Sunday, July 26, 2009

The way it should be:

Thanks to friend Mark for sending it. :)

Friday, July 24, 2009

Everything, all at once

Absolutely, this is a brilliant time for everything to happen at once! I am so excited to meet many of you who visited recently, and fully intend to come by your addresses, to veg on your virtual couches soon. Also thank you for being so lovely and supportive! What a great community this is!

I'm afraid I'm enduring a lesson of patience at the moment. Metaphorically, I'm standing in a batting cage with a broken pitch machine that spits the baseballs out one after the other - clearly too quick for anyone to manage - and I can't even pull back to swing. Lucy and Ethel are there, too, and everything goes horribly and comically wrong, and there's a laugh track and lipstick, and hair is falling out of place. It's all lovely and fun, mishaps and hilarity ensue, but at the same time there is real life to deal with, beyond the camera, where people are hired to do mundane things like bring coffee and do filing. I'd love to live in the sketch, to laugh and play and read blogs, but unfortunately I have some "have to's" to attend to right now instead.

I know it's a lousy excuse - that real life is getting in the way of me hanging out with my new friends. I do promise to visit soon! In the mean time, here are some lovely friendship quotes from women I very much admire. May they remind you of you and yours:

Anais Nin:
Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive, and it’s only by this meeting that a new world is born.

Dorothy Parker:
Constant use had not worn ragged the fabric of their friendship.

Edith Wharton:
I suppose there is one friend in the life of each of us who seems not a separate person, however dear and beloved, but an expansion, an interpretation, of one's self, the very meaning of one's soul.

Edna Buchanan:
Friends are the family we choose for ourselves.

Fran Lebowitz:
[Friendships] are easy to get out of compared to love affairs, but they are not easy to get out of compared to, say, jail.

Louise Bernikow:
Female friendships that work are relationships in which women help each other to belong to themselves.

Nancy Spain:
There are people whom one loves immediately and forever. Even to know they are alive in the world with one is quite enough.

(quotes borrowed from Women's Media)

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

She panicked when she realized she left them at home.

Good morning, friends! Some of you beat me to the punch! I haven't prepared a formal SITSta speech, though I suppose note cards were made in anticipation - "Start with a joke to warm 'em up. That always works." Sound advice. You write the joke. All is well, until you've arrived and realized you've left the note cards in your other evening purse. (sigh)

That's a bit how I'm feeling at the moment. :)

Anyway, please know that with or without prompting, you are most welcome here, in this thought garden. Take a look around. This is a place for friendly idea exchange, for griping and longing, politics and poetry, and, of course, mischief making! No comment is unworthy!

Sunday, July 19, 2009

Storms

It's stormy here, in more ways than one, but we must remember that storms are not catastrophes meant to decimate us. They nourish the earth with boisterous heat and blinding light, and send us indoors to contemplate the nature of ourselves.

Saturday, July 18, 2009

Beaten

In a world where one can find any "conclusive evidence" to back what she is saying, it is surprisingly difficult to actually form a cohesive argument. What I mean is that people are emotional, reactionary creatures. We have a deep seeded need to be "right" in order to justify our actions, and we'll use any argument to prove ourselves. We are especially good at manipulating emotions by using words such as "God! Justice! Freedom!" and any other store of "evidence" we've gathered from our cultural norms.


Unfortunately, sometimes when we are at our wits end - when we know we're sunk, in over our heads, dead wrong, up shit creek (you get the idea)- the most most moving counter one can come up with is, "Oh yeah?! Well, my dad can beat up your dad!" This is ultimate desperation play, and, by the way, is a total lie for most of us. But she - the opponent - didn't know that.

Lately, I've been fighting a battle. Seriously. I've gone "to the mat." And literally, too - as in, one on one, face to mat. Because my proverbial nose is so smushed in, and I can't breath anything but sweaty, mildewed vinyl mixed with the sulfury smell of my own proverbial blood, I think it's safe to say that I lost. K.O. Game over. Roll credits.

As many of you know, I am sort of a wanna-be activist, though the only "march" or "protest" I've ever participated in was when I found myself blissfully lost in DC, and I accidentally stumbled into a march for Haitian rights. I did stop by the "Stop the War" camp in Parliament Square last time I was in London and shared an umbrella and a chat with some very interesting people who were staying there for a season. (Read more about the company I keep and then tell me I'm pretty)*

I want to be conscientious of issues, even if I am not participating in a march. What I'm learning - and this pertains to the fight - is that it is ridiculous for me - an average person, of average intelligence and height - to assume that I can win an argument against a full fledged activist. I don't have the wherewithal or the gumption. My battle scars aren't deep enough, and my tears are too salty. I also learned a little about cruelty and compassion, that if one can successfully mix the two in just the right amounts, one is assured "victory".

It doesn't matter what the argument was that caused me to be lying limp and broken on this mat, her shadow lording over me. Her win was in her concluding remarks - full of righteous indignance and God and poetry. I mean, who can argue with that? She won. Not because she's smarter than me or right, but because she knows the correct way to argue - the winning rhetorical combination - the right one, two.

It turns out it takes a few good ass kickings to learn how to respond to certain bullies, even ones who claim that "God is on their side". It also turns out I am a very good student.

*I am a member of a list (hardly active on my part,but very active on my friend, Mark's) that advocates true community cohesion and decision making, what they call a Campaign for Real Democracy. My teaching job is quite a platform for activism. The International Baccalaureate Program I teach with promotes international mindedness (not globalization), in an effort to help people embrace cultural differences. "Tolerating" differences implies that a negative judgement has been made. We must do more. Some of my friends in Arizona "break the law" by leaving gallon water jugs in the desert for people who are trying to cross the border and who sometimes die of dehydration in their efforts. (The activists from the Restoration Project were acquitted, by the way. It turns out leaving water in the desert so that people don't die is a difficult case to prosecute morally.)

7 Traits Meme

My best friend since I was four and she was three (Jen), asked me to participate in a seven traits meme. First of all, I have to say that I'm stumbling around with this assignment. I'm allowing myself to list the first seven things that come to mind, instead of brooding over a list of 20 and narrowing it down to the ones that sound the most interesting or that I can write about well. Here goes:

1. Sweet - Everyone calls me that or sweetheart. I suppose when people say it, they mean it as a compliment, but I've always been annoyed by the label. I think people mistake sweet for considerate and I would much rather be considerate. Sweet has such a negative connotation.. like I'm gullible, or naive. Another word that erks me similarly is the word average.

2. Diplomatically Honest - I will tell you the truth.. in the most polite way. I can turn a negative assessment into something hopeful. If, for example, I read a terribly written paper, I might tell the student, "I see what you're trying to do here and I think you're on the right track, but be careful with your sentence structure. You might construe a different meaning than what you intended - Label your pronouns. :)" Or "Interesting idea, but you haven't proven it. More examples from the text would help solidify your assertion." I do this in real life, outside of the classroom, too. Just so you know, if I'm ever mean to you rather than being diplomatic, then you have been beyond cruel to me.

3. Passionate - I have a bleeding heart, one that's quick to love and one that wants to be loved in return. Poetry is essential for the passionate.

4. Worried - This is a side-kick of passion, I think. The family joke growing up was that my mom and brother were outside doing something fun, and my dad and I were inside worrying about it. Bill Bryson says that worrying is part of our genetic construct. That makes me feel a little better, seeing as I was worried about why I worry so much.

5. Inquisitive - There is so much I want to know and learn and read about. I might be a great researcher, except that if I see something shiny out of the corner of my eye, I run for it. I'm surprisingly scatterbrained for someone so curious, and I hate to sit still. Sometimes sleep even seems like a waste of time.

6. Determined - I won the "I'd Rather Do It Myself" award in fourth grade from Mrs. Burciaga with the gnarled, arthritic fingers, pristinely (and ironically) manicured. Her hand was like a claw that she would rest on your shoulder - a perfectly sculpted, shimmering, French tipped claw- capable of sending chill bumps down your spine and triggering your "fight or flight" instinct. (See? Shiny!) Anyway, I will reach my goals..

7. Creative - Some might say "dreamer" or "artistic." I think creative is more like it. I won another award in grade school - the "Just Say No to Drugs Essay Contest." How did I win? My essay was about my sadly misguided cousin who turned to drugs- crack and heroin, and gin- which, of course, led to her withdrawal from our family and the church (breaking her own mother's generous heart and Jesus' too), lower grades (duh), and bulimia (a painful twist). I painted so moving a picture, using a prolonged hospital stay to show the dire consequences of drug use - a real tear jerker - that I won the contest. The story was made up. Completely. Maybe instead of creative, the trait should read "manipulative". But there it is. I got a red t-shirt out of it that I wore to the Barbara Bush Just Say No To Drugs balloon letting ceremony, the balloons full of little pieces of papers with the misleading inscription, "Drug free is the choice for me!" and signed by every student in the school.

OK. I'm tired. But that was fun, too! Thanks, Jen! I think I'm supposed to tag people now, but I sometimes feel like tagging is akin to forwarding a mass chain email that includes a picture of a kitten and/in a bucket, an eagle (with or without stars and stripes behind him) looking confidently over the purple mountains majesty, and a Bible verse directly from the book of 1st Salipaticus. (Fight or flight! FIGHT.OR.FLIGHT!)

SO, I'll leave it to you if you'd like to do this meme. I would love to read about you!

Friday, July 17, 2009

Musings on God and Doughnuts

"What came back to me then was the sign that used to be in the window of the Downyflake Doughnut, at the Sunnyside Amusement Park, in - what was it? - the summer of 1935:

'As you ramble on through life, Brother,
Whatever be your goal,
Keep your eye upon the doughnut,
And not upon the hole'

"A paradox, the doughnut hole. Empty space, once, but now they've learned to market even that. A minus quantity; nothing, rendered edible. I wonder if they might be used - metaphorically, of course - to demonstrate the existence of God. Does naming a sphere of nothingness transmute into being?"

--from The Blind Assassin by Margaret Atwood

It's scary to think of it, but probably necessary. I wonder what we've done, regarding God. I don't believe we've "named a sphere of nothingness" because God exists in a very real way, but we sure have done some renaming. Somehow in our very human (and immature) drive for superiority - to be the best! - we've managed to make God a commodity, selling our ideas to any takers, hopefully the ones with the most influence.

Too harsh for a Friday morning?

In sincerity, lets go back to the happiness of doughnut holes and morning coffee, then. This post is merely meant to provoke thoughts, not anger.

Monday, July 13, 2009

Overheard: Interesting Subject

The subject line of an educational e-newsletter I receive reads:

Your view on teacher charged with attempted murder plus end of year gift ideas!

Saturday, July 11, 2009

I Love to Feel The Rain in the Summertime

Every year about this time, I start griping about summer. You'd think I'd love it seeing as I am a teacher and this is "my time off." Many have said that having free summers is a great reason to be a teacher.

So, it turns out that this is actually not my "time off." I'm still working, and I'm not getting paid for it. Because I teach, it is assumed that I will do extra tasks happily because it is "for the betterment of the kids, i.e. the society." Actually, I agree that it is. And honestly, I do do the extra stuff because I enjoy doing it. I just hate the assumption, one that is made worse when people throw in a platitude about how lucky teachers are that they get to have so much vacation time. For the record, I've formally taught summer school once and vowed never to do it again (not because of the kids, but because of the burn out I experienced the next year in October). I have, however, worked every summer, revamping assignments, going to trainings, reading(!), collaborating with other members of my department, etc..

Incidentally, the same folks who list "summers off" as a lucky break for teachers are the same ones who smother teachers in common cliches such as, "Teachers are so important. You definitely should get paid more," and then they vote against raising taxes. They're the same ones who say, "Geez. You're job is so difficult. It takes a really special person to do it," and then they treat the school like it's Wal-mart and the teachers like they are customer service reps. Some pretend that they get to tell us what they would like to see happen in the classroom - like ordering off of a menu- and then they file complaints to management when the product isn't what they thought they paid for. I've heard parents tell their kids, "not to listen to that stupid teacher," when their child hasn't gotten his/her way.

Honestly, it really isn't their fault. We've allowed this sort of disrespect in our society in several ways:

*by not respecting that the teacher/student relationship is not a business transaction, but part of a sacred tradition involving mutual respect and understanding^

*by allowing bad teachers to continue to teach^

*by allowing those with the loudest voices to rule the day

*by filling our classrooms with so many students that teachers don't have time to guide each one^

* by making students and teachers adhere to state guidelines/statistics that look important on paper, but that have no real value^

* by allowing money to be the means of deciding who our heroes are
and/or (even more apt) undervaluing members of society who do not have a lot of money^

*etc. and on and on

^= money at the state or local level is involved in some way

I didn't intend this to be a rant. In fact, when I sat down to write this morning, I thought I would talk about the burden of summer - the heat, the lack of structure, the monotony. I guess I should be grateful that, if I want to, I can choose to go to the mall today or to the neighborhood pool. But those things will have to wait until I'm done grading the summer assignments, until I read some new poetry (possibly to teach next year), until I find out about the required reading for the conference I'll attend in two weeks, until I consider how I want next year to be different.

Friday, July 10, 2009

Sam Phillips - Where the Colors Don't Go

This sound reminds me of my youth, where The Bangels and Cyndi Laupper ruled the world..

Wednesday, July 8, 2009

A Different Kind of Battle

"We give the enemy the maximum opportunity to give his life for his country." - a motto widely used and recognized by the United States Military (especially by colonel Michael Dane Steele and the Rakkasans).

The first time I really considered the idea factions of the US military were corrupt, or at least partially so, was when I saw the movie, In the Valley of Elah, when Tommy Lee Jones flew the American flag up-side-down, signifying a country in distress. Of course we had seen glimpses in several other movies like A Few Good Men etc., but in the movie world, usually the "good" soldiers would come in and expose the baddies: Jack Nicholson-like egotists would confess their crimes causing their own downfalls, and we all would cheer and wave flags and sing the Battle Hymn of the Republic.

Before I go any further and cause offense to my more patriotic readers, I would like to remind everyone that I am not anti-military or anti-US. I would also like to point out that I believe that blind patriotism is a very bad thing for any country and part of what makes our country great is that we are encouraged to question (as is necessary in true democracy) so that we can become part of the checks and balances system that keeps our country on the right track. I believe it is the duty of our citizens to inquire (to think!), and I am saddened when I see people embracing morally wrong acts in the name of patriotism. Protesting (voicing one's opinion, peacefully) is one of the most patriotic things one can do in a democracy. We know too well what protesting leads to in countries that do not embrace democracy. Specifically, see what's happening in Tehran or in Urumqi.

Back to the point.

Today was not the first time I came across the above mentioned quote. As a 12th grade teacher, many of my students opt to join the military. I actually had one who went to boot camp the summer before his senior year. All he could talk about was killing. In fact, one day when we were discussing some general philosophy (probably as an introduction to The Stranger - something like whether or not it is ever morally right to kill), the conversation turned to current events. With an arrogant air the student used the exact quote, word for word, to support his claim that some lives were worth less than others. He was in favor of "nuking the (Middle Eastern) bastards" because, "they're all terrorists, anyway, which makes it Ok." By the way, he was not familiar with where the actual fighting is taking place and he could not point out Iraq, Afghanistan, or Pakistan on a map much less discuss the politics of any of it.

I tried not to react in anger. I took a deep breath and found myself utterly dumb. There was no response I could give that would undo boot camp. All that came out was "I cannot begin to explain to you, not only how wrong you are, but also how sad I feel that you can even entertain that idea." He tried to explain himself, but I interrupted to change the subject because my heart couldn't take it, and because (to some relief) several of my students physically stood up in protest.

I realize that the military is struggling with whether or not to "rebuild" certain areas, giving food and water to those who are cut off from it in war torn places, while trying to "hunt" the bad guys. Guerrilla warfare changes the rules of engagement. I understand that. What I don't understand is how it is ever Ok to kill civilians (or anyone for that matter), much less take pleasure in it. To do so diminishes our humanity, and takes away our honor. It makes us the terrorists.

There are many inquests going on in the military in the hopes of restoring some of the lost dignity to our armed forces. There are some very good men serving our country. In fact, many of them are my students, my kids. We owe it to them to shut down statements like the one Col. Steele likes to wield, and restore the good qualities in our heroes.

Tuesday, July 7, 2009

Overheard: Iranian Expression

Describing Ahmadinejad's um.. circumstance:

"As one Iranian-American observer put it, using an indelicate Iranian expression, the leader has a saw in his posterior: he can't go forward and he can't go back. Unfortunately even to hold still looks excruciating..."

Secor, Laura."Protest Vote." The New Yorker: June 29, 2009.

Monday, July 6, 2009

Installment One: Fear

The first time I heard the knocking I thought it came from behind me. My first thought was one of fear. Someone was watching me and they had bumped something against the window. Because it was dark outside, I wouldn't be able to see who it was, but they could clearly see me in my house with the lights on. I told myself to be rational, that the sound was probably my neighbor, Tony, closing the gate to his backyard. But before I could calm my nerves, I heard the same soft knocking sound at my front door.

It was 9:30 PM. If someone was knocking on my door at 9:30, it was way to late to open it. Again I tried very hard to entertain the notion that maybe it was nothing, that I had imagined the noises and that I was just a little nervous about being alone in the house. Surely it was the TV or something else ridiculously ordinary. I muted the TV just to prove to myself that it was nothing. No noise. Phew.

I went back to what I was doing and tried not to remember any thrasher movies I had EVER seen in my entire life. I tried not to think about all of the CSI's and SVU's and Criminal Minds that began with knocking at the front door and that obviously ended poorly for the person inside the house. When I looked down I saw that my hands were shaking. And the knocking came again.

Cautiously, I walked toward the door. If it truly was something or someone roaming around the house at that inconvenient hour, I had to confront it or ignore it, depending on what I found. It seemed like it took me hours to reach the front door, I was creeping so slowly. Finally, I peeked out the side window next to the door, eyes halfway closed, not wanting to see what it was. To my relief and annoyance, I saw nothing.

Then I heard the knocking again, but it was coming from the baby's room this time.

I was trembling, but resolved. No one and nothing would keep me apart from the baby. Hell no. With a new found courage, I straitened my back and walked to the baby's room door which was closed. I couldn't hear anything, so I leaned in to listen more carefully.

All of a sudden the door rattled! I stumbled back in fear, stifling a scream. My mind was reeling. Whoever or whatever was making the noise was not only real and in the house, it was was in his room. I would have to fight!

I flung open the door with as much bravery I could muster and it jumped out at me with a cry!

It took my mind a few seconds to catch up to the realization that what had startled me was my very own cat.

"Damn cat!" I thought, still shaking. "Jeez, Ginger! What the hell did you think it was?" I asked under my breath. Thinking about the answer to that question was way too much to acknowledge.

So the cat had been trapped in the baby's room and the knocking I had heard in the living room was coming from the baby monitor! After standing stunned for a minute, I went into the baby' s room. He was still asleep, thankfully. The ruckus had not woken him. I tucked the blanket around him, then I sheepishly shuffled back to the living room, turned on more lights for security, walked to my bedroom and buried myself under the blankets.

You're probably wondering why I'm so skittish. There is an answer. Multiple ones, actually. Check back for installment two.

This is not installment one

Ok. I'll admit it. I'm a big fat fraidy cat.
There. I said it.

If you hadn't gathered it from my third person, melospazmatic, esoteric previous post, my partner is away for the week and I am left behind to take care of our baby son by myself. This is the first time I've attempted single mommyhood, so you all should immediately pray for me (him).. after rolling your eyes and flipping me off, of course.

Sure I understand that mostly this will be a lesson in patience. I'm not afraid of that part. What bothers me is something else. Something that has bothered me since I was a kid: As soon as I'm alone at night, I am absolutely certain that they're coming for me..

Of course there's a story. Stay tuned for installment one of what is sure to be a cascading list of anxieties. For now, I'm going to make coffee to ward off the sleep demons (who were certainly absent last night - assholes!). Must. Stay. Awake. So that. Baby. Will. Live!

Sunday, July 5, 2009

Patience

"I know it's crazy and mostly selfish," she said as she was driving him to the airport. It was not the right time to be having this conversation. He was leaving for an entire week and she knew that now was not the time to be discussing long term hopes and dreams. It was the time to be discussing how much she would miss him and how lonely she would feel, like a part of her heart was gone, without him.

He listened patiently. Everything he did for her was done patiently.

"I mean I don't really get it, but when I saw the map of the street, I just became all giddy and nostalgic," she said. " I miss the community - their faces. It makes no sense." She paused to bite her lower lip like she always does when she feels insecure. "Sorry. I'll shut up now. It's silly."

And really, who was she to be talking about such things, especially when he was flying away in a few hours and on the verge of doing something really important. She had had her share of significant moments, and it seemed as though she was taking this one away from him by talking about her nonsensical dreams.

They sat in silence for a while. She waited for him to speak.

"I think I get it," he started. "It's like falling in love. You get that warm feeling every time you think of it. Only instead of falling in love with a person, you're in love with a place, one where you obviously fit and that fits you."

She blushed and then nodded. "Yes," she admitted. Then she blurted, "It isn't very pretty there," as if she were trying to belittle what all of a sudden felt like an indiscretion. "When people think of their ideal location, this place doesn't even make the long list."

"People don't always fall in love with the prettiest person in the room. Love isn't about that," he reminded her.

"But what about you?" she protested. "What if the place I love isn't the same one you love. Where is the place you love? We should go there."

"I used to feel like it was here." he sighed. "Now I'm not sure.." He paused. "Also, though, I do know that next to you is the place I love, wherever that is. I can build community anywhere."

"But that's not fair," she said. "This shouldn't be about me."

"You can't always help who you fall in love with, or where," he said. "Sometimes love works and sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes it's possible and sometimes it's not. We'll see what happens."

"But it seems so far away," she thought to herself.

He took her hand, knowing that she was uncertain. Anxious.

A feeling of warmth for him enveloped her- his understanding of all the quirks, his support of things that mattered to her, his enduring patience. And now he was going. She dropped him at the terminal, leaving him, with kisses, to his adventure, without her.

As she drove away, she bit her lower lip.

Overheard: June Bugs

At the neighborhood pool:

"Don't let the June bugs get in your hair!"

"Why not? Are they hard to get out or something?"

- a big brother to his younger one

Overheard: The State of England

At dinner the other night:

"See, what you need to understand is England is a state in the UK."

- a man on a (probably first) date with a girl, sitting at the next table over

Thursday, July 2, 2009

Be Fine

In The Blind Assassin, Margaret Atwood says:

"Why is it we want so badly to memorialize ourselves? Even while we're still alive. We wish to assert our existence, like dogs peeing on fire hydrants. We put on display our framed photographs, our parchment diplomas, our silver plated cups; we monogram linen, we carve our names on trees , we scrawl them on washroom walls. It's all the same impulse. What do we hope from it? Applause, envy, respect? Or simply attention, of any kind we can get?

"At the very least we want a witness. We can't stand the idea of our own voices falling silent finally, like a radio running down."




It occurred to me when I read this that blogging is another means of trying to make ourselves matter - to stay alive longer than our bodies will allow, knowing that while we are so obviously (and sometimes secretly) relevant to the ones immediately in front of us, in the long run we are nothing.

It sounds very nihilistic when I say it, but I think the secret is to be fine -as in "of superior quality, skill or appearance" AND "very small in size"- with our insignificance.

Wednesday, July 1, 2009


-yo contra ellos

Friday, July 24, 2009

Everything, all at once

Absolutely, this is a brilliant time for everything to happen at once! I am so excited to meet many of you who visited recently, and fully intend to come by your addresses, to veg on your virtual couches soon. Also thank you for being so lovely and supportive! What a great community this is!

I'm afraid I'm enduring a lesson of patience at the moment. Metaphorically, I'm standing in a batting cage with a broken pitch machine that spits the baseballs out one after the other - clearly too quick for anyone to manage - and I can't even pull back to swing. Lucy and Ethel are there, too, and everything goes horribly and comically wrong, and there's a laugh track and lipstick, and hair is falling out of place. It's all lovely and fun, mishaps and hilarity ensue, but at the same time there is real life to deal with, beyond the camera, where people are hired to do mundane things like bring coffee and do filing. I'd love to live in the sketch, to laugh and play and read blogs, but unfortunately I have some "have to's" to attend to right now instead.

I know it's a lousy excuse - that real life is getting in the way of me hanging out with my new friends. I do promise to visit soon! In the mean time, here are some lovely friendship quotes from women I very much admire. May they remind you of you and yours:

Anais Nin:
Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive, and it’s only by this meeting that a new world is born.

Dorothy Parker:
Constant use had not worn ragged the fabric of their friendship.

Edith Wharton:
I suppose there is one friend in the life of each of us who seems not a separate person, however dear and beloved, but an expansion, an interpretation, of one's self, the very meaning of one's soul.

Edna Buchanan:
Friends are the family we choose for ourselves.

Fran Lebowitz:
[Friendships] are easy to get out of compared to love affairs, but they are not easy to get out of compared to, say, jail.

Louise Bernikow:
Female friendships that work are relationships in which women help each other to belong to themselves.

Nancy Spain:
There are people whom one loves immediately and forever. Even to know they are alive in the world with one is quite enough.

(quotes borrowed from Women's Media)

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

She panicked when she realized she left them at home.

Good morning, friends! Some of you beat me to the punch! I haven't prepared a formal SITSta speech, though I suppose note cards were made in anticipation - "Start with a joke to warm 'em up. That always works." Sound advice. You write the joke. All is well, until you've arrived and realized you've left the note cards in your other evening purse. (sigh)

That's a bit how I'm feeling at the moment. :)

Anyway, please know that with or without prompting, you are most welcome here, in this thought garden. Take a look around. This is a place for friendly idea exchange, for griping and longing, politics and poetry, and, of course, mischief making! No comment is unworthy!

Sunday, July 19, 2009

Storms

It's stormy here, in more ways than one, but we must remember that storms are not catastrophes meant to decimate us. They nourish the earth with boisterous heat and blinding light, and send us indoors to contemplate the nature of ourselves.

Saturday, July 18, 2009

Beaten

In a world where one can find any "conclusive evidence" to back what she is saying, it is surprisingly difficult to actually form a cohesive argument. What I mean is that people are emotional, reactionary creatures. We have a deep seeded need to be "right" in order to justify our actions, and we'll use any argument to prove ourselves. We are especially good at manipulating emotions by using words such as "God! Justice! Freedom!" and any other store of "evidence" we've gathered from our cultural norms.


Unfortunately, sometimes when we are at our wits end - when we know we're sunk, in over our heads, dead wrong, up shit creek (you get the idea)- the most most moving counter one can come up with is, "Oh yeah?! Well, my dad can beat up your dad!" This is ultimate desperation play, and, by the way, is a total lie for most of us. But she - the opponent - didn't know that.

Lately, I've been fighting a battle. Seriously. I've gone "to the mat." And literally, too - as in, one on one, face to mat. Because my proverbial nose is so smushed in, and I can't breath anything but sweaty, mildewed vinyl mixed with the sulfury smell of my own proverbial blood, I think it's safe to say that I lost. K.O. Game over. Roll credits.

As many of you know, I am sort of a wanna-be activist, though the only "march" or "protest" I've ever participated in was when I found myself blissfully lost in DC, and I accidentally stumbled into a march for Haitian rights. I did stop by the "Stop the War" camp in Parliament Square last time I was in London and shared an umbrella and a chat with some very interesting people who were staying there for a season. (Read more about the company I keep and then tell me I'm pretty)*

I want to be conscientious of issues, even if I am not participating in a march. What I'm learning - and this pertains to the fight - is that it is ridiculous for me - an average person, of average intelligence and height - to assume that I can win an argument against a full fledged activist. I don't have the wherewithal or the gumption. My battle scars aren't deep enough, and my tears are too salty. I also learned a little about cruelty and compassion, that if one can successfully mix the two in just the right amounts, one is assured "victory".

It doesn't matter what the argument was that caused me to be lying limp and broken on this mat, her shadow lording over me. Her win was in her concluding remarks - full of righteous indignance and God and poetry. I mean, who can argue with that? She won. Not because she's smarter than me or right, but because she knows the correct way to argue - the winning rhetorical combination - the right one, two.

It turns out it takes a few good ass kickings to learn how to respond to certain bullies, even ones who claim that "God is on their side". It also turns out I am a very good student.

*I am a member of a list (hardly active on my part,but very active on my friend, Mark's) that advocates true community cohesion and decision making, what they call a Campaign for Real Democracy. My teaching job is quite a platform for activism. The International Baccalaureate Program I teach with promotes international mindedness (not globalization), in an effort to help people embrace cultural differences. "Tolerating" differences implies that a negative judgement has been made. We must do more. Some of my friends in Arizona "break the law" by leaving gallon water jugs in the desert for people who are trying to cross the border and who sometimes die of dehydration in their efforts. (The activists from the Restoration Project were acquitted, by the way. It turns out leaving water in the desert so that people don't die is a difficult case to prosecute morally.)

7 Traits Meme

My best friend since I was four and she was three (Jen), asked me to participate in a seven traits meme. First of all, I have to say that I'm stumbling around with this assignment. I'm allowing myself to list the first seven things that come to mind, instead of brooding over a list of 20 and narrowing it down to the ones that sound the most interesting or that I can write about well. Here goes:

1. Sweet - Everyone calls me that or sweetheart. I suppose when people say it, they mean it as a compliment, but I've always been annoyed by the label. I think people mistake sweet for considerate and I would much rather be considerate. Sweet has such a negative connotation.. like I'm gullible, or naive. Another word that erks me similarly is the word average.

2. Diplomatically Honest - I will tell you the truth.. in the most polite way. I can turn a negative assessment into something hopeful. If, for example, I read a terribly written paper, I might tell the student, "I see what you're trying to do here and I think you're on the right track, but be careful with your sentence structure. You might construe a different meaning than what you intended - Label your pronouns. :)" Or "Interesting idea, but you haven't proven it. More examples from the text would help solidify your assertion." I do this in real life, outside of the classroom, too. Just so you know, if I'm ever mean to you rather than being diplomatic, then you have been beyond cruel to me.

3. Passionate - I have a bleeding heart, one that's quick to love and one that wants to be loved in return. Poetry is essential for the passionate.

4. Worried - This is a side-kick of passion, I think. The family joke growing up was that my mom and brother were outside doing something fun, and my dad and I were inside worrying about it. Bill Bryson says that worrying is part of our genetic construct. That makes me feel a little better, seeing as I was worried about why I worry so much.

5. Inquisitive - There is so much I want to know and learn and read about. I might be a great researcher, except that if I see something shiny out of the corner of my eye, I run for it. I'm surprisingly scatterbrained for someone so curious, and I hate to sit still. Sometimes sleep even seems like a waste of time.

6. Determined - I won the "I'd Rather Do It Myself" award in fourth grade from Mrs. Burciaga with the gnarled, arthritic fingers, pristinely (and ironically) manicured. Her hand was like a claw that she would rest on your shoulder - a perfectly sculpted, shimmering, French tipped claw- capable of sending chill bumps down your spine and triggering your "fight or flight" instinct. (See? Shiny!) Anyway, I will reach my goals..

7. Creative - Some might say "dreamer" or "artistic." I think creative is more like it. I won another award in grade school - the "Just Say No to Drugs Essay Contest." How did I win? My essay was about my sadly misguided cousin who turned to drugs- crack and heroin, and gin- which, of course, led to her withdrawal from our family and the church (breaking her own mother's generous heart and Jesus' too), lower grades (duh), and bulimia (a painful twist). I painted so moving a picture, using a prolonged hospital stay to show the dire consequences of drug use - a real tear jerker - that I won the contest. The story was made up. Completely. Maybe instead of creative, the trait should read "manipulative". But there it is. I got a red t-shirt out of it that I wore to the Barbara Bush Just Say No To Drugs balloon letting ceremony, the balloons full of little pieces of papers with the misleading inscription, "Drug free is the choice for me!" and signed by every student in the school.

OK. I'm tired. But that was fun, too! Thanks, Jen! I think I'm supposed to tag people now, but I sometimes feel like tagging is akin to forwarding a mass chain email that includes a picture of a kitten and/in a bucket, an eagle (with or without stars and stripes behind him) looking confidently over the purple mountains majesty, and a Bible verse directly from the book of 1st Salipaticus. (Fight or flight! FIGHT.OR.FLIGHT!)

SO, I'll leave it to you if you'd like to do this meme. I would love to read about you!

Friday, July 17, 2009

Musings on God and Doughnuts

"What came back to me then was the sign that used to be in the window of the Downyflake Doughnut, at the Sunnyside Amusement Park, in - what was it? - the summer of 1935:

'As you ramble on through life, Brother,
Whatever be your goal,
Keep your eye upon the doughnut,
And not upon the hole'

"A paradox, the doughnut hole. Empty space, once, but now they've learned to market even that. A minus quantity; nothing, rendered edible. I wonder if they might be used - metaphorically, of course - to demonstrate the existence of God. Does naming a sphere of nothingness transmute into being?"

--from The Blind Assassin by Margaret Atwood

It's scary to think of it, but probably necessary. I wonder what we've done, regarding God. I don't believe we've "named a sphere of nothingness" because God exists in a very real way, but we sure have done some renaming. Somehow in our very human (and immature) drive for superiority - to be the best! - we've managed to make God a commodity, selling our ideas to any takers, hopefully the ones with the most influence.

Too harsh for a Friday morning?

In sincerity, lets go back to the happiness of doughnut holes and morning coffee, then. This post is merely meant to provoke thoughts, not anger.

Monday, July 13, 2009

Overheard: Interesting Subject

The subject line of an educational e-newsletter I receive reads:

Your view on teacher charged with attempted murder plus end of year gift ideas!

Saturday, July 11, 2009

I Love to Feel The Rain in the Summertime

Every year about this time, I start griping about summer. You'd think I'd love it seeing as I am a teacher and this is "my time off." Many have said that having free summers is a great reason to be a teacher.

So, it turns out that this is actually not my "time off." I'm still working, and I'm not getting paid for it. Because I teach, it is assumed that I will do extra tasks happily because it is "for the betterment of the kids, i.e. the society." Actually, I agree that it is. And honestly, I do do the extra stuff because I enjoy doing it. I just hate the assumption, one that is made worse when people throw in a platitude about how lucky teachers are that they get to have so much vacation time. For the record, I've formally taught summer school once and vowed never to do it again (not because of the kids, but because of the burn out I experienced the next year in October). I have, however, worked every summer, revamping assignments, going to trainings, reading(!), collaborating with other members of my department, etc..

Incidentally, the same folks who list "summers off" as a lucky break for teachers are the same ones who smother teachers in common cliches such as, "Teachers are so important. You definitely should get paid more," and then they vote against raising taxes. They're the same ones who say, "Geez. You're job is so difficult. It takes a really special person to do it," and then they treat the school like it's Wal-mart and the teachers like they are customer service reps. Some pretend that they get to tell us what they would like to see happen in the classroom - like ordering off of a menu- and then they file complaints to management when the product isn't what they thought they paid for. I've heard parents tell their kids, "not to listen to that stupid teacher," when their child hasn't gotten his/her way.

Honestly, it really isn't their fault. We've allowed this sort of disrespect in our society in several ways:

*by not respecting that the teacher/student relationship is not a business transaction, but part of a sacred tradition involving mutual respect and understanding^

*by allowing bad teachers to continue to teach^

*by allowing those with the loudest voices to rule the day

*by filling our classrooms with so many students that teachers don't have time to guide each one^

* by making students and teachers adhere to state guidelines/statistics that look important on paper, but that have no real value^

* by allowing money to be the means of deciding who our heroes are
and/or (even more apt) undervaluing members of society who do not have a lot of money^

*etc. and on and on

^= money at the state or local level is involved in some way

I didn't intend this to be a rant. In fact, when I sat down to write this morning, I thought I would talk about the burden of summer - the heat, the lack of structure, the monotony. I guess I should be grateful that, if I want to, I can choose to go to the mall today or to the neighborhood pool. But those things will have to wait until I'm done grading the summer assignments, until I read some new poetry (possibly to teach next year), until I find out about the required reading for the conference I'll attend in two weeks, until I consider how I want next year to be different.

Friday, July 10, 2009

Sam Phillips - Where the Colors Don't Go

This sound reminds me of my youth, where The Bangels and Cyndi Laupper ruled the world..

Wednesday, July 8, 2009

A Different Kind of Battle

"We give the enemy the maximum opportunity to give his life for his country." - a motto widely used and recognized by the United States Military (especially by colonel Michael Dane Steele and the Rakkasans).

The first time I really considered the idea factions of the US military were corrupt, or at least partially so, was when I saw the movie, In the Valley of Elah, when Tommy Lee Jones flew the American flag up-side-down, signifying a country in distress. Of course we had seen glimpses in several other movies like A Few Good Men etc., but in the movie world, usually the "good" soldiers would come in and expose the baddies: Jack Nicholson-like egotists would confess their crimes causing their own downfalls, and we all would cheer and wave flags and sing the Battle Hymn of the Republic.

Before I go any further and cause offense to my more patriotic readers, I would like to remind everyone that I am not anti-military or anti-US. I would also like to point out that I believe that blind patriotism is a very bad thing for any country and part of what makes our country great is that we are encouraged to question (as is necessary in true democracy) so that we can become part of the checks and balances system that keeps our country on the right track. I believe it is the duty of our citizens to inquire (to think!), and I am saddened when I see people embracing morally wrong acts in the name of patriotism. Protesting (voicing one's opinion, peacefully) is one of the most patriotic things one can do in a democracy. We know too well what protesting leads to in countries that do not embrace democracy. Specifically, see what's happening in Tehran or in Urumqi.

Back to the point.

Today was not the first time I came across the above mentioned quote. As a 12th grade teacher, many of my students opt to join the military. I actually had one who went to boot camp the summer before his senior year. All he could talk about was killing. In fact, one day when we were discussing some general philosophy (probably as an introduction to The Stranger - something like whether or not it is ever morally right to kill), the conversation turned to current events. With an arrogant air the student used the exact quote, word for word, to support his claim that some lives were worth less than others. He was in favor of "nuking the (Middle Eastern) bastards" because, "they're all terrorists, anyway, which makes it Ok." By the way, he was not familiar with where the actual fighting is taking place and he could not point out Iraq, Afghanistan, or Pakistan on a map much less discuss the politics of any of it.

I tried not to react in anger. I took a deep breath and found myself utterly dumb. There was no response I could give that would undo boot camp. All that came out was "I cannot begin to explain to you, not only how wrong you are, but also how sad I feel that you can even entertain that idea." He tried to explain himself, but I interrupted to change the subject because my heart couldn't take it, and because (to some relief) several of my students physically stood up in protest.

I realize that the military is struggling with whether or not to "rebuild" certain areas, giving food and water to those who are cut off from it in war torn places, while trying to "hunt" the bad guys. Guerrilla warfare changes the rules of engagement. I understand that. What I don't understand is how it is ever Ok to kill civilians (or anyone for that matter), much less take pleasure in it. To do so diminishes our humanity, and takes away our honor. It makes us the terrorists.

There are many inquests going on in the military in the hopes of restoring some of the lost dignity to our armed forces. There are some very good men serving our country. In fact, many of them are my students, my kids. We owe it to them to shut down statements like the one Col. Steele likes to wield, and restore the good qualities in our heroes.

Tuesday, July 7, 2009

Overheard: Iranian Expression

Describing Ahmadinejad's um.. circumstance:

"As one Iranian-American observer put it, using an indelicate Iranian expression, the leader has a saw in his posterior: he can't go forward and he can't go back. Unfortunately even to hold still looks excruciating..."

Secor, Laura."Protest Vote." The New Yorker: June 29, 2009.

Monday, July 6, 2009

Installment One: Fear

The first time I heard the knocking I thought it came from behind me. My first thought was one of fear. Someone was watching me and they had bumped something against the window. Because it was dark outside, I wouldn't be able to see who it was, but they could clearly see me in my house with the lights on. I told myself to be rational, that the sound was probably my neighbor, Tony, closing the gate to his backyard. But before I could calm my nerves, I heard the same soft knocking sound at my front door.

It was 9:30 PM. If someone was knocking on my door at 9:30, it was way to late to open it. Again I tried very hard to entertain the notion that maybe it was nothing, that I had imagined the noises and that I was just a little nervous about being alone in the house. Surely it was the TV or something else ridiculously ordinary. I muted the TV just to prove to myself that it was nothing. No noise. Phew.

I went back to what I was doing and tried not to remember any thrasher movies I had EVER seen in my entire life. I tried not to think about all of the CSI's and SVU's and Criminal Minds that began with knocking at the front door and that obviously ended poorly for the person inside the house. When I looked down I saw that my hands were shaking. And the knocking came again.

Cautiously, I walked toward the door. If it truly was something or someone roaming around the house at that inconvenient hour, I had to confront it or ignore it, depending on what I found. It seemed like it took me hours to reach the front door, I was creeping so slowly. Finally, I peeked out the side window next to the door, eyes halfway closed, not wanting to see what it was. To my relief and annoyance, I saw nothing.

Then I heard the knocking again, but it was coming from the baby's room this time.

I was trembling, but resolved. No one and nothing would keep me apart from the baby. Hell no. With a new found courage, I straitened my back and walked to the baby's room door which was closed. I couldn't hear anything, so I leaned in to listen more carefully.

All of a sudden the door rattled! I stumbled back in fear, stifling a scream. My mind was reeling. Whoever or whatever was making the noise was not only real and in the house, it was was in his room. I would have to fight!

I flung open the door with as much bravery I could muster and it jumped out at me with a cry!

It took my mind a few seconds to catch up to the realization that what had startled me was my very own cat.

"Damn cat!" I thought, still shaking. "Jeez, Ginger! What the hell did you think it was?" I asked under my breath. Thinking about the answer to that question was way too much to acknowledge.

So the cat had been trapped in the baby's room and the knocking I had heard in the living room was coming from the baby monitor! After standing stunned for a minute, I went into the baby' s room. He was still asleep, thankfully. The ruckus had not woken him. I tucked the blanket around him, then I sheepishly shuffled back to the living room, turned on more lights for security, walked to my bedroom and buried myself under the blankets.

You're probably wondering why I'm so skittish. There is an answer. Multiple ones, actually. Check back for installment two.

This is not installment one

Ok. I'll admit it. I'm a big fat fraidy cat.
There. I said it.

If you hadn't gathered it from my third person, melospazmatic, esoteric previous post, my partner is away for the week and I am left behind to take care of our baby son by myself. This is the first time I've attempted single mommyhood, so you all should immediately pray for me (him).. after rolling your eyes and flipping me off, of course.

Sure I understand that mostly this will be a lesson in patience. I'm not afraid of that part. What bothers me is something else. Something that has bothered me since I was a kid: As soon as I'm alone at night, I am absolutely certain that they're coming for me..

Of course there's a story. Stay tuned for installment one of what is sure to be a cascading list of anxieties. For now, I'm going to make coffee to ward off the sleep demons (who were certainly absent last night - assholes!). Must. Stay. Awake. So that. Baby. Will. Live!

Sunday, July 5, 2009

Patience

"I know it's crazy and mostly selfish," she said as she was driving him to the airport. It was not the right time to be having this conversation. He was leaving for an entire week and she knew that now was not the time to be discussing long term hopes and dreams. It was the time to be discussing how much she would miss him and how lonely she would feel, like a part of her heart was gone, without him.

He listened patiently. Everything he did for her was done patiently.

"I mean I don't really get it, but when I saw the map of the street, I just became all giddy and nostalgic," she said. " I miss the community - their faces. It makes no sense." She paused to bite her lower lip like she always does when she feels insecure. "Sorry. I'll shut up now. It's silly."

And really, who was she to be talking about such things, especially when he was flying away in a few hours and on the verge of doing something really important. She had had her share of significant moments, and it seemed as though she was taking this one away from him by talking about her nonsensical dreams.

They sat in silence for a while. She waited for him to speak.

"I think I get it," he started. "It's like falling in love. You get that warm feeling every time you think of it. Only instead of falling in love with a person, you're in love with a place, one where you obviously fit and that fits you."

She blushed and then nodded. "Yes," she admitted. Then she blurted, "It isn't very pretty there," as if she were trying to belittle what all of a sudden felt like an indiscretion. "When people think of their ideal location, this place doesn't even make the long list."

"People don't always fall in love with the prettiest person in the room. Love isn't about that," he reminded her.

"But what about you?" she protested. "What if the place I love isn't the same one you love. Where is the place you love? We should go there."

"I used to feel like it was here." he sighed. "Now I'm not sure.." He paused. "Also, though, I do know that next to you is the place I love, wherever that is. I can build community anywhere."

"But that's not fair," she said. "This shouldn't be about me."

"You can't always help who you fall in love with, or where," he said. "Sometimes love works and sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes it's possible and sometimes it's not. We'll see what happens."

"But it seems so far away," she thought to herself.

He took her hand, knowing that she was uncertain. Anxious.

A feeling of warmth for him enveloped her- his understanding of all the quirks, his support of things that mattered to her, his enduring patience. And now he was going. She dropped him at the terminal, leaving him, with kisses, to his adventure, without her.

As she drove away, she bit her lower lip.

Overheard: June Bugs

At the neighborhood pool:

"Don't let the June bugs get in your hair!"

"Why not? Are they hard to get out or something?"

- a big brother to his younger one

Overheard: The State of England

At dinner the other night:

"See, what you need to understand is England is a state in the UK."

- a man on a (probably first) date with a girl, sitting at the next table over

Thursday, July 2, 2009

Be Fine

In The Blind Assassin, Margaret Atwood says:

"Why is it we want so badly to memorialize ourselves? Even while we're still alive. We wish to assert our existence, like dogs peeing on fire hydrants. We put on display our framed photographs, our parchment diplomas, our silver plated cups; we monogram linen, we carve our names on trees , we scrawl them on washroom walls. It's all the same impulse. What do we hope from it? Applause, envy, respect? Or simply attention, of any kind we can get?

"At the very least we want a witness. We can't stand the idea of our own voices falling silent finally, like a radio running down."




It occurred to me when I read this that blogging is another means of trying to make ourselves matter - to stay alive longer than our bodies will allow, knowing that while we are so obviously (and sometimes secretly) relevant to the ones immediately in front of us, in the long run we are nothing.

It sounds very nihilistic when I say it, but I think the secret is to be fine -as in "of superior quality, skill or appearance" AND "very small in size"- with our insignificance.