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.
Sunday, September 29, 2013
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.
Wednesday, September 4, 2013
A Conversation 9/4/13
A Conversation Between My Feelings (F) and My Brain(B):
F: I'm old.
B: Just because you're a certain number doesn't mean you're ready for the home. You're as young as the ideas you have, the people you can keep up with, and the active things you can do. There are other people out there that seem older even though they're not!
F: Ok, fine. But why do I even bother to talk and tell people things? Nobody listens.
B: You just feel that way at certain times. It's not true. Students listen and you can see the "light bulb" moment when it happens. Your children listen, it just shows up later. Other people listen, some even follow your advice. The workplace......well, you can keep working on that one. Saying the same thing for seven years has to have some effect!
F: I can't deal with things right now.
B: Even by saying that, you are 'dealing'. It just may be a different reaction than you would have had before. You're doing the best you can, and you are living up to the bare minimum expectations. It's not necessary to be the valedictorian of life when you've been through this.
F: I want to cry a lot.
B: So cry!
F: But I'm always trying to hide it.
B: That is a built-in reaction, isn't it. Judge your surroundings and audience and proceed as necessary. If it attacks beyond reason, just excuse yourself.
F: So many friends and people are so nice to me. I don't know if I can be that nice back - or if I seem thankful enough. I feel like an empty locust shell sometimes.
B: Do the best you can. Reserve a day to try hard and catch up. If it doesn't work that day, try again another day. Tell people you appreciate them. Hug them. Send them thank-yous. Put stuff on social media. Try not to be a grouch.
F: But I feel grouchy a lot of the time.
B: Haven't I taught you that how you feel isn't always the real you? In 50 years, including the crying-in-the-room teenage years, you haven't figured that out? So you feel grouchy. It'll pass. A friend will make you laugh. Kids at school will make you laugh. Grouchy is not a forever state.
F: Ok, I feel better. But I still kinda want to be the valedictorian of life.
B: You never were one to give up.
Amen
F: I'm old.
B: Just because you're a certain number doesn't mean you're ready for the home. You're as young as the ideas you have, the people you can keep up with, and the active things you can do. There are other people out there that seem older even though they're not!
F: Ok, fine. But why do I even bother to talk and tell people things? Nobody listens.
B: You just feel that way at certain times. It's not true. Students listen and you can see the "light bulb" moment when it happens. Your children listen, it just shows up later. Other people listen, some even follow your advice. The workplace......well, you can keep working on that one. Saying the same thing for seven years has to have some effect!
F: I can't deal with things right now.
B: Even by saying that, you are 'dealing'. It just may be a different reaction than you would have had before. You're doing the best you can, and you are living up to the bare minimum expectations. It's not necessary to be the valedictorian of life when you've been through this.
F: I want to cry a lot.
B: So cry!
F: But I'm always trying to hide it.
B: That is a built-in reaction, isn't it. Judge your surroundings and audience and proceed as necessary. If it attacks beyond reason, just excuse yourself.
F: So many friends and people are so nice to me. I don't know if I can be that nice back - or if I seem thankful enough. I feel like an empty locust shell sometimes.
B: Do the best you can. Reserve a day to try hard and catch up. If it doesn't work that day, try again another day. Tell people you appreciate them. Hug them. Send them thank-yous. Put stuff on social media. Try not to be a grouch.
F: But I feel grouchy a lot of the time.
B: Haven't I taught you that how you feel isn't always the real you? In 50 years, including the crying-in-the-room teenage years, you haven't figured that out? So you feel grouchy. It'll pass. A friend will make you laugh. Kids at school will make you laugh. Grouchy is not a forever state.
F: Ok, I feel better. But I still kinda want to be the valedictorian of life.
B: You never were one to give up.
Amen
Saturday, August 31, 2013
There's Me, then there's (me) - a Squirrel-Fur Story 8/31/13
The first week of school is over. The routine has set in. The big kids have already learned some stuff (ha ha, gotcha!), and more and more of the babies are opening their mouths and singing with me every day. Here we go. That's Me. I will forever, though, equate this first week with the things I've had to do concerning probate, real estate, life insurance, and being the single parent. That is (me). There are barriers there. I'm not going to share that information with everybody out there. Yes, it may seem that I tell you a detail or two, but none of it chips the surface of the reality I'm living.
There is squirrel fur on the bedroom floor right now. Just a couple clumps, but that's enough to make me think that some squirrel left it behind on someone's paw as it ran and HID in my bedroom somewhere. I found a dead squirrel out back on Thursday morning - very possible that one animal or another brought the dead one's brother in the house! This is the kind of thing I do share. Amusing anecdotes. Enjoyable escapades. Hilarious happenings. (Alliteration kick courtesy of my favorite fifth grader, Riley!) I shall probably search for above-mentioned squirrel before I finish writing this today. That's my 'story of the day'. Unfortunately, there's a LOT more that goes untold.
Almost every day this week, there was an untold story, deed, issue. I can share a few of them here, but some I just only tell certain people. Me is an open house, but (me) is a locked closet. I know, everyone is that way, it just seems magnified to me now that I'm dealing with the aftermath of death.
College girl's laptop broke right before she headed off to school. Less than a year old, I knew it was still under warranty. I had to deal with having tech support help me on the phone, then reporting to them that it still didn't work, getting an RMA number, shipping it off, etc. Not that difficult, but computers were his department. I think every married couple, especially parents, have certain "departments". Laundry, paying bills, house décor, children and animal health - those were some of my departments. Computers, TVs, pool chemicals, cars, yard, insurance - those were some of his. Having to step in and run the other department is sometimes difficult because it is new territory, but always difficult because I'm only doing this because he's gone. I'm proud to say the freshly-repaired-under-warranty laptop arrived yesterday. Success in one new territory.
If only every little task that dealt with the aftermath felt like success. Who is really worried whether or not I remember to take the right paperwork to school with me so that I can stop by the lawyer's office after a long day and let them make copies of the appropriate papers for probate court? Who really cares that I answer the personal e-mails that still arrive in his inbox, giving them the sad news and telling them I will tie up all the loose ends and keep in touch? With each thing I do, however, I share my accomplishment with one of the people that get to know (me). My family, my best friends, sometimes a special friend at work.....but not everyone. Even the examples in this writing are not the ones that I consider the "big issues", - the ones that send me to my car or my chair at home sobbing.
So it's not for everyone to know every piece of business. I'd rather talk to you about how good the kids are this week (general consensus - they're tired!), or what was for dinner last night, or how cold it is in my classroom, and why can't I remember to bring my sweater to school?.....all of that is Me. What you might not realize is that (me) is sitting there eating lunch, and because of the cold room and the soap from just washing my hands, I was able to slip off the wedding band for the first time in many years. My finger was a size 6 in 1984. It's not anymore. Nevertheless, I worked it off. I didn't tell anyone, just put it on my pinky. It's not that I'm ready to be without it - I still have the diamonds on. I'm just scared if I put it back on, it would have to be cut off one of these days. Or maybe I am trying to give myself reminders that all departments belong to me now, and I can do it! I'm not ready to look unmarried, I'm just trying to do a good job at being the only one that takes care of everything. Talk about a sad story, a forlorn fable, a depressing drama. That's why I only let most people see Me, not (me). I can do this with help - special friends that give me pens, dinner, chocolate cake, anonymous cards - these gestures let me know there are others that understand (me), and even have a (me) themselves.
Me can finish out this part of the story for you: I called my friend to come over and help hunt the squirrel. My friend took one look at the fur and said "That looks like your hair, are you sure none of the pets got hold of a hairbrush or something?" I said no, and kept looking. After about five minutes of looking and talking, the answer dawned on me. "There is no squirrel!" I exclaimed. I knew the answer. I took a phone pic of silly Roxy-cat sitting on top of the wardrobe. The vacuum was in the corner in the pic. I moved the vacuum and took another pic, then put it back. (Lord knows we can't have a vacuum in our picture, it just wouldn't look proper, would it?) The last time I vacuumed, it was when my girls and I got our hair cut at the house. Sure enough, that multi-colored clump of hair that I thought was straight from a squirrel's tail was actually a mix of our reddish-brown, brown and caramel highlights hair scraps, freeing themselves from the evil beater brush of the Shark. I'm not hiding anything about the squirrel-fur story. That made me laugh today. I will choose to focus on those types of things. Here's hoping the laughter will at least help (me) keep my balance. Love, Me.
There is squirrel fur on the bedroom floor right now. Just a couple clumps, but that's enough to make me think that some squirrel left it behind on someone's paw as it ran and HID in my bedroom somewhere. I found a dead squirrel out back on Thursday morning - very possible that one animal or another brought the dead one's brother in the house! This is the kind of thing I do share. Amusing anecdotes. Enjoyable escapades. Hilarious happenings. (Alliteration kick courtesy of my favorite fifth grader, Riley!) I shall probably search for above-mentioned squirrel before I finish writing this today. That's my 'story of the day'. Unfortunately, there's a LOT more that goes untold.
Almost every day this week, there was an untold story, deed, issue. I can share a few of them here, but some I just only tell certain people. Me is an open house, but (me) is a locked closet. I know, everyone is that way, it just seems magnified to me now that I'm dealing with the aftermath of death.
College girl's laptop broke right before she headed off to school. Less than a year old, I knew it was still under warranty. I had to deal with having tech support help me on the phone, then reporting to them that it still didn't work, getting an RMA number, shipping it off, etc. Not that difficult, but computers were his department. I think every married couple, especially parents, have certain "departments". Laundry, paying bills, house décor, children and animal health - those were some of my departments. Computers, TVs, pool chemicals, cars, yard, insurance - those were some of his. Having to step in and run the other department is sometimes difficult because it is new territory, but always difficult because I'm only doing this because he's gone. I'm proud to say the freshly-repaired-under-warranty laptop arrived yesterday. Success in one new territory.
If only every little task that dealt with the aftermath felt like success. Who is really worried whether or not I remember to take the right paperwork to school with me so that I can stop by the lawyer's office after a long day and let them make copies of the appropriate papers for probate court? Who really cares that I answer the personal e-mails that still arrive in his inbox, giving them the sad news and telling them I will tie up all the loose ends and keep in touch? With each thing I do, however, I share my accomplishment with one of the people that get to know (me). My family, my best friends, sometimes a special friend at work.....but not everyone. Even the examples in this writing are not the ones that I consider the "big issues", - the ones that send me to my car or my chair at home sobbing.
So it's not for everyone to know every piece of business. I'd rather talk to you about how good the kids are this week (general consensus - they're tired!), or what was for dinner last night, or how cold it is in my classroom, and why can't I remember to bring my sweater to school?.....all of that is Me. What you might not realize is that (me) is sitting there eating lunch, and because of the cold room and the soap from just washing my hands, I was able to slip off the wedding band for the first time in many years. My finger was a size 6 in 1984. It's not anymore. Nevertheless, I worked it off. I didn't tell anyone, just put it on my pinky. It's not that I'm ready to be without it - I still have the diamonds on. I'm just scared if I put it back on, it would have to be cut off one of these days. Or maybe I am trying to give myself reminders that all departments belong to me now, and I can do it! I'm not ready to look unmarried, I'm just trying to do a good job at being the only one that takes care of everything. Talk about a sad story, a forlorn fable, a depressing drama. That's why I only let most people see Me, not (me). I can do this with help - special friends that give me pens, dinner, chocolate cake, anonymous cards - these gestures let me know there are others that understand (me), and even have a (me) themselves.
Me can finish out this part of the story for you: I called my friend to come over and help hunt the squirrel. My friend took one look at the fur and said "That looks like your hair, are you sure none of the pets got hold of a hairbrush or something?" I said no, and kept looking. After about five minutes of looking and talking, the answer dawned on me. "There is no squirrel!" I exclaimed. I knew the answer. I took a phone pic of silly Roxy-cat sitting on top of the wardrobe. The vacuum was in the corner in the pic. I moved the vacuum and took another pic, then put it back. (Lord knows we can't have a vacuum in our picture, it just wouldn't look proper, would it?) The last time I vacuumed, it was when my girls and I got our hair cut at the house. Sure enough, that multi-colored clump of hair that I thought was straight from a squirrel's tail was actually a mix of our reddish-brown, brown and caramel highlights hair scraps, freeing themselves from the evil beater brush of the Shark. I'm not hiding anything about the squirrel-fur story. That made me laugh today. I will choose to focus on those types of things. Here's hoping the laughter will at least help (me) keep my balance. Love, Me.
Sunday, August 25, 2013
Being small is important, too! 8/25/13
A kindergartner once gave me a picture he had drawn. (Once? A million times, probably, but I'm thinking of one in particular.) In this picture, I am very, very tall and the child is very small. It surprised me a little, because I forget just how tall I must seem to those little darlings. Honestly, they might even think I'm a giant! I try to be very nice to them, so at least they think I'm a nice giant! As the new year begins tomorrow morning, I will be making sure that I kneel to their level so they aren't scared of me, and see me as kind, caring and someone they can trust. I will have a "BIG" day tomorrow. I've found, though, that it is important to have "SMALL" days, also.
In the classroom, I am a force. I am in charge. I am the one that answers the questions. Right teachers? Teachers are the ones that establish the procedures and make sure that they occur each day. Teachers are the voice of authority. Teachers loom in stature over students - figuratively and sometimes (as in my case) literally. We are in charge. Sometimes I'm in charge of so many things that my favorite moment of the day happens when I can say "I don't know, I'm not in charge of that!"
Within a family setting, the adults are BIG, too. Whether you are a parent or not, you run a household of some sort; making financial decisions, taking care of day-to-day chores, planning vacations, deciding which social events to attend. We are all BIG within our own house. It should be that way - our house is where we are loved and valued. When conflict happens within a household, it hurts more, because everybody is BIG, so hurts are big, too. If you look at the other side of the coin, though, happiness is magnified many times over in a loving house where everyone is BIG.
But what happens when we need to feel SMALL? When I taught high school, I was BIG within the classroom. Sometimes, during my planning, I walked one block east, then one block south so I could stand there and look out at the Gulf. It's vast, and the waves never stop. Just doing that for a few minutes gave me a peace that I could carry back into the classroom, where I was BIG again.
I went for a hike in the woods today, with some friends. As we walked, we talked about problems, victories, plans, hopes, dreams - all those things that you decide at home, where you are BIG. But every now and then, I looked up from the path. Enormous mature trees surrounded us. The path under our feet was uneven, with huge roots crisscrossing under our feet. Insects whizzed by us - it's their world, and we were interrupting! I felt small. Really small. It's a relief to be small for a while. Our hike stopped for a while at an old cemetery. We've visited before, it's small, well-kept, peaceful and beautiful in its own way. I started looking at headstones that were shared by husbands and wives. In that tiny cemetery, I saw so many wives that outlived their husbands by ten, twenty, even forty years. Some of the births date back to the 1860s, while the deaths begin around 1880. The thought occurred to me, while standing in that cemetery, that I am not the first widow in the history of the world, nor will I be the last. The thing that has become my main identifying factor right now is actually smaller than I thought it was. That doesn't make it any less sad, or difficult. Me saying that it is small is not saying that it doesn't devastate me I never know when it is going to strike me like a lightening bolt. No, what I discovered in the cemetery today is that I will go on living. That discovery lets me know that I will face BIG type choices about my own self, and will have be able to decide things and keep on living.
Tomorrow is the first day of school for students. As teachers, we actually have to be enormous tomorrow. We have to establish procedure, start building relationships, be kind, caring and loving at the same time we are laying behavioral groundwork, going over the rules and nipping potential foolish students in the bud. It's huge.
I hope that all my teacher friends have found some time to be SMALL this weekend. It can be nature that gives you that feeling. It can be a crowd - I'll bet my friends that were at the Texans game today felt SMALL. Sunday worship reminds us how SMALL, yet valuable we are. There are plenty of ways to feel SMALL, so that you can go back to being BIG - successfully. Nothing is worse than a mean giant. I wish all of you equal amounts of BIG and SMALL
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In the classroom, I am a force. I am in charge. I am the one that answers the questions. Right teachers? Teachers are the ones that establish the procedures and make sure that they occur each day. Teachers are the voice of authority. Teachers loom in stature over students - figuratively and sometimes (as in my case) literally. We are in charge. Sometimes I'm in charge of so many things that my favorite moment of the day happens when I can say "I don't know, I'm not in charge of that!"
Within a family setting, the adults are BIG, too. Whether you are a parent or not, you run a household of some sort; making financial decisions, taking care of day-to-day chores, planning vacations, deciding which social events to attend. We are all BIG within our own house. It should be that way - our house is where we are loved and valued. When conflict happens within a household, it hurts more, because everybody is BIG, so hurts are big, too. If you look at the other side of the coin, though, happiness is magnified many times over in a loving house where everyone is BIG.
But what happens when we need to feel SMALL? When I taught high school, I was BIG within the classroom. Sometimes, during my planning, I walked one block east, then one block south so I could stand there and look out at the Gulf. It's vast, and the waves never stop. Just doing that for a few minutes gave me a peace that I could carry back into the classroom, where I was BIG again.
I went for a hike in the woods today, with some friends. As we walked, we talked about problems, victories, plans, hopes, dreams - all those things that you decide at home, where you are BIG. But every now and then, I looked up from the path. Enormous mature trees surrounded us. The path under our feet was uneven, with huge roots crisscrossing under our feet. Insects whizzed by us - it's their world, and we were interrupting! I felt small. Really small. It's a relief to be small for a while. Our hike stopped for a while at an old cemetery. We've visited before, it's small, well-kept, peaceful and beautiful in its own way. I started looking at headstones that were shared by husbands and wives. In that tiny cemetery, I saw so many wives that outlived their husbands by ten, twenty, even forty years. Some of the births date back to the 1860s, while the deaths begin around 1880. The thought occurred to me, while standing in that cemetery, that I am not the first widow in the history of the world, nor will I be the last. The thing that has become my main identifying factor right now is actually smaller than I thought it was. That doesn't make it any less sad, or difficult. Me saying that it is small is not saying that it doesn't devastate me I never know when it is going to strike me like a lightening bolt. No, what I discovered in the cemetery today is that I will go on living. That discovery lets me know that I will face BIG type choices about my own self, and will have be able to decide things and keep on living.
Tomorrow is the first day of school for students. As teachers, we actually have to be enormous tomorrow. We have to establish procedure, start building relationships, be kind, caring and loving at the same time we are laying behavioral groundwork, going over the rules and nipping potential foolish students in the bud. It's huge.
I hope that all my teacher friends have found some time to be SMALL this weekend. It can be nature that gives you that feeling. It can be a crowd - I'll bet my friends that were at the Texans game today felt SMALL. Sunday worship reminds us how SMALL, yet valuable we are. There are plenty of ways to feel SMALL, so that you can go back to being BIG - successfully. Nothing is worse than a mean giant. I wish all of you equal amounts of BIG and SMALL
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Thursday, August 22, 2013
The T-shirt Rebellion 8/22/13
I wore a uniform to school from fourth grade until I graduated. We hated them. Doesn't everybody that has to wear a school uniform hate them? Blue plaid and white blouses. Dress-style jumpers over the blouses through sixth grade, and skirts with the blouses starting in seventh. Solid color blue, green or white socks. Solid color blue, green or white sweaters. No dangling earrings. Closed-toed shoes. Skirts had to touch the floor when kneeling. The rules seemed never-ending. The dream of being able to choose what I got to wear each day was a part of the enticement of college.
At college, I was sometimes overwhelmed by the question of "What am I going to wear today?" There was no real group to follow - different people dressed casual, sporty, dressy, stylish - I had to start making up my mind who I was, as far as fashion was concerned. It was work. I remember thinking that it would be so nice just to put on my white blouse and plaid skirt and go. But instead, I set out to carve my individuality in the world using my clothes. I wasn't Lady Gaga of that little Baptist college, but I did set my own style and let my personality show.
Now, I'm an elementary teacher. Let me explain why that matters. There is a shelf or drawer in every elementary school teacher's house that is full of school t-shirts. After a few years, if you don't weed them out, they will run over! Just this week alone, I was given two t-shirts and told when to wear them (and sometimes, what to wear them with!) It was also announced that we will be able to order another t-shirt to wear on Mondays to advertise our behavioral program! So if I wear that one on Mondays, the committee shirt on the Wednesdays of meetings, and the spirit shirt every Friday, that leaves Tuesday and Thursday to wear my own clothes! Wow!
I am not anti-t-shirt. I think they have a place. One school shirt is cute, especially when you have special days or competitions, and especially when you can wear the same design the little ones wear. They think that's cool. And t-shirts are great for exercising. My prejudice actually stems from vanity. I do not look good in t-shirts. I am no longer as thin as I was in college, and my bust (not thin, either) is accentuated by the high neck on a t-shirt. I spend the whole day making sure the t-shirt is pulled down far enough in the front and back, and not pulling too tight in certain spots. I am not as comfortable in a t-shirt as I am in my professional clothes. And, believe it or not, in spite of my age, I still want to be an individual!
So, whether the blame lies with the seven years of plaid uniforms, or with my vanity about wanting to choose more flattering outfits, I would like to publicly state my aversion to the number of t-shirts and days that we are required to wear them. I know the publicly stating anything won't change the t-shirt trend, but I just had to get it off my chest. I wish I could do that with the t-shirts. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go choose a design for the t-shirts my children in choir will be required (by me) to wear.
At college, I was sometimes overwhelmed by the question of "What am I going to wear today?" There was no real group to follow - different people dressed casual, sporty, dressy, stylish - I had to start making up my mind who I was, as far as fashion was concerned. It was work. I remember thinking that it would be so nice just to put on my white blouse and plaid skirt and go. But instead, I set out to carve my individuality in the world using my clothes. I wasn't Lady Gaga of that little Baptist college, but I did set my own style and let my personality show.
Now, I'm an elementary teacher. Let me explain why that matters. There is a shelf or drawer in every elementary school teacher's house that is full of school t-shirts. After a few years, if you don't weed them out, they will run over! Just this week alone, I was given two t-shirts and told when to wear them (and sometimes, what to wear them with!) It was also announced that we will be able to order another t-shirt to wear on Mondays to advertise our behavioral program! So if I wear that one on Mondays, the committee shirt on the Wednesdays of meetings, and the spirit shirt every Friday, that leaves Tuesday and Thursday to wear my own clothes! Wow!
I am not anti-t-shirt. I think they have a place. One school shirt is cute, especially when you have special days or competitions, and especially when you can wear the same design the little ones wear. They think that's cool. And t-shirts are great for exercising. My prejudice actually stems from vanity. I do not look good in t-shirts. I am no longer as thin as I was in college, and my bust (not thin, either) is accentuated by the high neck on a t-shirt. I spend the whole day making sure the t-shirt is pulled down far enough in the front and back, and not pulling too tight in certain spots. I am not as comfortable in a t-shirt as I am in my professional clothes. And, believe it or not, in spite of my age, I still want to be an individual!
So, whether the blame lies with the seven years of plaid uniforms, or with my vanity about wanting to choose more flattering outfits, I would like to publicly state my aversion to the number of t-shirts and days that we are required to wear them. I know the publicly stating anything won't change the t-shirt trend, but I just had to get it off my chest. I wish I could do that with the t-shirts. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go choose a design for the t-shirts my children in choir will be required (by me) to wear.
Monday, August 19, 2013
The First Day Blues 8/19/13
First day blues.....I got 'em. I prepared myself to go back to work, I did. I wrote another piece to tell people how I feel, but please treat me normally - and they did! I love them! I went in with dear friends last week who helped do some of the not-fun work in the classroom! I'm ahead of my usual game! (So I thought....) Then, it happened.
I was up until midnight, having caught a flight back to Houston from instilling dear daughters in their college apartment. I told them goodbye, hugged them, told them I loved them and walked away. It took until after I got through security for it to hit me - I'm alone. I can do what I want right now, as long as I make my plane. And that won't change. After I get home tonight, I can do what I want, and nobody will even have a clue. Whether I watch TV, eat a snack, play the piano, read a book, do some sewing, clean house, play computer games, blog.......it's my time and nobody is there to interrupt it. The very thought that used to sound idyllic is now nothing but sad.
In truth, the reality was a couple of games of that candy game, then sleep. Alarm ringing far too early, and going about the morning routine that I've followed for years. Monday morning kicking me..."keep moving!" it says. Realizing as I leave the house that I can turn off the coffee and all the lights, nobody else is there to wake up later. Getting to work and seeing my good friends, and all the other precious people. They have chik-fil-a breakfast biscuits!! Woo-hoo! All good, healthy intentions go out the window as I get a biscuit to go with my coffee. I sit in my assigned place, take two bites of breakfast deliciousness (in-between talking) and then the announcement begins. "Time for our ice-breaker!" With all the veracity in the world, and no sarcasm (although I know that my faithful readers always imagine my sarcasm, because they know me), it was not a bad ice-breaker. Clever idea. Comment or contact me somehow if you weren't there and want to know the details. But was my mind on the game? NO! There was a chicken biscuit sitting there getting cold, doesn't anyone see how dire the situation is? Alas, it was not warm at all by the time the ice-breaker was over. That was a real shame, as for the next twenty-three minutes, I had to watch an inspirational speaker on video. Great ideas, of course. They wouldn't pay for/use these things if they weren't good. But did they know my biscuit was cold and the cafeteria seat was only three-quarters the size of my personal seating area?
The meetings weren't too bad. It's as if someone even heard some of my suggestions. Yes, there was some reading of papers (not even a powerpoint - just a paper under an Elmo document viewer, as if anyone in the room could read it.) , but there were also a lot of portions where just the new and important information was given. Not great, but not bad.
The hard part was a simple thing. Every year we fill out an emergency contact sheet. You know, who to contact in case of emergency. I saw everyone around me putting their husband's/wife's name on the first line, and the "I'm so weird!" brick hit me again. The tears were just behind my eyes the rest of the day. Almost. Lunch with my team was good and fun. But being in the classroom just feels different now. All afternoon to work in the classroom, too! But the core of me knows I'm alone, even if I'm surrounded by friends. Oh, I also found out that another car needs a $400 repair and the dogs escaped today. They were back home by the time I saw the text, I'm thankful for that and for dear friend that hunts down my dogs.
The point is....there's no point. I am alone. But not totally. Pouring these words onto the computer helps. I actually think the day might've felt different, though, if I would have gotten to finish that biscuit before it got cold. Maybe tomorrow.
I was up until midnight, having caught a flight back to Houston from instilling dear daughters in their college apartment. I told them goodbye, hugged them, told them I loved them and walked away. It took until after I got through security for it to hit me - I'm alone. I can do what I want right now, as long as I make my plane. And that won't change. After I get home tonight, I can do what I want, and nobody will even have a clue. Whether I watch TV, eat a snack, play the piano, read a book, do some sewing, clean house, play computer games, blog.......it's my time and nobody is there to interrupt it. The very thought that used to sound idyllic is now nothing but sad.
In truth, the reality was a couple of games of that candy game, then sleep. Alarm ringing far too early, and going about the morning routine that I've followed for years. Monday morning kicking me..."keep moving!" it says. Realizing as I leave the house that I can turn off the coffee and all the lights, nobody else is there to wake up later. Getting to work and seeing my good friends, and all the other precious people. They have chik-fil-a breakfast biscuits!! Woo-hoo! All good, healthy intentions go out the window as I get a biscuit to go with my coffee. I sit in my assigned place, take two bites of breakfast deliciousness (in-between talking) and then the announcement begins. "Time for our ice-breaker!" With all the veracity in the world, and no sarcasm (although I know that my faithful readers always imagine my sarcasm, because they know me), it was not a bad ice-breaker. Clever idea. Comment or contact me somehow if you weren't there and want to know the details. But was my mind on the game? NO! There was a chicken biscuit sitting there getting cold, doesn't anyone see how dire the situation is? Alas, it was not warm at all by the time the ice-breaker was over. That was a real shame, as for the next twenty-three minutes, I had to watch an inspirational speaker on video. Great ideas, of course. They wouldn't pay for/use these things if they weren't good. But did they know my biscuit was cold and the cafeteria seat was only three-quarters the size of my personal seating area?
The meetings weren't too bad. It's as if someone even heard some of my suggestions. Yes, there was some reading of papers (not even a powerpoint - just a paper under an Elmo document viewer, as if anyone in the room could read it.) , but there were also a lot of portions where just the new and important information was given. Not great, but not bad.
The hard part was a simple thing. Every year we fill out an emergency contact sheet. You know, who to contact in case of emergency. I saw everyone around me putting their husband's/wife's name on the first line, and the "I'm so weird!" brick hit me again. The tears were just behind my eyes the rest of the day. Almost. Lunch with my team was good and fun. But being in the classroom just feels different now. All afternoon to work in the classroom, too! But the core of me knows I'm alone, even if I'm surrounded by friends. Oh, I also found out that another car needs a $400 repair and the dogs escaped today. They were back home by the time I saw the text, I'm thankful for that and for dear friend that hunts down my dogs.
The point is....there's no point. I am alone. But not totally. Pouring these words onto the computer helps. I actually think the day might've felt different, though, if I would have gotten to finish that biscuit before it got cold. Maybe tomorrow.
Wednesday, August 14, 2013
Just Ok 8/14/13
*The opinions and scenarios below are not intended to cause guilt, blame or any such feeling from anyone. If anything, I feel guilty for being the one with baggage, the one you must be "careful" around.
"How was your summer?" The opening line of anyone going back to school - students and teachers. Contrary to what you may think, not all teachers hang out together all summer long. We intend to "get together", and then the next thing you know, it's time to go back to those glorious meetings.
My school family knows me, they know my situation, and they know that my answer - "just ok" - is justified. It's not a bad attitude, it's not a diagnosed condition, it's just that truthfully - trying to make it through the last three months since my husband has been gone has only been "just ok". Matter of fact, sometimes, it's been horrible. Sometimes it's been numbing. Sometimes it's been manic - when I feel a little happiness, I go a little nuts because I'm not sure I'll feel happy again for a while.
I am blessed to have a work family that knows and understands. I want them to know - I don't care what you say to me. "How was your summer?" is normal. "How've you been?" is normal. I want to be normal. But I also have been changed in such a way that my answer to you might be "Just ok." or "Not so good.". Please don't let my honesty make you uncomfortable, just go with the flow. Tell me "I guess not." or "I understand." or "You're allowed.". Then we'll keep talking. If I turn insular for a moment, talking on and on about myself, wait until I take a breath and tell me where you went on your vacation. Every time I talk with someone or some group in a regular way, I am walking that path back to being normal.
I am just ok, by the way. I am a bundle of fears, plans, wishes, pain, hopes, loneliness, perseverance, wanting to give up, positive one day/negative the next....and did I say fears? I might talk your ear off about having to sell my house because it's too ridiculously big for us, or I might keep it from you that I have to go to court for probate one day. In trying to be normal, I hope you, all my friends, will let me choose what to share and what to keep. You are all so kind and understanding, I know you will.
"How was your summer?" "It was just ok, how about you?" The ball's in your court. Help me back to normal. I love you, my friends.
"How was your summer?" The opening line of anyone going back to school - students and teachers. Contrary to what you may think, not all teachers hang out together all summer long. We intend to "get together", and then the next thing you know, it's time to go back to those glorious meetings.
My school family knows me, they know my situation, and they know that my answer - "just ok" - is justified. It's not a bad attitude, it's not a diagnosed condition, it's just that truthfully - trying to make it through the last three months since my husband has been gone has only been "just ok". Matter of fact, sometimes, it's been horrible. Sometimes it's been numbing. Sometimes it's been manic - when I feel a little happiness, I go a little nuts because I'm not sure I'll feel happy again for a while.
I am blessed to have a work family that knows and understands. I want them to know - I don't care what you say to me. "How was your summer?" is normal. "How've you been?" is normal. I want to be normal. But I also have been changed in such a way that my answer to you might be "Just ok." or "Not so good.". Please don't let my honesty make you uncomfortable, just go with the flow. Tell me "I guess not." or "I understand." or "You're allowed.". Then we'll keep talking. If I turn insular for a moment, talking on and on about myself, wait until I take a breath and tell me where you went on your vacation. Every time I talk with someone or some group in a regular way, I am walking that path back to being normal.
I am just ok, by the way. I am a bundle of fears, plans, wishes, pain, hopes, loneliness, perseverance, wanting to give up, positive one day/negative the next....and did I say fears? I might talk your ear off about having to sell my house because it's too ridiculously big for us, or I might keep it from you that I have to go to court for probate one day. In trying to be normal, I hope you, all my friends, will let me choose what to share and what to keep. You are all so kind and understanding, I know you will.
"How was your summer?" "It was just ok, how about you?" The ball's in your court. Help me back to normal. I love you, my friends.
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