"My life would better in every way if only I had an easily accessible filing cabinet."
"I want to go on a jungle excursion. With elephants."
"'And so... just as mysteriously as they had arrived, the Hiccups left.'"
May 31, 2009
May 29, 2009
Friday Fairy Tales
Today was a bizarre day scheduling-wise. Since our school is closing, our kids are being farmed out to a bunch of different high-schools; today, many representatives from the other schools came to ours, to touch base with their respective kids. It was also "Field Day," i.e. the day where the whole school gets one giant recess.
This meant that I only had five students in 5th period. And, those five kiddos were only going to be there for about 20 minutes.
"Do you guys want to blog...?" I asked. "That's what the other classes did, it's an extra credit option..."
"No, let's hang out and talk!" Andy said, plopping down on the floor in front of the fan. "Socratic Seminar!"
"Let's tell fairy tales!" said Maisie, and sat down beside him.
We've been discussing allegory this week, which ties into our unit on Animal Farm. The extra-credit blog option was to create their own allegorical story. We could work that into fairy tales...
I sat down with them and the couple remaining kids followed suit. "We could tell ALLEGORICAL fairy-tales..." I offered. "About our own lives."
Andy-- forever the catalyst-- grinned and said, "You first! Lead by example!"
I thought for a second. "Once upon a time... There was a young maiden. She LOOKED like she was fifteen, but actually she was much older..."
The kids laughed-- Maisie gives me endless grief about how young I look.
I continued: "And she was in charge of teaching all the little squirrels and birds of the forest. That's you," I clarified. The kids grinned and nodded. "And... sometimes the birds would get distracted from their lessons and fly away... and sometimes the squirrels would chatter really loud, but the maiden liked them all anyway. And she would often spend long hours going to collect water and food for the animals after they had gone to sleep. And one day, she met a fairy godmother, and got to make a wish," I said.
"Actually--" I paused. "She got two wishes. Because I want two wishes. Actually--" I paused again. "She got three wishes."
The kids laughed.
"The first wish was that the birds and the squirrels would always know how much POTENTIAL they had," I said. "The second wish was that SHE would always remember how much potential they had. The third wish was for a magic wand that would silence their voice-boxes when they chattered too much." The kids cracked up again.
Maisie's fairy tale started off like so: "Once there was a peasant girl... Who was born to two OBNOXIOUS gypsies. And one day, she started walking towards the castle, towards the kingdom... And she saw a prince who was a JERK-FACED LOSER, and she fell in love with him... And then, you know. He was awful."
"So he was an evil prince in disguise as a handsome knight?" I asked.
"Yes! That's exactly what he was," she pronounced.
Andy's story began, "So there was this CASANOVA..." which made me laugh. Then he continued to tell a story that was very much a straight-forward version of his own, albeit told in third person. "He went to get educated, but... Things kinda got hard. He wanted to go off and be this big shot business man, but, you know..." He shrugged and looked at me, his face a little crestfallen. Andy is very smart, but has failed many of his classes, including ours.
I interrupted him. "And then HE met a fairy godmother, and she told him that he was young and that it was EARLY in his life, and that he still had every chance in the world to become a hot-shot business man."
The stories ended up working with the allegorical theme-- Fiona equated her and her siblings to three different kinds of suitcases, and even though Tommy didn't quite understand how to translate his story into allegorical characters, we worked it out together.
So the Friday Fairy tales ended up being a pretty great way to wind down those 20 minutes. "And they all lived happily ever after..."
Sure hope so.
This meant that I only had five students in 5th period. And, those five kiddos were only going to be there for about 20 minutes.
"Do you guys want to blog...?" I asked. "That's what the other classes did, it's an extra credit option..."
"No, let's hang out and talk!" Andy said, plopping down on the floor in front of the fan. "Socratic Seminar!"
"Let's tell fairy tales!" said Maisie, and sat down beside him.
We've been discussing allegory this week, which ties into our unit on Animal Farm. The extra-credit blog option was to create their own allegorical story. We could work that into fairy tales...
I sat down with them and the couple remaining kids followed suit. "We could tell ALLEGORICAL fairy-tales..." I offered. "About our own lives."
Andy-- forever the catalyst-- grinned and said, "You first! Lead by example!"
I thought for a second. "Once upon a time... There was a young maiden. She LOOKED like she was fifteen, but actually she was much older..."
The kids laughed-- Maisie gives me endless grief about how young I look.
I continued: "And she was in charge of teaching all the little squirrels and birds of the forest. That's you," I clarified. The kids grinned and nodded. "And... sometimes the birds would get distracted from their lessons and fly away... and sometimes the squirrels would chatter really loud, but the maiden liked them all anyway. And she would often spend long hours going to collect water and food for the animals after they had gone to sleep. And one day, she met a fairy godmother, and got to make a wish," I said.
"Actually--" I paused. "She got two wishes. Because I want two wishes. Actually--" I paused again. "She got three wishes."
The kids laughed.
"The first wish was that the birds and the squirrels would always know how much POTENTIAL they had," I said. "The second wish was that SHE would always remember how much potential they had. The third wish was for a magic wand that would silence their voice-boxes when they chattered too much." The kids cracked up again.
Maisie's fairy tale started off like so: "Once there was a peasant girl... Who was born to two OBNOXIOUS gypsies. And one day, she started walking towards the castle, towards the kingdom... And she saw a prince who was a JERK-FACED LOSER, and she fell in love with him... And then, you know. He was awful."
"So he was an evil prince in disguise as a handsome knight?" I asked.
"Yes! That's exactly what he was," she pronounced.
Andy's story began, "So there was this CASANOVA..." which made me laugh. Then he continued to tell a story that was very much a straight-forward version of his own, albeit told in third person. "He went to get educated, but... Things kinda got hard. He wanted to go off and be this big shot business man, but, you know..." He shrugged and looked at me, his face a little crestfallen. Andy is very smart, but has failed many of his classes, including ours.
I interrupted him. "And then HE met a fairy godmother, and she told him that he was young and that it was EARLY in his life, and that he still had every chance in the world to become a hot-shot business man."
The stories ended up working with the allegorical theme-- Fiona equated her and her siblings to three different kinds of suitcases, and even though Tommy didn't quite understand how to translate his story into allegorical characters, we worked it out together.
So the Friday Fairy tales ended up being a pretty great way to wind down those 20 minutes. "And they all lived happily ever after..."
Sure hope so.
May 25, 2009
The Differences Between Prom and Weddings
Annie wrote a comment to my last blog, saying that she wished we could all go to prom again as adults. I thought, "Haha! That WOULD be fun!" but then thought: "Wait... aren't going to weddings sort of the adult version of prom?" After all-- both involve boutonnieres, dancing, and dresses. But, it turns out, they are not the same.
This is why:
1.) Weddings usually involve drinking. In fact, there are featured toasts-- there is GLORIFIED drinking. Proms mean no drinking OR ELSE. If it is done, it is done covertly. And chaperones must not drink at all. If they do, they get their certification taken away. If the chaperone is a student-teaching intern, and is essentially a glorified volunteer, she can't get stripped of her certification, but she WOULD get a big scowl.
2.) At prom, you vote on the king and queen and it's revealed as a big surprise. At weddings, you pretty much know.
3.) At weddings, you don't have to worry so much about a 9th grader asking you to dance. And if it DID happen at a wedding, you could just laugh about it and humor the kid, rather than awkwardly avoiding the question and then going to hide behind your mentor.
4.) At weddings, there's one MAIN couple, and if they get a little dirty on the dance floor, everyone just thinks it's cute. At prom, there are lots of thrown-together couples, and they ALL get dirty on the dance floor, and it's gross.
5.) At prom, there are no humiliating bouquet tosses where the single 20-somethings out slink out and acknowledge with a wave and a grim smile, "Yep! Still coming out for these...!"
6.) At weddings, you don't have to worry so much about students needing to explain to their dates, "No, she's actually a teacher. I know, she looks YOUNG, huh??"
7.) At prom, there are treats. At weddings, there are buffets.
8.) At weddings, you can dance however you want. At prom-- if you're chaperoning, anyway-- you have to make sure you don't move your hips around too much.
9.) At weddings, you're usually not worried about acne anymore.
10.) At weddings, there is lots of crying. At prom, there is lots of grinding.
Some things really are the same though... The girls spend all day long getting ready. The guys throw on a tux, brush their hair, and call it good... The DJs are bad, no matter what... Everyone always looks great, all cleaned up... There are awkward slow dances at both, and awkward conversations and both, and let's be real, do we EVER move beyond the awkward stage?
But in any case, there is dancing. And there are friends. And there are good times. And BOTH occasions provide an excellent excuse to get a new dress...
So celebrate good times, come on.
This is why:
1.) Weddings usually involve drinking. In fact, there are featured toasts-- there is GLORIFIED drinking. Proms mean no drinking OR ELSE. If it is done, it is done covertly. And chaperones must not drink at all. If they do, they get their certification taken away. If the chaperone is a student-teaching intern, and is essentially a glorified volunteer, she can't get stripped of her certification, but she WOULD get a big scowl.
2.) At prom, you vote on the king and queen and it's revealed as a big surprise. At weddings, you pretty much know.
3.) At weddings, you don't have to worry so much about a 9th grader asking you to dance. And if it DID happen at a wedding, you could just laugh about it and humor the kid, rather than awkwardly avoiding the question and then going to hide behind your mentor.
4.) At weddings, there's one MAIN couple, and if they get a little dirty on the dance floor, everyone just thinks it's cute. At prom, there are lots of thrown-together couples, and they ALL get dirty on the dance floor, and it's gross.
5.) At prom, there are no humiliating bouquet tosses where the single 20-somethings out slink out and acknowledge with a wave and a grim smile, "Yep! Still coming out for these...!"
6.) At weddings, you don't have to worry so much about students needing to explain to their dates, "No, she's actually a teacher. I know, she looks YOUNG, huh??"
7.) At prom, there are treats. At weddings, there are buffets.
8.) At weddings, you can dance however you want. At prom-- if you're chaperoning, anyway-- you have to make sure you don't move your hips around too much.
9.) At weddings, you're usually not worried about acne anymore.
10.) At weddings, there is lots of crying. At prom, there is lots of grinding.
Some things really are the same though... The girls spend all day long getting ready. The guys throw on a tux, brush their hair, and call it good... The DJs are bad, no matter what... Everyone always looks great, all cleaned up... There are awkward slow dances at both, and awkward conversations and both, and let's be real, do we EVER move beyond the awkward stage?
But in any case, there is dancing. And there are friends. And there are good times. And BOTH occasions provide an excellent excuse to get a new dress...
So celebrate good times, come on.
May 22, 2009
Okay, This is My Outfit.
Currently pre-funking the prom with a glass of wine. Shh. Chaperones are allowed.
One of the Ugly Sides of Teenagers...
One of my freshmen students is a goofy little guy-- he looks like he's about 11, and he has extreme ADHD, so he's always squirming around in class and making noise. He's not very popular-- our kids are, by and large, an extremely accepting crew, as far as I can tell-- but I've still seen this kid get mocked on occasion.
Today he came in late to class, with red swollen eyes. Had he been crying? When we left to go to the library, he said that someone had slapped him across the eyes. He said he didn't know who, because he couldn't see them after they hit him. Right now, he's working on writing a blog, and is trying to act like everything's normal. I just told a girl to focus on her blog when I saw her on another website, and she said, "I have ADD."
"So do I!" this little guy said.
Everyone scoffed.
"Yeah, no kidding."
"No one ASKED you."
"Mind your own business, stop trying to butt into other conversations."
Why are kids so mean? Obviously this little guy can be annoying, but I wish other kids could understand that he DOESN'T pick up social cues like they do... That he CAN'T just "control" his excess energy. Why can't they show him a little grace? It's one thing to snap out in impatience, but to SLAP him?
It puts such a frown on my face.
Anyway, I'm going to prom tonight. As a chaperone. Pictures later.
Today he came in late to class, with red swollen eyes. Had he been crying? When we left to go to the library, he said that someone had slapped him across the eyes. He said he didn't know who, because he couldn't see them after they hit him. Right now, he's working on writing a blog, and is trying to act like everything's normal. I just told a girl to focus on her blog when I saw her on another website, and she said, "I have ADD."
"So do I!" this little guy said.
Everyone scoffed.
"Yeah, no kidding."
"No one ASKED you."
"Mind your own business, stop trying to butt into other conversations."
Why are kids so mean? Obviously this little guy can be annoying, but I wish other kids could understand that he DOESN'T pick up social cues like they do... That he CAN'T just "control" his excess energy. Why can't they show him a little grace? It's one thing to snap out in impatience, but to SLAP him?
It puts such a frown on my face.
Anyway, I'm going to prom tonight. As a chaperone. Pictures later.
May 19, 2009
Confession
Today, a guest poet came to perform for our kids. Through the course of the day, he recited many outstanding poems, many of which subtly derided God and the idea of religion. When one girl asked if there was any one experience or thought that showed up in almost all of his writing, he admitted that religion did. Although he didn't get specific, he DID say that he had been told once that he was going to go to hell for being himself, and he stated adamantly that he didn't believe THAT anymore. It was clear that he had been shown a face of religion that all too many people are shown-- that of judgement, anger, and condemnation, rather than love, welcome, and grace. It grieved me deeply, as I've had several conversations lately with people who have told me about the battle-scars they've walked away with after church services. After a day of hearing poetry, my thoughts in response to this came out in the abstract verse below. I took great creative license in "quoting" this man in the beginning of the poem-- however, whether or not those are words he would say, I would venture that they have been thought/felt/spoken, if not by him, by one of the many other people who have been shown a mangled face of Jesus.
"There are no scars on His hands or His wrists," he says
"But my heart is clenched like a fist," he says
"What else could it be, when they shouted out 'Hell!' to a boy who was only being himself? And these sinners, these speakers, they unfurled floods of anger, they sneered while condemning their own vice and dangers, they steered their church across my knees, I see train wrecks, I see ship wrecks, I hear them speak, 'You: fault line, no straight lines where you come from,' they said, they said, they said to me.
"Angels make wings, right? They fly, right?
"But the feathers I found were only rubbed-out eyelashes for wishes made upon,
"Wish for light,
"Wish for wholeness,
"She put me to bed, said 'Sweet dreams son,' but running is all I dream about.
"I want wishes, I want light,
"And she pulls out her lashes to get me through the night.
"She says, 'One of these days, we'll both wake up with grace on our pillows.'
"I tried to follow.
"They said flames, they named names, but when I offered up mine,
"They said, 'Beast, away,'
"I looked for light, I looked for freedom, I tried to fly but hit the ceiling,
"There was no light switch, there was no quick fix, I said the prayer, I said, 'Pick me then!'
"But what I found was cold religion.
"'Do as I say, not as I do.
"'He forgives sinners, except sinners like you.
"'Toe the line kid, and do it our way
"'Take up the cross or rue the day
"'You didn't.'
"Just myself," he says.
"I was just myself
"And they said that that
"Was plenty hell-worthy."
I take it in.
I ache within,
I've said those words,
I've dug a hole for burials of lesser souls
I've nailed the lid on the coffin.
I confess. I confess.
I confess, I did.
And I look at a man with residue
Of religion gone wrong, of God misused.
He cried out for help, and he got abuse, and I'm sorry, I'm sorry
I'm sorry, I did.
We should have said, come as you are.
Should have said, right there too.
Should have said, I'll just listen
Since speaking is so over-used.
And no shaking fingers,
No skeptical foreheads
The face He had
Could not have been the face you read
From us.
Where do I begin?
Is there water to wash the damage, to clean off the face of a Lord we've mangled, to wipe the eyebrows to clean the nail beds, are there waves to recreate the music we've savaged? Is there water to make the sunrise, to send up steam for reflective cloud skies shape them in angels, shape out the feathers, send down a real one to a boy still asleep, send it to the boy who is running through dreams, send it then, send him grace, send him grace on his pillow.
Rouse him gently.
Show him a face of kindness first.
Don't speak, don't hurt, just deepen eyes,
Soften your breathing,
Just show him a sigh, show him healing.
If you open your mouth, you should only sing something lullaby,
Just quiet-like.
Let the light creep in through the window
And let that soften the harsher corners,
Let that ruffle the dusty curtains,
Let that chase away the spiders,
Let that reach into monster corners,
Let that blow the cobwebs and ashes,
He is just a boy, he is just
Himself
And that is loved. And that is worth holding.
Let the dawn break
On the heart that he's clutching.
I can't begin to apologize
For the lies the lies the lies the lies
That said you weren't acceptable.
Those words are damnable.
Saving
Should be a safe place to land
Grace
Should be a strong weathered hand
His face
Should say, "I understand,
"And I love you, I love you, I love you,
"It's love
"Like sand on the shore
"Like rain from the sky
"Like poppy weed buds that fire burst bright
"I love you like this
"I love you right now
"I love you running and aching and braving and shaking and falling and breaking again, and I loved you then
"And I loved you then
"And I loved you then, even then."
It's kindness
We missed it
It's mercy we forgot.
Instead of His words,
We sang funeral songs.
I confess,
And I'm sorry.
And I pray with my lashes,
That His face in the sunrise
Gives you grace
And not ashes.
_
"There are no scars on His hands or His wrists," he says
"But my heart is clenched like a fist," he says
"What else could it be, when they shouted out 'Hell!' to a boy who was only being himself? And these sinners, these speakers, they unfurled floods of anger, they sneered while condemning their own vice and dangers, they steered their church across my knees, I see train wrecks, I see ship wrecks, I hear them speak, 'You: fault line, no straight lines where you come from,' they said, they said, they said to me.
"Angels make wings, right? They fly, right?
"But the feathers I found were only rubbed-out eyelashes for wishes made upon,
"Wish for light,
"Wish for wholeness,
"She put me to bed, said 'Sweet dreams son,' but running is all I dream about.
"I want wishes, I want light,
"And she pulls out her lashes to get me through the night.
"She says, 'One of these days, we'll both wake up with grace on our pillows.'
"I tried to follow.
"They said flames, they named names, but when I offered up mine,
"They said, 'Beast, away,'
"I looked for light, I looked for freedom, I tried to fly but hit the ceiling,
"There was no light switch, there was no quick fix, I said the prayer, I said, 'Pick me then!'
"But what I found was cold religion.
"'Do as I say, not as I do.
"'He forgives sinners, except sinners like you.
"'Toe the line kid, and do it our way
"'Take up the cross or rue the day
"'You didn't.'
"Just myself," he says.
"I was just myself
"And they said that that
"Was plenty hell-worthy."
I take it in.
I ache within,
I've said those words,
I've dug a hole for burials of lesser souls
I've nailed the lid on the coffin.
I confess. I confess.
I confess, I did.
And I look at a man with residue
Of religion gone wrong, of God misused.
He cried out for help, and he got abuse, and I'm sorry, I'm sorry
I'm sorry, I did.
We should have said, come as you are.
Should have said, right there too.
Should have said, I'll just listen
Since speaking is so over-used.
And no shaking fingers,
No skeptical foreheads
The face He had
Could not have been the face you read
From us.
Where do I begin?
Is there water to wash the damage, to clean off the face of a Lord we've mangled, to wipe the eyebrows to clean the nail beds, are there waves to recreate the music we've savaged? Is there water to make the sunrise, to send up steam for reflective cloud skies shape them in angels, shape out the feathers, send down a real one to a boy still asleep, send it to the boy who is running through dreams, send it then, send him grace, send him grace on his pillow.
Rouse him gently.
Show him a face of kindness first.
Don't speak, don't hurt, just deepen eyes,
Soften your breathing,
Just show him a sigh, show him healing.
If you open your mouth, you should only sing something lullaby,
Just quiet-like.
Let the light creep in through the window
And let that soften the harsher corners,
Let that ruffle the dusty curtains,
Let that chase away the spiders,
Let that reach into monster corners,
Let that blow the cobwebs and ashes,
He is just a boy, he is just
Himself
And that is loved. And that is worth holding.
Let the dawn break
On the heart that he's clutching.
I can't begin to apologize
For the lies the lies the lies the lies
That said you weren't acceptable.
Those words are damnable.
Saving
Should be a safe place to land
Grace
Should be a strong weathered hand
His face
Should say, "I understand,
"And I love you, I love you, I love you,
"It's love
"Like sand on the shore
"Like rain from the sky
"Like poppy weed buds that fire burst bright
"I love you like this
"I love you right now
"I love you running and aching and braving and shaking and falling and breaking again, and I loved you then
"And I loved you then
"And I loved you then, even then."
It's kindness
We missed it
It's mercy we forgot.
Instead of His words,
We sang funeral songs.
I confess,
And I'm sorry.
And I pray with my lashes,
That His face in the sunrise
Gives you grace
And not ashes.
_
May 14, 2009
Spirit Week
I am in a thoroughly unproductive mood. And, seeing as there are only 59 more minutes until the start of The Office, I've decided to just go with it.
Unproductivity is allowed: last night I worked for 4.5 straight hours getting another application in (cross fingers, all), and yesterday and today were "OUTLINING ESSAYS" days at school, which meant that I've come up with about 45 different thesis statements, about 90 different supporting examples, helped find about 50 different quotes, and have streamlined about 86 different convoluted ideas.
My brain hath jellified.
So I doth blog.
This week has been Spirit Week. Some people poo-poo dressing up for Spirit Week. I am not one of those people. My outfits so far have included:
Wacky Tacky Day:
THIS dress--
(In the middle, next to Annie who isonherwayhererightnow!!!)
Plus THIS jacket:
Sports Day:
This jersey (I'm on the far left):
Which is actually not a jersey at all, but a sorority shirt. That was the closest I could get. Those are my little small group chickies by the way, aren't they cute??
Decade Day:
Prompted a resurrection of my 50's Housewife Outfit:
THIS on top--
(Except with no pony tail because of new short hair)
And THIS on the bottom:
Also, I carried a wooden spoon.
Today was "School Spirit" day. I didn't have a shirt with my school's name on it, so I asked Viola to bring me something. She found a sweat-shirt for me, but I had to take it off midday, because it got too hot. After my outstanding Spirit Week showing (some might even say, otherworldly) up to that point, I felt a little chastened to be only wearing a navy blue long-sleeved shirt-- only the most basic of nods to one of our school colors. However, I got a second chance to improve my spirit-showing come the Staff/Student Basketball game after lunch...
Viola had asked me several weeks ago if I wanted to play.
"No."
"Why not???"
"I can't play, Viola! I'm seriously terrible."
"I'm going to play! I'm not good, I just get in people's faces!"
"But you're athletic Viola! I-- trust me, I shouldn't play. I'll have fun watching."
But when I got to the gym today, they had T-SHIRTS. They had t-shirts with MY SCHOOL'S name on them. The only condition was that you had to play.
You want a girl to play sports? I mean, THIS girl? Bribe her with clothing.
At first, I really did look like an idiot. I missed every single basket that I threw during warm-ups, and the first time I got out on the court against these big boy seniors, I just sort of skipped around and fluttered my hands at people and ran away from the ball. Every once in awhile I would hear the announcer point out, "Greta's open," which was a point universally ignored by my team.
After the first quarter, I thought it was over. "Yaaay!"
Viola corrected me. "It's not done yet!"
"... Oh!"
The kids were cheering loud, and the staff was INTO it-- from the young dude teachers, to the middle-aged pot-bellied folks who rocked the casbah like nobody's BUSINESS. Seriously-- Paul? Was an ANIMAL! The ladies represented on the court one at a time-- and-- I'm a little embarrassed to admit-- my sex was pretty terrible. Evelyn, Viola, Patti, Karen and I held down the court (get it?? COURT?) but not very well. As I was the youngest girl by about 20 years, I decided I needed to step it up.
So I DID.
Y'all-- I made no baskets. None at all. And when the announcer pointed out yet again, "Greta's open," my team-mates still knew better than to pass me the ball. BUT: I ran, I blocked, I JUMPED, I got knocked over and popped back up, I got my hands in the big boys' faces, and I was SCRAPPY, dang it. Viola told me later that she and another teacher were laughing. "At first she looked kind of scared out there!" Viola apparently told Josh. "Now it looks like she's going to foul out!"
U know it.
And even though I thought the game had ended again at half-time-- and was once again corrected by my astute mentor-- I got high-fives from the kids afterwards, got a rallying cry with my staff, and got kudos from the kids who had watched and told me that I looked "tough."
And-- (perhaps not *best* of all, but most WEARABLE of all):
I got a SWEET school t-shirt. Our school's name is on the front. And our slogan-- all the "U KNOW" of it-- is on the back.
The moral of the story? Play. Play anyway. Even if you suck. Even if you look ridiculous.
There might just be t-shirts.
Unproductivity is allowed: last night I worked for 4.5 straight hours getting another application in (cross fingers, all), and yesterday and today were "OUTLINING ESSAYS" days at school, which meant that I've come up with about 45 different thesis statements, about 90 different supporting examples, helped find about 50 different quotes, and have streamlined about 86 different convoluted ideas.
My brain hath jellified.
So I doth blog.
This week has been Spirit Week. Some people poo-poo dressing up for Spirit Week. I am not one of those people. My outfits so far have included:
Wacky Tacky Day:
THIS dress--
(In the middle, next to Annie who isonherwayhererightnow!!!)
Plus THIS jacket:
Sports Day:
This jersey (I'm on the far left):
Which is actually not a jersey at all, but a sorority shirt. That was the closest I could get. Those are my little small group chickies by the way, aren't they cute??
Decade Day:
Prompted a resurrection of my 50's Housewife Outfit:
THIS on top--
(Except with no pony tail because of new short hair)
And THIS on the bottom:
Also, I carried a wooden spoon.
Today was "School Spirit" day. I didn't have a shirt with my school's name on it, so I asked Viola to bring me something. She found a sweat-shirt for me, but I had to take it off midday, because it got too hot. After my outstanding Spirit Week showing (some might even say, otherworldly) up to that point, I felt a little chastened to be only wearing a navy blue long-sleeved shirt-- only the most basic of nods to one of our school colors. However, I got a second chance to improve my spirit-showing come the Staff/Student Basketball game after lunch...
Viola had asked me several weeks ago if I wanted to play.
"No."
"Why not???"
"I can't play, Viola! I'm seriously terrible."
"I'm going to play! I'm not good, I just get in people's faces!"
"But you're athletic Viola! I-- trust me, I shouldn't play. I'll have fun watching."
But when I got to the gym today, they had T-SHIRTS. They had t-shirts with MY SCHOOL'S name on them. The only condition was that you had to play.
You want a girl to play sports? I mean, THIS girl? Bribe her with clothing.
At first, I really did look like an idiot. I missed every single basket that I threw during warm-ups, and the first time I got out on the court against these big boy seniors, I just sort of skipped around and fluttered my hands at people and ran away from the ball. Every once in awhile I would hear the announcer point out, "Greta's open," which was a point universally ignored by my team.
After the first quarter, I thought it was over. "Yaaay!"
Viola corrected me. "It's not done yet!"
"... Oh!"
The kids were cheering loud, and the staff was INTO it-- from the young dude teachers, to the middle-aged pot-bellied folks who rocked the casbah like nobody's BUSINESS. Seriously-- Paul? Was an ANIMAL! The ladies represented on the court one at a time-- and-- I'm a little embarrassed to admit-- my sex was pretty terrible. Evelyn, Viola, Patti, Karen and I held down the court (get it?? COURT?) but not very well. As I was the youngest girl by about 20 years, I decided I needed to step it up.
So I DID.
Y'all-- I made no baskets. None at all. And when the announcer pointed out yet again, "Greta's open," my team-mates still knew better than to pass me the ball. BUT: I ran, I blocked, I JUMPED, I got knocked over and popped back up, I got my hands in the big boys' faces, and I was SCRAPPY, dang it. Viola told me later that she and another teacher were laughing. "At first she looked kind of scared out there!" Viola apparently told Josh. "Now it looks like she's going to foul out!"
U know it.
And even though I thought the game had ended again at half-time-- and was once again corrected by my astute mentor-- I got high-fives from the kids afterwards, got a rallying cry with my staff, and got kudos from the kids who had watched and told me that I looked "tough."
And-- (perhaps not *best* of all, but most WEARABLE of all):
I got a SWEET school t-shirt. Our school's name is on the front. And our slogan-- all the "U KNOW" of it-- is on the back.
The moral of the story? Play. Play anyway. Even if you suck. Even if you look ridiculous.
There might just be t-shirts.
May 12, 2009
On Rabbit Trails
I have a metaphor for you.
When I lived down in Malibu, CA, I went on a hike with a friend once. We headed into the Calabasas hills, found the trail we thought we were looking for, and began a chipper dally down it. Before long though, the trail split. One trail seemed to be wider, but was covered over with fallen brush and grass. The other, a skinnier one, looked more beaten down. The latter beckoned more invitingly though-- it ran through some pretty trees and curved around a bend, and possibly up the side of a mountain. My friend and I are both adventurous, and were drawn to the idea of taking the trail that more possibly led to unknown, exciting things.
So we took the skinny one. Before long, we lost it. It disappeared into the brush and left us trail-less on the side of this mountain.
Not ready to admit defeat, we made up our minds to forge our own path, and try to get as high up on the hill as we could. We wanted a VIEW. Laughing, we both warned each other that we typically relied on OTHER people's sage advice for caution against stupid risks. "The two of us together might not be the best combination...!" we laughed. So we went higher, and higher-- slipping on loose dirt, clutching at the progressively fewer weeds and rocks that provided a hand-hold on the steep slope. At one point we looked down. One tumble would have sent us somersaulting head over feet down, down, down into the deep canyon hundreds of feet below. We deliberated. "If we fell...?"
"They'd probably need a helicopter to get us."
"Yeah... Is your cell phone getting service?"
"... No. Is yours?"
"Huh uh."
"Should we turn around?"
The other girl would always pause, squint in the sun, and then say, "I'm game for going higher if you are."
And so we would. Until finally, we couldn't any more. Was it a near slip? Or maybe just a giant bush that determinedly prevented us from going any farther? In any case, we finally made up our minds to start eking our way back down our made-up trail-- gravel rubbed into palms, dirt mixed with sweat behind our knees and elbow creases, bums dusty from an inch-by-inch slide back down the treacherous slope. We didn't get to the top of the mountain. We didn't find a view point. We just had to turn around because we couldn't make the trail go any farther.
Not the best idea, we later laughed. Fun, and a good adventure-- but really, not the best idea.
This is the connection:
Sometimes-- I see a rabbit trail. Deep down, I know it's a rabbit trail-- it's clearly a rabbit trail. I know it doesn't REALLY lead anywhere. But it looks good. It looks inviting. It looks intriguing, like it might be a fun adventure. So, what the heck? I follow after it; fall down down down the rabbit hole, or simply go far far farther than the trail would accommodate.
I like the look. I just want to look. I just want to try.
But following the rabbit trail, inevitably, leads to a turn-around. Because the trail just DOESN'T go any farther. I suppose I'm lucky if I get to a peaceful turn-around-- more often the risks HAVE turned hazardous, and there's a mess to be cleaned, and people to placate, and drama to get away from.
Examining these rabbit trails... is a reckless mood. Sometimes I return to old ones. This particular trail has already been wandered down and briar-patch-ended, but I'm in the mood to poke at it again. Maybe there was a divergent path off of that one I could try. Maybe the years have changed it. Maybe the outcome will be different. Maybe there's ACTUALLY something magnificent at the end.*
I feel like looking.
But my sense-- my deep-downs-- my intuition and my practicality say, "This is a rabbit trail, doofus. Rabbit trails don't get you to the tops of mountains. You have to find the real trails for that."
So the point of all this is: make sure you're walking on a real trail. Towards whatever adventure it is that you're pursuing. Because a real trail will get you there.
A rabbit trail won't.
When I lived down in Malibu, CA, I went on a hike with a friend once. We headed into the Calabasas hills, found the trail we thought we were looking for, and began a chipper dally down it. Before long though, the trail split. One trail seemed to be wider, but was covered over with fallen brush and grass. The other, a skinnier one, looked more beaten down. The latter beckoned more invitingly though-- it ran through some pretty trees and curved around a bend, and possibly up the side of a mountain. My friend and I are both adventurous, and were drawn to the idea of taking the trail that more possibly led to unknown, exciting things.
So we took the skinny one. Before long, we lost it. It disappeared into the brush and left us trail-less on the side of this mountain.
Not ready to admit defeat, we made up our minds to forge our own path, and try to get as high up on the hill as we could. We wanted a VIEW. Laughing, we both warned each other that we typically relied on OTHER people's sage advice for caution against stupid risks. "The two of us together might not be the best combination...!" we laughed. So we went higher, and higher-- slipping on loose dirt, clutching at the progressively fewer weeds and rocks that provided a hand-hold on the steep slope. At one point we looked down. One tumble would have sent us somersaulting head over feet down, down, down into the deep canyon hundreds of feet below. We deliberated. "If we fell...?"
"They'd probably need a helicopter to get us."
"Yeah... Is your cell phone getting service?"
"... No. Is yours?"
"Huh uh."
"Should we turn around?"
The other girl would always pause, squint in the sun, and then say, "I'm game for going higher if you are."
And so we would. Until finally, we couldn't any more. Was it a near slip? Or maybe just a giant bush that determinedly prevented us from going any farther? In any case, we finally made up our minds to start eking our way back down our made-up trail-- gravel rubbed into palms, dirt mixed with sweat behind our knees and elbow creases, bums dusty from an inch-by-inch slide back down the treacherous slope. We didn't get to the top of the mountain. We didn't find a view point. We just had to turn around because we couldn't make the trail go any farther.
Not the best idea, we later laughed. Fun, and a good adventure-- but really, not the best idea.
This is the connection:
Sometimes-- I see a rabbit trail. Deep down, I know it's a rabbit trail-- it's clearly a rabbit trail. I know it doesn't REALLY lead anywhere. But it looks good. It looks inviting. It looks intriguing, like it might be a fun adventure. So, what the heck? I follow after it; fall down down down the rabbit hole, or simply go far far farther than the trail would accommodate.
I like the look. I just want to look. I just want to try.
But following the rabbit trail, inevitably, leads to a turn-around. Because the trail just DOESN'T go any farther. I suppose I'm lucky if I get to a peaceful turn-around-- more often the risks HAVE turned hazardous, and there's a mess to be cleaned, and people to placate, and drama to get away from.
Examining these rabbit trails... is a reckless mood. Sometimes I return to old ones. This particular trail has already been wandered down and briar-patch-ended, but I'm in the mood to poke at it again. Maybe there was a divergent path off of that one I could try. Maybe the years have changed it. Maybe the outcome will be different. Maybe there's ACTUALLY something magnificent at the end.*
I feel like looking.
But my sense-- my deep-downs-- my intuition and my practicality say, "This is a rabbit trail, doofus. Rabbit trails don't get you to the tops of mountains. You have to find the real trails for that."
So the point of all this is: make sure you're walking on a real trail. Towards whatever adventure it is that you're pursuing. Because a real trail will get you there.
A rabbit trail won't.
May 6, 2009
Dancedancedancedancedancedance
Today we had an African Dance assembly. Cool!
I shepherded in my group of 9th graders, and we joined the 9th/10th grade section. One sweet girl gave me a note as she sat down, for Teacher Appreciation week. It read: "Greta is... An amazing singer and a WONDERFUL teacher!!" It gave me the warm fuzzies all over.
At one point, the girls in front of me were talking, and I rubbed one girl's back gently. "Hon, quiet down." She turned around with a scowl, but when she saw it was me, she relaxed and grinned, nodding her compliance.
The music started, and the kids all started clapping along, terribly out of rhythm. It made me laugh and like them.
Then the African Dancing Singer Lady ordered all the teachers to get up on stage. What? Really?
I joined the rest of them, the lot of us laughing self-consciously. Once we were up there, the African Dancing Singer Lady told us we were going to dance. From my 9th and 10th grade corner, I heard a roar: "Gooooo Greta!!"
Ha!
And the music started, and I DANCED. Oh yes, I DID DANCE. I danced AFRICAN dance. And I was into it. I was in front, so I couldn't see what the other teachers looked like-- apparently they were "marking" the movements that the lady was instructing us in. But they were behind me, so I just tried to make myself look like her. And I did the DANCING DANCING, I DID THE DANCE.
When we were done, the kids all clapped and cheered, and when I booped and bopped my way down the stairs, they all started giving me high-fives. I got back to my corner of kids and they were all congratulating me! As they filed out of the assembly, I got one high-five after another, and kudos from the kids on my dancing. When I found out I was apparently doing it "bigger" than the other teachers, I felt a little embarrassed, but the kids' comments made me laugh and grin.
I just LIKE them all so much. I love what I'm doing. Another one of those starry eyed, shmoopy posts. But especially after yesterday, I realized how much I like MY students, and how much I'd missed them. I told them as much, this morning. "I really missed you guys!!"
The other day, the kids were still getting settled in their desks, and I was looking over them all. Eduardo said, "What are you looking at? You're wondering if we love you, huh?"
I grinned and rolled my eyes.
"We like you, don't worry," he said. "You're one of the good ones, we like you."
"Sometimes you get on our nerves, but we like you," another girl supplied.
"I'm sure I do!" I said, and laughed.
Just right then: they like me, but I'm not so buddy buddy with them that I never get on their nerves. When I'm telling them that they need to turn in their homework, or stop talking, or that cursing in their blogs is inappropriate, I SHOULD get on their nerves. But they like me, too.
And I like them. :)
Such a good thing.
I shepherded in my group of 9th graders, and we joined the 9th/10th grade section. One sweet girl gave me a note as she sat down, for Teacher Appreciation week. It read: "Greta is... An amazing singer and a WONDERFUL teacher!!" It gave me the warm fuzzies all over.
At one point, the girls in front of me were talking, and I rubbed one girl's back gently. "Hon, quiet down." She turned around with a scowl, but when she saw it was me, she relaxed and grinned, nodding her compliance.
The music started, and the kids all started clapping along, terribly out of rhythm. It made me laugh and like them.
Then the African Dancing Singer Lady ordered all the teachers to get up on stage. What? Really?
I joined the rest of them, the lot of us laughing self-consciously. Once we were up there, the African Dancing Singer Lady told us we were going to dance. From my 9th and 10th grade corner, I heard a roar: "Gooooo Greta!!"
Ha!
And the music started, and I DANCED. Oh yes, I DID DANCE. I danced AFRICAN dance. And I was into it. I was in front, so I couldn't see what the other teachers looked like-- apparently they were "marking" the movements that the lady was instructing us in. But they were behind me, so I just tried to make myself look like her. And I did the DANCING DANCING, I DID THE DANCE.
When we were done, the kids all clapped and cheered, and when I booped and bopped my way down the stairs, they all started giving me high-fives. I got back to my corner of kids and they were all congratulating me! As they filed out of the assembly, I got one high-five after another, and kudos from the kids on my dancing. When I found out I was apparently doing it "bigger" than the other teachers, I felt a little embarrassed, but the kids' comments made me laugh and grin.
I just LIKE them all so much. I love what I'm doing. Another one of those starry eyed, shmoopy posts. But especially after yesterday, I realized how much I like MY students, and how much I'd missed them. I told them as much, this morning. "I really missed you guys!!"
The other day, the kids were still getting settled in their desks, and I was looking over them all. Eduardo said, "What are you looking at? You're wondering if we love you, huh?"
I grinned and rolled my eyes.
"We like you, don't worry," he said. "You're one of the good ones, we like you."
"Sometimes you get on our nerves, but we like you," another girl supplied.
"I'm sure I do!" I said, and laughed.
Just right then: they like me, but I'm not so buddy buddy with them that I never get on their nerves. When I'm telling them that they need to turn in their homework, or stop talking, or that cursing in their blogs is inappropriate, I SHOULD get on their nerves. But they like me, too.
And I like them. :)
Such a good thing.
May 5, 2009
Even in a Storm
If the capsizing economy is a sudden nightfall, then today was about seeking out a glow-worm. Several weeks ago, at my grad school's job fair, I was told repeatedly, "We're really not sure if we'll be hiring... We'll take your resume though!" Reports of firings throughout most of the Seattle districts have confirmed that most of those "really not sures" have turned into "really NOTs" and have left me clutching at straws. I asked for this, I guess; I've been praying for a whole lot of closed doors, and one big OPEN one, so that I can be sure next year that I'm right where God wants me. For the first part of that phrase anyway, God is proving Himself to be abundantly faithful.
One of the first school districts I spoke to at the fair-- one which is a two-hour drive and ferry boat away-- mentioned that they MIGHT be expecting openings in Language Arts. The HR woman said, more out of politeness than anything, "Call me if you'd like to come by for a tour!" It was not an open door, nor a ray of light, nor even a fire-fly. But twitchy little glow-worm rumpuses are what I'm chasing after these days, so I made an appointment, arranged to take the day off from student teaching, and hoped for the best.
I had to get up EARLY. Was grumpy, tired, and still glaring at my new hair-cut with a great deal of suspicion. The outfit that I wanted to wear turned out to be dirty. I hadn't looked up ferry schedules. It was POURING outside. I was tempted to just cancel the appointment altogether.
"There's so little point in going, " I told Gramps. "This isn't an interview, this isn't ANYTHING. No one is hiring right now. They'll probably humor me for a half an hour by telling me about their sports teams, and then send me on my way."
"This will end up being one of the best meetings of your LIFE, maybe," Gramps responded.
I stared at the pouring rain out the window. "Maybe I'll miss my ferry and just have to come home."
He laughed. "Well. Maybe you will."
I realized on the freeway that I'd left my cell phone at home. I hadn't been positive of my appointment time-- how was I going to confirm it now? I scowled, and squinted at the freeway signs. Tried to give myself a pep-talk. I would MEET Lori, the HR director of this school district. I would WOW her with my conversational skills and stories of student teaching. I would MAKE an impression, I would GIVE her my resume, and she would MENTION my name once they started looking at potential hirees.
I pulled up to the ferry terminal just as the gate was dropping down. "I don't know if they'll let you on," the ferry man said. "The next one will be in another hour..."
"Oh no!" I said.
He radioed the crew. "Go ahead," he said. "They'll hold it for you."
I raced my car ahead, accidentally blitzing by the ticket-taker man, who waved me down. "Need a pass!" he said, which I thrust at him. "Keep it under 10 mph," he said.
"Okay. Sorry!" I said. "I don't take ferries very often...!"
He grinned in a way that said, "Obviously."
I had told myself that morning, "If nothing else, at least I'll get a ferry ride." Now, I was on the ferry, watching the dock pull away from me in my car's rear-view mirror, and felt sullen. "Maybe I'll just stay in my car," I thought.
Then went upstairs.
There was a young man playing guitar next to one of the windows. I sat a couple seats behind him and watched the undulating water underneath the stormy sky. The window was streaked with rain and was like looking through twisted saran wrap. I relaxed, let the music soothe me, and felt that the world was actually so beautiful after all-- even in a storm.
"At least I got to have a ferry ride," I thought.
I got lost once I'd driven off, on my way to the school-- had to ask directions two different times. Each time I got out of the car, the rain played further tricks on my carefully styled hair. So unkempt. Got to the school finally-- an hour early-- but decided I would check in, confirm my appointment time, and then go to a cafe to journal for the duration of the hour.
The main office sat behind a wall of sliding windows, and one very small door. I peeked at the receptionist through the windows, wondering which one was supposed to slide open for me. She raised her eyebrows and pointed at the door.
So uncool.
"I have an appointment with Lori...?" I said.
"Lori... what?" she asked.
"Um... I left her card in my car, sorry--" I hadn't thought I would need it to just double-check on the appointment. Lori was the HR lady. Wouldn't she just be right there in the office?
"Talk to Ileen," the receptionist said.
After repeating my request to Ileen-- a woman decked out head to toe in turquoise and parrots-- she asked, "Were you supposed to meet her HERE, or at the district office?"
My eyes opened wide in surprise. "Um... honestly, I'm not sure. I'm a Language Arts teacher, and she had mentioned a tour-- I just assumed I should come to the high-school."
Ileen smiled gently and called the district office. "You said you had an appointment at 10?"
"Yes."
"They're saying it's 10:30."
"Oh-- okay."
"They're actually not sure where you should go either, hon," she said. "Lori's in a meeting that can't be interrupted. Do you have a cell phone that we could reach you at?"
"I don't..." I said, weakly. "I accidentally left it at home."
So incompetent.
I tried to help. "I could just wait here...? I have a book."
"Sure!" she said. "Why don't you do that."
So I read. I read for an hour, until 10:00. Checked in with Ileen. "No calls yet from the office... They know you're here though!"
Read 'til 10:30. Checked with Ileen. "Not yet..."
Read 'til 10:50.
Finally, I was abruptly pulled out of the plot of my book when a woman asked me if I was, "Something-something-something intern?"
Thinking that she was mistaking me for one of the school's student teachers, I said, "No! I don't think so...?"
"You're here to tour the school?"
"Oh! Yes!"
Let the record show that I am not used to seeming like SUCH A SPACE CADET.
The director of the Language Arts program took me back to the lunch room and told me that I would observe several of the teachers. "Okay!" I said brightly, while thinking with a wave of disappointment, "What??" I would not even be MEETING Lori. I would only be observing classes, which I've done countless times already this year. The glow worm, at that point, felt officially squashed.
I went back out through the office to get my lunch from my car. I heard Ileen talking on the phone. She glanced up at me as I passed. "Oh yes-- Mary, our L.A. head, claimed her, so I think we're okay."
Claimed me? Am I a wailing baby in a basket on a door-step?
The classes were fine, but dull. I felt a pang of home-sickness for my own students. "I'm missing their POETRY day," I thought to myself. And for what? To be baby-sat at a school three hours away?
Before leaving, I left my resume with a thank-you not for the L.A. department director, and thanked Ileen on my way out.
"Bye Meredith!" I called to the receptionist who had initially so confused me behind her wall of windows.
"Bye Greta!" she said. "I hope we get to see you around!"
My smile couldn't entirely mask my sigh of futility. "Yeah."
So here I am, in a little cafe, trying not to feel yet more discouragement. This is what I will tell myself:
The locals were darling.
I got to read a big chunk of a good book.
I saw non-alternative-normal-high-school-kids, and they were friendly, and funny, and nice.
I found this little cafe, which gave me delicious coffee, and yummy tomato soup.
This district is NOT firing teachers, which means they might just still be looking for a new Language Arts one.
I dropped off a resume with the Language Arts head, and showed UP. Right? Even if I seemed like an air-head, I showed up and showed my interest?
I experienced, maybe, an answered prayer? Even if this entire day boils down to one more rabbit trail leading to one more closed door: I can still trust in Him and the impassable padlocks He gives me.
And: I got a ferry ride.
If nothing else, there was that. I liked that ferry ride.
One of the first school districts I spoke to at the fair-- one which is a two-hour drive and ferry boat away-- mentioned that they MIGHT be expecting openings in Language Arts. The HR woman said, more out of politeness than anything, "Call me if you'd like to come by for a tour!" It was not an open door, nor a ray of light, nor even a fire-fly. But twitchy little glow-worm rumpuses are what I'm chasing after these days, so I made an appointment, arranged to take the day off from student teaching, and hoped for the best.
I had to get up EARLY. Was grumpy, tired, and still glaring at my new hair-cut with a great deal of suspicion. The outfit that I wanted to wear turned out to be dirty. I hadn't looked up ferry schedules. It was POURING outside. I was tempted to just cancel the appointment altogether.
"There's so little point in going, " I told Gramps. "This isn't an interview, this isn't ANYTHING. No one is hiring right now. They'll probably humor me for a half an hour by telling me about their sports teams, and then send me on my way."
"This will end up being one of the best meetings of your LIFE, maybe," Gramps responded.
I stared at the pouring rain out the window. "Maybe I'll miss my ferry and just have to come home."
He laughed. "Well. Maybe you will."
I realized on the freeway that I'd left my cell phone at home. I hadn't been positive of my appointment time-- how was I going to confirm it now? I scowled, and squinted at the freeway signs. Tried to give myself a pep-talk. I would MEET Lori, the HR director of this school district. I would WOW her with my conversational skills and stories of student teaching. I would MAKE an impression, I would GIVE her my resume, and she would MENTION my name once they started looking at potential hirees.
I pulled up to the ferry terminal just as the gate was dropping down. "I don't know if they'll let you on," the ferry man said. "The next one will be in another hour..."
"Oh no!" I said.
He radioed the crew. "Go ahead," he said. "They'll hold it for you."
I raced my car ahead, accidentally blitzing by the ticket-taker man, who waved me down. "Need a pass!" he said, which I thrust at him. "Keep it under 10 mph," he said.
"Okay. Sorry!" I said. "I don't take ferries very often...!"
He grinned in a way that said, "Obviously."
I had told myself that morning, "If nothing else, at least I'll get a ferry ride." Now, I was on the ferry, watching the dock pull away from me in my car's rear-view mirror, and felt sullen. "Maybe I'll just stay in my car," I thought.
Then went upstairs.
There was a young man playing guitar next to one of the windows. I sat a couple seats behind him and watched the undulating water underneath the stormy sky. The window was streaked with rain and was like looking through twisted saran wrap. I relaxed, let the music soothe me, and felt that the world was actually so beautiful after all-- even in a storm.
"At least I got to have a ferry ride," I thought.
I got lost once I'd driven off, on my way to the school-- had to ask directions two different times. Each time I got out of the car, the rain played further tricks on my carefully styled hair. So unkempt. Got to the school finally-- an hour early-- but decided I would check in, confirm my appointment time, and then go to a cafe to journal for the duration of the hour.
The main office sat behind a wall of sliding windows, and one very small door. I peeked at the receptionist through the windows, wondering which one was supposed to slide open for me. She raised her eyebrows and pointed at the door.
So uncool.
"I have an appointment with Lori...?" I said.
"Lori... what?" she asked.
"Um... I left her card in my car, sorry--" I hadn't thought I would need it to just double-check on the appointment. Lori was the HR lady. Wouldn't she just be right there in the office?
"Talk to Ileen," the receptionist said.
After repeating my request to Ileen-- a woman decked out head to toe in turquoise and parrots-- she asked, "Were you supposed to meet her HERE, or at the district office?"
My eyes opened wide in surprise. "Um... honestly, I'm not sure. I'm a Language Arts teacher, and she had mentioned a tour-- I just assumed I should come to the high-school."
Ileen smiled gently and called the district office. "You said you had an appointment at 10?"
"Yes."
"They're saying it's 10:30."
"Oh-- okay."
"They're actually not sure where you should go either, hon," she said. "Lori's in a meeting that can't be interrupted. Do you have a cell phone that we could reach you at?"
"I don't..." I said, weakly. "I accidentally left it at home."
So incompetent.
I tried to help. "I could just wait here...? I have a book."
"Sure!" she said. "Why don't you do that."
So I read. I read for an hour, until 10:00. Checked in with Ileen. "No calls yet from the office... They know you're here though!"
Read 'til 10:30. Checked with Ileen. "Not yet..."
Read 'til 10:50.
Finally, I was abruptly pulled out of the plot of my book when a woman asked me if I was, "Something-something-something intern?"
Thinking that she was mistaking me for one of the school's student teachers, I said, "No! I don't think so...?"
"You're here to tour the school?"
"Oh! Yes!"
Let the record show that I am not used to seeming like SUCH A SPACE CADET.
The director of the Language Arts program took me back to the lunch room and told me that I would observe several of the teachers. "Okay!" I said brightly, while thinking with a wave of disappointment, "What??" I would not even be MEETING Lori. I would only be observing classes, which I've done countless times already this year. The glow worm, at that point, felt officially squashed.
I went back out through the office to get my lunch from my car. I heard Ileen talking on the phone. She glanced up at me as I passed. "Oh yes-- Mary, our L.A. head, claimed her, so I think we're okay."
Claimed me? Am I a wailing baby in a basket on a door-step?
The classes were fine, but dull. I felt a pang of home-sickness for my own students. "I'm missing their POETRY day," I thought to myself. And for what? To be baby-sat at a school three hours away?
Before leaving, I left my resume with a thank-you not for the L.A. department director, and thanked Ileen on my way out.
"Bye Meredith!" I called to the receptionist who had initially so confused me behind her wall of windows.
"Bye Greta!" she said. "I hope we get to see you around!"
My smile couldn't entirely mask my sigh of futility. "Yeah."
So here I am, in a little cafe, trying not to feel yet more discouragement. This is what I will tell myself:
The locals were darling.
I got to read a big chunk of a good book.
I saw non-alternative-normal-high-school-kids, and they were friendly, and funny, and nice.
I found this little cafe, which gave me delicious coffee, and yummy tomato soup.
This district is NOT firing teachers, which means they might just still be looking for a new Language Arts one.
I dropped off a resume with the Language Arts head, and showed UP. Right? Even if I seemed like an air-head, I showed up and showed my interest?
I experienced, maybe, an answered prayer? Even if this entire day boils down to one more rabbit trail leading to one more closed door: I can still trust in Him and the impassable padlocks He gives me.
And: I got a ferry ride.
If nothing else, there was that. I liked that ferry ride.
May 4, 2009
On Coiffing
What is it about hair-cuts that inspires such verbal verbosity from females? We talk about it and talk about it and deliberate, and consult other friends... And then we actually GET it cut, and consult and deliberate some more... Is it right?? Is it flattering?? Is it the BEST it could be?? What about the color? What about the layers? And the BANGS, good heavens, the BANGS!
Why the big deal, right? Hair is a living organism that grows, and it will GROW again-- no matter how disastrously shorn. So why make such a fuss about it?
I'll tell you why. Because, from almost the beginning of time, women have been responsible for the aesthetics of the world. In some species, like with the peacock, it is the boys that do the preening. But for the human ladies? The boon (or burden, more often) falls on us. Centuries ago, when women weren't valued for their word or opinions, they let their looks do the talking. Have any of you seen The Duchess? She conducted political campaigns via hair-do.
And let's not forget Marie Antoinette, whose lavish locks basically provoked the French revolution:
So us ladies get the message: do your hair up nice. Frame your face. Maximize your appeal. Etc. etc. etc. We learn: it's the IMPORTANT THING.
I actually sort of think that all that logic is superfluous. And also, lame. I am more than my hair. Duh.
But regardless: I just got my hair cut again. And I think I like it. But I am afraid that I don't. And it is ESPECIALLY short this time. And so I am sort of stressing out about it.
We'll see how it looks in three weeks. Hair-cuts generally hit their best stride about three weeks post-scissors, I think.
And with that, I will end what started off as an attempt to give a philosophical dissertation on the pressures and expectations women feel towards the achievement of impossible aesthetics... with a return to the blatantly shallow.
I suppose we all fight it, and triumph over it, and return to it, and succumb to it, and challenge it, and LIVE the whole thing. One more example then.
One more girl.
Why the big deal, right? Hair is a living organism that grows, and it will GROW again-- no matter how disastrously shorn. So why make such a fuss about it?
I'll tell you why. Because, from almost the beginning of time, women have been responsible for the aesthetics of the world. In some species, like with the peacock, it is the boys that do the preening. But for the human ladies? The boon (or burden, more often) falls on us. Centuries ago, when women weren't valued for their word or opinions, they let their looks do the talking. Have any of you seen The Duchess? She conducted political campaigns via hair-do.
And let's not forget Marie Antoinette, whose lavish locks basically provoked the French revolution:
So us ladies get the message: do your hair up nice. Frame your face. Maximize your appeal. Etc. etc. etc. We learn: it's the IMPORTANT THING.
I actually sort of think that all that logic is superfluous. And also, lame. I am more than my hair. Duh.
But regardless: I just got my hair cut again. And I think I like it. But I am afraid that I don't. And it is ESPECIALLY short this time. And so I am sort of stressing out about it.
We'll see how it looks in three weeks. Hair-cuts generally hit their best stride about three weeks post-scissors, I think.
And with that, I will end what started off as an attempt to give a philosophical dissertation on the pressures and expectations women feel towards the achievement of impossible aesthetics... with a return to the blatantly shallow.
I suppose we all fight it, and triumph over it, and return to it, and succumb to it, and challenge it, and LIVE the whole thing. One more example then.
One more girl.
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