"I'd like to live as a poor man with lots of money." -- Pablo Picasso
Today was payday, THANK GOD!! If you're not a teacher, the pain of the seven-week period from the middle of December to the end of January might not be one you're familiar with. Even the most clever money manager would be pressed to keep all the financial balls in the air during January. I have a name for this time of month: Ramen and Rice Poor. This was something a friend of mine and I started when I was living in Japan, but the idea carries.
I now have cat food, food for me, and even a few things non-edible. My kids will have pencils for the classroom, and I have ink for my printer. I had a meal that didn't involve yelling into a clown's mouth and driving past a window. What an abundance of riches!
Every once in awhile, I take a look at what constitutes "riches" for me, and I have to laugh. At least I am easily pleased.
No deep philosophy tonight...just a slice of the daily.
Monday, January 31, 2005
Thursday, January 27, 2005
Why the blog changed name
"We're all fools whether we dance or not, so we might as well dance." -- Japanese proverb
Today has been one of the worst days I've had in a long, long time. It started with more of the bizarre dreams that have been haunting me lately and the sound of a ringing cell phone. It turns out that my landlines weren't working. In the process of trying to find out why, my call was routed to somewhere in Georgia and I became late leaving the house.
Whenever I leave late, I feel rushed and badly put together for the rest of the day. Fortunately, I had prepared the things I needed for today's classes during yesterday's work time. Classes came in, and the day rolled on.
I should probably say, the day rolled on down the hill toward the sewage lagoon at the bottom. I had a student break down crying in class (outside personal stuff), and the number of students who just won't do their homework even for a daily effort grade is legion. At lunch, a coworker displayed her rudest and most selfish side. I disliked her already, but now I can hardly stand to look at her. During my planning period, I had to wrangle with the print plant to try to find out where the test I sent to them at the beginning of the week (and that I need for tomorrow) might be. It won't, of course, be delivered until tomorrow at about 8:30...probably. I stayed after school and made some copies. A brief check of email revealed a snippy letter demanding more jumping through of hoops from the organization I'm working with.
All of this I probably could have endured if not for the call to the phone company. It turns out that they had cut my phone off because I was late with a payment. The matter is resolved, but I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me. I couldn't believe it. I've always paid my bills. I usually pay them on time, but even if they're running a little past the due date, I've never just skipped one. I couldn't believe it! That took all the energy I had in reserve, and I basically sleepwalked the rest of the day.
After school, I got out as fast as humanly possible. I went to get my hair cut, which was a plus, but I'm so tired and just sad and sick that I couldn't enjoy it. Once I left the salon, I grabbed a stuffed potato from one of my favorite local restaurants and came home. I had the radio off in the car, and I'm so soul-sick that I can't even stand the thought of talking.
I have always loved the quote that starts this entry. It's my email signature, and I have a tiny jointed dancing fool necklace that I wear from time to time. Since the first time I saw it, I've felt it to be deeply true. We all have elements of the absurd about us, and any pretension we add just increases it ten fold. We might as well enjoy the movement of our bodies, be the people we truly are, do the things that make us happy. I have just enough wisdom to know that I am a fool no matter what I do.
As I was driving home, I decided to sit down and try to channel some of the blackness out of my soul. I changed clothes when I got home. It's an odd habit I have of trying to get everything associated with a bad day as far away from me as possible. While changing, I glanced at a mirror and saw the silver dancing fool charm. Today, I realized that I have been dancing all day long, but not the dance of happy contentment with my chosen path. Today's dance has been the jerky, disjointed, graceless jig of a battered marionette on half-rotten strings. Normally, the irony of the fool in the mirror looking at the fool around her neck would have cheered me. Today, my feet are too sore from the dance to find much humor. I hope tomorrow restores the joy to the dance.
Today has been one of the worst days I've had in a long, long time. It started with more of the bizarre dreams that have been haunting me lately and the sound of a ringing cell phone. It turns out that my landlines weren't working. In the process of trying to find out why, my call was routed to somewhere in Georgia and I became late leaving the house.
Whenever I leave late, I feel rushed and badly put together for the rest of the day. Fortunately, I had prepared the things I needed for today's classes during yesterday's work time. Classes came in, and the day rolled on.
I should probably say, the day rolled on down the hill toward the sewage lagoon at the bottom. I had a student break down crying in class (outside personal stuff), and the number of students who just won't do their homework even for a daily effort grade is legion. At lunch, a coworker displayed her rudest and most selfish side. I disliked her already, but now I can hardly stand to look at her. During my planning period, I had to wrangle with the print plant to try to find out where the test I sent to them at the beginning of the week (and that I need for tomorrow) might be. It won't, of course, be delivered until tomorrow at about 8:30...probably. I stayed after school and made some copies. A brief check of email revealed a snippy letter demanding more jumping through of hoops from the organization I'm working with.
All of this I probably could have endured if not for the call to the phone company. It turns out that they had cut my phone off because I was late with a payment. The matter is resolved, but I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me. I couldn't believe it. I've always paid my bills. I usually pay them on time, but even if they're running a little past the due date, I've never just skipped one. I couldn't believe it! That took all the energy I had in reserve, and I basically sleepwalked the rest of the day.
After school, I got out as fast as humanly possible. I went to get my hair cut, which was a plus, but I'm so tired and just sad and sick that I couldn't enjoy it. Once I left the salon, I grabbed a stuffed potato from one of my favorite local restaurants and came home. I had the radio off in the car, and I'm so soul-sick that I can't even stand the thought of talking.
I have always loved the quote that starts this entry. It's my email signature, and I have a tiny jointed dancing fool necklace that I wear from time to time. Since the first time I saw it, I've felt it to be deeply true. We all have elements of the absurd about us, and any pretension we add just increases it ten fold. We might as well enjoy the movement of our bodies, be the people we truly are, do the things that make us happy. I have just enough wisdom to know that I am a fool no matter what I do.
As I was driving home, I decided to sit down and try to channel some of the blackness out of my soul. I changed clothes when I got home. It's an odd habit I have of trying to get everything associated with a bad day as far away from me as possible. While changing, I glanced at a mirror and saw the silver dancing fool charm. Today, I realized that I have been dancing all day long, but not the dance of happy contentment with my chosen path. Today's dance has been the jerky, disjointed, graceless jig of a battered marionette on half-rotten strings. Normally, the irony of the fool in the mirror looking at the fool around her neck would have cheered me. Today, my feet are too sore from the dance to find much humor. I hope tomorrow restores the joy to the dance.
Sunday, January 23, 2005
Cats
"When I play with my cat, who knows if I am not a passtime more to her than she is to me?" -- Michel de Montaigne
I have two cats. The oldest one has been with me for 6 years now. She's rather amazing. She was born with only a tiny fluff of tail because of bobcat blood in her family tree. Her mother was that way as was her great-uncle whom my parents owned. She's excessively sassy. When I was looking over the litter of kittens to figure out which one I might want, she was the only one to look directly at me with eyes still cornflower blue, open her toothless mouth, and hiss at me. She looked like a vicious dustbunny. I fell hopelessly in love. I don't know what sort of bizarre logic it requires to choose the only kitten in the litter who is actively grumpy, but she and I have been through a lot together. She's traveled in my vehicle and on planes with cat-like composure, although our experiences going through Memphis airport caused both of us a great deal of stress when she had to come out of the carrier so it could be examined for all those freaky things people want to take on board planes to kill other people these days.
My other cat is a more recent addition to the family. Last November, right before Thanksgiving, I was driving my mother home and we saw three cats sitting basically in the middle of the busy road that connects her house and mine. We slowed down and saw that two of the three were manx (tailess) as were our cats at home. I decided that if they were still sitting there when I came back, I'd pick them up and try to find them homes. One of the males wound up at Mom and Dad's; the other male and the tailess female came home with me. The male who came home with me has since been run over, so he's no longer with us. I found him on a Sunday afternoon, and I felt like someone had kicked me in the chest. I still look for him everytime I go outside. I miss him terribly.
His sibling/child (we don't know how they're related) was a big fluffy manx with leaf green eyes and the sweetest expression you've ever seen on a cat. How misleading. She's grown up into a butterball who loves to be petted, hates to be held, and will mow you down if you get between her and the food dish. She has never, not even when she was small enough to fit into my cupped hands, been afraid of my dog or my other cat. In fact, she stalks my other cat in a jealous rage if I try to pet her. She is one of the most stubborn creatures I've ever seen. I guess she fits right in.
Well, it's late and very cold here tonight, so it's the perfect time to climb into bed with my furry ones. I hope you, wherever you are, have furry ones of your own to keep you warm.
I have two cats. The oldest one has been with me for 6 years now. She's rather amazing. She was born with only a tiny fluff of tail because of bobcat blood in her family tree. Her mother was that way as was her great-uncle whom my parents owned. She's excessively sassy. When I was looking over the litter of kittens to figure out which one I might want, she was the only one to look directly at me with eyes still cornflower blue, open her toothless mouth, and hiss at me. She looked like a vicious dustbunny. I fell hopelessly in love. I don't know what sort of bizarre logic it requires to choose the only kitten in the litter who is actively grumpy, but she and I have been through a lot together. She's traveled in my vehicle and on planes with cat-like composure, although our experiences going through Memphis airport caused both of us a great deal of stress when she had to come out of the carrier so it could be examined for all those freaky things people want to take on board planes to kill other people these days.
My other cat is a more recent addition to the family. Last November, right before Thanksgiving, I was driving my mother home and we saw three cats sitting basically in the middle of the busy road that connects her house and mine. We slowed down and saw that two of the three were manx (tailess) as were our cats at home. I decided that if they were still sitting there when I came back, I'd pick them up and try to find them homes. One of the males wound up at Mom and Dad's; the other male and the tailess female came home with me. The male who came home with me has since been run over, so he's no longer with us. I found him on a Sunday afternoon, and I felt like someone had kicked me in the chest. I still look for him everytime I go outside. I miss him terribly.
His sibling/child (we don't know how they're related) was a big fluffy manx with leaf green eyes and the sweetest expression you've ever seen on a cat. How misleading. She's grown up into a butterball who loves to be petted, hates to be held, and will mow you down if you get between her and the food dish. She has never, not even when she was small enough to fit into my cupped hands, been afraid of my dog or my other cat. In fact, she stalks my other cat in a jealous rage if I try to pet her. She is one of the most stubborn creatures I've ever seen. I guess she fits right in.
Well, it's late and very cold here tonight, so it's the perfect time to climb into bed with my furry ones. I hope you, wherever you are, have furry ones of your own to keep you warm.
Wednesday, January 19, 2005
Go Away!
"When the superficial wearies me, it wearies me so much that I need an abyss in order to rest." -- Antonio Porchia
Everybody wants a piece of me today, and I don't have any pieces left to give. An organization I'm working with is driving me nuts between the administration and the participants. Work was long and demanding. I just want to hide out in my house and do the Kids in the Hall "Nobody's Home" thing when anybody comes around.
Some things are just not worth the hassle involved. Right now, about half the things I'm currently doing fall into that category. Once I can complete my obligations, I intend to get some of this off my back permanently.
I miss having time that's uncommitted. For awhile after I got back to the States, I was bored, restless, and looking for something to do. I found it in spades. I miss my weekends. With one thing and another, my weekends are gone. I intend to get them back.
This frustration will probably pass tomorrow, but for now, I hope there are no more emails, no more phone calls, and no more requests for time I don't have. For tonight, at least, I'm on strike!
Everybody wants a piece of me today, and I don't have any pieces left to give. An organization I'm working with is driving me nuts between the administration and the participants. Work was long and demanding. I just want to hide out in my house and do the Kids in the Hall "Nobody's Home" thing when anybody comes around.
Some things are just not worth the hassle involved. Right now, about half the things I'm currently doing fall into that category. Once I can complete my obligations, I intend to get some of this off my back permanently.
I miss having time that's uncommitted. For awhile after I got back to the States, I was bored, restless, and looking for something to do. I found it in spades. I miss my weekends. With one thing and another, my weekends are gone. I intend to get them back.
This frustration will probably pass tomorrow, but for now, I hope there are no more emails, no more phone calls, and no more requests for time I don't have. For tonight, at least, I'm on strike!
Monday, January 17, 2005
Two by Two
"The animals, the animals,
they went in by twosies, twosies...
e-le-phants and kanga-roosies, roosies,
children of the Lord..."
-- Children's song
Sometimes I feel like I'm outside of life looking in, a grubby urchin with my nose pressed up against the relationship bakery window.
All my friends have gone in, two by two, neat as the animals filing into Noah's ark. I keep shuffling my feet near the entrance, but my mate never shows up. Why is that? In the last 5 years, I've seen all my local friends marry and have kids. I've always thought of it as circles closing. They complete each other as they marry, and the completion grows with each child, but there's no space in the circle for the outsiders.
My friends have not excluded me or ignored me. It's just hard to be the only single in a group of marrieds. I feel conspicuous at gatherings, and pathetic at the holidays. I don't have anybody to hold hands with at the movies or to bring me asprin when my head aches. When we have a dinner party, I prepare alone. There's no one left in the house but my cats when everyone leaves. When I come home, the house is dark, and the bed is cold.
This isn't meant to be a pity party. Being single has allowed me to do things I never could have done with a spouse, and certainly not with a child. Alone has never bothered me. Sometimes, though, I just feel like the door to the ark is swinging shut, and I'm just standing around waiting for the mate who will never come.
they went in by twosies, twosies...
e-le-phants and kanga-roosies, roosies,
children of the Lord..."
-- Children's song
Sometimes I feel like I'm outside of life looking in, a grubby urchin with my nose pressed up against the relationship bakery window.
All my friends have gone in, two by two, neat as the animals filing into Noah's ark. I keep shuffling my feet near the entrance, but my mate never shows up. Why is that? In the last 5 years, I've seen all my local friends marry and have kids. I've always thought of it as circles closing. They complete each other as they marry, and the completion grows with each child, but there's no space in the circle for the outsiders.
My friends have not excluded me or ignored me. It's just hard to be the only single in a group of marrieds. I feel conspicuous at gatherings, and pathetic at the holidays. I don't have anybody to hold hands with at the movies or to bring me asprin when my head aches. When we have a dinner party, I prepare alone. There's no one left in the house but my cats when everyone leaves. When I come home, the house is dark, and the bed is cold.
This isn't meant to be a pity party. Being single has allowed me to do things I never could have done with a spouse, and certainly not with a child. Alone has never bothered me. Sometimes, though, I just feel like the door to the ark is swinging shut, and I'm just standing around waiting for the mate who will never come.
Saturday, January 15, 2005
Country Music and Old Memories
"Sometimes I thank God for unanswered prayers..." Garth Brooks
For some reason, I woke up with a need to hear Garth Brooks. I am not a big country fan as a rule, but I go through phases with it. For a few weeks, I'll tune my radio to country as a break from the mind-numbingly bad selection of crap on our local pop station. Today, though, I just wanted to hear Garth Brooks. I grabbed the cd on my way out the door this morning and popped it in the player as I headed down my driveway.
I always forget the one song on that disk that brings back old memories, "The Dance." I know that is the ultimate sappy cliche, but there you have it. When the first chords rolled out of the speakers, I felt myself tighten up against the flood of memories I was sure was headed my way. I have, in previous chapters of my life, sat in the floor and cried my eyes out, sure my heart was going to combust and kill me with the magnitude of pain. I always associated it with two particular people in my past.
Today, though, the pain didn't come. Instead of a great wave, it was more like a ripple in a swimming pool. I had to laugh at myself. Somehow, without realizing it was happening, I got over the two "great tragic loves of my life." I have to put that in quotation marks because I realize now that it's just not true.
I did love them. I have no doubts about that. One of them was a constant presence in college for me. I centered my world around him, and we were really good friends. I always felt more than just friendship for him, was constantly confused, and generally made life hell for my best friend/roommate and other friends. Looking back at that time now, there are things I wish I'd done differently, but there's not even the tiniest fragment of that horrible pain I used to feel. From time to time, I still hear from him. We're still friends, although we've become the kind of friends one becomes after college is over and great distances separate. That song was always one of those songs that brought the memories of the good times we'd had to the fore. I can look back on that time for what it was and see it with objectivity.
The other one was a grad school romance that caught me up like a summer thunderstorm. I met him through a mutual friend at an intramural sports club. To quote a romance novel cliche, our eyes met across the room, and I was hooked. I never believed that anyone like him could ever be interested in me, and he had to work quite hard to convince me otherwise. The time I had with him was brief and intense, and ended far too soon when I had to move. He taught me so much about love and myself, lessons for which I'll always be grateful. At a later time, he also jumped up and down on my heart, and I learned from that, too.
After him, I slammed an iron case around my heart, consigned all men to the devil as inconstant bastards, and decided to ignore them to the best of my ability. My move to Japan and the cultural and linguistic barriers involved in that made it an easy task. Only once after him was I even tempted to care, but that's a story for another night.
I expected him to flash into my mind and bring back the horrible end to hurt me again, but there was no pain. I could have stopped the car and danced in the street. Maybe this means that I am finally ready to try to trust again. That's no mean feat for me. It was a strangely welcome discovery. I don't know how far I'm willing to open that iron armor around my heart, but the fact that I'm willing to think about cracking it open at all was a minor miracle. I'm still considering what it all means, but I can't help but enjoy the happiness and peace of knowing that I can keep the silver lining without shivering from the darkness of the cloud it came from.
For some reason, I woke up with a need to hear Garth Brooks. I am not a big country fan as a rule, but I go through phases with it. For a few weeks, I'll tune my radio to country as a break from the mind-numbingly bad selection of crap on our local pop station. Today, though, I just wanted to hear Garth Brooks. I grabbed the cd on my way out the door this morning and popped it in the player as I headed down my driveway.
I always forget the one song on that disk that brings back old memories, "The Dance." I know that is the ultimate sappy cliche, but there you have it. When the first chords rolled out of the speakers, I felt myself tighten up against the flood of memories I was sure was headed my way. I have, in previous chapters of my life, sat in the floor and cried my eyes out, sure my heart was going to combust and kill me with the magnitude of pain. I always associated it with two particular people in my past.
Today, though, the pain didn't come. Instead of a great wave, it was more like a ripple in a swimming pool. I had to laugh at myself. Somehow, without realizing it was happening, I got over the two "great tragic loves of my life." I have to put that in quotation marks because I realize now that it's just not true.
I did love them. I have no doubts about that. One of them was a constant presence in college for me. I centered my world around him, and we were really good friends. I always felt more than just friendship for him, was constantly confused, and generally made life hell for my best friend/roommate and other friends. Looking back at that time now, there are things I wish I'd done differently, but there's not even the tiniest fragment of that horrible pain I used to feel. From time to time, I still hear from him. We're still friends, although we've become the kind of friends one becomes after college is over and great distances separate. That song was always one of those songs that brought the memories of the good times we'd had to the fore. I can look back on that time for what it was and see it with objectivity.
The other one was a grad school romance that caught me up like a summer thunderstorm. I met him through a mutual friend at an intramural sports club. To quote a romance novel cliche, our eyes met across the room, and I was hooked. I never believed that anyone like him could ever be interested in me, and he had to work quite hard to convince me otherwise. The time I had with him was brief and intense, and ended far too soon when I had to move. He taught me so much about love and myself, lessons for which I'll always be grateful. At a later time, he also jumped up and down on my heart, and I learned from that, too.
After him, I slammed an iron case around my heart, consigned all men to the devil as inconstant bastards, and decided to ignore them to the best of my ability. My move to Japan and the cultural and linguistic barriers involved in that made it an easy task. Only once after him was I even tempted to care, but that's a story for another night.
I expected him to flash into my mind and bring back the horrible end to hurt me again, but there was no pain. I could have stopped the car and danced in the street. Maybe this means that I am finally ready to try to trust again. That's no mean feat for me. It was a strangely welcome discovery. I don't know how far I'm willing to open that iron armor around my heart, but the fact that I'm willing to think about cracking it open at all was a minor miracle. I'm still considering what it all means, but I can't help but enjoy the happiness and peace of knowing that I can keep the silver lining without shivering from the darkness of the cloud it came from.
Monday, January 10, 2005
Why I Love My Gym
"Movement is a medicine for creating change in a person's physical, emotional, and mental states." -- Carol Welch
I started going to the gym about two months ago, and although I still am far from where I want to be, working out has become a precious part of my day.
For one thing, it's one of the few totally selfish things I get to do in the day. When I go to the gym, I'm nobody's teacher. I'm nobody's employee. I'm nobody's child. I am just me, and the only person I have to push or coerce is myself. I love it. I love the feeling of doing something good for myself. I don't pamper and primp nearly enough, probably, but this is something I can do for me.
I don't have to carry on conversations filled with witty reparte. I all I have to do is one more set of reps with the chest press, five more minutes on the elliptical. I can walk through surrounded by a mantle of music, and not have to bother or be bothered. After a day of being "on call", it's so nice to be anonymous.
The steam room and the whirlpool at the end are also a luxury. I can feel all the knots between my shoulder blades unravel as I sit in the steamy white-tiled space. The whirlpool is the closest thing I've found to a Japanese tub, and it's wonderful to sit in water up to my ears and not have to do anything but be there.
All to soon after I've dressed and am getting ready to leave, the world intrudes. School work come rushing back in, family obligations emerge, and I have to use the peace I've found in sweat and hot steamy air to get through it all.
I started going to the gym about two months ago, and although I still am far from where I want to be, working out has become a precious part of my day.
For one thing, it's one of the few totally selfish things I get to do in the day. When I go to the gym, I'm nobody's teacher. I'm nobody's employee. I'm nobody's child. I am just me, and the only person I have to push or coerce is myself. I love it. I love the feeling of doing something good for myself. I don't pamper and primp nearly enough, probably, but this is something I can do for me.
I don't have to carry on conversations filled with witty reparte. I all I have to do is one more set of reps with the chest press, five more minutes on the elliptical. I can walk through surrounded by a mantle of music, and not have to bother or be bothered. After a day of being "on call", it's so nice to be anonymous.
The steam room and the whirlpool at the end are also a luxury. I can feel all the knots between my shoulder blades unravel as I sit in the steamy white-tiled space. The whirlpool is the closest thing I've found to a Japanese tub, and it's wonderful to sit in water up to my ears and not have to do anything but be there.
All to soon after I've dressed and am getting ready to leave, the world intrudes. School work come rushing back in, family obligations emerge, and I have to use the peace I've found in sweat and hot steamy air to get through it all.
Friday, January 07, 2005
Too Tired to Do This Tonight
"Without enough sleep, we all become tall two-year-olds." -- JoJo Jensen
I love this quote. It is too true. I'm perilously close to being a really tall two-year-old, so I'm going to make this entry very brief.
I rediscovered the wonder of a good seating chart today and had a much better teaching day.
I went back to the gym for the first time in a week, and it was strangely empty. I expected it to be bursting at the seams with New Year's exercisers, but it wasn't too bad. I'm glad. I hate crowds at the gym.
There's more to tell, but my eyelids are slamming shut, so I'll write more tomorrow. Tomorrow is a big day for a group of students I'm working with. We have a meeting for a trip we're going on this summer, and a state official is going to come to speak. I've been setting stuff up and preparing all evening for it, and now I need to turn my brain off and sleep.
I love this quote. It is too true. I'm perilously close to being a really tall two-year-old, so I'm going to make this entry very brief.
I rediscovered the wonder of a good seating chart today and had a much better teaching day.
I went back to the gym for the first time in a week, and it was strangely empty. I expected it to be bursting at the seams with New Year's exercisers, but it wasn't too bad. I'm glad. I hate crowds at the gym.
There's more to tell, but my eyelids are slamming shut, so I'll write more tomorrow. Tomorrow is a big day for a group of students I'm working with. We have a meeting for a trip we're going on this summer, and a state official is going to come to speak. I've been setting stuff up and preparing all evening for it, and now I need to turn my brain off and sleep.
Thursday, January 06, 2005
My House
"There is nothing like staying at home for real comfort." -- Jane Austen
I love my house. When I got home tonight after a LONG day in the saltmines, just how much I love it washed over me again. It's not a fancy house, nor is it new. It was my grandmother's house, and that's undoubtedly a big reason why it's so special for me. I love the feeling of connectedness (yeah, I coined a word...sue me) to my family that always surrounds me here.
The house is a rambling old jigsaw made up of three separate parts: two old and one new. The front part of it is the Granny's house of my childhood. There used to be giant pecan trees in the back yard and a set of 5 creosote timber steps that I fell down. I still have the scars on my knees. There was a patio with an old picnic table where, every Easter, my cousins and I would peel dyed eggs we'd collected at the church egg hunt or chocolate bunnies brought to us by the Easter bunny the night before.
The back part of the house, the second old part, was actually built by my great-grandfather. It has heart pine walls, ceilings, and floors. It used to sit in another place, but my grandmother decided that she wanted more space, and she had it moved up and added onto the existing house.
The third part, the new part, connects the two old houses. It has high ceilings and so much white sheet flooring that I can never keep it clean enough.
The house needs a lot of love and work as with any older house, but I can't express how nice it is to be settled somewhere and have a "nest" for my own. I'm a huge nester. I need to piddle and arrange, to tinker and enhance. I wish I were better with tools and things so I could do repairs and big things on my own. Unfortunately, I don't know much about that side of things, and I have to try to enlist the help of others. That drives me crazy. It's hard to admit there are things I just can't do by myself.
Well, I guess that's my ode for the evening. I'm off to my ancient bathroom and then to bed. Tomorrow is Friday; the kids will be wild, and I need rest to stay that crucial one step ahead of them.
I love my house. When I got home tonight after a LONG day in the saltmines, just how much I love it washed over me again. It's not a fancy house, nor is it new. It was my grandmother's house, and that's undoubtedly a big reason why it's so special for me. I love the feeling of connectedness (yeah, I coined a word...sue me) to my family that always surrounds me here.
The house is a rambling old jigsaw made up of three separate parts: two old and one new. The front part of it is the Granny's house of my childhood. There used to be giant pecan trees in the back yard and a set of 5 creosote timber steps that I fell down. I still have the scars on my knees. There was a patio with an old picnic table where, every Easter, my cousins and I would peel dyed eggs we'd collected at the church egg hunt or chocolate bunnies brought to us by the Easter bunny the night before.
The back part of the house, the second old part, was actually built by my great-grandfather. It has heart pine walls, ceilings, and floors. It used to sit in another place, but my grandmother decided that she wanted more space, and she had it moved up and added onto the existing house.
The third part, the new part, connects the two old houses. It has high ceilings and so much white sheet flooring that I can never keep it clean enough.
The house needs a lot of love and work as with any older house, but I can't express how nice it is to be settled somewhere and have a "nest" for my own. I'm a huge nester. I need to piddle and arrange, to tinker and enhance. I wish I were better with tools and things so I could do repairs and big things on my own. Unfortunately, I don't know much about that side of things, and I have to try to enlist the help of others. That drives me crazy. It's hard to admit there are things I just can't do by myself.
Well, I guess that's my ode for the evening. I'm off to my ancient bathroom and then to bed. Tomorrow is Friday; the kids will be wild, and I need rest to stay that crucial one step ahead of them.
Wednesday, January 05, 2005
Missing Japan
"Even in Kyoto --
hearing the cuckoo's cry --
I long for Kyoto."
Matsuo Basho
I taught tanka today. Not the little yellow toy trucks of childhood, but the Japanese poetic form. I found some really good examples, and I had quite a bit of stuff bring for "show and tell." As always, some of them found it interesting, some of them found it boring, and some of them wanted to sleep. All in all, it wasn't a bad day.
Looking at the pictures made me want to be back there, especially the pictures of Todai-ji in Nara. One of the books I'd taken for them to see was a keepsake book from the temple. I can remember the very first time I stepped inside over the high wooden threshold. The weather was so horribly hot, but inside that beautiful, austere wooden sanctuary, it was so cool. The incense from the big censer outside and the murmuring of the tourists blended, and I could have sat there on the ancient stone stairs forever.
I remember the feel of the wood of the support pillars under my hands. Each one was a giant tree trunk worn shiny smooth by more than 400 years worth of trailing fingertips. In that one gesture, I was linked to the past. I remember watching the children crawling through the hole bored through one of the columns. It was supposed to be exactly the same size as the Daibutsu's nostril. Making it all the way through was supposed to insure good luck, good health, and for women, fertility. I remember watching this tiny, slender, frail-looking woman going through it. Her husband pulled her by her hands, and she, as tiny as she was, just barely fit. They were laughing a little, but that couple has always sort of haunted me. There was something in the way they looked at each other and in the gentle way he helped to steady her as she stood back up. I hope she got the blessing she sought.
I hold on to those memories of Japan, especially the times in Nara, like a box of jewels. I open the lid whenever I feel sad or tired, and I sort through them. I let them run through my fingers and catch the light. Sometimes, I can almost smell the clean scent of new tatami and hear the warning signal for the trains or the crosswalk.
Would I go back now? If all things were equal, I don't know. Part of me would get on the plane tonight if offered the chance, but part of me is tied here. It's a choice I don't know how to make, and the reasons I came home in the first place still hold true. For now, I content myself with a cup of Shizuoka green from a Tokoname-yaki teapot and drift back to the cool shadows of Todai-ji.
hearing the cuckoo's cry --
I long for Kyoto."
Matsuo Basho
I taught tanka today. Not the little yellow toy trucks of childhood, but the Japanese poetic form. I found some really good examples, and I had quite a bit of stuff bring for "show and tell." As always, some of them found it interesting, some of them found it boring, and some of them wanted to sleep. All in all, it wasn't a bad day.
Looking at the pictures made me want to be back there, especially the pictures of Todai-ji in Nara. One of the books I'd taken for them to see was a keepsake book from the temple. I can remember the very first time I stepped inside over the high wooden threshold. The weather was so horribly hot, but inside that beautiful, austere wooden sanctuary, it was so cool. The incense from the big censer outside and the murmuring of the tourists blended, and I could have sat there on the ancient stone stairs forever.
I remember the feel of the wood of the support pillars under my hands. Each one was a giant tree trunk worn shiny smooth by more than 400 years worth of trailing fingertips. In that one gesture, I was linked to the past. I remember watching the children crawling through the hole bored through one of the columns. It was supposed to be exactly the same size as the Daibutsu's nostril. Making it all the way through was supposed to insure good luck, good health, and for women, fertility. I remember watching this tiny, slender, frail-looking woman going through it. Her husband pulled her by her hands, and she, as tiny as she was, just barely fit. They were laughing a little, but that couple has always sort of haunted me. There was something in the way they looked at each other and in the gentle way he helped to steady her as she stood back up. I hope she got the blessing she sought.
I hold on to those memories of Japan, especially the times in Nara, like a box of jewels. I open the lid whenever I feel sad or tired, and I sort through them. I let them run through my fingers and catch the light. Sometimes, I can almost smell the clean scent of new tatami and hear the warning signal for the trains or the crosswalk.
Would I go back now? If all things were equal, I don't know. Part of me would get on the plane tonight if offered the chance, but part of me is tied here. It's a choice I don't know how to make, and the reasons I came home in the first place still hold true. For now, I content myself with a cup of Shizuoka green from a Tokoname-yaki teapot and drift back to the cool shadows of Todai-ji.
Tuesday, January 04, 2005
Headaches and Origami Cranes
"What the world really needs is more love and less paperwork." -- Pearl Bailey
There is so much crap in my profession. You have to be willing to put on hipwaders and try to ford it to get to the act of educating. I hate it. I hate the pointless waste of time. I hate how many hours of my life the tedious, useless details steal. People who haven't been in a classroom in years, and in many cases, EVER, are making rules that directly affect my job AND my students' chances of success. For a bunch of supposedly educated people, I have never in my life run across leaders so willing to jump on whatever bandwagon comes by with pretty streamers, a shiny brass band, and a slick publication package.
Add to that the fact that we actually have to take huge steps to protect ourselves from the parents of the kids for whom we pour out our hearts. Every flipping thing has become grounds for a lawsuit. This group sues because their kids can't pass the state tests. That group hauls in a lawyer because baby boy has been expelled for bringing a gun to school. Another group starts a loud, ignorant protest over the reading selections on the school's list. I am tired. It won't change. I should just stop thinking about it.
Today was doomed from the start, I guess. Last night, I could not sleep. That happens to me fairly often, especially before any kind of change in my routine. Going back to work after our holiday break was one of those transitions apparently. I spent most of the night alternating back and forth between listening to my cats snore and browsing through a Bas Bleu catalog. I guess I must have dozed off finally, and 5:30 came far, far too early.
When I got to my classroom, I took down my Christmas decorations. Even more so than at home, taking down those lights around my door was sad. I am basically just a 5-year-old trapped in a much older body about some things, and colored Christmas lights are one of those things that always makes my heart a little happier.
I worked on the bulletin board that I have adopted right outside my doorway, and put up an assortment of haiku and tanka. I'm going to try to introduce my students to a bit of the Japanese culture I love so well. The rest of the English hall seems to like my efforts, and it makes me much happier than the old, blank, forlorn board did.
After lunch, we had a faculty meeting, and that's where the headache began. Literally. I am not a patient person in meetings. It's a fault. I spent most of it folding paper cranes, an activity that may not sound soothing, but which actually serves a dual purpose. It keeps my hands busy, and gives me something to focus my attention on so I don't get up, scream incoherently, and run away. Sometimes, I also draw on my notepad, but today was full of beautiful paper cranes.
I know meetings like that are a part of any profession, but the thing that kills me is that I'm never sure how much of it is supposed to apply to me, personally. If I'm doing something wrong, I want my administrators to come to me and say, "Hey you, quit doing that. It's stupid. Okay? Do this instead." I don't want them to corral me and 80+ other people and make general statements about major problem isssues that seem to be cropping up and hindering progress. Especially when those general statements run on for hours.
Now, I have only the deepest respect for my administrator. The administrator is a fabulous person who is totally dedicated to my school and the students. The whole situation today was just frustrating on several levels. The administrator, hereafter to be referred to as A, was talking and several of my colleagues were just talking away as if no one was trying to present. This kind of behavior goes on all the time, and I've seen it at several different places, so normally it doesn't bother me. It's sort of a subtext and background noise. Today, though, there was such an element of blatant disrespect. A actually had to ask them to be quiet. A roomful of professionals, and A had to ask for quiet. If it hadn't been for my origami cranes, I probably really would have run out.
After the meeting ground all of us to dust, we were finally released. The meeting had gone on for an hour and a half. I was so tired. I had so much that I wanted and needed to do before I left, but I just gathered up my crap and headed out.
One false alarm car problem and take-out pick up later, I was speeding down the interstate headed for home so sick at my stomach and in my head that I probably shouldn't have been driving. I took some tylenol and a short nap and am up for round 2 with the school preps for tomorrow.
Nothing amazing today. Just a bunch of crap that gave birth to 12 to 15 origami cranes and a headache of epic proportions. I'm going to use the safety rail and totter off my soapbox now. I hope a hot shower and a night's sleep will restore me for tomorrow.
There is so much crap in my profession. You have to be willing to put on hipwaders and try to ford it to get to the act of educating. I hate it. I hate the pointless waste of time. I hate how many hours of my life the tedious, useless details steal. People who haven't been in a classroom in years, and in many cases, EVER, are making rules that directly affect my job AND my students' chances of success. For a bunch of supposedly educated people, I have never in my life run across leaders so willing to jump on whatever bandwagon comes by with pretty streamers, a shiny brass band, and a slick publication package.
Add to that the fact that we actually have to take huge steps to protect ourselves from the parents of the kids for whom we pour out our hearts. Every flipping thing has become grounds for a lawsuit. This group sues because their kids can't pass the state tests. That group hauls in a lawyer because baby boy has been expelled for bringing a gun to school. Another group starts a loud, ignorant protest over the reading selections on the school's list. I am tired. It won't change. I should just stop thinking about it.
Today was doomed from the start, I guess. Last night, I could not sleep. That happens to me fairly often, especially before any kind of change in my routine. Going back to work after our holiday break was one of those transitions apparently. I spent most of the night alternating back and forth between listening to my cats snore and browsing through a Bas Bleu catalog. I guess I must have dozed off finally, and 5:30 came far, far too early.
When I got to my classroom, I took down my Christmas decorations. Even more so than at home, taking down those lights around my door was sad. I am basically just a 5-year-old trapped in a much older body about some things, and colored Christmas lights are one of those things that always makes my heart a little happier.
I worked on the bulletin board that I have adopted right outside my doorway, and put up an assortment of haiku and tanka. I'm going to try to introduce my students to a bit of the Japanese culture I love so well. The rest of the English hall seems to like my efforts, and it makes me much happier than the old, blank, forlorn board did.
After lunch, we had a faculty meeting, and that's where the headache began. Literally. I am not a patient person in meetings. It's a fault. I spent most of it folding paper cranes, an activity that may not sound soothing, but which actually serves a dual purpose. It keeps my hands busy, and gives me something to focus my attention on so I don't get up, scream incoherently, and run away. Sometimes, I also draw on my notepad, but today was full of beautiful paper cranes.
I know meetings like that are a part of any profession, but the thing that kills me is that I'm never sure how much of it is supposed to apply to me, personally. If I'm doing something wrong, I want my administrators to come to me and say, "Hey you, quit doing that. It's stupid. Okay? Do this instead." I don't want them to corral me and 80+ other people and make general statements about major problem isssues that seem to be cropping up and hindering progress. Especially when those general statements run on for hours.
Now, I have only the deepest respect for my administrator. The administrator is a fabulous person who is totally dedicated to my school and the students. The whole situation today was just frustrating on several levels. The administrator, hereafter to be referred to as A, was talking and several of my colleagues were just talking away as if no one was trying to present. This kind of behavior goes on all the time, and I've seen it at several different places, so normally it doesn't bother me. It's sort of a subtext and background noise. Today, though, there was such an element of blatant disrespect. A actually had to ask them to be quiet. A roomful of professionals, and A had to ask for quiet. If it hadn't been for my origami cranes, I probably really would have run out.
After the meeting ground all of us to dust, we were finally released. The meeting had gone on for an hour and a half. I was so tired. I had so much that I wanted and needed to do before I left, but I just gathered up my crap and headed out.
One false alarm car problem and take-out pick up later, I was speeding down the interstate headed for home so sick at my stomach and in my head that I probably shouldn't have been driving. I took some tylenol and a short nap and am up for round 2 with the school preps for tomorrow.
Nothing amazing today. Just a bunch of crap that gave birth to 12 to 15 origami cranes and a headache of epic proportions. I'm going to use the safety rail and totter off my soapbox now. I hope a hot shower and a night's sleep will restore me for tomorrow.
Monday, January 03, 2005
A beginning
"Once the grammar has been learned [writing] is simply talking on paper and in time learning what not to say." -- Beryl Bainbridge
To tell the truth, I'm not exactly sure what is driving me to do this. I have never been able to be faithful to a journal, and quite likely, this will turn into another abandoned brain-child wandering the internet and begging for attention from those more conscientious than myself. Even though I know this about myself, I still feel this need to create this blog. Maybe there's some smarmy, trite part of me that is trying to "reach out" across the web for...understanding? ....sympathy?....a sense of connection to the world brought into my living room via fiberoptic cable? Probably all of those things.
It could be another form of talking to myself aloud. Don't call in the men in white coats just yet. Bear with me. Haven't you ever worked through a problem aloud? Many times, when I have a problem I cannot solve, kicking it around out loud helps me work through the subtleties of it, even if it only helps me blow off enough steam to see things more rationally. My cats are wise listeners; granted, they're not much help with answers, but perhaps this is only more of the same...talking into the darkness. I guess with this, there's always the chance the darkness will speak back.
I think I'll keep this first posting short. I promise without a doubt that this blog will be totally random in its topics. I imagine that most of my postings will start with a quotation, as I'm very, very fond of them, despite all Emerson's well-meaning admonitions against them. Hopefully there will be another posting tomorrow. I'd hate to abandon it that prematurely.....
To tell the truth, I'm not exactly sure what is driving me to do this. I have never been able to be faithful to a journal, and quite likely, this will turn into another abandoned brain-child wandering the internet and begging for attention from those more conscientious than myself. Even though I know this about myself, I still feel this need to create this blog. Maybe there's some smarmy, trite part of me that is trying to "reach out" across the web for...understanding? ....sympathy?....a sense of connection to the world brought into my living room via fiberoptic cable? Probably all of those things.
It could be another form of talking to myself aloud. Don't call in the men in white coats just yet. Bear with me. Haven't you ever worked through a problem aloud? Many times, when I have a problem I cannot solve, kicking it around out loud helps me work through the subtleties of it, even if it only helps me blow off enough steam to see things more rationally. My cats are wise listeners; granted, they're not much help with answers, but perhaps this is only more of the same...talking into the darkness. I guess with this, there's always the chance the darkness will speak back.
I think I'll keep this first posting short. I promise without a doubt that this blog will be totally random in its topics. I imagine that most of my postings will start with a quotation, as I'm very, very fond of them, despite all Emerson's well-meaning admonitions against them. Hopefully there will be another posting tomorrow. I'd hate to abandon it that prematurely.....
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