They're hiring at Bob Evans

They're hiring at Bob Evans, the breakfast restaurant. All shifts. With benefits.

I wonder if that is a hopeful sign for the economy?

It is a measure of the low barometer of my mood that I thought about it for a while.

I could apply.

I was a good-- no, scratch that,GREAT waitress at one time. And I made good money.

I am feeling adequate or less-than at all my current occupations.

Discouraged.

Overweight.

*sigh*

In a little while, I am off to work as a substitute teacher for a half day. I am a far, far better teacher than most of those I sub for, and I have a lot more education.

But I don't have education *in* education, so -- their jobs are safe, because I'm not qualified to replace them.

I'm teaching at university in a subject I love -- but failing to get the students engaged. Dear hubby says, that's the nature of students today! Perhaps it is harder to engage students today, but an excellent teacher should still be able to engage students.

I am gripped once more by the fear of mediocrity.

A Miracle on Monday

Yesterday was a terrible day that ended with a B"H.

The story starts earlier this summer, when we agreed to take our daughter Beth's dog Sofia to stay with us while Beth was in transition. Beth was leaving a house with a backyard for a tiny apartment for 3 months until she figured out her next step.

Sofia was rescued by Beth 6 or 7 years ago from the animal shelter in Jackson, MS. At that time, Sofia, a white Husky mix, was somewhere between 1 and 4 years old. No way to tell. She'd been living on the streets for some time. Her digestion was delicate and she was likely to throw up at a moment's notice. Nevertheless, she was the most affectionate and loving dog and a good, quiet companion for my city-dwelling daughter.

A couple weeks before we picked Sofia up from Mississippi and brought her north with us, she had stopped eating, lost weight, increased vomiting. The vet gave her some antibiotics, said, maybe it's cancer, maybe it's an infection, we'll see... and Sofia had improved somewhat.

We had her for about a month. Then, last week, she stopped eating, refused water, extremely lethargic, vomiting multiple times per day. We took her yesterday to our vet, who referred her to a specialist, and we spoke with Beth at length on the phone before together making the extremely difficult decision with the vet to let her go. Ken and I stayed with Sofia and stroked her during her injection and brought her home to be laid to rest next to our beloved Stormy. Very hard, very low.

By the time we got home, it was about 8:00 pm. About 9:00 pm we got a phone call from our son Adam. He had been speaking to Beth on the phone while she was driving (I KNOW, I KNOW!) when he heard her say OH SHIT! and then heard THUMP THUMP THUMP and then no response from Beth and then he heard some other voice saying, are you okay? are you okay?

He called us asking us to call her, to call her boyfriend to see if Danny knew about where she would be on this road trip. So Ken and I are making a flurry of calls, trying to reach her or Danny or someone in Mississippi...

Then AN ANGEL, a MENSCH of a truck driving man called us on our land line while Ken was talking to Adam again to get the full scoop-- at this point I don't know about the OH SHIT or thump THUMP THUMP, just can see by Ken's breathing this is NOT GOOD.

The truck driving MENSCH was with Beth. Most importantly, he said, SHE'S OKAY, although very shaken. I went and called Adam to relay that this all I know right now, but she's OKAY and I will call with more later when I know.

Through a series of phone calls with the MENSCH, the Rescue Squad, the hospital, and T-G-d Beth! we learned this:

As she was driving, a deer ran out in front of the SUV she was driving. Direct quote from two independent witnesses: the deer EXPLODED.

Hitting the deer caused the 18-wheeler driving behind Beth to hit Beth's vehicle from behind.

The impact of the 18 wheeler caused another 18-wheeler to hit Beth's SUV from the front.

This caused the first 18-wheeler to hit the SUV AGAIN.

The SUV was torn in two.

The only undamaged place was the driver's seat.

And another miracle: Beth got out of the SUV and WALKED AWAY.

The rescue squad took her to the hospital to check her out; the truck-driving angel FOLLOWED her and kept in touch with us and called us from the hospital.

By now, we had reached Danny- and so had the truck-driving angel- and he was on his way the 1 and1/2 hours to the hospital. By the time he got there, the doctors had run CT scans and X-rays and heaven knows what-all and were confident that she was well and took off the neck brace.

And said she could go home.

And Danny drove her home; very slowly, Beth said, because she was really not happy being in a car at that point.

All through this, we were giving Adam updates as we got them.

I am so grateful; I am so frustrated that we live so far apart.

I am so grateful, so grateful, so grateful.

mum

I know because you told me
that you were little and
that your uncle used you and your aunt never knew
or never allowed herself to know

I know because you told me
that your father ripped your innocence away
when you were four years old
and said
look what you made me do
like that would make it your fault
and it took you a lifetime
to find your anger and throw off his blame
your shame
and embrace your innocence and wholeness again

I know because you told me
that Death shoved cold fingers deep inside
taunting you
and you are still staring Death down
saying
you can't take me
I still have life to make

I know because you told me
that a stranger wearing sex as a weapon
hurt you and twisted you and
your healing is a long hard battle

I know because you told me
that life came to you but could not stay
it wasn't time
and that life left
and you were a little hollow
but almost whole

I know so much
because you told me
and so did you
and you
but I cannot tell
because it is not my story
and I only hope that
hearing you
helps you
heal

another rant about internet service providers

It has become such an old old story. Everyone has had their own experience being completely frustrated by trying to get a problem with their internet service resolved. Here is my latest.

I have my university email address set to forward to my email account with my service provider. Fortunately it was early in the semester when I discovered that emails sent to my university address were not forwarding to my main account. The emails weren't bouncing back, either. They were just disappearing into the cyber-void.

I sent a couple test emails, checked that they were sent-- and they never showed up! So I logged in to the university account, re-set the forwarding to my main account, and added the instruction that a copy of the forwarded message would also go to the university account inbox.

So now I test again. And, the email to the university account is sent-- and shows up in the university account inbox-- and STILL does not show up in my main account.

So I log on to the account help with my Internet service provider. First, I had to go through no fewer than four pages of FAQs, always choosing the last option "None of these help me" until finally I am offered a live chat with an analyst.

At last!

I could paste in the entire chat-- because I saved it-- but I will spare you. The bottom line is that once I explained the problem, the analyst immediately decided, told me, insisted (with terrible grammar)-- that the issue must be with the UNIVERSITY account, not with the Internet service email. Insisted that I take it up with the university IT department. The analyst practically slammed the door on the chat.

So, then I went in to my university email account. I changed the forwarding to a different email address-- NOT one supplied by my Internet service provider.

And guess what? The university email now forwards JUST FINE to the new email address.

August in Mississippi

Once again I am visiting my daughter, who lives in the South, in the summer.



Once again, her next visit to us in the North is scheduled for November.

I don't know why this happens- well, I guess I do. Even though we have never, in our family, taken the traditional path in education, we still find ourselves tied to the academic calendar. That's why I often end up in Mississippi in the summer.

And in our family, the tradition is that we all gather at my home for Thanksgiving in November.

Given the climate, sometimes I wonder if some *small* adjustments might be made... winter holidays in the South, perhaps?

serial killer

There is a serial killer in Flint. This is just about my back yard.

Where does this insanity come from? How can it go on so long without catching a knife-wielding killer?

why spider solitaire is great

Spider solitaire on my new computer is fun, great, and addictive.

You do have to think, look, see patterns-- BUT if you hit the M key, you will get a hint.

If you have tried everything, you can back up, look over your past moves, and try again.

And again. And again. Until you get it right. Your patience will eventually be rewarded.

But, if you are running out of time, and it's not worth it anymore, you can make it vanish from your life with just one click.

And, if you have had too long a run of no time and stress, and your statistics are too low, you can make your history vanish and start again with a completely clean slate.

I wouldn't mind having the M key in my life on occasion.

Why is it that I get great writing ideas when I can't write?

I distinctly remember telling myself: that's a great idea! remember that idea when you get out of the car and write yourself a note so that you can put that in your blog.

But do I remember the IDEA that I was telling myself to write about? NOOOO!

Why do BRILLIANT ideas occur to me when I am driving? Or otherwise engaged so that I cannot write down the germ of the idea?

Just a phrase or two would capture it; but try as I might to chant the phrase internally, it still dissolves like morning mist before I find pen and paper.

what is the purpose of having a baby toe?

I smashed my baby toe yesterday. Twice. And it hurts. It's probably broken.

Baby toes seem to get smashed more often than other toes. At least mine do.

Why do we still have baby toes? Do we need them for balance? To complete the little piggie song and sing wee, wee, wee all the way home?

I don't even think toes in general, or baby toes in particular, are attractive.

Maybe the only purpose they have is to get hurt. On the edge. But protecting the rest of the toes and your foot.

a sense of loss

There are of course no guarantees in this life. And *this* fall, I hadn't officially been offered the class to teach and signed a contract. I had only "unofficially" been asked via email.

So I shouldn't feel this heart-sick disappointment when I checked in at the University website and saw that a tenured professor will once again be teaching "my" Intro to Theatre class.

Last year, I had the contract in my hand-- I had signed it and was awaiting the Dean's signature, when I got a call that due to the budget cuts, etc, etc. a tenured prof would have to teach the class (since he already had to be paid in the budget) and many apologies, no reflection on my work.

*sigh*

Still, I was more than a little bit counting on this job. It has been great for my self-esteem to say I am employed using my PhD. It is helpful income. AND I am at a transitional point in my life when I want to move on to being more professionally employed and stop giving myself away.

I am trying to figure out my next step. Do I write to my department chair and say I noticed what has happened and I would like to meet to go over my teaching portfolio to make me more marketable? Do I ignore it and focus on my writing?

Do I give up and apply for a job at Tim Horton's Donut shop?

I am weeping inside, even though this is not a total surprise. I had been thinking, when I know *for sure* that I have the Intro to Theatre job, maybe I will look at buying a little used truck so we have a second super-useful vehicle.

I can, of course, continue to sub at Ken's school. It's something-- about as much as babysitting.

I could start up a kid's day care camp/pre-school.

I could go back to school to get a Master's in Education (literally backing up to school, to go back and get a Master's after a PhD).

Really, I want to go back to bed and curl up and cry.

overeducated and underemployed

I really have no room to complain, as I am part of a partnership (my marriage) that is financially stable.

However, I was doing the math the other day and I am appalled at how little I am making -- in a financial sense.

I work hard. I do quality work. But I am essentially giving it away.

Any suggestions?

farewells

My great uncle died. And a couple of weeks earlier, my friend Gary died.

It is, in part, a function of my age. I have passed the half-century mark. I know more people in the latter half of their lives.

My husband says: "ad 120"- to 120! to which I add, please God, in good health mentally and physically-- but even by that measure, he has started the second half of his life.

So farewells and goodbyes become more important to me.

Goodbye.

I heard, or read, once that "goodbye" is "God-be-with-ye".

I say I love you more often. I am making time to be with those I love.

God-be-with-you.

May you be well, and you be well. May we each fare well- until we meet again.

contact info

I used to carry many phone numbers in my head. Now there are very few.

I don't know my four children's phone numbers. They are on my contacts list in my phone!

I have put the numbers up on a database that I can access, just in case. But-- I don't *know* them. I really ought to learn them. What if my phone wasn't working and I wasn't near a computer?

BUT-- I *do* know their email addresses!

substitute

I work as a substitute teacher from time to time. I am working now as a substitute teacher in the Resource Room, which is the special education department here.

I have a kindergartner who has arrived with his work sheet of the __ip family of words. He is supposed to write the words. He says, he can do it himself! After asking a few times about working on it together, I finally agree. Of course you can do it yourself! I say. Let's see who can get done first. I will do my work over here (I point to the desk next to his table) and you can work there (point to his table). Who will get done first?

So I begin to write some journal entries, and he gets as busy as can be. I think we didn't do it quite right-- I think I was supposed to read the words, rather than his working on copying, but whatever. He is excited to finish his work before I finish mine!

I'm done! he exclaims.

Oh, darn! I say. I was ALMOST done! Let me see.

I check his work and find some errors. You need to fix it here, here and here, I say.

No I don't! he says.

GOOD! I say, then I can still beat you! -- and I turn away and he makes the corrections.

I'm done! he exclaims.

Let me look, I say. Oh! I say, you fixed it all! But I see you didn't put your name on it! I still have a chance!

And I turn back to my work, and he puts his name on his paper, and

I'm done! he says.

I look at his paper.

You won! I say.

I think to myself:

We won.

a binge personality

With me, it's all or nothin'
It's all or nothin with me!

The verse from Oklahoma! seems to sum up not my love life but my activity life. Today, I am heading off for a six hour rehearsal; squeezing in grading papers this morning and tonight; tomorrow, grading papers, taking my mom to the doctor's, writing the final, teaching the last Monday night class; Tuesday working 7:30-3:30 and rehearsing 4:00-10:00... and the rest of the next two weeks is basically like that.

I am hoping that I have a day or two of nothin' after that. Just to rest.

serious as a heart attack

I have recently been reminded how every experience in our lives can impact our lives as artists.

I am reaching the mid-point of directing Ibsen's Ghosts.

And, suddenly, I learn that my mother is being rushed to the hospital with a heart attack.

Drop everything and rush to the hospital. Cancel rehearsal for that night, and the next. As it happens, a 3 day break has been scheduled after that, so we will see...

At the hospital, helping my mom fill out paperwork-- although do we call it paperwork any more? It's all on the computer.

We are asked about her durable power of attorney for health care. Which she has prepared; of course it's not with her.

We weren't expecting this.

Mom tells me where the paperwork is. I fetch the durable power of attorney (POA) the next day and bring it to the hospital.

The first person named to hold the POA is my mom's significant other, now deceased. The nurse asks me to cross out his name, write "deceased," and initial.

I do.

I am the next named person to hold the POA.

The nurse takes the POA and adds it to my mom's chart.

A few minutes later, while my mom is trying to nap, the nurse calls me into the hall.

She points out the section dealing with "DNR"-- Do Not Resuscitate. Under certain conditions, carefully spelled out conditions, it is my mom's wish that she be allowed to die. And, in those circumstances in which she is unable to speak for herself, I am the one who is to speak for her.

The good news, in this episode, is that my mom is home, recuperating.

But at that moment, Helen Alving's pain and wrenching moment of decision with her son Oswald is no longer so melodramatic to me. It is deeply serious.

As serious as a heart attack.

My Nana's hands

I keep thinking my parents are in their 50s.

Which is, of course, impossible, given that I am in my 50s. The numbers just don't add up.

Of course, although I am in my 50s, I keep thinking I am in my late 20s. Which is, of course, impossible, given that all four of my children are in their 20s.



My grandparents on my dad's side were always old. That is how I remember them. Always old. When I heard tales of the wild man my grandfather was in his youth, I always had trouble matching my ol' grandpa with the wild moonshine-running teen.



But my mother's parents didn't seem so old. My Nana's hair was red and my Grandpa Bill's hair was black-- and thick. They laughed out loud, and often.



I tend to forget the beer and cigarettes.



I do remember one moment when I really saw my Nana's hands. I was always her favorite. I think she was the only one in my family who thought of me as her favorite.

Of course, one shouldn't have favorites; still, since my brother was everyone else's favorite, I valued my Nana's special attention.

Her hands.

I couldn't have been more than 6 or 7 and we were going to walk out to the hillside garden where my grandpa was planting. My Nana took my hand.

And I looked. I really looked.

My hand was small and smooth. Nana's hand was freckled, and wrinkled. Her hand was calloused and strong.

And I felt safe.

good things come in small packages

I struggled with the title for this post.

I thought of "jealousy".

I thought of "money".

I thought of "struggle," "frustration", "competition," "self-esteem," "success" and a few other words that currently escape my memory (short term memory REALLY sucks lately).

Here is the deal:

Another youth theater organization is in the running for a million dollar prize through a giving community. This organization has been very successful financially. I've only seen a few of their shows, which have been engaging. They do good work; they deserve support.

And they have gotten it. They have received several grants and awards that have helped fund their organization. They have several corporate sponsors. They currently have an annual budget of over $350K.

My youth theater organization is smaller and has had significantly less financial success. On the plus side, we have always operated in the black. We have more than twice as much money this year than we had last year.

BUT

We don't pay me, really. We haven't enough money to pay me, or any other staff (we could really use a producer and a stage manager). We haven't enough money to get a reliable rehearsal/storage/performance space.

The reasons for the differences in financial success are several that I understand: geography (we have no specific location, they have an urban location), grantable population (partly due to our origins, we are far too middle class white bread), length of time (partly- as they started about 8 or 9 years before we did) and size (hence today's title). There are probably other reasons that I am unaware of-- or I fear-- my self-esteem struggles-- are they better than we are?

I struggle with the idea of success. Is my group a success? Am I?

I struggle with community. My group grew out of family and friends and a cohort working outside the traditional educational community. Our best times, our best seasons, our best years were those times that a core group of young artists had been working with me and with each other deeply and personally for a number of shows, even years. We achieved true excellence, I believe.

I have resisted getting bigger and growing corporate when it seemed to threaten that community; and even so, that community has had to be rebuilt again and again.

Is it time to deliberately move away from this personal, family-feel artistic community to something larger?

I feel frustrated by these questions. Part of my theory of art-- theatrical or otherwise-- is that not competition, but collaboration, feeds art. Also, I believe that the more theater there is, the more we all benefit... BUT I am still jealous of this group's success.

If I'm so good why ain't I rich?

There has been good-- great good-- that has come out of my group, and the all-volunteer group that it grew out of. This great good has been highly individual, however.

One of my friends-- a founding member and partner of both the all-volunteer group and the current group-- has been urging me for a number of years to let both groups go.

You have your PhD, she says. You have gotten all you can get out of it. Now it is just more of the same.

And she is right, I suppose. I have "gotten all I can get out of it." But that sentiment feels hugely selfish to me.

But maybe I should be more selfish.

Maybe I should make my group smaller but more expensive.

Maybe I should make it bigger, more diverse and find corporate sponsors.

Or maybe I should just get a job at Tim Horton's.

Children

I cannot begin to describe how much I love my children.

I cannot lie, my love first and foremost is for my own biological children. But not too far behind are my other children, the children of my heart that I have met along the way.

And I believe, that for the bio-children, and the alterna-children, love-- my love, and the love shared between Ken and me, and our family love-- that love has made a difference.

But I know there are no guarantees.

My daughter is grieving with her best friend. His sister died, probably alcohol poisoning. The beautiful young girl who died was featured in a video made in her memory, picture after picture of a smiling, beautiful girl and young woman, surrounded by loving friends and family.

It wasn't enough.

And I know that those particular dangers were there- maybe are there-- for my children, too. I know that my children are not immune to the temptations of too much drink, offers of drugs -- or merely being on the roads when someone else has "indulged".

Indulged. What a word. We aren't talking about an extra slice of chocolate cake here.

My heart hurt watching the video.

And I remembered how much I love my children, all of them.

old dogs, new names

So I thought it might be time to reintroduce you to my dogs since they have new names.

This is GetOffTheCouch:

This is GoLayDown:

Since this is the only way I address them lately, seems like I should officially change their names.

happy birthday

We are all born at every birth. At least, that is how I think of it with our family.



My favorite youngest son has a birthday coming up.



(I also have a favorite oldest son, a favorite oldest daughter and a favorite youngest daughter.)



My favorite oldest daughter had a birthday not too long ago, which made me grateful that she was born, and so was our family.



And now, as my son's birthday approaches, I think that when he was born, so was a new family- a family of five.



The "old" family wasn't gone- the four of us from before- and yet we were still a new family.



Just as, when my favorite oldest daughter was born, our couple-ness was not ended, and yet a new family began.



So happy birthday to us all-- again and again and again.