Last Days

Every year a new group of kids start the transition towards adulthood—although some were forced into that crucible far too young (& more will be as the social safety net becomes a noose around the necks of the working poor). They receive advice, go through various academic and familial rituals or they skip it all and head straight into working forty-plus hours a week to make ends meet with or without a Diploma/GDE.

Either way, I’ve been watching and participating in this for nearly thirty years. Some former students remember me fondly, others remember me as a pox upon their time in school; some I disappointed by missing grad parties due to my chronic migraines.

However they remember me or don’t remember me, I have faith in them. I’ve had 29 years to see how intransigent, argumentative personalities go from defiance to “Wow. Their life looks really solid from where I’m standing and I’m so happy for their successes.” I’ve seen students blow past the very real barriers of class and culture; I’ve also seen them sink from the middle into addictions or holes that they won’t accept help getting out of. Life can be hard and sometimes our choices make it more difficult than it needs to be.

Every year I try to remind my students that they will be ok. They have the ability to survive and thrive. Every adult feels like a faker at some point and all we can do is our best in each moment.

This year’s seniors were a special group as a whole. I always have a few seniors that feel like mentees, but some groups as a whole just make me hopeful and proud.

Who those groups are for each teacher or staff member at a school will be different and that’s a good thing. Covid hit teachers, students, families, and various professions hard. It combined with a few other things hit me hard enough for a multi-year deep depression which was only overcome with the right medication and a good therapist (which gave me some hard work to do). I am sorry for the students who felt slighted, disappointed, or discouraged during those years. I wasn’t a great teacher at that point. But I hope I did some good.

To say I’m getting better, doing better is too little, too late for many and that’s ok. This year I went back to some older practices that worked well with some updates. This year I got assignments turned around much faster (however, teachers can only grade what actually gets turned in). Next year, I’ll adapt and adjust to keep doing better. That’s what I want for my students—to be true to themselves, to adapt and adjust as things change, to be part of their chosen community, to be their better selves. I want those same things for myself—practice what I preach and all.

I’m shooting for a full forty years in the trenches. I hope I can make it with time to spare for enjoying retirement. I always hope I do more good than harm and my students learn new ways to look at the world.

If you are a former student of mine who stumbles upon this, I hope you have: people you can rely on, people who can count on you, the strength and determination to keep on moving forward. May you give yourself the grace to try again each day to be your better self, because we all fall down.

Hestia

I prefer to think of them as Immortals or Daemons rather than godlings. I believe in one creator of order out of chaos, of what is & was & will be, who is within & without & beside & between—therefore, my beloved being from myth and folklore are much less than creators, than The Creator.

Hestia though. She was firstborn, first “eaten” or banished by Kronos. She was so stunning (and full of power) as an infant her father banished all his children. Then her babiest of brothers tried to kneecap her like a fool, tying her to hearth and home.

Joke was on him.

Many may have forgotten her name, but the protectors of family, home, hearth, the community are integral to stories and life today. Look at Jesus who loves us far beyond what the judges (IYKYK) preach from their pulpits & couches. Jesus hangs out with folks on the fringes, preaching love, showing protections, giving friendship. Jesus is both sacrifice & protector.

Back to my girlie, Hestia. She saw her Olympian throne as deadweight. Hecate was grieving her husband and a Titan—no tossing her the throne. Persephone would’ve been a great choice until she embraced her inner chaos and outer goth girl by snagging Hades (the immortal & the realm). She waited another generation, then another for someone who was powerful enough and enough of a protector.

Enter the latest powerhouse who hid behind words, women, and wine—Dionysus, the unlikely inheritor of Hestia’s throne. Dig into his stories, into the Maenads, into who got torn apart at the end of those parties and it all shifts left. Were those men innocent or were they abusers of women, children, and slaves? Were the Maenads a bunch of crazy party girls or victims who were given a fresh start?

Just past Midnight

My psyche is filled with I needs and I shoulds. It’s also filled with maybes…

My head hurts and I’m waiting for meds to kick in. This screen is soothing with its black background and white text. Besides the pain, my mind is full of ideas.

I’m thinking of changing my url to help with a fresh start. I’m thinking of all the things I don’t want to do. I’m thinking of all the things I need to do in order to find what I need to keep moving forward.

Life is a spiral and I am spinning.

Attempt 42

The second full week of September is a weirdly special time in Pendleton. When I first started teaching we taught Monday and Tuesday of that week & at the hundred year mark it changed to not teaching for the whole week—fundraisers, pop-up parking lots, closed Main Street, PBR, regular rodeo days, concerts…so, so much. Twenty-five years ago some students didn’t show up until after; now we get them for two short weeks prior to Hedonist Holy Week (no shade and not my clever).

I spent my time reading 18 perfect trash books. And I moved my yearly book goal from the standard 120 to 160…92% of the goal is met. Pretty much this means I’ve read about 5% of my TBR pile.

Let’s be realistic

Do you remember your favorite book from childhood?

I did. I do not, could never, choose one book. As a kid I cut my teeth on Golden Arch books where I made stories fit the pictures since my tiny dyslexic self took a minute to learn to read. I graduated to a picture Bible & comics which quickly morphed into a love (deep and abiding) for fairy tales…for sci-fi…for fantastic literature. None of that had gone away. I grew up with a mind meant for metaphors in a world of sarcasm and similes.

I adored Brownie Bear perched in my grandfather’s lap, waiting through the ritual of filling and lighting the pipe, ready for a beloved story about pushing yourself and still listening to your folks.

I read the CS Lewis books so many times my copies were held to tether with tape, love, and rubber bands. I walked for months with hobbits from The Shire. In sixth grade I was introduced to Shakespeare (who just twisted older tales like a boss) while seventh grade led me to “I have no fear, for fear is the little death that kills me over and over. Without fear, I die but once.” I still look to Lewis, Tolkien, and Herbert when I’m battling The Fear.

In the classroom for 27 years I’ve gotten decent at the reread and recognize story game in Beowulf, The Scarlet Letter, Macbeth, and all the faves. I’m also embracing new faves with more modern and diverse content. What a great time to be living in a place that doesn’t yet ban or burn books, but let’s kids learn and grow…

Summertime Blues

We barely touch 80° today and I’m already feeling it. I don’t do well with unstructured time or heat. And now I have the tiny downside to my move…no central air. First world problems. I’m still in a better head space and I have some preparation done, more to do (always more to do). I also (as usual) got very little done this weekend which was not good as my next few days will be properly slammed.

All of Cascadia is preparing for an early heatwave and I really do think the weather extremes of the last few years are the new normal, not some aberration—this is climate change. I worry that some of the more extreme speculative fiction climate stories I’ve read point the way to our disastrous near future. More fires. More floods. More earthquakes. A few tsunamis in unexpected places. I don’t want to see the Cascadia subduction zone fire off any more than I want extreme heat to make the American Midwest, parts of India & Asia, or parts of Australia actually untenable for human habitation. I’m not keen on water or food shortages. I fear the diseases that will make Covid-19 look like a minor cold.

We don’t know what’s coming other than a need for people to band together, exercise compassion (which feels in shorter and shorter supply if one follows any news), and regional solutions for world problems. The climate crisis won’t be solved by one major shift; it will be solved by 10,000 solutions that fit various regions around the world. We have to look to the past, find technologies that work for where we live, pull together in communities, protect our most vulnerable members, and do the best we can with what we have.

We have to listen.

I’m positive that no government is truly prepared to listen. I doubt most institutions are prepared to listen. I am confident that the solutions lie in with the people who have had to make do…with the people who have been forced to innovate.

I fear we will slip back towards the worst kind of tribalism and othering of people who should be part of our tribes. We’ve already driven head-first into a binary rage system where anyone who isn’t “like me” is other rather than someone to be treated humanely.

Who’s going to listen to me?

May the whirlwinds you reap be full of hope rather than fear…

CP 6.13 (13 Strange Things)

  • Cats growling at corners
  • Cleansing with the moon, the sun, the air instead of incense
  • The protection of prayer
  • Rituals: there are so many rituals in this world for relaxation, readiness, keeping panic at bay, protection, tea or coffee, cooking, holidays…
  • Ellipses are so much more than a representation of missing words in a quote. They let a thought stretch or indicate an appositive that’s softer than other punctuated explanations. They annoy…oh, the bliss of stretching the English language and its guardians of grammar.
  • The pull of naps or twilight daydreams
  • The increasing pollen annually
  • The horrifying entitlements that crash against me increasing the need to flee into words, stories, books, other lives, laziness
  • The way a bedroom can become a safe haven for the spirit even in a bright, happy home
  • Shades of loneliness versus the choice of alone
  • The power we give away
  • The shame we hold inside
  • The odd taste of words swallowed in blood

Waiting for Sleep 230504

Do you have a quote you live your life by or think of often?

I have a handful of Bible verses & lines of poetry that I hold close to my heart. Every few of years I have a motto for my school year, but it’s been a minute. And, I’m always liking things I read for quotes to inspire writing or loathing of writing in my students.

As did many I fell into a deeper depression during the Covid lockdowns. My bedroom became the safe space in my house and there were too many days I rarely left the bed. It didn’t help that the year before I was on a medication that, while helping my migraines, really did a number in my brain, my memory, my ability to function.

There are wonderful people who supported me as best they could despite my seemingly best efforts to withdraw from life. And I don’t blame some of them for backing off or staying cautious about me pulling myself into a slightly better mindset over the last few months.

The negative pathways in my kind got strong, my tendency towards laziness got stronger, my ability to people got much weaker.

Now, I am reaping my whirlwinds.

I live in a brighter home with less clutter, but I still fight my desire to nap as a rather unhealthy way of dealing with life and other difficulties. I find money tight as I work towards paying off my debts. I can see shadows in the light at the end of this tunnel. I can remember that hell is a state of mind. I understand that God is infinitely creative, loving, and present (I also know that I’m not quite sure what that really means , because the Creator can’t be put into concepts that humans can really understand).

Bad things exist in the world because people have the choice to give into their darker impulses. Bad things exist because some people enjoy cruelty for the sake of the pain it causes others; other people are so convinced of their own rightness and righteousness that they ooze a different kind of cruelty cloaked in religion or personal freedom. Bad things exist because people exist with free will.

Each of us has to make the choice in each moment, each day to reach for our better selves. When I read The Gospel of John I see a Jesus who taught his followers to live love, to give to those who have less, to practice community & compassions. I see a piece of God in the world. An example of what I can be. A promise that it’s okay to fail, to flail, to make mistakes. I know many, many others have a very different understanding.

I have learned that the grass maybe greener, but it’s probably spray painted.

I have learned to ask for help, to accept help.

I always have room to reach for my better nature.

May the whirlwinds you reap be full of love…

CP 3.13 (Sonnet)

Lord help me…

It’s writing time and I’ve been challenged to write a modern sonnet. Wish me luck…

Challenger 
Haikus don’t need to rhyme; 
Tupac has more flow than all these kids
Trying to win me over to letting them go.

Soon enough those little birds
Will crack their wings on the whirlwinds
Spinning right round
Pushing up to down

What’ll happen when reality bites back
And they come running home
Tails between their legs
Life reminding them to ask for grace
Teaching them the hard way respect is earned?

Common courtesy builds bridges;
Compassion builds communities.

CP 1.12 (20 Things)

The Commonplace Project begins , so I’m planning on putting each assignment up here to show solidarity with my seniors and give the confused ones mediocre great examples.

A List

  • Gentle hum of chatter
  • Counting
  • Brainstorming out loud
  • No, five more, water.
  • She can’t chase us down
  • I may be old, but I can still write you up
  • Feet pounding their way up the hill
  • Picture taking
  • A door squeaking
  • The breeze is perfect and reminds me that right now my classroom is running hot. It’s always fun to take seniors or poets out to write in different locations around the school. My former students probably remember my favorite spots on campus—if only tptb would stop cutting down the big trees.
  • So many personal devices
  • My inability to type well on my personal device
  • Phone is so pedestrian for these mini computer-communicators
  • Soot on a building that looks like sinking wings
  • Picture taking—twice?!? My hat with my YaYA scarf as decoration around it. (Thanks HB)
  • Chatter as they walk back down the hill
  • Pale legs and arms
  • Bright blue sky
  • Grass already patching to brown
  • Parsing left behind examples into who might still want them, which ones should just be tossed for lack of original effort, and which ones are decent examples of how or what could be done. My big question is do I make them present since we are starting the project so early? We will end the year with a couple of documentaries and related debates.