My name is Michelle, and I am a bad driver. It has taken me years to admit. But, after watching one too many of my passengers shoot a hand out to the door or overhead handle while I'm flying around a curve, denial has finally given way to reality. And herein lies the truth.
I am writing this partly as a confession, but also partly as defense--a chance for you to see the rules of the road through my eyes. You see, I am a bad driver, but you will not die in my car. (And the serpent said unto the woman, Ye shall not surely die...) After all, I've got seven years of driving, no tickets and no (real) accidents.
So you know how there's the regular white speed limit signs, then there's the yellow ones that tell you to slow down around curves? Yeah, the yellow ones are just suggestions. You may have been told something different, but this is true. Besides, if you slow down to 55 in a 75 zone on the interstate, you'll be a) laughed out of existence and branded a grandma driver, b) rear-ended, and c) going way too slow for your own good (velocitation, schmelocitation). Now, the white speed limit signs that are preceded and succeeded by myriads of bright orange signs--including the ominous "Fines Double in Work Zones"--those you should pay attention to. Um, sort of--when it's Sunday and there's no one there, or when the car right in front of you is going 10 over, for heaven's sake don't be the prude who holds everyone up. If other people are going the same exact speed as you, you are not going to be the special one who gets pulled over. (Unless you're driving a red sports car).
So besides road construction, there are some things in driving that I hate and avoid at all costs. The first is speed bumps. For these I have much disdain. I'm sorry, but I cannot actually make myself slow to 2 miles per hour to go over speed bumps. If there is any chance I can go a different route or even miss it with two wheels, by golly, I'll take it. The second thing that gets my blood boiling is school buses (blast those things!). I think I'm allergic. When I see a big yellow bus ahead on the road...well, my skin starts to crawl, and the thing seems to grow to the size of the whole road, blocking out the sun of freedom. Because you know if you get stuck behind it, you will inevitably be taking an extra 30 minutes to get to your destination. And not only that, but it'll be the absolutely maddening stop-go-stop-go that honestly makes me contemplate gunning it into whatever vehicle is in front of me just to put myself out of misery.
And even that is not the worst when it comes to school buses. The worst is when you're driving on the other side of the road and there's a bus coming toward you. Ready, this happened to me the other day. It's slugging along toward me, right, going a "safe" speed and all, yellow caution lights blinking away. I slow down to 5 miles under the limit like a good driver, thinking, "Maybe the driver is a decent human being and won't stick out his stop sign 'til I pass, maybe I can pass it before it stops--I think I can I think I can..." Ah, but no. Yellow lights change to red, the sign pokes out, I'm going too fast to stop, I whiz past, the driver blares his dumb horn, and the kids look at me like I'm a psycho child-killer. No really, you should have seen their faces. That put me in a sour mood for an hour. Fortunately, I am no longer bitter. You know, the only thing on my record is a warning for failing to yield to a school bus. I was on the other side of the road of a blasted four-lane highway! For the love of peace! No, I'm not bitter about that anymore, either.
There you have it all. Most of it. I guess there were a couple of incidences in which I may have almost changed lanes into anther car. And this one time I ripped off part of my bumper with a tree. And I may or may not be the best judge of changing stoplights or slow down enough in dodgy weather. Oh, and I do have this naive belief that I am invincible to deer and other common roadkill. I chalk it all up to my cherished love of living on the edge.
So now you have the truth. Judge me as you will. But I maintain that, though I am admittedly a bad driver, though I have made many hearts pound an palms sweat, I will not kill you. I will not injure your back or give you a concussion. And I will not run over your dog. Provided it is not a particularly obnoxious dog.
"Rats have a sense of humor. Rats, in fact, think that life is very funny. And they are right, reader. They are right." -Kate DiCamillo, The Tale of Despereaux
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Friday, September 24, 2010
Belief
Being a Christian is an interesting experience, for lack of a better word. Interesting...difficult in unexpected ways, often counter-intuitive, confusing, yet at moments so clear. I've felt all those things--the questioning, understanding--in a recurring pattern over the years, even while still believing in the basic Christian shebang and trying to "live it." But I guess I never seriously noticed how unique (ah, there's the word) my place in the world is--as someone who has deeply-held beliefs--until I thought about it from the perspective of someone who doesn't share those beliefs.
If you think about it, the vast majority of the world disagrees with your beliefs, dear reader. I mean, don't quote me on that, but it just seems to me that even though you can find them, you're more likely--probability-wise--to bump up against people who are not of one mind with you at the religious and philosophical level. And, to me, that is the level of life that is the most real. Belief, influenced by this, that, and the other, is the deepest part of a person. And it is therefore the most personal and fragile. Yet people see evidence of your belief every day, because it also happens to be the strongest influence on a person's character and actions. Whether you realize it or not.
Admittedly, my beliefs typically sit comfortably and out of the way on the back burner, in a file cabinet in some corner of my mind. Life has the potential of getting a little messy when they're brought up to the front. But what happens when they are dredged up? I like sharing my beliefs, despite the fact that they are so personal and thinking hard about them frequently launches me into perplexity. The truth is, I hate the thought that I could turn into a close-minded, brainwashed, ultra-religious busybody, so I use my own and other people's tough questions to force me to test my beliefs and the actions that stem from them. I mean, if we're ultimately searching for the Truth rather than support for some pet religion, that serious testing and sharpening can only get us closer to it. Difficult questions are disconcerting but necessary. That being said, if you ever want to challenge to something I believe or do, dear reader, please do not hold back. (If you're a Bible-reader, glance at Proverbs 27:17.) [A small note on Truth: I suppose that the existence of only one Truth is a belief in itself. I'd address this more in depth, except for the fact that it's ridiculously difficult to do any kind of philosophizing following the assumption that Truth is relative. Here's an excellent example of a hole in my beliefs--meaning that I believe something that I can't necessarily explain.]
Living in this way--which results in flux of belief and more often in flux of how to reconcile belief and action--gives me a singular position and perspective. As an academically-minded human being, I sift through the theologies and philosophies of my friends, church leaders, professors, the Bible itself, and anything else I can get from God himself. More intuition0based people look at experiences of life and heart. And because I'm on my own trajectory, doing everything I can to find what's really good and real and how I should live after knowing that--well, I'm unique. I'm unique because (moment of obvious truth) no one has experienced quite what I have. And the same is true for you, dear reader (I hope you saw that coming). It's sort of unnerving to be on your own like that, but that's life. I mean, it's impossible to really know someone else's mind, so we have to make up our own minds. And besides, isn't it pretty shallow to believe something just because someone else does and you don't want to be alone? (Aha! Another tenet of mine, one that stems from my belief in the value of YOU as an individual who can think for yourself. If you believe that, you've got to believe in the above idea, too.)
The point of all this is, it's one of the very healthy things in life to know what you believe and why you believe, and what makes you act and think the way you do. At any rate, I hope for me and for you that, in the midst of all the crazy and equally sane beliefs out there, we all get closer to knowing what's really real, whatever that may be, and have the guts to stick up for our own beliefs and actions.
In case you're wondering, my recent deep-thinking reflections (if my blog serves as any indication of my thoughts--don't worry, though, I'm sure I'll snap out of it soon) have been influenced by several recent theological discussions as well as reading the book Blue Like Jazz (most of which I strongly agree and identify with) and articles in the magazine Relevant, including this one I looked at today.
If you think about it, the vast majority of the world disagrees with your beliefs, dear reader. I mean, don't quote me on that, but it just seems to me that even though you can find them, you're more likely--probability-wise--to bump up against people who are not of one mind with you at the religious and philosophical level. And, to me, that is the level of life that is the most real. Belief, influenced by this, that, and the other, is the deepest part of a person. And it is therefore the most personal and fragile. Yet people see evidence of your belief every day, because it also happens to be the strongest influence on a person's character and actions. Whether you realize it or not.
Admittedly, my beliefs typically sit comfortably and out of the way on the back burner, in a file cabinet in some corner of my mind. Life has the potential of getting a little messy when they're brought up to the front. But what happens when they are dredged up? I like sharing my beliefs, despite the fact that they are so personal and thinking hard about them frequently launches me into perplexity. The truth is, I hate the thought that I could turn into a close-minded, brainwashed, ultra-religious busybody, so I use my own and other people's tough questions to force me to test my beliefs and the actions that stem from them. I mean, if we're ultimately searching for the Truth rather than support for some pet religion, that serious testing and sharpening can only get us closer to it. Difficult questions are disconcerting but necessary. That being said, if you ever want to challenge to something I believe or do, dear reader, please do not hold back. (If you're a Bible-reader, glance at Proverbs 27:17.) [A small note on Truth: I suppose that the existence of only one Truth is a belief in itself. I'd address this more in depth, except for the fact that it's ridiculously difficult to do any kind of philosophizing following the assumption that Truth is relative. Here's an excellent example of a hole in my beliefs--meaning that I believe something that I can't necessarily explain.]
Living in this way--which results in flux of belief and more often in flux of how to reconcile belief and action--gives me a singular position and perspective. As an academically-minded human being, I sift through the theologies and philosophies of my friends, church leaders, professors, the Bible itself, and anything else I can get from God himself. More intuition0based people look at experiences of life and heart. And because I'm on my own trajectory, doing everything I can to find what's really good and real and how I should live after knowing that--well, I'm unique. I'm unique because (moment of obvious truth) no one has experienced quite what I have. And the same is true for you, dear reader (I hope you saw that coming). It's sort of unnerving to be on your own like that, but that's life. I mean, it's impossible to really know someone else's mind, so we have to make up our own minds. And besides, isn't it pretty shallow to believe something just because someone else does and you don't want to be alone? (Aha! Another tenet of mine, one that stems from my belief in the value of YOU as an individual who can think for yourself. If you believe that, you've got to believe in the above idea, too.)
The point of all this is, it's one of the very healthy things in life to know what you believe and why you believe, and what makes you act and think the way you do. At any rate, I hope for me and for you that, in the midst of all the crazy and equally sane beliefs out there, we all get closer to knowing what's really real, whatever that may be, and have the guts to stick up for our own beliefs and actions.
In case you're wondering, my recent deep-thinking reflections (if my blog serves as any indication of my thoughts--don't worry, though, I'm sure I'll snap out of it soon) have been influenced by several recent theological discussions as well as reading the book Blue Like Jazz (most of which I strongly agree and identify with) and articles in the magazine Relevant, including this one I looked at today.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Philosophy
"People come, people go. Nothing ever happens." Isn't that beautiful? It sounds so profound. It reminds me that life can be life even though nothing much happens. You just have to unfocus your eyes and look at all the normal stuff.
How beautiful...to be driving in the rain...in that 8 o'clock evening glow and fading...thinking about the people you met with today, the interactions and things that passed...cold without, warm within...the smell of car heater which reminds you of winter which reminds you of Christmas...thinking about the people in your life and in the life you had last year and years ago...listening to a call-in radio show where people make song dedications to a wonderful grown-up daughter or a long-lost friend...feeling so thankful for the good friends you have and the people who admire you and the strangers you can have cheerful airy conversations with...feeling the goodness, feeling the warmth and soul of the rain and of the movement and of the twilight...
All of this happened to me tonight, in case you were in doubt. And don't you sometimes experience something like it? Don't you sometimes have those moments when you feel and you're glad you feel, and it's a nice feeling and you want it to go on forever so that you feel nice forever? And--but maybe it's just me--don't you start thinking, then, about why it's so nice, and you start realizing how incredibly lucky you are that, somehow, the Nothing that makes you feel that way is really Everything at the moment? Those are the times when I remember to tell myself, "Slow down you crazy child..."
It's Mad how little things--a car heater, autumn rain, that time between day and dark--can add depth and interest to life. I know that I cannot make you believe me, dear reader, and I know that you cannot make yourself know what I'm talking about (I am the first to admit to being a stubbornly independent thinker). But I need to tell you that even though life is sometimes a Hole (what I wrote several days ago attests to that), in life you can also find beauty. (Really.) Maybe even Plato's world of Forms, capital-B Beauty. The point is, I hope you don't miss it. I hope that now and again you slow down and quit concentrating on having a good time and going to work and dealing with your issues. Slow down, think deeply, search for feelings, for answers--heck, search for questions. Reach out for something deeper than This. I say, why waste life by living only on the surface?
How beautiful...to be driving in the rain...in that 8 o'clock evening glow and fading...thinking about the people you met with today, the interactions and things that passed...cold without, warm within...the smell of car heater which reminds you of winter which reminds you of Christmas...thinking about the people in your life and in the life you had last year and years ago...listening to a call-in radio show where people make song dedications to a wonderful grown-up daughter or a long-lost friend...feeling so thankful for the good friends you have and the people who admire you and the strangers you can have cheerful airy conversations with...feeling the goodness, feeling the warmth and soul of the rain and of the movement and of the twilight...
All of this happened to me tonight, in case you were in doubt. And don't you sometimes experience something like it? Don't you sometimes have those moments when you feel and you're glad you feel, and it's a nice feeling and you want it to go on forever so that you feel nice forever? And--but maybe it's just me--don't you start thinking, then, about why it's so nice, and you start realizing how incredibly lucky you are that, somehow, the Nothing that makes you feel that way is really Everything at the moment? Those are the times when I remember to tell myself, "Slow down you crazy child..."
It's Mad how little things--a car heater, autumn rain, that time between day and dark--can add depth and interest to life. I know that I cannot make you believe me, dear reader, and I know that you cannot make yourself know what I'm talking about (I am the first to admit to being a stubbornly independent thinker). But I need to tell you that even though life is sometimes a Hole (what I wrote several days ago attests to that), in life you can also find beauty. (Really.) Maybe even Plato's world of Forms, capital-B Beauty. The point is, I hope you don't miss it. I hope that now and again you slow down and quit concentrating on having a good time and going to work and dealing with your issues. Slow down, think deeply, search for feelings, for answers--heck, search for questions. Reach out for something deeper than This. I say, why waste life by living only on the surface?
Friday, September 17, 2010
Ka-ching!
THAT IS THE SOUND OF A CASH REGISTER. IT SYMBOLIZES AN EVENT IN WHICH SOMEONE STARTS RAKING IN THE BIG BUCKS, ROLLING IN THE DOUGH. TODAY IT SYMBOLIZES ONE YOUNG TEACHER'S WINDFALL.
(to continue reading this story, click here)
In breaking news, on the Michelle front we have caught sight of a storm building up above the gray house on the Loop. It is a storm not of rain or wind, but of wealth. The wealth seems to have originated about the time of the phone call asking her to join the staff of a small daycare. Since then, it has built to a roar ten thousand* dollars strong, and growing. After consulting with our analysts, we can predict the dissolution of her student loans within the next two months,** and she will be moving out of her mother's basement at the end of three. This surprising development is due mainly to the acquisition of literally hundreds*** of substitute teaching jobs, which pay at an extremely lucrative**** rate. The storm has aptly been named the Debt-Crusher. And, in a wonderful stroke of Providence, this storm promises to be rewarding not only fiscally, but also intrinsically and professionally. Stay tuned for more on these heart-warming stories.
Some figures have been exaggerated for dramatic effect. However, all other details are accurate.
*four hundred **ten years ***roughly three ****ludicrous
(to continue reading this story, click here)
In breaking news, on the Michelle front we have caught sight of a storm building up above the gray house on the Loop. It is a storm not of rain or wind, but of wealth. The wealth seems to have originated about the time of the phone call asking her to join the staff of a small daycare. Since then, it has built to a roar ten thousand* dollars strong, and growing. After consulting with our analysts, we can predict the dissolution of her student loans within the next two months,** and she will be moving out of her mother's basement at the end of three. This surprising development is due mainly to the acquisition of literally hundreds*** of substitute teaching jobs, which pay at an extremely lucrative**** rate. The storm has aptly been named the Debt-Crusher. And, in a wonderful stroke of Providence, this storm promises to be rewarding not only fiscally, but also intrinsically and professionally. Stay tuned for more on these heart-warming stories.
Some figures have been exaggerated for dramatic effect. However, all other details are accurate.
*four hundred **ten years ***roughly three ****ludicrous
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Jeesh, Kids These Days
Me: Hey, so do those cell phones actually work?
Girl 1 and Girl 2: Yeah.
Me: Like, when I see you both talking on them at the same time walking three feet apart you're talking to each other...over the phone?
Girl 1: Yeah, sometimes. [mischievously] But I talk to this boy, too.
Me [also mischievously, unable to resist opening this can of worms]: Oh, you have a boyfriend!
Girl 2: She wishes!
Girl 1: Yeah, he's really cute and... [she chatters on about his affable qualities for a minute, with Girl 2 adding in the occasional detail]
Girl 2 [with a feminine grin]: Yeah, and I like a guy, too! His name is... [see above about chattering on]
Me [amused but mostly astonished]: Wait, how old are you guys?!
Girl 1: Nine.
Girl 2: Eleven.
Girl 1: She's nine, too.
[I emphatically state my opinion on the inappropriateness of nine-year-old girls having boyfriends. The following phrase was used: "For goodness gracious heaven's sakes!"]
Boy listening in: Hey, Miss Michelle. I'm seven and I have a girlfriend!
Me [even more astonished]: OH REALLY! [my righteous indignation continues for another few minutes; however, its desired effect of molding young minds was clearly doomed, as I was outnumbered one fogie to a whole playground of children under the age of 10]
Girl 1 [nearly bursting with the drama]: This one time, J.D. was like...
Me: Wait, what's his name, J.D.?
Girl 2: No, it's Rey-D.
Girl 1: Like R-E-Y then a little thingy, you know, then a D. [I think, Oh for heaven's sake--but at least the ridiculous name fits in with this ridiculous story.] But there's this other girl Marissa she's really blond and like flips her hair and talks all flirty she's really pretty but really annoying anyway she also likes him and...
Me: Oh, so you have some competition!
Girl 2: Yeah and this girl Shauntay like my guy too.
Me: Oho!
Girl 1: Anyway so Marissa actually wrote him a love note. [beat] It was like 'It's really fun to be in your class, you're really funny and hot, do you wanna go out?' [I'm thinking, Love note, huh? Ah, to be so naive.] But he's like whatever.... [she and Girl 2 continue talking about this other girl, and I'm not understanding half of what they're saying; suffice it to note that the pair are absolutely reveling in their drama, relishing every expression on their hearer's face. Neither do they seem to be aware that they are not even TEENAGERS yet! Really, it's all a game. It's a game, though they probably don't even realize it.]
[All names are fudged for the protection of persons in question. And after all, these tech-savvy, too-old-for-their-age young ladies could be reading this. We must take such precautions in this degenerate age.]
I suppose I encouraged this foolishness by lending an ear. But the fact is, I was in shock. Gracious me, what is this world coming to? Right now, I am an old lady sitting on the porch with my knitting, peering through half-moon glasses as the young ladies brazenly gad about the town, showing their ankles and actually going inside the young men's houses. Young ladies never behaved so when I was one! These new fancy girls give absolutely no thought to tradition or delicacy. It is downright scandalous, that's what!
Girl 1 and Girl 2: Yeah.
Me: Like, when I see you both talking on them at the same time walking three feet apart you're talking to each other...over the phone?
Girl 1: Yeah, sometimes. [mischievously] But I talk to this boy, too.
Me [also mischievously, unable to resist opening this can of worms]: Oh, you have a boyfriend!
Girl 2: She wishes!
Girl 1: Yeah, he's really cute and... [she chatters on about his affable qualities for a minute, with Girl 2 adding in the occasional detail]
Girl 2 [with a feminine grin]: Yeah, and I like a guy, too! His name is... [see above about chattering on]
Me [amused but mostly astonished]: Wait, how old are you guys?!
Girl 1: Nine.
Girl 2: Eleven.
Girl 1: She's nine, too.
[I emphatically state my opinion on the inappropriateness of nine-year-old girls having boyfriends. The following phrase was used: "For goodness gracious heaven's sakes!"]
Boy listening in: Hey, Miss Michelle. I'm seven and I have a girlfriend!
Me [even more astonished]: OH REALLY! [my righteous indignation continues for another few minutes; however, its desired effect of molding young minds was clearly doomed, as I was outnumbered one fogie to a whole playground of children under the age of 10]
Girl 1 [nearly bursting with the drama]: This one time, J.D. was like...
Me: Wait, what's his name, J.D.?
Girl 2: No, it's Rey-D.
Girl 1: Like R-E-Y then a little thingy, you know, then a D. [I think, Oh for heaven's sake--but at least the ridiculous name fits in with this ridiculous story.] But there's this other girl Marissa she's really blond and like flips her hair and talks all flirty she's really pretty but really annoying anyway she also likes him and...
Me: Oh, so you have some competition!
Girl 2: Yeah and this girl Shauntay like my guy too.
Me: Oho!
Girl 1: Anyway so Marissa actually wrote him a love note. [beat] It was like 'It's really fun to be in your class, you're really funny and hot, do you wanna go out?' [I'm thinking, Love note, huh? Ah, to be so naive.] But he's like whatever.... [she and Girl 2 continue talking about this other girl, and I'm not understanding half of what they're saying; suffice it to note that the pair are absolutely reveling in their drama, relishing every expression on their hearer's face. Neither do they seem to be aware that they are not even TEENAGERS yet! Really, it's all a game. It's a game, though they probably don't even realize it.]
[All names are fudged for the protection of persons in question. And after all, these tech-savvy, too-old-for-their-age young ladies could be reading this. We must take such precautions in this degenerate age.]
I suppose I encouraged this foolishness by lending an ear. But the fact is, I was in shock. Gracious me, what is this world coming to? Right now, I am an old lady sitting on the porch with my knitting, peering through half-moon glasses as the young ladies brazenly gad about the town, showing their ankles and actually going inside the young men's houses. Young ladies never behaved so when I was one! These new fancy girls give absolutely no thought to tradition or delicacy. It is downright scandalous, that's what!
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Challenge
I've been warned.
I've been warned that my chosen career will drive me up a wall.
I've been warned that Children cry and get into stupid fights and have runny noses and always, always, always, need attention:
"Miss Michelle, watch me on the slide! Look how good I fold my hands! Miss Bennett, see my nice handwriting? Miss Bennett, I need a pencil, I need a band-aid, I have to go to the bathroom, she hit me, he stuck his tongue out at me, I want to play with my friends, I want to draw."
But you know what? I like it. All of it.
I should have known that every day I'd go home exhausted.
I should have known that every day my head would ring with the sounds of a hundred battles.
"You need to pay attention, please follow directions, be kind to your friends, leave the woodchips on the ground, no you may not take that bug inside, it's time to be quiet."
But guess what? I still like it. From A to Z.
Here's a good one. Two weeks ago:
I'd been warned that this little guy is a Handful.
I'd been warned by the raised eyebrows and implicative looks of the teachers.
I'd been warned by the spelling of the word "T-A-N-T-R-U-M" and mouthing of the word "Screamer."
I'd been warned, and I met him with a wide grin that masqueraded my apprehension.
But you know, when he started screaming so hard his lungs almost came out his throat, something in my mind kicked in and all I could think was, "poor guy," and I did what needed to be done.
I should have known that my years of education would come through for me.
I should have trusted in the reason I became a B.A. in the first place.
Here's today:
I've been warned that the new girl is a Wreaker of Havoc.
I've been warned by the report of her history of violence.
I've been warned by the defiance in her stare and in her lips.
I've been warned by her emphatic "NO!" and her forceful, spit-watered words.
I've been warned by the 40-minute time-out vigil (a ritual that was ended with the utterance of one small, simple word, "Sorry").
But you know what? All that does is make me smile a more determined smile.
I won't allow the warnings to get to me--I'll just take them in stride.
I won't look at the danger signs and think, "Lost cause--pack up, go home."
I'm stronger than this wonderful little girl.
I'm more stubborn.
I will win.
I will win because I have to win if she is to have a fighting chance in the world.
You see, that's my Job.
But you know, it's a bit more than a job. It's rather a Calling.
Despite the warnings, despite the signs, after all the battles and exhaustion and frustration, there's still nothing I'd rather do.
Did you hear me? There's nothing I'd rather do.
You're right, that is not normal.
There's got to be something pumping into me that kind of passion and energy.
Someone's got to have had this planned out.
Why else would I cling to the thin thread of hope that there is Goodness and Change in even a Handful, even a Wreaker of Havoc?
Why else would I, rational being that I am, risk my sanity to take on challenge after challenge, day after day?
Why indeed?
I've been warned that my chosen career will drive me up a wall.
I've been warned that Children cry and get into stupid fights and have runny noses and always, always, always, need attention:
"Miss Michelle, watch me on the slide! Look how good I fold my hands! Miss Bennett, see my nice handwriting? Miss Bennett, I need a pencil, I need a band-aid, I have to go to the bathroom, she hit me, he stuck his tongue out at me, I want to play with my friends, I want to draw."
But you know what? I like it. All of it.
I should have known that every day I'd go home exhausted.
I should have known that every day my head would ring with the sounds of a hundred battles.
"You need to pay attention, please follow directions, be kind to your friends, leave the woodchips on the ground, no you may not take that bug inside, it's time to be quiet."
But guess what? I still like it. From A to Z.
Here's a good one. Two weeks ago:
I'd been warned that this little guy is a Handful.
I'd been warned by the raised eyebrows and implicative looks of the teachers.
I'd been warned by the spelling of the word "T-A-N-T-R-U-M" and mouthing of the word "Screamer."
I'd been warned, and I met him with a wide grin that masqueraded my apprehension.
But you know, when he started screaming so hard his lungs almost came out his throat, something in my mind kicked in and all I could think was, "poor guy," and I did what needed to be done.
I should have known that my years of education would come through for me.
I should have trusted in the reason I became a B.A. in the first place.
Here's today:
I've been warned that the new girl is a Wreaker of Havoc.
I've been warned by the report of her history of violence.
I've been warned by the defiance in her stare and in her lips.
I've been warned by her emphatic "NO!" and her forceful, spit-watered words.
I've been warned by the 40-minute time-out vigil (a ritual that was ended with the utterance of one small, simple word, "Sorry").
But you know what? All that does is make me smile a more determined smile.
I won't allow the warnings to get to me--I'll just take them in stride.
I won't look at the danger signs and think, "Lost cause--pack up, go home."
I'm stronger than this wonderful little girl.
I'm more stubborn.
I will win.
I will win because I have to win if she is to have a fighting chance in the world.
You see, that's my Job.
But you know, it's a bit more than a job. It's rather a Calling.
Despite the warnings, despite the signs, after all the battles and exhaustion and frustration, there's still nothing I'd rather do.
Did you hear me? There's nothing I'd rather do.
You're right, that is not normal.
There's got to be something pumping into me that kind of passion and energy.
Someone's got to have had this planned out.
Why else would I cling to the thin thread of hope that there is Goodness and Change in even a Handful, even a Wreaker of Havoc?
Why else would I, rational being that I am, risk my sanity to take on challenge after challenge, day after day?
Why indeed?
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Today
I begin to think that nothing is as good as it was in the past. In days gone by, songs sounded nicer, food tasted better, games were more enjoyable...the air was clearer, the sky was bluer, and the sun was warmer. It's hard to express melancholy thoughts on this day of perfect sunshine, breeze, and autumn crispness. But I find myself gazing back longingly on how it used to be.
There used to be lots of days like this. I remember them, because I feel their echoes today. I used to be content on days like this--used to smile and mean it from the heart, used to go about my life with the contented feeling that this is one of the best days I've lived. I'd thank God for making it, and for blessing me with the life and heart and mind to enjoy it.
Today, I wanted to smile deeply and close my eyes in the sunshine and be content. But I couldn't. I'm in the same house I was in ten years ago, in the midst of the same magical change of the seasons, but it's just...not the same. I used to be a child. I used to have two loving parents to take care of my every need--and more. I used to know where I would be in another year. I used to be able to look into the future and see my options and know that life would somehow be good no matter what.
Today, I don't know where I'm going to be four months from now. I don't have two parents to take care of me. I don't even have two parents, which, seven years later, still feels like a slap in the face. I don't know how I'm going to get a job and provide for myself like a grown-up. I don't know what my options are. And I can't convince myself that I'll be okay no matter what. Because today is not one of the best days of my life. Do you understand? It's not abysmal--it just used to be better.
I was looking at old pictures of my family when we were all young. Life was simpler, far simpler. We wore wonderful ridiculous clothes, and we were entertained for hours by rocks and dirt and a bucket and a ball. We were happy. (Even though it's a childish happiness, I believe in it. That kind of happiness should not go extinct. It has to stay alive. If not for me, then for someone else. I take that as part of my life's work.)
Maybe it's just how life goes, that the past is better than the future. Maybe someone has never known the old life-contentment (let break my heart). Maybe that contentment is a fantasy, wishful thinking. Or maybe you, dear reader, are happy today--content and smiling deeply. Maybe today is one of the best days of your life. Thank God. Because you will see tragedy. It will touch you deeply and change your view of the sunshine. In any case, thank God for today. Remember that you have known happiness in past or present, and thank God. I won't say carpe diem, because I have a hard time understanding how one can "seize" a period of time. But at least thank God that today exists. It's here, at least. It showed up. It's yours to enjoy as you can.
On thinking about this topic, I was reminded of an essay I wrote my freshman year in college about how a child and an adult experiences the same thing differently. It's right here, and it's probably better than my article today. :^D
There used to be lots of days like this. I remember them, because I feel their echoes today. I used to be content on days like this--used to smile and mean it from the heart, used to go about my life with the contented feeling that this is one of the best days I've lived. I'd thank God for making it, and for blessing me with the life and heart and mind to enjoy it.
Today, I wanted to smile deeply and close my eyes in the sunshine and be content. But I couldn't. I'm in the same house I was in ten years ago, in the midst of the same magical change of the seasons, but it's just...not the same. I used to be a child. I used to have two loving parents to take care of my every need--and more. I used to know where I would be in another year. I used to be able to look into the future and see my options and know that life would somehow be good no matter what.
Today, I don't know where I'm going to be four months from now. I don't have two parents to take care of me. I don't even have two parents, which, seven years later, still feels like a slap in the face. I don't know how I'm going to get a job and provide for myself like a grown-up. I don't know what my options are. And I can't convince myself that I'll be okay no matter what. Because today is not one of the best days of my life. Do you understand? It's not abysmal--it just used to be better.
I was looking at old pictures of my family when we were all young. Life was simpler, far simpler. We wore wonderful ridiculous clothes, and we were entertained for hours by rocks and dirt and a bucket and a ball. We were happy. (Even though it's a childish happiness, I believe in it. That kind of happiness should not go extinct. It has to stay alive. If not for me, then for someone else. I take that as part of my life's work.)
Maybe it's just how life goes, that the past is better than the future. Maybe someone has never known the old life-contentment (let break my heart). Maybe that contentment is a fantasy, wishful thinking. Or maybe you, dear reader, are happy today--content and smiling deeply. Maybe today is one of the best days of your life. Thank God. Because you will see tragedy. It will touch you deeply and change your view of the sunshine. In any case, thank God for today. Remember that you have known happiness in past or present, and thank God. I won't say carpe diem, because I have a hard time understanding how one can "seize" a period of time. But at least thank God that today exists. It's here, at least. It showed up. It's yours to enjoy as you can.
On thinking about this topic, I was reminded of an essay I wrote my freshman year in college about how a child and an adult experiences the same thing differently. It's right here, and it's probably better than my article today. :^D
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Volume, Part, Issue, Installment II
You remember that Nora Charles, the unemployed college grad who had found a magical overnight case, had taken a turn up, and we left her flying through space in her DeLorean (didn’t I mention what kind of car it was?).
As her feeling of exhilaration settled into that of excited contentment, Nora’s mind cleared, and a small voice drifted into her mind,
You can steer yourself any direction you choose.
You’re on your own. And you know what you know. And
She took her cue and began thinking about where she would like to go. After a few minutes of drawing blanks, she decided that she had better find someone to give her some advice. So she turned the car toward Dagobah to find a little green Counselor she had heard of who lived on that planet. After she landed on the swampy terrain, Nora called out to the Counselor, but no one appeared to counsel her. After a few minutes of calling, with one last desperate attempt she yelled out her question, “Counselor, what is out there for me?” At this, these words came floating back to her like an echo, “Only what you take with you....” Nora decided that someone must be watching some sci-fi movie and didn’t have time for her. So she hopped back in the car and decided to make her own way.
The next planet Vulcan was a mass of deserts and mountain ranges. The moment she landed, her mind was suddenly invaded by what felt like a finger of energy probing into her innermost thoughts. Since this was a very unpleasant feeling, Nora immediately kicked the DeLorean into high-gear and high-tailed it out of there. As she sped away, she concluded the mind-probe must have been some device created by the Romulans as an attempt to take over the planet. She was tempted to go back and join forces with the Vulcans to fight the invasion, but she determined that she could not have done much with a DeLorean and a bachelor’s degree. Logically speaking.
So far, Nora had seen many strange planets of all different shapes and sizes. But she had yet to meet an alien. Then she remembered one planet where three races lived together. She set her course toward Lusitania, mounting excitement for seeing the pequeninos and formics. But when the planet finally hovered into view through the windshield, a message appeared across the dash, reading: “The Starways Congress forbids any vehicles running on gasoline to enter the delicately balanced atmosphere of this planet. Thank you for your cooperation.” Hopes dashed, Nora took one last long glance toward the planet and steered away.
Since leaving Earth, Nora had flown many lightyears, traveling far into space, “boldly going where no one had gone before.” A rumble from the vicinity of her belly reminded her that it was getting toward suppertime, so she decided to turn toward home, and stop for a bite to eat on the way. Her next stop was the Moon. Upon landing, she was delighted to see two old friends—a man and his newspaper-reading dog. Parking the DeLorean nearby their picnic spot, she debarked and joined the pair, after having been requested by them to do so. An hour and a full belly of moon-cheese later, she politely bid farewell and returned to the car, thoughts whirling in a British accent. And as she drove the short distance from the moon to her driveway, she couldn’t stop grinning over the delightful day she had had. She fell asleep with planets and stars spinning in her mind.
Monday, September 6, 2010
The Wish
There once lived a lonely girl. Every morning the girl would slowly gather herself out of bed and begin to mope about, pacing aimlessly to and fro, occasionally stopping at the window to gaze at all the busy world around her. She would watch the people scurry and amble by, off to the barber or to the market or to meet a friend to talk and laugh. Her heart was heavy as she wondered how she could fit in to this bustling world of people, work, and happenings. Of course, she had her dreams, but the road to their realization was fraught with many obstacles, and it so happened that she was presently up against several difficulties that had her completely baffled. And so she waited and dreamed and wondered what she might do.
One night, the girl was lying on the grass outside, gazing up at the distant stars. Suddenly, a small white glow flashed across the sky. As she watched it, a smile crept to her face. It was a shooting star. She would make a wish. So she closed her eyes, wished, and breathed a sigh. When she opened her eyes, she saw kneeling before her a fairy brilliant with a white light. The fairy whispered to her that she had heard her wish and that it would be granted in good time. The girl fell asleep that night with a gentle smile on her lips.
Several weeks passed. The days went by, wearing on in much the same fashion as they had before the night of the Wish. The girl forgot all about the Wish and the visit from the beautiful fairy. Then one day, she found a letter on her doorstep. Her hand trembled as she picked it up, for upon seeing the scrolled writing on the envelope, she had suddenly in her mind the beautiful fairy kneeling by her side and whispering to her those words of hope. Her eyes scanned the letter. It said simply, in the same scrolled lettering:
Now is the time to keep your eye
From missing chances passing by,
With open mind, now listen, see,
Fly from your despondency.
Tears of remembrance and gratefulness wet her cheek as she folded the note and tucked it away. Then, slipping on her boots, she ventured forth into the town. Just as she was passing the town square, her eyes suddenly met with those of a young man wandering along in much the same manner as she—with a step and expression exhibiting both aimlessness and hope. She remembered the fairy’s warning to not allow chances to pass her by, and with a timid but determined step she walked toward the man.
Within seconds the two young people were acquaintances; an hour made them friends. The man thanked his lucky stars to have met such a one with whom he could share laughter and dreams and good times. As the two happily danced the night away, the girl also smiled and thanked her own shooting star and her good fairy for so beautifully fulfilling the Wish of Friendship.
This stuff only happens in Fairy Tales. ;^D
Sunday, September 5, 2010
On Matchmaking
"Matchmaker, matchmaker, make me a match, Find me a find, catch me a catch…” That old song has been on my mind today. Strangely enough (…she remarked wryly enough). Amidst the autumnal infusion of rain, wind, clouds, and ugly bugs which I observe outside my window at present, I also calmly note a burst of matchmaking energy in my vicinity. But when I meditate on this phenomenon, I realize that the custom of Matchmaking, sponsored by the goodwill of caring friends and family, is inevitably imposed to some degree on the life of any woman over twenty years of age until the day when she is safely married off. You see, there is the biological clock to consider. (For men, the age may be slightly higher—but the fairer sex is not the exclusive focus of various philanthropists’ romantic meddling. After all, it takes two to tango.)
At any rate, I’ve freshly heard it through the grapevine that a certain young man of my acquaintance has been selected as my tango partner. (This came as little surprise to me, as there is simply a paucity of options within this particular set of people.) Conversely, I have recently been selected as a romantic candidate for another young man of my acquaintance. This not to mention the multitude of thoughtful setups in my history—they range from the well-thought-out-considering-personalities-and-compatibility sort to the eyeing-that-attractive-guy-across-the-room type. By nature, moms are the worst. And you know exactly who you are and what I mean.
I have one dear friend in particular who sincerely believes she is The Authority when it comes to matchmaking—a maven in the field of romantic arrangement. Her motto may well be borrowed from Emma: “The most beautiful thing in the world is a match well made.” (Forgive me, but it was necessary to regurgitate a previous quotation.) She cites the two “successful” unions which appear on her contrived record as reason enough to trust implicitly her judgment on such matters, consistently disregarding the fact that Some of her subjects (yours truly included) continue to reject her unaltered choice for their supposed Mr. Right. Really, some people are just incorrigible.
Nevertheless, I find it oddly pleasant to know that I am not the only one rooting for my romantic bliss.
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Cats. Wind. Me.
Common thread: they’re all about freedom.
[Disclaimer: you must try to keep a straight face. What appears in the following paragraph is quite in earnest. And you who know me know that I am serious when it comes to the honored genus Felis. Ask Sam Tappe from fifth grade, with whom I had an ongoing Cat v. dog debate in art throughout the entire year.]
Fact: it is truly unfortunate that “cat lady” carries the connotation of a feeble old lady who has lost her mind decades ago, manifested by the fact that she serves her houseful of Cats as if she is serving a household of dignitaries. I regret that it is so, for you see, Cats are the King. No need for a vote. (Sorry, dogs, popularity isn’t everything—look at the 2000 presidential election.) The Feline breed rules by a look and a tail-shake. How aloof! How fully aware of their own importance! How bored they appear with the truly mundane events of the world! Because of their attitude of independence and self-sufficiency, Cats have the freedom to roam the planet, ruling civilizations, easily acquiring their throne on the savannah, playing both the hero and the villain (see The Jungle Book), some becoming tame, some remaining wild. But at heart, Cats are the same—they embody the ideal of freedom and exercise it at will.
Wind is freedom. The only good thing about Wyoming (sincere apologies to those who inhabit this vast, dull state) is that when you step outside on most any day of the year, you can feel the glorious blustery wind tugging you, pushing you (probably telling you to get the heck out of here and find a more interesting place to live). I’ve never particularly been one to personify inanimate objects (unlike some college roommates I know—my favorite is, “I don’t know yet, my computer is thinking”). To me, the wind has always been Weather. But it’s the only weather that moves. That’s all that matters. It comes and goes in and among the objects on earth—trees, houses, people, balloons—rustling, terrorizing, swirling, scooping, brandishing, sighing, haunting, rocking uplifting.... It makes its own way and...lives...sentient or not.
And I, I am only a human being, craving the free mind of a
cat, the free movement of wind. As it is, I do what I can. I make plans, I write, I read of Otherplace and Othertime, and I watch Otherone live a life of adventure. Some plans come to pass. Some remain in words and dreams. But see, I'm not quite at the end of my life yet. Like I said, I do what I can.
Friday, September 3, 2010
Volume, Part, Issue, Installment I
Aussie Bites. Giant cucumbers. Slumber parties. Zoos. Jungle cats. Clark Gable. Good Earth tea. Band practice. Church picnic.
Sorry, just brainstorming things to BLOG about. Ice cream. Hey, don’t scoff. I have real stories. Really….
Okay, you got me. My life is mainly of no interest to anyone, myself included. I guess I’ll make up a story and say it happened to me. (Shouldn’t tell you that—you didn’t see anything.)
Once upon a time, there was a plaid overnight case. One day it was found buried under an ancient stack of books filmed with dust by an unemployed college grad, just grubbing around for a copy of The Three Musketeers. An old guy had once told her, “Carpe diem—seize the day, make your life extraordinary.” Pondering these words, she straightaway grabbed the case, swiftly walked to her car, and drove off into the sunset. She had an odd feeling that she wouldn’t need anything else. Not even a toothbrush. (She was right).
Soon this now starry-eyed traveler (let us call her Nora Charles) came to a fork in the road. Without hesitation, she turned…up. And the road? Well, where she was going, she didn’t need roads. In minutes, Nora was among the stars, and the earth was in the rearview mirror. She thought, “This is space! Course, I'm just in the beginning of space--I haven't even got to outer space yet!” It was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. (Of course, the most beautiful thing in the world is a match well made. However, as Nora did not have first-hand experience of this phenomenon, Space remained in the number-one spot.)
[to be CONTINUED…]
You may wonder what I’m doing BLOGging on a Friday night. I don’t know either. So…see ya.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Hush, My Darling, No Fear, My Darling
As of Wednesday last, I have taken on the cloak of the nap fairy. I have wings and a feather wand, and I dance around in dewy, sunshiney meadows when I’m not tending to my little ones—passing my wand over their furrowed brows and wiggley bodies, working my magic to make eyelids droop and tiny mouths drop open, wet with sleepy drool.
It really seems pleasant, no? Well, it’s not. Not my cup of tea. I have enough patience to fill a thimble, and after three minutes of *rubbing backs* (a.k.a. magicking), I’m ready for my lunch that’s waiting in the fridge and my hour and forty-five minutes of loud music (NOT lullabies).
But reminisce. You were once four years old. Once, other people were grown-ups, and you were a kid. Think about your elementary school playground. There are probably other kids playing on the same toys you used, swinging a jump rope in the same spot, making up childish games that you once played, believing themselves to be the first. What can I say, it’s the Circle of Life.
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