"Miss Weisman, what's your opinion? Do you think students here are actually authentic?"
"I think... you all are in a state of becoming. I think you're still figuring out who you are, and what you believe in. I think we're all in a state of becoming. I look at myself-- and I'm someone that knows herself pretty well, I feel like I've had a handle on 'me' since high-school-- but I am still figuring things out. I have a LOT to figure out. When you're a teenager, you're going through SO much growth-- you're recognizing for the first time that your opinions might differ from your parents, you're figuring out what you believe in, who you want to be... I think people who are honest about where they're at with all that are recognized as authentic. But I'm not sure anyone can have a permanent handle on who they are-- because we're always changing."
You know when the wound is open, and the surgeon is working with his scalpel and his retractor?
You know when a cook is in the middle of her creation, and the incredients are spread out all over the counter, and the eggs are cracked and the flour is spilled?
You know when you first get out of the shower, and you're wet and dripping?
You know when a baby is born, and is still connected, and is not yet washed, and is wailing in the biting air?
It's messy.
It's all messy.
It's becoming-- and it's messy.
Today, I am forgiving myself for not having yet become. I feel messy today. But I hope that indicates a heart in progress.
Mar 24, 2010
Mar 15, 2010
Remembering
I just had a very Mondayish-Monday. Kids in 6th period didn't have their drafts. 7th period sophomores ticked me off. I remembered that I had forgotten to do something-- many things. I have three different organizations to call that will put me on hold for decades before helping me with my problems. I have too much to do and too little time. I am ready for Spring Break. Spring Break is three weeks away.
It's amazing to me-- in these 26 years-- how little I actually remember. I remember the truly good things, and the truly horrific things. Days like this though-- they slip away. It's one more wave onto my desert island that is as forgettable as the next. It's one more leaf off a tree that will be ground into the soil. It's one more cherry blossom off in the breeze.
This day doesn't last. Literally, or figuratively. I will forget essentially everything about this mundane Monday. And that, in this case, is a good thing.
I will remember playing princesses with Heidi in our front yard.
I will remember climbing trees with Shane.
I will remember waiting backstage at the Spokane Opera House, waiting to dance on as Clara in the Alberta Ballet's Nutcracker as a 5th grader.
I will remember walking through the halls of my Arts School High-School when it was still under construction.
I will remember the day I heard the terrible words.
I will remember my first kiss.
I will remember being ricocheted onstage as "Ariel" in The Tempest.
I will remember Mike calling me to exult over us both getting our first leads in I Hate Hamlet.
I will remember singing quietly to myself to calm my nerves when waiting to come on stage as "Madge" in Picnic.
I will remember the first time I said, "I love you."
I will remember dancing with Tony in West Side Story and getting thrown so high.
I will remember weeping over my first lost love.
I will remember talking with Fernanda during rush at Gamma Phi.
I will remember a tragic dinner in my short yellow dress.
I will remember playing guitar for the first time in public, and singing with a voice that shook like fear.
I will remember playing guitar in Covent Garden, and singing with a voice that lifted like joy.
I will remember the sunrise I saw when leaving London.
I will remember the campsite in Rome.
I will remember catching the bouquet at Shane's wedding.
I will remember laundry in Malawi, and ants floating in the laundry tub.
I will remember Tikambe falling asleep in my lap.
I will remember Clayton swinging from my back.
I will remember the sand-dollar walk on the beach in Malibu.
I will remember falling for him, and falling for him, and falling for him.
And I will remember the slow extrications.
I will remember emails with Annie.
I will remember the dinner after Heidi's graduation, and the canyon that opened up beneath us.
I will remember frolicking in meadows on "Heidi's Alp" in Switzerland.
I will remember running into the damn sign.
I will remember the words on the screen at the internet cafe in Cinque Terre.
I will remember the angels.
I will remember the monster duck in Chantilly.
I will remember the snowy walk, and the scaffolded house, and the view, and the goodbye.
I will remember the horrible realization that I had somehow forgotten to do four huge grad school assignments that were already past due.
I will remember Grandpa's balcony.
I will remember watching Heidi come down the aisle.
I will remember swimming in the lake with Max at 1am on a stifling summer night.
I will remember the phone call from Stephanie, and hearing that she wanted to hire me to teach at her school.
I will remember meeting him.
I will remember hanging art in my classroom.
I will remember the first time we said, "I love you."
I will remember that horrible day when Natalie said she didn't think the class was adequately preparing her, and I will remember the birthday card from the sophomores, when they all wrote how much they loved me.
I will remember the best.
And I will remember the worst.
And today is neither; and today, I will forget. And I'm thankful for forgetting.
I want room for what matters.
It's amazing to me-- in these 26 years-- how little I actually remember. I remember the truly good things, and the truly horrific things. Days like this though-- they slip away. It's one more wave onto my desert island that is as forgettable as the next. It's one more leaf off a tree that will be ground into the soil. It's one more cherry blossom off in the breeze.
This day doesn't last. Literally, or figuratively. I will forget essentially everything about this mundane Monday. And that, in this case, is a good thing.
I will remember playing princesses with Heidi in our front yard.
I will remember climbing trees with Shane.
I will remember waiting backstage at the Spokane Opera House, waiting to dance on as Clara in the Alberta Ballet's Nutcracker as a 5th grader.
I will remember walking through the halls of my Arts School High-School when it was still under construction.
I will remember the day I heard the terrible words.
I will remember my first kiss.
I will remember being ricocheted onstage as "Ariel" in The Tempest.
I will remember Mike calling me to exult over us both getting our first leads in I Hate Hamlet.
I will remember singing quietly to myself to calm my nerves when waiting to come on stage as "Madge" in Picnic.
I will remember the first time I said, "I love you."
I will remember dancing with Tony in West Side Story and getting thrown so high.
I will remember weeping over my first lost love.
I will remember talking with Fernanda during rush at Gamma Phi.
I will remember a tragic dinner in my short yellow dress.
I will remember playing guitar for the first time in public, and singing with a voice that shook like fear.
I will remember playing guitar in Covent Garden, and singing with a voice that lifted like joy.
I will remember the sunrise I saw when leaving London.
I will remember the campsite in Rome.
I will remember catching the bouquet at Shane's wedding.
I will remember laundry in Malawi, and ants floating in the laundry tub.
I will remember Tikambe falling asleep in my lap.
I will remember Clayton swinging from my back.
I will remember the sand-dollar walk on the beach in Malibu.
I will remember falling for him, and falling for him, and falling for him.
And I will remember the slow extrications.
I will remember emails with Annie.
I will remember the dinner after Heidi's graduation, and the canyon that opened up beneath us.
I will remember frolicking in meadows on "Heidi's Alp" in Switzerland.
I will remember running into the damn sign.
I will remember the words on the screen at the internet cafe in Cinque Terre.
I will remember the angels.
I will remember the monster duck in Chantilly.
I will remember the snowy walk, and the scaffolded house, and the view, and the goodbye.
I will remember the horrible realization that I had somehow forgotten to do four huge grad school assignments that were already past due.
I will remember Grandpa's balcony.
I will remember watching Heidi come down the aisle.
I will remember swimming in the lake with Max at 1am on a stifling summer night.
I will remember the phone call from Stephanie, and hearing that she wanted to hire me to teach at her school.
I will remember meeting him.
I will remember hanging art in my classroom.
I will remember the first time we said, "I love you."
I will remember that horrible day when Natalie said she didn't think the class was adequately preparing her, and I will remember the birthday card from the sophomores, when they all wrote how much they loved me.
I will remember the best.
And I will remember the worst.
And today is neither; and today, I will forget. And I'm thankful for forgetting.
I want room for what matters.
Mar 12, 2010
This Week
Sunday was like being inside a shipwreck. All sense of up or down was lost; it was just tumbling through dark, it was blindness through sea, it was being carried by a force much larger than myself. It was drowning, it was being tossed, it was being battered, it was being knocked unconscious and letting my tired body just be carried. It was brutal. It was exhausting.
Monday was waking up on the shore: confused, bruised, tired, but awake. I looked around me and saw pieces everywhere, but they were still. The sand was white. The ocean was calm. I was sitting under quiet sunshine. I gingerly picked myself up and tried to move. I could walk. Not well; but I could walk beside the pieces. I could look out at the ocean.
Tuesday was angry. The island fought against me. The skies quarreled and thundered. The waves were obstinate and proud. I kicked a tree until my foot ached, and then I dug a hole to hide underneath it and cried. I held onto the tree and cried.
Wednesday was the worst. I tried to get up and move around the island; I tried to pick up some of the pieces and make neat piles, but the task was overwhelming. I tried to make friends with the birds and the monkeys, but the biggest damn monkey threw a coconut at me. I raged at this despicable island, and missed my broken ship, and threw coconuts into empty space, and cried, and cried, and cried.
Thursday was a gentle sunrise. Woke up lying on the soft sand. Heard tender words in the lavender waves. I got up, and stood straight, and lifted my chin. I faced the horizon with square shoulders, and breathed deep. The birds were quiet. The monkeys behaved. I moved with sure feet, and I was confident, and I laughed.
Friday is today.
And Saturday is tomorrow.
And Sunday is the day after that.
I will survive this ship-wreck. I will win over this island. I will examine the broken pieces and I will name each one. I will get stronger and I will invent a new song to sing to this quiet, debris-strewn beach. The waves will roll over the sand and this all will become cleaner, and this all will become softer, and this all will be alright.
Monday was waking up on the shore: confused, bruised, tired, but awake. I looked around me and saw pieces everywhere, but they were still. The sand was white. The ocean was calm. I was sitting under quiet sunshine. I gingerly picked myself up and tried to move. I could walk. Not well; but I could walk beside the pieces. I could look out at the ocean.
Tuesday was angry. The island fought against me. The skies quarreled and thundered. The waves were obstinate and proud. I kicked a tree until my foot ached, and then I dug a hole to hide underneath it and cried. I held onto the tree and cried.
Wednesday was the worst. I tried to get up and move around the island; I tried to pick up some of the pieces and make neat piles, but the task was overwhelming. I tried to make friends with the birds and the monkeys, but the biggest damn monkey threw a coconut at me. I raged at this despicable island, and missed my broken ship, and threw coconuts into empty space, and cried, and cried, and cried.
Thursday was a gentle sunrise. Woke up lying on the soft sand. Heard tender words in the lavender waves. I got up, and stood straight, and lifted my chin. I faced the horizon with square shoulders, and breathed deep. The birds were quiet. The monkeys behaved. I moved with sure feet, and I was confident, and I laughed.
Friday is today.
And Saturday is tomorrow.
And Sunday is the day after that.
I will survive this ship-wreck. I will win over this island. I will examine the broken pieces and I will name each one. I will get stronger and I will invent a new song to sing to this quiet, debris-strewn beach. The waves will roll over the sand and this all will become cleaner, and this all will become softer, and this all will be alright.
Feb 16, 2010
Sometimes, life is like spilled orange juice.
You pull it out because you're trying to be healthy. You have great visions of Vitamin C. It will be refreshing, you think. It will be good.
And then it spills, and your dreams of orange juice grandeur are crushed. You must change your pants. You must sop up pulp. You must sweat and swear.
I did not spill orange juice.
I did spill metaphorical orange juice.
Damndamndamn.
And then it spills, and your dreams of orange juice grandeur are crushed. You must change your pants. You must sop up pulp. You must sweat and swear.
I did not spill orange juice.
I did spill metaphorical orange juice.
Damndamndamn.
Feb 12, 2010
Random, Profound Thoughts
It is 7:16am.
I must needs hie me to a restroom.
It is an unfortunate (awesome) byproduct of being an English teacher that I sometimes think in Shakespeare-talk.
I have a student that just drives me nuts. He is a meanie. I have decided, should I ever need to refer to this student on my blog, I will use the code-name, "Bromulous." He gets my goose.
It is an unfortunate (awesome) byproduct of living with Grandpa for two years that I sometimes think in Grandpa-talk.
"Hoooooly To-LE-do!"
Speaking of Grandpa, he had a blind date. When Grandpa considers women, he has two qualifications: 1.) That she be a democrat, and 2.) That she is in relatively good health.
We young whipper-snappers may look for an attractive appearance, decent education, a sense of humor, etc. With Grandpa: it's health. He just wants to know that a lady friend won't collapse when they're out to dinner.
In any case, the blind date did not fruitify. He had a blast with her, but at the end, the lady told him that she was already seriously dating someone else. What the h***! Old lady played my Grandpa?! Oh you SIT DOWN, beeatch!!
I work at a Christian school. I do not use words like beeatch.
I am very proper.
Actually, it is one of my favorite things to explain the dirty jokes in Shakespeare to my students. Also, yesterday, I told my seniors the story of why Marie Antoinette and Louis XVI didn't consummate their marriage for so long which was basically: because they couldn't figure out how to "do it." They literally didn't know how, for years. The seniors were thoroughly titillated by that story.
Earlier in the year, I accidentally used the word "fugly." I thought it was a combination of "funky" and "ugly." It is a combination of a different word with "ugly." My seniors have yet to let me forget it. Especially since the subject of my description was Jesus.
Lord forgive me.
My AP kids are going to come in in 15 minutes. I lost half of their timed writes. I am hideously irresponsible.
Today is Friday. I have a three day weekend. God speed, 2:45pm.
I must needs hie me to a restroom.
It is an unfortunate (awesome) byproduct of being an English teacher that I sometimes think in Shakespeare-talk.
I have a student that just drives me nuts. He is a meanie. I have decided, should I ever need to refer to this student on my blog, I will use the code-name, "Bromulous." He gets my goose.
It is an unfortunate (awesome) byproduct of living with Grandpa for two years that I sometimes think in Grandpa-talk.
"Hoooooly To-LE-do!"
Speaking of Grandpa, he had a blind date. When Grandpa considers women, he has two qualifications: 1.) That she be a democrat, and 2.) That she is in relatively good health.
We young whipper-snappers may look for an attractive appearance, decent education, a sense of humor, etc. With Grandpa: it's health. He just wants to know that a lady friend won't collapse when they're out to dinner.
In any case, the blind date did not fruitify. He had a blast with her, but at the end, the lady told him that she was already seriously dating someone else. What the h***! Old lady played my Grandpa?! Oh you SIT DOWN, beeatch!!
I work at a Christian school. I do not use words like beeatch.
I am very proper.
Actually, it is one of my favorite things to explain the dirty jokes in Shakespeare to my students. Also, yesterday, I told my seniors the story of why Marie Antoinette and Louis XVI didn't consummate their marriage for so long which was basically: because they couldn't figure out how to "do it." They literally didn't know how, for years. The seniors were thoroughly titillated by that story.
Earlier in the year, I accidentally used the word "fugly." I thought it was a combination of "funky" and "ugly." It is a combination of a different word with "ugly." My seniors have yet to let me forget it. Especially since the subject of my description was Jesus.
Lord forgive me.
My AP kids are going to come in in 15 minutes. I lost half of their timed writes. I am hideously irresponsible.
Today is Friday. I have a three day weekend. God speed, 2:45pm.
Feb 8, 2010
Sunrise
Dawn comes
Like absence stretching against a heavy curtain.
Darkness drawn away
By a hidden hand
To leave the sky sliced
In empty light
And swollen night.
So: it reveals.
Dawn comes
Like a crone climbing over the horizon
The moutains,
Her gnarled knuckles
The light,
A last triumphant burst of vitality.
She is living yet;
So: it is ancient.
Dawn comes
Like a child escaping from inside a well
Gathering breath to cast off the panic;
Gathering breath to cast off the dark
The lid lifts;
Atlas rebels.
Watch the young bird fall out of the nest
And soar.
So: it is new.
Dawn comes
Like a breath to me.
Hopelessness slides off
While the shadows sharpens.
So: it forgives.
Like absence stretching against a heavy curtain.
Darkness drawn away
By a hidden hand
To leave the sky sliced
In empty light
And swollen night.
So: it reveals.
Dawn comes
Like a crone climbing over the horizon
The moutains,
Her gnarled knuckles
The light,
A last triumphant burst of vitality.
She is living yet;
So: it is ancient.
Dawn comes
Like a child escaping from inside a well
Gathering breath to cast off the panic;
Gathering breath to cast off the dark
The lid lifts;
Atlas rebels.
Watch the young bird fall out of the nest
And soar.
So: it is new.
Dawn comes
Like a breath to me.
Hopelessness slides off
While the shadows sharpens.
So: it forgives.
Feb 5, 2010
Trust Anyway
It's my 5th period prep. A Spanish class shares my classroom during 5th period. Someone keeps mentioning donuts.
Me gusta donut.
I've become buddies with one of my sophomore boys, who recently acquired a sticker machine. He brought in a couple homemade stickers for me, with his own graphic designs; I asked him if he would make me one that said, "Trust anyway"-- a phrase that has become a personal mantra for me this year. He misheard me, and made a sticker that said, "Trust anyone."
This makes me laugh. :)
Trust anyone! Trust,like, ANYONE!
I think he's bringing in a "Trust Anyway" sticker for me today.
And that's the Friday charge, y'all. You with the baggage? You with the issues? You who deals with self-loathing? You who deals with shame and lust and pride? You who deals with insecurity? You who can't believe love could happen for you? You who can't believe love will WORK for you? You who is sure you're going to end up just like your parents? You that's unemployed? You that's feeling like a failure? You that's lonely? You that's unsure? You that's jaded? You that's bitter and cynical and angry? You that's grieving? You that feels exhausted and broken?
Trust anyway.
We serve a God that makes things new. He is good, and He loves us.
So even if you have every reason in the world to doubt: trust anyway.
Do.
Me gusta donut.
I've become buddies with one of my sophomore boys, who recently acquired a sticker machine. He brought in a couple homemade stickers for me, with his own graphic designs; I asked him if he would make me one that said, "Trust anyway"-- a phrase that has become a personal mantra for me this year. He misheard me, and made a sticker that said, "Trust anyone."
This makes me laugh. :)
Trust anyone! Trust,like, ANYONE!
I think he's bringing in a "Trust Anyway" sticker for me today.
And that's the Friday charge, y'all. You with the baggage? You with the issues? You who deals with self-loathing? You who deals with shame and lust and pride? You who deals with insecurity? You who can't believe love could happen for you? You who can't believe love will WORK for you? You who is sure you're going to end up just like your parents? You that's unemployed? You that's feeling like a failure? You that's lonely? You that's unsure? You that's jaded? You that's bitter and cynical and angry? You that's grieving? You that feels exhausted and broken?
Trust anyway.
We serve a God that makes things new. He is good, and He loves us.
So even if you have every reason in the world to doubt: trust anyway.
Do.
Feb 1, 2010
...Hello out there?
This year is kicking my caboose. Working as a first year teacher is taking up every spare minute I have; it's honestly tough to do ANYTHING non-teaching-related-- even sleep-- without feeling guilty. No matter what I'm doing, in the back of my head, I'm panicking about my grading pile, trying to invent new lesson plans, thinking about the books I'm teaching which I haven't yet read, criticizing myself for not writing up a handout to help my sophomores better comprehend the Shakespeare they're reading, and so on, and so on, and guilt guilt guilt.
This is why I have not been blogging. Right now, in fact, the thoughts going through my head are, "You need to finish writing up the "Tale of Two Cities" questions. You need to be checking your students' blogs. You need to figure out how you're going to better assist your sophomores." And so on, and so on, and guilt guilt guilt.
However-- as some of you may have just mentally commented when reading the above paragraph-- living so single-mindedly is not healthy. Letting my job take over my entire life is not healthy.
And it's taking a toll, honestly. I'm losing myself. I'm exhausted. I tie so much self-worth to my job that, for instance, when a student in my AP Literature class tells me she doesn't feel like the class is adequately preparing her, as she did this morning-- I feel absolutely crushed.
I am more than an AP class. I am more than just a teacher. And-- what I'm able to feebly assert in the midst of these exhausting, defeating, tangled cobwebs-- I am a GOOD teacher. I know I am. I've seen it. My kids are learning, and they're having fun. I am a GOOD teacher.
But that's not all I am.
What I am, is part divine, and part cursed.
The last several weeks I have been confronted with the magnitude of what it means to consider yourself a Christian. We must acknowledge that we are both made in the image of God-- that we are of heavenly origin, that we have every instinct to recognize what is good, and true, and right-- yet also, that we are fallen. We are cursed. We are sickened and impaired by the perversion of our sinful humanity.
Made in the image of God... and fallen. What a beast, right?
I recognize that I can choose to indulge in one or the other. I can give into this twisted part of me, and indulge in lies, in feelings of insufficiency-- I can tell myself that being a teacher defines me and so when I fail as a teacher, I FAIL. I can tell myself that the fears I have about marriage, about faithfulness, about myself, are all TRUE and that Hope is nothing more than a cruel deceiver. I can give in to self-loathing. I can indulge in sin, and tell myself it doesn't matter. I can work myself to death and distract myself from the things that are truly important. I can howl out at the darkness and let it overwhelm me.
Or, I can indulge in the OTHER half. I can hope, and believe in hope. I can claim a whimsical moment and laugh, and share it with a loving Lord. I can seek goodness, and purity, and the understanding that I am beloved and delighted in. I can choose forgiveness. I can choose wholeness. I can choose to trust, to drive a stake in the ground called TRUST and to cling to it while the storm approaches. I can look defiantly at the rolling dark clouds, and I can roar back at the thunder. I can cry out at the darkness and declare that it has no power over me. I am a child of God. I am made in His image. I am blessed. I am protected.
They fight over me, every day. This dual nature wages a tug of war over my soul, over my psyche, over my heart.
And it is just hard, sometimes, to cling to the right half. You know? Some days, it is just hard.
This is why I have not been blogging. Right now, in fact, the thoughts going through my head are, "You need to finish writing up the "Tale of Two Cities" questions. You need to be checking your students' blogs. You need to figure out how you're going to better assist your sophomores." And so on, and so on, and guilt guilt guilt.
However-- as some of you may have just mentally commented when reading the above paragraph-- living so single-mindedly is not healthy. Letting my job take over my entire life is not healthy.
And it's taking a toll, honestly. I'm losing myself. I'm exhausted. I tie so much self-worth to my job that, for instance, when a student in my AP Literature class tells me she doesn't feel like the class is adequately preparing her, as she did this morning-- I feel absolutely crushed.
I am more than an AP class. I am more than just a teacher. And-- what I'm able to feebly assert in the midst of these exhausting, defeating, tangled cobwebs-- I am a GOOD teacher. I know I am. I've seen it. My kids are learning, and they're having fun. I am a GOOD teacher.
But that's not all I am.
What I am, is part divine, and part cursed.
The last several weeks I have been confronted with the magnitude of what it means to consider yourself a Christian. We must acknowledge that we are both made in the image of God-- that we are of heavenly origin, that we have every instinct to recognize what is good, and true, and right-- yet also, that we are fallen. We are cursed. We are sickened and impaired by the perversion of our sinful humanity.
Made in the image of God... and fallen. What a beast, right?
I recognize that I can choose to indulge in one or the other. I can give into this twisted part of me, and indulge in lies, in feelings of insufficiency-- I can tell myself that being a teacher defines me and so when I fail as a teacher, I FAIL. I can tell myself that the fears I have about marriage, about faithfulness, about myself, are all TRUE and that Hope is nothing more than a cruel deceiver. I can give in to self-loathing. I can indulge in sin, and tell myself it doesn't matter. I can work myself to death and distract myself from the things that are truly important. I can howl out at the darkness and let it overwhelm me.
Or, I can indulge in the OTHER half. I can hope, and believe in hope. I can claim a whimsical moment and laugh, and share it with a loving Lord. I can seek goodness, and purity, and the understanding that I am beloved and delighted in. I can choose forgiveness. I can choose wholeness. I can choose to trust, to drive a stake in the ground called TRUST and to cling to it while the storm approaches. I can look defiantly at the rolling dark clouds, and I can roar back at the thunder. I can cry out at the darkness and declare that it has no power over me. I am a child of God. I am made in His image. I am blessed. I am protected.
They fight over me, every day. This dual nature wages a tug of war over my soul, over my psyche, over my heart.
And it is just hard, sometimes, to cling to the right half. You know? Some days, it is just hard.
Oct 12, 2009
Squat Happens
I'm blogging again. But don't expect this to become a habit-- life as a first year teacher sucks up every spare minute I've got. Woe.
(But JOY, because I got a job doing what I love.)
Currently, I am living rent free with my two new roomies, Deidra and Carly. This is they:
They are darling. I LOVE them.
How are we living rent free, you ask? It turns out the housing market's dive helped some penny-pinching twenty-something chickies save a few bucks: our landlord had to foreclose on the house, and could no longer legally charge us rent. Ta daaah!! The girls have been living there for free since April, and I got to start reaping the benefits when I moved in early September. The house goes up for auction in November, but even IF it gets bought and the peeps want to kick us out rather than issuing a new lease, they have to give us at least 60 days to do so.
Abra cadabra: free rent until January.
"WOW!" all the blog readers exclaimed. "That sounds too good to be true!"
Whoops, it is.
Right before I moved in, the roomies had a goodbye party for another roomie moving out. In one ill-conceived moment of festive frivolity, the party guests decided to make a real fire in our gas fireplace. (They wanted to make s'mores.) The gas pipe melted, the gas began to leak, everyone screamed and ran away, the gas was shut off, and later, the gas man told us with a low stern voice not to turn it back on at any cost, unless we had already fixed it.
Normally a landlord would take care of that sort of thing.
But our landlord is currently fleeing the country.
Pish! Who needs heat in sunny September? WE'RE not going to fork over $1,000 to fix a house we're not going to be living in much longer!
But then October descended, and the frost creeped in, and the poor little fraulines woke up, shivering in their beds...
We really are shivering in our beds, our house was 54 degrees yesterday. That is FREEZING!! I could barely move my fingers to make red ink slashes on essays.
Our solution: keep the oven on full blast, and drag space heaters around. WE ARE RESOURCEFUL WOMEN.
However: it turns out space heaters use up lots of voltage. Also, hair dryers use up lots of voltage. Also, when there is so much voltage, fuses blows, power fails, and the world is plunged into darkness.
The afore-mentioned series of events meant that at 5:15am this morning, I was kneeling on top of the basement tool bench in my bath robe, hair soaking wet, reaching for the fuse switches, and cursing under my breath. What a way to start off Monday.
But hey, at least we have electricity, right?
Wrong.
We received an electric bill which heinously illustrated the frantic attempts of our former landlord to compile his debts and foist them off on poor innocent damsels in distress. The bill was for over $1,000, and represented electricity bills from his other properties. "What are we going to do??!!" we asked each other, appalled. WE can't pay that. Good thing it's in his name-- PAH! No debts attached to us. Solution: we just won't pay it.
Which means that the electric company will shut off our power.
Which means that in about a week, we will have no power.
Anyway, the point of the story is that I'm once more house hunting. Haha!
Another pertinent update includes this handsome dude:
Who, besides being dashing, is a good, good man and-- hooray-- in mutual big-time crush with me. We were off to the ballet in this picture. He went with me to the BALLET!
So life progresses. Teaching is exhausting, stressful, and great-- I've had kids dress up like Beowulf swamp monsters, plan their own funerals (to consider how they want to be remembered-- don't worry, it makes sense), put on plays, blog, act out the Iliad, debate, and humor my many voices, theatrics, and slips of the tongue. (Note to all: it is inadvisable to call Jesus "fugly" when teaching at a private Christian school.) Marc-- the dashing scruffy one-- is terrific, and an incredible source of encouragement, support, and back rubs. And even though my housing situation leaves much to be desired, I have an income-- joy!!-- which makes new house hunting a possibility.
Praise the Lord: live goes on.
(But JOY, because I got a job doing what I love.)
Currently, I am living rent free with my two new roomies, Deidra and Carly. This is they:
They are darling. I LOVE them.
How are we living rent free, you ask? It turns out the housing market's dive helped some penny-pinching twenty-something chickies save a few bucks: our landlord had to foreclose on the house, and could no longer legally charge us rent. Ta daaah!! The girls have been living there for free since April, and I got to start reaping the benefits when I moved in early September. The house goes up for auction in November, but even IF it gets bought and the peeps want to kick us out rather than issuing a new lease, they have to give us at least 60 days to do so.
Abra cadabra: free rent until January.
"WOW!" all the blog readers exclaimed. "That sounds too good to be true!"
Whoops, it is.
Right before I moved in, the roomies had a goodbye party for another roomie moving out. In one ill-conceived moment of festive frivolity, the party guests decided to make a real fire in our gas fireplace. (They wanted to make s'mores.) The gas pipe melted, the gas began to leak, everyone screamed and ran away, the gas was shut off, and later, the gas man told us with a low stern voice not to turn it back on at any cost, unless we had already fixed it.
Normally a landlord would take care of that sort of thing.
But our landlord is currently fleeing the country.
Pish! Who needs heat in sunny September? WE'RE not going to fork over $1,000 to fix a house we're not going to be living in much longer!
But then October descended, and the frost creeped in, and the poor little fraulines woke up, shivering in their beds...
We really are shivering in our beds, our house was 54 degrees yesterday. That is FREEZING!! I could barely move my fingers to make red ink slashes on essays.
Our solution: keep the oven on full blast, and drag space heaters around. WE ARE RESOURCEFUL WOMEN.
However: it turns out space heaters use up lots of voltage. Also, hair dryers use up lots of voltage. Also, when there is so much voltage, fuses blows, power fails, and the world is plunged into darkness.
The afore-mentioned series of events meant that at 5:15am this morning, I was kneeling on top of the basement tool bench in my bath robe, hair soaking wet, reaching for the fuse switches, and cursing under my breath. What a way to start off Monday.
But hey, at least we have electricity, right?
Wrong.
We received an electric bill which heinously illustrated the frantic attempts of our former landlord to compile his debts and foist them off on poor innocent damsels in distress. The bill was for over $1,000, and represented electricity bills from his other properties. "What are we going to do??!!" we asked each other, appalled. WE can't pay that. Good thing it's in his name-- PAH! No debts attached to us. Solution: we just won't pay it.
Which means that the electric company will shut off our power.
Which means that in about a week, we will have no power.
Anyway, the point of the story is that I'm once more house hunting. Haha!
Another pertinent update includes this handsome dude:
Who, besides being dashing, is a good, good man and-- hooray-- in mutual big-time crush with me. We were off to the ballet in this picture. He went with me to the BALLET!
So life progresses. Teaching is exhausting, stressful, and great-- I've had kids dress up like Beowulf swamp monsters, plan their own funerals (to consider how they want to be remembered-- don't worry, it makes sense), put on plays, blog, act out the Iliad, debate, and humor my many voices, theatrics, and slips of the tongue. (Note to all: it is inadvisable to call Jesus "fugly" when teaching at a private Christian school.) Marc-- the dashing scruffy one-- is terrific, and an incredible source of encouragement, support, and back rubs. And even though my housing situation leaves much to be desired, I have an income-- joy!!-- which makes new house hunting a possibility.
Praise the Lord: live goes on.
Sep 10, 2009
Ten Minutes Ready Go
Class starts in ten. Have been needing to catch up the blog on TEACHING!!! So, bullet points: snick snack snorum.
- Student just came in to ask for help soliciting submissions for the student lit magazine. Eight minutes left.
- Teaching at a private Christian school is a little odd. Is a lot odd. Yesterday, the day started off with chapel-- three sermons, and hymns sung to organ music. No kidding-- they used the "old school ORGAN" setting on the keyboard.
- My sophomores LOVE me. We have a blast.
- I'm still winning over my seniors. They require a whole different approach-- they've been together since Kindergarten, and I'm the new one. Who says I have a right to speak into their lives? Have been working on building relationships and having meaningful conversations with them-- also, spending too much time grading their papers so that I can write thoughtful comments. Think it's paying off... It feels different every day.
- Have had to deal with plagiarism already. Good Christian kids still make dumb kid mistakes, apparently.
- One boy took a ten minute bathroom break. After class: "Ryan, can I talk to you for a second?"
"Sure."
"How are you feeling?"
(Long suspicious pause from Ryan.)
"Like, health wise. How are you feeling?"
"Um... yeah... I guess I've been feeling a little under the weather...?"
"Just because I cannot fathom why a bathroom break would take you so long, unless you were experiencing serious intestinal issues."
The light dawned on him. "OOH, yeah! Oh-- yeah-- you know, Chipotle does that to me." His friends laughed.
"Well steer clear of Chipotle before my class then."
- The kids don't know if I'm Miss, Ms., or Mrs., and call me all three. I'm fine with that-- I'd rather they don't know one way or the other.
- My graffiti board-- a blank piece of posterboard that I covered with paper and hung on the wall for kids to write on-- is already full. Among the quoted: Pink Floyd, Southpark, and Michael Scott. Love itr!
- It's going WELL. I love my little AP class (10 kids), I feel big things going on with the Seniors, and obviously, I'm having a ton of fun with my 10th graders.
There's the bell! One more big update though-- I moved! Life no longer occurs daily at Grandpa's house. I'm going to miss him, but I was really feeling ready for more independence. Living now with Carly and Deidra- WONDERFUL friends!-- at a house just a couple blocks away, and I've transformed my little room into the coziest, sweetest little nest! Left Gramps little love notes to find all over the house-- a reminder that I'm not far away, and that I'll see him SOON.
More later. Class now.
- Student just came in to ask for help soliciting submissions for the student lit magazine. Eight minutes left.
- Teaching at a private Christian school is a little odd. Is a lot odd. Yesterday, the day started off with chapel-- three sermons, and hymns sung to organ music. No kidding-- they used the "old school ORGAN" setting on the keyboard.
- My sophomores LOVE me. We have a blast.
- I'm still winning over my seniors. They require a whole different approach-- they've been together since Kindergarten, and I'm the new one. Who says I have a right to speak into their lives? Have been working on building relationships and having meaningful conversations with them-- also, spending too much time grading their papers so that I can write thoughtful comments. Think it's paying off... It feels different every day.
- Have had to deal with plagiarism already. Good Christian kids still make dumb kid mistakes, apparently.
- One boy took a ten minute bathroom break. After class: "Ryan, can I talk to you for a second?"
"Sure."
"How are you feeling?"
(Long suspicious pause from Ryan.)
"Like, health wise. How are you feeling?"
"Um... yeah... I guess I've been feeling a little under the weather...?"
"Just because I cannot fathom why a bathroom break would take you so long, unless you were experiencing serious intestinal issues."
The light dawned on him. "OOH, yeah! Oh-- yeah-- you know, Chipotle does that to me." His friends laughed.
"Well steer clear of Chipotle before my class then."
- The kids don't know if I'm Miss, Ms., or Mrs., and call me all three. I'm fine with that-- I'd rather they don't know one way or the other.
- My graffiti board-- a blank piece of posterboard that I covered with paper and hung on the wall for kids to write on-- is already full. Among the quoted: Pink Floyd, Southpark, and Michael Scott. Love itr!
- It's going WELL. I love my little AP class (10 kids), I feel big things going on with the Seniors, and obviously, I'm having a ton of fun with my 10th graders.
There's the bell! One more big update though-- I moved! Life no longer occurs daily at Grandpa's house. I'm going to miss him, but I was really feeling ready for more independence. Living now with Carly and Deidra- WONDERFUL friends!-- at a house just a couple blocks away, and I've transformed my little room into the coziest, sweetest little nest! Left Gramps little love notes to find all over the house-- a reminder that I'm not far away, and that I'll see him SOON.
More later. Class now.
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