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.
Tuesday, October 29, 2013
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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