tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-335091442024-03-16T14:52:20.376-04:00life's lessonsThe Buck Shoots Herehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07220730771112188313noreply@blogger.comBlogger616125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33509144.post-880211833776093162024-02-12T21:11:00.004-05:002024-02-16T20:03:26.732-05:00Wish you were here.<p> There's something about nordic races. If you don't know what I'm talking about, you owe it to yourself to go.</p><p>When Ben fell in love with the activity in 5th grade, it was fun to ski around the backyard with him, watching him figure it out. When 3 other parents pushed admin to create a MS team (and Dave to coach them all), he was thrilled. His first race was a 1K loop in blustering winds that knocked an alpine ski lift of the rails and his little patootie back down the hill.... and he couldn't wait to race again. In for a penny.</p><p>The thing about nordic is you get to know the competitors. All of them, across the league. We transitioned from middle school races to high school. We watched them cut minutes off their times. We watched them grow up. </p><p>USCSA races followed, requiring us to travel across NNE to continue snowbanking. There was the girl from Cornell, who asked me to hold her glasses when they kept fogging up. The boy from West Point who had never been on skis and gutted out 4 laps. Ben's teammates, who were continually surprised by us showing up as often as we did. And we showed up as often as we could, because we love to watch. We went to NH on Saturday to watch Clarkson race, knowing the coach and 2 skiers. Bonus--Army was there, too.</p><p>Last year, we got to watch him coach/wax for Estonia at the World University Games, and then again at NCAA Nationals. Since then, we've watched (remotely, of course) 4 of his kids ski in World Cup races. We may have only spent about 8 hours with each of these kids, but being there for their success is just as gratifying as it was watching our MVC skiers make gains.</p><p>Being a mom has changed my life, but being a nordic mom has enhanced it in ways I never envisioned (although having the Winter Olympics on during labor should have been a clue). That we came to love this sport as parents has infused it with all the memories of all the past events. The Maranacook course reminds me of when Cate gave it a try in 6th grade. Telsar Relays bring back memories of the Dirigo and Telstar teams in a line cheering Ben's friend Isaac as he came out of the woods. Titcomb is where we celebrated many of Ben's birthdays... and on one very cold day Cate confirmed this wasn't the sport for her. I can't think of a trip to Presque Isle without remembering the blizzards they skied in at States. Twice.</p><p>Today was MVC Day 2 and I got permission to leave school early to be there. All of Dave's skiers had personal best times on Day 1. This team is not in contention for winning in the traditional sense, nor was anyone looking at a top 10 finish. But when our last girl had not come across the line after all the boys had finished (girls race first this year) I was concerned. A senior and I found some of the boys, who confirmed she was upright, just side-stepping down the hills. I went back to the bridge to see her finish... and when she came down the hill, 2 of her teammates were behind her, coaching her towards the end. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX-Z8do6zHwOEExCapPfwarwUWAG92cLdTDo4q_awHt3aI_UiE_QsbVUuTtvl4LeEH11JWZsk4CawGyZJbsxNtZiEKZsAyN7AAHzy3Ft3Dox5-2cvLs2I_61gPsMHlQo717S5-2xKpCKlazAz-rfnlz-nvVSBT9gk5cq5BEbyIIg_4aezj_SvT/s4032/IMG_6830.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX-Z8do6zHwOEExCapPfwarwUWAG92cLdTDo4q_awHt3aI_UiE_QsbVUuTtvl4LeEH11JWZsk4CawGyZJbsxNtZiEKZsAyN7AAHzy3Ft3Dox5-2cvLs2I_61gPsMHlQo717S5-2xKpCKlazAz-rfnlz-nvVSBT9gk5cq5BEbyIIg_4aezj_SvT/s320/IMG_6830.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>The announcer called out her determination and embodiment of the sport as she crossed the line. I don't think there was anyone left watching but us, but we might as well been with Chad Salmela screaming as Jessie crossed the line for the Gold medal. </p><p style="text-align: center;">Because she did win, and so did this team.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKwiRc0mfV3D-TgZycfjNE131wOD8kZ9P33t7UIFsmhPBTTwFdBKoGjCssMPFdkrsaXVJ7ANiu8eAOYh6zOe5hIX-DEQMYESF0BQsc8ZV3hA9WaL7b9ld7KEaPw1UIepoD6wBGMZD6r4XRrD5X4xNybgidk_1_tlM2THE7H5gLQQ98qfVjHXb3/s2731/IMG_6836%20(1).jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2731" data-original-width="1976" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKwiRc0mfV3D-TgZycfjNE131wOD8kZ9P33t7UIFsmhPBTTwFdBKoGjCssMPFdkrsaXVJ7ANiu8eAOYh6zOe5hIX-DEQMYESF0BQsc8ZV3hA9WaL7b9ld7KEaPw1UIepoD6wBGMZD6r4XRrD5X4xNybgidk_1_tlM2THE7H5gLQQ98qfVjHXb3/s320/IMG_6836%20(1).jpeg" width="232" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">And if we're being honest... so have I.</div>The Buck Shoots Herehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07220730771112188313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33509144.post-19299078801263551892023-07-20T11:27:00.003-04:002023-07-20T11:27:49.992-04:00Guest Blogger<p>I'm a<a href="https://sites.google.com/view/maketeachingjoyful/blog#h.x2mhj7jfwk16"> Guest blogger on Make Teaching Joyful</a>. Check it out over on her site.</p><p><br /></p>The Buck Shoots Herehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07220730771112188313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33509144.post-47891501222273161472023-07-18T20:57:00.002-04:002023-07-18T20:57:51.787-04:00Rock n Roll Lifestyle?<p> Last night, we went to a show. This is not unusual for us--our relationship is based on music and seeing bands live. This show was a relatively impulsive one: when dates were first announced, I thought we'd be in Alaska in July. Turns out, we weren't but the show was already sold out. Dave found some tix being sold by purchasers who couldn't attend (this is the only part of Ticketmaster I like-- no scalping, just a way to get reimbursed when life gets in the way) and off we headed to Thompson's Point in the hazy afternoon heat (an actual upgrade from the scheduled night's downpours and flooding that caused a rare reschedule.) I digress: we went to a show last night, having only decided to go about 4 days ago. For this planner, that's pretty darned impulsive.</p><p>Dave loves CAKE (the band, not the dessert-- he's more of an ice cream guy). He knows all the deep cuts. I like them-- they're quirky and unique, but sometimes a bit too extra for me. I know the hits, and some of the B sides. Either way, there we were, grovin' along and following their request to not take pics or videos of the show. (I like to use band photos as my ticket stub in these modern, digital times, but our selfie will have to do. It's their show and they get to choose.)</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEionjJdryx0aUVFS387_tQaFly0xYoEc8a_RzxiCHHFv6vFFpBXx8l_MM4KsxO2MiD6uisla03nAKhtRl7ykiDgnzKIbhZ00JS8FgXnxmXgeuks9mSjS8lmFWvmU58gmntm0gHqiBmf2WAx7zPC5z4Zi0G7mR8qe8ZYPLrdnJihY6ejy9x-clOJ/s3088/IMG_6115.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a> <img border="0" data-original-height="2320" data-original-width="3088" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEionjJdryx0aUVFS387_tQaFly0xYoEc8a_RzxiCHHFv6vFFpBXx8l_MM4KsxO2MiD6uisla03nAKhtRl7ykiDgnzKIbhZ00JS8FgXnxmXgeuks9mSjS8lmFWvmU58gmntm0gHqiBmf2WAx7zPC5z4Zi0G7mR8qe8ZYPLrdnJihY6ejy9x-clOJ/w200-h150/IMG_6115.jpeg" width="200" /><br /><br />As the sun set (and it was an incredible sunset because of the wildfire smoke headed our way) and it got darker, it became more obvious that the couple near us had used something stronger than alcohol or pot. As Dude collapsed to the ground, almost sliding down Dudette's torso, I was no longer just at at a show. About 10 minutes prior, another woman had offered us a Starburst: no Gen Xer in her right mind would take candy from a stranger, and at a concert no less? Thanks, but I'm good. She rushes over to the Dude and gets him to eat one and have her water; Dave hears something about K. And then, without intending to do so, Mom mode kicks in.<br /><br />It's this inability to let Dude deal with the consequences of his actions to the detriment of my experience that ensured I'd grow up to be a helper of some sort. I kept my eye on him, watching for any movement, while also trying to (unsuccessfully) scope out a paramedic. He would move every so often, Dudette would circle back around (Dave heard her say something about being annoyed), and then, CAKE played the opening notes: "<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JH6il8U3EU0" target="_blank">Reluctantly crouched on the starting line.</a>" Dude hears this, and as we get to "He's fighting and biting and riding on his horse" we watch him impersonating said horse--crawling on all fours through the standing water to get to the dance pit. Mom is no longer needed.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">There have been a few events this year that highlight my Lawful Good personality. I don't like breaking the rules-- even when I know it is the objectively right thing to do, or at the very least not wrong. As a student, I used to find ways to avoid the whole class lectures, knowing it wasn't because of me but also knowing if I didn't disassociate a bit (ok, I didn't know that word, but I did know I needed to 'leave' the classroom to stay safe) I'd start crying. I have vague memories of being called to the principal's office in first grade because I had told my mom I didn't want to order school lunch because we'd been told if you didn't eat everything you'd be in trouble, and I didn't like canned veggies. So... yea. This streak runs deep.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">How I taught alt ed for all those years even I don't really understand. I think it was an opposites attract situation: I knew there was a freedom in not caring about the rules, but that to survive in society you need to find a way to make peace with many of them. I could use a bit less rule following in my life--and to be honest, Sunshines did help me learn to let some things go--but I'm far from Neutral. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I like being Lawful Good. I like knowing the outcome of the choices I make. I like knowing there's little chance I'll be falling down drunk on the way out of a concert--or miss the show because <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=02oLIpfCxqI" target="_blank">I've sailed off on a separate trip</a>. I've made my peace with how boring the made for TV movie of my life will be--which is ok, because it probably won't even get picked up for production. And as much as it kicked me out of my experience, I'm glad we're both global citizens and make sure others are if not safe, at least not dying.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div>The Buck Shoots Herehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07220730771112188313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33509144.post-16014674936229452912023-07-11T21:31:00.002-04:002023-07-11T21:31:29.891-04:00It'd been 4 years and 2 weeks...<p> ... since you took my travel away. April, 2019, was my parents 50th anniversary and all 4 of their children went to their party. It was the first time the 6 of us had been together since 2011 when we were helping my parents clean the ME house so they could move to AZ full time. The 4 of us siblings hadn't all been together since somebody's wedding, and we were up in the barn looking through old boxes. We were each considering what we should keep when one of my sisters announced "whose retainer is this?" and my brother's face showed what we were all thinking. Good times, indeed.</p><p>We made plans, as you do, to get the whole family together. It was early April, so Dave was at work and the kids were in school; same for my sister's family. If I'd known, I'd have dragged us all out, but do you ever really know what's coming? </p><p>The day after school got out, Dave and I flew to Alaska. Now, you need to know that this trip was a bucket list item for me. I have always wanted to go, and I had an Alaskan Cruise in mind as what we did with our bestfriends after all our kids graduated college. Life has a way of taking your plans and switching them up... and this big switcharoo was Ben getting hired at UAF as the assistant nordic ski coach. So, instead of cruising the coastline after our collective kids were settled, our first post-pandemic travel was going to see our kid in his adopted state. Like, wow.</p><p>My insta/FB has all the photos from the trip, which was incredible. What I couldn't get beyond, though, was the *act* of traveling. Security, airports, boarding. Seeing new places with people who know me better than most others. Seeing where our oldest has planted his flag, and being with him as he explores this place he now calls home. </p><p>I am blessed to live the kind of life that affords such luxury. Seeing new places, exploring the environment and culture of place, with people who mean the most to me... yea. I missed it, more than I ever acknowledged during the Dark Times. Taking this epic trip with my husband and our oldest (our youngest was quite clear that she would sit this one out--and having experienced her motion sickness firsthand, I don't blame her) made it even more magical. </p><p>If you are so lucky to be able to do so, travel. You'll learn so much about the world, sure, but you will experience things that you could never imagine possible.</p><p>It had been 4 years and 2 weeks, and now I can't wait to get back out there.</p>The Buck Shoots Herehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07220730771112188313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33509144.post-88269140739766223252022-11-28T19:04:00.001-05:002022-11-28T19:04:57.327-05:00India Rubber Ball<p>My friend was younger than I am now when she died. Which is an impossible statement, but a true one nonetheless.</p><p>I was 32 when she died nearly twenty years ago, a wife and a mother of 2 young kids. She was married with 2 kids, one my age and one about decade younger. I knew their loss was unimaginable, beyond compare; the loss of her knowledge, experience, and perspective shifted all of our lives in directions that altered time and space. We grew, aware of the now empty space, as best we could. </p><p>What I didn't know then, however, was how young she was, in a not old sort of way. I know I'm no longer the young one around, but I still have much that I want to do, to see, to become. And it strikes me, again, what a tragic loss of someone who still had so much life to live.</p><p>We live to dance another day, indeed.</p><p><br /></p>The Buck Shoots Herehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07220730771112188313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33509144.post-87455163343405135602022-09-18T10:32:00.001-04:002022-09-18T10:32:04.394-04:00America I love you...<p> ... <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n5Y5wPiY0L4">but you're freakin' me out.</a> I don't love this video, but the song is spot on.</p><p>I can't believe we have US governors who are actively engaging in behavior that, in some circles, is considered human trafficking. People who were not born in America and escaped to Florida were told, by officials, that there was housing and work for them at the other side of this plane flight. That sounds like force, fraud and coercion to me. Good golly, Miss Molly, indeed.</p><p>It's been a rough time to be a person who naturally questions authority. It's also been rough to know you've tried to help a generation of kids learn to fact check statements, analyze for motivations, and to add their voices to the cries of a nation. I suspect the 2020s will be taught to future generations (if we get ahold of our climate impact and continue to survive as a species, but I digress) in the same way we talk about the Roaring 20s now-- sex, drugs, rock and roll, and corruption.</p><p>The Dobbs case was shocking, but only in that it confirmed what we've known for awhile: American women are not treated with the same autonomy as men. I felt the same way learning George Floyd's murder and resulting trial of his murder as I did watching Rodney King become a token of the riots in Las Angeles. It's not news that racism is thriving in America, but watching the fallout makes me wonder how other intelligent, thoughtful (white) people can't see it. And don't get me started how any citizen who truly loves this country and values what it stands for can continue to align themselves with the Republican party, which is now overtly working to only allow rich, educated, white men at the table.</p><p>Some days are hard to accept. Some days I do want to leave and not look back. Most days, though, I know I have to stand up and fight for what I know to be true. We can't be "the great melting pot" if we don't allow others to join us in our pool. People who identify as BIPOC experience more disadvantages to reaching 'the pursuit of happiness' than people who are white. Women are entitled to control over their minds and bodies. </p><p>America, it's time to look in the mirror. What we're saying doesn't line up with what we're doing. </p><p><br /></p><p>reference:</p><p>https://www.usatoday.com/story/news/nation/2022/09/17/desantis-migrants-marthas-vineyard-cape-cod/10410896002/</p><p><br /></p>The Buck Shoots Herehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07220730771112188313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33509144.post-21323889760482564262022-08-25T22:11:00.026-04:002022-08-26T14:01:00.774-04:00College Ready only works if you're actually ready<p>Unless you've lived under a rock, you're aware of Biden's push to reduce all existing student loans for borrowers making less that $150K per year by $10,000-- $20,000 for Pell Grant recipients. Many of my friends disagree with this policy, and I understand their reasoning. As someone who has worked in a public high school during the "College Ready" push, please allow me to express why this plan is what is right for America today.</p><p>Anyone who thinks things are the same today as they were when they graduated must have graduated this spring. College costs have skyrocketed in the last 30 years-- in fact, the tuition rate for my son's college has increased $12,000 since he entered in 2016. For perspective, my bill for 1988-1990 was $12000 TOTAL. Yea, we need to do something to change the narrative around student loans in America.</p><p>There is a lot of data that shows that <a href="https://www.ssa.gov/policy/docs/research-summaries/education-earnings.html#:~:text=Men%20with%20bachelor's%20degrees%20earn,earnings%20than%20high%20school%20graduates." target="_blank">college graduates make more money than those who don't</a> earn a college degree. For the sake of this argument, I'm not going to touch the gender disparity shown here, which is it's own topic entirely. As someone who had Gear UP programming in her high school, I can ascertain that US public high schools have been pushing kids to go to college for at least the last 20 years-- even when they said they didn't want to go. We'd show them the data that said their life would be better if they went-- even showing the kids who weren't sure they would graduate from high school that they "should" go to college right away. Pre-pandemic, I watched kids agree to loans because they were told that's what they *should* be doing, even when their eyes betrayed some hesitation. You should go, we'd say. It'll be fine...</p><p>During the pandemic, I watched kids feel free to say no. I don't want to pay for remote classes. I don't want to go without knowing what's coming my way. <i>I don't want to go.</i> I watched kids regain their voice and choice about what was right for them. Hells to the yes!</p><p>Biden's plan is designed to eliminate the debt of the kids who went for a semester or a year, but never earned their degree. For the kids who have the debt because of our pressure, but without the degree to translate to the ability to pay it back. It cost me $40,000 to pay my 1/3 of my MSW; I was able to pay that off during the 0% interest phase of the pandemic because I have a job that pays me for having a Master's degree. I won't benefit from this new program, and frankly, I shouldn't. But, I have friends who graduated with me with $120,000 in debt. $10,000 won't eliminate theirs... but it will ease some of the burden. For students who have earned their bachelor's degree in the last 2 years and are carrying $80,000 in debt, this will help. For those who attended a semester or two of college and can't make ends meet with their minimum wage job-- this will right the wrong WE pushed on them. </p><p>I know there are many who don't agree that we forced kids into a loan they didn't want. But...remember when you were 18 and a senior in high school. If your guidance counselor told you to go to college so you could make more money, and you could get help making that happen financially... would you have known to push back?</p><p>The pandemic has highlighted that college is not for every 18 year old high school graduate. It's also shown us that we need those "essential" workers for our economy to function. I see no problem helping those kids who were caught in the crossfire. $10k per loan is set to help those with the least amount of debt the most. And that helps our economy so we all benefit. That is win win for me.</p>The Buck Shoots Herehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07220730771112188313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33509144.post-76001807192023187622022-08-15T11:12:00.001-04:002022-08-15T11:12:56.825-04:00History on repeat<p> While I do not think of myself as a history teacher, I have taught history for the last 17 years. During the 20-21 year, when the majority of my kids were remote, we took a springboard approach to class. We started with the 1918 pandemic, and then jumped around based on what questions the kids had about the causes or effects of said topic. This helped them care a *tiny* bit more because the links were obvious: for me, however, it helped calm my fears about the state of our country.</p><p>I never understood why everyone was so happy to get out during the Roaring Twenties-- I guess I just though the kids from the farms were happy to get to the city. After spending my 50th birthday and 25th wedding anniversary in lockdown, I viscerally understood. WW1 overlapped by a pandemic? Damn right I'm gonna party like it's 1920! But, it didn't take long for me to see that this party phase is a significant cause to the Great Depression and fascism... and here we are, today, in a country that is banning books to 'protect' children, hindering the rights of women to 'protect' unborn babies without ensuring that all babies are loved and cared for*, and blindly following a leader who has made it clear that he is trying only to 'protect' white men who have money. It doesn't take a student of history to see the pattern that is emerging. </p><p>I feel a bit like Nemo, trying to convince the fish to SWIM DOWN and break the net. It's not a natural response for us, this fighting against the system. We're trained to follow the rules, listen to authority, and not make a scene. IMHO, the only way we're going to stop the anti-democracy-couched-as-pro-democracy movement is by saying No. We're done with hate, and elitism, and sacrificing the good of the many for the benefit of the few. </p><p>This will take all of us to pull off. It won't be pretty, or necessarily fun. But history tells me it's really our only option.</p><p>Until then, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QWmnBcNijvo">I'll be hitting the bar</a> with Frank. Feel free to join me.</p><p><br /></p><p>*For the record, I am not pro abortion. But I am pro democracy, and pregnancy is not like anything else. I love the months I was pregnant, and am truly sad I wasn't able to do it again. But your body is truly no longer your own. For both first trimesters, I had to take medicine that made ME sick to protect the baby. I vomited for months, no matter what I did (or didn't) eat. I couldn't have caffeine, or Advil, or too much fish, or, or, or... </p><p>I was thrilled to be doing it, especially since we faced the possibility of not being able to conceive. I was 26, married, with a home and stable income, and more than ready to be a mom. I don't know what it's like to be 19 and desperately trying to get through college so I can get out of poverty. Or dating a violent person. Or pregnant with my rapist's child. Or being told if I conceive again I will die. Those decisions are not mine to make, nor are they that of the government. </p><p>I would love to see access to birth control increase, more funding for social supports to help women keep their baby if they want, or give it to a family with fertility issues. I would love our culture to stop shaming women who get pregnant, or make it easier to become foster and adoptive parents, regardless of marital and housing status. But even then, pregnancy does not compare to any other thing, because there is nothing else a human being does that requires the complete sacrifice of her own body to support the growth of another. </p><p><br /></p>The Buck Shoots Herehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07220730771112188313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33509144.post-44116813144767847612022-07-27T21:08:00.001-04:002022-07-27T21:08:28.405-04:00Who We Are<p>Last week, Dave and I watched <i><a href="https://thewhoweareproject.org/">Who We Are: A Chronicle of Racism in America</a></i> on Netflix. I am strongly encouraging you to go watch it now, as in stop reading and go watch. I promise I'll be here when you're done, ready to debrief with you.</p><p><br /></p><p><waiting patiently></p><p><br /></p><p>Since you've all watched, I am free to talk about the specifics. Jeffery Robinson brilliantly lays out the case for the structural racism in our country. He uses direct quotes and specific examples, relating them to their place in history and our collective refusal to level this playing field. Let me be very clear: I'm using first person pronouns to refer to White America's attachment to the structures of racism against citizens who identify as part of BIPOC communities. I do not specifically mean people that I know, although part of the brilliance of this lecture is recognizing the part each of us who identify as caucasian (I struggle to call myself 'white', as that really isn't a race--I refuse to answer any demographics question if my only option is 'White'. <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Caucasian_race#:~:text=The%20Caucasian%20race%20(also%20Caucasoid,disproven%20theory%20of%20biological%20race.">Caucasian is a stretch, too,</a> but it's the better alternative, for now anyway.) </p><p>His examples are compelling, and in my humble opinion, irrefutable. Structural racism is not only real, but alive and well in 2022. I won't retell all of his evidence-- he does it so much better than I could (go watch if you ignored my earlier nudging)-- but suffice it to say I was left speechless. </p><p>I can't remain speechless for any longer. I walk a line as a public employee, needing to remain apolitical personally, but to also speak up for those in my charge who come from marginalized communities. Which means, I can't fully do one or the other. Having watched this documentary, however, I can no longer comfortably choose my silence when it means those around me risk suffering. Maya Angelou and James 4:17 both remind us that when you know better you do better. Today, I know better, and I am promising to do better. For the last few years, I've made sure to include the BIPOC perspective in my history lessons, and made sure to apologize for the years I perpetuated the myth that the Civil War was NOT about racism. I am sorry it took me this long to correct that narrative, and many others I didn't even know about due to whitewashing.</p><p>If we are going to move on from this horrible part of our history, <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2019/08/27/books/review/learning-from-the-germans-susan-neiman.html">we need to do what the Germans do</a>: acknowledge it, learn from it, and change our behavior. I am committing to doing that, and advocating for those who need my voice to stand up for their rights, regardless of the political consequences that befall me.</p><p>It's not easy, knowing who we are, but so very important to becoming who we are all meant to be.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>The Buck Shoots Herehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07220730771112188313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33509144.post-38097103652690207542022-07-14T20:55:00.000-04:002022-07-14T20:55:29.271-04:0017 Sunshiny Years<p> I visited with a Sunshine this week. I had not seen her in person for a few years, mostly due to the pandemic, but also because of distance. I was able to see her interact with her spouse and their child, showering the toddler with love while also adequately conveying her needs to her partner. I am so happy she has found her person with whom to get through this thing called life-- where she can be her full self without fear, and have a different adult life than she saw most adults around her have. She loves big, which I am blessed to receive, and has a self-awareness that I don't often see in someone as young. She has grown so much since graduation-- she stands taller, and holds eye contact. And my goodness, she is a good mom: letting her child explore but making sure they can do so safely. I had to work to hold back tears a few times: of all the tests and other benchmarks we use in schools, the most important one to me is that my sunnies raise kids who struggle less than they did. She (and her spouse, while not a sunshine, fell in love with one, and so is now also mine by the transitive property of belonging) is exceeding this standard.</p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhazFnEOLK0SrVFy0lkZyNSeD1eroXF9-r_bv-ffi8dHl3dJ2bM6oaYQVevvlK8uGTlLuZvRTRnaA8G2yQphmIoVwDRj8nBDO2xLXkwPNJUKflYiscPy1x2oC5BrWxBjFIcXxFlzmSQQ9sb_Yqy713VipC9xYwnmJ7LQcuupvzK_ubKpE5SHQ/s2100/IMG_3205.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2100" data-original-width="1574" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhazFnEOLK0SrVFy0lkZyNSeD1eroXF9-r_bv-ffi8dHl3dJ2bM6oaYQVevvlK8uGTlLuZvRTRnaA8G2yQphmIoVwDRj8nBDO2xLXkwPNJUKflYiscPy1x2oC5BrWxBjFIcXxFlzmSQQ9sb_Yqy713VipC9xYwnmJ7LQcuupvzK_ubKpE5SHQ/s320/IMG_3205.jpg" width="240" /></a>The pretense for this reunion is I had asked her to paint me something, and I went to pick it up. She's a very talented creator, and I wanted something of hers to hang in my space, partly as inspiration for kids, and partly (mostly?) as a reminder that she is who she is, and that I get to say I knew her when. I didn't have a clear design in mind-- I think said something about sunshine or rainbows-- and she took that and made me the most beautiful honorific to my 17 years as an alt ed teacher. I don't even have words for how perfect it is; it's made by her, for me, about my transition from teaching to social working, and she captured all of that, in a way words (my medium) just can't.</p><p>I don't really know what I'm trying to say. I'm so proud of her, but when she also shared the continued struggle before her, I knew it will take her a significant amount of effort to get where she wants to be. There's a lesson for me in this long lasting relationship, but for the life of me, I can't identify it. I love the kids (and adults) that cross my path unconditionally, and am happy to say that love is often the beginning of something else. Somehow, though, there's something here I'm missing-- something for me, to help me learn and grow to be better at my new role. Maybe that's what it is-- that I am back to being new at my job, and while I have learned a lot, the only way out is through. My best teachers may actually be the hundreds of students I taught over the last 17 years.</p><p>She agreed to a hug when I left, which felt important. Again, I had to work to not cry. So many people think I give so much of myself, and can't understand how I do what I do: the real truth is I don't know how to do it any other way: I gain so much more back that it's impossible to not go all in. I have learned appreciation for how blessed my life has been, of course, but also that I have made deliberate choices to amplify the good things and jettison the bad. That I continually choose kindness and empathy when presented with heartbreaking, easily judged situations-- heals my humanity more than it impacts anyone else. I've provided an example for one way to live and parent and love a generation of kids-- those in my classes and the many others in the building-- and visits like this show that it has impacted future generations. It's humbling to say the least, and exceeds my wildest dreams of what I thought possible when I accepted the alternative ed teaching job all those years ago.</p><p>Long way round, this was a reminder that listening and loving are the best things that can happen in a school setting. That without truly meeting kids where they're at, their ability to interact with standards is significantly hindered. And, that graduation isn't the end of those relationships, not if you don't want it to be. </p>The Buck Shoots Herehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07220730771112188313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33509144.post-65256207569704599362022-07-11T18:51:00.002-04:002022-07-11T18:51:36.440-04:00Combat baby, come back.<p> It's been awhile since my last post...</p><p>Writing, in many ways, is my internal therapy session. It forces me to slow down, and put my thoughts out there in a way that can be understood by those of you who don't live inside my head. I stopped blogging about the time I started my MSW-- I didn't have time, for sure, and Blogger had changed and I didn't want to take the time to learn the new system. I stopped doing a lot of the creative things I enjoy, because I just didn't have the emotional bandwidth. I kept cooking, because I like to eat, and taking pictures... although I didn't do much with them at all. The self-reflective writing that was embedded into the program was the outlet I used from Fall 2016-Summer 2019.</p><p>I continued my hiatus then-- I started working per diem as a Crisis Worker and Outpatient Clinician, which again, filled my brain with lots to consider. And then... well, we all know that 'normal' changed on 3/15/20, and I was too freaked out by living and working through a pandemic, both as a teacher and a mental health worker to return to my favorite creative outlets.</p><p>This spring, though, my mojo came back. I've been scrapping like a fool, finishing 4 years of pictures in the last 4 months. I've been thinking about my book too-- I've thought about it a lot over the last 5 years-- and how to get beyond the title. And while I am not the same person I was pre-pandemic, I've settled back into myself enough to be able to find my truth through my words again. </p><p>If you've gotten to this point, then something likely resonates with you-- that, or you really like me and reading my blog is an act of love. Please remember: I write for me, to help make sense of all that goes on internally, and have chosen to share it with the world because enough people have said they appreciate what I write. It is highly probable I will write some things that offend certain people I know and love-- but this personal therapy session doesn't work if I'm holding back. However, if my words are helpful to you in your own journey, please come along for the ride. I am a Capital E Extrovert, and love having you here, even through the magic of the interwebs. If you no longer enjoy this ride, you can exit at any time. But, just like (I hope) your adults taught you, if you can't say anything nice, please don't say anything at all. I welcome differing perspectives-- they help me figure out what I really do mean-- but hatred and unkindness will not be tolerated.</p><p>Oh-- there will also be pop culture references, because that's also how my brain works. <i><a href="https://youtu.be/6rMfPvv3BMs">Combat Baby</a></i> is a song by Metric, which tells the story of people hitting the 'easy living' part of life, but missing their punk past. Um... yea. While I was never a punk in terms of behavior or clothing style, I have always resonated with punk ethos. I guess this resurgence of the blog is me trying to figure out how that part of me fits with my simple life 52 year old mother of 2 twenty-somethings (or 4, if I count the other 2 I helped raise and consider my own) self who has been married (to the same man, thankfully) for longer than I have not.</p><p>If you're STILL here, I'm really glad to have you. <a href="https://youtu.be/aXJhDltzYVQ">Let's go figure out this thing called life</a> together. </p>The Buck Shoots Herehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07220730771112188313noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33509144.post-76965030957727722832017-01-04T13:31:00.001-05:002017-01-04T13:31:06.768-05:00red blooded, all American femaleIt's the 4th day of 2017, and the 2nd snow day of the school year. I've been pondering this post for a week. What are my resolutions this year? Truth be told, I don't know.<br />
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I know what I should do: eat less junk, drink less alcohol and more water. Cut out sugar, if we're being serious. Increase my weight bearing activity and my stretching alongside my regular walks. But I'm not sure I'm ready to commit to those things yet.<br />
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Truth be told, I'm a conspicuous consumer, self indulgent, red-blooded American, just like everyone else in my world. Well, almost everyone else; we have an exchange student living with us for the rest of this year, and her diet is highlighting to me just how heavy ours is. If I tell the truth, though, I like it. I like macaroni and cheese and green bean casserole and steak and potatoes and lasagna. I like sugar, chocolate, salt, and alcohol. I like to cook as well as eat. And I'm just not ready to change any of that.<br />
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Perhaps it's the poultry thing, and the upcoming elimination diet. After my EGD in Feb I'll be trying to figure out what it is that is keeping my EoE agitated. That will basically mean I eat veggies (minus peppers and tomatoes) and rice for 4 weeks and then reintroduce foods to see what my trigger is. It's going to be a rough thing to handle, and very annoying for my family.<br />
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Truly, though, I think I just want to remain a fat American for a little bit longer. The changes I'm contemplating to my diet are life changing, and can become challenging to work around in American society... or maybe it'll be the best thing I've ever done. For now, however, I'm not ready to make the change.<br />
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So I guess my resolution is to continue thinking about making these changes, and paying attention to when I am ready to act.The Buck Shoots Herehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07220730771112188313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33509144.post-2233653950365800522016-12-22T11:40:00.000-05:002016-12-22T11:40:08.150-05:00Birth of a Sunshine-- reposting to saveI was hired after the school year had started. I knew this was the job I wanted, but figured it would be a few more years before it opened. The teacher I replaced had been there for awhile, and his choice to move on left the alternative ed program a bit shell shocked. It took a few days for any of the kids to talk to me, and really the remainder of that year before they trusted me. It was a big change for them to go from a known football player looking male teacher to little old me; frankly, it was a big change for me to get back to teaching after 7 years as a professional mom, so fine by me if it took awhile for us all to get acclimated.<br />
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That next year found everyone more comfortable with each other, and somehow or another I started class with something like "Ok, Sunshines, time to get to work". It stuck. I started to refer to the sunnies at home to differentiate between my students and my children. This group of (mostly) rough and tumble disconnected high school boys <i>liked</i> being called Sunshines. They started to refer to themselves as such. Without setting out to do so, I created a cool kids club, complete with a name and an identity.<br />
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This blog is a way for me to reflect on my classroom practice, and maybe figure out how I created that club so that someone else can do the same thing in their own school.The Buck Shoots Herehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07220730771112188313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33509144.post-59872151819178807382016-01-01T11:52:00.001-05:002016-01-01T11:52:04.314-05:00Change of TimeThe years go faster, these days, and putting feelings into words is oddly becoming more difficult. <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PYEGzgwBlmw" target="_blank">This song</a> is running through my head as I try to write. The mood is as significant as the lyrics. Perhaps listening to it as you read will help distract you from the lack of poetry in this post.<br />
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It's the new year-- almost half way through the school year. It's the first time I can remember trying to slow down the clock and having the ball get stuck on it's way down, leaving us in limbo just a bit longer. My chest tightens as I type, so excited for our boy and so nervous about what comes next. He got his first college acceptance yesterday, which a significant scholarship attached. I'm sure there are more acceptances on the way, and probably more money, too. He's worked hard. He has gifts and has learned to use them wisely. He is also bigger than this place-- you can just tell he's going to do things that make the world better, and he's going to do it with integrity and kindness. I know he is ready to go-- I see it in him every day. But as his mom, who also sees the little boy in his ghostie sweatpants smiling up at me through Legos... I am not at all ready to not see him every day. I know it's life, and it's what I did to my parents 28 years ago, and it's so much better than him not going... but the selfish, mumma part of my heart cries every time I think about it.<br />
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And so I cried last night, after the ball did reach it's destination on time, and I'm crying again now writing this. I suspect I'll cry at tomorrow's ski race, and throughout the rest of this year, in fact. First of the lasts and all that... but they are all part of the rights of passage I make as his mother. His annoyance by my emotions are part of his rights of passage (although I never experienced that-- my mother becomes Spock when she hurts, so I never really knew if or how deeply it bothered her that her oldest was leaving.)<br />
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Change. It's going to be the theme of 2016. Life will look very different in a year, and then it really won't be long until it is just the two of us here, waiting for the kids to come home... but that is more than I can handle on this first day of 2016. 2018 is another heartache for another New Year's Day.<br />
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Plans for ths year-- resolutions, if you must-- stick to the theme. I need to get my health under control. More walking, fewer empty calories. I don't think I'm quite ready to completely quit sugar, but I think about it more and more often. My goal is to be thoughtful and deliberate again about those calories-- am I ingesting them because I want them or just because? I need to get back to regular walking. My lungs aren't happy, and I think the lack of exercise is a significant factor. I need to be able to keep up with these children of ours, who are going places and need me to be able to come to them.<br />
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It's time to apply for my MSW. Re-reading this blog, even the few posts I've written in recent years, is all the evidence I need. This is where I'm being called, and it's time to get the training and the credentials to do the work properly. It's going to be a lot of work, but is anything worth doing any other way? Starting a program in the fall could give me the distraction I need to help adjust to the changes here. <br />
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I also hope to be creative more this coming year. I haven't had the same energy to scrapbook or take pictures or write, which I know is due to all the emotional baggage I'm carrying, some for others and some for myself. It's time to accept what I can't change, and make the changes I can. And sometimes that means publishing a less than stellar post, just to get the ball falling...<br />
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Happy New Year. I hope it brings you the change you need.<br />
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<br />The Buck Shoots Herehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07220730771112188313noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33509144.post-50044123269276513952015-07-27T11:43:00.003-04:002015-07-27T11:43:51.631-04:00that faceIt was the same look on his face. The same look that she makes at me when I catch her off guard, and she knows I see the hurt and the self-loathing. A slight tilt to the head, and a huge grin-- but with the saddest eyes you've ever seen. A practiced look that disarms most people and allows you to regain control of the situation, if only because your smile told the other person you're fine. Except you're not. And I am not most people...<br />
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I knew things were falling apart again. He called me Monday night to tell me he'd given his girlfriend my number. "Just tell her how I get. Help her feel better." She called me first thing Tuesday morning, concerned he was drinking again. He was. His friends were concerned. None of us knew how to really help. GF started researching. We talked a couple times a day. I waited to go see him; if I went too early, he could feel threatened and I didn't want that situation (for either of us). Friday morning I got a text from his buddy: come get him. So I did. I didn't tell him I was coming, until I got to the shop and he was out with another friend. We gathered his things, squished all we could into my new car (with decidedly less storage space than the old mini) and headed North. She convinced him to go to medical detox-- she's worried about his health-- for which I was incredibly thankful; I don't have the medical knowledge to help him sober up safely, and I couldn't bring him to my house and have my kids and husband go through it as well. I got him registered (a long process, it turns out), only a little bit worried we were taking unnecessarily extreme measures. I knew I couldn't bring him home, and there was no where else he could go--M&D have moved West in their retirement, and both our sisters left New England when they went to college. His GF is in the Northwest (where he is headed this fall). Medical detox bought us time, and ensured his safety.<br />
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As I headed back home, it was that look he gave me that said it all. I've been on the front lines with her eating disorder for a year and a half now. It's as destructive as any addiction; there are strong parallels between her story and why she stopped ingesting and his inability to stop ingesting. I've also worked with many kids over the years struggling with one thing or another: I long ago stopped listening to what they say and what they are not saying. Body language tells me more than words, and silence speaks volumes. And that face-- that look, with forced smile and heartbroken eyes-- was when I knew gathering him up and getting him admitted was the only course of action available to me.<br />
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I'm not trained in any of this-- not yet, anyway. But I know I have to make decisions that I can live with no matter what the future brings. Neither of them have to like the choices I make, and frankly, they can tell me no at anytime, but they can't control what I do or don't do. Waiting to get him was the right thing, regardless of what his friends may or may not think. Bringing him to the hospital was the right thing, regardless of the guilt I feel not bringing him into my home. Giving her food is the right thing, regardless of whether or not she chooses to eat it.<br />
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I don't know what the future will bring: I am prepared for a wide range of outcomes, for both of them. I do know I will continue to love them, and support them to the best of my abilities in the choices they make. It's complicated to love someone who is addicted to something, but so incredibly important to do so: that face they make should be all the proof you need.<br />
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<br />The Buck Shoots Herehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07220730771112188313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33509144.post-38056190808179412122015-06-24T17:34:00.000-04:002015-06-24T17:34:26.948-04:00All my life's a circle...Star date: post summer solstice<br />
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Which means we are solidly in summer vacation. Praise to all that is good and holy that we made it here. There was a point in the year I wasn't 100% sure we all would.<br />
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For many reasons, these were the times that tried men's souls-- and while I may be the sunshine patriot in one measure, I am far from a summer soldier. This was the year that put my teaching to the test, but also helped me shore up my philosophy on what the role of school is. Next year will be different, although likely as difficult emotionally... although now I have a better sense of what to expect, and can therefore prepare to mitigate some of it.<br />
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I quickly jettisoned the academic rigor of content standards-- which in this teacher bashing era of standards based education is a radical and risky maneuver. I didn't have much choice however; in addition to being the only teacher (and usually only adult) responsible for providing content instruction in 9 high school courses, I was also working with a group of students who were dealing with significant personal crises. Watching a person implode on themselves is a tragic experience; watching 3 students go through that in one year is devastating on the classroom dynamic. Their situations affected everyone in the room, and triggered other less significant (but no less serious, because any crisis you are experiencing is real to you, even if it's not as bad as the one the guy next to you is having) reactions in the rest of us. My goal for the year quickly became getting us all out alive. Literally for every one of us to still be breathing air: believe me when I tell you, that was not a foregone conclusion.<br />
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Public schools were created in America to provide communities with a well informed populace: how could we expect people to participate in democracy if they weren't able to think? Today, public schools become the place where we try to correct for the potential missing pieces from home while still teaching kids how to think. We claim that all children are equal, and it doesn't matter if you go to an inner city school, a wealthy middle class suburb school, or a poor rural community school: we'll take all the kids, balance for what they're missing from home, and provide the same quality academic education to all kids, Maine to California. That so many Americans have accepted that notion as truth is evidence enough that we aren't being so successful teaching people how to think. The kindergartner who comes on the first day having been read to, played with crayons and practiced writing, and knows that numbers and the alphabet exist and mean something can tackle learning to read. Unfortunately, we have many kids who come to school not knowing how to hold a book, never mind what it is for (I wish I was exaggerating; I have worked at k-screenings. I am not.) The same is true for every level of education: the child who comes from a home with plenty of love, basic needs, and safety is ready to come to school at 7:55 and learn algebra or language conventions or differences in rocks, whereas the child who comes hungry or from a dangerous neighborhood or from neglect and abuse isn't-- at least, not until you deal with what is missing. And in order to deal with the hunger or emotional turmoil, you have to put algebra on hold. So that's what I did.<br />
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Make no mistake about it: I firmly believe all kids can learn, and it doesn't matter who your parents are to achieve great heights. It does, however, require different supports for different kids. It made more sense when I thought about it from my own experience. I had a rose colored childhood without question. My parents are college educated. My dad had a good job and my mom could afford to stay home with us until we were in school. They owned their house, in a good neighborhood. We had ice skates and bikes and toys and food and friends and family. We built tree houses and played in the rain. We did after school activities and had the proper gear required for said activities. We got good grades and graduated at the top of our classes. But when I was struggling with infertility during my 5th year of teaching, I was useless. I couldn't focus, and frankly, had a hard time caring about the quality of my work. <i>I was in crisis.</i> I was the same person, but my personal issue was all consuming. I've watched the same be true of people who were going through a divorce, family illness, or death of a loved one. I don't know why it's so shocking to think that kids who are in some level of personal crisis struggle to meet academic standards, too. And if we're going to really help them become the best people they can be, we have to help them deal with whatever the issue is.<br />
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I am lucky to work in a building that believes in the importance of alternative education. I have the support of my colleagues and a principal who doesn't write me up for trying crazy things. But I also work in a building where more and more kids are on the verge of falling apart-- far more kids than I can work with in a day. Poverty is all encompassing-- our kids are poor because their parents and families are poor. There isn't enough work for everyone, and certainly not enough fair paying work. Because we're a rural community, we don't have public transportation so the lack of a reliable vehicle is devastating. As a school teacher, I make more than the median income-- by a significant amount. (You know you live in a poor area when teachers are the rich ones.) Our schools are not meeting the needs of all our kids, and we've been set up by society at large to fail.<br />
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Summer break is great for me, my family, my friends... but is often not great for our students in crisis. I'm not going to lie, without it, my job would be significantly harder, because by being on an extended break I can regroup and be better able to handle my job the remainder of the year. I hope most of my kids can do the same... and if not, I hope they just make it back to school in the fall.<br />
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<br />The Buck Shoots Herehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07220730771112188313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33509144.post-23878695153411204792015-01-30T11:07:00.002-05:002015-01-30T11:07:54.886-05:00head vs heart vs stomachAs I've referenced a few times, I've never been the healthiest kid in the room. And while I still don't describe myself as sickly, are are many times in my life I've been insanely sick. It's always just been the way it is. It got better for awhile, after I started drinking a regular amount of water every day, but it is slowly becoming obvious that that was a temporary solution... and I really don't like the idea of what really needs to happen: I need to radically change my diet.<br />
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And by radically, I do mean radical. Starting with the elimination diet, which really means you eat rice, veggies, poultry, and fish for 3 weeks. No coffee, black tea, alcohol. No dairy. No beef or pork. No gluten. No corn. Probably no eggs, I just can't remember right now. Definitely no sugar. Um...yea. I know.<br />
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The idea is you eliminate the common triggers of food allergies/sensitivities, and then slowly introduce foods back in and see what causes a reaction... and the reaction could be anything from a runny nose to sleep troubles to a skin rash. From what I can tell, it's more a overall feeling, like you just don't feel as good after eating the offending food. And it does make sense to me-- we are what we eat, and a lot of what Americans eat is really not good for us at all. But it is yummy, which is why this is an overwhelming thing to consider.<br />
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I know I could do it more easily if I lived alone, but let's all thank our lucky stars that I don't, because me starved for human companionship is even worse than me starved for potato chips. We've never subscribed to the separate meals way of living-- whomever cooks, cooks for everyone, even if it's not everyone's favorite. I know if would I benefit from this elimination nonsense, my family would too, but I also don't know that subjecting them to that is fair either. Three weeks isn't that long, but the reintroduction phase is described as longer... and it is a long time to do it alone.<br />
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I know that I would feel a lot better in 2 months if I commit, but that is a daunting thought. In 2 months we go to Spain, and I'm not sure I want to deal with some crazy diet in a place where I can't speak the language. I also don't want to have wasted 2 months of eliminating and have to start all over again. But I also think I'm stalling, and hoping if I ignore it long enough it'll just go away...<br />
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It's not going away, but I'm not sure I'm ready to leave my rich American diet behind. But every time a common cold turns into sinusitis, or my digestion gives me fits, or it feels like something is stuck in my throat, I know what I should do now, and most likely will do relatively soon. (Hedging my bets, right 'til the end...) This must be what it feels like to quit smoking: you know you'll feel better after you've quit, but the time between smoking and being a non-smoker is hell. And nobody likes to enter hell willingly.<br />
<br />
Part of me is hoping I can skip the elimination diet and just have the allergist tell me what I am, in fact, reacting to so I can quit eating that and skip the trial and error piece. Then it's just the sugar addiction to battle, which again, is a lot like nicotine in terms of it's hold over you...<br />
<br />
It's true, what they say, about ignorance.The Buck Shoots Herehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07220730771112188313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33509144.post-83443837127424481622015-01-01T13:53:00.000-05:002015-01-03T17:50:26.417-05:00looking back in order to move ahead2015. Dave read me something he found on the internet yesterday (which someone else probably read on the internet somewhere else) that has been running through my head ever since: we are now as close to 2030 as we are to 2000. Fifteen years ago I had a newborn and almost 2year old. I spent my days with 4 babies, from newborn to age 3. Dave's dad came by randomly to read to the kids so I could shower. We still lived in the village; we didn't have Kitty. Dave was working at Region 9-- and I didn't know that Alternative Ed existed. I was on the school board for Peru School District... airplane security was a breeze and Katrina was just a name. I can't even imagine what our lives will look like in fifteen years: the kids will most likely be married, and I could be GrammaNanny! I'll be approaching my 60th birthday... will I still be teaching? Did we build the dream home out back, or did we have to move because my body couldn't take the winters any longer? I can't wrap my head around it, especially while also looking back.<br />
<br />
I don't worry, though, that we won't be happy. We'll have solid friends around us, helping us get through whatever international tragedy becomes reality. We'll have our kids, who will be doing amazing things.... whatever those things may be. Life will be complete, because whatever path we take to get to 2030, it will be the right one. I do take comfort in that.<br />
<br />
But today... today I can understand. And there are things I can do now to make the next 15+ years easier and better. I was told this week I probably have a food allergy: I actually hadn't considered that, so it was a bit shocking, but it also makes a lot of sense: my digestive system (and my reproductive, but that's another post for another day) has never really worked quite right; I wasn't a sickly child, but I was never totally healthy, either. I get strep throat, a lot. I catch colds which become bronchitis and sinusitis fairly easily. Sometimes food just doesn't sit right-- and sometimes I needed hospitalizations for rapid dehydration or extreme pain. I haven't ever really worried about it-- it is normal for me, and I just cope with whatever I've got and move on. <br />
<br />
Since my my second foot surgery in 2012, I've had issues with my throat. We're pretty sure the antibiotic I was on to prevent a bone infection is the trigger-- but it has caused me a lot of issues. I ended up with a c. diff infection-- I'll spare you the details but it's not something anyone wants. As 2013 progressed, I kept feeling like food got stuck in my throat. We tried heartburn meds, which helped some, but turns out my intestines didn't like that as a long term solution. My throat was annoying, but so were my intestines (and my ovaries, but again, another story) so I just kept on living.<br />
<br />
Monday I had my third EGD in 2 years... and again, I didn't think this was typical, but turns out it's really not. I was diagnosed with <span class="st"><a href="http://www.aaaai.org/conditions-and-treatments/related-conditions/eosinophilic-esophagitis.aspx" target="_blank">Eosinophilic Esophagitis</a> after the second EGD, but the doctor I had this time looked at my chart with a lot of questions, so I'm wondering if it's truly in my throat, or if it's really in my intestines and has moved around. I was 6 when I had my first GI testing done (diagnosed with a 'nervous belly'-- I hated PE so much I'd get sick thinking about going to school on gym days); in third grade I had a case of gastroenteritis that had me hospitalized for a week, and then again in fifth grade. No one could find the cause-- again, we all just chalked it up to Rachel being Rachel.</span><br />
<span class="st"><br /></span>
<span class="st">Which brings me back to today: having a significant food intolerance (quick internet research says an allergy would be life threatening) would actually make a lot of sense. I don't like the idea, but again, you don't get to choose these things: you have what you have, and you cope and move on. </span><br />
<span class="st"><br /></span>
<span class="st">All of this is the long way 'round to getting to my resolutions for this year. I have a feeling my diet is going to dramatically change. I don't know what they'll find in February when we start the allergy testing, but I would not be surprised to find wheat or dairy a major culprit. (I also have to remember to ask about hornet stings-- I'm noticing those are getting worse the more the bastards attack me.) To that end, I really need to start eating more vegetables. I'll never become a full vegetarian (by choice, anyway), because I do enjoy the taste of meat, and like what a nice stock can do to most of my recipes. But I really need to significantly increase the veggie intake. My goal is to have 2 veggies at each dinner, which then leaves me options for lunch leftovers. For the short term, I probably should buy more convenience items while trying to establish the habit-- especially on the weeks that I don't have time to prep a week's worth of snacks.</span><br />
<span class="st"><br /></span>
<span class="st">I also need to move more regularly. I really need to take at least a 15 minute walk, daily. It doesn't have to be crazy-- but it does have to happen. I'm not ready to commit to strength training or anything like that, but walking some every day... that I can do. I know it will help my digestion and my circulation, and probably my blood pressure and stress levels, too. </span><br />
<span class="st"><br /></span>
<span class="st">And while I'm cleaning house, I really am working on having us debt free by this time next year. Well, not totally free-- I will not pay off the house loan anytime soon-- but pretty darned close. If we can enter the college tuition years without crushing debt, we'll all be better off.</span><br />
<span class="st"><br /></span>
<span class="st">So there it is: increase veggies, walk daily, and pay off bills. Sounds manageable. The delayed payoff is appealing too-- work hard now, and reap the benefits in the years to come. </span>The Buck Shoots Herehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07220730771112188313noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33509144.post-56466946020751328492014-12-27T19:59:00.001-05:002015-01-03T17:50:15.763-05:00It's a Wonderful LifeI had errands to run today-- a turkey for my Girlie's birthday dinner, and picking up 1970s-esque lights for my bestfriend. At Hanaford here at home, I did finally find a little turkey reasonably priced... and I ended up in line with one of my current and former Sunnie's grandmother. It's always nice to bump into family of my students, because I get some insight as to how they're doing-- not just what they tell me, but what their grandparents see. For the most part, it's good.<br />
<br />
After the grocery store, I went to the local ho-mart. It's no secret to anyone who knows me that I am not a fan-- in fact, I think all 3 of my readers know this fact. But I remembered on my way to the grocery store that my bestfriend forgot to go pick up these lights at the 50% off sale yesterday... and once I remembered for him, no amount of business hatred would stop me. So in I went, as quickly as I could pull off. I noticed one of my 2014 graduates working a register; I had overheard another cashier thanking her for being helpful.... which
is pretty gratifying to overhear about someone who initially introduced
herself to me as a "b&^th, and someone you won't like"... really,
honey? Is that how we're playing this? Cause trust me, sweetie, I'll
form my own opinion.... and we'll see how I describe you at the end of
our run together. So I sorta snuck up on her with my purchase; her reaction to seeing me in her line was to run around and tackle me with a bear hug. Yup... exactly as I'd expected. She told me about her Christmas day with her son and long lost cousin... and as much I hate shopping there, I was thankful to have seen her.<br />
<br />
But then I saw one of my first Sunnies in the parking lot. In many ways, he is the reason I am the teacher I am. He came to me because he was considered too "dangerous" for regular school... but he was never dangerous with me. He had a lot of anger, sure.... but when I helped him make peace with his past and embrace his future, he became the biggest softie-- which is the only kid I ever saw in him. He's the one who named me "Buckaroo"... and part of the crew that gave rise to the Sunshines. And seeing him, with a gift for his nephew, telling me about his new (better) job, and how his elementary school son was doing... well, it was better than any present I could have received.<br />
<br />
Each of these interactions with sunnies and their families made me so thankful to have stumbled upon this job 10 years ago. Make no mistake, I am not the best teacher out there: I can't teach algebra, or how to write an effective thesis statement, or why we need to know about chemical reactions. But I can help kids figure out who they are and where they are going... and when I get to see the results, either through Grandma's eyes, or a co-worker, or the Sunnie himself.... well, it's amazingly gratifying.The Buck Shoots Herehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07220730771112188313noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33509144.post-54816676282742788862014-08-31T11:43:00.003-04:002014-09-20T22:28:51.876-04:00I'll love you 'til the endFriday night Dave and I stacked 2 cords of wood. That may not seem like a major event-- and in all actuality, it wasn't-- but it was one of those events that remind me I married the right man.<br />
<br />
We were planning a bonfire for Saturday, in honor of what would have been his Dad's 81st birthday. Earlier this week we had a load of firewood delivered.... which I unintentionally had dumped right next to the fire pile... which I realized after they drove away. Between coaching, open houses, and general exhaustion, we couldn't get to this task until Friday around 6. He grabbed a beer (I grabbed my second) and we started moving the pieces that abutted the burn pile. Without speaking, we found a rhythm: he loaded into the wagon, I pulled isolated pieces, one at a time and walked them back and forth until the wagon was full, and then I helped push it up the ramp while he pulled. He put The Pogues on, and we chatted and stacked the evening away. At one of the trips into the house, he asked the kids who was making dinner, and they stepped to that task without question. (My plan to have them each cook dinner one night a week has fallen down, but it's stuck enough for them to continue to gain knowledge and confidence.) We were going to stop when we got the pile a safe distance away, but it was still light, and we were not hurting, and honestly, we were having fun together. We finished up as darkness fell. <br />
<br />
There's the age old question of how to choose a life partner: should it be someone who you makes your heart go pitter-pat or someone with whom you enjoy spending time? Obviously, the hope it you get both... but as I've said a few times over the years, even chocolate chip cookies can get boring when you have one for lunch every day. I can honestly say I had some doubts on my wedding day. Was I marrying the right man for me? Would we end up in a loveless marriage, hating each other? When I looked at our bestfriends, I didn't think we had the same relationship they had. But I had to trust that I knew what I was doing, and on we went down the isle and into our life together.<br />
<br />
At times, that first year was rough. Blending the needs of two independent adults is harder than it sounds. We never fought, but learning how to compromise without losing yourself in the process takes time. We were committed to making it work; not in an overt way, but it was a fact we didn't question. He knew what I needed, sometimes when I didn't. And he could always make me laugh.<br />
<br />
It turns out we didn't have the relationship of our friends. If you had told me that only one of our marriages would last, I never would have imagined it was ours. Looking back, I should have known we'd be ok: not only were we both committed to being happily married in 50 years, but we were also happy spending time together. We didn't have to take our clothes off to have a good time.<br />
<br />
Everyone in America knows half of all our marriages end in divorce-- but
that also means half of them make it to death do us part... which brings me back to our wood stacking date Friday night. Working together towards a common cause. Good music. Great conversation. Laughter. And enough love to get us through anything that may come our way. If that isn't the recipe for a successful marriage then I don't know what is. <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mjtzdummdCA" target="_blank"> I'll love you 'til the end. </a>The Buck Shoots Herehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07220730771112188313noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33509144.post-75142743225162965302014-07-13T12:22:00.002-04:002014-07-13T12:22:22.469-04:00Tell me what you think is worse: to be selfish or self denying?*Last night we went to a free concert at LLBean. We got to town early to do a little shopping (I refuse to call it Back to School shopping. It is July, people, which is not a month for BtS activities. Seriously.) and find our comfortable place on the lawn. LLBean Visa card had a kiosk, and if you showed your card you got a free gift. Well... my card also had the magic last digit and got us upgraded seats! We were prepared for blankets at the back of the lawn, and ended up second row, center, in front of the stage. Karma is not always a, ahem, witch.<br />
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But that's not the point of this post, at least not directly. We went into the flagship store for the restrooms, and I walked by the postcard display. Now, for anyone reading this who does not know me (anyone? Bueller?) I love to send postcards. Love it. I carry postcard stamps with me, because you never know when you'll need one. When we go on vacation, I must spend upwards of $100 on stamps and cards. I mail them to my friends, sure, but also to my Sunshines. Because who doesn't love getting a postcard in the mail?<br />
<br />
So, I bought one and wrote it out to my nephews. When they were last here we met my parents at said store (it was mid August, making it acceptable to do the BtS shopping trip), and I thought they'd get a kick out of the card-- cause they also understand my obsession, having received a fair number of postcards over the years. Dave was explaining my habit to Ben's friend who joined us for the concert, and his description pretty much summed up my existence (paraphrased of course, because I didn't write it down):<br />
<i>Most people collect things to bring home. Rach is the only one who has a collection she gives away.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<br />
Yet again, my husband is able to take a simple thing that I do (albeit with shocking predictability) and summarize that action into a key component of my personality: I am much happier when I am giving things away. I love to give things to others. The best part of Christmas
is finding the perfect present to give. I love to cook for others. To
leave them notes and presents... and yes, postcards. I do have to work to keep it in check-- too much of anything can become addictive and destructive-- but to be known for giving instead of taking, well, I am totally ok with that.<br />
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Turns out karma feels the same way.<br />
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*This lyric is from another of my favorites, <a href="http://www.toomuchjoy.com/index.php/category/wonderlick/" target="_blank">Wonderlick</a>, who is an offshoot of one of Dave's favorites, <a href="http://www.toomuchjoy.com/" target="_blank">Too Much Joy</a>. I was listening to <a href="http://bop.fm/s/wonderlick/you-first" target="_blank">this song</a> yesterday as I was delivering food to someone. No joke.The Buck Shoots Herehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07220730771112188313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33509144.post-86342636907645494302014-07-01T12:33:00.002-04:002014-07-01T12:33:51.160-04:00friendly walkOne of my goals for this summer was to get back into walking. I had been doing 4-5 miles 3 times a week before my second foot got bad, and the subsequent surgery and rehab has had me on the couch for some time. Summer seemed like the right time to get back into it, although I hadn't yet ventured out on my own. Luckily my friend called to invite me to join her, and wasn't too upset that I brought my camera along.
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She has some crazy dogs, who don't really like people, so she took me out to the snowmobile trails where it would most likely be just us. Oh, I could do some exploring out there! I hope to get back out there to document the different stages of wildflowers all season. Her dogs ran ahead, and were pretty good about circling back without needing to be called. She's good with them-- they are very well behaved, and she has obviously worked hard to make sure of that. It's well documented that I am not a dog person, but I don't mind being around her dogs, because I know they won't invade my space-- between them not liking strangers and her training, it's a good balance.
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It was a good first walk. It's pretty hot and humid this week, so even going at 4 in the afternoon required a more leisurely pace. Add to that my lack of fitness and her 37 week pregnant belly, and you can imagine the lack of land speed records being set. Needing to stop periodically for pictures was great for us both.
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Thanks for the invite-- here's hoping we do it few more times before the baby comes... and many, many times after :)The Buck Shoots Herehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07220730771112188313noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33509144.post-25125250713158092642014-06-26T22:37:00.000-04:002014-06-27T08:56:35.657-04:00We are all made of stars... yet 'The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves, that we are underlings.'I finished The Fault in our Stars today, which was as emotionally overwhelming as you would expect the current Emotional Book Everyone Is Trying To Read Before They See The Movie to be. I found a parallel that had less to do with cancer (the rest of this post is filled with spoilers, so if you haven't read the book and want to, stop reading this post. <br />
<br />
And go read the book. It'll take you 4 hours, give or take.<br />
<br />
....don't say I didn't warn you, or give you enough time to turn back before reading anything crucial....)<br />
<br />
and more to do with loving someone and letting them live the life they choose. Both of these things can be incredibly hard to do.<br />
<br />
I am in the midst of a Situation currently. This is the cause of my radio silence; partly because I am protecting the privacy of others, but mostly because it is such an overwhelming Situation that I haven't been able to put it into words. I am an empath, in all ways, and while what I feel makes perfect sense in my head and my heart, it doesn't always translate outside of my body.... but keeping it inside isn't the best of plans either, so I am in a constant struggle to find balance. Which, now that I type it, is what we all struggle with, in all things. It is part of the brilliance of this story that John Green was able to balance the optimism and altruism of Augustus with the realism and pragmatism of Hazel. We need both of these characters strengths to get through Situations. And we need their shared weakness of stubborn independence; when you stop raging against the dying of the light, night falls, and while you may welcome it's release, it is never what you want.<br />
<br />
Which is probably why I was as struck by the parents in TFIOS as much as the kids. Being a teacher is often a lot like being a parent, but you clock out at the end of the day... except for those days when you don't. When you're really the parents, you don't get to clock out. And when you are parenting a child with cancer, I can't imagine you can ever relax-- ever.<br />
<br />
Which is how I feel in this Situation. Like I can't relax, because to relax means I have accepted it as truth, and this is not a truth I ever want to accept. So I am constantly searching for meaning, for hints as to what is really happening, because what is being said is enough to be true but not to be completely true. So when Hazel's mom takes Hovering to whole new heights, while simultaneously keeping a semi-significant secret herself, I get it. And probably because I'm a 44 year old concerned bystander in a Situation and not a 16 year old girl living that Situation, I immediately understood how her mom could do both things constantly-- shield Hazel from the pains of life in any way she could-- because we can't shield our children when physical pain takes over and dominates the conversation.<br />
<br />
And yes, my students-- my Sunshines-- are my children, too. I have to punch out at the end of the day, but not because I necessarily want to. And sometimes the physical and emotional pain that encompasses them is overwhelming... for everyone involved. So the day goes on, and the hovering rises and falls with the needs of each situation. And I keep my secrets, too, because my job is to protect my Sunshines (and their parents) as much as I can. And, if I do say so myself, I am good at my job.<br />
<br />
Yes, John Green got living with cancer, young love, and living like you're dying right: but he also got right what parents go through when their kids are living those things. Because watching from the sidelines as children-- your children, in however you define 'your'-- suffer is a whole different level of pain and frustration and futility. My current Situation has aged me in a way I haven't aged since my dear friend-- a mom herself, and just old enough to have been my mom-- died of cancer. It's the things that age your soul that are the hardest to bear.<br />
<br />
Yet bear we must, and we do, most of the time, anyway. John Green throws us Peter van Houten as a reminder to why it's important to make peace with Situations, learn from them, and move on as best we can. He also gives us Isaac, who is cured but has to pay a hefty price for the long life he's about to live. Green gives his readers hope, which is sometimes so hard to find in the midst of our own Situations. Hope is what keeps you moving forward; Hope keeps you living life and not just waiting for it to end. Hope is what parents give their kids when their kids can't find it.... and then what their kids give back to them.<br />
<br />
I have Hope that my Situation will eventually cease to require the capitol S, and will just be a part of our storyline. I'm not foolish enough to not realize it could end up with a very tragic ending. But I do know that this time, whatever fault lies in this case, Cassius is wrong: and that does give me Hope.The Buck Shoots Herehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07220730771112188313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33509144.post-75012872386018215262014-03-31T22:08:00.001-04:002014-03-31T22:08:12.977-04:00FunnyNotFunny<a href="http://www.scissortailsilk.com/2014/03/28/the-joke-is-over-why-i-hope-not-to-see-pretend-pregnancy-announcements-on-april-1st/">http://www.scissortailsilk.com/2014/03/28/the-joke-is-over-why-i-hope-not-to-see-pretend-pregnancy-announcements-on-april-1st/</a><br />
<br />
When Millenium Baby Fever was striking the nation, we were hoping to have our second baby. To understand my reaction to the radio station romantic weekend giveaways, you have to understand that we'd been fertility patients the first go-round, and things were looking like the same would be true again.<br />
<br />
I remember stating my line over and over-- having a stock answer made me less likely to cry when asked about having a second child-- 'I don't care if we have the Millenium baby, a Christmas baby, or when said baby is born-- I just want to be able to have another baby!' I'd say it while laughing (another do-not-cry trick) to diffuse the awkwardness of the situation (yet a third trick; I was getting good at the mind games against myself). But yea, I wanted another baby, and I didn't care in which month he or she arrived, just that it was relatively soon.<br />
<br />
Well, I think all 7 of you readers know how the story ends; we didn't win any romantic weekends away, but we didn't end up needing one. Girlie was the last baby born at our local hospital in the 1900s, which was actually way cooler to me than the having the first baby of the 2000s-- and my CPA mom was pretty impressed with our Tax Baby timing, too.<br />
<br />
The point of all this is the reality of infertility and how many people it affects. We are the lucky ones-- it took some medical intervention, a little radical treatment options (acupressure people. Look into it....), and a whole lot of good luck. But it also helped me remember how many people want babies and can't have them for a multitude of reasons. So like she said in her post above, your harmful joke can actually hurt someone you love quite deeply. It's one thing to go back to pre-internet times and say it once in a break room or something. It's something else entirely to have to read multiple 'jokes' on a newsfeed. Infertility-- and unwanted pregnancy-- is not funny.<br />
<br />
(And if any of my readers are struggling to have a baby, don't give up. Ask questions, demand what you need, and consider alternatives. Call me if you want. Consider adoption if you can. And believe...)The Buck Shoots Herehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07220730771112188313noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33509144.post-18352037161628961622014-03-26T20:28:00.002-04:002014-03-26T20:28:41.261-04:00I want to thank you for letting me be myself again.Over the weekend, I learned my old doctor passed away. I hadn't seen him since I was in college and still technically living at home-- let's just say John Hughes was still producing movies. He was a good doctor-- a really good doctor. He and his wife (who was also his head nurse) became friends with my parents, so I did get to know him a bit outside of his practice. I always trusted him. (As an aside, it seems I've always been very lucky with doctors...)<br />
<br />
Because I am who I am, I wrote out a sympathy card. I didn't know if his wife would remember me, but I wanted her to know that even after 22 years, I still remembered them and their role in my life. And even though it felt a bit self important, I mailed the card to the street printed in the obituary, signed as both my married name and the daughter of my parents.<br />
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Today I received a strange call from my hometown. It was his wife saying that my card touched her deeply, and she wanted me to know. I'm not sure what I am more blown away by-- the power of my simple card, or the power of her simple call.<br />
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My adult life is defined by maintaining relationships. My bestfriend often jokes about the size of my Christmas Card list, and wonders just what someone has to do to get removed from it.<br />
I like to check in on people, and leave them little notes and surprises. A colleague and I made a commitment to leave little treats in everyone's mailbox once a month, because we thought the staff needed it. And while the internet has made it easier to send quick messages, I do still like mailing cards the old fashioned way. Relationships matter to us because what good is it to have good news to share but no one to share it with? Or to have had a horrible day and no one to let you cry on their shoulder. Relationships matter, even if it's been two decades since the last interaction.<br />
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And without getting ourselves into a 'thank you for thanking me for thanking you' feedback loop, I am really glad she took the time while she was grieving to let me know that card mattered. And if you're ever wondering, send the card. If you want to send it, they will remember you, no matter how long it's been.The Buck Shoots Herehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07220730771112188313noreply@blogger.com0