (The room erupts into smiley faces.)
"But what about what Jailynn said?" "Well, her family still believes in giving and being sweet. Her parents just explain it in a different way from your parents. But that's ok if the real purpose is being nice."
"Why doesn't Santa bring presents to grown-ups?" "Well, it's not because all grown-ups are bad. I'm certainly not bad!" (giggle eruption). "I think it's because when you are very little you only know how to get stuff. When you get older, you learn how to give yourself, so Santa doesn't have to give you things to teach you that anymore." (Can we please sing now?)
Then, the granddaddy of them all: "Mrs. Rush, do you believe in Santa?" Dead silence. They think they've got me. "I have to say yes, my friends. I believe in Santa as he represents the spirit of giving. I believe in Santa in the idea that if you are good, good things come to you. I try to practice that all year long on you boys and girls by giving treasure box goodies to the well-behaved children. I believe that once you really know Santa as a grown-up, you understand that giving is so much more than a present. Giving can be a smile, saying someone looks nice, visiting someone, calling them, writing them a note, or singing them a song. This is the truth that Santa represents and in my heart I know it's true. Believe what your mom and dad tell you. That will be different for everyone in here, but don't we celebrate differences at our school?" (Nodding heads) "Santa wants you to grow up to have a giving heart, so he sets the example." (Quiet.....) "Now let's sing - please give me some beautiful songs with beautiful voices today!" Smiles - music - action. Thanks, Santa.
Sunday, December 8, 2013
A Fingernail Fable 12/8/13
Friday morning hurry-up. All my fault, because I just didn't want to get out of bed. Have you ever been there? Life is happening outside your bedroom, outside your house, people are driving, drinking coffee, already having meetings......and your bed is just so warm and cozy that it's an actual argument with yourself to throw back the covers and stand up. We've all been there, I guess. When I do that, I can adjust the getting ready and still make it to work on time, but I still hurry. So during the hurry-up, I bent a fingernail backward trying to fasten my seat belt. A small reminder to slow down, it's all going to be there, whether I hurry to fasten the belt or do it at normal speed! Smoothing down the fingernail, I drove to work. The school was still there.
I'm not used to having any sort of long fingernails. A combination of weak nails and piano playing has always left me without nails as an accessory. Except for the few years of fake nails, they have always just been short and.... there. In the past eight months, they're stronger. They grow. I have to cut them and file them down. It's very strange to me - did a chemical change happen in my body when I entered grief? Or was it due to happen anyway? I don't know, but I do know that these knives that extend from my fingertips - and the care they require - is a new sensation.
Later Friday evening, the same backward-bent nail caught on something. You know, that sensation when it brushes cloth and you feel that little drag? I took a look. There was a cut in the middle of the tip. Not a big one, but like some tiny scissors just made one cut. I went to the place where I now keep the clippers and newly-acquired file, trimmed it and filed it smooth. It lost a little length, but it's still there. I suppose that was the price of decorating the tree. As Saturday came and went, more nails lost their way to the housework/decoration activities. They were shorter, but they were still there.
Today, Sunday, makes eight months since he's been gone. I don't really put much stock in anniversaries, but having made this portion of the grief journey personally, I see a truth. I slowly file away my old life. It's still there, it's just shorter. I can buy the low-fat eggnog now, there's nobody left to complain about it. When it's just me home, I have music playing. When it was just us, it was always the television. Still the same machine, just different. When a situation changes, I adapt. Humans adapt. The situation is still there, but we carry on and find ways to make it.
Adaptation isn't easy. Sometimes it even hurts! I took all the lights off the fifty-foot long stair garland yesterday. Those lights have been wound around that garland for so many years that they were caught in the little wires in certain places. As I separated the lights from the thin little wire inside the garland, I felt the thin wire slice right under my fingernail. OUCH! Who says decorating for Christmas is fun! After I finished the garland experience, (a new garland is now required....) I checked the fingernail damage. Sure enough, trim it, file it, it's still there. Only I think the cut might leave a little scar. And so it goes - the old life is still there, it's just been adapted, filed away, had its shape changed......with a few scars to show for the hurt along the way.
I'm not used to having any sort of long fingernails. A combination of weak nails and piano playing has always left me without nails as an accessory. Except for the few years of fake nails, they have always just been short and.... there. In the past eight months, they're stronger. They grow. I have to cut them and file them down. It's very strange to me - did a chemical change happen in my body when I entered grief? Or was it due to happen anyway? I don't know, but I do know that these knives that extend from my fingertips - and the care they require - is a new sensation.
Later Friday evening, the same backward-bent nail caught on something. You know, that sensation when it brushes cloth and you feel that little drag? I took a look. There was a cut in the middle of the tip. Not a big one, but like some tiny scissors just made one cut. I went to the place where I now keep the clippers and newly-acquired file, trimmed it and filed it smooth. It lost a little length, but it's still there. I suppose that was the price of decorating the tree. As Saturday came and went, more nails lost their way to the housework/decoration activities. They were shorter, but they were still there.
Today, Sunday, makes eight months since he's been gone. I don't really put much stock in anniversaries, but having made this portion of the grief journey personally, I see a truth. I slowly file away my old life. It's still there, it's just shorter. I can buy the low-fat eggnog now, there's nobody left to complain about it. When it's just me home, I have music playing. When it was just us, it was always the television. Still the same machine, just different. When a situation changes, I adapt. Humans adapt. The situation is still there, but we carry on and find ways to make it.
Adaptation isn't easy. Sometimes it even hurts! I took all the lights off the fifty-foot long stair garland yesterday. Those lights have been wound around that garland for so many years that they were caught in the little wires in certain places. As I separated the lights from the thin little wire inside the garland, I felt the thin wire slice right under my fingernail. OUCH! Who says decorating for Christmas is fun! After I finished the garland experience, (a new garland is now required....) I checked the fingernail damage. Sure enough, trim it, file it, it's still there. Only I think the cut might leave a little scar. And so it goes - the old life is still there, it's just been adapted, filed away, had its shape changed......with a few scars to show for the hurt along the way.
Sunday, December 1, 2013
My (burned out) light bulb moment 12/1/13
I have been shoring up the defenses. "The holidays are hard...". Every friend that has recent experience with loss, everyone with one ounce of common sense even, will share that information with me. Not to be mean, just a way of saying they understand, they commiserate, they're there for me. So I prepared. I have stayed busy. I had company. I had the kids around. I cooked. We shopped. Busy, busy, busy. The holiday, Thanksgiving day itself, was great. We had fun. It wasn't until today, with everybody gone again, that the reality, and the realization of what "The holidays are hard" really means.
Dropping nephew Zach at the airport on Saturday was bittersweet. We love that kid. (Not really a kid, but a kid to me!) We'll see him at Christmas, so we said goodbye, and headed on to more busy-ness. The girls crammed in last minute shopping and nails, then spent the last night with their respective friends. The quiet was relaxing. I watched a little TV with kitten Isis on my lap, then went to sleep knowing it was the last night of a full house. Still, I thought I was prepared. The holiday was past, I made it, no breakdowns. I had answered everyone that checked on me. I held my head up, I held grief at bay.
Unfortunately, all my shields can't stop the slow tide of sadness that creeps around the edges and invades my mind and my heart. I noticed the feeling before the girls even woke up. I did the usual, and hid it away. Even my own mom says "she hides it very well....". I can't help it, it's natural. We got the girls fed, packed and ready. Little Isis got in the car, and they were off down the road. One or two tears rolled, but I found things to do.
After I finished a few regular chores, I decided I could at least put up the Christmas tree. We didn't get to that. No decorating, just put together the three pieces of the pre-lit tree. Easy, and a start. I love this tree. I've only had it two years, it's ten feet tall, pre-lit and beautiful. I brought it in, got started, and when I got to the top, the third piece, one whole section of lights was burned out. I unplugged and re-plugged. I changed the fuse. I changed three bulbs and said forget it - I'm going to get a new string of lights and just put it on top of those.
I threw on a decent shirt, put on my shoes and drove to Walgreen's. Two strings of clear lights were left, and one of them was mine. I paid, got in the car and wham - it hit me. I sobbed so hard on the way home I'm surprised I could drive. I kept thinking "This is what everybody told me - the holidays are hard!" It wasn't putting up the tree, it wasn't even the burned-out lights. He would not have fixed the lights - the tree was my domain. The big sadness was having to face and deal with the problem in silence. I would have been able to complain to him. Those burned-out lights actually gave me a bright "light bulb moment" of my own. A huge part of our married life and any family life is that we can complain to each other. And, being married, or being family, you support that other person. I miss the person I could "bitch to". I miss him making fun of me when I complained about silly things. That's why I think the holidays are hard - there are more very happy and very stressful moments than at other times. And sharing those moments is a habit. I had to have a good cry about missing my sounding board. The expected holiday breakdown had arrived, uninvited and unwelcome. It passed when my super-friend made me get up and walk, as we do most nights.
After the walk, I put the new lights around the dark area of the tree. It looks perfect now. What's dark can be made light again. The burned-out bulbs are still underneath the new ones, though. Hopefully they "hide them very well". Bring on Christmas. I'm carrying my tissues.
Dropping nephew Zach at the airport on Saturday was bittersweet. We love that kid. (Not really a kid, but a kid to me!) We'll see him at Christmas, so we said goodbye, and headed on to more busy-ness. The girls crammed in last minute shopping and nails, then spent the last night with their respective friends. The quiet was relaxing. I watched a little TV with kitten Isis on my lap, then went to sleep knowing it was the last night of a full house. Still, I thought I was prepared. The holiday was past, I made it, no breakdowns. I had answered everyone that checked on me. I held my head up, I held grief at bay.
Unfortunately, all my shields can't stop the slow tide of sadness that creeps around the edges and invades my mind and my heart. I noticed the feeling before the girls even woke up. I did the usual, and hid it away. Even my own mom says "she hides it very well....". I can't help it, it's natural. We got the girls fed, packed and ready. Little Isis got in the car, and they were off down the road. One or two tears rolled, but I found things to do.
After I finished a few regular chores, I decided I could at least put up the Christmas tree. We didn't get to that. No decorating, just put together the three pieces of the pre-lit tree. Easy, and a start. I love this tree. I've only had it two years, it's ten feet tall, pre-lit and beautiful. I brought it in, got started, and when I got to the top, the third piece, one whole section of lights was burned out. I unplugged and re-plugged. I changed the fuse. I changed three bulbs and said forget it - I'm going to get a new string of lights and just put it on top of those.
I threw on a decent shirt, put on my shoes and drove to Walgreen's. Two strings of clear lights were left, and one of them was mine. I paid, got in the car and wham - it hit me. I sobbed so hard on the way home I'm surprised I could drive. I kept thinking "This is what everybody told me - the holidays are hard!" It wasn't putting up the tree, it wasn't even the burned-out lights. He would not have fixed the lights - the tree was my domain. The big sadness was having to face and deal with the problem in silence. I would have been able to complain to him. Those burned-out lights actually gave me a bright "light bulb moment" of my own. A huge part of our married life and any family life is that we can complain to each other. And, being married, or being family, you support that other person. I miss the person I could "bitch to". I miss him making fun of me when I complained about silly things. That's why I think the holidays are hard - there are more very happy and very stressful moments than at other times. And sharing those moments is a habit. I had to have a good cry about missing my sounding board. The expected holiday breakdown had arrived, uninvited and unwelcome. It passed when my super-friend made me get up and walk, as we do most nights.
After the walk, I put the new lights around the dark area of the tree. It looks perfect now. What's dark can be made light again. The burned-out bulbs are still underneath the new ones, though. Hopefully they "hide them very well". Bring on Christmas. I'm carrying my tissues.
Wednesday, November 27, 2013
Holiday Lessons from the Animal Kingdom - or - Why the Cat Threw Up 11/27/13
The cat threw up already. It's only Wednesday, day BEFORE Thanksgiving, and there's some purging going on around here. Poor Roxy. She's not really purging, you all know cats don't do that, right? But she is suffering a common holiday malady: invasion of space and routine.
I love the holidays. I love time off work, I love seeing family and friends. I'm especially grateful to not only have my precious girls home from college, but nephew Zach visiting as well. We are knitting together a united front against the sadness of missing Scott. We are staying busy, either running around or binge TV-watching. And of course, cooking and eating. So far, so good. And, before you read any further...he is the perfect guest, he's family, I do my thing and don't stress. All reflections in this blog came to me as - yes - Roxy threw up.
Along with the college girls comes Isis, the college kitty. She's about six months old and cute as can be. She's gotten much bigger since leaving here in August. I no longer have to block the spindles on the upstairs overlook for fear that she will wiggle through and fall to the first floor, as she did in July. She has her own opinion about where she wants to go and which other animals she likes. Basically, it's nobody.
Now to be fair, the other animals either hate her or want to play too rough. (55-lb dog vs. six-month-old kitten, you know?) So everybody is walking around all stressed out. Except maybe Gordon, the big dog, he only wants to play! I wish it were easier and faster to say to animals: "You're in this together, now let's be nice to each other!" It occurred to me, just after Roxy lost her breakfast this morning, that the last time she did that was when Isis was here. My cat gets stressed and throws up! I know, gross.
But how different is that from any of us that are hosting or visiting over the holiday, and have our routine interrupted? Do we embrace it or does it just make us a little sick or even ruin our day? I personally embrace change of routine on my terms. For example - yes, I will have kolaches for breakfast one morning, but it's back to the cereal for me after that! I love people being around, having fun, especially if they are the kind of people that I can say "Do your thing, I'm going in here for a while!"
I hope that all my friends and any other readers and find a way to enjoy and celebrate the disruption of routine that comes with holidays on their own terms. My animal friends can't talk with each other and discover that they really don't have to stress. Roxy is growling at Isis as I type this! We can, however, be truthful about our feelings in a considerate way, and make non-routine days work nicely! Whoever you spend your holiday with, you and those people are a united front against the sadness, heartbreak and grief in the world. Laugh together, cry together, gorge on that meal together......Together. And no throwing up. (at least, not from stress!) Happy Thanksgiving, I'm thankful for all of you.
I love the holidays. I love time off work, I love seeing family and friends. I'm especially grateful to not only have my precious girls home from college, but nephew Zach visiting as well. We are knitting together a united front against the sadness of missing Scott. We are staying busy, either running around or binge TV-watching. And of course, cooking and eating. So far, so good. And, before you read any further...he is the perfect guest, he's family, I do my thing and don't stress. All reflections in this blog came to me as - yes - Roxy threw up.
Along with the college girls comes Isis, the college kitty. She's about six months old and cute as can be. She's gotten much bigger since leaving here in August. I no longer have to block the spindles on the upstairs overlook for fear that she will wiggle through and fall to the first floor, as she did in July. She has her own opinion about where she wants to go and which other animals she likes. Basically, it's nobody.
Now to be fair, the other animals either hate her or want to play too rough. (55-lb dog vs. six-month-old kitten, you know?) So everybody is walking around all stressed out. Except maybe Gordon, the big dog, he only wants to play! I wish it were easier and faster to say to animals: "You're in this together, now let's be nice to each other!" It occurred to me, just after Roxy lost her breakfast this morning, that the last time she did that was when Isis was here. My cat gets stressed and throws up! I know, gross.
But how different is that from any of us that are hosting or visiting over the holiday, and have our routine interrupted? Do we embrace it or does it just make us a little sick or even ruin our day? I personally embrace change of routine on my terms. For example - yes, I will have kolaches for breakfast one morning, but it's back to the cereal for me after that! I love people being around, having fun, especially if they are the kind of people that I can say "Do your thing, I'm going in here for a while!"
I hope that all my friends and any other readers and find a way to enjoy and celebrate the disruption of routine that comes with holidays on their own terms. My animal friends can't talk with each other and discover that they really don't have to stress. Roxy is growling at Isis as I type this! We can, however, be truthful about our feelings in a considerate way, and make non-routine days work nicely! Whoever you spend your holiday with, you and those people are a united front against the sadness, heartbreak and grief in the world. Laugh together, cry together, gorge on that meal together......Together. And no throwing up. (at least, not from stress!) Happy Thanksgiving, I'm thankful for all of you.
Saturday, November 16, 2013
Treasure Box Day 11/16/13
There he sat, at the front of his row. A little five-year-old boy. Blond hair, cute as a button. Because he was at the front, the other kids couldn't see what he was doing. His eyes shut tightly, his lips mouthing unintelligible words and his hands clasped together with only knuckles showing.......he was praying. My heart melted at the same time I laughed out loud with delight. I didn't tell everyone, I simply enjoyed the moment. You see, it was Friday; time for me, the teacher, to select the treasure box winners. Little boy only wanted a toy truck or a plastic bug. And yes, he was praying HARD for it!
You see, as the 'ruler' of my classroom, I employ some 'tricks of the trade'. I had told the same little boy on Wednesday that he was having a WONDERFUL week, and that I could tell he was trying to get the treasure on Friday. The power of suggestion and dollar store goodies goes a long way in my little kingdom. I must clarify one thing: little boy is not a troublesome kid. He is also not perfect. He is a regular little boy. He knows that he talks when he shouldn't sometimes, and that he stuck his tongue out at a friend once. He is.....normal. And once in awhile, normal wins.
I love the hope that was expressed by this happening. I love the balance in this world. On the same Wednesday that I praised little boy, I had a horrible morning. I needed a regular blood test, the kind where you have to not eat after midnight. No problem in the evening. BIG problem in the morning. If I don't get my coffee and Cocoa Krispies, I don't function well. Yes, every day, without fail, coffee and a bowl of Cocoa Krispies. Since I was ten. (Well, not the coffee...) So I grouchily skipped breakfast and headed out early Wednesday morning for the lab, knowing there were loads of drive-thrus between the lab and work. About halfway there - BOOM!! Someone ran into the back of my car. No coffee, no cereal, and now, rear-ended. We pulled over, took a look - not bad at all - he gave me all his info, there was a baby in his car.....he was nice, I was nice, and I left and headed to the lab. Offering my arm was easy compared to skipping breakfast and getting hit! As I left the lab and headed for the drive-thru, I got a message on my phone. A message from a dear, far-away friend. It just said "Good Morning! You've been on my mind this morning...hope you have a great day! love and hugs!" I cried. I knew I needed to head straight to work, no down time to 'shake off' the events of the morning before teaching my large groups of darlings. And with that message, I was reminded that so many people out there are thinking about me and praying for me. It's the other thing, besides the precious little children, that give me the hope and the balance.
When we pray for, think about and encourage each other, we are storing up treasure in a much more important treasure box than the one in my classroom. I have been more aware, since my tragedy, of the sending of a card, or the sharing of some words of comfort. I'm not perfectly batting .1000, but I'm trying to reach out more. You see, little boy actually earned his treasure (yes, he got picked!) through the whole week. His 'prayer' was adorable, but his constancy of behavior won me over. I appreciate the constancy of encouragement that I get right now. Whether it's in the form of notes, words, smiles, conversations.....or prayer; I love you and thank you for balancing my days. And, along with little treasure boy, every now and then I can raise my fist and say "YES!" . Because I'm going to make it.
You see, as the 'ruler' of my classroom, I employ some 'tricks of the trade'. I had told the same little boy on Wednesday that he was having a WONDERFUL week, and that I could tell he was trying to get the treasure on Friday. The power of suggestion and dollar store goodies goes a long way in my little kingdom. I must clarify one thing: little boy is not a troublesome kid. He is also not perfect. He is a regular little boy. He knows that he talks when he shouldn't sometimes, and that he stuck his tongue out at a friend once. He is.....normal. And once in awhile, normal wins.
I love the hope that was expressed by this happening. I love the balance in this world. On the same Wednesday that I praised little boy, I had a horrible morning. I needed a regular blood test, the kind where you have to not eat after midnight. No problem in the evening. BIG problem in the morning. If I don't get my coffee and Cocoa Krispies, I don't function well. Yes, every day, without fail, coffee and a bowl of Cocoa Krispies. Since I was ten. (Well, not the coffee...) So I grouchily skipped breakfast and headed out early Wednesday morning for the lab, knowing there were loads of drive-thrus between the lab and work. About halfway there - BOOM!! Someone ran into the back of my car. No coffee, no cereal, and now, rear-ended. We pulled over, took a look - not bad at all - he gave me all his info, there was a baby in his car.....he was nice, I was nice, and I left and headed to the lab. Offering my arm was easy compared to skipping breakfast and getting hit! As I left the lab and headed for the drive-thru, I got a message on my phone. A message from a dear, far-away friend. It just said "Good Morning! You've been on my mind this morning...hope you have a great day! love and hugs!" I cried. I knew I needed to head straight to work, no down time to 'shake off' the events of the morning before teaching my large groups of darlings. And with that message, I was reminded that so many people out there are thinking about me and praying for me. It's the other thing, besides the precious little children, that give me the hope and the balance.
When we pray for, think about and encourage each other, we are storing up treasure in a much more important treasure box than the one in my classroom. I have been more aware, since my tragedy, of the sending of a card, or the sharing of some words of comfort. I'm not perfectly batting .1000, but I'm trying to reach out more. You see, little boy actually earned his treasure (yes, he got picked!) through the whole week. His 'prayer' was adorable, but his constancy of behavior won me over. I appreciate the constancy of encouragement that I get right now. Whether it's in the form of notes, words, smiles, conversations.....or prayer; I love you and thank you for balancing my days. And, along with little treasure boy, every now and then I can raise my fist and say "YES!" . Because I'm going to make it.
Sunday, November 10, 2013
Practicing What I Preach or How to Act Like a Grown-Up 11/10/13
"He hit me!" "I did not!" "Yes, you did, your elbow hit me when you sat down!" Mrs. McCarty then intervenes: "If I accidentally stepped on your hand, would I say 'sorry' so, so quickly?" Elbow child; "Yes...." "Then say 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that' to her." Elbow child, mumbling, head down; "I'm sorry." Mrs. McCarty; "You didn't mean to do that, you're just saying you're sorry that it happened! That's how we are nice to each other!" Elbow child; nothing.
This happens at least once a week. In elementary school, little accidental bumps and jostles can be interpreted by the 'victim' as a crime against themselves and all of humanity. I always use myself as the example 'bad guy', because they know what my reaction would be. I'm so, so sweet and nice, and I would feel terrible if I stepped on their little hand (which does happen but only a couple times a year, so I have a great safety average! And no serious injuries ever, thank goodness.) By telling them to apologize for the fact that the mistake happened, I hope I'm teaching manners, maturity, responsibility, you name it. The thing is.....can I practice what I preach with adults?
In the process of walking through my grief, I present what I consider a very 'normal' outside. I work, laugh, joke, complain, suggest....all different from how I feel on the inside. I hide the sadness by instinct. It's not because of you that I hide it - it's because of me. Sometimes I go a little further than I want in the 'normal'. Evidently, one day, a while ago, I made a comment at lunch (based on a happening conversation, mind you...) that 'maybe there's someone out there for me'. I didn't mean now. I might not mean ever. It was an offhand comment, in context of the conversation. There was someone there, though, that took my words to heart.
This particular someone is on a totally different path, having been divorced for a long while, and recently seeing someone. A couple of weeks after my comment, this person seriously encouraged me to 'Go online, honey. Match.com, it worked for me.' I kind of said "Oh really!" and turned the conversation back to my people at my table. Later, I complained to friends. That bothered me. I was approaching only six months without him, how dare this person suggest such a thing right now? After I complained, and got the sufficient amount of pity from my net (what's a net? read this and find out: http://momastery.com/blog/2013/11/07/idea-title-im-even-sure-read-nets-well-call-nets/
I'm not on drugs, or bulimic, or getting arrested....and I have a net. I am more fortunate than young Glennon. I am also thankful that she has found her way in life and for her ability to inspire others. So...I complained to my net about that 'insensitive remark', got my assurances that I was right, that person was wrong, and was done with it. I mean, we love to complain to our friends and be assured that our view is the correct one, right? It's a national sport!
Well, it happened a second time. The person had reached a milestone in their new relationship, and was obviously (and rightly) elated. And once again, they took the chance to look at me and say 'Match.com, I'm tellin' ya, Ms. McCarty'. OH!!! I packed up what was left of my chips and yogurt and walked out. I found some net people. I told them, incensed. I got pity and confirmation (Thank you net!) And then, I realized.....for some reason, that person thinks that's OK, and this is going to keep happening unless I say something. Boy, did that let the air out of my balloon. I was going to have to address it, instead of complaining about it! I knew that as soon as I asked the person to stop, they would totally apologize, maybe even feel badly about having done it, but I DIDN'T WANT to talk to the person. I had turned into elbow kid!
It took two days. I knew I had to, and I knew I wanted to do it privately. I am the grown-up. When by chance I finally said...."You know, I'm just not ready to hear that, the match.com thing. Congratulations, so happy for you, but not me, not yet." The person apologized, said 'of course'.....and brought up the time I said 'maybe there's someone out there for me'. The person had taken me at my word. My 'trying to be normal' conversation turned on me, said 'Oh, this is what you want, eh?' and then I had to be a grown-up and say "Sorry, but please don't..." because of my mistake of being fake. I did it. I was the grown-up. My net applauded me. I, on the other hand, did not applaud myself, because I realized that my offhand comment had fed the whole situation.
Where do I go from here? If I am the grown-up I think I am, I guess I need to mix a little of my inner sadness in with my outer 'normal'. The icy covering needs to break and mix with the deep dark cold water of sorrow, and form a slush that can create a completely different attitude from either 'fake' or 'hidden'. I'm going to work on that. It's the grown-up thing to do.
A little addendum:
What if I had gone to the person accusingly? What if I had done it publicly? Too many people these days don't understand the good manners of taking turns to talk things over, and listening to the other side. Prime example: any 'political' news show where both parties or pundits that side with both parties are represented. They all end up yelling and interrupting, guests and hosts alike. I shudder to think that America bases its actions on what we see on the television. One of my main problem with politics in any forum is the lack of manners. How many families have talks about issues? How many do it the grown-up way? Do you listen and consider before you yell your defense? I have news for everyone - you're not always right. You're also sometimes only partially right. If you don't listen to what the other side says, you're compounding, not solving the problem.
This happens at least once a week. In elementary school, little accidental bumps and jostles can be interpreted by the 'victim' as a crime against themselves and all of humanity. I always use myself as the example 'bad guy', because they know what my reaction would be. I'm so, so sweet and nice, and I would feel terrible if I stepped on their little hand (which does happen but only a couple times a year, so I have a great safety average! And no serious injuries ever, thank goodness.) By telling them to apologize for the fact that the mistake happened, I hope I'm teaching manners, maturity, responsibility, you name it. The thing is.....can I practice what I preach with adults?
In the process of walking through my grief, I present what I consider a very 'normal' outside. I work, laugh, joke, complain, suggest....all different from how I feel on the inside. I hide the sadness by instinct. It's not because of you that I hide it - it's because of me. Sometimes I go a little further than I want in the 'normal'. Evidently, one day, a while ago, I made a comment at lunch (based on a happening conversation, mind you...) that 'maybe there's someone out there for me'. I didn't mean now. I might not mean ever. It was an offhand comment, in context of the conversation. There was someone there, though, that took my words to heart.
This particular someone is on a totally different path, having been divorced for a long while, and recently seeing someone. A couple of weeks after my comment, this person seriously encouraged me to 'Go online, honey. Match.com, it worked for me.' I kind of said "Oh really!" and turned the conversation back to my people at my table. Later, I complained to friends. That bothered me. I was approaching only six months without him, how dare this person suggest such a thing right now? After I complained, and got the sufficient amount of pity from my net (what's a net? read this and find out: http://momastery.com/blog/2013/11/07/idea-title-im-even-sure-read-nets-well-call-nets/
I'm not on drugs, or bulimic, or getting arrested....and I have a net. I am more fortunate than young Glennon. I am also thankful that she has found her way in life and for her ability to inspire others. So...I complained to my net about that 'insensitive remark', got my assurances that I was right, that person was wrong, and was done with it. I mean, we love to complain to our friends and be assured that our view is the correct one, right? It's a national sport!
Well, it happened a second time. The person had reached a milestone in their new relationship, and was obviously (and rightly) elated. And once again, they took the chance to look at me and say 'Match.com, I'm tellin' ya, Ms. McCarty'. OH!!! I packed up what was left of my chips and yogurt and walked out. I found some net people. I told them, incensed. I got pity and confirmation (Thank you net!) And then, I realized.....for some reason, that person thinks that's OK, and this is going to keep happening unless I say something. Boy, did that let the air out of my balloon. I was going to have to address it, instead of complaining about it! I knew that as soon as I asked the person to stop, they would totally apologize, maybe even feel badly about having done it, but I DIDN'T WANT to talk to the person. I had turned into elbow kid!
It took two days. I knew I had to, and I knew I wanted to do it privately. I am the grown-up. When by chance I finally said...."You know, I'm just not ready to hear that, the match.com thing. Congratulations, so happy for you, but not me, not yet." The person apologized, said 'of course'.....and brought up the time I said 'maybe there's someone out there for me'. The person had taken me at my word. My 'trying to be normal' conversation turned on me, said 'Oh, this is what you want, eh?' and then I had to be a grown-up and say "Sorry, but please don't..." because of my mistake of being fake. I did it. I was the grown-up. My net applauded me. I, on the other hand, did not applaud myself, because I realized that my offhand comment had fed the whole situation.
Where do I go from here? If I am the grown-up I think I am, I guess I need to mix a little of my inner sadness in with my outer 'normal'. The icy covering needs to break and mix with the deep dark cold water of sorrow, and form a slush that can create a completely different attitude from either 'fake' or 'hidden'. I'm going to work on that. It's the grown-up thing to do.
A little addendum:
What if I had gone to the person accusingly? What if I had done it publicly? Too many people these days don't understand the good manners of taking turns to talk things over, and listening to the other side. Prime example: any 'political' news show where both parties or pundits that side with both parties are represented. They all end up yelling and interrupting, guests and hosts alike. I shudder to think that America bases its actions on what we see on the television. One of my main problem with politics in any forum is the lack of manners. How many families have talks about issues? How many do it the grown-up way? Do you listen and consider before you yell your defense? I have news for everyone - you're not always right. You're also sometimes only partially right. If you don't listen to what the other side says, you're compounding, not solving the problem.
Tuesday, November 5, 2013
I've Had Enough. (The one you have to look to find because I tell the truth) 11/5/13
I've had enough of some people. Stop. Just stop. Don't tell me how to find a man. It will be six months in a couple of days, and my heart still thinks he'll walk through the door. There are so many things for him to do. How am I supposed to know how to contact his Norwegian accountant, much less pay Norwegian taxes? I can see it now - little Norway police arriving at my school, asking for me and arresting me, even though I don't have a dragon tattoo! How much is 629 in Norwegian, anyway?
Work gets in the way. Yes, I've said in other posts that it's my salvation, but sometimes, it feels as it I'm back in the music building. You know, posing as a music major. I always felt that way, because I didn't have that "Ahhhhh!" attitude about all the classical music stuff. I would rather be out eating pizza or kissing on my boyfriend than practicing until 1 a.m. For that I was weird? These days, there are the 1 a.m. people in elementary school. Okay, maybe 7 p.m. But I don't share that desire. That building gets me - all of me - wholeheartedly - (well, I fake that occasionally) - from 8 a.m. to 4 p.m. After that, I'm not the music teacher anymore. I'm back to being me. The widow. The single mom. The caretaker of the house/pets/accounts/vehicles/pool/you-name-it-I'm-in-charge-of-it. When I need to locate four particular papers for the accountant, two more for the lawyer, and do a couple of hours of homework for the financial planner, I really feel as if work needs to go away. Is there such thing as widow's leave? There needs to be, and it needs to be the type of leave that can be spread out for when you need it most.
I rant here, and I want attention here. I write because I want people to read this and understand (which you do) and give me an encouraging comment (which you do). I am an attention hog with a blog. Please don't hate me. Let me down gently. At six months of grief, that will be the only gentle thing that happens. Life moves on, and I'm expected to move with it. And I have. At a limp. If you know me, you see it. If you don't know me, I look "so strong". Hell, what else am I supposed to do, stay under the covers for days on end? I wish. I wish my personality allowed me to be a bit more of a delicate flower. Unfortunately, I am not. I would control everything if I could. Only if I physically can't or get absolutely shut down do I not exercise control over a situation. Man, oh man, did death laugh at me. I shouted at it, cried to it, and have sulked behind it for all these months. I don't like you, death.
I don't like a lot of things right now, and one of those things is people that "do it wrong". Thank goodness, there are only a few of those around me, probably because I keep my shield up almost all the time. There I go again, being positive behind a negative, because I can't group punish! Not everybody is bad! I just want to say, bad ones: just shut up. I'm done with you. I will leave the room or I will say "Not talking about that right now, thanks". Or just: (my favorite from England) "Can't". It must be said with a British accent, though. And if I do that, some American might not even know what I'm saying, or might think it's naughty.
If you found this post, know that I'm done. This is hard. I've had to learn a new way of defending myself. Until the insensitive idiots out there can stop, maybe learn, maybe change their demeanor; or at least until they shut up......my armor is on, but I'm now armed, and I might stick it to you a time or two. Someone should.
Work gets in the way. Yes, I've said in other posts that it's my salvation, but sometimes, it feels as it I'm back in the music building. You know, posing as a music major. I always felt that way, because I didn't have that "Ahhhhh!" attitude about all the classical music stuff. I would rather be out eating pizza or kissing on my boyfriend than practicing until 1 a.m. For that I was weird? These days, there are the 1 a.m. people in elementary school. Okay, maybe 7 p.m. But I don't share that desire. That building gets me - all of me - wholeheartedly - (well, I fake that occasionally) - from 8 a.m. to 4 p.m. After that, I'm not the music teacher anymore. I'm back to being me. The widow. The single mom. The caretaker of the house/pets/accounts/vehicles/pool/you-name-it-I'm-in-charge-of-it. When I need to locate four particular papers for the accountant, two more for the lawyer, and do a couple of hours of homework for the financial planner, I really feel as if work needs to go away. Is there such thing as widow's leave? There needs to be, and it needs to be the type of leave that can be spread out for when you need it most.
I rant here, and I want attention here. I write because I want people to read this and understand (which you do) and give me an encouraging comment (which you do). I am an attention hog with a blog. Please don't hate me. Let me down gently. At six months of grief, that will be the only gentle thing that happens. Life moves on, and I'm expected to move with it. And I have. At a limp. If you know me, you see it. If you don't know me, I look "so strong". Hell, what else am I supposed to do, stay under the covers for days on end? I wish. I wish my personality allowed me to be a bit more of a delicate flower. Unfortunately, I am not. I would control everything if I could. Only if I physically can't or get absolutely shut down do I not exercise control over a situation. Man, oh man, did death laugh at me. I shouted at it, cried to it, and have sulked behind it for all these months. I don't like you, death.
I don't like a lot of things right now, and one of those things is people that "do it wrong". Thank goodness, there are only a few of those around me, probably because I keep my shield up almost all the time. There I go again, being positive behind a negative, because I can't group punish! Not everybody is bad! I just want to say, bad ones: just shut up. I'm done with you. I will leave the room or I will say "Not talking about that right now, thanks". Or just: (my favorite from England) "Can't". It must be said with a British accent, though. And if I do that, some American might not even know what I'm saying, or might think it's naughty.
If you found this post, know that I'm done. This is hard. I've had to learn a new way of defending myself. Until the insensitive idiots out there can stop, maybe learn, maybe change their demeanor; or at least until they shut up......my armor is on, but I'm now armed, and I might stick it to you a time or two. Someone should.
Sunday, November 3, 2013
How Gratefulness Fits 11/3/13
I saw a couple of posts on November 1st. "I am thankful for..." Some even included the "30 days of thankfulness" challenge. It's a great exercise, coming up with something different and not necessarily the same cookie-cutter sayings. Some of the ones I read are quite amusing. I considered trying it, but I just can't. It's not that I don't have so much for which to be grateful. It's just that I; 1) am afraid to commit to anything not required right now and 2) am afraid that rooting around in my brain for something new every day will dredge up anger and hopelessness instead of thankfulness.
I am probably one of the most grateful people in the world this year. Yes, I am a widow. But, as my widow friend Ann says (about herself, and I am in agreement about me), I am in better shape than 90% of any other widows. He left us in good shape financially and that enables me to face the rest of life, even if it is without him. I don't know what shape I would be in if that were not the case. I don't even like to think about it. He left us the greatest gift he could by being smart with financial planning, and for that I am repeating "thank you, thank you so much" in my head at all times.
I am so grateful for my family. My precious girls have stepped up and shown themselves to be determined to do well in school and help out when necessary by working also. My Mom and Dad are there whenever I need them, as are my sisters. Scott's family is still my own - they check on me and let me know I still belong with them. I am grateful for my "family of friends" (sorry, Peter Frampton, I had to borrow that!), the ones that make sure I get out and do things and don't become a hermit, and the ones that take the time at work to stop, talk a minute, be there at special events - I am surrounded by wonderful, smart, kind people.
I am grateful for my job. Even though I get ready every morning in an empty house, and make sure I turn off everything before I leave, because nobody else is there, within an hour or so I'm in a noisy, boisterous, mostly happy crowd of children. They are funny, they are smart, they are like sponges when I find the right presentation of my subject (or any other item up for discussion!) You know how you tear your cuticle, or get a paper cut on your fingertip? And then when you put a Band-Aid on there kind of tight, it doesn't hurt as much? That's how I feel during the school day. I feel as if there's a tight Band-Aid around the pain and it simmers down and lets me teach and enjoy my little darlings.
At home, the Band-Aid feeling kind of disappears, but there are four lovely creatures that do their best toannoy soothe me. How did we ever end up with four pets? Cuddles, Marylebone, Roxy and Gordon are the light of my home life. If you do have pets, then you know that their personalities are individual and adorable. Some days, I know I have to get out of bed, only because Cuddles has to have her thyroid medication. When I get home each day, the house is not empty. I am greeted by loads of tail-wagging and meowing. Some nights, when I can't sleep, both dogs snuggle close to me, whether I talk or cry. And Roxy, well, Roxy just doesn't let anyone do anything she doesn't like, and insists upon them doing what she does like. (In a very loud voice, of course.) Thank goodness, one of the things she does like is sitting on my lap and being my friend.
So, you see, I am extremely thankful. I love the fact that America has a Thanksgiving Day, but even more, I love people that keep thankfulness in their hearts all year 'round. Thank you notes, Facebook messages and statuses, e-mails, phone calls, cards.......I'm not perfect, by any means, but I try. My friends do, too. You, my friends, are welcome to show the social media world the 30 things you are thankful for each day this month - I enjoy reading them! But I know you better than that. I know that you are grateful for life and its blessings year-round. As am I.
I am probably one of the most grateful people in the world this year. Yes, I am a widow. But, as my widow friend Ann says (about herself, and I am in agreement about me), I am in better shape than 90% of any other widows. He left us in good shape financially and that enables me to face the rest of life, even if it is without him. I don't know what shape I would be in if that were not the case. I don't even like to think about it. He left us the greatest gift he could by being smart with financial planning, and for that I am repeating "thank you, thank you so much" in my head at all times.
I am so grateful for my family. My precious girls have stepped up and shown themselves to be determined to do well in school and help out when necessary by working also. My Mom and Dad are there whenever I need them, as are my sisters. Scott's family is still my own - they check on me and let me know I still belong with them. I am grateful for my "family of friends" (sorry, Peter Frampton, I had to borrow that!), the ones that make sure I get out and do things and don't become a hermit, and the ones that take the time at work to stop, talk a minute, be there at special events - I am surrounded by wonderful, smart, kind people.
I am grateful for my job. Even though I get ready every morning in an empty house, and make sure I turn off everything before I leave, because nobody else is there, within an hour or so I'm in a noisy, boisterous, mostly happy crowd of children. They are funny, they are smart, they are like sponges when I find the right presentation of my subject (or any other item up for discussion!) You know how you tear your cuticle, or get a paper cut on your fingertip? And then when you put a Band-Aid on there kind of tight, it doesn't hurt as much? That's how I feel during the school day. I feel as if there's a tight Band-Aid around the pain and it simmers down and lets me teach and enjoy my little darlings.
At home, the Band-Aid feeling kind of disappears, but there are four lovely creatures that do their best to
So, you see, I am extremely thankful. I love the fact that America has a Thanksgiving Day, but even more, I love people that keep thankfulness in their hearts all year 'round. Thank you notes, Facebook messages and statuses, e-mails, phone calls, cards.......I'm not perfect, by any means, but I try. My friends do, too. You, my friends, are welcome to show the social media world the 30 things you are thankful for each day this month - I enjoy reading them! But I know you better than that. I know that you are grateful for life and its blessings year-round. As am I.
Saturday, November 2, 2013
Have-tos and Shoulds 11/2/13
What a week! I knew I was a little behind on sleep/chores/TV due to my manic birthday weekend. I didn't expect the compilation of all the tiredness/busy-ness/catching up to kick my butt all the way to Friday. But so it did. There is so much that I should be doing! I sit now, typing, waiting for cold medicine to unclog at least one nostril so I can try to take a little nap. How did I get to this point? I don't really want to ever be dependent on anything - especially to unclog any part of me!! Let's see if I can re-trace my steps and find what little misstep led me here.
Last Friday, 10/25: Got the flu shot. Generally a good idea. A little sore arm later in the day, but mentally anticipating wonderful health all winter while everyone else shivers, coughs, and sneezes. Perhaps it is to blame for this malady I am suffering a week later? It wouldn't be the first time that my superior attitude has made me pay a hefty price. Who knows?
Last weekend: Can't be to blame, tiring but wonderful. I did spend each weekend day in very public places, perhaps being exposed to new germs, even though I am an extremely careful hand-washer. For the most part, though, a wonderful weekend.
Monday: Ah, school. Nothing like a day at school to turn on the auto-pilot. Get up, get dressed, put on makeup, drink coffee.....I've taught meter a thousand times, and beat vs. rhythm even more. I was so determined to not let the busy weekend affect me (like an old person...) that I went straight for my walk after work, then went to the grocery store. I came home, had dinner and caught up on two sitcoms before watching 'Dancing With the Stars'. Ok, kind of an old person anyway, but a decent day. I always play Candy Crush while watching 'Dancing'. Near the end of the show, my phone just turned off. Never to come back on. Instead of heading to bed to beat the 11:00 hour, I was on the phone with Verizon, who had me try some phone gymnastics, none of which did anything. At that point, they said they would send another phone overnight, but it wouldn't ship until Tuesday, so I wouldn't get it until Wednesday. I convinced myself I could survive and went to sleep.
Tuesday: It feels weird to spend a day without a cell phone. I notified those closest, and survived it, but it feels weird. I felt a little sad all day, not being able to peek at social media and see what all my friends were up to! I also found out that I had done something in the wrong order at work, which would reflect on someone else. Of all the "things" that happen in adult life, I get most depressed if something I do gets someone else in trouble. Evidently, in the district, before you order t-shirts for a group, you are supposed to request a purchase order and guess how many will be ordered. If you wait until the actual number of orders, money and invoice have come in, you've done it wrong. Go figure. (It did make me feel a little better that an administrator had made the same mistake..) I felt down, sad, tired, and went home with every intention of taking poor Cuddles (also known as thyroid-cat) to the new vet. I sat down. I got sadder and more tired. I called my mom and cried. I felt the weight of all the 'shoulds' in my life, and the fact that only I'm left to do them. I didn't take Cuddles on Tuesday. I put in for a half-day sick day on Wednesday to take care of that and get some rest, or do some "shoulds".
Wednesday: Early morning choir! Yes, an extra rehearsal for my babies, to help memory for Saturday's performance. I just torture myself, don't I? Gladly taught the morning through, knowing I could leave at noon. Nobody had picked up the substitute job, though. That is not my fault or my responsibility. I followed the correct procedure for entering an absence. Somehow, though, we are made to feel guilty that somebody will have to cover if we're out. Guess what? I stopped feeling guilty about that last May. I am allotted a certain number of sick and personal days, and it's no body's business when I take them and what I do with them. The district (or better yet, the bosses) can get over it. One friend this week told me that one of the bosses actually asked her if she really needed to go to the doctor, and asked what she was going for! Pretty sure that's illegal......I actually hope they ask me that sometime! That friend has accumulated over fifty days, by the way. Anyway, as I taught through the morning, I felt sniffles, a sore throat and a headache. Whatever sickness karma there is was telling me if I was going home at noon, by golly, I was going to be sick! I managed to take Cuddles to the vet, first of many visits to solve many problems, then went home and rested. Got the new phone. It didn't work. Called Verizon, they sent another. Holy cow! Felt worse. Couldn't breathe, didn't walk, tried to go to bed early, another choir rehearsal awaited in the morning!
Thursday: Halloween!! Super Duper Rain!! Sure enough, very rainy, flooded streets, the 25 minute drive took 45 minutes, sniffy nose, worried about choir, t-shirts, many other things. But children? They don't care about any of that if it's Halloween! They only know that candy is in their future! I have this to say to all of those who nay-say Halloween based on any origin involving evil........for the past fifty years, it has been about nothing but merchandising. Costume and candy sales with the easiest target consumer in the world - the kid. Kids don't care who you worship as long as they get some Skittles. Just have fun! (In saying that, attending some of the church -sponsored 'trunk or treats' have been our most fun years!) So school was busy, because the kids have to be distracted from the fact that it's Halloween!! The t-shirts arrived, all work was completed, move on to the evening. I was a zombie. No, I didn't dress up. I just couldn't breathe or taste, so I sat back and let everybody else celebrate, eat, trick-or-treat. I set up the second new phone. I answered the door. I hope I didn't pass out too many germs with the candy!
Friday was an exhaustion day. In preparation for Saturday's concert, t-shirts were passed out, music and sound equipment packed up, last minute e-mails answered and sent, and all by sore, tired, can't-breathe me. I went home, and prepared for a nap. Unfortunately, I have to be able to breathe through my nose a bit in order to sleep. I will let you know what worked and how this ends. I got so tired typing all of this that I thought "No wonder I got sick - just think how tiring it is actually doing all that!" And that, my friends, is dedicated to every teacher everywhere. Just do the "have-tos" and maybe you'll have a little left for the "shoulds". If you don't, there's always the weekend.
Last Friday, 10/25: Got the flu shot. Generally a good idea. A little sore arm later in the day, but mentally anticipating wonderful health all winter while everyone else shivers, coughs, and sneezes. Perhaps it is to blame for this malady I am suffering a week later? It wouldn't be the first time that my superior attitude has made me pay a hefty price. Who knows?
Last weekend: Can't be to blame, tiring but wonderful. I did spend each weekend day in very public places, perhaps being exposed to new germs, even though I am an extremely careful hand-washer. For the most part, though, a wonderful weekend.
Monday: Ah, school. Nothing like a day at school to turn on the auto-pilot. Get up, get dressed, put on makeup, drink coffee.....I've taught meter a thousand times, and beat vs. rhythm even more. I was so determined to not let the busy weekend affect me (like an old person...) that I went straight for my walk after work, then went to the grocery store. I came home, had dinner and caught up on two sitcoms before watching 'Dancing With the Stars'. Ok, kind of an old person anyway, but a decent day. I always play Candy Crush while watching 'Dancing'. Near the end of the show, my phone just turned off. Never to come back on. Instead of heading to bed to beat the 11:00 hour, I was on the phone with Verizon, who had me try some phone gymnastics, none of which did anything. At that point, they said they would send another phone overnight, but it wouldn't ship until Tuesday, so I wouldn't get it until Wednesday. I convinced myself I could survive and went to sleep.
Tuesday: It feels weird to spend a day without a cell phone. I notified those closest, and survived it, but it feels weird. I felt a little sad all day, not being able to peek at social media and see what all my friends were up to! I also found out that I had done something in the wrong order at work, which would reflect on someone else. Of all the "things" that happen in adult life, I get most depressed if something I do gets someone else in trouble. Evidently, in the district, before you order t-shirts for a group, you are supposed to request a purchase order and guess how many will be ordered. If you wait until the actual number of orders, money and invoice have come in, you've done it wrong. Go figure. (It did make me feel a little better that an administrator had made the same mistake..) I felt down, sad, tired, and went home with every intention of taking poor Cuddles (also known as thyroid-cat) to the new vet. I sat down. I got sadder and more tired. I called my mom and cried. I felt the weight of all the 'shoulds' in my life, and the fact that only I'm left to do them. I didn't take Cuddles on Tuesday. I put in for a half-day sick day on Wednesday to take care of that and get some rest, or do some "shoulds".
Wednesday: Early morning choir! Yes, an extra rehearsal for my babies, to help memory for Saturday's performance. I just torture myself, don't I? Gladly taught the morning through, knowing I could leave at noon. Nobody had picked up the substitute job, though. That is not my fault or my responsibility. I followed the correct procedure for entering an absence. Somehow, though, we are made to feel guilty that somebody will have to cover if we're out. Guess what? I stopped feeling guilty about that last May. I am allotted a certain number of sick and personal days, and it's no body's business when I take them and what I do with them. The district (or better yet, the bosses) can get over it. One friend this week told me that one of the bosses actually asked her if she really needed to go to the doctor, and asked what she was going for! Pretty sure that's illegal......I actually hope they ask me that sometime! That friend has accumulated over fifty days, by the way. Anyway, as I taught through the morning, I felt sniffles, a sore throat and a headache. Whatever sickness karma there is was telling me if I was going home at noon, by golly, I was going to be sick! I managed to take Cuddles to the vet, first of many visits to solve many problems, then went home and rested. Got the new phone. It didn't work. Called Verizon, they sent another. Holy cow! Felt worse. Couldn't breathe, didn't walk, tried to go to bed early, another choir rehearsal awaited in the morning!
Thursday: Halloween!! Super Duper Rain!! Sure enough, very rainy, flooded streets, the 25 minute drive took 45 minutes, sniffy nose, worried about choir, t-shirts, many other things. But children? They don't care about any of that if it's Halloween! They only know that candy is in their future! I have this to say to all of those who nay-say Halloween based on any origin involving evil........for the past fifty years, it has been about nothing but merchandising. Costume and candy sales with the easiest target consumer in the world - the kid. Kids don't care who you worship as long as they get some Skittles. Just have fun! (In saying that, attending some of the church -sponsored 'trunk or treats' have been our most fun years!) So school was busy, because the kids have to be distracted from the fact that it's Halloween!! The t-shirts arrived, all work was completed, move on to the evening. I was a zombie. No, I didn't dress up. I just couldn't breathe or taste, so I sat back and let everybody else celebrate, eat, trick-or-treat. I set up the second new phone. I answered the door. I hope I didn't pass out too many germs with the candy!
Friday was an exhaustion day. In preparation for Saturday's concert, t-shirts were passed out, music and sound equipment packed up, last minute e-mails answered and sent, and all by sore, tired, can't-breathe me. I went home, and prepared for a nap. Unfortunately, I have to be able to breathe through my nose a bit in order to sleep. I will let you know what worked and how this ends. I got so tired typing all of this that I thought "No wonder I got sick - just think how tiring it is actually doing all that!" And that, my friends, is dedicated to every teacher everywhere. Just do the "have-tos" and maybe you'll have a little left for the "shoulds". If you don't, there's always the weekend.
Tuesday, October 29, 2013
Way To Go, Audience Guy. 10/29/13
I had a wonderful birthday and a great weekend of fun to celebrate. It is humbling how many people took time to look out for me and make sure that it was a special day. I said on the social media page that the love and care created a bubble that insulated me from too much sorrow. It was true, what I said. Until the weekend, and the one thing I saw.
We attended the Texas Renaissance Festival, sort of a tradition for the past five years or so, and had several adults and two little ones. Wearing costumes and makeup has always been an escape of mine. I can paint and dress how I want to feel and usually, the feeling follows. If I share a song or two in the meantime, don't be surprised. I can always conjure up an imaginary audience to applaud my effort. Kind of spooky, right? Like I'm a modern-day Norma Desmond! Anyway, it was fun to dress up and go be amongst others that enjoy the same sort of thing. With that many adults, a few of us were able to sneak away and see the "not for kids" show. Entitled "Sound and Fury", they use Shakespeare as a framework for double entendre and some downright naughty comedy. The show was enjoyable, albeit a little lengthy. But it was what happened as it started that threw my day of make-believe for a loop.
The actors started out by explaining that they perform some improv with audience members. They then searched for a guy and a girl to go on stage. One of the actors would start some dialogue, stop abruptly in the middle and touch the guy or girl's shoulder to finish the phrase. I am doing my best to recall the sentiment from this past weekend, if not the precise words: Actor "I have found that I cannot live without....." (touches guy's shoulder) Audience guy turns to audience girl and says "You". Entire audience "awwwwwww". Actor "And so, this being the situation, I have found that I need to say......."(touches guy's shoulder). Audience guy turns to audience girl, kneels, opens a ring box and says "I can't live without you, I love you very much, will you marry me?" Audience is on feet, cheering.
I cheered - for a moment until the brick hit me. Love is out there, all around. But mine is gone. I managed to hold back actual sobbing and just leak a few tears, raise my glass and whisper "I wish you more years than we had." I do not wish to deny anybody of their joy and happiness. Joy and happiness are the balancing weight to sorrow and despair. Although I am sad and feel often alone, I wish the very best for those that are at the opposite end of the road. Well done, audience guy. I hope the two of you have many years, much love and don't have to say goodbye too soon.
We attended the Texas Renaissance Festival, sort of a tradition for the past five years or so, and had several adults and two little ones. Wearing costumes and makeup has always been an escape of mine. I can paint and dress how I want to feel and usually, the feeling follows. If I share a song or two in the meantime, don't be surprised. I can always conjure up an imaginary audience to applaud my effort. Kind of spooky, right? Like I'm a modern-day Norma Desmond! Anyway, it was fun to dress up and go be amongst others that enjoy the same sort of thing. With that many adults, a few of us were able to sneak away and see the "not for kids" show. Entitled "Sound and Fury", they use Shakespeare as a framework for double entendre and some downright naughty comedy. The show was enjoyable, albeit a little lengthy. But it was what happened as it started that threw my day of make-believe for a loop.
The actors started out by explaining that they perform some improv with audience members. They then searched for a guy and a girl to go on stage. One of the actors would start some dialogue, stop abruptly in the middle and touch the guy or girl's shoulder to finish the phrase. I am doing my best to recall the sentiment from this past weekend, if not the precise words: Actor "I have found that I cannot live without....." (touches guy's shoulder) Audience guy turns to audience girl and says "You". Entire audience "awwwwwww". Actor "And so, this being the situation, I have found that I need to say......."(touches guy's shoulder). Audience guy turns to audience girl, kneels, opens a ring box and says "I can't live without you, I love you very much, will you marry me?" Audience is on feet, cheering.
I cheered - for a moment until the brick hit me. Love is out there, all around. But mine is gone. I managed to hold back actual sobbing and just leak a few tears, raise my glass and whisper "I wish you more years than we had." I do not wish to deny anybody of their joy and happiness. Joy and happiness are the balancing weight to sorrow and despair. Although I am sad and feel often alone, I wish the very best for those that are at the opposite end of the road. Well done, audience guy. I hope the two of you have many years, much love and don't have to say goodbye too soon.
Friday, October 18, 2013
I Just Need Bigger Hair, That's All 10/18/13
I read a lot. Books, magazines, articles, blogs, bumper stickers, notes I confiscate from students.....you get the idea. It's one of the greatest pleasures in life; being wrapped up in a great story, and only stopping to read out of pure necessity, then realizing it's ninety minutes later than it was a minute ago!
Lately I've been reading about grief. Some of the reading is helpful, some depressing, all at least a little sad. I thought I was helping myself. In the past few weeks, things have been a little harder. The dear friends that I've shared this with understand and tell me their experiences. "The holidays are always difficult no matter how much time passes. It's been six months and you're just realizing how permanent this is. You have had to be so strong without a break, you must be mentally exhausted." So I'm here to say - you're right. The holidays are going to be way difficult, always and forever. I am just starting to feel the constancy of being alone. And I am exhausted. I am such a controller, though, that I control who gets to see and hear my breakdowns. (It's mostly those friends mentioned above that understand those things.....they've been there in one way or another, so I don't think they'll find me mentally unstable.)
I thought I would help myself. I googled 'grief harder at six months'. I can do this! I can READ myself whole again, right? Lo and behold, the first result was a blog call 'Handling with Grace'. What a coincidence! I am "Grace Under Pressure", and this is so similar to mine! I had to read. I just knew it would help. I started reading. It's a heartbreaking post from a young woman, dated 1/31/12, six months since she lost her mother to brain cancer. Beautifully written, I will share the link below so you can check it out if you are interested. But I got distracted while reading. What beautiful pictures! What a neat font! How do you get your archived blogs to show on the sidebar? Do mine show? I don't know! You have ads! Holy cow, this blog is like the perfect cheerleader/princess of blogs. I feel like the Cinderella (before fairy godmother) of blogs! I am sorry that my confession of attention disorder is not giving the respect to this lady's blog that it deserves. That's why I will share it below, it really is thoughtful and beautiful. I started blogging for myself, therefore I chose a layout, font, color, title, etc. that pleased me. I never thought I would have the nerve to share what I wrote. As it turns out, I've become quite the sharer.....and I never really looked back to see if things were ok. That's kind of like not looking in the mirror, right? (And this is not begging for compliments.....I liked what I saw when I looked again, I was just surprised that I didn't look at what was out there before I put mine together.)
But that other blog was such a beauty. I went running to the mirror to see if I could even compete. My blog looked like a middle-schooler, the other was like a homecoming queen. It felt like eighth grade all over again. I always needed more, so I thought. More eye shadow, more lip gloss, more and bigger hair....the only things I needed less of were braces and pimples. I am still trying to achieve that perfection in life. I am also more aware now than ever that I just am who I am. You see, six months alone can make you take a good hard look at yourself, even if there is no intention of trying to make anyone else look. You know what? The braces are gone. Yep, just teeth now. Everything else still feels like I need more. I just need bigger hair, and I'll feel better about myself. Right? Who am I trying to kid?
I figured it out. Reading can fix a little bit. I just read what I'd written above, and it helped me determine something: Blogging helps, but it doesn't cure anything. There's just something missing. That voice that used to tell me I was pretty. Or laugh at me. Or laugh with me. That voice would have either not cared about how the blog looked, or researched five million ways to make it really cool. No amount of big hair or an archived sidebar can bring that back. And that is the real reason that grief is harder at six months.
http://www.handlingwithgrace.com/2012/01/grief-at-6-months.html
Lately I've been reading about grief. Some of the reading is helpful, some depressing, all at least a little sad. I thought I was helping myself. In the past few weeks, things have been a little harder. The dear friends that I've shared this with understand and tell me their experiences. "The holidays are always difficult no matter how much time passes. It's been six months and you're just realizing how permanent this is. You have had to be so strong without a break, you must be mentally exhausted." So I'm here to say - you're right. The holidays are going to be way difficult, always and forever. I am just starting to feel the constancy of being alone. And I am exhausted. I am such a controller, though, that I control who gets to see and hear my breakdowns. (It's mostly those friends mentioned above that understand those things.....they've been there in one way or another, so I don't think they'll find me mentally unstable.)
I thought I would help myself. I googled 'grief harder at six months'. I can do this! I can READ myself whole again, right? Lo and behold, the first result was a blog call 'Handling with Grace'. What a coincidence! I am "Grace Under Pressure", and this is so similar to mine! I had to read. I just knew it would help. I started reading. It's a heartbreaking post from a young woman, dated 1/31/12, six months since she lost her mother to brain cancer. Beautifully written, I will share the link below so you can check it out if you are interested. But I got distracted while reading. What beautiful pictures! What a neat font! How do you get your archived blogs to show on the sidebar? Do mine show? I don't know! You have ads! Holy cow, this blog is like the perfect cheerleader/princess of blogs. I feel like the Cinderella (before fairy godmother) of blogs! I am sorry that my confession of attention disorder is not giving the respect to this lady's blog that it deserves. That's why I will share it below, it really is thoughtful and beautiful. I started blogging for myself, therefore I chose a layout, font, color, title, etc. that pleased me. I never thought I would have the nerve to share what I wrote. As it turns out, I've become quite the sharer.....and I never really looked back to see if things were ok. That's kind of like not looking in the mirror, right? (And this is not begging for compliments.....I liked what I saw when I looked again, I was just surprised that I didn't look at what was out there before I put mine together.)
But that other blog was such a beauty. I went running to the mirror to see if I could even compete. My blog looked like a middle-schooler, the other was like a homecoming queen. It felt like eighth grade all over again. I always needed more, so I thought. More eye shadow, more lip gloss, more and bigger hair....the only things I needed less of were braces and pimples. I am still trying to achieve that perfection in life. I am also more aware now than ever that I just am who I am. You see, six months alone can make you take a good hard look at yourself, even if there is no intention of trying to make anyone else look. You know what? The braces are gone. Yep, just teeth now. Everything else still feels like I need more. I just need bigger hair, and I'll feel better about myself. Right? Who am I trying to kid?
I figured it out. Reading can fix a little bit. I just read what I'd written above, and it helped me determine something: Blogging helps, but it doesn't cure anything. There's just something missing. That voice that used to tell me I was pretty. Or laugh at me. Or laugh with me. That voice would have either not cared about how the blog looked, or researched five million ways to make it really cool. No amount of big hair or an archived sidebar can bring that back. And that is the real reason that grief is harder at six months.
http://www.handlingwithgrace.com/2012/01/grief-at-6-months.html
Wednesday, October 16, 2013
From MTAI to PDAS: M&Ms, Zombies and Mice
The year, I believe, was 1987. All teachers in Mississippi now had to be evaluated according to state standards. "MTAI" was the acronym of the year, Mississippi Teacher Appraisal Instrument. All teachers now had to be officially assessed, according to guidelines set out by the state. These guidelines included several different areas, or "domains" in which a score was given. We were carefully trained (made to sit through hours of meetings....), so there would be no way we could score badly. We chose a class period, turned in a lesson plan - in the hand-written lesson plan book with the carbon copy pages - had a meeting to discuss the plan, and then the day came. The principal had to stay thirty minutes. They watched and checked everything. I remember leaving the lesson plan on my desk with a pack of M&Ms, as if chocolate could make anything I did wrong disappear! I was, and still am, quite good at putting on a show, so it went very well, high scores all around. But in between the observation and the actual knowledge of the scores, my brain told me everything I did was wrong. "Uh-oh, you accidentally started the wrong song on the record the first time." "You shouldn't have given that Mean Look, maybe that brought the score down." "WHY OH WHY did that kid have to do a total snot-sneeze in the middle of the lesson?" I am my own worst critic, and almost every teacher I know is the same way.
Evaluations have evolved, and still exist in every state. They are a federal requirement. Remember "No Child Left Behind"? It required every state to evaluate their teachers yearly. Everybody likes to think that a "bad" teacher would get a poor evaluation, and poof! - disappear. It doesn't happen that way, though. The evaluations sound harsh, but if you don' score well, you're given many opportunities to fix it.
Flash forward 26 years to this past Friday. I was not 'officially' evaluated. First of all, after so many years in Texas, you move to an advanced level that just requires three "drop-ins" a year. Each drop-in is about ten minutes. Secondly, drop-ins haven't started yet this year. However, the district has added something called "mega-monitoring". We've been told what they look for when they mega us, but we've not seen any feedback, or been told how the statistics will be used. All I know is that they enter the classroom when a lesson is in full bloom, stand there and look around while playing on their phones. Ok, that's exaggeration - because we are aware that they are checking a checklist of the required items on their phones. (I wonder if the district pays for the administration's Iphones???) About three to five minutes, and whoever mega'd you is gone. This past Friday, I had the illustrious experience of being mega-monitored twice in thirty minutes. The first time, it was the main boss. In she comes, while we're singing "Zombie Style" (a lovely parody of "Gangnam Style). I was scared to death. Schools are not very open about celebrating Halloween these days. I personally choose the attitude that I don't do anything scary, only fun. "Zombie Style" is fun! Quickly, when the song ended, I called the class' attention to the vocabulary word 'parody', already written on the board. Quick thinking. In a flash, she was gone. The class sang a few more songs that they got to choose. I call it "Fun Song Friday", and it's one of my ways to foster a singing student body. They can choose ANY song! So when the assistant main boss walked in, the kids were singing "Mousie In the Snow". It's definitely a Christmas song. And it's early October. Every child singing, smiling, doing motions.....did that count? I went with my mental defenses and told myself not to worry.
I didn't worry - until the students were gone and it was my lunch. Then I started thinking. (Oh no, not again.....) Why did I tell that child that I didn't have to give him a reason for changing some one's seat? Why were we singing a Christmas song? Why did I have magazines in a Guinness Stout box sitting on the table? Why do I teach? Why don't I answer phones and create spreadsheets somewhere?
After lunch, there was a nice note in my teacher mailbox from the assistant main boss, telling me how much she had enjoyed her visit and seeing all the smiles on the students' faces. If she had told me in person, I probably would have said "That's because I gave them the Guinness, haha" very nervously.
It's a good thing that the feedback from the official evaluations is on paper. I should have three drop-ins this year. For the past two years, my evaluator(s) did not finish my three by the deadline. Once again, I took it personally. I felt that nobody wanted to come see me teach, because they would have to be writing down so many things that go wrong! Once again, I did well. I don't know what I worry about, except that I truly care about being a good music teacher. I made my peace about eight years ago with the fact that I am "just a music teacher". I decided to be the best one I could be. I certainly hope, though, that this year's person is able evaluate in a timely manner. Evidently I'm quite awesome, zombies, mice and all.
"Zombie Style" and "Mousie In the Snow" published by Music K-8 Magazine
Plank Road Publishing, Inc.
*I learned that the district does not supply the Iphones for the mega's. They use their own phones, but the app is free. Cheapskates.
Evaluations have evolved, and still exist in every state. They are a federal requirement. Remember "No Child Left Behind"? It required every state to evaluate their teachers yearly. Everybody likes to think that a "bad" teacher would get a poor evaluation, and poof! - disappear. It doesn't happen that way, though. The evaluations sound harsh, but if you don' score well, you're given many opportunities to fix it.
Flash forward 26 years to this past Friday. I was not 'officially' evaluated. First of all, after so many years in Texas, you move to an advanced level that just requires three "drop-ins" a year. Each drop-in is about ten minutes. Secondly, drop-ins haven't started yet this year. However, the district has added something called "mega-monitoring". We've been told what they look for when they mega us, but we've not seen any feedback, or been told how the statistics will be used. All I know is that they enter the classroom when a lesson is in full bloom, stand there and look around while playing on their phones. Ok, that's exaggeration - because we are aware that they are checking a checklist of the required items on their phones. (I wonder if the district pays for the administration's Iphones???) About three to five minutes, and whoever mega'd you is gone. This past Friday, I had the illustrious experience of being mega-monitored twice in thirty minutes. The first time, it was the main boss. In she comes, while we're singing "Zombie Style" (a lovely parody of "Gangnam Style). I was scared to death. Schools are not very open about celebrating Halloween these days. I personally choose the attitude that I don't do anything scary, only fun. "Zombie Style" is fun! Quickly, when the song ended, I called the class' attention to the vocabulary word 'parody', already written on the board. Quick thinking. In a flash, she was gone. The class sang a few more songs that they got to choose. I call it "Fun Song Friday", and it's one of my ways to foster a singing student body. They can choose ANY song! So when the assistant main boss walked in, the kids were singing "Mousie In the Snow". It's definitely a Christmas song. And it's early October. Every child singing, smiling, doing motions.....did that count? I went with my mental defenses and told myself not to worry.
I didn't worry - until the students were gone and it was my lunch. Then I started thinking. (Oh no, not again.....) Why did I tell that child that I didn't have to give him a reason for changing some one's seat? Why were we singing a Christmas song? Why did I have magazines in a Guinness Stout box sitting on the table? Why do I teach? Why don't I answer phones and create spreadsheets somewhere?
After lunch, there was a nice note in my teacher mailbox from the assistant main boss, telling me how much she had enjoyed her visit and seeing all the smiles on the students' faces. If she had told me in person, I probably would have said "That's because I gave them the Guinness, haha" very nervously.
It's a good thing that the feedback from the official evaluations is on paper. I should have three drop-ins this year. For the past two years, my evaluator(s) did not finish my three by the deadline. Once again, I took it personally. I felt that nobody wanted to come see me teach, because they would have to be writing down so many things that go wrong! Once again, I did well. I don't know what I worry about, except that I truly care about being a good music teacher. I made my peace about eight years ago with the fact that I am "just a music teacher". I decided to be the best one I could be. I certainly hope, though, that this year's person is able evaluate in a timely manner. Evidently I'm quite awesome, zombies, mice and all.
"Zombie Style" and "Mousie In the Snow" published by Music K-8 Magazine
Plank Road Publishing, Inc.
*I learned that the district does not supply the Iphones for the mega's. They use their own phones, but the app is free. Cheapskates.
Saturday, October 12, 2013
Along The Rocky Road 10/12/13
There are things I'll never say
and feelings I'll never express.
You have to know it's just my way,
I don't mean what I do say any less.
If I smile, I mean it somewhere,
even though my eyes fill with tears.
The duality of grief and living
is complex and full of fears.
I enjoy any conversation,
it's nice to hear a voice.
Emptiness gets really loud
and it's not like I had a choice.
I was blissfully unaware
of living with such daily pain.
I regret now not taking the care
with other friends that beat me there.
Striving to appear normal, like "each day is new"
I'm programmed that way, society to blame,
Stopping to cry isn't how we play the game.
But grief is churning inside of me like a bubbling witch's brew.
Writing this to thank all those that guide me along,
message me on the computer, a squeeze on the arm.
Letters, notes, comments, songs,
A hug, a smile that says "I know where you are."
I may not let on, but I need you desperately.
Being alone is not as easy as I thought it would be.
Were all of your encouragement in the shape of letters written,
you would find them faded and worn so thin from reading again and again.
I will survive, you and I both know that.
I just have to work through the new way of life
at the same time I'm wrapping up with everything past.
One step at a time on a rocky road -
Thank you to those that share the load.
and feelings I'll never express.
You have to know it's just my way,
I don't mean what I do say any less.
If I smile, I mean it somewhere,
even though my eyes fill with tears.
The duality of grief and living
is complex and full of fears.
I enjoy any conversation,
it's nice to hear a voice.
Emptiness gets really loud
and it's not like I had a choice.
I was blissfully unaware
of living with such daily pain.
I regret now not taking the care
with other friends that beat me there.
Striving to appear normal, like "each day is new"
I'm programmed that way, society to blame,
Stopping to cry isn't how we play the game.
But grief is churning inside of me like a bubbling witch's brew.
Writing this to thank all those that guide me along,
message me on the computer, a squeeze on the arm.
Letters, notes, comments, songs,
A hug, a smile that says "I know where you are."
I may not let on, but I need you desperately.
Being alone is not as easy as I thought it would be.
Were all of your encouragement in the shape of letters written,
you would find them faded and worn so thin from reading again and again.
I will survive, you and I both know that.
I just have to work through the new way of life
at the same time I'm wrapping up with everything past.
One step at a time on a rocky road -
Thank you to those that share the load.
Tuesday, October 8, 2013
Accepting Change and Trying Not to Break Things 10/8/13
Roxy-cat fell asleep on my computer keyboard yesterday. She pretty much owns the house, so that isn't a surprise. This is a cat that will smack a 55-lb. dog in the face if he tries to take her place on the couch. She regularly 'yells' at me if I stay gone too long - very loud, prolonged meowing. I've read that she is supposedly vocalizing her love, but it sounds like yelling to me! I think she feels better after she yells at me, like she's had her say, and it helped! She wasn't yelling yesterday, though, she was fast asleep on the keyboard.
The thing is, I wanted to use my computer at that time. She was in my way. So, I did what any good cat lady would do, I picked her up and put her down on the floor beside me! Only.....Roxy didn't want to get up. Is the keyboard of the computer nice and warm? Does it massage? Is she just obstinate? Who knows, the mind of Roxy is mysterious. Because she didn't want to get up, she held on to the keyboard with her claws. The inevitable result? She pulled a key right off. Of course, anyone might say that I pulled the key off by so cruelly lifting the darling from her nap. I noticed that the claw was caught, but the key popped off before I could let her go for relief. I wasn't too worried, I've put keys back on before. They kind of snap back on, easy, right?
I put the key on. I pushed. No snap. I looked at it - Oh! It's not the 9, it's the 6, turn it the other way! No snap. Little white plastic pieces underneath keep slightly moving and not snapping. It's broken. The cat broke the computer key. All because I insisted on pulling her off her spot, and she tried to hang on. Hmmmmm......
I can identify with Roxy. I get really comfortable with certain places, things, people. I'm pretty sure that I'm the kid that cried when I was seven and my mom get a new car. I don't know how I ever left for college....I think just to prove I could do it. I still have favorite t-shirts, blankets, jewelry, mixing bowls.....get the idea? I am huge on tradition and comfort. I pride myself when I can change, move, toss out, rearrange - because I know that doing so is a total challenge to my personality. I really prefer to hang on, just like Roxy.
Who handles change better? The adventurous personality? The rebel? The military kid? That would be a great study. I have learned to handle it because there were other entities forcing the change. I have never really wanted to leave any of my jobs. It just happened. I never really wanted to live so far away from family, it just happened. And I certainly never wanted to end up on my own at this age and stage, it just happened. I'm hanging on with my claws like a stubborn cat right now. I'm not cleaning out rooms in the house, because I want don't want to sell the house. I do know that I have to, and I will....I just don't want to!! (Funny note - we were going to sell it this spring anyway...) So let's just hope I can turn and face change with a winning attitude and pull my claws back in and not break anything. Maybe if I have a place where I can go and yell for a little while, I'll feel better.
The thing is, I wanted to use my computer at that time. She was in my way. So, I did what any good cat lady would do, I picked her up and put her down on the floor beside me! Only.....Roxy didn't want to get up. Is the keyboard of the computer nice and warm? Does it massage? Is she just obstinate? Who knows, the mind of Roxy is mysterious. Because she didn't want to get up, she held on to the keyboard with her claws. The inevitable result? She pulled a key right off. Of course, anyone might say that I pulled the key off by so cruelly lifting the darling from her nap. I noticed that the claw was caught, but the key popped off before I could let her go for relief. I wasn't too worried, I've put keys back on before. They kind of snap back on, easy, right?
I put the key on. I pushed. No snap. I looked at it - Oh! It's not the 9, it's the 6, turn it the other way! No snap. Little white plastic pieces underneath keep slightly moving and not snapping. It's broken. The cat broke the computer key. All because I insisted on pulling her off her spot, and she tried to hang on. Hmmmmm......
I can identify with Roxy. I get really comfortable with certain places, things, people. I'm pretty sure that I'm the kid that cried when I was seven and my mom get a new car. I don't know how I ever left for college....I think just to prove I could do it. I still have favorite t-shirts, blankets, jewelry, mixing bowls.....get the idea? I am huge on tradition and comfort. I pride myself when I can change, move, toss out, rearrange - because I know that doing so is a total challenge to my personality. I really prefer to hang on, just like Roxy.
Who handles change better? The adventurous personality? The rebel? The military kid? That would be a great study. I have learned to handle it because there were other entities forcing the change. I have never really wanted to leave any of my jobs. It just happened. I never really wanted to live so far away from family, it just happened. And I certainly never wanted to end up on my own at this age and stage, it just happened. I'm hanging on with my claws like a stubborn cat right now. I'm not cleaning out rooms in the house, because I want don't want to sell the house. I do know that I have to, and I will....I just don't want to!! (Funny note - we were going to sell it this spring anyway...) So let's just hope I can turn and face change with a winning attitude and pull my claws back in and not break anything. Maybe if I have a place where I can go and yell for a little while, I'll feel better.
Tuesday, October 1, 2013
The True Story Behind "Thank God For Makeup". 10/1/13
I cried myself to sleep last night. I felt sad from the moment I left school after the little show. I had been named employee of the week, the choir did well on Saturday, and last night I had directed a successful, cute little show. My district boss thought that the little show idea was great, and praised it. What could have been sad about a day like that? (Besides the obvious, that is...) I wanted to share it. I wanted to tell him. I didn't want to text this person or call that person, I wanted to flop down in my recliner, beside his recliner, and tell him about the day and the evening.
I tried telling the dogs. They don't speak English. They also don't actually take the time to process whether what you are telling them is an accomplishment or a shameful moment, they just jump on the love bandwagon, tails wagging away. I didn't even try telling the cats, their level of 'don't care' surpasses the dog's love.
So I cried. I thought of calling or messaging many people. They're all there for me. The overwhelming thought I had? I will make them sad. I mean, there's no sense in making another person sad on a boring Monday night, right? So if you are one of my people, and you are thinking "I wish she had called me!" I would have, and I thought about it. But because I didn't, you didn't go to sleep sad.
Instead, I cried, slept a couple of hours, woke up, checked the phone, cried a little more, the got rudely awakened by the morning alarm. Going through the morning routine is a bit of a consolation. Another day has arrived, it's time to look it in the face. I put on my makeup, and the song "Tears of a Clown" kept running the my mind. I know, it's about a breakup, most songs are. But I started thinking about how I look with my makeup fresh in the morning. It enhances the 'real me'. No, it doesn't hide every scar and wrinkle...but it helps. It opens my eyes. It enriches my eyebrows and lips. It actually kind of.....magnifies the real me. (Good or bad....) With my makeup, I can still pretend for a bit that I'm in my forties, haha. I also have a feeling, whether it's true or not, that my makeup hides my sadness. When the mascara goes on, my eyes have their happy crinkle. (Crinkle with some wrinkles.) That can disguise the fact that I went to sleep crying because I felt so all alone. Please don't tell me if that's not true. Please allow me this small deception that helps me face each day.
After the makeup application this morning, I felt better. I also wanted to put a cute status on my favorite social networking site. "Cried myself to sleep last night but am much better this morning" did not win. Neither did "Had really cool stuff happen yesterday, but nobody to tell". Or there could have been "Aren't you glad I didn't call and make you sad last night?". Instead, I started thinking about my beautiful makeup job (the song was still there......"my smile is the makeup I wear since my breakup with youuuuuuuuu.......) and I simply wrote "Thank God for makeup". Take it as you will.
The real healing comes when I can finally have an hour or so to sit down and pour this all out through typing fingers. I think that it because I know that nobody HAS to read it, like you would have to answer the phone. You can not read it at all, stop half-way....your choice, just like writing it is my choice. I'm a bit addicted to the writing right now, but it and the makeup serve good purposes for someone in my position. They cover, yet magnify the real thing. Thank you so much for listening, I hope you're not too sad now. If you are, try some new eye-shadow.
I tried telling the dogs. They don't speak English. They also don't actually take the time to process whether what you are telling them is an accomplishment or a shameful moment, they just jump on the love bandwagon, tails wagging away. I didn't even try telling the cats, their level of 'don't care' surpasses the dog's love.
So I cried. I thought of calling or messaging many people. They're all there for me. The overwhelming thought I had? I will make them sad. I mean, there's no sense in making another person sad on a boring Monday night, right? So if you are one of my people, and you are thinking "I wish she had called me!" I would have, and I thought about it. But because I didn't, you didn't go to sleep sad.
Instead, I cried, slept a couple of hours, woke up, checked the phone, cried a little more, the got rudely awakened by the morning alarm. Going through the morning routine is a bit of a consolation. Another day has arrived, it's time to look it in the face. I put on my makeup, and the song "Tears of a Clown" kept running the my mind. I know, it's about a breakup, most songs are. But I started thinking about how I look with my makeup fresh in the morning. It enhances the 'real me'. No, it doesn't hide every scar and wrinkle...but it helps. It opens my eyes. It enriches my eyebrows and lips. It actually kind of.....magnifies the real me. (Good or bad....) With my makeup, I can still pretend for a bit that I'm in my forties, haha. I also have a feeling, whether it's true or not, that my makeup hides my sadness. When the mascara goes on, my eyes have their happy crinkle. (Crinkle with some wrinkles.) That can disguise the fact that I went to sleep crying because I felt so all alone. Please don't tell me if that's not true. Please allow me this small deception that helps me face each day.
After the makeup application this morning, I felt better. I also wanted to put a cute status on my favorite social networking site. "Cried myself to sleep last night but am much better this morning" did not win. Neither did "Had really cool stuff happen yesterday, but nobody to tell". Or there could have been "Aren't you glad I didn't call and make you sad last night?". Instead, I started thinking about my beautiful makeup job (the song was still there......"my smile is the makeup I wear since my breakup with youuuuuuuuu.......) and I simply wrote "Thank God for makeup". Take it as you will.
The real healing comes when I can finally have an hour or so to sit down and pour this all out through typing fingers. I think that it because I know that nobody HAS to read it, like you would have to answer the phone. You can not read it at all, stop half-way....your choice, just like writing it is my choice. I'm a bit addicted to the writing right now, but it and the makeup serve good purposes for someone in my position. They cover, yet magnify the real thing. Thank you so much for listening, I hope you're not too sad now. If you are, try some new eye-shadow.
Sunday, September 29, 2013
The Next Section of Road 9/29/13
The weather is changing. October will be here in a couple of days. The kids at school will get to sing "October, Rocktober"! The choir will scurry to learn all the holiday songs that they must know for concerts at the beginning of November. Another group of second graders will do the cutie-pie Turkey Follies show. The fourth graders will start work on their Holiday show. I'll be busy. But I'm scared that busy won't be enough.
I used to be so excited when October first arrived. It meant my birthday was only twenty-three days away, then Halloween, then Thanksgiving, then Christmas!! Zoom, the holiday season started rolling on October first and never stopped. That's why I'm scared. The beginning of Autumn through the chill of Christmas and the New Year is one long holiday. Yes, certain dates are on the calendar for Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year's day....but all of us, commercial entities and families, take this season to celebrate. Non-stop. Food. Decorations. Parties. Cards. Gifts. Travel. Family. Costumes. Even pet costumes, if you are in my family. I'm scared that every single day between October first and the back-to-school time in January is going to be a very difficult section of the journey.
The few cooler days that suggest Autumn in the deep South are invigorating. "The high today is only going to be eighty-eight!!" You hear it all around. Everyone switches from cool clothes in summer colors to cool clothes in Fall colors. Any Autumn weekend where people wake up to cooler temps for a few hours of the day finds them running off to the farmer's market or an Oktoberfest in some community. We grab at any hint of a break from the heat and call it Autumn. Never mind how much you're going to sweat at that festival or game. Fall has arrived! I always felt the excitement just like everyone else. But I'm starting to understand why holidays are huge mountains to be scaled on the road of grief.
I'm trying to prepare my mind and emotions. That's what I do, that's how I've been handling things. I remind myself that certain days/occasions/tasks are going to be more difficult. I then carry on through those things by allowing the memories and thoughts, giving them a minute and trying to move on. I carry tissues in case I don't move on too quickly. I surround myself with people. I go different places. I have started to do different things when home alone. He used to have the television on during every waking hour. I choose music. I'm kind of tweaking life to sidestep sadness. I don't think it's a cop out, because the sadness still gets in there a lot of the time.
I also have a lot of help in handling things. My beloved girls will be home for the holidays, and they are the best medicine for anything, as well as the ones that share my feelings. Besides being a good friend, Meiling is the one that checks on me daily and watches for any sign that I need time, an ear, a shoulder, or Mexican food. Thank you my friend for being such a good "keeper" to me and my zoo, that's why my mom won't let you move away. Other friends, at work and far away, call and message all the time. That is still important. I love it. Family is forever there. Mom is always there. Thank you. And how precious is it that nephew Zach is flying in for Thanksgiving week? Just the right tweak can make anticipation not completely sad.
In spite of all the help, I still must travel the holiday season part of the road. I have read suggestions "just skip Christmas", "celebrate at a hotel", "light a candle for memory".....many ways that people in the same situation have chosen to travel their difficult stretch of the road. But will any of that change my feelings and memories? How will I not think, on my birthday, of him giving me the beautiful diamond band last year, and saying "Well, you are fifty, after all."? How will I not think of him not being here most Thanksgivings, but always getting the turkey leg when he was? How will I not remember how proud he was of the custom-sized nylon straps he made at the office and brought home to hold the Christmas tree box closed? We had a life together for twenty-eight years. It's impossible not to think!
I will allow the memories. I will try to move on. If I can't, I will cry for a while, then move on. I will appreciate all the family and friends that are there for me. After the holidays are over, I'll probably go on that site and write my own suggestions for 'surviving the first holiday season without a loved one'. But I will know that every road has different obstacles. I'm just preparing for mine. Since October arrives in two days, I have to put on my helmet and hold on to the rails. Walk with me, cheer me on, give me a cup of water.....the trek has begun.
I used to be so excited when October first arrived. It meant my birthday was only twenty-three days away, then Halloween, then Thanksgiving, then Christmas!! Zoom, the holiday season started rolling on October first and never stopped. That's why I'm scared. The beginning of Autumn through the chill of Christmas and the New Year is one long holiday. Yes, certain dates are on the calendar for Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year's day....but all of us, commercial entities and families, take this season to celebrate. Non-stop. Food. Decorations. Parties. Cards. Gifts. Travel. Family. Costumes. Even pet costumes, if you are in my family. I'm scared that every single day between October first and the back-to-school time in January is going to be a very difficult section of the journey.
The few cooler days that suggest Autumn in the deep South are invigorating. "The high today is only going to be eighty-eight!!" You hear it all around. Everyone switches from cool clothes in summer colors to cool clothes in Fall colors. Any Autumn weekend where people wake up to cooler temps for a few hours of the day finds them running off to the farmer's market or an Oktoberfest in some community. We grab at any hint of a break from the heat and call it Autumn. Never mind how much you're going to sweat at that festival or game. Fall has arrived! I always felt the excitement just like everyone else. But I'm starting to understand why holidays are huge mountains to be scaled on the road of grief.
I'm trying to prepare my mind and emotions. That's what I do, that's how I've been handling things. I remind myself that certain days/occasions/tasks are going to be more difficult. I then carry on through those things by allowing the memories and thoughts, giving them a minute and trying to move on. I carry tissues in case I don't move on too quickly. I surround myself with people. I go different places. I have started to do different things when home alone. He used to have the television on during every waking hour. I choose music. I'm kind of tweaking life to sidestep sadness. I don't think it's a cop out, because the sadness still gets in there a lot of the time.
I also have a lot of help in handling things. My beloved girls will be home for the holidays, and they are the best medicine for anything, as well as the ones that share my feelings. Besides being a good friend, Meiling is the one that checks on me daily and watches for any sign that I need time, an ear, a shoulder, or Mexican food. Thank you my friend for being such a good "keeper" to me and my zoo, that's why my mom won't let you move away. Other friends, at work and far away, call and message all the time. That is still important. I love it. Family is forever there. Mom is always there. Thank you. And how precious is it that nephew Zach is flying in for Thanksgiving week? Just the right tweak can make anticipation not completely sad.
In spite of all the help, I still must travel the holiday season part of the road. I have read suggestions "just skip Christmas", "celebrate at a hotel", "light a candle for memory".....many ways that people in the same situation have chosen to travel their difficult stretch of the road. But will any of that change my feelings and memories? How will I not think, on my birthday, of him giving me the beautiful diamond band last year, and saying "Well, you are fifty, after all."? How will I not think of him not being here most Thanksgivings, but always getting the turkey leg when he was? How will I not remember how proud he was of the custom-sized nylon straps he made at the office and brought home to hold the Christmas tree box closed? We had a life together for twenty-eight years. It's impossible not to think!
I will allow the memories. I will try to move on. If I can't, I will cry for a while, then move on. I will appreciate all the family and friends that are there for me. After the holidays are over, I'll probably go on that site and write my own suggestions for 'surviving the first holiday season without a loved one'. But I will know that every road has different obstacles. I'm just preparing for mine. Since October arrives in two days, I have to put on my helmet and hold on to the rails. Walk with me, cheer me on, give me a cup of water.....the trek has begun.
Friday, September 27, 2013
Questions abound 9/27/13
I have a lot of questions. Some of them deal with life and death. Some of them deal with family and friends. Some of them deal with work. None of them are truly answer-able. They are mostly just ponder-able. Is it worth the time to ponder them? I don't know. That's one of the questions.
1. Why us?
Why my precious girls? Not so much me, but us. All four of us were awesome. The three of us are still awesome, but way too aware that one-fourth of us is missing. That flavors and colors everything we think and do, forever. And then I must ask: Why my friend Maria and her two precious girls? Is this a new sociological trend? If so, may I be allowed to say: it sucks. (Sorry, Mom.) So, if there ever could be a reason (remember, simply a ponder question...), what would it be?
2. Why can't I get credit for all the years I've taught, even though they were elsewhere?
Don't laugh, this bothers me just about every day. The school district I work for honors everybody for the number of years they're taught in the district. So this year, when everybody is getting their award pins, I'll be sitting there, in my twenty-fifth year of teaching, watching everyone else get awards because they never moved around. I've only taught in the district for seven years now. When I do get my "ten-year" award, it will actually be my twenty-eighth year teaching. Thank goodness all those years in all those other places count on my pay scale. I think I'll miss that day this year.
3. Why do some people get all the bad luck? or "Whydobadthingshappentogoodpeople?"
I'm really not referring to myself here, although I feel as if I have joined that crowd lately. Why do some people not only end up with a bad situation, but no support? Why do cars break down on top of an air-conditioning repair? Why can lies be believed? Why does sadness exist?
4. Why do those inner bags of cereal sometimes rip instead of opening neatly?
I have a LOT of experience opening those bags. I know that I do not like them to rip. I am not a fan of wasting single grain (or krispie!) of cereal. A rip in the bag means that some of the cereal will pour down into the box. Just this week, I was very carefully opening the new box of Grape-Nuts (another question altogether....) when RIP!!! It just makes me angry. I will say that I have better luck with Kellogg's bags than Post's. I will also ask: why, oh why, aren't those inner bags re-sealable? You know, a zip-lock top or something? Too much to ask?
5. Why am I plagued with the idea that anything I do is not good enough?
We've all been there, right? I just have to look around to know that I did some things great. But just knowing that my husband is gone makes me feel like I goofed up big time, somewhere, somehow. I now have to make all the big decisions myself, and instead of being confident because of past experience, I feel as if I will make a really big mistake. Nobody questions my decisions, everyone tells me I'm smart, I'm strong....and that only gives me more doubt. I'm kind of afraid I'll get "too big for my britches" and do something that's waaay weird and uncalled for. Ok, maybe not, because when you describe me in one word (you know that game?) the one word is CAUTIOUS. And the worst insult I could give would be to say that a decision or action was FOOLISH. Heaven forbid.
6. Why is nothing ever good enough at work anymore?
This is an offshoot of #5, except that I am kind of making a statement that the district seems to be trying to prove itself by saying that they are constantly changing and upgrading all teaching methods. In the process of doing so, a lot of teachers are being told that what they are doing isn't good enough, doesn't follow this list or that guideline or new specification #5,038. Yes, I personally have experienced a bit of this.....and when I am told that something isn't good enough, I am not happy. However, it's been only a couple of actual times for me. I'm pretty sure that's very lucky, actually. It's tricky ground, being in my emotional state, and coming up against the grips of the district.
7. Why does some music give me mixed messages?
"Carry on, my wayward son, there'll be peace when you are done." Oh good, I need to hop out of bed and get this day started!! "Lay your weary head to rest, don'tcha cry no more..." Nevermind. "Don't worry, be happy." My friend wants to punch Mr. McFerrin in the face for ever recording such nonsense. I agree. Mr. McFerrin is immensely talented (check out his version of The Beatles' "Blackbird") but that song has probably done more psychological damage than the movie "Psycho". And Peter Frampton has been asking me to show him the way for thirty years now, but he won't show up. I know the way, Peter!!! It's not good enough, but it'll get you there!
To sum up my ponderings:
1. Why us (and them)?
2. Why is the district unfair and nothing can be done about it?
3. Why is life life?
4. Why don't cereal companies care to improve? Have we been married too long?
5. If I am so confident (I am...) then why am I not confident?
6. Why do certain entities try to fix what's not broken?
7. Why do I still feel emotionally attached to song lyrics even though I'm not a teenager?
8. Why are my dogs and cats so cute? ( I know, I didn't write about that, but they are napping beside me right now....)
Ponder away, friends, ponder away.
1. Why us?
Why my precious girls? Not so much me, but us. All four of us were awesome. The three of us are still awesome, but way too aware that one-fourth of us is missing. That flavors and colors everything we think and do, forever. And then I must ask: Why my friend Maria and her two precious girls? Is this a new sociological trend? If so, may I be allowed to say: it sucks. (Sorry, Mom.) So, if there ever could be a reason (remember, simply a ponder question...), what would it be?
2. Why can't I get credit for all the years I've taught, even though they were elsewhere?
Don't laugh, this bothers me just about every day. The school district I work for honors everybody for the number of years they're taught in the district. So this year, when everybody is getting their award pins, I'll be sitting there, in my twenty-fifth year of teaching, watching everyone else get awards because they never moved around. I've only taught in the district for seven years now. When I do get my "ten-year" award, it will actually be my twenty-eighth year teaching. Thank goodness all those years in all those other places count on my pay scale. I think I'll miss that day this year.
3. Why do some people get all the bad luck? or "Whydobadthingshappentogoodpeople?"
I'm really not referring to myself here, although I feel as if I have joined that crowd lately. Why do some people not only end up with a bad situation, but no support? Why do cars break down on top of an air-conditioning repair? Why can lies be believed? Why does sadness exist?
4. Why do those inner bags of cereal sometimes rip instead of opening neatly?
I have a LOT of experience opening those bags. I know that I do not like them to rip. I am not a fan of wasting single grain (or krispie!) of cereal. A rip in the bag means that some of the cereal will pour down into the box. Just this week, I was very carefully opening the new box of Grape-Nuts (another question altogether....) when RIP!!! It just makes me angry. I will say that I have better luck with Kellogg's bags than Post's. I will also ask: why, oh why, aren't those inner bags re-sealable? You know, a zip-lock top or something? Too much to ask?
5. Why am I plagued with the idea that anything I do is not good enough?
We've all been there, right? I just have to look around to know that I did some things great. But just knowing that my husband is gone makes me feel like I goofed up big time, somewhere, somehow. I now have to make all the big decisions myself, and instead of being confident because of past experience, I feel as if I will make a really big mistake. Nobody questions my decisions, everyone tells me I'm smart, I'm strong....and that only gives me more doubt. I'm kind of afraid I'll get "too big for my britches" and do something that's waaay weird and uncalled for. Ok, maybe not, because when you describe me in one word (you know that game?) the one word is CAUTIOUS. And the worst insult I could give would be to say that a decision or action was FOOLISH. Heaven forbid.
6. Why is nothing ever good enough at work anymore?
This is an offshoot of #5, except that I am kind of making a statement that the district seems to be trying to prove itself by saying that they are constantly changing and upgrading all teaching methods. In the process of doing so, a lot of teachers are being told that what they are doing isn't good enough, doesn't follow this list or that guideline or new specification #5,038. Yes, I personally have experienced a bit of this.....and when I am told that something isn't good enough, I am not happy. However, it's been only a couple of actual times for me. I'm pretty sure that's very lucky, actually. It's tricky ground, being in my emotional state, and coming up against the grips of the district.
7. Why does some music give me mixed messages?
"Carry on, my wayward son, there'll be peace when you are done." Oh good, I need to hop out of bed and get this day started!! "Lay your weary head to rest, don'tcha cry no more..." Nevermind. "Don't worry, be happy." My friend wants to punch Mr. McFerrin in the face for ever recording such nonsense. I agree. Mr. McFerrin is immensely talented (check out his version of The Beatles' "Blackbird") but that song has probably done more psychological damage than the movie "Psycho". And Peter Frampton has been asking me to show him the way for thirty years now, but he won't show up. I know the way, Peter!!! It's not good enough, but it'll get you there!
To sum up my ponderings:
1. Why us (and them)?
2. Why is the district unfair and nothing can be done about it?
3. Why is life life?
4. Why don't cereal companies care to improve? Have we been married too long?
5. If I am so confident (I am...) then why am I not confident?
6. Why do certain entities try to fix what's not broken?
7. Why do I still feel emotionally attached to song lyrics even though I'm not a teenager?
8. Why are my dogs and cats so cute? ( I know, I didn't write about that, but they are napping beside me right now....)
Ponder away, friends, ponder away.
Saturday, September 21, 2013
Adam Levine is pretty - but just let me look at the sky occasionally 9/21/13
*to Ramona, Christina, Tricia, Meiling and mostly Cathi - thanks for the fun!!
It was a beautiful Thursday night for an outdoor concert. The rain had cleared and brought the temperature down! The crowd was immense. I think every woman and half the men in Houston came out to breathe the same air as Adam Levine. Maroon 5 is a good band. But their front man - he sells more than music. Those magazine covers, shirtless. The always-stylish hair, tattoos, tight clothes. He plays the part of "rock god" to the hilt. Oh yeah, and he can sing.
I got invited by a very sweet friend to go along with a few other ladies. I love concerts, and just by inviting me, she gave me a "thing" to look forward to that could take the place of the other wanderings my mind does these days. Kelly Clarkson and Maroon 5! Big talent! Fun friends! Laughing! Oh yeah - I laugh a lot. Sad people can laugh, too. Things don't stop being funny just because you're sad about something. Sometimes I lead with laughter. Other times, I simply smile because no laughter is inside me. I try to do what looks "normal", even though I'm not normal....yet.
Kelly Clarkson sings a lot of songs about losing boyfriends. I never realized how songs about losing a boyfriend could have so many lyrics that closely mirrored losing a spouse. Never mind "What Doesn't Kill You".... I was still getting my dinner (nachos, yum.....we bluffed our way into the VIP line so we didn't have to wait as long), so that one didn't really reach me. But then there was "Because of You", and "My Life Would Suck Without You". (Of course, my mind changed the second title to "My Life Does Suck Without You.") I sat, listened, and just looked up at the sky when the waves of sadness came. The clouds were beautiful. The moon was to our left. Only two or three stars were visible, sometimes even those ducking behind the clouds. I looked for a bit, then it would pass. Silly songs, silly lyrics, silly middle-aged lady taking them to heart.
After Kelly, the headliners were on stage. I had personally forgotten how many hits they've had over the years - songs that passed through my eardrums into my brain during the time that daughters ruled the car radio. (In my humble opinion, there is still good music being written and recorded today. You just need to look a little harder for it. The fun part about a blog is that it can be my soapbox if I want, it's my blog!) So, back to Adam Levine. I got the general impression that about 80% of the women in the audience would have left the place with him - as well as about 10% of the men. Even all the happily married women would have at least wanted to.....introduce the husband? Have coffee? Show him pics of the kids? He's very magnetic, and a huge cross-section of America wants to adopt him, for one reason or another. The other percentage of the audience were huge fans of the music - like the short, chubby dancing man in front of us. I appreciate and understand the craze about Mr. Levine.....but I felt as if everyone was in a museum with me, going crazy over the impressionists. While I thought they were pretty, I wanted to wander down the hall and look at the Old Masters. I texted my girls at college: "Good concert. Adam Levine is pretty". (Adam, if you read this, Maddy says she's single.)
I am actually writing about this to work through why I feel that I would rather meet Jagger than "Moves Like Jagger". Is it my age? I'm sure that's a big part. But most of all, I just know that I'm still having to look at the sky way too often. I probably don't want to meet Jagger, either. I try to hide it still. On any day, if I seem together and happy and secure - I've probably gotten more bad news. Anymore when bad news comes my way, I seem to deflect it as if I'm wearing some sort of armor.
Is the fact that I don't react immediately, sadly, uncontrollably, falling-apart-to-broken due to strength? No. I've heard that one a lot - "You are so strong." Meant as a compliment, I hope, to tell me that you admire the fact that I'm not in a fetal position on the floor, screaming. But it's not strength that keeps me going. There's nothing strong about sighing while I get ready for work, because the house is so empty. There's nothing strong about hiding behind my smart board to wipe away tears because my choir just broke into "Keep Your Head Up". There's nothing strong about going to an awesome concert with friends and laughing a lot about family, work and life. That's just living. Others may or may not notice when I look at the sky - I don't do it to be noticed, so it's ok if you don't. I just know that it's a measure of how often I have to re-gather myself to continue being normal. So I listen to Kelly Clarkson's amazing voice, appreciate her songs and the honest, funny way she talks to the audience, and I just stop and look at the sky when I have to. And I watch and listen to Adam Levine and Maroon 5, and look at the sky when I have to. After a few thoughts, a few breaths, I look back at the stage, or if I really need to cheer up, the short chubby dancing man. It was a good night, friends. Thank you.
It was a beautiful Thursday night for an outdoor concert. The rain had cleared and brought the temperature down! The crowd was immense. I think every woman and half the men in Houston came out to breathe the same air as Adam Levine. Maroon 5 is a good band. But their front man - he sells more than music. Those magazine covers, shirtless. The always-stylish hair, tattoos, tight clothes. He plays the part of "rock god" to the hilt. Oh yeah, and he can sing.
I got invited by a very sweet friend to go along with a few other ladies. I love concerts, and just by inviting me, she gave me a "thing" to look forward to that could take the place of the other wanderings my mind does these days. Kelly Clarkson and Maroon 5! Big talent! Fun friends! Laughing! Oh yeah - I laugh a lot. Sad people can laugh, too. Things don't stop being funny just because you're sad about something. Sometimes I lead with laughter. Other times, I simply smile because no laughter is inside me. I try to do what looks "normal", even though I'm not normal....yet.
Kelly Clarkson sings a lot of songs about losing boyfriends. I never realized how songs about losing a boyfriend could have so many lyrics that closely mirrored losing a spouse. Never mind "What Doesn't Kill You".... I was still getting my dinner (nachos, yum.....we bluffed our way into the VIP line so we didn't have to wait as long), so that one didn't really reach me. But then there was "Because of You", and "My Life Would Suck Without You". (Of course, my mind changed the second title to "My Life Does Suck Without You.") I sat, listened, and just looked up at the sky when the waves of sadness came. The clouds were beautiful. The moon was to our left. Only two or three stars were visible, sometimes even those ducking behind the clouds. I looked for a bit, then it would pass. Silly songs, silly lyrics, silly middle-aged lady taking them to heart.
After Kelly, the headliners were on stage. I had personally forgotten how many hits they've had over the years - songs that passed through my eardrums into my brain during the time that daughters ruled the car radio. (In my humble opinion, there is still good music being written and recorded today. You just need to look a little harder for it. The fun part about a blog is that it can be my soapbox if I want, it's my blog!) So, back to Adam Levine. I got the general impression that about 80% of the women in the audience would have left the place with him - as well as about 10% of the men. Even all the happily married women would have at least wanted to.....introduce the husband? Have coffee? Show him pics of the kids? He's very magnetic, and a huge cross-section of America wants to adopt him, for one reason or another. The other percentage of the audience were huge fans of the music - like the short, chubby dancing man in front of us. I appreciate and understand the craze about Mr. Levine.....but I felt as if everyone was in a museum with me, going crazy over the impressionists. While I thought they were pretty, I wanted to wander down the hall and look at the Old Masters. I texted my girls at college: "Good concert. Adam Levine is pretty". (Adam, if you read this, Maddy says she's single.)
I am actually writing about this to work through why I feel that I would rather meet Jagger than "Moves Like Jagger". Is it my age? I'm sure that's a big part. But most of all, I just know that I'm still having to look at the sky way too often. I probably don't want to meet Jagger, either. I try to hide it still. On any day, if I seem together and happy and secure - I've probably gotten more bad news. Anymore when bad news comes my way, I seem to deflect it as if I'm wearing some sort of armor.
Is the fact that I don't react immediately, sadly, uncontrollably, falling-apart-to-broken due to strength? No. I've heard that one a lot - "You are so strong." Meant as a compliment, I hope, to tell me that you admire the fact that I'm not in a fetal position on the floor, screaming. But it's not strength that keeps me going. There's nothing strong about sighing while I get ready for work, because the house is so empty. There's nothing strong about hiding behind my smart board to wipe away tears because my choir just broke into "Keep Your Head Up". There's nothing strong about going to an awesome concert with friends and laughing a lot about family, work and life. That's just living. Others may or may not notice when I look at the sky - I don't do it to be noticed, so it's ok if you don't. I just know that it's a measure of how often I have to re-gather myself to continue being normal. So I listen to Kelly Clarkson's amazing voice, appreciate her songs and the honest, funny way she talks to the audience, and I just stop and look at the sky when I have to. And I watch and listen to Adam Levine and Maroon 5, and look at the sky when I have to. After a few thoughts, a few breaths, I look back at the stage, or if I really need to cheer up, the short chubby dancing man. It was a good night, friends. Thank you.
Sunday, September 15, 2013
Scary Movies Aren't As Scary As Life 9/15/13
I just saw "Insidious, Chapter 2". If you know me, this is not surprising, you know that I love scary movies. When I saw the original "Insidious", I proclaimed it one of the best scary movies I'd seen in a long time. I even bought the DVD, which is not a habit of mine, as it is with some people. Today, I enjoyed the sequel, but not as much as the first. Is this because it's not quite as good, or because of my reality?
Scary movies want to make us afraid of ghosts, 'spirits', beings that are stuck in the afterlife because of some evil reason or another. I happen to know that there is no such thing, and what is left behind is much more difficult to manage simply because we are left alone to handle things.
I sit writing this with a box fan blowing into my 'office', because the air conditioner needs repair. It's leaking Freon in the attic portion, so they have to replace all those workings. I have reserved the pretty penny that it will cost, scheduled the work and requested my day off. These are all the responsibilities of the sole adult that owns the house. In one scene of the movie today, the ghost punched the woman in the face. I might have preferred that horror to the stress and cost of getting the a/c repaired.
This past Friday, I sold the dirt bike that he had left sitting in the garage. I knew what he had paid for it, and ended up taking a bit less, just to get rid of it. I didn't envision him sitting on it, or trying to start it - like the movie with its visions of a person long gone sitting on the bed. I just saw the bike, the space it's been taking up in the garage, the hope I had that it would start for the potential buyers after four months, and the dust and cobwebs that clung to it. Start it finally did, and after the exchange of cash, the bike was theirs. Of course, I typed out a receipt, one for them, one for me, because I could hear him saying "Make sure you give a receipt, I've see too many 'People's Court' episodes where stupid people didn't get anything in writing....." All right, I didn't envision anything, but boy, could I hear his words in my brain. That's not scary, though. That is comforting.
I am one person at home now - with three cars to choose from. I do intend to sell them and upgrade to something newer, and therefore (in theory) more dependable. One needs a new water pump, knock sensor, and catalytic converter. One just got a new water pump, but has a funny clank that I can't get it to make for the mechanic. The third is in decent shape, it's just ten years old! Now, I'll admit, we've been very spoiled as far a vehicles go - Scott could fix almost anything, therefore we got older, but more top-of the-line when we purchased. Having to sell and buy cars by myself is more of a nightmare than seeing a shadow face in the window. That's scary, but only for a minute. My fears these days are eroding me like water did the Grand Canyon.
Sometimes, there's just sadness. In the movie today, there was someone that was extremely mean and evil toward a child. Sadness. My heart breaks and prays for mistreated children on a daily basis. In my house today, I called little Marylebone, the Scottie, up to sit with me for a bit. I scratched him, then stopped.......he nosed my hand up for more. After a good five-minute scratching session, I realized that his dad is gone, his girls are gone, and I'm the only one left to pet a scratch him on a daily basis. I will say every now and then, I get help with this from my favorite fifth-grader Riley. Still, the thought that anyone, even the creatures, would not get enough attention from me because of all the responsibilities I now have is just plain sad.
Then again, there is the example of Riley. We took her to the scary movie today. Her mom carefully scanned the reviews and deemed it appropriate. We promised her she could sit between us. As it came time to go in, her nerves almost seemed to get the better of her - slowing her step and clutching her tummy. We encouraged and joked and promised that it wouldn't be that bad. She got settled, legs tucked up so she could turn and hide her face in her mom's arm, and the movie started. After a few 'jumps' and 'scares', her reaction turned from hiding her face to laughing nervously. It was very cute, her mom and I are famous for laughing in scary or serious movies, we find it takes away the intensity. Ok, maybe we annoy some people around us, but it can't be helped! Riley's laughter under stress was a reminder to me. The things I have going on at present may be scary, sad, stressful....but there's usually a little laughter in each day. And after a good laugh, you take a deep breath....and just keep going. Remember how I said Riley was nervous going in to the movie? On the way out, she was practically bouncing as she walked, and said "I'm so glad I went to see that!" I hope I can take things in stride like that and keep going. What an example. Take that, scary stuff.
Scary movies want to make us afraid of ghosts, 'spirits', beings that are stuck in the afterlife because of some evil reason or another. I happen to know that there is no such thing, and what is left behind is much more difficult to manage simply because we are left alone to handle things.
I sit writing this with a box fan blowing into my 'office', because the air conditioner needs repair. It's leaking Freon in the attic portion, so they have to replace all those workings. I have reserved the pretty penny that it will cost, scheduled the work and requested my day off. These are all the responsibilities of the sole adult that owns the house. In one scene of the movie today, the ghost punched the woman in the face. I might have preferred that horror to the stress and cost of getting the a/c repaired.
This past Friday, I sold the dirt bike that he had left sitting in the garage. I knew what he had paid for it, and ended up taking a bit less, just to get rid of it. I didn't envision him sitting on it, or trying to start it - like the movie with its visions of a person long gone sitting on the bed. I just saw the bike, the space it's been taking up in the garage, the hope I had that it would start for the potential buyers after four months, and the dust and cobwebs that clung to it. Start it finally did, and after the exchange of cash, the bike was theirs. Of course, I typed out a receipt, one for them, one for me, because I could hear him saying "Make sure you give a receipt, I've see too many 'People's Court' episodes where stupid people didn't get anything in writing....." All right, I didn't envision anything, but boy, could I hear his words in my brain. That's not scary, though. That is comforting.
I am one person at home now - with three cars to choose from. I do intend to sell them and upgrade to something newer, and therefore (in theory) more dependable. One needs a new water pump, knock sensor, and catalytic converter. One just got a new water pump, but has a funny clank that I can't get it to make for the mechanic. The third is in decent shape, it's just ten years old! Now, I'll admit, we've been very spoiled as far a vehicles go - Scott could fix almost anything, therefore we got older, but more top-of the-line when we purchased. Having to sell and buy cars by myself is more of a nightmare than seeing a shadow face in the window. That's scary, but only for a minute. My fears these days are eroding me like water did the Grand Canyon.
Sometimes, there's just sadness. In the movie today, there was someone that was extremely mean and evil toward a child. Sadness. My heart breaks and prays for mistreated children on a daily basis. In my house today, I called little Marylebone, the Scottie, up to sit with me for a bit. I scratched him, then stopped.......he nosed my hand up for more. After a good five-minute scratching session, I realized that his dad is gone, his girls are gone, and I'm the only one left to pet a scratch him on a daily basis. I will say every now and then, I get help with this from my favorite fifth-grader Riley. Still, the thought that anyone, even the creatures, would not get enough attention from me because of all the responsibilities I now have is just plain sad.
Then again, there is the example of Riley. We took her to the scary movie today. Her mom carefully scanned the reviews and deemed it appropriate. We promised her she could sit between us. As it came time to go in, her nerves almost seemed to get the better of her - slowing her step and clutching her tummy. We encouraged and joked and promised that it wouldn't be that bad. She got settled, legs tucked up so she could turn and hide her face in her mom's arm, and the movie started. After a few 'jumps' and 'scares', her reaction turned from hiding her face to laughing nervously. It was very cute, her mom and I are famous for laughing in scary or serious movies, we find it takes away the intensity. Ok, maybe we annoy some people around us, but it can't be helped! Riley's laughter under stress was a reminder to me. The things I have going on at present may be scary, sad, stressful....but there's usually a little laughter in each day. And after a good laugh, you take a deep breath....and just keep going. Remember how I said Riley was nervous going in to the movie? On the way out, she was practically bouncing as she walked, and said "I'm so glad I went to see that!" I hope I can take things in stride like that and keep going. What an example. Take that, scary stuff.
Thursday, September 12, 2013
Oh My, The Things They Say! 9/12/13
What fun I have teaching ages 5-11, every year along the way of their elementary school journey. A music teacher is a constant in their life, year after year. It's so fun to look at the big, trying-to-be-cool fifth graders and say "Remember when you danced the tango with me?" "Remember when you said you had a broken head?". Little ones are always cute. "Mrs. McCarty, do you have some more musics today?" But big ones are cute, too. I stated we were going to learn a song from a war - would they like to guess which one? 5th grade boy - "Does it have the word silver in it?" Me - "Yes, if by 'silver' you mean 'civil', in which case, you got it!" He laughs, we all laugh, and we discuss the word 'civil' then move on to "When Johnny Comes Marching Home". Innocent mispronunciations to glaringly obvious, but hilarious questions are a part of the teacher's life. I wish I could remember all of them - but quite a few have stuck in my memory through the years.
"Mrs. McCarty, she's breathing my air!" Oh my, kindergartners have never had to share anything!
"I have to take a test, then if I pass the test, I go for an auction to see if I can be on television."
(Telling me about trying out for Jeopardy, Jr.) My gentle correction: "Pretty sure, since it's a TV show, that it's an audition, not an auction."
One of my favorites: I was showing a third grade class my class pictures from first, second, and third grade. That's one of my lessons on the civil rights movement - all white children for two years, then magically in third grade, a great mix of skin colors. Third grade for me was also when the school switched from black and white to color photos. (Perhaps to accommodate the new forced melting pot? Or just because photography advanced and it became affordable?) One of my sweet, but oh-so-innocent third graders raised his hand and asked "Mrs. McCarty, when did the world change from black and white to color?" Awesome question!
"What's that big CD thing?" Yes, it's a record. I have an entire lesson built around the old classroom record player. There are always one or two students of course, that say "My Grandpa has one of those!" yeah, yeah, kids.
Here's a story from a friend that teaches in Florida - an overheard conversation:
Karington (darling student): Leo, can you look that way for my mom?
Leo (another darling): But I don't know what she looks like.
Karington: Yes, you do! She has long blond hair and she smiles like this (demonstrates a smile) and it is the prettiest smile in the whole world. And she is wearing a beautiful pink dress. And she is friends with Mrs. Petty.
Such love for her Mommy, and the fact that Mommy is friends with Mrs. Petty (my sister, smile, smile) just explains everything.
Here's a favorite: I have a small Chinese gong on my shelf. Jacob, a really "cool" fourth grader, a few years ago, very loudly: "Mrs. McCarty, is that your bong?" Me - "No, that is the school's, and it's a GONG!! G-O-N-G, GONG!" Just saying, dear parents, we teach your children many things, but they teach us things about you, too!
Sometimes, though, funny - but not so cute. For example, the time two little third grade girls were sitting so close to my feet that one suddenly (and loudly, of course) exclaimed "You've got hair on your toe!!" Ouch. I kindly explained (quietly, of course) that I must have forgotten to take care of that when I shaved my legs, but would definitely remember next time. I ALSO explained that she was lucky I was happy that day, because that would have made a lot of ladies cry and she needs to be careful when saying that sort of thing out loud. Now, who wants to say that I just teach music????
"Mrs. McCarty, she's breathing my air!" Oh my, kindergartners have never had to share anything!
"I have to take a test, then if I pass the test, I go for an auction to see if I can be on television."
(Telling me about trying out for Jeopardy, Jr.) My gentle correction: "Pretty sure, since it's a TV show, that it's an audition, not an auction."
One of my favorites: I was showing a third grade class my class pictures from first, second, and third grade. That's one of my lessons on the civil rights movement - all white children for two years, then magically in third grade, a great mix of skin colors. Third grade for me was also when the school switched from black and white to color photos. (Perhaps to accommodate the new forced melting pot? Or just because photography advanced and it became affordable?) One of my sweet, but oh-so-innocent third graders raised his hand and asked "Mrs. McCarty, when did the world change from black and white to color?" Awesome question!
"What's that big CD thing?" Yes, it's a record. I have an entire lesson built around the old classroom record player. There are always one or two students of course, that say "My Grandpa has one of those!" yeah, yeah, kids.
Here's a story from a friend that teaches in Florida - an overheard conversation:
Karington (darling student): Leo, can you look that way for my mom?
Leo (another darling): But I don't know what she looks like.
Karington: Yes, you do! She has long blond hair and she smiles like this (demonstrates a smile) and it is the prettiest smile in the whole world. And she is wearing a beautiful pink dress. And she is friends with Mrs. Petty.
Such love for her Mommy, and the fact that Mommy is friends with Mrs. Petty (my sister, smile, smile) just explains everything.
Here's a favorite: I have a small Chinese gong on my shelf. Jacob, a really "cool" fourth grader, a few years ago, very loudly: "Mrs. McCarty, is that your bong?" Me - "No, that is the school's, and it's a GONG!! G-O-N-G, GONG!" Just saying, dear parents, we teach your children many things, but they teach us things about you, too!
Sometimes, though, funny - but not so cute. For example, the time two little third grade girls were sitting so close to my feet that one suddenly (and loudly, of course) exclaimed "You've got hair on your toe!!" Ouch. I kindly explained (quietly, of course) that I must have forgotten to take care of that when I shaved my legs, but would definitely remember next time. I ALSO explained that she was lucky I was happy that day, because that would have made a lot of ladies cry and she needs to be careful when saying that sort of thing out loud. Now, who wants to say that I just teach music????
Sunday, September 8, 2013
A Twist of the Knife 9/8/13
I feel numb. Maria, the girl I lived with in the dorm for four years - lost HER husband last night. Her text to me started with "I've joined your club." Ouch. This is not a sought-out membership. I don't even know yet what happened. Everyone is curious. When someone dies, and they're in their fifties, and haven't been sick, everyone wants to know what happened. I do too, I just have other feelings that are right up there with the curiosity. I feel the same numbness, the same feeling of the world stopping, the same lost feeling that followed me home from the hospital on that night four months ago. When death happens, those of us that always have an answer, that always figure out a way to fix things, that always try to make things work better; we are struck dumb. There is no way to make it better. There is no magic word, pill, book, way of talking, exercise, food.....nothing can change death.
Maria is a smart woman. She is the kind of person I like to associate myself with; sensible, knowledgeable about tools, engines, minor repairs, fun, kind, with a strong devotion to family and friends. She's not a weak person. I like to think that the above description fits me, also. (Maybe I'm just flattering myself, too.) But this is why I hate to see her "join the club". It doesn't really fit that well on us, 'widowhood'. We were little girls that dreamed of wedding dresses, teenage girls that saw our parents stick with it, college girls with a plan to find a man. We envisioned marriage with houses, pets, children....and we both got it. When we met, I was seventeen, she was already eighteen. We were kids just thrown together by some random roommate fairy. It worked. We got along. When we graduated, she was twenty-two and headed back to Atlanta for a job, I was twenty-one and headed to the altar with Scott.
Maria wore the lovely shiny lavender bridesmaid's dress in my wedding. I wore the absolutely beautiful black bridesmaid's dress at her wedding. (To this day, the prettiest wedding photos I have ever seen.) She came to visit after Mallory was born, to see our first baby girl. Not long after, she had baby girls of her own. Even when we lived in England, Maria would come see us when we visited Scott's parents. The kids were growing fast, and all of us worked and were busy with life. It didn't matter how much time passed, though; Maria is a forever friend. Whenever we did get the chance to talk, we didn't hold back. And, being a forever friend, she was there this past June when we said goodbye to Scott with a service in Florida. Maria and Tamre' - the other best college friend - drove in the night before the service and had dinner with the family. Then we went back to Tamre's room. Within minutes, it was just as if we were in the dorm room together. Only the discussions were about husbands, the loss of mine, nearly-grown children, aging parents, taking care of ourselves and the need for reading glasses. I appreciate them being there for me so much. Maria was there at the start of my journey with Scott and she was there to mourn/celebrate the end.
Then, that text. Almost four months to the day of not being able to wake my husband from his nap due to a heart attack, Maria's husband falls over while mowing the grass, due to a heart attack. My Scott was fifty-two. Doug was fifty-three. Maria and I are both moms left with two girls. What a club. I told her that if she wanted me at his services, just say the word. She said let's get together later, she knows I've traveled too much lately. I can't wait to plan a weekend outside Atlanta. Let's call it a club meeting. I don't want to invite anybody else. Here's hoping that the rest of you little girls that dreamed happily-ever-after are continuing to live it. When part of it is gone, the bad part is that it's still ever-after, just not so happily.
Maria is a smart woman. She is the kind of person I like to associate myself with; sensible, knowledgeable about tools, engines, minor repairs, fun, kind, with a strong devotion to family and friends. She's not a weak person. I like to think that the above description fits me, also. (Maybe I'm just flattering myself, too.) But this is why I hate to see her "join the club". It doesn't really fit that well on us, 'widowhood'. We were little girls that dreamed of wedding dresses, teenage girls that saw our parents stick with it, college girls with a plan to find a man. We envisioned marriage with houses, pets, children....and we both got it. When we met, I was seventeen, she was already eighteen. We were kids just thrown together by some random roommate fairy. It worked. We got along. When we graduated, she was twenty-two and headed back to Atlanta for a job, I was twenty-one and headed to the altar with Scott.
Maria wore the lovely shiny lavender bridesmaid's dress in my wedding. I wore the absolutely beautiful black bridesmaid's dress at her wedding. (To this day, the prettiest wedding photos I have ever seen.) She came to visit after Mallory was born, to see our first baby girl. Not long after, she had baby girls of her own. Even when we lived in England, Maria would come see us when we visited Scott's parents. The kids were growing fast, and all of us worked and were busy with life. It didn't matter how much time passed, though; Maria is a forever friend. Whenever we did get the chance to talk, we didn't hold back. And, being a forever friend, she was there this past June when we said goodbye to Scott with a service in Florida. Maria and Tamre' - the other best college friend - drove in the night before the service and had dinner with the family. Then we went back to Tamre's room. Within minutes, it was just as if we were in the dorm room together. Only the discussions were about husbands, the loss of mine, nearly-grown children, aging parents, taking care of ourselves and the need for reading glasses. I appreciate them being there for me so much. Maria was there at the start of my journey with Scott and she was there to mourn/celebrate the end.
Then, that text. Almost four months to the day of not being able to wake my husband from his nap due to a heart attack, Maria's husband falls over while mowing the grass, due to a heart attack. My Scott was fifty-two. Doug was fifty-three. Maria and I are both moms left with two girls. What a club. I told her that if she wanted me at his services, just say the word. She said let's get together later, she knows I've traveled too much lately. I can't wait to plan a weekend outside Atlanta. Let's call it a club meeting. I don't want to invite anybody else. Here's hoping that the rest of you little girls that dreamed happily-ever-after are continuing to live it. When part of it is gone, the bad part is that it's still ever-after, just not so happily.
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