That Part of Me

While reading a novel yesterday,

the book The Year of Magical Thinking

by Joan Didion was mentioned.

I knew that she wrote it about the year after her husband died,

and even though it was published in 2005,

and I had avoided it until 2022, when I faced my fear

and read it.

There was a singular part

that stood out to me

when I read the memoir,

and I needed it yesterday.

See, I’ve been feeling off balance and unable to determine why.

But now I know.

The part of me reflected in Jim’s eyes

is gone.

It can’t be otherwise.

It’s what we lose and have to repair when someone dies.

I’m finding it difficult to lose the anxiety on this.

I looked up the review I wrote on Good Reads,

and just as I suspected

I had documented the part that mattered most.

That spoke the loudest.

As it does today.

I have to allow the mourning is not just for Jim,

but for who I was in his presence.

My anxiety is that I am not sure who I am without him. 

I am hoping that knowing this will help me move forward

without looking for something that is no longer there.

Thursday Thoughts

 

It has been one month since Jim made his transition. 

I could not write yesterday as I was totally numb from the election results. I had faith in the American people, so it is hard to accept so many are willing to exchange our democracy over racism and misogyny. I’m not surprised. I was just holding the highest good in my heart.

We are all a bit wiser now, knowing what we now know.

Here is some great healing news…I was able to sleep on my right side the last couple of nights  I’ve had to sleep on my back ever since the accident, but my preferred method is on my side. This has been amazing. Even more amazing is that today I will take my first shower since August 19th! My wound nurse brought waterproof bandages for me and said go for it. I was so over wiping down with cleaning cloths and washing my hair in the sink. The shower is another sign of my progress in healing, and is a game-changer. It brings back another element of normalcy I definitely can use.

I’m glad the rainy weather will be past us after today. I want nice weather for Scott’s visit and for the Saturday event, which will be emotional and wonderful. 

Everything is a step I am taking to re-form my life. I am grateful for all the love and support I have. 

An Elaborate Game

 

(This spontaneous riff inspired by David Kirby’s poem “King of Good Fellows”)

Writing this week was a real challenge. I felt like I wasn't able to clearly formulate my thoughts, or I didn't have any thoughts at all to formulate and had to stretch for inspiration. It hasn't been that way all along, so it was a tad frustrating. 

But then I read David Kirby's poem and I found words for what is somewhere in the periphery of my brain and heart and gut.

...what is Shakespeare 

doing if not throwing everything

against the wall and seeing

what sticks?

Yes, I thought, that is what this week has felt like. Throwing stuff against the wall and hoping I haven't totally lost my mojo.

Kirby continues about Shakespeare...

we see the world as it really is, 

a mishmash, a glorious shiny mess 

where I am king and you are queen,

but neither of us wears a crown.

Yes, I thought, mishmash. Maybe not so much glorious and shiny, but mess to be sure.

Then this...

 

Don't limit yourself, poets!

Do  you think Shakespeare said,

"I better limit myself.."

 

Yes! This whole exercise is about not limiting myself. A year of writing after a year of hardly every writing deserves a chance to test the limits. This can happen...right?

 

...because Shakespeare is so generous,

so kind to us...so possessed of a 

mind that makes no distinction

between anything and anything else.

 

Is that my problem? Too many distinctions? Reaching for something that I don't need to be reaching for?

 

an elaborate game that's totally

realistic and, at the same time,

make believe.

Ha! Maybe a bit more fantasy is needed, more imagination, more understanding that this isn't all THAT important. It's an elaborate game I'm playing in my own mind. 

a dream no one has dreamed yet,

but you're in it, and you're the star

Okay. Caught me. I think I'm so original, such a star. A little humility, gurl.

 

For some reason I felt compelled to color the picture of Pegasus I included on this post, even though I had no idea what meaning it could possibly bring. So I checked back into the Pegasus story and found he was instructed by Zeus to bring lightning and thunder from Olympus. He is the creator of Hippocrene (a fountain), and allowed Bellrophen to ride him to defeat the monster Chimera. Some stories have him dying at the hands of Zeus.

 

Sheesh. And you thought Shakespeare was throwing stuff at the wall to see what sticks? What about those Greeks? Clearly, it is all an elaborate game we play to entertain ourselves. What the hell else are we doing when we tell stories?

 

We are all limitless poets, dreaming a dream in which we star.

And...gotta admit...it's an elaborate game of which I'm rather fond.

Thanks, readers, for playing along.

I Teach Real People

 

 

I teach real people

Real, live, living, breathing, young human people

I’m tired of the irrelevant expectations

I’m tired of trying to adapt to nonsense I don’t always believe in

Yes, I take charge at times

I close my door and teach

Because I know full well following the rules doesn’t always get the job done

I’m tired of the focus on progress monitoring

While acknowledging it has its place

But it isn’t everything!

I’m tired of people not in the classroom instantly forgetting what it is like

To deal with too many immature students in one room

And the class becomes a constant barrage of who did what to whom

Is it too much to ask that the curriculum acknowledges who they are?

Is it too much to ask to have parental support and not just be told

Deal with it

Is it too much to ask that our society support what we do in public ed?

Doesn’t its success benefit us all?

Yes, I am ranting, borne from a place where I feel like an outlier

For wanting to reach my learners, bring out the best in them.

When too many adults don’t prioritize what they need

How should a preteen know or believe in that mission

When everything they experience tells them otherwise?

They can’t see how it matters.

But it matters.

Always did.

Always will.

Moments

 

Today I read this final stanza in Nikita Gill’s poem “Lonely”:

The loneliest thing

you can ever do

is take every instance

where you should grow

and waste it by only thinking

how could this happen to you?

Moments from my return to work yesterday.

My principal telling me, “Jim first. This place is secondary.”

Hugs hug hugs.

Realizing during 11th period that if things get tough

I won’t have energy for the classroom.

And that will be okay.

Everything is like a slow dawn

breaking.

36. Feelings

 #66Challenge

In our faculty meeting, we were taught about "affective speech." It means that when a child misbehaves, we explain to them how their actions make us feel, and then tell them what we expect from them.

Here is an example how this goes...

Brian enters the classroom, slapping his hand on the door frame and shouting some nonsense.

I request he return and re-enter, this time like a gentleman.

His response:  "What if I'm not a gentleman."

And I'm supposed to say:

I feel hurt you won't take direction. I feel sad you don't care about yourself.

Like he cares ONE BIT about my feelings!

I have tried this approach before. The feelings, the reaching for them to care about how they represent themselves in the world, the framing in the larger context.

I wouldn't be having to do it EVERY SINGLE DAY if it worked. I would have reached them by now.

Am I wrong?