Feeling a little grown-up

What does it mean to be a grown-up?  I've often asked this question as I look around the townhouse I bought almost three years ago, and I come to the same mind-jarring conclusion; I'm responsible for this shit.  Being a homeowner means getting calls that workmen accidentally broke your basement window and you may just have to fix that leaky toilet yourself (not hypothetical situations, btw).

Bottom-line, I absolutely love my home and I do like taking care of it.  People comment that it is full of my personality and warmth.  I agree.  There isn't much room for someone else's stuff... which is a whole other post I could get into later.  I like making coffee in the morning, opening the blinds and reading the paper.  Last week, however, I was bemoaning my sad sofa a bit.  I've had three sofas in the last fifteen years; a foam loveseat that weighed about ten pounds (college days); a curved, powder-blue loveseat that I got at a flea market for $25 (first on-my-own apartment), and a pull-out hand-me-down from relatives (somewhere for company to sleep).  It was that last one, the battered, cat-clawed, slipcovered sleeper that I kinda lamented.  It saw me through some good and bad times, and sometimes that stuff is hard to part with, but it's just part of the larger story.  Move along, little sofa, have a nice life in someone else's house.  The promise of a nicer, slightly used sofa set was too much to pass up.  And I got a lot of furniture for a bargain.

Do I qualify for adulthood now?  Maybe, but I still need to make room for someone else. :-)

Nevermind, November

I like to create titles for each month: Awful August, Snarky September, Obnoxious October.  These titles correspond to how I feel about public education. Don't get me wrong, I love teaching.  I love my students, (and I don't say that just because they stalk me and found this blog... hiya, 8th block!) they get me up in the morning, they soak up learning, they prank me, they teach me, and they make me laugh.  It's the extra crap I loathe.  

Senior Prankery last May

 I'm so disheartened when people don't support teachers, either financially or emotionally.  I'm disheartened when I bust my butt planning and grading and instructing and then 10 other tasks are added to my already full plate.  Let's just set the record straight, teachers work hard, and so do counselors, custodians, kitchen staff, paraprofessionals, and yes, even administrators.  But in that hard work, we seem disparate and defensive.  We seem to be working towards different goals.  We end up being REactive instead of PROactive.  We do this mostly because we are afraid.  I fear for my job, and I fear for the jobs of others who help me do my job.  I fear bigger class sizes and higher expectations.  Listen, if I have to teach 190 students, how do you expect me to grade papers, give them good feedback and make the learning valid and authentic.  I'm not a highly paid babysitter.  And the problem with policy and bureaucracy and mandates is that I'm treated like a babysitter, but also expected to raise standardized test scores at the same time.  Enough.

“The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams.”  --Eleanor Roosevelt

My friend Matt was telling me about Stephen R. Covey last night.  I looked it up today because it stuck in my head last night.  The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People makes sense for education.  One of the habits, "put first things first" is especially poignant in this discussion.  If we spend our time in public education dealing with the policies we have in place instead of new policies we feel will work better, then I think we might be more productive, we might even spend money more efficiently.  True, there isn't a panacea for the problems of public education.  But the remedies are already here, they just aren't being used. 

We'll open a restaurant in Santa Fe...

I went away to Santa Fe for the weekend.  We took off Friday down I-25 in my amazing one-tank-wonder "The Shadow".  It has a sunroof, an iPod hookup and cruise control.  You pretty much just steer south and you're there in 5 hours 34 minutes.  You stop only for M&M's and to pee, and that better be the same stop. 

Autumn in Colorado is lovely.  But autumn in Santa Fe is heavenly.  It's all short-sleeved weather during the day, but at night it gets chilly and the coyotes howl.  There is definitely something about the high desert, it beckons and haunts you, but in a good way.  I've been to Santa Fe a handful of times, I have all kinds of favorite places, I get new ones every time, and people I like keep moving there... and getting second bedrooms. They are generous and I love them... a lot.

What didn't we do?  We laughed a lot.  We ate a lot.  I visited favorite spots and found some new ones, it was a good ol' time.  There's something about the combination of green chile, cheese and beans in a tortilla that just makes sense, but it only works in Santa Fe. 

Trust me, you're gonna want to go here.

 Then there was Trader Joe's, which feels so much like the cave of wonders.  Listen, pumpkin butter is the 8th wonder of the world.  It is amazing stirred into steel cut oatmeal.  I'm just saying, but I'm not sharing.  And autumn adobe kinda looks pumpkiny... way to let your Fall Freak Flag Fly, Santa Fe!

So what do I take away from this weekend getaway, I mean, besides the pumpkin butter?  I take away the peace of knowing that my cousin is well, that her husband is awesome, a new bunch of beads (Tesuque flea market...check it), a revived Chaco tan, and some renewed spicyness.  Hopefully that will carry me on to Thanksgiving.  Sometimes life is medium, but you gotta know that you can handle the hot.

Fall-orado rocky mountain high

Autumn in Colorado is the perfect antidote to bitterness, writer's block, malaise, and general yuck. 

 Right?  Can't you hear John Denver singing?  No?  Well skip to the next song on the player above... there you go...

 It was a lovely day up in Rocky Mountain National Park.  Fortunately, all the tourists were down in town at the Elk Festival wandering the main drag looking for the perfect caramel corn and waiting to hear an elk's mating call.  Boat missed?  Possibly. 

After a lunch of cheddar sandwiches and honeycrisp apples, we started off for a short wander through the woods on the boundary of RMNP.  Dad had been there before, (obviously... there are few places within 20 miles of Estes Park that my dad hasn't been... trust me) but we got to see the fall foliage at its finest.

Me and my dad

 I knew today was gonna be the day I celebrated fall.  I just knew that after this craptastic week, I needed a remedy.  I needed to drive up to Estes with my pumpkin latte and my iPod blasting and my sunroof fully open.  It worked. 

It worked really well.  Thank you, Colorado.

What Two Feels Like

Just a quick post.  I still have to iron and grade and somehow it is already 8:06. Wait a sec.....  Okay, I got the iron turned on so that it can warm up whilst I write.

The cable was shut off today.  Thank goodness, I say.  I have things to do and those America's Next Top Model marathons were dragging the life out of me.  I panicked for about 10 seconds, but I then I turned on an episode of the Daily Show on my Roku box and ate some chili from yesterday and figured I'd be alllllright.  The good news, the show is right where I left it.  Oh snap.

And Sweet Sam turned TWO this weekend...

He's the bestest, and we had a lot of fun watching him run around, play, giggle and open presents.  Turns out, my gift of the Sesame Street Peek-a-boo House of Fun was his favorite.  Sam likes to hit buttons that do things, and that little toy is a goldmine of button pushing fun.  I win.  Not that it was a competition, but I like to think of myself informally as "Best Auntie Ever". 

When I was two, my dad took me to Utah and canyonlands in the old Volkswagen bus.  When you're two, you don't really have dream vacations, but I can tell you that Utah wasn't really on my radar back then.  I remember bits and pieces of the trip; riding around on the back of my dad's bicycle, eating ramen noodles and cheerios like they were goin out of style, climbing over big trees and stopping for swingsets (I loved a good swingset).  Being two is when life is easiest, I think.  Your basic needs are met, you run and play and laugh and jump, and you feel like a genius if you learn how to say "more cookies, please".  

My terrible twos involved some vandalism.

Happy Birthday, Sammie!  I love watching you grow up!

WWAMD: What would Aunt Marti do?

I've been very productive recently, and maybe this "getting rid of the cable" extravaganza has been the boost to my volition.  I think getting back into school has done that too, nothing like a schedule, grading and lesson plans to get you on track.  But I've been struggling with the little (and not so little) squirrels that get into my day and chew on power lines and make nests in the attic.  Sometimes life is hard, sometimes it is breezy, that is the nature of it.  I don't want my life to be all one thing, and I think I have a pretty good balance going on, but I hate when I get to those "unanswerable" questions.  Everyone's unanswerable questions are different, mine seem to be like quicksand, sucking me slowly downward into a suffocating paralysis (sheeze... that sounded dramatic, but you know what I mean).  My top three big questions: Will I find love?  Will I have a baby?  Will the Broncos start Tim Tebow?  I'm kinda impatient when life gets all nebulous-y and vague.  I get all Veruca Salt up in here and demand answers so that I can continue on with my day.  It would all be so much easier if I knew what was going to happen so that I could stop worrying about it. 

Go that way!

It would be fair to say that in these moments I miss my Aunt Marti a lot.  Marti had this way of taking my mind off the scary bits of my own life, usually by reminding me of some much larger problem that was equally as unanswerable and yet infinitely more solvable, like No Child Left Behind.  Aunt Marti was not one to sit and ruminate on the big questions and she was never one to feel self-pitying.  There was always something else to put her mind to.  I wish I was more like that.  I wish I wasn't so indulgent of these big-assed questions that seem to stop me like a deer in the headlights.  For now, maybe it is enough to just think on Marti and try to think what she would say or do.  It isn't an answer, but it helps. 

Wait... what?

I'm going to get rid of my cable.  It's time.  I can't remember the last time something was reaaaaally on tv that I reaaaaaally needed to watch.  Most of what is on is so completely superfluous to the world.  Jersey Shore is not changing the world, unless changing the world involves filming the drunken antics of semi-literate morons, which it doesn't.  Old episodes of "Friends" are great, but I know all the lines of all the episodes.  I could probably start a "Friends" reenactment club, which sounds cool.  TV sucks the life out of me.  I find myself sitting and mindlessly clicking through a hundred channels as a kind of self-medication.  I'm trying to live mindfully this year.  That is kind of an Aunt Martha thing.  She was a very mindful person.  She really didn't do things frivolously or casually.  Intentionality and purpose were her hallmarks. 

Aunt Marti not watching television, with Keisha the great dog.

I wonder what will occur in place of the cable-coma?  My hope is that I will read more... because I have a lot of frickin books to read.  I hope I will write more letters and cards to people.  I hope I will feel more energy.  I hope I start that "Friends" reenactment club.  Mostly, I hope I will feel more mindful and content instead of feeling chaotic and scattershot.  I'll keep you posted.

Hopeful cats and 72 degrees of sunshine...

I'm basking a little bit today. It's 72 sweet degrees. All my windows are open. It is Sunday and I don't have to teach tomorrow. The chores are done and I'm going over to some friends' house for dinner. The kitties are happy.

I've just been listening to my friend Elizabeth's sermon podcast from a couple weeks ago. She's like, amazing. She spoke about hope, shoes, and moving forward. It seems to me that's exactly what hope is, moving forward when it seems easy, or difficult, or smooth, or challenging. We are in perpetual motion in a forward direction. Life doesn't stop when we need a break from it all. That means that we can't dwell too long on the past. We've been there and done that. Our memories and stories are precious, but they can also trap us in a strange cycle of doubt and hesitancy. Shoulda, coulda, woulda are not good roommates; they leave shit everywhere and nag you about that thank you card you never wrote to your great-aunt 15 years ago. Past-dwelling can also be a good way to self-medicate. Why think about today when you can be back in the time when things were good? That sure feels good until you realize it's 2011. Then you have guilt and regret that you've wasted time thinking about something you can never get back.

"We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars." --Oscar Wilde

But I've been thinking about this perpetual motion forward and my investment in the forward motion. Today is one of those days when I feel really stinkin good. It has a little to do with the weather, and maybe a little more to do with how full and good my life is right now. I have amazing friends and wonderful family. I have belly-laughed a lot in the last couple weeks. I have food and shelter and two reasonably well-behaved kitties. There is hope in the good days, that they will be our fuel when the days seem difficult. I think hope can be the thing with feathers that perches in our souls and could fly away at any moment (see Emily Dickinson), but mostly I think hope is like the good friend who reminds you that this one wild and precious life is all you get (see Mary Oliver). Hope means looking forward and believing that the next moment will surpass our greatest expectations. I HOPE your expectations are being surpassed right now.

photo courtesy of my friend Jenn who took it at my favorite place, Nye Beach

Four Weddings, a funeral, and a summer....

May seems so long ago. I suppose that is the mark of a good summer, that it was long and full. It started with graduation, happy parents, good food, and delirious seniors. Yes, I got pranked.

Then summer took a bit of a turn as we said goodbye to my aunt Martha. When our loved ones pass on, we can't figure out how to be. How does the day start again without her? I think I needed the whole summer to figure that out and I'm still kinda struggling, but the days have continued, and the sun has risen many times since. This summer was a good time to be around my family and remember her.

I traveled to the Oregon coast and the high desert of New Mexico. I went boating with my family and took care of my friends' dogs.




And there were books, boats, babes, beads and birdies (okay, not a birdie, but definitely par).





And there were the weddings. I called myself "the wedding bitch". If you have a wedding detail needs doin', I will get her done. Yes, it was very "27 Dresses" of me. I fetched things, I set up chairs and centerpieces. I carted sushi and wax stamped about a billion placecards. Shoot, at one wedding, all I had to do was show up, that was really fun. I loved being able to participate in all the details and processes of each special day, and the actual weddings were really really beautiful. Joy, peace, beauty and love were the winners in every single wedding I attended, but FYI, payback is coming, ya'll.




But the best part of summer was the big sky. Everywhere I went, the sky seemed to change and transform itself. I felt it's vastness and it's warmth, and it challenged me to stop and be. Yeah, I always have a summer "to-do" list, and for the most part, it got done, but that's beside the point. It was my summer to recharge, to meditate, and to remember. This is a moment, it will pass as soon as it will come, and sometimes that is a relief, and sometimes that is a heartbreak, but the important thing is to be IN it.

Leaps of Faith

One of my former students started a blog, and her first post was about skydiving. I thought she was being metaphorical, because you know, going to college is kinda scary, a big leap of faith and what have you. No, she meant actually jumping out of an airplane with a cute tandem guide named Bobby and a parachute strapped to her back. I'm always in awe of people who do crazy stuff. I'm not really like that; I'm a "ground" kind of person. But as I watched Lyndsay and her sister Lauren skydiving, I was thinking a lot about leaps of faith.


Lauren and Lyndsay, pre-jump

As we drove out to the landing strip in the back of a generously shaking trailer truck, the tandem skydiving guides and the skydiving "hobbyists" argued that it was no more a leap of faith than going into an elevator. These people are seasoned, jumping up to 10 times a day, and they know that everything works; the parachute is well-packed, there's always a backup chute opener, the guides know what they are doing, yadda yadda yadda. But I argue that stepping out of an airplane at 35,000 feet is not really routine. We HOPE that the parachute is well-packed, we HOPE that we don't have to use the backup opener, we HOPE that the guide is well-trained. We don't know.


Safe landing

I'm going to a wedding today, and I think again about leaps of faith. Getting married is scary to me. I am always in awe of two people who put rings on the other's finger and say, "I will be there for you, and I HOPE you'll be there for me". Fingers crossed, ya'll! I would be just as nervous jumping out of a plane as I would be about getting married. This may account for why I have not done either. But I wonder if I could go through a day without any leap of faith, big or small. The first day of school is ALWAYS a leap of faith. Eating expired yogurt is a leap of faith. Shoot, wearing a sleeveless dress to this wedding tonight will be a big frickin' leap of faith.

I guess my point is that ife isn't always about "ground", sometimes (especially if you want it to be really great) it is about soaring.

Mental Hoarding...

Okay, so I watch "Hoarders" sometimes. It is really interesting to see how people save old cans of rusted nails instead of a relationship with their sons and daughters. We all know that hoarding is an emotional problem, right? I mean, people don't save 500 empty tubes of toothpaste because of a desperate need to recycle. They save this stuff because it allows them a tiny bit of control in their unexpected and scary lives. Life by its nature is unexpected, harsh, and scary aaand unexpected, beautiful, and surprising.

I am in no way a physical hoarder. I watch that show and then I go clean out a desk drawer. I'm pretty good about taking things out if other things come in. There's a lot of space in my house, but that doesn't mean I have to fill it. My mom might disagree with my penchant for filling up spaces or keeping stuff from my past, but just FYI Mom, that Outsiders poster I kept from 1988 is framed and hanging in my rec room. But I digress. I'm not a collector of anything that I couldn't part with. I like stuff, but I like people more. Thinking about this, I thought about these hoarders. People usually hoard after a traumatic loss or event in their lives. For some people, the hoarding itself alleviates the fear and anxiety associated with the trauma. It made me think about my emotions and the stuff I don't want to deal with. Am I an emotional hoarder? Do I collect thoughts, feelings and attitudes and do I hang onto them when facing difficult situations?

It is easy to go to the places we know. I like those places better than the scary unknowns. But if I don't go to the scary, unknown places, how often will I miss the unexpected surprises? My emotional hoarding has sometimes kept me from the challenge and surprise of the unexpected life. And isn't that what life is?

I'm not really here...

The thing about grief is that it comes up when you least expect it to.

I am at a conference in New Mexico, away from my bed and my bathroom towels. I hate it. When I first got down here, I called my uncle to wish him happy birthday and when the machine picked up, my dead aunt's voice came over the phone. Hello, not prepared for that shit. It really knocked the wind out of me. Then I got a couple emails from my uncle on Tuesday as I was getting all this information from my conference. It was the perfect storm, and I had a bit of a breakdown.

I feel better now, but I can't wait to get home tomorrow.

The thing about grief is that you have no rules. If you need to sit in a dark room watching America's Next Top Model, do it. If you need to eat chocolate covered pizza, do it. If you need to plunge back into the work you've been doing and plow forward, do it. But no one... NO ONE can tell you the rules for grieving.

I'm here at the conference, but I'm not really here. And that's okay.

Summer so far...

It is no secret, summer makes me happy. Swinging in my sky chair, getting pedicures, staying up late with a book, watching The Price is Right and getting really jazzed when they pull out Plinko; they are simple pleasures, but they'll do. Our agrarian school year really makes me feel guilty that I'm not out tending to my soybean crops, but only if I've spent a particularly lazy day. For the most part, summer is about recharging the batteries, training for new classes, and planning for the next year.

The summer has also had its challenges. Aunt Marti's death has really stymied me and I have to figure out my "new normal" without her. That takes time... and a lot of selfishness on my part. I've been a little turtle-like lately. I don't want to meet new people, I don't want to think about school, I don't want to be obligated to anyone or anything. I imagine that will lessen with time, and my friends have been really gracious with me. Vitamin D, frisbee-lovin dogs and cool drinks give good comfort on days when I don't get out of my pajamas.