The Official Bane of My Existence

I have referred to many things in the past as being, "the bane of my existence." It is a great phrase. It is descriptive. There are many things that fit the description: things which are, in fact, the bane of my existence. Things like technology. Packing for trips. Paying bills. Yapping dogs. People who drive slowly in the left lane, or who walk slowly in front of me. These things all drive me crazy. But these things are all minor banes.

Do you want to know the most baneful of the banes? The most banefully baney bane of them ALL?

Keeping track of my online learning assignments.

Four classes: I'm taking FOUR classes over the internet right now. Each class has its own site, and each site has the assignments posted in various links, none of which match the other classes' links. A smart person would take the time to sit down at the beginning of the semester, root out all the assignments, and put them in one easily viewed calendar.

I am a smart person. I am SO smart, in fact, that I thought I could remember them all in my head.

I am now smart enough to realize that I was an idiot for thinking so.

I have now forgotten four, FOUR FOUR FOUR assignments for these classes. I have had to beg for forgiveness from each of my four professors. I found out about two of these assignments when talking with my other classmates at our class last night-- the one on-campus class we have. You know those nightmares where you think you have a huge paper due, or a test you didn't study for? You know that HUGE feeling of relief when you wake up, and realize it was just a dream? Yeah. The first part. But not the second. The second part never came.

"Wait-- WHAT is due today? Oh my gosh-- I'm going to have to go home and do that. CRAP!"
"Greta, don't worry-- it happens to all of us. I'm still working on the Glasser paper! Dan had to give me an extension on that!"
"The what?"
"The Glasser paper."
"The WHAT?"
"...The Glasser paper. It was due a couple weeks ago."
"I thought we just had to do a discussion post for that!"
My classmates looked at me in horrified sympathy. "We did... But we had to write a 4-5 page paper too..."

I literally keeled over. You guys. I have had enough stress. I am tired of feeling so stressed. I have been stressed about family. I have been stressed about relationships. I have been stressed about friends. And I am SO, SO STRESSED about this grad school stuff. The pressure is back on my chest. The breathing has once more gotten shallow. My appetite has once more disappeared. I am so tired of feeling this way.

And I'm EXHAUSTED. Almost too exhausted to go look through these syllabi, one by one, and FINALLY root out all the assignments due-- both those overlooked and those still impending.

But I am a smart person. And even though I am weighed down by fatigue, a smart person puts her assignments in her calendar. Better late than never, right?

I just hope my professors feel the same way...

Obscure Metaphor Proverbs

If you have large monsters in your closet, you should call them out, have a conversation with them, and talk them down to size. Also, you should remember that you're in charge.

If a kid has a broken leg, you don't send him in to play a soccer game. You give him a cast, and let him rest a while, and wait for the bones to knit themselves back together. Making him play too early could ruin that leg for good.

If you're in a room that's filling with smoke, you should leave the room and take a big breath in. Then, if you really need to, you can go back in and deal with the fire.

Sometimes it's good to reckon with the storm. Other times it's good to be safe.

Cooking pumpkin seeds at too high a temperature burns them all. Better to cook them slowly and be quite satisfied, than hurry and ruin the whole batch.

Sometimes, if we are really serious about getting back home, we have to take a trip to Oz first. Sometimes going home means having to face witches, and flying monkeys, and talking things through with the Scarecrow, Tinman, and Cowardly Lion. In other words: sometimes going forward, means going back. And sometimes, getting back means going through-- for a looong ways.

Apologies for the riddling. It's easier to put things abstractly today.

Some Songs that Have Been Resonating Lately

It Starts

Boy Student 1: "Is that a ring on your finger? Are you engaged??"
Me: "It's on my right hand, goof."
Boy Student 1: "Do you have a boyfriend?"
Me: "That's not really any of your business."
Boy Student 1: "Woah! Why you gotta be all offended?!"
Boy Student 2: "She's all offended now!"
Me: "YES, I have a boyfriend."
Boy Student 1: "How old is he?"
Boy Student 2: "Look, she's getting all pink!"
Me: "We're FOCUSING ON CLASS right now."

I was flustered for the rest of the day. I told Viola about it. She said, "Oh, Greta-- you have to be so firm with them! Don't smile, or joke, or anything-- just be clear that talking like that is INAPPROPRIATE. You are their TEACHER. And don't worry about them not liking you afterwards-- they'll get over it. You just have to be FIRM."
"Ack. I know. I knew what to do in my head, but when it actually happened, I just got all flustered! Did I screw myself over by not telling them that it was inappropriate from the get-go? I shouldn't have even ADMITTED that I had a boyfriend!"
"No, no-- you did nothing wrong. But you should talk to them tomorrow and be CLEAR that talking like that to you is crossing the line."

At lunch, with the other teachers:
Viola: "Did you hear what the boys said to Greta?? They're all in love with her."
Other teacher: "You're going to have to get used to that. You're kind of a babe."
Me: "Crap."

Later, talking to a friend.
Me: "This happened today. Ack. This is what I said. Ack."
Friend: "You should have said THIS!"
Me: "I KNOW WHAT I SHOULD HAVE SAID! And I've said it a whole bunch in my head...! But in the moment, you know- it's like on a game show! You just freeze! Aaagggh. Ackity ack smack attack."

Today:
Me, whispering to Boy Student 1: "Clark, I need to you stay after class for a sec."
Me, whispering to Boy Student 2: "Adam, I need you to stay after too. Adam? Did you hear me? Just for a sec."

After class:
Me, to Boy Students 1 and 2: "So... I know that you were probably trying to be funny and joke around yesterday when you asked if I had a boyfriend, or if I was engaged, but you need to know that talking like that is inappropriate. I am your teacher, and you are my students, and there is a LINE that shouldn't be crossed. Our lives meet when it involves your education, but NOT my personal life. Asking questions like that is crossing the line. Okay?"
Boy Student 2: "Yeah, we get it. You're our teacher, not our friend."
Me: "I am your teacher, first and foremost."

Me, to Viola: "This is what I said."
Viola: "That's perfect! Sorry I wasn't there to back you up-- I was trying to shoo everyone else out. And how did they respond?"
Me: "Clark seemed fine-- you know, a little awkward, but he'll get over it. But Adam seemed angry. Which is to be expected-- I knew that, if either of them were going to get angry, it would be him."
Viola: "He said, 'Bye TEACHER' on the way out the door to me."
Me: "That was probably in response to me saying that I was their teacher, not their friend. But I can't just be their FRIEND! I would be a pretty terrible teacher if I was only trying to be their friend."
Viola: "You did PERFECT. You were clear, but you didn't condemn them. Awwww, good job honey!!"

And that is the first story of flirting testosteroni teenagers. Curse my blushing tendencies.

Things That Have Happened In My Life Recently:

1.) I tried a protein shake for the first time, and it was DISGUSTING.

2.) I tolerated the presence of a moth in my car for approximately one week, hoping that we might become friends and I wouldn't have to deal with touching it. Alas, no such kinship formed, and forcible eviction was employed.

3.) I called a counselor. To get counseling.

Regarding #3: I have never understood the big stigma surrounding counseling. I went once before, as a kid, when our family was going through some big changes. My mom thought I would need it, but I had already processed through the main chunk of the upheaval, and didn't really learn anything new with the pretty blonde lady. But I'm a big believer in counseling. I honestly think we could all do with a dose of it every once in a while, and whenever a friend has told me with some hesitation, "I...um, have to see my counselor that afternoon..." I've always felt disconcerted at the conveyed embarrassment. People go through stuff. Sometimes it involves some extra conversation. Why NOT talk to someone smart about your feelings?

Normally, I do a pretty fair job of reflecting on events in my life and processing things on my own. However, many big big things have happened to me in the last five months, and following all the spider trails of impact has proven to be a little daunting. Therefore, I have decided to get counseling. And I'm sort of excited about it. I hope things start getting organized in little mental boxes, rather than running together as they have been.

Why do we balk at the idea of therapy? When you hurt your leg, you go to a physical therapist. When you hurt your back, you go to a massage therapist. When you hurt your heart, you go to a therapist therapist. Right? I've heard of so many couples where one partner wanted to get counseling, and the other refused. Why refuse?? Obviously, if one partner feels the need for it, the relationship could use some assistance. But so many people shy away from COUNSELING because it's COUNSELING. I sort of think that's silly. I've thought that, before I get married, it's going to need to be a DEAL that if one of "us" (myself and future hypothetical hubby) ever request the need/desire for counseling, the other partner HAS to agree, and go along. Checking in on the state of feelings couldn't ever hurt, I feel. Better safe than sorry.

Anyway: that's my thought for Monday. I think it would be funny to see a t-shirt that said, "Gooooo THERAPY!" Wouldn't that be funny? I think that would be funny. If I saw someone wearing that t-shirt, I would laugh and say, "Yeah. Go therapy. Go feelings! And, you know, leather couches!" And if the person gave me a funny look, I would just pretend to brush it off, and then inwardly stew about it, and then maybe cry in my room about it later on.

And then I would probably talk about it to my counselor.

Also, I think this is hilarious.

This makes the third blog in two days. Are you all caught up? Are ya?

As Far as the TEACHING Stuff Goes...

Want another teaching story?

(She waited. And heard nothing from the silent blog audience. She elected to proceed.)

The highlight this week occurred when I won over the Latino posse. Not sure if the boys named themselves that or if it came from another teacher, but there is a fantastic group of Spanish-speaking boys that are all buddies, and for the most part, are all doing terribly in Language Arts. These boys are some of my favorites; a couple of them are downright adorable, but: they don't turn their work in. What else is new.

Last weekend, I received in the mail a new picture of a little girl I sponsor in Nicaragua, through an organization called Plan USA. I immediately felt guilty when I saw her picture, because I'm a rotten pen-pal and never say hello to this cutie. I was bemoaning this fact to Beau (this was his spontaneous flight from CA to WA weekend :), and he said, "Well, write her a letter. Write her one before you send anything to me."
Then I got a GREAT idea. "I should have some of my Spanish-speaking kids help me write her a letter!"

And thus was conceived the brillianto fabuloso plan to win over my floundering Latino posse.

I targeted Andre first, because he's failing the worst, and he's also projected the toughest exterior. I've had my eye on him and his girl friend (as opposed to girlfriend- they're just pals who sit together and mutter things about the class) for a while now, because they both just have up walls-- I haven't been able to connect with either of them yet. And I'm normally really good at working out connections with people-- I, ahem, shoulder brush, supposedly have the gift of "WOO," which for the Strength-Finders-Test-uninformed, is an acronym for "Winning Others Over." I think I've realized that WOO is going to be my best chance at classroom management later on this year. (She rubbed her hands together and cackled conspiratorially.) I'll make them all love me so that they rally to my requests for attention. It's been going well actually-- I have lots of kids on my "team" now, and I've connected with a lot of them on life-related stuff. But not yet Andre. I'd tried a couple times with little luck; the armor hadn't come down yet.

My other target was Eduardo. Eduardo is affable and sweet-tempered; he's also an incredible poet. He's taller and big boned, and I think he gets a hard time for not looking "Hispanic enough"-- he's Honduran and has light skin and reddish hair. He's also another one that just never gets his work in though, so his grade could definitely use a boost.

After 3rd period ended, I gave it a shot. "Andre. I'm wondering if you'd help me with something. I sponsor this little girl in Nicaragua through a kind of charity program, and I wanted to write her a letter, but I wanted to try to write it in Spanish. But I don't speak Spanish. Do you think you could help me write her something? I was going to talk to you and Eduardo both."
His eyebrows jumped up half a centimenter. "Sure. I could do that. Like a letter in Spanish? I could do that."
"I could talk to Viola and see if we could give you extra credit."
"I would love to help you with that." He nodded with those slightly raised eyebrows, and before I could make my way over to Eduardo through the current of departing students, Andre had already made a beeline to him, and told Eduardo about the idea.
"Hey Greta! We're going to help you write a letter?"
"Yeah! If you don't mind. I can see if I can get you extra credit."
Eduardo scoffed and grinned. "We'd help you anyway!"

Viola loved the idea, and approved the extra credit. Andre couldn't stay after school, so we had a one-on-one work session during 6th period, when I would normally be in Swing Class. We worked for a little while on the letter, and he made adorably tentative translations to my suggested phrases. In the letter, we told Ligia, my little Nicaraguan girl, that the boys were helping me write to her. "If I was writing the letter myself, " I told Andre, "I would start saying good things about you and Eduardo, but I don't want to embarrass you..."
"What? Like what?"
"Like that I really enjoy having you two in class."
"What?? No you don't..."
"Yes I do! I really like seeing you in class every day. Sometimes I get annoyed with you and Sarah for talking all the time--"
"We don't talk ALL the time."
"True, you guys have gotten a lot better. But no, Andre, I really like having you in class. You're a good kid."

He told me he thought Language Arts was boring. I asked him why, and he told me about some of the other classes that he liked better. I'm genuinely interested when kids tell me why they do or don't like classes, because, hey: this is relevant. I think he liked that I was really listening to him, and he opened up more. I found out that the reason he never turns anything in is because he works for his family's restaurant as soon as he gets home from school; he literally doesn't have any time to do his homework. I wonder if this is partly because, when his parents have given him time, he hasn't used it. But regardless, this was a problem.
"Dang Andre. We've got to figure out a way for you to do your homework. Don't you have an older sister? What did she do?"
"Yeah, she's like a success story. She has her own business now... She's doing good for herself. Not like my brother, he's-- man. I don't wanna talk about him."
"We won't talk about him. So how'd your sister get through school?"
"Well... she was into sports, so she had to keep her grades up."
"So she just made it happen?"
He shrugged. "My parents... You know, they need the help though."
I asked him what his afternoons looked like after school.
"I have to take the bus home..."
"And how long is your bus ride?"
He shrugged. "Maybe... an hour?"
"Okay-- so that's a hour of potential reading time, right? Do you think you could get any reading done while you ride?"
Another shrug. "Maybe."
"That would be awesome if you could. And then think of how good you'd feel on Friday, when we're talking about the reading. You'd know all the answers. You'd be like, 'Bam, know that one.' 'Bam.' That'd be good, right?"
He grinned and raised his eyebrows half a centimeter, thinking about it. "Yeah."
I wrote a note to his mom on his study questions: "Dear Mrs. A: Please sign off when Andre finishes questions 1-5. Thank you!" I told Andre, "Okay: hopefully this will help your folks know you need a little time to get your work done. But you're going to need to actually do it. I'm going to look for your mom's signature now." He raised his eyebrows that tiny bit, and let one corner of his mouth creep up, and nodded. The bell rang, and he took off to catch his bus.

We had been downright chatty. I felt like I was wearing anti-gravity boots. I had just had a heart to heart with Andre.

I looked down the hall and saw the posse rolling in, led by Mr. Eduardo. "Hey dude! Andre was just helping me! Wait-- are all you guys here to help?"
They-- Jose 1, Jose 2, Jose 2's twin Miguel, George, Juan AND Eduardo-- sat down around the little green table. "Yeah!"

And we just had a little letter writing fiesta.

And we all got to know each other! In the process of updating my little Nicaraguan chica, the boys learned that I lived with my Grandpa, and had to balance a full load of grad school classes on top of my student teaching.
"So you don't have much time for yourself?" Translated, translated, translated into Spanish.
"No, not really. But, tell her I really like what I'm doing."
They spoke to each other, throwing out suggested phrases. (In Spanish): "'I like what I'm doing.'"
"No, put, 'I love what I'm doing.'" They checked with me. "You love what you're doing? With the teaching?"
I grinned, "Yeah, I love it. That's good. Put that."

At times they ribbed each other in Spanish. "Hey now," I said. "Just because I can't understand you doesn't mean you can say inappropriate things."
Eduardo gave a half-hearted grin. "That's just how we talk to each other though..."

At times I tried reading aloud what they'd written, clunking my way through it. One of the boys would gently correct me on pronunciation, and another would rebuke him. "She's doing good, it's hard for her."

I heard them tease each other about girls, and about Eduardo getting challenged to fight all the time by Mexican guys who live in his same neighborhood, and they talked about life and school and asked me questions about Ligia.

When they were finishing up, they speculated about how to close it off. "Normally," George said, "In Spanish culture, you say something about God..." They looked at me carefully to see how I would respond to that.
I threw out one of the only Spanish phrases I know, one that has somehow managed to be retained since a high-school mission trip to Mexico. "Que dios te bendiga?" I suggested.
They grinned. "God bless you? Yeah, that's good!"
Separation of church and state is no joke in the public school system, but if the students bring it up, God can move right on in to the conversation. Can I tell you how happy I am that "Que Dios te Bendiga" is one of the only Spanish phrases I know??

When we finished, we had a great, personal letter to send to Ligia. We had seven grades move up from failing to passing. We had a fun time doing something that was socially-justice-minded AND connected with the boys' culture.

And I now have the loyalty and affection of one fabulous Latino posse.

This is Me When I'm Me

From the journaling archives: One great day about two years ago, I was at the beach and craving a journal session but I'd forgotten my journal at home. I had some song sheets with me though-- just pages with lyrics and chords on them-- so I grabbed a couple and scrawled down these happy thoughts on the backs of the pages. Every once in a while, when I'm sorting through the songs I have in my guitar case, I stumble on this old entry and it never fails to make me feel a little happier. Given that the last week has been a little rough, I thought I'd spend some time in my old buoyed self. Hope it makes you feel good too.

11-17-06: Mama's Birthday!!

I am full of love this afternoon, I feel it bubbling up on my insides and feel it close to bursting out of my chest.

Earlier I was looking in the mirror, closely scrutinizing the large red spots on my chin. I haven't been wearing makeup/cover up since I got home from Malawi, so they were definitely flagrant. I considered though, that I sport them with a good deal less embarrassment than I would have last year, when I was wearing makeup all the time. I'm getting used to myself being imperfect, but marvelous, nonetheless. One doesn't have to have perfect skin to be marvelous. So I looked at myself in the mirror and gave Scrutinizing Greta a firm talking-to: "You are MARVELOUS. You're a beautiful girl!" That made me happy.

I left work, where I'd been all morning and decided to go deposit a check and then head next door to my favorite cafe "Champagne," which is tragically closing in two weeks. They have DELICIOUS lemon shortbread cookies which are full of fat and calories but make me feel so full of vivacity and LIFE that I love to get them anyways on days that want to be special occasions. This day wanted to be special.

I happily greeted the Champagne workers-- most of them know me-- and ordered my cookie and my coffee. I expressed my SORROW to the owner about them closing. He said what Sylvain always said: "But. Well." He smiled wide to see me and asked me how I was doing, we had a nice conversation.

On my drive down there, I had put in a cd of my Malawi kids singing. There seriously is MAGIC in those kids' voices, I felt so happy and LOVED!

I decided then to walk to the beach, which I'd been told you can get to from behind the supermarket. I couldn't find it though, all I could see were locked gates with signs that said, "Private." I asked a man if he could help me. He couldn't, but it was a very nice exchange, and I felt like we were friends when I walked away.

Ran into Robert, another Champagne worker, who was eating Ben and Jerry's Pistachio Ice Cream on my way back. He greeted me and we had a nice conversation too. I told him the resolution I'd just made: that if I ever had a beach-front home I would hang a sign on the gate that said: Public Access. EVERYONE WELCOME! So silly, I said, for there to be so much beauty that only so few are allowed to enjoy. I told him-- he asked-- that I worked at the church with students. Robert is a kind person.

I passed a man taking pictures of a fountain, he was trying to get a good angle. I thought that God must love artists and photographers and poets because they take the time to appreciate His special little details, and it made me so happy that this man was reminding me of the special, noteworthy beauty of that fountain. When I passed him, we smiled at each other and I said, "Thank you for doing that!"

I went and sat down at the other fountain to finish my coffee and cookie and saw a student with her grandparents. She came over and hugged me and introduced me to them-- she'll be coming to Women's Ministry Girls' Night tonight, her name is Erin. They invited me to sit down, but I was almost done with my treat so I said, "No thank you!" and said, "It was good to meet you!" and we all smiled some more.

I walked back down to the drugstore because I remembered I needed to get new facewash. There was a Salvation Army bell ringer in a red apron out front which made me happy because: There is a man that is helping people. A woman walked by him and smiled at me which I mistook for a friendly smile of mutual appreciation for the man. But instead she rolled her eyes and said, "It's not even THANKSGIVING yet." As I walked in the store, I heard two other ladies walk in behind me and say to the man, "Aren't you a little early? It's not even Thanksgiving yet!" They made eye contact with me and I got another eye roll.
I said, as politely as possible, "People need help all the time though." And then I ducked down the nearest aisle.

On my way out, I spoke to the man, "Are people giving you a hard time for being too early?"
He sighed. "Yeah. I don't know why, it's only a couple days before Thanksgiving."
"Well, and people need help all the time too! Not just around Christmas."
He laughed, "Yeah!" Then he frowned. "People around here don't need any help so they forget about the people that DO."
I put three dollars in his red bucket. "Well, I'm glad you're doing what you're doing." As I walked away, some ladies came out of the doors and he said loudly to all of us, "Have a good afternoon!"

Also: there are two girlfriends near where I'm sitting on the beach right now, and they're taking pictures of each other and laughing a lot and it makes me happy.

So anyway: as I was driving away, I was thinking about how much God's blessed me, and how He's really given me just about all the "desires of my heart" I've come up with so far. I decided God must like me a lot, I feel as though we are good friends, and I think He likes how much I love Him, and how I do my best to pass on His love to me. I thought about how I've been wishing for a boyfriend lately and then suddenly felt convinced that I don't need to worry about not having a boyfriend now and I don't need to worry about ending up an old maid, because I feel sure that God wants to bless me with a deep love and a family too. I felt Him saying, "Greta, I have got someone SO great for you, don't even worry about it! Just don't be impatient, remember my timing is different than yours! I've got someone SO good for you!"
"Like the connection with [someone's name], will he be like him?"
"WAAAAY better than him. Just you wait."
"Like [someone else's name], but will he pursue me?"
"YEAH. You've got pursuit in store. Just trust me, that I'll bring it about in the right time. Remember that red dress you're going to twirl in, and that bubble you're going to let me hold until you're ready to share it with someone? Do that. I'll take care of it." And He grinned BIG at me.

And I know this is true! God has worked so many other things out in my life in the most RIDICULOUSLY perfect ways, I KNOW that He must have put that much attention into my future MATE too! He's going to be AWESOME, and I feel sure that he exists. I'm pretty sure God isn't willing me to be single forever.

I said, "God, remind me of this the next time I forget."
And I said, "Oh! And help me not to idolize him."

I LOVE GOD, AND ME, AND MY LIFE!!!!!!

Hope on a Narrow Strip of Beach

Some days, you wake up sort of feeling like a truck ran over you. Some days, life is so disorienting that you feel like you're drunk; you wander through them unfocused; clumsy; dizzy. Some days start with tears, and end with a migraine. Some days would leave you praying in the fetal position if not for God's helping hand and harness to pick you up and carry you through it.

Some days are great, and silly, and you can throw yourself into a happy new romance, and you can write fun happy blogs. Some days are full of purpose and meaning. Some days are just great, and you can be focused, and intentional, and giddy.

But sometimes life just gives you great big ups and great big downs all at the same time. And you can be a glowing ball of sparkles one day-- taking energy from anyone and everything-- and the next, feel so discouraged, and so defeated. I once found a poem by an ancient Greek female poet named Anyte that I used in a paper; it expresses the change from one to the other in a way that I think is beautiful:

No longer exalting in the swimming seas
Will I toss up my neck, rising from the depths,
Nor will I blow around the fine prow of a ship
Leaping and enjoying the figure-head.
But the sea's blue wetness threw me up on dry land
And I lie on this narrow strip of beach.


---------------
I am having a really hard day today. Today, I wish for an angel. I need something otherworldly to sit with me and hold me and explain what I find to be so confusing. I've felt such a intoxicating high for the last couple weeks, that this return to a darkened world is brutal. Once more, I find myself bound by doubt, by fear, by uncertainty, by cynicism, by anger, by sadness, by despair. I lie on this narrow strip of beach.

But I have to hope. Tonight in my grad school class-- before I left with the migraine-- someone confessed that they worried change was impossible: that what has been will be again, and that we can't ever really hope to climb out of the ugly behaviors that have resulted in so much abuse over the centuries-- that, essentially, we are destined to them. I raised my hand and begged, through the fog of a pounding head, for a different philosophy. I have to believe we can change. I have to believe that we can progress; that we can make decisions which take morality into consideration; I have to believe that we can get better. If I don't believe that, then I have no idea what my life is about.

At the end of my terrible day, I come back to this shred, this tiny shred, of hope, and pray that it inflates, and strengthens, and pulls me up yet again. I am fallen and broken-hearted, but plead with hope to pull me up yet again. I hope in a Savior. I hope for a tomorrow that is more innocent than today, and I hope that love- that redeeming kind of love- really CAN change people. I hope that I can be better. I hope that I can forgive. I hope that love is big enough to conquer ugliness. I hope that there ultimately is a bridge to freedom and redemption and a place where the highest of hopes can be realized.

I cling to that hope today with all that I have left.

Thoughts on Monday:

(A Smattering)

What?? 6:45 already? I need to get up. Do I need to get up? I don't need to shower.
....Yes I do need to shower. MEEHHHHHHH.

Still haven't done laundry. Crap. What is left. My blue turtle-neck sweater. How to do hair. Curly.

Ack, curly is so bad. How to fix the bad curliness. Put it up.

Turtle-neck sweater plus curly hair up equals prudish lady from 1883. Complete then with glasses. Perfect 1883. Should carry embroidery and/or needlepoint.

There is not enough coffee in the world.

Adam turned in his essaaaaaaay!!!! ...And it's awful, but he TURNED IT IN!!!! He even typed it!!!

Heather turned in her essay!!!! And she didn't write a conclusion, but the rest is really good, and she took my suggestion for an introductory hook! GOOO HEATHER!!!

What is wrong with Heather...? What is wrong with Leslie...? Are they high??

I wish Beau was still here. Yay Beau. Yay yay Beau.

In dance class, in front of the full length mirrors: SO look like I'm from 1883.

Remember to remember bank. Stop at bank. Be productive. Stop at bank. ...What?? It's Columbus Day? Since when?? And-- why didn't we get school off??

Skype with Beau. How do I look on computer screen. Greta. Don't be vain or stupid. But adjust the angle anyway.

Monday's deep thought: We will all be healthier, less grumpy people if we don't look for validation or fulfillment from each other. Got to get from God. GOT to GET from GOD. Then can be happy and helpful with others/friends/very nice boyfriend.

What a change: this weekend, Greta= glamourous queen with romantic spontaneous boyfriend who surprises her with a visit up from California... who goes walking with him in the rain... who pulls over on the side of the road to look at glorious sunsets... who gets kisses. Tonight: Greta= sweats-clad grad student... who eats cereal, toast, avocado, and leftover potato salad by herself for dinner... while listening to her professor give a lecture on podcast.

Weekend Greta is cooler than Monday Greta.

IT IS COLD IN THIS HOUSE. Rain sounds make house even colder.

Homework. Uck. Ucky ness. Blog instead. What about. I am smattering today. I am a scattering smattering flattering wattle.

Time to get back to work.

The View from the Walls

It was another ice cream day. It was a rough day. But I feel like I've been complaining about the tough teaching stuff a lot lately, when in reality, I really love what I'm doing. It's stimulating, and exciting, and kicks my butt on days like today, but it's without a doubt what I want to do.

So I'm not going to talk about my school day. Instead, I'm going to finish telling you about the Epic of Gilgamesh. Did I ever tell you the end of Gilgamesh?

It's a great ending. In MY opinion, it's a great ending. I'll just tell you the story. I really like it.

So Gilgamesh starts off as this super arrogant, cocky king who keeps stealing his subjects' wives to have sex with. He's 2/3 god, and super handsome, but super lame. I sort of think of him as Brad Pitt in Troy:

The people pray to the gods, "Hey gods! Do something about this jerk!!" So the gods create Enkidu (ink-a-doo) to come and contend with him. Enkidu's half animal and supposedly has more "street sense" than Gil-- like, he's more connected with the earth. Supposedly. I kind of think of him as Wolverine.

Enkidu runs into Gilgamesh when Gilgamesh is about to steal a bride from a new hubby, and Enkidu says, "Excuse me homespice, I DON'T THINK SO," and they FIGHT, and Gilgamesh wins, but he decides that he likes Enkidu anyway. Because. Enkidu is scrappy.

So now they're buddies, and Shamash, the sun god, suggests that they go fight the gnarly scary Forest Guardian, Humbaba, to get immortal fame. Enkidu-- street sense, remember-- says, "That is insane, that is a suicide mission; YOU can do it if you want, and I'll go tell your mother that you're dead. Because that's what's going to happen."

Gilgamesh says, "No way, it's not my day to die, we are going to KILL this monster!" And he convinces Enkidu to fight. But as soon as Humbaba ROARS out of his lair, Gilgamesh runs away like a PANSY. I think of Humbaba like this:


So Gilgamesh runs away and hides behind a tree, and Enkidu says, "Dude?!! You can't leave me alone here! Remember your big boasts?!" So Gilgamesh comes out, prays to the gods; they send massive WINDS which make Humbaba all disoriented, and then Gilgamesh and Enkidu beat him. Humbaba begs for his life and Gilgamesh ALMOST lets him live, but smarty-pants Enkidu says, "Bad idea," and they kill him.

They take his giant head to the Earth god, Enlil. But Enlil-- the EARTH god-- is not so happy with the two of them for killing his forest guardian. Instead of blessing them, he curses them. Big bad curse. They get cursed a few more times by a few more gods, and Enkidu ends up taking the fall. The gods can't kill Gil, because he's 2/3 god-- he's part of the country club. So they kill Enkidu instead. BUMMER.

Gilgamesh freaks out when his best friend dies, not only because he's sad to lose Enkidu, but also because he's suddenly aware of his own mortality. He decides that immortal fame isn't good enough for him: he has to figure out how to REALLY become immortal. So he goes to the end of the earth and talks to this guy named Utnapishtim who is basically Noah-- Utnapishtim gained immortality by surviving a worldwide flood on a boat with his family and two of every animal.


Gilgamesh goes to Utnapishtim and says, "How did you become immortal??"
And Utnapishtim says, "I survived a flood that wiped out the rest of humanity several thousand years ago, and the gods decided to make me immortal afterwards."
And Gilgamesh says, "What?? I can't become immortal that way!!"
And Utnapishtim says, "No duh."
And Gilgamesh says, "Well you've lived forever-- don't you know of SOME way that I can become immortal?"
And Utnapishtim, who is this grumpy old codger by now, smirks and says, "Ummm.... SURE I do... If you can stay awake for seven days and seven nights: you'll be immortal."

But Gilgamesh IS mortal, and he can't stay awake. He fails the test. Big time-- he ends up SLEEPING for almost seven days, instead of staying awake. He finally wakes up, and tries to lie to Utnapishtim, saying that he never REALLY fell asleep. But Utnapishtim is a smart grumpy old guy, and had had his wife bake a loaf of bread for each day Gil slept. He shows Gilgamesh the loaf baked on the first day and says, "See? It's moldy now. THAT'S how long you've been sleeping!" Gilgamesh is totally despondent. "I couldn't DOOO it...!"

But Utnapishtim's wife feels kind of sorry for Gilgamesh and tells her husband, "Come on honey. Have a heart. He's traveled all this way, and he's really tired... Can't we give him SOMETHING to take back to his people?"
So Utnapishtim grunts and says, "Fine. There's a plant at the bottom of the ocean that will give you eternal youth. If you go and get the plant, and eat it... You'll be forever young."

So Gilgamesh says, "GREAT!" And he goes and gets the plant. And for the first time, we see him acting a degree less selfishly, because instead of just devouring the plant himself, he says, "You know what? I'm going to give this to all the old men in my city FIRST... And THEN I'll have some for myself."

BUT: as he's swimming, a snake comes up, eats the plant, immediately sloughs its skin and becomes a young snake, and swims away. And the magic plant is gone. And Gilgamesh ends up with nothing.

And that's how the story ends! The last picture of Gilgamesh is returning home to his city with NOTHING, standing over the walls of his city, and saying: "You know what? This is a great city. It's strong. The people are great. I can be content with this." And the narrator ends the story by describing him as a WISE king, who knew the countries of the world, and who brought back a story of the days before the flood.

I LOVE that.

I love that Gilgamesh doesn't get the magic gimmick to bring home-- he has to be content with being just a little wiser, a little more humble, and having a story to tell. I love that because we usually DON'T get the magic plant to take home-- we usually have to be content with the wisdom we've gained after a long, tiring journey. Modern hero stories don't give us that kind of ending-- modern heroes get the fame, they win the battle, they get the girl, or something similar. You have to WIN in the modern stories.

But this ancient epic ends with its hero-- its HERO-- simply surveying his city, and taking a big breath in, and heaving a big sigh out, and saying, "Okay. This is what I've got. I'm going to be a good king now. I'm going to take care of my people. And one day, I'm going to die, but so be it. I'll do the best with what I've got."

And the great part is-- we're still talking about him. He probably thought that he was a failure-- he never DID become immortal and that was what he was searching for, after all. But his story was enough to keep his memory around for thousands of years. He is still talked about as a HERO-- for only being a little wiser, and for having a story to tell. I love that. I love that our hero story ends with simply a big breath in... And a big sigh out.

And as I do the same, it helps me return to the classroom with new resolve. So many of the kids didn't turn in their essays today-- after I spent literally hours working one-on-one with many of them. They didn't get them done. So much for the magic plant; so much for the tangible marker of success. But I can't have gained nothing from this experience-- I know the kids a tiny bit better, I've had a few more quality conversations, I'm learning how to talk to them, how to GET to them, how to navigate their personal loads that they come in with. I WILL get wiser through these difficult days. And hopefully, as I do, I'll learn how to be a better "leader" to these kids that are shrugging and shuffling their way into our classroom, and shrugging and shuffling their way into my heart.

They matter. Their lives MATTER.

So I'll do my best to be a Gilgamesh type of hero... And keep trying.

Birthday Beau

I have alluded to this guy several times on my blog, but have yet to actually mention who/what/how he is. Well, today is the 27th birthday of one new beau, and I'm just in the mood to talk about him.

Therefore, I present to you: 27 reasons why Beau is a new favorite:

1.) He remembers details (my favorite coffee drink, my favorite snack, the names of my friends, conversations, offhand remarks, etc.)
2.) He likes art (like me), likes to journal (like me), likes adventures (like me), and likes walks (like me). Also, he likes ME. Which is likable.
3.) He knows how to sing perfect harmonies along with rocking songs on the stereo.
4.) He sings his own rocking songs that play on the stereo.
5.) He knows just about every film director out there and can discuss the merits or pitfalls of any given movie at length. Which I think is cool.
6.) He's patient with me feeling scared, or apprehensive, or emotional.
7.) He uses correct grammar, spelling, and demonstrates an excellent grasp of effective vocabulary use-- even in text messages!! Observe a message sent from him in August: "He makes fun of my frumpiness & lambasts me b/c my coffee-making skills aren't much to speak of, & I resort to pithy remarks about his mother. He usually wins." Grammar and vocab might seem trivial, but to this future-English-teacher... Good writing is just damn sexy.
8.) He sends me text messages like the one written above. In reference to conversing with squirrels.
9.) He's great to pray with.
10.) He's great to be goofy with.
11.) He's great to get deep with.
12.) He can do hand stands for a long time.
13.) He can discuss theology at length and expound on different theories, theologians, and historical contexts.
14.) He's generous-- both with his words and actions, but also with how he takes care of me and other important people in his life.
15.) He's the type of guy that leaves notes in a hidden place for me to find later, or that will send me real letters in the mail, or that will secretly pay my parking ticket, or that will send me flowers, or that will pick me up and carry me to my room and sit me down in my desk chair so that I can finish grading papers, while he cleans up dinner. He's the type of guy that puts together a care package of my favorite combination of Essential Baking crackers, goat cheese, and rhubarb-spread along with my favorite coffee drink, and drops it off at my student-teaching school as one last "How 'bout I take care of you?" gesture on the morning he leaves to fly back from Seattle to California.
16.) He gives me thoughtful compliments, ALL the time.
17.) He can run a marathon in just over 3 hours without even training for it.
18.) He makes great mix cds.
19.) He's close with his family and considerate towards his sisters and parents.
20.) He's encouraging and wise.
21.) He's rock solid in his faith, but can easily talk about it with someone who differs in opinion in a way that is free of judgement, hyperbole, or self-righteousness.
22.) He's humble, and doesn't take himself too seriously.
23.) He's honest; he's SO, SO honest-- which is one of the biggest deal things for me.
24.) He listens. He listens GREAT.
25.) He cracks me up.
26.) He's super creative, and will send me emails with these kinds of attachments:










And the 27th reason for why Beau is awesome? Besides him being handsome, and smart, and considerate, and romantic, and a good friend to his guy friends, and a good friend to me, and being encouraging, and cool, and funny, and wonderful?

27.) He's mine.

Happy birthday Beau. :)

Try, Try Again

Yikes, it's been a while. I blame that on the increased busyness of recent days... And... well... Actually, that's really my only excuse. I'm very busy and important. Duh.

Back to the teaching stories then. Shall we?

The big thing this week was feeling frustrated about the kiddos just NOT TRYING. I realized when entering grades that at least a third of our kids are failing, and it just killed me. We give these kids all kinds of work time, we're super clear on what they have due and what their homework is, and we make ourselves available before and after school for help if they need it. The kids that are failing are failing because they're just NOT doing their work. Some of them are seriously intelligent too-- but they slack off during work time, don't show up for class, whatever-- and don't get their stuff in.

I told Viola I felt like we were watching these kids stand outside in a blizzard. We holler out to them, "Hey! Come on in! It's really warm in here, there's a fire, and a great spread on the table! Hot chocolate too! Come on in!"
They shrug and shuffle their feet on the snowy ground. "Meh. It's too far of a walk."
So we go out to them.
"Well, here then, take this coat-- I hate seeing you so cold, this will warm you up a little."
They gaze at some point in the distance and seem to ignore us altogether. "Naaah......Don't feel like putting it on."
Exasperated now, we try again: "Well take some SOUP anyway, that should do something to help keep you warm. Come on, all you have to do is lift the spoon to your mouth and swallow."
But they don't, they're not interested. So they do nothing to help themselves, and they freeze in the blizzard, and die.

Dying in the blizzard is the real-life equivalent of flunking out, or having an extremely short list of life-sustaining options after ruining themselves by not trying in school and getting Fs across the board.

Some of them may realize eventually that it's a good idea to walk 50 meters to get into the warm house, but by then, they may have already limited their options. They may have gotten frostbitten by being out in the cold for so long, and there goes a hand.

It just kills me.

Anyway: this week, we were working on writing our Epic of Gilgamesh essays. We gave the kids a work day on Thursday; in preparation for it, they were supposed to bring in a hand-written rough draft. As we guessed, only about 25% of our classes brought in a completed rough-draft, but we sent those kids to the library to work on typing them up. The rest, we let work on the drafts in class. One sophomore, Jeremiah, didn't have anything done, but he wanted to go to the library anyway. (To type up... what?) Viola let him go though, and I tagged along with the typing crew to supervise.

In the library, Jeremiah asked in his typically detached way, "So what are we supposed to write about?"
We have been talking about this assignment for the last several days. I tried to keep from sighing. "Well, did you get the paper about the assignment?" I asked.
He shrugged, and looked at a far distant point. I asked the boy sitting next to him if we could borrow his paper with the essay prompts.
"Here Jeremiah. So here are the different prompts-- pick out one that catches your interest--"
"Okay." He glanced at them. "Okay." And then he started typing.
"Oh... You know what you're going to do...? Okay. Um... great!"

I left him, not really thinking about what he intended to come up with after his disinterested glance at the paper.

At the end of the class, he raised his hand. "Okay, I'm done."
"Seriously??" I asked. He scrolled down on the computer screen, and showed me that he had the required amount. "Wow, great! Go ahead and print it off."
With his signature air of disinterest, he printed it off and handed it to me without making eye contact, then sauntered out the door.

I glanced over the first paragraph and was dumbfounded. It was GREAT. There were some fragments, and he didn't have a clear thesis statement, but his command of language was outstanding-- he used clever, unique descriptors, showed real wit and humor, and expressed himself elegantly. I SAW how quickly he had cranked that out-- to see him just bust out something of this caliber was incredible! And this kid is failing our class!

Yesterday, he came into class early and sat down. I went over to him with his paper.
"Jeremiah." I paused. "This... blew me away."
His eyes darted over at me to see if I was serious. "I'm not kidding," I told him. "There's some organizational work needed, but your grasp of language is outstanding-- there's humor here, your word choice is fantastic... I mean, Jeremiah, this is an area where you are GIFTED. You should be ACING this class, not failing it-- I mean you could do this professionally, the raw talent is there! You need to hone it now, and I want you to start bringing me your stuff so that I can edit it and help you get there... But dang Jeremiah. You're seriously talented."

As I was talking to him, he kept trying not to smile, and his TEETH were showing-- this is a kid that normally looks SO checked out! But he was grinning in spite of himself, and it felt so good to tell him that I believed in him.

I told Viola about our conversation and she said, "They love being told that they're talented. What they don't love is being told that they have to do work..."

That's true-- and it's very possible that Jeremiah is going to come in Monday morning with nothing. But now that I KNOW what he can do, I'm going to keep hounding him all year-- I'm going to chase him with that winter coat if I have to.

---------------
Amusing moment with "Gal Pal":
(Out in the hall)

"So Grace, how come you seem to be having trouble focusing?"

"Well-- it's just my friend is being so ANNOYING right now, and it's just like really GETTING to me... Like, I told her that I liked this GUY...And then, like RIGHT AFTER, she said that SHE liked him... And then she told me she would like DROP ME for him... And like, I knew that she talked about people behind their backs but then I heard stuff that she'd said about ME... And so it's just like so annoying, and it's really making me mad, and I just can't focus on the essay..."

"Oh man... I know that stuff can be tough. Well-- sometimes when I'm really dealing with personal stuff, I just take ten minutes to sort of PURGE it by either journaling about it, or sometimes I'll call a friend... Now, we're in school, so you can't call someone, but why don't you just write down some of your thoughts for about ten minutes and get it out... And then see if you can come back to the essay. Okay?"

(Nodding.)

I'm really sort of loving working with teenagers. :) Even if they drive me crazy. That's... what are we at, now? Week 5? We'll call it Week 5. By the way-- in case any of you had wondered-- all the kids' names have been changed in these blogs.