Under Pressure

"When in panic, or in doubt, run in circles, scream and shout." -- R. Heinlein

Today was a day-long conference to work on realigning our English curriculum. I was so exhausted at the end of it that I could hear the humming dullness inside my own skull. I stopped meaningfully processing information a full hour before the meeting ground to a halt.

What we were doing was both important and valuable, but I thought I would go crazy before I could get away. I am excited that we are making changes in our curriculum, but I am so stressed out right now, that I can hardly bear the touch of a feather.

I have three sets of AP papers ungraded and four sets of regular papers that have to be graded. I haven't entered lesson plans in what seems like a hundred years. I got a message from the teacher support team leader that says I have to remediate, document, and meet about every student who was failing my class at semester.

I wanted to curl into a little ball under my desk and cry. How can we be expected to keep all these balls in the air? In fact, we've gone way past just juggling balls...they've added swords, flaming brands, and big fish. (Perhaps, an odd choice, but that's the image that sprang to mind.)

Once again, I talked with my mom and she brought me chicken strips and strawberry cobbler, five-year-old soul medicine, and I feel better. Tomorrow, I'll just work until I get it done. I might need more cobbler tomorrow, though....

Recovery

Diseases of the soul are more dangerous and more numerous than those of the body. ~Cicero

Today, I have a voice. It's the first day since Wednesday that I don't have moments of fade out or whisper. I haven't been sick like this in years, I think. I really can't remember the last time I had laryngitis.

The medicines the doctor gave me to "clean everything out" included a dose pack of steroids. I hate them. He gave me the painful horse dose in the hip before I left, and then prescribed these oral doses as well. Now, I am awake at absurd hours watching bad movies from the 80s, listening to music in celebration on Mozart's birthday, and feverishly crafting or shopping eBay.

Last night, I designed, cut, foiled, and soldered a stained-glass suncatcher of Psyche. I finished her about 3:30 a.m., and I am going to have to go back to it and touch up. Looking at it this morning, I can't even remember all the steps. I remember this period of incredible, almost humming, energy pouring through me after taking that last "bedtime" dose of those pills, but other parts of the process are a blur.

I am also healing from losing Britta. There are those, I have no doubt, who will question whether or not the loss of a dog, especially one who had not been a part of the family very long, could cause long-term pain.

Just today for the first time I could walk around and fill my birdfeeders without looking for her. Just today, filling out an application to start the process of seeking a pit bull to adopt didn't make me want to cry. I still miss her, but I think the worst of the darkness that has surrounded me since she died is starting to dissipate. I am hoping that this soul-sickness will give way to the golden keeping of the good and the sharing of the love she gave me with another needy dog.

I still find it hard to talk about the accident. I still can't easily accept the consolations of others. As is so often when the topic is something that hurts so much, I don't want to talk about it. I don't know how to explain it. I suppose the easiest way to think of it is that it's still too near, too sacred for me to be able to talk about with anything other than pain. I can only hope that this, too, will be something I can recover from in time.

Now, I am going to try to go get some sleep. The rain outside should help lull me. Tomorrow will be a new day, and I will get up, get dressed, and face whatever comes. I might even have a voice with which to address those issues. I don't know when the full recovery will come, but I am grateful for the progress that has been made.

Silent

Yesterday I was hoarse. Today, I have completely lost my voice. I went to the doctor after school, and the doctor told me to come home and be quiet for two days.

It's odd how many important conversations spring to mind when you're told not to talk. It's also ironic how many people suddenly want to have long talks.

I hate the fact that I'm going to have to miss two days of school. I know this is a quack, quack deal, and I need to just enjoy it, but I am still irked at getting even farther behind with Hamlet. Granted, most of one of my AP classes was going to be gone tomorrow anyway, but still...

I guess it just feels like cheating to me somehow. I always feel like if I can get up in the morning without visible means of life support, I should be at school working. I know the building isn't going to fall in, and my kids won't be any worse than they'd be for anybody else's sub, but it's a part of my Type-A personality. For two days, my private domain is going to be out of my control. It's not an easy thing to accept.

Still, today showed me that I can't just force myself through it. I should have stayed home today, but my formal evaluation was supposed to have happened today. It didn't for various reasons, but all day long, I was sucking down hot green tea and eating Halls trying to get even a Mickey Mouse voice to come out. I lectured and had a good class for both my APs. My regular tenth graders were writing today, anyway, so I didn't have to talk much. By the end of the day, I was exhausted from the effort at getting out little bits of sound, and, of course, all the wild pantomime that was a part of getting any message across.

I am going to try to focus on the fact that I have two days to get caught up with things both school-related and otherwise and not worry about what's going on at school. For better or worse, it will still be there when I get back, after all...

Week End

Clocks slay time... time is dead as long as it is being clicked off by little wheels; only when the clock stops does time come to life.
William Faulkner

I survived another week of secondary education, and I am now comfortably ensconced in my rocking chair watching sitcom reruns.

I am about to luxuriate in my weekend. The school week is so hectic with grading, preparation, and all the ridiculous crap that floats in unexpectedly.

I have big plans. I am going to read a book or two, watch some old movies, play with my dog, and generally do nothing. I'll come back and blog about it later. :) Won't you be on pins and needles waiting for *that* post.

Wherever you are, gentle readers, I hope you enjoy the end of your week, too.

Cameos

Discoveries of archaeological sites in Italy and Egypt renewed an interest in the classics that influenced cameos of the Victorian Era. Motifs included gods and goddesses from mythology and other subjects related to them, such as Bacchante maidens adorned with grape leaves in their hair, the Three Graces, who were the daughters of Zeus, and Leda, a woman shown feeding Zeus and more.
from the website http://www.victorianbazaar.com/cameos.html

I have become interested in cameos lately. I don't think realized that there was a symbolism to most of them. I am not sure that I ever noticed that they were anything but little portraits of women in old-fashioned garb.

My interest started when I was researching the myth of Cupid and Psyche. Some source or another stated that the Victorians used the myth as a decoration for cameos, symbolizing love triumphant. Intrigued, I went to eBay and started exploring.

I noticed that Psyche wasn't the only mythological figure that appeared. Daphne was there along with Athena, Diana, Ceres, Eros, Venus, the Maenads (Bacchantes), Hebe and Zeus....the list is practically endless. Each of these figures had a meaning for the Victorians. A woman wearing a Bacchante was very subtly advertising herself as a "wild" woman since the Bacchantes were devotees of wine, passion, and song.

I wonder how long it took a Victorian lady to dress everyday when practically every piece of clothing had a symbolism. What if you had an off day, got dressed quickly, and threw on something inadvertently lascivious? I don't think I would have done well in that world. I'm not nearly careful enough about clothing.

That being said, I do enjoy the "hidden meanings" behind these ubiquitous pieces of jewelry. A 1970's resin Three Graces my parents gave me for Christmas is a nice symbol for good cheer, beauty, and festivity. I have managed to get a nice shell Diana for myself (protector of animals, goddess of the moon, etc.), obtained a very nice Terpsichore (muse of Music) for my mother, and just today won an auction for a Psyche (the soul).

This will probably end my collecting. They are beautiful, but my LORD, they are costly on a school teacher's budget. Psyche is the one who started this quest, anyway. I will enjoy being able to wear her image, she who represents the soul, and I'll know, even if nobody else does, what she means.

Rain

Let the rain kiss you. Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops. Let the rain sing you a lullaby. ~Langston Hughes

Early this morning, long before dawn, it started raining. I struggled awake and, stupefied by sleep, started to get up to put the pans down in my bathroom to catch what I not-so-fondly call "the waterfall."

How nice it was to roll over, pull the covers back up to my ears (disgruntling cats along the way), and simply enjoy the sound of rain on the tin roof of the back part of the house. There were no leaks, no rivers, no pots to catch the drips. Rain has become an outdoor issue once again, and the peace I felt was absurdly transcendent.

It's such a relief not to have to arrange a barrier of towels and dishpans whenever clouds dot the sky. I can go away from the house with the sort of confidence one is supposed to have when one lives indoors. It's a small victory, surely, but it's one that's been a long time coming for me.

Total Chaos

I am sitting in my usual blogging spot, a rocking chair in my living room, and my refridgerator is almost close enough to touch. My dining chair currently serves as a cat perch at my shoulder, and I spent most of the day breaking down and emptying my bedroom closet. Life has GOT to get back to normal soon.

The man who is doing the repairs on the house is wonderful. I feel so confident now. Apparently, the whole thing was about to fall down. He's put in beams and insulation and floors. There are no longer crazy slopes to my kitchen floor or living room. It's a nice feeling.

As nice as it is to see these changes happening, I wish I could wake up tomorrow and not see my washer and dryer in my living room. Normalcy needs to return. Maybe by weeks end, I'll have linoleum and everything can move back to its usual place.

Shattered, Broken, Gone

"Playing in the fields of the Lord" -- epitaph on Britta's grave marker

I haven't written at all this week. In fact, I have just been going through the necessary motions with day-to-day life this week. On Monday, Britta was killed by a car.

I had been to Wal-Mart to pick up yet another big bag of dog food and I got home after dark. No graceful beast bounded across the yard to welcome me. At that moment, I knew. I called, hoping that she was off in the woods, although she was always waiting for me after dark. I listened, hoping against hope to hear that tiny musical jingle of her vaccination tag, but the only sound was that of the wind through the dead January tree limbs.

I got a flashlight, drove my car down to the road so I would have the headlights to see by, and started looking. I checked the ditches and the edge of the woods, but I didn't see anything, and for a few minutes, I started to hope. I even hoped that maybe somebody had taken her. At least that way, she'd be alive somewhere.

I called Mom and Dad who came down to help me. We looked and called and walked for about thirty minutes, and Dad found her. She'd been hit and was beside the road in a spot I had missed. They wouldn't let me see her until they'd wrapped her in a towel, but Mom was able to offer me the cold comfort that at least her death must have been quick.

She must have followed me to the road when I left for work. There's no other reason why she'd have been there. She never went to the road unless I was there, either leaving or coming in. She didn't chase cars; she was afraid of them.

My heart is broken. I know I only had her for a few short months, an accumulation of weeks, but I feel as though all the joy in my life has been shattered along with her poor brave body. Every time I look out the door, I expect to see her quizzical look. Today, I went about my Saturday routine, filling birdfeeders and tidying up the yard, and I had to sit down. Last weekend, I did the same thing with her playing and nuzzling me every step of the way. Today, the sky was the same bright blue, but there was no Britta to enliven me.

There's no more to say. She's buried out near the barn, and Mom made her a marker from an old metal barrel lid. I couldn't go out there until Thursday afternoon. When I saw the inscription, it was perfect. That is the way I am going to try to remember her, in full bound, racing across the yard...pure joy personified.

Mythology

I'm very taken by mythology. I read it at a very early age and kept on reading it.
Roger Zelazny

One of the first books I remember checking out of the library was a beautifully illustrated book about ancient Egypt. I can still remember the drawings. I was immediately hooked. I spent most of my summers reading about the gods and goddesses, learning how to write truly pitiful looking hieroglyphics, and dreaming of going to see the pyramids.

My early fascination with mythology never went away. Instead, it expanded to include other cultures. I love Greek and Roman mythology. Not as much as the Egyptians, but I have really enjoyed rediscovering the details of the myths as I have been teaching my AP students this year. My recent trip to Ireland got me digging into Celtic mythos. When I lived in Japan, I read book after book about Shinto gods and their folklore.

My favorite characters are spread among all these groups. I have always liked Thoth, the Egyptian god of magic and writing. The combination of those two areas under one deity intrigues me. I like the idea that writing is a form of magic. Another favorite comes from the Celts. I am intrigued by the Morrigan, the Battle Raven, the goddess of war and passionate love.

There are three Greco-Roman goddesses I find appealing: Diana, Athena, and Psyche. Diana, chaste goddess of the moon, protector of animals, is a figure I can identify with. I admire Athena, goddess of wisdom who burst from fully clad in armor from her father Zeus's head. The story of Psyche and her quest for true love with the god of love is probably my favorite myth.

I don't know what it is about these tales that draws me. Maybe it's the magic. Maybe it's the fact that cultures long gone and drastically different from my own had the same problems and the same quest to understand the world around them. In any case, I, like countless others before me, enjoy dusting off these old tales and exploring them in these modern times.

Two Collars, A Harness, and a Fitting

Today was hectic. I got to school for our work day and Mom called to say the builders were here and that Britta had to be chained. She came down to take care of it, and I told her that if Britta slipped the collar, she should call me and I'd come try to do something. Thirty minutes later, I got a call. Not only had Britta slipped the regular collar, she'd also slipped the choke chain.

I hastily left school, drove to the local Wal-Mart, bought two harnesses, and sped home. Britta and Mom were waiting when I got home. We had a three little bears moment (this harness is too small...this harness is to big... etc.), and I strapped her in. When I left, she was fussing and leaping about four feet straight up in the air.

This, apparently, was a strategy to loosen the buckles on the harness. Mom called right after I got back to my classroom to tell me Britta had slipped out of the new harness twice.

Now, the websites all warned me that pit bulls are escape artists. They are determined to the point of obsession. When they focus on something, they do whatever is necessary to obtain it. She, apparently, decided that being on the end of a chain wasn't on her agenda for the day. It was amazing. It had to have hurt. She ran the length of the chain and threw herself into the air to get out of this stuff.

Even though the construction crew eventually was okay with her being out, I have to have some way to restrain her just in case. Our local pet supply store has really great, knowledgeable people who work there, so I came home, loaded up Britta, and drove in to the store. She now has a very "bad dog" looking black leather harness which, in theory, she can't get out of. We'll see.

It was just tiring. Having to run back and forth between town and home all day wore me out. I did manage to get most of my preps for the week done, but, as usual, I have a hundred other things to get done.

This probably isn't very coherent, but I've been up 18 hours so far. I am going to go to bed, I think. Tomorrow, the kids return....

The New Year

If you're running a 26-mile marathon, remember that every mile is run one step at a time. If you are writing a book, do it one page at a time. If you're trying to master a new language, try it one word at a time. There are 365 days in the average year. Divide any project by 365 and you'll find that no job is all that intimidating.
~ Charles ( Chuck ) R. Swindoll

I can hardly believe this is the beginning of a new year. Where do the days go? Every Christmas and New Year, it always feels as though the days between have been a featureless blur. I can hardly believe that during the past year I went to the UK and Ireland, started teaching AP English, began renovation on the house, and got a really big dog. So much has happened.

I wonder what the year ahead will hold. Last night, as I waited for the end of the old year and the birth of the new, I heard the sound of exuberant fireworks all around me. In all the years I've lived here, I've never heard any fireworks. It made me feel like a part of a community, like I was not alone, even though I was in my pajamas in my livingroom and it was a foggy midnight outside. The sound filled me with a hopeful optimism that I haven't felt in a long, long time.

Another part of that optimism may be the fact that I just bought the missing supplies and tools to begin doing stained glass again. For those of you who don't know me well, during my undergrad years, I worked in a professional stained glass studio as an "apprentice." That time was the fulfillment of a fascination I'd had with stained glass since I was old enough to notice the stained glass window in the baptistry of our church. It's been years since I was able to do any work with glass, so I'm sure I'll have a lot to remember. I'm just excited that I have finally decided to step forward and begin.

For too long now, I've been saying "someday" to lots of things in my life. Some of them are small things; some of them are hobbies like the stained glass work. Some of them, however, are things that never should have been allowed to go by the wayside. I realized that I had not sent a single birthday card this year. I have everyone's birthday written in a calendar, but I never take the time to send the card. That may seem trivial to some, but it is just another symptom of how little contact I have had with my friends in the past year. Every other thing has taken that time, and this year, I want that to change.

I don't believe in formal resolutions. To me, making a statement like that is just like begging for failure. However, at this traditional time of reflection, I have found several areas I want to look at. I don't know if I'll be able to be successful, but perhaps the main thing is just to try.