gratitude

My friend LB shared this on her Facebook page:

 

And, on the same day, I answered a friend's invitation to join a group "5 a day" that invites members to post 5 things each day for which they are grateful.

I've joined the group and I'm going to start the jar.

I wrote thank you notes today that will go out in the mail tomorrow, for the tangible gifts given in the past weeks by those I love.

It's harder to say thank-you for the less tangible gifts.

It's hard to remember to be grateful when we are stuggling with loss and with illness - whether our own illness or that of one we love.

There is much to be grateful for, even on hard days.

There have been a lot of high points in the past year. I will work on chronicling them.

"...or you could get hit by a bus."

Once, I was grumbling and complaining because I had been doing things right and doing a good job and it was all for naught, or so it seemed.

My friend Meg wrote to me with words of commiseration, and said: "I often think that most proverbs should end with, '...but remember you can always get hit by a literal or metaphorical bus.'"

So all those words of advice - Early to bed, early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise- are not worthless, but they are in need of that caveat-- but you might get hit by a bus.

My friend Meg is a wise woman. She's had her early-to-bed-and-early-to-rise days and nights.

And she has met some buses, too.

I'm trying to make sense of some senseless and sad things, and Meg's words keep coming back to me.

I'm going to keep trying to do my best.

I'm going to be aware that I could still get hit by a bus (and lately it seems like I'm in a high traffic area).

But, what matters, really, is that even knowing about the buses, I keep trying to do my best.

I'm not especially happy with this post right now, but I'm not especially happy at the moment. I'll come back, when I can, and try to get to what I'm trying to say.

But for now, at least I've said part of it.

On the eighth night of Channuka, I did not buy for you...

On the eighth night of Channuka, I did not buy for you...*

To wrap up** the not-giving of gifts, I offer you these two:

The Spider-sense Spider-Man Comfy Throw

and

the Spider-sense Spider-Man Bath Poncho.

Each of these items is comfy! Warm! Heroic!

And yet, I did not buy them for you.

Why not? I hear you ask...beg... cry...query***!

It's not a crock!  It's not scatological humor disguised as undergarments (or vice versa)! It's not pandering to laziness! It's not an erotic appliance! It's not a pillow at cross purposes with sleep! It's not something that pisses off your cat! It's not completely inappropriate!

SO WHY DIDN'T I BUY ONE OF THESE?

The answer is quite simple:

I could not find them in your size.

Which, as my 6 foot 3 inch tall nephew informed me, is just wrong. They should make them in adult sizes!

I guess I need to write to the companies.

* Tell me you haven't been singing the title every night.

** wrap up, get it?

*** okay, so maybe I didn't hear you query, but I definitely heard asking and begging.

On the seventh night of Hannuka, I did not buy for you...

It is the seventh night. The penultimate night (I like that word, penultimate). I've been saving this night for things that I'm not buying for you, Dear Daughter's Significant Other, because, well, it's just inappropriate.

I KNOW! ME, saying something is "inappropriate"! But really...

 



Sponge Bob with his tongue out to wash your body is wrong. Dead wrong. So wrong. We are not going there.

Also wrong:

This has "built in fingers" -- "rubber fingers" that "reach deep into carpet".

Euphemism! Clearly, carpet means...

Well...

PLUS, it's REUSABLE. I'm not comfortable with that.

AND THERE ARE STILL MORE...

"Men's Sleep Shorts"? Really? How much sleeping is expected to be done in pants steeped in hot sauce?

And let us not forget:

 

Yes, I am aware that this is supposedly an "exercise" tool. BUT...

 

Shake?

Firm?

Fabulous?

 

 

AND I have seen the video on SNL

So, completely inappropriate.

 

I'm not getting any of these for you.

 

What you do with other consenting adults is completely up to you.

 

And Sponge Bob.

 





On the sixth night of Hanuka, I did not buy for you...

Night six!

I should be done with my Channuka shopping by now, but I'm not. At least, I know what I am buying.

And not buying.

Tonight, I am not buying for you:

 

This is an electric Doggie Biscuit Kit. This is even more multi-national than the EZCracker

- It's in English, French and Spanish. The perfect gift for the North American dog owner!

I particularly like that it not only comes with a carrying tin, and cute little biscuit cutters, but also with a decorating set!

You can decorate your freshly baked dog biscuits! HOT DOG! (Not this hot dog, but like "hot diggity dog, what fun!)

With all this, why would I not buy this for you, Dear Daughter's Significant Other?

Because I feel certain that the cat would get jealous.

I did think about this lovely group of mugs-- but again, I'd have to get 'em all.

 

Maybe I should have bought those-- it says they are giftable.

 

Now that's a recommendation for you.



On the fifth night of Channuka, I did not buy for you...

Already the fifth night of Chanukka, and the candles are dancing and flickering!

Guess what I didn't buy you tonight?

After the candles burn low and finally fade, it's time to get some shut eye. So you cuddle down to sleep with...

a pillow that lights up?

Aren't pillows for lights OUT?

Not to worry, it shuts itself off after 15 minutes. Fifteen minutes while you rest your keppie* on an "ultra soft" pillow that glows with a "soothing light".

On 3 AAA batteries (not included**).

Now, I don't know about you, but I'm trying to learn how to use the earpieces for my smart phone so I don't have all that electromagnetic energy by my ear (near my brain). I sure don't want to sleep on batteries.

The "Starlight Square" light up pillow is pictured; I'm really glad I didn't buy you the alternative: "Pink Beating Heart".

Edgar Allan Poe, anyone?

Good night, and see you tomorrow!


*keppie, keppeleh- Yiddish for your sweet li'l head.

**(I didn't buy the batteries either)

On the fourth night of Channuka, I did not buy for you...

It's the fourth night of Hanukah! The last night of the first half! Think of all that I haven't bought for Channukka!

Jim Beam Bacon Mustard (a real crock)

Boxer shorts hiding in a tin T.P. can on night Number Two (I said "Number Two"-- heh heh heh!)

The laziest utensil- it cracks me up!

While we are talking about tools to enable our laziness-- how about this:



No more exhausting bending to clean your feet! Think of that! I was going to include this last night, but I was tired from all that typing.

But that's not what I'm not giving you tonight. What I'm not giving you tonight is this:

This is a pop-up hot dog toaster.

Okay, here are the questions:

1. Do you need an appliance to warm your buns?

2. Do you need an appliance to get your weiner hot?

3. Do you need an appliance to pop your weiner up?

Now, if the answer to any of the above is "yes"-- I'm not here to judge, but--

I'm also not here to buy that appliance!





On the third day of Hannuka, I did not buy for you:

It's the third night of Chanuka and I didn't buy you this*:

Why didn't I? There are lots of reasons, but let's start with:

1. How lazy are we if we need an easier way to CRACK EGGS? Who was sitting around thinking, You know what is hard? Cracking eggs, man, that is HARD work! We need a tool for that! We need technology!**

2. I like a fun new kitchen gadget as much as the next gal (or guy) but honestly, this has to be one of the most over-packaged over-specialized utensils ever created-- right?

3. So it also separates egg whites-- so what? You can do that easily enough with stuff you already have.

Happy Holidays!


*I think this might be Canadian. Regardez les deux langues. Or maybe United States entrepreneurs are trying to market this to Canada-- eh?

**At least it doesn't use batteries-- at least, I don't think it uses batteries...

On the second night of Hannukah, I did not buy for you*...;

On the second night of Hannuka, I did not buy you this**:

This is a can shaped like a roll of toilet paper. What you can't see in this photo is that there is, in fact, a hole on the top of the can, apparently going the length of the can, giving that characteristic ready-to-roll shape.

Since it says "I need T.P." in emphatic type on the outside of the tin (apparently emphatically stated by our pals Beavis and Butt-head), and since it is shaped like a roll of toilet paper, one might surmise that the tin contains toilet paper.

Butt no!

This is a toilet-paper-roll-shaped tin can containing boxer shorts.

I find myself asking:

1. Is this an invitation for skid-marks?

2. Is this an admission that skid-marks are a foregone conclusion?

3. Am I revealing a deep and devestating lack in my poop-cultural literacy?

4. Am I over-anal-izing these issues of tissues?

Whatever the answers to these burning questions, when it came to the Big Moment, I found that I could not bear to buy undies disguised as toilet paper. Or, undies hiding in the can-- disguised as a toilet-paper container.

I couldn't.

So I didn't.

*to clarify: on the second night of Hannukah, I did not buy you this-- nor do I plan on buying this on any subsequent night.

** I wanted to point out that I posted this on night "Number Two". And this is post script "Number Two" heh heh heh.



On the first night of Hannukkah, I did not buy for you...

Herewith begins a series of at least 8 posts dedicated in part to my Dear Daughter's Significant Other, DDSO, because several of these made me think of him first.

And, because dedicating a blog is an unusual and inexpensive gift.

So, tonight:

On the first night of Hannukkah, (or Hannukah, or Channukah, or Hanuka, or Hanukkah, or

most properly):

I did not buy for you:

This is (in case you can't read it) Jim Beam (R) Bacon Mustard. A mustard gift.

So, DDSO, I didn't buy this for you because:

1. It's a bacon-mustard. Totally inappropriate for Hannukkah, (or Hannukah, or Channukah... see above).

2. Ceramic jar could easily break. In fact, the ceramic SPOON (really?) was broken in one of the packages I examined. (Not the one I photographed. Nothing but the best for your photo opp, friend!)

3. Jim Beam poured into mustard. ON PURPOSE. Really?

4. It's $12.99. Since it's a bottle of mustard, and not of Jim Beam, I thought that was out of line. Just sayin'.

Happy Holiday, however you spell it! See you tomorrow night!

Unaware

I am working on writing song lyrics as part of a gift to one of my children and this came to me. I don't know if it will make a song, but I had to write it.

 

Beauty Unaware

She was fifteen and walked with Beauty

Unaware

She was fifteen and she was the daughter of my friend

And my friend said

Daughter! Don’t wear that shirt

That hugs those curves so new and sweet

Don’t wear that skirt that teases the tops of your thighs

With promises and lies

That you don’t understand!

Don’t wear that

And her daughter said MOM!

And walked away with Beauty

Unaware.

And my friend was tense and tight

With unsounded screams and fright far beyond the bounds of a snug shirt and short skirt.

And my friend said

I was fifteen and walked with Beauty

Unaware

When

My brother raped me and tore that Beauty apart into

Awareness and horror and made me this other thing

And my friend

Who had a daughter now fifteen

Walking with Beauty

Unaware

My friend closed her mouth

And closed her eyes

And prayed that the unsounded scream and the fear that oozed from her pores

Would be too diffused to infect

Would be strong enough to protect

Her daughter who was fifteen

She was fifteen and walked with Beauty

Unaware.

I know what I need to do, why don't I do it?

I know what I need to do.

I need to pick one small corner of the house and clean it till it's done and then move to the next.

I need to get up early and stretch and exercise.

I need to eat more vegetables and fruits and eat less fat and carbohydrates.

I need to write every day, no excuses.

I need to reach out instead of withdraw.

I need to drag out the old that is weighing me down and holding me back- ancient obligations, clothes that don't suit, duplicate books and books I won't read- and hand these on to someone who can use them, or has the strength of will to really throw them out.

So- why don't I?

more whine and fear

I am feeling estranged from my own family.

Dear Diary: from your less-than-faithful correspondentt

I have been reflecting a lot lately. I've been thinking while I've been doing.

I've been cooking a lot.

I've been driving a lot.

I'm thinking a lot about family. I miss my kids something fierce.

My brother-in-law, a few weeks shy of 50 years old, has been diagnosed with multiple myeloma.

I've been driving my mom, myself, my nephews to and from the hospital and to and from school/work/business appointments.

I've been cooking meals for my sister's family.

I've been doing a lot of taking-care-of-business writing- not for myself, mostly, but for my sister.

I've been thinking a lot about priorities, and how much clearer things are in crisis.

Shitty way to find clarity.

stress

Everyone reacts to stress differently. Everyone reacts to grief in their own way. Everyone responds to crisis in a different way.

Usually, I am focused under pressure.

Why do people interpret cool, calm and collected as cold?

Monday, an autumn day

Today may be recorded as the day I officially gave up.

I am tired.

It doesn't seem that I will be getting any of the jobs I have trained for, and time is running out.

Time is passing, and the world for which I have been working still seems so far away.

The sun is shining, the air is crisp. Leaves are turning.

They blaze with color as they die.

Succulents suck

My jade is jaded, and succulents suck.

I think my thumb is the opposite of green. What would that be? Orange?

I searched and searched and finally found a jade plant. Nice, healthy. I even bought special soil-for-succulents. But I left it in its original pot over the winter months, because reasearch said it was dormant then.

I transfered it to a new, bigger pot with its new super succulent soil in March.

And ever since, it has been dropping leaves and now stubby stems. Slowly. Every so often.

I had a calathea plant for a while. It did well for most of the winter and then it died. The story of my life with plants.

I'm a killer.

looking back

I've always felt young, and now I fear I may be growing old.

I've always been looking forward and now I find I am worrying and picking through old memories, searching for the good old days.

New year/old year

Today is the start of the New Year- 5773- for me as we begin Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, at sunset.

I will be spending the New Year with my new grandson (and, oh, yeah, my son and daughter-in-law, his parents). How sweet is that?

As a Jewish person in the U. S., I have lots of New Years to observe, to stop, to think, to take an opportunity to reconsider and choose to start anew.

To turn away from a path headed nowhere, or trod too many times. To turn to a new and healthier direction.

To start something new, or to start over in a new way.

Rosh Hashanah, the start of the new Jewish year, happens in the autumn, when many are starting a new school year. Meanwhile, here in the Northern Hemisphere, the leaves are falling and the summer is ending, autumn is coming on, and the days are becoming shorter. Winter is around the corner, the dying of the light.

A combination- a balance?- of new and old.

On January 1st, the secular New Year will be celebrated- during some of the darkest days of winter. While we turn the page on the new calendar, the days are indeed getting longer- but here in Michigan the light is only a whispered promise of spring as we experience some of the bitterest cold.

Sometime in winter- often in January, as it happens this year- it is Tu b'Shevat, the New Year for trees. Originally, this was a sort of fiscal holiday, establishing the age of trees for harvest and tithing purposes. Now, it is an opportunity to review our relationship with the natural world.

Even though Rosh HaShanah is the first of the year, it is not the first month of the year. (Doesn't make sense to you? Good! I wouldn't want to be the only one!). The first month of the Hebrew calendar is the month of Nissan. The holiday of Passover, of spring and new beginnings and new starts, happens during Nissan.

Of course, I often reflect on my birthday about where I have been and where I am heading- another new year!

Lots of moments in time to stop, think, adjust, change, commit, celebrate!

May the year ahead be filled with sweetness for you.

Cruel geography

My Dear Daughter has written about Anti-Social Media. It came at a time when I have been missing her, and my other children. It comes at a time when I am too aware of the distance between us.

Dear Daughter wrote that the easy "connections" of the various and sundry social media of the digital age do not bring us together, but can be keeping us apart, keeping us separate, keeping our relationships surface only.

This is one version of the response I wrote to her:
 *******
When I first saw this posting a week ago I put it aside before responding because the truth you write is too raw and painful for me at times. The intimacy promised by facile social media is a false intimacy. It would be nice to think that geography is irrelevant in a high tech age, but geography is still cruelly relevant. We delude ourselves that we are "close" but we are not close. We are miles and miles apart.

No matter the timely tweet, the cryptic post on Facebook or the blatant blog rant, meaning is lost, connection fails. More can be read from the nuances of a sigh, the hesitation before the word, the glance held, the glance dropped.

And a virtual hug is virtually nothing at all.

There is so much more to be said, but I will wait to say it with wine or coffee shared, in the same place, at the same moment.


*****
That was the comment I left.

I mourn the distance between each of my children and myself; and I recognize with pain that the distance is not only the miles of cruel geography, but also the span between sorrow and comfort, between experience and sharing. Between surface and depth. Between knowing you and losing you.

attitude of gratitude

I have been ranting quite a bit lately because of the perceived slights from My U. While I still believe in my perceptions I am reminding myself that I fully believe in taking a positive outlook. So, some focus on the many reasons I have for gratitude seems to be in order

I am grateful to My U for accepting me into the PhD program. I am grateful for the wonderful folks I met that were a part of my cohort.

I am grateful for the opportunity to learn and to teach. I have grown from the classes I took and the classes I taught.

I am grateful for the support of family and friends - the love, the encouragement, and yes, even the nagging that helped me get through the entire process and to come out with a "terminal degree" without it being the death of me.

More gratitude yet to come.

Dear Diary: Shut up

Dear Diary: Shut up. I'm here NOW, aren't I?

I knew it was going to be a shitty day today when I went to bed last night. I just didn't know how shitty.

When I went to bed last night, I knew that I had to drink all the laxative solution this afternoon as colon cleansing for my colonoscopy tomorrow. I knew I would be shitting all afternoon.

I didn't know that I would wake up to shit.

What woke me up was the sharp, acrid smell of shit in my bedroom, where Jasper, AKA GoLayDown, AKA GetOutOfTheGarbage, had shit all over the floor.

He didn't whine, he didn't scratch, he just shit all over the floor.

Not diarrhea, just regular, smelly shit.

So, I got up, I cleaned up the shit, I washed the floor, I sprayed odor neutralizer, I lit candles.

I still have the consumption of laxatives to look forward to this afternoon.

Then, since I was up already, I went to catch up on email and the news of the day.

More shit. I am BEYOND shaking my head at what looks, sounds, smells like a War on Women. Akin saying if it's "legitimate rape" that a woman's body will prevent pregnancy. Romney and Ryan distancing themselves from Akin- and then the GOP endorsing a party platform that seeks to ban abortion, with no clause excluding rape or incest.

Really?

And reading that a judge in Texas says there will be civil war if Obama is re-elected?


It makes me tired- especially when I read an article predicting Romney will win the election.

So then I follow up on reading my email from My University. There is a student from my Spring 2012 online class that tried to drop the class, thought she had dropped the class, then due to an error of the My U Pipeline (the online interface for all things dealing with the U), the class wasn't dropped. She is trying to get my help in changing her grade from F (since she did zero work, and was on the class list, I had to give that grade) to something else which will allow her to re-take the class.

Well, this is frustrating because since I've left/been let go from My U (something I have had happen more than once), I dread re-contacting. It's frustrating because as a lowly adjunct, this grade change is not a change that I can complete on my own. It's frustrating because it turns out I had to interact with the new chair, who doesn't know me, to get the grade change approved.

It's also frustrating because in researching how to address the new chair (I honestly don't feel like I can address him by his first name, as we have never met), I noted a posting inviting those interested in part-time/adjunct positions to submit apps to be considered for the "hiring pool".

Really? No one would bother to contact me in person to invite me to submit?

Feh!

As luck, or serendipity would have it, I had posted on my Facebook page a meme that reads: Don't Stay Where You Are Tolerated. Go Where You Are Celebrated!

At least for now, I'm not going to submit to the pool for part-time/adjunct. Instead, I will substitute teach for pin money at the local school, babysit my grandson on Mondays...

and write.

and apply to better gigs, looking to go where I will be celebrated.

This afternoon, I will get rid of my own literal shit.

In the days ahead, the metaphoric shit may take longer.

Oh, sh*t

It seems there's a theme.

Today I had to wait for the truck to pump out our septic.

On the counter awaiting consumption next week are the Rx for evacuation of my own system pre-colonoscopy.

Oh, joy.

write anything again and again

Dear Digital Diary- How are you?

Some new plans: Remember when I used to demand one half- hour per day of each of my kids in each of the following: math, music, Hebrew, housework?

Well, I've decided that I'm going to start with some self-demands along those lines. Every day one half hour housework and one half hour writing. As a minimum. As maintenance.

We will see how it goes.

In addition to this blog, I'll be writing song lyrics as a gift for my youngest, some of which are inspired by my first born. And I will start writing the story of my life. It's interesting to me at least, and then I can lift and fictionalize whatever bits ;-)

Part of my housework today is laundry - that's the part that will add to my fitness, I hope. Then I am also working on a gift quilt.

I find a hurt in my heart for each of my four children today; and tremendous pride in each of them as well.

writing: updates to my life

So Dear Husband K is recovering from his surgery- every day is a bit better. This past Monday, I had a follow up with my doctor to learn that all is BENIGN.

But

(or should I say, BUTT)

Thursday I got a call literally minutes before I took the first pill that would start the process of "cleansing" my colon prior to my Friday morning colonoscopy.

Apparently, one doctor's office or the other has lost the referral paper work so I couldn't have the procedure Friday morning.

Now, I am grateful that the call came before the process of "cleansing" started, but I am angry that the procedure will now be in AUGUST.

Along with my annual Pap test.

I had so looked forward to having this behind me. (forward, behind, whatever)

In other news, I continue to monitor my mood. Mostly okay, so far.

I am monitoring my mom's mood, too. She is pretty definitely depressed. When I went with her to her doctor on Wednesday, he found that her blood pressure was low, especially for the late afternoon time of day (100/58). He listened to her symptoms: feeling generally "sick," general weakness, arms "heavy" and weak, no appetite, bad taste in mouth, dry mouth, waking early and unable to get back to sleep, good days and bad days, worse in the morning. He ordered blood work, to make sure he isn't missing something like anemia, or kidney function, but his feeling is that most of her difficulties can be traced to depression. He has cut back her blood pressure meds, and taken her off the Prozac (which she had only been taking for two weeks, after having *on her own* taken herself off of her previous anti-depressant) and on to a newer, quicker acting medication Viibryd. She will go back to see him in 2 months.

dreams

I dreamed a dream tonight.

And so did I.

And what was yours?

That dreamers often lie.

Dream 1
... I dreamed that I was waiting to go in to  a spa but I had to use the bathroom. I went in the bathroom, but it wasn't a bathroom, in spite of the signs, but a fitting room and the woman in there and her daughter were looking at pink tutus. So I wandered the ?mall? and came to a room that had a bathroom with shower - there was a child peeing in it dragged out by his mom.
At some point I found soft flannel gowns/blankets to wear back to the spa; and at some point, but before I headed back to my spa wrapped in flannel I was talking to one of my actors from My U, LW- telling her as we discussed fear, and I said think of it like stage fright- it is energy that you can use.


Dream 2
...I dreamed I was at My U and over hearing that there was a real need for professors and I was saying, hey, me, ME! And no one listened- and then they started talking about needing professors for playwriting and other courses that were JUST MY STYLE and I was saying me Me ME! and my one time mentor BA said no, no matter what, not you.

Ouch.

And in this dream or some other I was looking in the mirror and cutting my hair and it was wild. I had to force myself to stop.

mini rant

So, I didn't get the advising job- did I mention that here? Mostly I am very okay with it. Advising is not my field.

Nevertheless, another rejection stings a bit.

So I must WRITE! Must discipline myself to WRITE EVERY DAY! And not just grocery lists!

While advising is not my field, theater- teaching, directing, writing- *is* my field. And it looks quite like I shall be languishing idle from that field- unless, of course, I WRITE EVERY DAY!

I expressed my frustration to my friend CH this way: I was raised to believe that if you do what it is that you do in an excellent fashion, you will excel- you will succeed- you will be a success.

"If you build a better mousetrap, the world will beat a path to your door."

Instead, it turns out, that if you build a better mousetrap, the other mousetrap-builders will turn on you viciously, destroy your mouse-trap prototypes, beat you bloody, and leave you for dead.

Even, or especially, if their own mousetraps no longer trap mice (if they ever did).

write anything, still

I continue to struggle with my "time off" although, what kind of a vacation is taken up with what seem to be weekly hospital visits?

Last week was my trip; this week, DH K's surgery is... tomorrow.

Next week, me again.

The following week is August already-a signal that my summer is nearly over! Not fair!

write anything continued

Dear digital diary... how are you today?

I continue to monitor my mood, since going off my meds. Today, I have set my timer for 20 minutes and kept moving for all 20 minutes. I am looking forward to visits with my kids and seeing my grandson.

I've been thinking, and it seems to me that this is my first summer off in like, forever. Since I was a kid, anyway.

When I went to college, I was able to get my undergrad degree in three years, because I had taken Advanced Placement exams that gave me credit for ALL of freshmen language arts, and because I went to school through the summer as well. I worked- I had a campus job- and I did the acadmic thing.

Then, I worked 80+ hours a week for a year to pay for my study abroad at the acting conservatory in London. Well worth it- but it was a LOT of work.

Then the year abroad ended with a production in NYC and in San Francisco, then I was at my parents' home for a couple weeks before moving to Chicago and finding a job.

Once you are working, you don't get summer vacations. I feel that the school system is grotesquely unfair in setting up these expectations for leisurely summers which DO NOT HAPPEN in the grown-up world.

Then, I had kids. Once you have kids, whether you have an outside-the-home job or not, you do not have summers off.

Or nights. Or weekends.

By the time my kids had all left the nest, I had established my youth theater troupe and a tradition of a large cast summer show. So I was rehearsing all summer long.

Well.

I retired from my directorship this year. There were a couple of job possibilities here and there... but, long story considerably shortened, I have most of the summer "off".

And I am trying to figure out what to do with myself.

write anything

I've been away too long, so I will jump in and write randomly. Little by little, perhaps, getting back to the habit of writing.

I am worrying. I am a worrier. I come by it honestly; my mom is a champion worrier, and I have been practicing my worrying for many years.

I'm worrying about my friend, who spent well over 12 hours in surgery yesterday in his latest round of his battle with cancer.

I'm worrying about my kids, praying for health and happiness for each of them.

I'm worrying about my so-called career. I have no "work" this summer. Several medical issues- none, at the moment, thank heaven, really serious- encouraged and led me to this path. I feel at odds having no structured demands on my time.

I'm working on getting back in the habit of writing- witness today's return to the blog.

I'm back in the habit of reading. Right now I'm on the most recently published book from the Song of Ice and Fire series. Frustrated that there are at least two more books in the saga that ARE NOT  YET PUBLISHED!

I'm working on developing better health habits. My weight is UNBEARABLE. I feel like I am walking around in a fat suit. I am drinking over 70 oz of water a day, eating at least one bowl of oatmeal or oat cereal a day, and building up activity every day. Today I set the timer for 20 minutes and did active housework until the timer went off.

I know, me, housework, right?

Bleed

I no longer bleed
in the manner of women
following the moon

It is my heart's blood that flows now
invisible
in a secret cycle
whose phases are not found
by almanac or calendar

Seeking spiritual sunshine
to chase shadows from my heart
longing for smiles that promise
tomorrow will be better
than
today

phone problems

My cordless phone - our landline- is giving us issues. Just a few minutes ago- at 2:30 a.m.- its blinking light said the line was "in use".

For the past week, it doesn't ring. If I call with my cell phone, and then I answer when I know it's ringing, I was able to answer it.

(That really is talking to myself.)

But it won't go in to voicemail.

And when I tried to answer it with its blinking "line in use" light, it seemed there was no one there.

But now I worry.

Phone mystery: to be solved sometime this week, damn it.

miss me?

I will be back. Soon, honestly. It's just this damn grading of 40 some plays and 40 some directing design projects is eating up my life. But, I'll be back to talk about a joyous July ahead with more medical monkeyshines than I would like.

Boobs

My magnificent mammaries are proof positive that God answers prayer.

Be advised, however, that there is apparently a 5 year backlog.

So, once you put in that prayer order, have faith and wait.

Don't keep praying.

When I was 11 and 12, oh, how I wanted to be a womanly woman (yeah, I know, 12- way to be in a rush). Boys tormented me by calling me a carpenter's dream (flat as a board) or a pirates treasure (a sunken chest).

ARRGHH.

When I was 13 and 14 (still praying) for a time I was persuaded to take up mowing the lawn with our push mower because, my dad said, pushing a mower was excellent for developing the bust.

This didn't last too long, actually, as I eventually realized that my *dad* didn't really have much of a bust.

(Sneaky, Dad, sneaky.)

Still praying.

By the time I was 16 or 17, I was starting to get a bit of a shape.

By the time I was 20, I pretty much had a rack.

By the time I was 25 and breast-feeding, I was buxom, no denying it.

VoLUMPtous.

So, have a care what you pray for.

And remember, there's a five year backlog.

I am excited..

About the possibilities the universe may be offering soon!

Meditations on Mother's Day

I heard from all of my biological children on Mother's Day. And I heard from some of my other children, too.



I heard from my favorite first-born daughter. She is jetting off to New York City today to do some consulting work. And she found time to write a blog that brought tears to my eyes. She is a terrific and dedicated writer. She is a deep thinker. She loves, laughs and learns. She is building a good life and building community wherever she finds herself.


I saw and visited with my favorite first-born son and his wife. They are expecting their first child. My son worries about bringing a child into this world. I am so happy that they are having this child; they are a couple who should. They are both caring, compassionate people with a commitment to building a better world. And a quirky sense of fun.



I heard from my favorite youngest son. He called later in the day. He had sent me a Mother's Day gift that reflected our shared passion for Shakespeare. He is a deep thinker, a man of great integrity. He is kind to his friends and all those he meets. I long for him to be kinder to himself.


I heard from my favorite youngest daughter. She was the first of my bio- kids to call. I can't wait to go to Chicago to see her perform as part of Scuttlebuggs. She is bright and talented and funny and caring.


The first of my kids that I heard from, though, was not one of my biological kids. One of my "alterna-daughters" sent me a Mother's Day card that arrived on Saturday. And her posting to me was the first Mother's Day greeting I received.


And I heard from two of my former students at My University. And another alterna-kid, who has adopted me as alterna-mom, a friend of my son.


I am truly blessed.

long time no me

I feel like I have been MIA for a bit. I haven't been trolling Facebook or contributing much to my social listserve of like-minded women.

Some of this is due to the overlap of the end of one semester and the start of the next semester.

Some of this is due to grief about the end of the semester- two great classes, which are likely my last at My University.

Some of it is due to health concerns.

But, regardless of the reason, I haven't been around.

I hope I am back soon.

Be the best me

I don't know what this means.

Maybe I will abandon university teaching.

Maybe I will power through, or maybe I will quit, my summer job as director for the Uber-Conservative youth theater troupe.

-- okay, I am coming back to this some weeks later.

The prompt for this post was seeing memes and quotes that reminded me that we don't need to struggle, to compete to be other than what we are- because then, what would success really mean?

"To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else is the greatest accomplishment." - Ralph Waldo Emerson

 "It's never too late to be who you might have been." George Eliot

No one can be better at being me than I am at being me. So, I should be the best me I can be.

Only, who exactly am I these days? I have lost sight of / connection with who I am from time to time. This seems to be another one of those times.

So, to tie in the first draft comments:
I haven't abandoned university teaching. Yet. Although I fear it may be abandoning me.
And, I did quit my summer Uber-Conservative job.

* University teaching. I have been enjoying the two classes I am teaching this semester. And the students have been enjoying the classes. AND LEARNING. I've been learning too.

My students have been raving about how great my classes are. Faculty members have been coming in and telling me how much my students- their students- are loving my classes.

I finally couldn't take it anymore when a past chair of the department (and one time great mentor for me) came in to say- again- how great my classes are, how much the students say they enjoy the classes and what they are learning.

Well, I said, that doesn't seem to matter, does it?

In context it was clear I was referencing that the department doesn't seem to want to hire me as a professor.

He stopped and started from saying much of anything, but the stops and starts essentially were:
- having to do with "how the pieces fit"
- "future directions"

What I gathered is- confirmation that I *won't* be hired as full time faculty any time soon. And, part of it (this is partly my guess work now, and partly what I was told when applying for a previous job) is that I'm not world-famous published artist (and honestly, unless I won a Tony and a Pulitzer, I doubt that my home-grown qualifications will ever impress them).

And another part of it, guessing again but pretty sure though they can NEVER say it! - is my age.
(And I even THINK he said- as he was leaving- "maybe I'll get this one"- looking around my office. But maybe I was imagining that. But maybe not- as the senior faculty have all been kicked out of their previous posh offices to lowlier digs... but I digress).

Directing: I did, ultimately, for a variety of reasons, leave the directing job for the Uber-Conservative group. I still thrill with happiness and relief each time I remember that I have left that job! So very much the right decision. Still, that means I don't know when I will be directing again.

I love directing. And I am good at it. Why can't I get paid to do what I love and what I am good at?

Writing. I don't know what is holding me back. I have these great ideas and starts of ideas and then I just don't follow through.

I am hoping that a little kindness to myself and healing from the loss of the job-I-didn't-really-have-anyway will get me back on track.

Transitions SUCK

I have been teaching as grad assistant, then as adjunct, at "MY University" for almost 10 years. One of the frustrating aspects of this- beyond the fact that adjunct faculty is not really paid a professional wage- is that I have stayed busy, done lots of teaching- but with one thing and another, scholarly writing hasn't been a priority.  AND the department really didn't give much mentoring/advice/support for getting published.

Well, there have been a number of changes over the past few years. The chair of the department, let’s call him Previous Chair (PC), has stepped down as chair. He was my major mentor. I think he has personal issues going on, but whatever.

Anyway: So, theater department chair is gone, with an interim chair working while search committee does its thing. At the same time, the Dean of the College of Fine, Performing and Communications Arts left for a different position. So did the assistant dean. Interims and searches there, too.

Plus, the economy in Michigan was one of the first to suffer and one of the slowest to recover. While it is true that in a down economy many go back to school, they aren't exactly beating down the doors of the theater department.

Also, I've been told/hinted to/read between the lines that *if* there is hiring, it won't be me. Because I haven't published those scholarly articles. I haven't written big time grants. I haven't brought prestige to the university. I've just done an outstanding job of teaching students.

What is particularly painful is that this semester, I was asked at the last minute (really, about 2 and a half weeks before the start of classes) to teach two great classes (because the tenured faculty that taught them quit- I mean, abruptly retired- in a fit of pique because he couldn't get along with the interim chair). I LOVED teaching these two classes, for upperclassmen, theater majors. And the students RAVED about my classes, how great they were, how much they were learning. Other faculty stopped me in the hall and dropped by my office to tell me how much my students loved my classes.

But none of that matters: word on the street is that when faculty is hired, it will be published people with grants to their credit to enhance the prestige of the university.

Add to that, that the PhD program from which I received my degree has been "suspended" because the PhD *faculty* has not been publishing! (No wonder we received no mentoring!)

What this means for me, is that there are fewer opportunities for adjunct faculty such as myself, because now the tenured senior faculty have to teach the lowly undergrads to retain their jobs.

It is bittersweet. I am trying to stay positive- look at this as a blessing in disguise. My University has been my comfort zone, because it was something that I know. Perhaps this is the impetus I need to write more.

Also, with gas in Michigan hovering at $4 / gal, the 110 mile round trip commute is not missed!

For now, I am still technically employed at My U as I am teaching an online class in Intro to Theater. After June 30, we shall see what the universe has to offer.

Applesauce

When I was young, from time to time our family would have unexpected extra folk around at dinner time.

My mom was pretty unflappable. She didn't fuss or protest. She didn't worry aloud whether there would be "enough."

She'd have us set extra place settings. She'd stretch whatever main dish she was making, if she could- and she was expert at that.

And she would open applesauce.

Somehow, bringing out the applesauce- one extra offering on the table- made the plates still full even with smaller portions.

I wonder, what is your applesauce?

encouraging new artists

I went to a conference.

I went to two staged readings of new plays. Each play was the winner for its category, one for adults and one for high school students. The goal of the adult competition was the discovery, development and publicizing of worthy new plays and playwrights. Although a purpose for the high school competition was not given, one might assume similar goals.

For the high school student-playwright, the talk back went like this:

The moderator introduced the playwright after the staged reading. Then, the moderator gave the audience guidelines for response: First, give the playwright feedback about what is working, what you admire and like about the play. Then, give the playwright feedback about questions, what you wanted to know more about in the play. Next, give the playwright feedback about concerns or confusion, areas that you aren't certain about in the play. Finally, the playwright was invited to ask the audience or actors anything she wanted to know about their experiences.

Smart, huh?

Now the adult winner. Note that I said: winner. Award-winning. Selected as the WINNER, right?
The facilitator, also a playwright, first introduced the playwright and quoted a famous playwright (one she quoted frequently, as in "When I was working with Famous Playwright, he said...") as saying: the smartest person in the room is the writer.

Then she said "this is what is working: Good job, actors"

(and, the actors were uneven, but overall okay)

"Great directing"

(A. this was a staged reading- limited directing. B. the directing sucked. It was distracting to say the least about it)

"Now, comments on the play."

And the facilitator went on to state her opinion (liberally sprinkled with "I think we will all agree")- setting the table for the audience- that the play didn't work. That this award- WINNING play had flaws right and left. Mind you, she contradicted herself in her criticisms several times- that the play had no conflict/then the play had a great conflict but it wasn't resolved; that the play didn't tell you enough about something/that the play told you too much about that same something.

Meanwhile, in between belittling the play, she would say, "the play is lovely," "the relationships are lovely."

All while the playwright is sitting ONSTAGE RIGHT NEXT TO THE FACILITATOR, unable to respond to these comments.

When the audience was finally allowed to respond, predictably, they echoed some of the "expert's" opinions.

The WINNING playwright left the session seriously questioning whether or not to continue writing.

This is WRONG, WRONG, WRONG.

I was appalled. Horrified. Angry.

I am grateful that the high school student was not savaged in this way- however, is this any way to treat our best and our brightest? Is this any way to recognize a WINNER?

pout face

There are days when I just want to take all my marbles and go home.

Or maybe go to Australia.

This is one of those days.

to to to DO, to to to DO!

Somehow today I will be:

1. finishing the last little bits of grading
2. prepping for tomorrow's classes
3. emailing my failing students with their last warning
4. applying for a job
5. writing a ten minute play or two

Oh, and at the moment I'm doing laundry. LOVE that multi-tasking.

Later:
grading- done
prepping- mostly done
emailing students- done
applying for job/kicked to tomorrow
writing play/kicked to tomorrow (which is THE DEADLINE)

Oh, and still doing laundry

goodnight, goodnight, before it becomes tomorrow.

Still later- as in, ten days later:
1. I did the grading. Now I have stacks of new grading, as final papers have been turned in and final exams are currently being taken.

2. prepping did get finished, and in time for classes.

3. I have emailed the failing students. Some of them twice. Now I'm done. Failing or passing, their choice.

4. job application: done. Getting the job or not: their choice.

5. ten minute play: written and submitted.

And I am getting back to the blogs. OKAY!

Curses

So I have some titles for a few stories/books:

The Chinese Curse: about my last few years of "living in interesting times" and longing for boredom.

The Mother's Curse: about how I got kids that were just like me- and kids that were just like me.

The Yiddish Curse: So, things could be worse.

The N word

I can't say it. I'm a white woman of a certain age, raised in a certain place, in a certain era, and I can't say that word.

The following incident happened with a group of teens that I'd been working with a couple summers ago. In the teen theater troupe I was directing, we have occasionally had Hispanic or Black youth as participants, but only occasionally. There were no youth of color in our troupe at the time of this incident.

During this particular summer, an incident occurred. Not during rehearsal, thank goodness, but after, when some of the teen boys were hanging out being cool together.

So, imagine three guys, 14 or 15 years old, hanging out.

Chillin'.

Three white, suburban boys, who think they are gangsta.

So, they are hanging out, goofing around, yelling back and forth to each other outdoors in this public park.

Calling one another the N word.

I wasn't there (rehearsal was over, and I had headed home). The boys' moms were around, but not right near them ('cause that wouldn't have been cool).

And I might never have heard about the incident at all, except that-

As it happened, in this public park, there was a Black man and his child.

Who heard the boys- gave them a look- and took his child and got in his car and left.

Enough was observed by one of the moms so that she talked to her son and to the other moms who talked to their sons and then I heard about it.

I tried to talk to the boys.

JE, I said, you aren't Black.

Yeah I am he said.

NO, I said, you're NOT, and that is not your word.

I don't think the boys ever "got" it.

I felt terribly disturbed, though. It still bothers me.

Marching on...

Here it is already March 4, and I have yet to post a blog! I have some topics coming up- Negative Impact is one title, and sharing family stories is another theme- and I would have blogged about my rage against woman-haters like Rush Limbaugh but my daughter of Little Pixie Magic beat me to it.

Instead, I will briefly mention that I am at the midterm for the two classes I am teaching at university.

Once again, most of my students are doing well. And, once again, a few are failing.

In one class, I sent out emails to those who were just not doing the work. I told them what work each was missing and gave them a deadline for turning in late work for partial credit. And then I sent a reminder email a day before the final deadline.* (I have put the other class on alert that a deadline is ahead for them.)

There were 9 out of 20 students in this class who were in this predicament.

Since the emails, 2 students decided to drop the class.

Good, that is fine. Wise choice.

Of the remaining 7, 5 have turned in work by the deadline.

Of the remaining 2, 1 was not actually failing yet, and has room to catch up.

The last 1 is perhaps my favorite in the class. And this particular student did not show up this Friday, which was the deadline day.

I don't understand it. Most of these students are actually the brightest, most eager and passionate in discussion.

Why not just do the work?

It isn't hard to pass my class- even get a good grade.

You have to do the work! Read the texts!

What is particularly ironic is that this student is the one who asked the class (admitting to as much guilt as anyone else) Let's stay on topic in discussion, okay? Because we are paying for this class, let's get the most out of it!

* Honestly, how many teachers send individual emails alerting students to the danger of failing? Should I even do this?

I was bullied

I was watching the news and I saw that one of the cute blonde news anchors is coming forward with her dark secret:

"Believe it or not, I was bullied."

Well, honey, join the club.

I am not saying that bullying is no big deal, not a problem.

I am just saying it isn't *new*.

When I was a kid, I had to ride a bus to school. There were these girls that would wait until I was exiting the bus and rush to push me down.

This is when I was about 6 or 7 years old. I was a small child, and not only were these girls in superior numbers, they each also had a size advantage.

The bus driver knew about it; she basically told my mom there was nothing she could do about it.

Apparently, the grown-ups- those in power- felt I should stop whining and just suck it up.

Then, and now, if I retaliated, *I* would have gotten the worst of it: either beaten up by the girls AND/OR written up at school for fighting.

Interesting note: when I told my mom we were going to homeschool our kids, one of her worries is that my kids wouldn't be exposed to bullies and so wouldn't learn how to toughen up-

If anything, that would have been a further argument for homeschooling, in my book!

I think if you ignore situations where the less powerful are preyed upon by the bigger and stronger, you are tacitly agreeing that "might makes right."

I think if you ignore your child's situation in these cases, you are not teaching them to "toughen up" you are teaching them that the "authorities" don't care.

(I'm totally over it, though. TOTALLY. )

Oscar

Awards nights make me sad.

I thought I would have more impact by now (selfish response).

How do you create winners and losers in art? Recognize excellence, yes- BUT! how can you compare such wildly different works? and RANK THEM!

Weight for it.

On the radio the other day I heard a truly shocking statistic. At first I thought it was horrifying.

About 90% of people who lose weight dieting gain it back- sometimes gain it back, PLUS.

Looking around online, I have seen this statistic again and again. Some argue with it, some brandish it to tout their own weight-loss method.

After getting over my shock and horror about this statistic, I've decided to let it liberate me.

No more diets.

I will continue to work on finding more activity in my life; I do value my health. I will try to consciously include more vegetables.

But I'm not going on a diet. I already have pretty good diet habits - at home. We are whole grain, low meat consumption folks. Pretty low sodium.

I don't really snack (maybe I should?).

In my experience, I am definitely one of the 90% that regain the weight and then some.

I am getting off the roller coaster. I can't afford another and then some.

Adventures in substitute teaching: Green Cats and Invented Spelling

I was substitute teaching for a kindergarten class. In each of the kindergarten classes, there is a teacher's aide full time assisting the teacher. As a result, it is fairly simple to sub for these classes, because the aide knows all the routines and standards.

The teacher left me an assignment for the class: Practice writing D, d, and use d in a sentence. The practice sheet had lines for practicing D, d, then "dog" then room for your sentence. There was a box at the bottom of the page for the students to draw a picture. There was a step by step model of how to draw a dog.

The aide pointed out that the students' spelling words for this week are the "-at" family- so, cat, mat, rat, sat.

I encouraged students to think of sentences that would include "d" words and also words from the "-at" family.

The aide layered on the idea that the picture- which was to include a dog (and I modeled the step-by-step instructions on the whiteboard)- should reflect what was written in the sentence.

These instructions were getting pretty complex, I thought.

I had the aide model the forming of the D and the d, as I know that the students are taught specific strokes in a specific order and I didn't want to confuse them.

So, finally, the students are busy writing and drawing. I move from table to table checking the progress of the students.

Seeing a student has written "I hav a dog" I asked the aide, do we correct spelling? And she replies, if you can sound it out, we don't correct the spelling.

Okay.

So the students move on to the drawing and coloring. Students bring up their work to the aide for the final check before putting the work in their folders.

A student shows the colorful work of "the dog sat on the cat".

The cat has a voice bubble that says: "AHHH!!!!"

The aide says: I don't know any cats that say "AHHH!!!!" - cats say "meow"- go fix that.

?!?!?!

(I have never heard a cat say "meow" either.)

Then another student brings up a picture with a colorful drawing which includes a green cat.

The aide says: Are cats green? No they are not. Go fix that.

And students who have a yellow dog have to fix it.

And students who have a red dog do not have to fix it- because of Clifford the big red dog.

!?!?!?!

And I want to say: Have you never seen Picasso's blue period work?

Have you never seen ERIC CARLE?

But, I am only a sub.

Did you Ms. me? the story

I substitute teach at the local K-8 school where my Dear Husband is an administrator. I think I will start a series of tagged blogs on "Adventures of Substitute Teaching".

This episode:
I was substitute teaching for the middle school this time. First I had a very chatty group of 7th graders. I substitute fairly often, and many of the kids know my name, but for whatever reason on this occasion. multiple times I was called either "Mrs. Cunningham" or "Mrs. Campbell" - neither of which is my name. I assume that those two subs get called by my name as well.

So when the next class- this one of 6th graders- arrived, I wrote my name on the board like this:

Ms. K------

One of the students asked why I had left out the "r" in "Mrs.".

I explained that I had written it correctly, the word was pronounced "mizz" and I invited them to tell me what they thought it meant.

Some of their guesses:

-it means that you don't have any children (I told them I have 4 children)

- it means that you are divorced (I told them- and/or reminded them- I was happily married- to the man working in the office, Mr. K----!)

- it means that you are older (!! I told them-- ah, no.)

So I wrote: Mr. Smith, Miss Smith, Mrs. Smith, Ms. Smith on the board.

I asked, pointing at "Miss Smith,"- do you know if this person is married? (yes, we know she isn't married).

I pointed at "Mrs. Smith"- how about this person? (yes, we know she is married)

I pointed at "Mr. Smith"- what about this person? (no- we don't know if he is married or not)

So, I explained that in the 1960s, or about that time, the term "Ms." was created to use for women- in a fairer way, like "Mr.", without reference to their marital status.

Some other topics came up- last names, hyphenated last names and so on.

And we went on to the lesson.

Then I was talking to the classroom teacher later. I outlined what had happened.

It turned out *she* (a "Miss" in her late 20s / early 30s) had no idea what "Ms." meant - she thought it meant you were divorced.

Wow.

Do I feel old or what.

Did you Ms. me?

Remind me to tell of the teachable moment that I didn't Ms.

James Thurber

I had forgotten how many times I had enjoyed the wit and wisdom of this man. Here are some gems to enjoy:

All human beings should try to learn before they die what they are running from, and to, and why.

I think that maybe if women and children were in charge we would get somewhere.

One martini is all right. Two are too many, and three are not enough.

Art – the one achievement of man which has made the long trip up from all fours seem well advised.

With sixty staring me in the face, I have developed inflammation of the sentence structure and definite hardening of the paragraph.

Don’t get it right the first time. Just get it written.

for the good things...

From Real Age: a part of 7 tips for younger skin-

4. Focus on the Good Things

Pick up a notebook you particularly like, and at the end of each day, make a list of things for which you are truly grateful. Or write down three things that went well, and why.

• How often? Nightly, as part of your winding-down routine.
• Why do it? Keeping a journal that records the good things in life helps shift your focus to what you're doing right, and that can put the brakes on the stressful negative chatter that often goes on in your head.

******

I like this. I think I should do this.

Today:

I am grateful for my Dear Husband K. There are so many reasons I cannot even begin.

I am grateful today for the fun I am having with the classes I am teaching.

I am grateful today for my dogs behaving themselves at the kennel! It is important to me that Dh K and I can go from here to there or anywhere- without worrying about the puppies!

reasons to oppose invented spelling

I am grading college students' writings and I just read:

Minajatwa.

I had to read it in context several times before I realized that the writer meant:

ménage à trois