It 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...
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.
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.
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.
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.
Monday, July 27, 2015
Wednesday, June 24, 2015
All my life's a circle...
Star date: post summer solstice
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.
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.
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.
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.
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 was in crisis. 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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 was in crisis. 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.
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.
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.
Friday, January 30, 2015
head vs heart vs stomach
As 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.
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.
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.
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.
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...
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.
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...
It's true, what they say, about ignorance.
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.
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.
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.
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...
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.
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...
It's true, what they say, about ignorance.
Thursday, January 01, 2015
looking back in order to move ahead
2015. 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.
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.
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.
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.
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 Eosinophilic Esophagitis 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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 Eosinophilic Esophagitis 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Saturday, December 27, 2014
It's a Wonderful Life
I 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Sunday, August 31, 2014
I'll love you 'til the end
Friday 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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. I'll love you 'til the end.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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. I'll love you 'til the end.
Sunday, July 13, 2014
Tell 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.
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?
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):
Most people collect things to bring home. Rach is the only one who has a collection she gives away.
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.
Turns out karma feels the same way.
*This lyric is from another of my favorites, Wonderlick, who is an offshoot of one of Dave's favorites, Too Much Joy. I was listening to this song yesterday as I was delivering food to someone. No joke.
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?
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):
Most people collect things to bring home. Rach is the only one who has a collection she gives away.
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.
Turns out karma feels the same way.
*This lyric is from another of my favorites, Wonderlick, who is an offshoot of one of Dave's favorites, Too Much Joy. I was listening to this song yesterday as I was delivering food to someone. No joke.
Tuesday, July 01, 2014
friendly walk
One 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.
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.
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.
Thanks for the invite-- here's hoping we do it few more times before the baby comes... and many, many times after :)
Thursday, June 26, 2014
We 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.
And go read the book. It'll take you 4 hours, give or take.
....don't say I didn't warn you, or give you enough time to turn back before reading anything crucial....)
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
And go read the book. It'll take you 4 hours, give or take.
....don't say I didn't warn you, or give you enough time to turn back before reading anything crucial....)
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Monday, March 31, 2014
FunnyNotFunny
http://www.scissortailsilk.com/2014/03/28/the-joke-is-over-why-i-hope-not-to-see-pretend-pregnancy-announcements-on-april-1st/
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.
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.
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.
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.
(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...)
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.
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.
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.
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.
(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...)
Wednesday, March 26, 2014
I 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...)
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Friday, January 10, 2014
here's to life
I had a long week. All sorts of stuff going on and not even close to enough time to get it all done. To say I'm exhausted is an understatement of epic proportions.
So as I was sitting on the couch with an ice pack on my hornet sting (I cannot make this stuff up), my friend called with some amazing news. I am so happy for her and her husband. And suddenly, my week just got a lot better. And I'm singing a whole new song.
Well as cliche as it may sound
I'd like to raise another round
And if your bottle's empty
Help yourself to mine* (except for you, my friend. I'll get you a water.)
Thank you for your time
And here's to life
So as I was sitting on the couch with an ice pack on my hornet sting (I cannot make this stuff up), my friend called with some amazing news. I am so happy for her and her husband. And suddenly, my week just got a lot better. And I'm singing a whole new song.
Well as cliche as it may sound
I'd like to raise another round
And if your bottle's empty
Help yourself to mine* (except for you, my friend. I'll get you a water.)
Thank you for your time
And here's to life
Monday, January 06, 2014
what happens when The Pioneer Woman meets Joe Posnanski
We all know how I am with recipes. I can look for a recipe using chicken and pesto and come away making beef and broccoli. Well, last week we had an abundance of eggs and I could not let myself be distracted and end up making something with, I don't know, oatmeal and fruit and whipped cream or something. I searched for all sorts of egg casseroles, and didn't really find what I wanted.
So I made one up.
Again, this thing with recipes... when I create something (which I do a lot) I grab what I have available. The chances of me replicating it are pretty slim.... most of the time. This one, I remember. This one I will make again. It was really yummy, even if no one else in my family has trusted me enough to try it. If I eat the whole thing myself, then lucky me.
Bacon Breakfast Casserole
1/2 lb cooked bacon*
1/4 red pepper**
1/4 onion**
2 cooked baked potatoes
6 eggs
1/4 c milk
1/3 c shredded mozzarella cheese
*Remember, I don't measure things. I'm guessing here, people. Make your best guess as well.
**It's all I had left. I'd have used a whole one if I'd had it.
Fry up the bacon. Let it drain. Fry up the potatoes in the bacon grease. Let them drain then put them in a casserole dish. Fry up the onions and peppers and put them over the potatoes. Crumble bacon over the top.
Meanwhile, mix up the eggs, milk, and cheese. Add pepper (I didn't add salt because of all the bacon. You do what feels right.) Pour over the casserole. Bake at 350 for 20 minutes. Or something like that.
So I made one up.
Again, this thing with recipes... when I create something (which I do a lot) I grab what I have available. The chances of me replicating it are pretty slim.... most of the time. This one, I remember. This one I will make again. It was really yummy, even if no one else in my family has trusted me enough to try it. If I eat the whole thing myself, then lucky me.
Bacon Breakfast Casserole
1/2 lb cooked bacon*
1/4 red pepper**
1/4 onion**
2 cooked baked potatoes
6 eggs
1/4 c milk
1/3 c shredded mozzarella cheese
*Remember, I don't measure things. I'm guessing here, people. Make your best guess as well.
**It's all I had left. I'd have used a whole one if I'd had it.
Fry up the bacon. Let it drain. Fry up the potatoes in the bacon grease. Let them drain then put them in a casserole dish. Fry up the onions and peppers and put them over the potatoes. Crumble bacon over the top.
Meanwhile, mix up the eggs, milk, and cheese. Add pepper (I didn't add salt because of all the bacon. You do what feels right.) Pour over the casserole. Bake at 350 for 20 minutes. Or something like that.
Wednesday, January 01, 2014
I... I will begin again
My year starts in September (late August, but that's quibbling over details) and for all intents and purposes, ends in June. (Summer Vacation is not part of the year-- it is it's own time, with it's own start and end, but that is a story for another day.) There is something about New Year's Day that speaks to me, however. It's a time for reflection and for looking forward. It's a chance to reflect on past mistakes, learn from those lessons, and start again, renewed and refreshed.
I don't find it coincidental that since I started keeping my NYRs small and manageable, I have been more successful at, well, keeping them. This year I need to get more healthy: seven-ish years ago, I resolved to drink a Nalgene of water every day-- and gosh darn it if I wasn't the healthiest I'd been to that point. This year, I need to eat more fresh fruits and veggies. I eat pretty well, but I also love snacks. I don't do diets-- all it makes me want to do is eat the very things I'd just decided I couldn't eat-- but I can do choices. I can also buy fewer chips. Take that, Willpower.
I also need to start walking again. My feet are ready, and my back needs it. Legistics are an issue-- I'm crazy involved at school, and I just don't like working out in gyms. I don't think I'll ever be the get up early and walk before work type-- I barely get out of bed when nature calls, for heaven's sake. After work it's dark, and we already eat dinner at an average time of 8 PM. I don't know what I'll make work, but I have to figure something out. Even if I could get in a couple of walks per week it would be a step in the right direction. (ba-dum CHING)
So there it is: healthier snacks and walking. It sounds so simple-- but I'm not going to lie, this isn't the first year I've had those resolutions.
Here's to a happy, healthy 2014.
Sunday, November 17, 2013
Are we part of the problem or part of the solution?
Since becoming an alternative ed teacher, I've spent a lot of time thinking about poverty and it's role in our schools. Today, I attended a session at the Maine Education Association fall conference that correlated the Govenor's (pathetic) grading system with poverty. Almost completely, the lower a school's free and reduced lunch rate, the higher it's grade, and vice versa. For all our talk as a society about everyone having equal chances at success, we have absolute proof that this is not true, brought to you by a man who claims to believe that everyone can pull themselves up by their bootstraps while in actuality has worked hard to ensure the rich stay rich and the poor stay poor.
It suddenly struck me that the real reason I've been hesitant to accept the shift to a standards based education system is because it's a formalized way to keep the poor at a disadvantage, couched in terms about helping everyone achieve higher standards. This is not to say that I don't believe in the potential of kids living in poverty-- that truth is what keeps me doing what I do-- but I also know that to discount Maslow's Heirarchy under the cover of improving education will, in fact, do the opposite.
For the sake of argument, I'll assume you haven't heard of my friend Maslow. He's the guy who formalized the idea that until your basic needs were met, you are unable to move forward towards self-actualization. When you think about it, this isn't news to any of us: have you ever helped a colleague through their work day as they were going through a family crisis? None of us can focus when we're consumed by a divorce, a death, or any major tragedy, and kids are no different. If you don't know where you're going after school, or if your mom will be black and blue when you get home, or if you'll be moving again in 6 weeks, or if tonight is the night the cops will bust the drug house in the back yard, or if the electricity will still be on or if there will be any food on the table, very little of what policy makers have defined as "essential academic knowledge" will matter much to you. Go back to that work friend of yours who is struggling with caring for an increasingly demented parent: they can barely make a pot of coffee without needing help, never mind make decisions that affect the future of the company. Kids are no different. They know that being able to tell the difference between igneous, metamorphic, and sedamentary rocks is important, but not as important as dinner. And who are we kidding here? They are absolutely right.
The standards movement is all about educational reform. I agree that our schools need massive change, but I think we need more acceptance of our differences and less of a move towards uniformity. We need more opportunity to meet kids where they are at and help them move forward, rather than judging them by whether or not they collect the right number of checkmarks in a 13 year timespan. Because make no mistake, that is really what a performance based diploma will represent-- the ability of a student to prove competency in multiple areas from grades k-12; no leeway for homelessness, no leeway for unexpected trauma, no leeway for anything. Those of our children who come from stable upbringings will be able to do this (assuming, of course, they don't come with a learning disability, which puts them in a different category anyway) but those who do not.... well, they have to work much harder to make it.
Our students come to us these days with all sorts of experiences and realities. In my county, 61% of students qualify for free or reduced lunch. More than half. Yes, more than half the students in my county don't have their basic needs met. They are homeless, hungry, and struggling emotionally to make it through a day. That definitely sounds like a recipe for success in an algebra class, doesn't it? But to label them as environmentally disadvantaged... that would be cruel! Because it's not like classmates can recognize the smell of a a peer who doesn't have access to a working shower, or the emotional breakdown of a classmate who doesn't know if their family will still be there when they get off the bus. To not address these issues head on is to insult the intelligence of our students-- they all know what's happening around them, and we're teaching them through our actions to ignore what they know to be true.
Kids come to our classrooms with all sorts backgrounds, and all sorts of hindrances to their learning. Changing 'credits' to 'standards' only changes the language-- it does not change the reality of what kids are dealing with on a daily basis. Until we really address the impact of poverty on our students, we're playing an intense shell game where kids are paying the price for society's failings. And the governor has set the stage for the kids who suffer and the adults to hold no responsibility. Embarrassing, really.
What we need for educational reform is the freedom to meet students where they are and help them move further. We need to be able to get to know our students as people and as learners, and then tailor instruction to meet their needs. Right now kindergartners are being labeled as behind on their checklist after 2 months of school. Whatever happened to Piaget? Some kids start school before they have even turned 5-- and we immediately smack them with a 'does not meet' label. Gee, I wonder why so many kids hate school?
There are academic standards that must be met by all students, and there is no doubt that our system needs reform. But we are once again making subtle changes that make it incredibly difficult for students and families in poverty to succeed-- and pretending that we are doing no such thing. Until we can find a way to support learners who come from stressful surroundings, we'll never meet our own standard of leaving no child behind.
It suddenly struck me that the real reason I've been hesitant to accept the shift to a standards based education system is because it's a formalized way to keep the poor at a disadvantage, couched in terms about helping everyone achieve higher standards. This is not to say that I don't believe in the potential of kids living in poverty-- that truth is what keeps me doing what I do-- but I also know that to discount Maslow's Heirarchy under the cover of improving education will, in fact, do the opposite.
For the sake of argument, I'll assume you haven't heard of my friend Maslow. He's the guy who formalized the idea that until your basic needs were met, you are unable to move forward towards self-actualization. When you think about it, this isn't news to any of us: have you ever helped a colleague through their work day as they were going through a family crisis? None of us can focus when we're consumed by a divorce, a death, or any major tragedy, and kids are no different. If you don't know where you're going after school, or if your mom will be black and blue when you get home, or if you'll be moving again in 6 weeks, or if tonight is the night the cops will bust the drug house in the back yard, or if the electricity will still be on or if there will be any food on the table, very little of what policy makers have defined as "essential academic knowledge" will matter much to you. Go back to that work friend of yours who is struggling with caring for an increasingly demented parent: they can barely make a pot of coffee without needing help, never mind make decisions that affect the future of the company. Kids are no different. They know that being able to tell the difference between igneous, metamorphic, and sedamentary rocks is important, but not as important as dinner. And who are we kidding here? They are absolutely right.
The standards movement is all about educational reform. I agree that our schools need massive change, but I think we need more acceptance of our differences and less of a move towards uniformity. We need more opportunity to meet kids where they are at and help them move forward, rather than judging them by whether or not they collect the right number of checkmarks in a 13 year timespan. Because make no mistake, that is really what a performance based diploma will represent-- the ability of a student to prove competency in multiple areas from grades k-12; no leeway for homelessness, no leeway for unexpected trauma, no leeway for anything. Those of our children who come from stable upbringings will be able to do this (assuming, of course, they don't come with a learning disability, which puts them in a different category anyway) but those who do not.... well, they have to work much harder to make it.
Our students come to us these days with all sorts of experiences and realities. In my county, 61% of students qualify for free or reduced lunch. More than half. Yes, more than half the students in my county don't have their basic needs met. They are homeless, hungry, and struggling emotionally to make it through a day. That definitely sounds like a recipe for success in an algebra class, doesn't it? But to label them as environmentally disadvantaged... that would be cruel! Because it's not like classmates can recognize the smell of a a peer who doesn't have access to a working shower, or the emotional breakdown of a classmate who doesn't know if their family will still be there when they get off the bus. To not address these issues head on is to insult the intelligence of our students-- they all know what's happening around them, and we're teaching them through our actions to ignore what they know to be true.
Kids come to our classrooms with all sorts backgrounds, and all sorts of hindrances to their learning. Changing 'credits' to 'standards' only changes the language-- it does not change the reality of what kids are dealing with on a daily basis. Until we really address the impact of poverty on our students, we're playing an intense shell game where kids are paying the price for society's failings. And the governor has set the stage for the kids who suffer and the adults to hold no responsibility. Embarrassing, really.
What we need for educational reform is the freedom to meet students where they are and help them move further. We need to be able to get to know our students as people and as learners, and then tailor instruction to meet their needs. Right now kindergartners are being labeled as behind on their checklist after 2 months of school. Whatever happened to Piaget? Some kids start school before they have even turned 5-- and we immediately smack them with a 'does not meet' label. Gee, I wonder why so many kids hate school?
There are academic standards that must be met by all students, and there is no doubt that our system needs reform. But we are once again making subtle changes that make it incredibly difficult for students and families in poverty to succeed-- and pretending that we are doing no such thing. Until we can find a way to support learners who come from stressful surroundings, we'll never meet our own standard of leaving no child behind.
Saturday, November 16, 2013
Shoulda known better...
So much for that. A blog post a day... what was I thinking?
Back on the horse, y'all.
Back on the horse, y'all.
Wednesday, October 30, 2013
writers write
And clearly I am not acting like a writer.
I know I need to write more. Regularly. And as I'm sitting at the edge of NaNoWriMo, I know it even more. And yet.... this is what I'm writing. Better than the last 3 posts I've not published because I couldn't get them to flow, sure, but barely... only because I'm committed to getting it done.
So, with the very few of you who are still here reading, I am committing to writing in the month of November. Nothing on the level of NaNoWriMo, but daily. Because writers write, and I am a writer.
I know I need to write more. Regularly. And as I'm sitting at the edge of NaNoWriMo, I know it even more. And yet.... this is what I'm writing. Better than the last 3 posts I've not published because I couldn't get them to flow, sure, but barely... only because I'm committed to getting it done.
So, with the very few of you who are still here reading, I am committing to writing in the month of November. Nothing on the level of NaNoWriMo, but daily. Because writers write, and I am a writer.
Monday, September 02, 2013
back to life, back to reality
It's Labor Day weekend, which means, for us, anyway, that we've been back to school for a week. It always amazes me how quickly I adjust these days-- I used to struggle to get to sleep those first few weeks, but now it only takes me one night. Adjusting meal times is a challenge-- in the summer, we're usually eating lunch around 4, and now I'm supposed to have dinner ready at 6? Bedtime at 9 is only a challenge when we're eating dinner at 8:30...
Back to School is a lot like New Year's Lite: it's the start of a new year, and therefore a good time to make some changes. My goals are similar to what they were last January-- walk more, write more, and forgive more. The nice part about the "more" piece is success is relative. I really need to start walking, period, and that will be lots more than I'm doing now. Writing... I need to write, even when it's not easy. Forgiving is the easy one and the hardest one simultaneously; I'm pretty good at forgiving people in general, but I need to get better at truly not expecting more from someone than they are capable of giving. It's a fine line, that one-- holding people to a high standard, but not one they can't hope to reach. Connected to that is finding the same line for myself-- and forgiving myself for not being superhuman.
And so, for the next 40-odd weeks, this is the routine. Work, eat, sleep. Walk, write, forgive. Which I guess is the same routine as summer, except in summer time matters less. Either way, it's a good pattern.
Back to School is a lot like New Year's Lite: it's the start of a new year, and therefore a good time to make some changes. My goals are similar to what they were last January-- walk more, write more, and forgive more. The nice part about the "more" piece is success is relative. I really need to start walking, period, and that will be lots more than I'm doing now. Writing... I need to write, even when it's not easy. Forgiving is the easy one and the hardest one simultaneously; I'm pretty good at forgiving people in general, but I need to get better at truly not expecting more from someone than they are capable of giving. It's a fine line, that one-- holding people to a high standard, but not one they can't hope to reach. Connected to that is finding the same line for myself-- and forgiving myself for not being superhuman.
And so, for the next 40-odd weeks, this is the routine. Work, eat, sleep. Walk, write, forgive. Which I guess is the same routine as summer, except in summer time matters less. Either way, it's a good pattern.
Tuesday, August 13, 2013
Don't be that guy.
As we pull into Chicago Union station 4 hours late, James (the band, not the brother in law) joins us on our homeward bound lament. The kids want to go home, right now, too. Our train (The Cardinal, heading from Chicago to NYC-- and way less classy than the Empire Builder from which we'd just disembarked) had left town 2 hours ago. We'd known this since ND-- so it was not a surprise to anyone. I will say, while a missed connection is a missed connection, Amtrak's approach is significantly more helpful than United's has ever been. Regardless, getting on a bus with a bunch of selfish folks took the wind out of our traveling sails.
What I appreciated about this experience was Amtrak was a part of the solution to our missed connection. They had a charter bus to take us to meet the train at a further stop. I will say that is gave me some pause that a bus leaving 2-3 hours later can catch up with a train, but perhaps that's part of the problem with these delays. We had to bring a group to Indianapolis (which was their final destination) and then the rest of us to meet the train in Cinncinati. Sounds like an excellent plan, and in truth, it was. Finding Passenger Services in Chicago Union Station was a bit difficult, and then they had their own Line From Hell form. One very pushy elderly gentleman jumped the line and just hollered at the woman who had come to get the group heading to Flint "What about those of us meeting train 50?" She told us to wait 'over there'; we did as we were told. She soon led us towards the waiting bus, and those of us sure we were going to Cinci boarded. Another pushy gentleman started asking the driver about food. He was obviously taken aback-- he was used to people wanting to rush out and make their connection, not planning rest stops. As we waited for the Indy folks plans to get sorted out and for checked luggage to find us, he kept asking. "I have one question. What about food? I haven't had anything since noontime." I kept quiet about the fact that I thought he was carrying enough calories that he'd make it through 'til morning. "We're not just freight here. We're people." The poor beleagured Amtrak lady headed back inside to figure that out, and the nice gentleman next to me who was trying to make his own connection to Charlestown, WV watched his journey lengthen as we waited for Mr. Selfish 2013 to hoard more empty calories for himself. There are times I am very embarrassed by my fellow citizens.
The bus driver convinced Mr. S that he could go to the vending machines in Indy-- and took off before he had a chance to cause more delays. We went by White Sox park on our way out of Chicago, and I woke up as we drove next to Indiapolis Colts stadium. Dave and the kids got hot dogs off the roller at the bus/train station, but I passed, on multiple principals. I don't eat anything off a convenience store roller, and I wouldn't do anything to make that guy in the front think he was right. We rolled towards I70 and Cincinnati and continued our journey east.
As I type this, both Bono and I are stuck in a moment that we can't get out of. The train is pulled over outside of Hinton, WV for no obvious reason. I'm sure we have to wait for some coal cars to cede the tracks to us. Rail travel in America could be so much better than it is, but we value personal cars over mass transport. The American Dream, with it's personal possessions placed prominently on the pedestal for all to see. With any luck, the 4 hour layover scheduled for DC will be sufficient for us to get a real meal before we hop another train and ride the rails north. I've been thinking about the woman from NJ who was on that first flight of our journey. Her sigh was audible from the other side of the terminal. "This is the worst day of my life. The whole day is wasted on this one flight. I'm never flying to Maine again." She sounded like she could have been neighbors with Tony Soprano. Entitled Americans don't only ride trains.
It's much harder to take pictures around here. We've got to be in the heart of the Appalachians, and tall trees and foliage line the tracks. We passed through the Big Bend Tunnel, built from 1930-32 and near the Grand Bend Tunnel (1870-72). This is the site of the famed showdown between John Henry and the steam engine. There's a statue to good ole JH, although I missed that shot, too. The history here is sadder than out West; John Henry and coal mining towns don't have the happy ending that Lewis and Clark bring. The poverty is here, though. That part is truth in advertising.
I keep comparing flying and train travel. When we landed late in Newark 2 weeks ago, I turned my phone on to get a automated text from United saying we might miss our connection, and if we did we were confirmed on the same flight out the next day. As I ran to try to hold the plane at the gate, no one would help me. "There are monitors for you to check arrivals and departures." We ran through the airport, and slid on by the skin of our teeth. That is as close to The Amazing Race as I ever hope to come (although I'm sure there would be a PA to deal with my luggage, and I'd be dressed for running through airports. Poor Cate was in her flippy floppys-- not good race wear.) Last night, although the help was a bit chaotic, it was there. The conductors were sincere in their apologies-- on both trains. The current conductor apologized to each customer as he checked our tickets, and brought us all a free snack pack and water "I know you didn't get a chance for dinner." I don't know if the poor woman in Chicago contacted him or not, but I did eat that food, and was thankful for the kindness. I don't think it was enough consolation for the poor man behind us, though, who was definitely going to miss his connecting bus. I had the Mike's Hard saved from MT and Dave had the River Bend Ale: we toasted across the isle, and I fell asleep to Ben telling me about how early man learned about planting gardens (strawberries grew out of the latrines, and they figured out that the seeds must be getting placed there), about why stone fruit seeds contain cyanide (the bitterness would cause animals to drop the seeds further from the mother tree), and how horses became domesticated (man took the place of the head female horse). He is absorbing the material in that massive tome.
We passed by Camp Cupcake a few towns back, where Martha Stewart spent some time a few years back. The inmates waved as we passed by them at work in their garden. In White Sulphur Springs, there's a underground fortress and escape route for the President in case DC is attacked. On the other side of the tracks from the famous golf course is a dilapidated shack. I have to wonder if White Sulphur Springs was named to highlight its distinction from plain old Sulphur Springs. I've moved onto reading March, also by Geraldine Brooks, and I'm not sure I'll be able to stomach much of it. Chapter 2 ends with a savage beating of a female slave who asks a young Mr. March (Jo and the other Little Women's father) to break the law and teach a young slave child her letters. We're into Virginia now, and this is a part of our history that makes me sick to my stomach. While my self-absorbed fellow travelers have put their own needs above others, at least they haven't beat anyone bloody. It is small consolation-- on both counts.
The kids are both asleep again-- they couldn't sleep much last night. Readjusting to EDT and getting ready for school will be difficult this year. I may need to have them pull an all-nighter with no daytime naps to get them back on schedule. Air travel messes with my system, but it seems riding the rails isn't as good for them as it is for me. It's hard to look out these windows without getting motion sick, so perhaps it's good their circadian rhythms are a mess. They aren't complaining, which is a testament to who they are as people. They have learned how to be unhappy but not miserable, and how to endure something that is unpleasant but won't destroy them. I am always proud to be seen with them, and to be recognized as their mom. They will never be that sighing woman from NJ, or that selfish guy in Chicago. Fred and Cowboy Mouth have reminded them a lot that nothing ever goes as planed so get your head out of you hands. Oh yes, my kids will never be that guy. And with that knowledge, I can let go of Mr. Selfish, and Mrs. New Jersey, and be glad to be alive.
What I appreciated about this experience was Amtrak was a part of the solution to our missed connection. They had a charter bus to take us to meet the train at a further stop. I will say that is gave me some pause that a bus leaving 2-3 hours later can catch up with a train, but perhaps that's part of the problem with these delays. We had to bring a group to Indianapolis (which was their final destination) and then the rest of us to meet the train in Cinncinati. Sounds like an excellent plan, and in truth, it was. Finding Passenger Services in Chicago Union Station was a bit difficult, and then they had their own Line From Hell form. One very pushy elderly gentleman jumped the line and just hollered at the woman who had come to get the group heading to Flint "What about those of us meeting train 50?" She told us to wait 'over there'; we did as we were told. She soon led us towards the waiting bus, and those of us sure we were going to Cinci boarded. Another pushy gentleman started asking the driver about food. He was obviously taken aback-- he was used to people wanting to rush out and make their connection, not planning rest stops. As we waited for the Indy folks plans to get sorted out and for checked luggage to find us, he kept asking. "I have one question. What about food? I haven't had anything since noontime." I kept quiet about the fact that I thought he was carrying enough calories that he'd make it through 'til morning. "We're not just freight here. We're people." The poor beleagured Amtrak lady headed back inside to figure that out, and the nice gentleman next to me who was trying to make his own connection to Charlestown, WV watched his journey lengthen as we waited for Mr. Selfish 2013 to hoard more empty calories for himself. There are times I am very embarrassed by my fellow citizens.
The bus driver convinced Mr. S that he could go to the vending machines in Indy-- and took off before he had a chance to cause more delays. We went by White Sox park on our way out of Chicago, and I woke up as we drove next to Indiapolis Colts stadium. Dave and the kids got hot dogs off the roller at the bus/train station, but I passed, on multiple principals. I don't eat anything off a convenience store roller, and I wouldn't do anything to make that guy in the front think he was right. We rolled towards I70 and Cincinnati and continued our journey east.
As I type this, both Bono and I are stuck in a moment that we can't get out of. The train is pulled over outside of Hinton, WV for no obvious reason. I'm sure we have to wait for some coal cars to cede the tracks to us. Rail travel in America could be so much better than it is, but we value personal cars over mass transport. The American Dream, with it's personal possessions placed prominently on the pedestal for all to see. With any luck, the 4 hour layover scheduled for DC will be sufficient for us to get a real meal before we hop another train and ride the rails north. I've been thinking about the woman from NJ who was on that first flight of our journey. Her sigh was audible from the other side of the terminal. "This is the worst day of my life. The whole day is wasted on this one flight. I'm never flying to Maine again." She sounded like she could have been neighbors with Tony Soprano. Entitled Americans don't only ride trains.
It's much harder to take pictures around here. We've got to be in the heart of the Appalachians, and tall trees and foliage line the tracks. We passed through the Big Bend Tunnel, built from 1930-32 and near the Grand Bend Tunnel (1870-72). This is the site of the famed showdown between John Henry and the steam engine. There's a statue to good ole JH, although I missed that shot, too. The history here is sadder than out West; John Henry and coal mining towns don't have the happy ending that Lewis and Clark bring. The poverty is here, though. That part is truth in advertising.
I keep comparing flying and train travel. When we landed late in Newark 2 weeks ago, I turned my phone on to get a automated text from United saying we might miss our connection, and if we did we were confirmed on the same flight out the next day. As I ran to try to hold the plane at the gate, no one would help me. "There are monitors for you to check arrivals and departures." We ran through the airport, and slid on by the skin of our teeth. That is as close to The Amazing Race as I ever hope to come (although I'm sure there would be a PA to deal with my luggage, and I'd be dressed for running through airports. Poor Cate was in her flippy floppys-- not good race wear.) Last night, although the help was a bit chaotic, it was there. The conductors were sincere in their apologies-- on both trains. The current conductor apologized to each customer as he checked our tickets, and brought us all a free snack pack and water "I know you didn't get a chance for dinner." I don't know if the poor woman in Chicago contacted him or not, but I did eat that food, and was thankful for the kindness. I don't think it was enough consolation for the poor man behind us, though, who was definitely going to miss his connecting bus. I had the Mike's Hard saved from MT and Dave had the River Bend Ale: we toasted across the isle, and I fell asleep to Ben telling me about how early man learned about planting gardens (strawberries grew out of the latrines, and they figured out that the seeds must be getting placed there), about why stone fruit seeds contain cyanide (the bitterness would cause animals to drop the seeds further from the mother tree), and how horses became domesticated (man took the place of the head female horse). He is absorbing the material in that massive tome.
We passed by Camp Cupcake a few towns back, where Martha Stewart spent some time a few years back. The inmates waved as we passed by them at work in their garden. In White Sulphur Springs, there's a underground fortress and escape route for the President in case DC is attacked. On the other side of the tracks from the famous golf course is a dilapidated shack. I have to wonder if White Sulphur Springs was named to highlight its distinction from plain old Sulphur Springs. I've moved onto reading March, also by Geraldine Brooks, and I'm not sure I'll be able to stomach much of it. Chapter 2 ends with a savage beating of a female slave who asks a young Mr. March (Jo and the other Little Women's father) to break the law and teach a young slave child her letters. We're into Virginia now, and this is a part of our history that makes me sick to my stomach. While my self-absorbed fellow travelers have put their own needs above others, at least they haven't beat anyone bloody. It is small consolation-- on both counts.
The kids are both asleep again-- they couldn't sleep much last night. Readjusting to EDT and getting ready for school will be difficult this year. I may need to have them pull an all-nighter with no daytime naps to get them back on schedule. Air travel messes with my system, but it seems riding the rails isn't as good for them as it is for me. It's hard to look out these windows without getting motion sick, so perhaps it's good their circadian rhythms are a mess. They aren't complaining, which is a testament to who they are as people. They have learned how to be unhappy but not miserable, and how to endure something that is unpleasant but won't destroy them. I am always proud to be seen with them, and to be recognized as their mom. They will never be that sighing woman from NJ, or that selfish guy in Chicago. Fred and Cowboy Mouth have reminded them a lot that nothing ever goes as planed so get your head out of you hands. Oh yes, my kids will never be that guy. And with that knowledge, I can let go of Mr. Selfish, and Mrs. New Jersey, and be glad to be alive.
Stepped Onto a Steam Train.
Traveling by train is a different sort of experience. Time stops, in a lot of ways. When a freight train is coming in the other direction, we pull of and cede the tracks. Sometimes you come in through the downtown, although most times you skirt the edge. Some stops are within 30 minutes of each other, and some are hours apart. We're going to be about 4 hours late arriving into Chicago, which means we will miss our connection to DC. The trains are not equipped with WiFi, so I have no way of figuring out an alternate plan. The Conductors are telling us, however, that they know about all of us missing connections and we'll be greeted on the platform with a personalized rescheduled itiniary. So, for another 8 hours, we just sit back and listen to the wheels rolling along the tracks, and trust we'll have a plan when we arrive. I'm supposed to be at a training on Friday, and I'm holding out hope we'll be back by then, but there's nothing I can do about it now, so I'm trying to let it go.
As I mentioned yesterday, part of the reason for this trip is to avoid air travel. I have learned to hate air travel. It really is a hurry up and wait sort of experience.-- you have to get to your airport a good 90 minutes early, to have enough time to take off your shoes and empty your pockets and unpack half your stuff to get through security. We walked onto the train without having to show our tickets-- just gave the conductor our names and he pointed us in the right direction. I was pleasantly surprised to be able to walk on with our open coffees; there are people with full coolers to avoid concessions altogether. I am also finding the staff has a different demeanor-- they are truly here to serve us, and the apologies about the delays have felt sincere. "Amtrak will do everything they can to get you to your destination." The conductor told us they've sent vans to get passengers to their next connection, paid for bus tickets, or put them up in a hotel. "No one will sleep in Union Station tonight-- unless that is your choice to do so." What a welcome change from United texting to tell me my flight from Portland might not make the connection in Newark, and we were confirmed for a flight leaving 24 hours later. Granted, flying is a lot faster, if you make all of your connections-- and on journeys this long, probably even if you have to wait in an airport for 24 hours. But the airlines know that, and they don't really seem to care if you're comfortable, or scared, or if your plans are all shot to hell because of the delays.
The passengers are different as well. I've seen quite a few elderly folk, as well as families with young kids. I have seen quite a few people who need walkers or canes to get around. Lack of balance is a concern, but I'm sure getting around in airports is an even more daunting thought. There's a guy who just rode his bike from Virginia to Seattle, and a younger couple traveling all around the country by rail. The dining car has family seating, so if you're not in a party of 4, you get seated with someone else to roundout the table. Our sleeper seats have already paid for meals; Cate and I aren't big breakfast eaters, so just Dave and Ben took advantage of that, and Warrior eating Dave wasn't hungry for lunch, so he sat that out. It's an interesting way to meet your fellow passengers-- and way more fun than being crammed into airplane seats together. There's a family of what I'm assuming to be Mennonites, dressed in black from head to toe, except for the white bonnet. I finished reading Caleb's Crossing, by Geraldine Brooks, and found myself wondering if the religious guilt poured over Bethia and other 17th century Pilgrims living in the Massacheusetts Bay Colony has lessended for these woman any. When they boarded, I knew instantly I'd never have encountered them on a plane, a thought that had never crossed my mind before. Suddenly my Lutheran upbringing doesn't seem so strict. My mom was raised Missouri Synod, which is less strict than Wisconsin Synod. Looking around me, I see that to be true.
Big Sky Country is behind us; rolling hillsides and more prominent tree lines in front. We crossed the Mighty Mississippi and are into LaCrosse, WI. It's an old brick station, and makes me wish for platform 9 3/4. Most of the stations don't have WiFi-- I did sneak on for a quick minute in Red Wing, MN, and almost got a guest connection from Winona State University-- too bad for them, because I would have recommended them as a school for someone to check out-- but I'm really doing ok without it. I only wish I had it to look up info about all the places we pass through. or to find where we are on a map. There are bars near every train station-- casinos, too, back in Montana and North Dakota. Restaurants, too, but the bars face prominently. Wild Light is singing to me about their hometown in New Hampshire. The country side looks like they have 4 generations of families with personal histories. The train runs on a diagonal across the town streets, showing lots of dead ends and hidden spots. I saw the old part of a major route coming out of Winona, MN-- the road ran below the current road and is only visible from the tracks. You see things you wouldn't otherwise see, and have the time to think about them. There are more hidden to the road family dumps, people with junkyards that rival the one back at home. I wonder if those fences are discussed at town meetings, or if being evident only by the tracks shields the owners from the ire of their neighbors? Tomah, WI, and the mennonite family is here to greet their weary travelers. It is like a scene out of Witness, and I am a hapless voeyor.
The kids have spent the day in the roomette, Ben reading his book (he was making progress when I saw him at lunch) and Cate on her iPod, both dozing. We're not supposed to have rooms for the rest of the trip home, so I'm glad they're taking advantage of it. Dave has been next to me, when he hasn't gotten restless and gone exploring. I doubt we'll travel by train again with all 4 of us-- the rooms are so expensive, and it's a long way to go in coach, but I could see Dave and I traveling this way when it's just the two of us. I don't like the "guilty until proved innocent" part of air travel. With that thought, I realize I am becoming my mother. Is train travel less crazy than using a camper as your primary vehicle? I guess only time will tell.
As I mentioned yesterday, part of the reason for this trip is to avoid air travel. I have learned to hate air travel. It really is a hurry up and wait sort of experience.-- you have to get to your airport a good 90 minutes early, to have enough time to take off your shoes and empty your pockets and unpack half your stuff to get through security. We walked onto the train without having to show our tickets-- just gave the conductor our names and he pointed us in the right direction. I was pleasantly surprised to be able to walk on with our open coffees; there are people with full coolers to avoid concessions altogether. I am also finding the staff has a different demeanor-- they are truly here to serve us, and the apologies about the delays have felt sincere. "Amtrak will do everything they can to get you to your destination." The conductor told us they've sent vans to get passengers to their next connection, paid for bus tickets, or put them up in a hotel. "No one will sleep in Union Station tonight-- unless that is your choice to do so." What a welcome change from United texting to tell me my flight from Portland might not make the connection in Newark, and we were confirmed for a flight leaving 24 hours later. Granted, flying is a lot faster, if you make all of your connections-- and on journeys this long, probably even if you have to wait in an airport for 24 hours. But the airlines know that, and they don't really seem to care if you're comfortable, or scared, or if your plans are all shot to hell because of the delays.
The passengers are different as well. I've seen quite a few elderly folk, as well as families with young kids. I have seen quite a few people who need walkers or canes to get around. Lack of balance is a concern, but I'm sure getting around in airports is an even more daunting thought. There's a guy who just rode his bike from Virginia to Seattle, and a younger couple traveling all around the country by rail. The dining car has family seating, so if you're not in a party of 4, you get seated with someone else to roundout the table. Our sleeper seats have already paid for meals; Cate and I aren't big breakfast eaters, so just Dave and Ben took advantage of that, and Warrior eating Dave wasn't hungry for lunch, so he sat that out. It's an interesting way to meet your fellow passengers-- and way more fun than being crammed into airplane seats together. There's a family of what I'm assuming to be Mennonites, dressed in black from head to toe, except for the white bonnet. I finished reading Caleb's Crossing, by Geraldine Brooks, and found myself wondering if the religious guilt poured over Bethia and other 17th century Pilgrims living in the Massacheusetts Bay Colony has lessended for these woman any. When they boarded, I knew instantly I'd never have encountered them on a plane, a thought that had never crossed my mind before. Suddenly my Lutheran upbringing doesn't seem so strict. My mom was raised Missouri Synod, which is less strict than Wisconsin Synod. Looking around me, I see that to be true.
Big Sky Country is behind us; rolling hillsides and more prominent tree lines in front. We crossed the Mighty Mississippi and are into LaCrosse, WI. It's an old brick station, and makes me wish for platform 9 3/4. Most of the stations don't have WiFi-- I did sneak on for a quick minute in Red Wing, MN, and almost got a guest connection from Winona State University-- too bad for them, because I would have recommended them as a school for someone to check out-- but I'm really doing ok without it. I only wish I had it to look up info about all the places we pass through. or to find where we are on a map. There are bars near every train station-- casinos, too, back in Montana and North Dakota. Restaurants, too, but the bars face prominently. Wild Light is singing to me about their hometown in New Hampshire. The country side looks like they have 4 generations of families with personal histories. The train runs on a diagonal across the town streets, showing lots of dead ends and hidden spots. I saw the old part of a major route coming out of Winona, MN-- the road ran below the current road and is only visible from the tracks. You see things you wouldn't otherwise see, and have the time to think about them. There are more hidden to the road family dumps, people with junkyards that rival the one back at home. I wonder if those fences are discussed at town meetings, or if being evident only by the tracks shields the owners from the ire of their neighbors? Tomah, WI, and the mennonite family is here to greet their weary travelers. It is like a scene out of Witness, and I am a hapless voeyor.
The kids have spent the day in the roomette, Ben reading his book (he was making progress when I saw him at lunch) and Cate on her iPod, both dozing. We're not supposed to have rooms for the rest of the trip home, so I'm glad they're taking advantage of it. Dave has been next to me, when he hasn't gotten restless and gone exploring. I doubt we'll travel by train again with all 4 of us-- the rooms are so expensive, and it's a long way to go in coach, but I could see Dave and I traveling this way when it's just the two of us. I don't like the "guilty until proved innocent" part of air travel. With that thought, I realize I am becoming my mother. Is train travel less crazy than using a camper as your primary vehicle? I guess only time will tell.
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