Ann has a habit of leaving the back door open. It's not a bad habit when the weather is warm, but right this minute autumn is wielding her big windy broom, pushy summer away. It's not cold, but it's not warm either. The gusts shake the trees and the rustle of the leaves whisper through the door along with the angry birds who must grab the last of their provisions and fight against the headwinds on their journey south.
I bundle up before I realize the back door is open. Ann is off to work, riding her bike with a mighty tailwind pushing her up the gradual hill. She has no recollection, I'm certain, that she left the back door open. It comes to my realization only after the dog barks at the squirrel heading down the thoroughfare of the grape arbor that runs the full length of our lot.
I slept deeply last night stirred only by dreams that didn't fit. Often I have dreams where I am stuck in a previous version of my life. I am surrounded by people from my past who assume it is still the past even though I know that that part of my life has moved on. I wander around these dreams trying to convince myself first and then others that they are no longer who they think we are. When I wake from these dreams, I am comforted by the weight of Ann lying warm next to me, snoring gently and the dog at my feet, twitching slightly with dreams of his own.
I worked an 8-hour shift yesterday and today my feet hurt. In the department in which I work there are shelves and shelves of books on all sorts of outdoor activities -- ice climbing, kayaking, triathlons, and hikes with kids. During a slow period I found a book titled, "Healing Your Feet" and read about bunions and something called Haglund's Deformity. After years of suffering from the bump on the back of my heal, I finally found a name for my symptoms. Ironically though, the treatment for this "deformity" is opposite for the treatment of a bunion. And of course, I have both ailments on the same foot.
Work was more eventful after my reading with an angry, irrational customer rattling the calm demeanor of our department. I missed the whole thing, thankfully, but reports from my co-workers supplied interesting details. Apparently the said customer had an arm-load full of "stuff" that he laid down on the floor right in front of the stairs heading up to the second floor. He left it there for quite awhile until an employee came over, saw the mess blocking customer progress, and gathered up the menagerie and placed it behind the counter of customer service thinking someone had forgotten about the mess they'd created.
The customer had not forgotten. When he realized his potential purchases were gone, he yelled out loud at the bottom of the stairs, "Where the hell is my stuff?" An employee cautiously approached and was met with a bile whirlwind of insults and cursing. He was lead over to customer service where another employee tentatively entered the bout only to be slammed equally hard by offensive language and violent accusations. Others stepped in and diligently worked to gather up the "stuff" he'd dropped on the floor.
I was on break when all of this happened and I was on lunch when the customer tried to purchase his goods from our department's register. Still belligerent, he grew hostile again when the bicycle helmet he wanted to purchase was not on sale. Fred, my co-worker, lead him to the location of the helmets to show the man that the helmets next to the one the man was trying to purchase were on sale and NOT the helmet he'd chosen.
He was not appeased.
By the time I got back from lunch, the tension was thick and added into the mix was a angry exchange between Ed, the former naval intelligence officer whose worked at the store for 12 years and Fred, the former Dead Head whose worked for the store for 34 years. Later, Fred told me he was requesting a transfer to another department, finally fed up with Ed's "right-wing angry and outbursts."
Not is all pleasant in retail.
I will be sad to see Fred go. He is a perpetually happy man who jokes with me about disco dancing and politics. I cannot make mistakes when Fred is around. No matter my error, he'll describe one from his storied past that surpasses any screw-ups I can make. Yes, he's rather forgetful and sloppy leaving $200 sunglasses out on the glass display cases, forgetting to put them away or selling display models for %20 off when there are plenty more in stock. Still, I like him because he doesn't let his job rule his life.
Ed is a different story. As Chris, my supervisor said, "He likes to pretend he's in charge." After 20 years in the Navy, I would imagine it's a hard habit to break.
I told Ann all about the interesting escapades at work and then laughed when I thought about how uninvolved I was in all the politics and shenanigans. "Not like teaching is it?" Ann asked. And it's true. I earn $10 an hour. That's not enough money to make me get involved on any deep level.
What I do find interesting is how many people my age work on the retail floor and how all the managers and supervisors are half my age. Fred told me he tried to be a manager, but hated ordering people around. Ed on the other hand despises the managers feeling they are incompetent and uneducated.
And then there is Myrna. I love Myrna. She's in her mid-sixties, a former "D.C. government official," and the spitting image of librarians from my youth. She is beyond OCD, spending her down time organizing anything she can get her hands on. She has taken me under her wing and shouts out things like, "Now you get over here, this is a perfect teachable moment." I can hardly wait to get her perspective on the politics of the department, the split between Ed and Fred, and hear the stories of the angry customers she's had to watch throw tantrums.
Meanwhile, I continue to feel the weightless of NOT teaching this year. There are things I miss like knowing exactly what I'm doing and how to do it, but there are more things I don't miss. Every day I see them in Ann's tensing shoulders, her worried sleep, and I hear them in her troubled words as she recounts a meeting with parents or tells the troubles on her staff.
I have vowed this year to do whatever I can to make her year as comfortable as possible. I made her dinner yesterday and left it in the fridge to heat up when she got home. I cleaned the house the other day so she could come home to fresh scents and uncluttered surfaces. She is appreciative, enjoying as she says, "having a wife" in her life. Today I'll make her some fresh pasta for dinner and wash the sheets on the bed so she can sleep a tad more comfortable tonight.
And in the morning, I'll make her coffee and perhaps oatmeal with fresh frozen blueberries from the local farmer's market. She'll take the dog out in the backyard as she does every morning to watch him stretch and sniff and take care of his business and then she'll come in leaving the back door open behind her. I'll bundle up again until I realize that the birds chattering away are not living in the kitchen, but are simply taking advantage of the audience the open door provides.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Getting Down To It
In my meeting with Leah, she said my next step was to get down to it, to get down to the business of writing. "All the obstacles are out of the way, and now it's time for business," she told me. And while I know she is right, the actual "getting down to business" feels confusing.
Where do I begin?
The writing part isn't hard. It's the other part, the publishing part. Her advice was to learn as much as I could about the publishing business, to spend the time I would normally use for writing as a time for research because, as she said, "it's all part of being a writer, the writing and the selling of it."
So yesterday I spent an hour reading about publishing online. There are a plethora of resources and all of them pretty much say the same thing: Find your market, write query letters, and send out your stuff. Sounds simple, but it feels daunting in many ways.
During my MFA program, we had countless classes and guest speakers who gave us advice on how to "crack the code" of publishing. While I listened intently, I was also struck by the fact that a lot of the people in our program who'd published were friends with other published writers who in turn, recommended them to publishers and agents. This sort of "old boys network" turned my stomach, so I shied away from understanding it and instead focused on my writing.
I find myself doing that again. Leah tells me it is because I am in search of obstacles that will convince me I cannot write, that I am not a writer. She says that "blaming the system" is a way to avoid confronting my fears and until I confront them, I'll keep coming up with excuses. I know she's right in many ways, but still, the more I read yesterday about "Getting Published" the more overwhelming it all felt.
I have many friends who have published, but in my head I say, "Yes, they are REAL writers." This is another of my obstacle-creations as Leah would say and as long as I keep creating them, the more I will not get published.
Another prominent obstacle for me is to rise above it all and say, "I don't really want to get published. I just want to write." In it's own way, that loftier-than-thou argument is a more powerful obstacle than the daunting caverns of the publishing world. When I use this argument, I appear above it all and in my exalted position, I can convince myself that, even though I write well enough, I don't need validation from "them" to feel good about myself and my writing.
It's all bullshit, of course. Leah didn't use such words, she's much more eloquently articulate than that, but it was the brunt of her message. Leah is the kind of person who uses words like manifest and universe and can make them sound normal and every day, like we all have the power to manifest our dreams by surrendering to the universe of our dreams.
Okay, she doesn't sound that cheesy, but she does make me believe that the choices I've made so far are choices driven by my instinct and no so much about shoulds and should-nots. Learning to trust my instincts has been a life-long struggle, but she's right in many regards. Lately my instincts have been right on. While I'm learning to trust them more and more, I still have a hard time believing them when it comes to my writing and the business of publishing my writing.
Sometimes it's hard to know the obstacles from the truth.
Meanwhile, Ann is back in battle mode having dug her way through her cluttered classroom yesterday (summer remodeling happened much to her dismay) and is back in the thick of it today with meetings and planning. I'm trying not to rub it in that she's teaching and I'm not, but yesterday while she was slogging away in her classroom, I was feeling something very powerful -- the weightlessness of my life.
This might sound like a bad thing, but I can't tell you how much joy I felt yesterday, my day off, to be able to move through the day without any worries of class lists, faculty meetings, or curriculum planning hanging like a demon above my head. Always my days off in the past have been burdened with this guilt, the kind of guilt that whispers You shouldn't be playing. You should be working. You shouldn't be relaxing. You should be working.
And even though I work an 8 hour shift this afternoon and evening, there is no extraneous weight compelling me to "work at work" on my hours off from work. There is simply the dog to walk, the breakfast dishes to wash, a shower to take, a lunch to make, and time to write...
...and learn about the demon of publishing.
Where do I begin?
The writing part isn't hard. It's the other part, the publishing part. Her advice was to learn as much as I could about the publishing business, to spend the time I would normally use for writing as a time for research because, as she said, "it's all part of being a writer, the writing and the selling of it."
So yesterday I spent an hour reading about publishing online. There are a plethora of resources and all of them pretty much say the same thing: Find your market, write query letters, and send out your stuff. Sounds simple, but it feels daunting in many ways.
During my MFA program, we had countless classes and guest speakers who gave us advice on how to "crack the code" of publishing. While I listened intently, I was also struck by the fact that a lot of the people in our program who'd published were friends with other published writers who in turn, recommended them to publishers and agents. This sort of "old boys network" turned my stomach, so I shied away from understanding it and instead focused on my writing.
I find myself doing that again. Leah tells me it is because I am in search of obstacles that will convince me I cannot write, that I am not a writer. She says that "blaming the system" is a way to avoid confronting my fears and until I confront them, I'll keep coming up with excuses. I know she's right in many ways, but still, the more I read yesterday about "Getting Published" the more overwhelming it all felt.
I have many friends who have published, but in my head I say, "Yes, they are REAL writers." This is another of my obstacle-creations as Leah would say and as long as I keep creating them, the more I will not get published.
Another prominent obstacle for me is to rise above it all and say, "I don't really want to get published. I just want to write." In it's own way, that loftier-than-thou argument is a more powerful obstacle than the daunting caverns of the publishing world. When I use this argument, I appear above it all and in my exalted position, I can convince myself that, even though I write well enough, I don't need validation from "them" to feel good about myself and my writing.
It's all bullshit, of course. Leah didn't use such words, she's much more eloquently articulate than that, but it was the brunt of her message. Leah is the kind of person who uses words like manifest and universe and can make them sound normal and every day, like we all have the power to manifest our dreams by surrendering to the universe of our dreams.
Okay, she doesn't sound that cheesy, but she does make me believe that the choices I've made so far are choices driven by my instinct and no so much about shoulds and should-nots. Learning to trust my instincts has been a life-long struggle, but she's right in many regards. Lately my instincts have been right on. While I'm learning to trust them more and more, I still have a hard time believing them when it comes to my writing and the business of publishing my writing.
Sometimes it's hard to know the obstacles from the truth.
Meanwhile, Ann is back in battle mode having dug her way through her cluttered classroom yesterday (summer remodeling happened much to her dismay) and is back in the thick of it today with meetings and planning. I'm trying not to rub it in that she's teaching and I'm not, but yesterday while she was slogging away in her classroom, I was feeling something very powerful -- the weightlessness of my life.
This might sound like a bad thing, but I can't tell you how much joy I felt yesterday, my day off, to be able to move through the day without any worries of class lists, faculty meetings, or curriculum planning hanging like a demon above my head. Always my days off in the past have been burdened with this guilt, the kind of guilt that whispers You shouldn't be playing. You should be working. You shouldn't be relaxing. You should be working.
And even though I work an 8 hour shift this afternoon and evening, there is no extraneous weight compelling me to "work at work" on my hours off from work. There is simply the dog to walk, the breakfast dishes to wash, a shower to take, a lunch to make, and time to write...
...and learn about the demon of publishing.
Monday, August 25, 2008
Animal Saints
Every morning I get up, make a latte for Ann, a hot cocoa for myself and then I sit before the computer and read the news online, check my email, and play one or two games of Sudoku. This routine has become a habit, not a bad habit, but a habit nonetheless. Part of my morning routine includes five animal saints, or paintings that my artist-friend Trina made for an art show. They hang on the wall just above the computer and their eyes watch me attentively.
The first one Trina showed me was a lamb and I fell in love with it instantly. Having once owned sheep, I loved the way she'd captured the eyes and the tuft of hair on the top of the head. My other favorite is the long-haired bull with his flared nostrils and his shaggy mane. The other saints are an iguana (Ann's pick), a penguin, and a piglet. They are nice, but the lamb and the bull are my particular favorites.
I'm trying to start a new routine these days. Now that I'm no longer teaching, my schedule is happily much less cluttered and I have days with large chunks of unscheduled time. Today is such a day. I have no where to be and no obligations except for those I've set for myself.
Today's agenda includes writing, reading, and pulling out my master's thesis as instructed by my "life coach" Leah. We met the other day and it was a great meeting. I shared with her all my "ah-has" and she reaffirmed my feelings and my worries. "Now you must begin the task of writing," she said. "You can't let the transition get in the way anymore."
And so I've written out a schedule of my week including the times when I must work and the times when I want to walk the dog, make pasta, and clean the house. Today was my first attempt to follow this new routine, but from the get-go it got a bit muddled.
First, we woke up later than expected. This was intentional, but at the time when I set the alarm I didn't think about the impact on "the schedule." Next, Ann spent her morning gathering together the things she needed for her first day back in the classroom sans kids. She couldn't find things and while she doesn't need me to help her, she does talk about what she needs and I feel compelled to listen and assist. This is not the most conducive atmosphere for writing.
But the biggest interruption was when Rubin ran to the back door barking wildly at a squirrel. This is a normal morning habit for him (either squirrels or cats), but this morning, right after his mighty woof, he jumped slightly and skittered back to his bed in the office. He chattered his teeth, smacked his lips together and threw himself down so he could lick some part of his back end that was clearly in pain.
Only after much investigation did we finally see the dead bee on his bed, the bee he'd apparently carried from the back door to his bed when it had chomped into his back leg for its last torturous sting. Rubin was not pleased. Not only did it clearly hurt, but he had no idea what had happened to him. We called the vet who told us to watch for swelling or any difficulty in breathing. She also told us to apply a cold compress on the bee sting that Rubin surprisingly submitted to once he knew how good it felt.
There is no swelling, but he is still nervous and has yet to walk close to the back door. Needless to say, it threw off the new routine, but I took it all in stride. Again, there are no obligations to the day except for the ones I've put before me. Now that Ann is out the door and Rubin is sleeping soundly in his bed behind my chair, I can begin the routine again under the watchful eye of Saint Lamb.
The first one Trina showed me was a lamb and I fell in love with it instantly. Having once owned sheep, I loved the way she'd captured the eyes and the tuft of hair on the top of the head. My other favorite is the long-haired bull with his flared nostrils and his shaggy mane. The other saints are an iguana (Ann's pick), a penguin, and a piglet. They are nice, but the lamb and the bull are my particular favorites.I'm trying to start a new routine these days. Now that I'm no longer teaching, my schedule is happily much less cluttered and I have days with large chunks of unscheduled time. Today is such a day. I have no where to be and no obligations except for those I've set for myself.
Today's agenda includes writing, reading, and pulling out my master's thesis as instructed by my "life coach" Leah. We met the other day and it was a great meeting. I shared with her all my "ah-has" and she reaffirmed my feelings and my worries. "Now you must begin the task of writing," she said. "You can't let the transition get in the way anymore."
And so I've written out a schedule of my week including the times when I must work and the times when I want to walk the dog, make pasta, and clean the house. Today was my first attempt to follow this new routine, but from the get-go it got a bit muddled.
First, we woke up later than expected. This was intentional, but at the time when I set the alarm I didn't think about the impact on "the schedule." Next, Ann spent her morning gathering together the things she needed for her first day back in the classroom sans kids. She couldn't find things and while she doesn't need me to help her, she does talk about what she needs and I feel compelled to listen and assist. This is not the most conducive atmosphere for writing.
But the biggest interruption was when Rubin ran to the back door barking wildly at a squirrel. This is a normal morning habit for him (either squirrels or cats), but this morning, right after his mighty woof, he jumped slightly and skittered back to his bed in the office. He chattered his teeth, smacked his lips together and threw himself down so he could lick some part of his back end that was clearly in pain.
Only after much investigation did we finally see the dead bee on his bed, the bee he'd apparently carried from the back door to his bed when it had chomped into his back leg for its last torturous sting. Rubin was not pleased. Not only did it clearly hurt, but he had no idea what had happened to him. We called the vet who told us to watch for swelling or any difficulty in breathing. She also told us to apply a cold compress on the bee sting that Rubin surprisingly submitted to once he knew how good it felt.
There is no swelling, but he is still nervous and has yet to walk close to the back door. Needless to say, it threw off the new routine, but I took it all in stride. Again, there are no obligations to the day except for the ones I've put before me. Now that Ann is out the door and Rubin is sleeping soundly in his bed behind my chair, I can begin the routine again under the watchful eye of Saint Lamb.
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Precipitation
I started this blog when we were in the middle of one of the longest rainy periods in Seattle. Today it is raining like that again. While our summer hasn't been too out of ordinary with plenty of warm days followed by some cool ones, today's rain feels like a welcome relief. Wash and rinse cycle for the atmosphere.
The precipitation has made everyone in this house relax. Even Rubin is sacked out on his bed behind my chair. Ann took a nap on the couch while I tried to do the same in the TV room, but I got sucked into a cheesy movie and just laid on the couch drifting in and out, but never really sleeping. Ann is now watching the original Moby Dick movie starring Gregory Peck waiting for the closing ceremonies of the Olympics.
Strange that I'd talk about the weather. It's something you'd expect strangers to talk about, not something I'd write about in my journal, but I like the rain and it feels very much apart of me today.
My new job is going well though I'm not used to standing for 8 hours in a day. Yes, teaching required a lot of standing, but mostly a lot of moving and there were times in the day when I could sit down for a short length of time. No such thing at REI. Well, I get my two 15 minutes breaks and my 30 minute meal time, but the break room is down 5 flights of winding stairs and then back up again so often find myself going up the one flight to the restroom on the top floor of the store. Still, my legs are sore from the multiple climbs in a day that I do make up and down the stairs.
And they are tired from standing.
My feet, too.
I inherited my mother's feet. Not only in length and narrowness, but now in my developing bunion. It popped out just the other day and since then I've been wearing "sturdy" shoes in hopes to avoid anything more debilitating.
This is what getting old consists of these days -- a flu that turned into a sinus infection and now a cough that won't go away, a swollen heal, a protruding bunion, and the inability to sleep in one position for more than an hour, even under the influence of Benadryl or Tylenol PM. You'd think the cooler, wetter weather would negatively influence my aches and pains, but frankly, it feels good, like a salve from the skies.
Plus it gives me permission to not do anything significant today. We walked Rubin to the dog park earlier where he romped in the lake and stole the toys of every other dog there. If it were a playground, he would be considered the bully, snatching away fancier toys than the ones we bring along.
But now we're all moving slowly. Gregory Peck is ordering his crew around, cursing god and the white whale while the rain beats and strums the roof, the gutters, the drain pipes, the leaves of the yellowing maple tree, and resonates inside of me today.
Wash and rinse, wash and rinse, wash and rinse.
The precipitation has made everyone in this house relax. Even Rubin is sacked out on his bed behind my chair. Ann took a nap on the couch while I tried to do the same in the TV room, but I got sucked into a cheesy movie and just laid on the couch drifting in and out, but never really sleeping. Ann is now watching the original Moby Dick movie starring Gregory Peck waiting for the closing ceremonies of the Olympics.
Strange that I'd talk about the weather. It's something you'd expect strangers to talk about, not something I'd write about in my journal, but I like the rain and it feels very much apart of me today.
My new job is going well though I'm not used to standing for 8 hours in a day. Yes, teaching required a lot of standing, but mostly a lot of moving and there were times in the day when I could sit down for a short length of time. No such thing at REI. Well, I get my two 15 minutes breaks and my 30 minute meal time, but the break room is down 5 flights of winding stairs and then back up again so often find myself going up the one flight to the restroom on the top floor of the store. Still, my legs are sore from the multiple climbs in a day that I do make up and down the stairs.
And they are tired from standing.
My feet, too.
I inherited my mother's feet. Not only in length and narrowness, but now in my developing bunion. It popped out just the other day and since then I've been wearing "sturdy" shoes in hopes to avoid anything more debilitating.
This is what getting old consists of these days -- a flu that turned into a sinus infection and now a cough that won't go away, a swollen heal, a protruding bunion, and the inability to sleep in one position for more than an hour, even under the influence of Benadryl or Tylenol PM. You'd think the cooler, wetter weather would negatively influence my aches and pains, but frankly, it feels good, like a salve from the skies.
Plus it gives me permission to not do anything significant today. We walked Rubin to the dog park earlier where he romped in the lake and stole the toys of every other dog there. If it were a playground, he would be considered the bully, snatching away fancier toys than the ones we bring along.
But now we're all moving slowly. Gregory Peck is ordering his crew around, cursing god and the white whale while the rain beats and strums the roof, the gutters, the drain pipes, the leaves of the yellowing maple tree, and resonates inside of me today.
Wash and rinse, wash and rinse, wash and rinse.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Circle of Air
"What makes for a strong beginning?" Ann asked this morning. She's taking a teachers workshop on writing and unlike most teacher workshops this one is actually asking her to do what she must teaching -- writing.
My response: "How would I know?"
It wasn't a snippy response. It wasn't my attempt to be rude or sarcastic or unhelpful. It was honest.
At 49 years of age, I find myself deep in beginnings and as a result, a few endings as well. I thought about just this point yesterday when I put in my first 8 hour shift "on the floor" learning the differences between heart rate monitors and sunglasses along with the customers.
This is a new beginning, but in the grander scheme it is also an end to something other than just teaching. Last week, for instance, I found myself rushing around trying to be wherever I needed to be at work pumped up and ready for action. No one else around me was in such a hurry nor were they nearly as concerned about being perfect. It's not that I'm consciously TRYING to be perfect, but for years now, I've put pressure on myself to work to the highest standard.
This, I suppose is an admirable attribute especially when it comes to teaching, but in the middle of my frenetic gyrations last week, I realized that if I made a mistake (which is really how I see perfection...not making a mistake) the world still rotated on its axis. In teaching this was true as well, though now it feels like there was much more at stake. If a kid couldn't read, it was my job to assess what was going on and seek help for the student as well as inform her parents. If a kid was using drugs, it was my job to take the necessary actions to prevent harm. If a kid struggled with math, again I was the one to recommend a tutor or testing and in that place of authority, I had command of really important stuff, life-saving stuff.
Now, at REI, I might piss off a customer with my lack of knowledge or inability to find something in our stockroom, but it's not by any stretch of the imagination a life or death situation.
This doesn't mean I won't be a diligent worker. This doesn't mean that I won't care about my work. This doesn't mean that I'll take longer breaks or not clock in on time or take advantage of my co-workers or avoid long shifts.
What it does mean is that I can breathe.
I'm not used to breathing. I used to holding the tension and responsibility of my teaching tight at the core of me only playing out the stress of it in my dreams or night sweats. When I realized that my job now was simply a job and not life-saving work, I felt that first deep breath and smiled.
It's going to take practice to make that breathing an everyday, an every moment event, but even yesterday, while I was learning about all the "camping knick knacks" as I called them, I was conscious of my breathing in a way I never could be while teaching.
This then is both my beginning and my ending, a circle of air flowing in and out. I'm not very good at it, I told Ann after I explained to her my realization. She smiled in the way she does right before she's about to make me laugh and said, "Well, that makes for a strong beginning now doesn't it?"
Yes it does. Yes it does.
My response: "How would I know?"
It wasn't a snippy response. It wasn't my attempt to be rude or sarcastic or unhelpful. It was honest.
At 49 years of age, I find myself deep in beginnings and as a result, a few endings as well. I thought about just this point yesterday when I put in my first 8 hour shift "on the floor" learning the differences between heart rate monitors and sunglasses along with the customers.
This is a new beginning, but in the grander scheme it is also an end to something other than just teaching. Last week, for instance, I found myself rushing around trying to be wherever I needed to be at work pumped up and ready for action. No one else around me was in such a hurry nor were they nearly as concerned about being perfect. It's not that I'm consciously TRYING to be perfect, but for years now, I've put pressure on myself to work to the highest standard.
This, I suppose is an admirable attribute especially when it comes to teaching, but in the middle of my frenetic gyrations last week, I realized that if I made a mistake (which is really how I see perfection...not making a mistake) the world still rotated on its axis. In teaching this was true as well, though now it feels like there was much more at stake. If a kid couldn't read, it was my job to assess what was going on and seek help for the student as well as inform her parents. If a kid was using drugs, it was my job to take the necessary actions to prevent harm. If a kid struggled with math, again I was the one to recommend a tutor or testing and in that place of authority, I had command of really important stuff, life-saving stuff.
Now, at REI, I might piss off a customer with my lack of knowledge or inability to find something in our stockroom, but it's not by any stretch of the imagination a life or death situation.
This doesn't mean I won't be a diligent worker. This doesn't mean that I won't care about my work. This doesn't mean that I'll take longer breaks or not clock in on time or take advantage of my co-workers or avoid long shifts.
What it does mean is that I can breathe.
I'm not used to breathing. I used to holding the tension and responsibility of my teaching tight at the core of me only playing out the stress of it in my dreams or night sweats. When I realized that my job now was simply a job and not life-saving work, I felt that first deep breath and smiled.
It's going to take practice to make that breathing an everyday, an every moment event, but even yesterday, while I was learning about all the "camping knick knacks" as I called them, I was conscious of my breathing in a way I never could be while teaching.
This then is both my beginning and my ending, a circle of air flowing in and out. I'm not very good at it, I told Ann after I explained to her my realization. She smiled in the way she does right before she's about to make me laugh and said, "Well, that makes for a strong beginning now doesn't it?"
Yes it does. Yes it does.
Monday, August 18, 2008
Just Being
For years I taught with a man who always rubbed me the wrong way. We rarely interacted, but when we did it was never comfortable or enlightening. I don't want every interaction to be enlightening, but he just seemed so self-centered and manipulative that it was hard to even listen to his tone of voice let alone work with him on a committee.
Everyone else liked him. I'm not sure why. Generally it was women who liked him. They'd fawn over him when he was upset or seek his advice in difficult discussions. An outdoor-kind-of-guy, he wore his Gramicci pants, his latest high-tech wicking t-shirt, a stocking cap, and slippers. Yes, slippers. He'd cycle into work every day and after taking off his cycling shoes, those special numbers with clips on the bottom to hook into his equally special shoes, and put on slippers.
Before teaching, he was a rock climbing instructor and on his days off he climbs or rides competitively in cyclocross races. One day, during a faculty meeting, I watched him navigate the internet on his computer. He was looking at wheels for his bicycle. At the end of the meeting I asked him if he'd found the wheel he was looking for.
"Yes," he said smugly, "but it costs $1000 and this job doesn't pay me enough."
I knew how to joke around with him. I've worked with lots of men and I know how to navigate around their moods and arrogance. I never liked it though. I always felt a bit dishonest. Inside I knew I didn't like these men, but when they pulled one stunt or another, I rarely called them on it. It wasn't ever worth the effort.
How ironic then that I should find myself in my new job supervised by such men. Not all of them are as smug , but my direct supervisor has the same aura as this past teacher-colleague. It's not that he wears slippers or that he has all the women attending to his emotional needs, rather it's this personality of vague superiority that reminds me of my past co-worker.
Unlike my former teaching colleague though, I'm not invested in my supervisor's antics. He's an okay enough guy, but it's odd to be supervised by someone almost half my age who is more concerned about the latest outdoor gadgets than running a meeting smoothly or effectively.
In college I worked in a bike shop. I was surrounded by similar men, though most of my co-workers were really nice men -- gentle, thoughtful, and considerate. Lloyd, the owner of the bike shop, spent time with every employee making sure they understood expectations and providing detailed lessons when he felt they were needed. Through him I learned that, despite my SAT scores, I was very mechanical and spatial.
And there was Dennis, a quiet man who thought nothing of riding to Mt. Rainier and back (over 100 miles) on his day off. Later he'd have a terrible bicycle accident fracturing his skull to the point that he could no longer hear out of one ear and had very limited hearing in the other. Since our ears are our balance systems, his accident prevented him from ever cycling again. Most men would be crushed, but not Dennis. Instead, he worked for Lloyd for years until he became a bicycle salesmen, got married, and now has two great kids.
There was Daniel, the brilliant mechanic, who was truly arrogant and demanding, but if you handled him right, he'd be there for you whenever you needed him.
The other guys, most of whom I don't remember, came and went at the shop. They never lasted more than a month or two and like the former teacher I worked with and my current supervisor, they were more concerned about their own position in the world to be bothered by working on their attributes of kindness and humanity.
I'm learning a lot in this job. There is all the technical stuff -- how to use the cash register, how to "punch in" with an electronic time clock, how to tell the difference between objective lenses and exit pupils -- but I'm also learning a lot about myself.
First, I've learned to let go of irritations like outdoorsy men who see the world built for their adventures. While my supervisor may be annoying, he respects me if only because I am much older and have had, in his mind, a "real" career. He hasn't said this exactly, but the way he behaves around me it's pretty obvious I make him kind of nervous.
Next, I've learned that the rest of the world doesn't work at the pace of a teacher. I thought that teaching was like every other job in the world. To be successful at teaching one had to be organized, creative, and a diligent worker. Doesn't everyone else work like that? Apparently not. While I find myself always asking "what's next?" or checking my watch to see where I need to be and at what time, my co-workers at REI are very laid back. No one rushes. No one worries either about the job they're doing or about what is expected of them next.
While I find this a bit unnerving, I think it is the thing I've wanted for years -- less stress. It makes sense though, doesn't it? Messing up at REI might mean the loss of a sale, but it doesn't mean some 5th grader is going to fail at learning math concepts or writing paragraphs. I might not know how to operate a GPS system, but I know that I'm conscientious and competent, I know I'll be on time for work and work hard when I'm on my shift and that seems to be all that is expected of me.
Which is the last thing I've learned and in a very direct way it's helped me tremendously. I now can sleep through the night. Last night I woke up thinking, "How do I punch in a gift card item on the register?" Then I laughed myself back to sleep realizing that it didn't matter. I didn't need to solve this dilemma nor worry about it because if I didn't remember, I could always ask someone. In teaching, you're sort of an island unto yourself. There are co-workers, but they aren't in your classroom and they aren't responsible for the curriculum behind your door. They have their own worries and I met very few good teachers in my day who didn't have fitful sleep because of the responsibility they carried.
For years my sleep has been interrupted by endless worries that one student or another was failing or that a phone call wasn't made to a parent or an important contact. I flipped and flopped my way through sleep trying to hold all those things I had to remember -- that no one else had to remember about my classroom and students -- in some sort of organized list. I woke up many a-nights in a cold sweat realizing I hadn't completed the district paperwork or reminded my students of an important test.
No wonder my hair is gray.
Even today, a Monday day off, feels a bit luxurious. I have my list of to-dos, but none of them pertain to my job...well, one does, but it's minor. Instead, I can take the dog for a long walk, prepare a meal for my friends who are coming over tonight, take care of some laundry, and even nap on the couch if I so please. There aren't any papers to grade. There aren't any phone calls or emails to make to parents or volunteers. I don't need to plan the minute-to-minute details of the upcoming week in a classroom filled with hormones. I don't dread the amount of energy it will take to make it through a day or a week of teaching.
I can just be. It's a nice feeling. And when I allow myself to feel it, my blood pressure bounces down to that healthy level. Getting used to this kind of pace takes daily practice. I find myself trying to gear up for work, pacing around thinking I should be doing something important when really, there's nothing all that important to attend to, but that which I deem to be important.
For now it's baking some bread, writing a bit, brushing the dog, and perhaps checking out a new CD on iTunes. Then I'll switch out the laundry, make some guacamole for tonight, and fetch Ann from her teaching workshop. Finally, an evening with our dear friends and their energetic daughters, share in some good food and sweet dessert, and then to bed in preparation for a day on the floor with my young supervisor selling sunglasses to the gear-geek who is willing to spend $200 for a specific name-brand.
True, I make a whole lot less money, but I'm finding that sanity and relaxation have a very different price tag.
It's definitely one I can afford.
Everyone else liked him. I'm not sure why. Generally it was women who liked him. They'd fawn over him when he was upset or seek his advice in difficult discussions. An outdoor-kind-of-guy, he wore his Gramicci pants, his latest high-tech wicking t-shirt, a stocking cap, and slippers. Yes, slippers. He'd cycle into work every day and after taking off his cycling shoes, those special numbers with clips on the bottom to hook into his equally special shoes, and put on slippers.
Before teaching, he was a rock climbing instructor and on his days off he climbs or rides competitively in cyclocross races. One day, during a faculty meeting, I watched him navigate the internet on his computer. He was looking at wheels for his bicycle. At the end of the meeting I asked him if he'd found the wheel he was looking for.
"Yes," he said smugly, "but it costs $1000 and this job doesn't pay me enough."
I knew how to joke around with him. I've worked with lots of men and I know how to navigate around their moods and arrogance. I never liked it though. I always felt a bit dishonest. Inside I knew I didn't like these men, but when they pulled one stunt or another, I rarely called them on it. It wasn't ever worth the effort.
How ironic then that I should find myself in my new job supervised by such men. Not all of them are as smug , but my direct supervisor has the same aura as this past teacher-colleague. It's not that he wears slippers or that he has all the women attending to his emotional needs, rather it's this personality of vague superiority that reminds me of my past co-worker.
Unlike my former teaching colleague though, I'm not invested in my supervisor's antics. He's an okay enough guy, but it's odd to be supervised by someone almost half my age who is more concerned about the latest outdoor gadgets than running a meeting smoothly or effectively.
In college I worked in a bike shop. I was surrounded by similar men, though most of my co-workers were really nice men -- gentle, thoughtful, and considerate. Lloyd, the owner of the bike shop, spent time with every employee making sure they understood expectations and providing detailed lessons when he felt they were needed. Through him I learned that, despite my SAT scores, I was very mechanical and spatial.
And there was Dennis, a quiet man who thought nothing of riding to Mt. Rainier and back (over 100 miles) on his day off. Later he'd have a terrible bicycle accident fracturing his skull to the point that he could no longer hear out of one ear and had very limited hearing in the other. Since our ears are our balance systems, his accident prevented him from ever cycling again. Most men would be crushed, but not Dennis. Instead, he worked for Lloyd for years until he became a bicycle salesmen, got married, and now has two great kids.
There was Daniel, the brilliant mechanic, who was truly arrogant and demanding, but if you handled him right, he'd be there for you whenever you needed him.
The other guys, most of whom I don't remember, came and went at the shop. They never lasted more than a month or two and like the former teacher I worked with and my current supervisor, they were more concerned about their own position in the world to be bothered by working on their attributes of kindness and humanity.
I'm learning a lot in this job. There is all the technical stuff -- how to use the cash register, how to "punch in" with an electronic time clock, how to tell the difference between objective lenses and exit pupils -- but I'm also learning a lot about myself.
First, I've learned to let go of irritations like outdoorsy men who see the world built for their adventures. While my supervisor may be annoying, he respects me if only because I am much older and have had, in his mind, a "real" career. He hasn't said this exactly, but the way he behaves around me it's pretty obvious I make him kind of nervous.
Next, I've learned that the rest of the world doesn't work at the pace of a teacher. I thought that teaching was like every other job in the world. To be successful at teaching one had to be organized, creative, and a diligent worker. Doesn't everyone else work like that? Apparently not. While I find myself always asking "what's next?" or checking my watch to see where I need to be and at what time, my co-workers at REI are very laid back. No one rushes. No one worries either about the job they're doing or about what is expected of them next.
While I find this a bit unnerving, I think it is the thing I've wanted for years -- less stress. It makes sense though, doesn't it? Messing up at REI might mean the loss of a sale, but it doesn't mean some 5th grader is going to fail at learning math concepts or writing paragraphs. I might not know how to operate a GPS system, but I know that I'm conscientious and competent, I know I'll be on time for work and work hard when I'm on my shift and that seems to be all that is expected of me.
Which is the last thing I've learned and in a very direct way it's helped me tremendously. I now can sleep through the night. Last night I woke up thinking, "How do I punch in a gift card item on the register?" Then I laughed myself back to sleep realizing that it didn't matter. I didn't need to solve this dilemma nor worry about it because if I didn't remember, I could always ask someone. In teaching, you're sort of an island unto yourself. There are co-workers, but they aren't in your classroom and they aren't responsible for the curriculum behind your door. They have their own worries and I met very few good teachers in my day who didn't have fitful sleep because of the responsibility they carried.
For years my sleep has been interrupted by endless worries that one student or another was failing or that a phone call wasn't made to a parent or an important contact. I flipped and flopped my way through sleep trying to hold all those things I had to remember -- that no one else had to remember about my classroom and students -- in some sort of organized list. I woke up many a-nights in a cold sweat realizing I hadn't completed the district paperwork or reminded my students of an important test.
No wonder my hair is gray.
Even today, a Monday day off, feels a bit luxurious. I have my list of to-dos, but none of them pertain to my job...well, one does, but it's minor. Instead, I can take the dog for a long walk, prepare a meal for my friends who are coming over tonight, take care of some laundry, and even nap on the couch if I so please. There aren't any papers to grade. There aren't any phone calls or emails to make to parents or volunteers. I don't need to plan the minute-to-minute details of the upcoming week in a classroom filled with hormones. I don't dread the amount of energy it will take to make it through a day or a week of teaching.
I can just be. It's a nice feeling. And when I allow myself to feel it, my blood pressure bounces down to that healthy level. Getting used to this kind of pace takes daily practice. I find myself trying to gear up for work, pacing around thinking I should be doing something important when really, there's nothing all that important to attend to, but that which I deem to be important.
For now it's baking some bread, writing a bit, brushing the dog, and perhaps checking out a new CD on iTunes. Then I'll switch out the laundry, make some guacamole for tonight, and fetch Ann from her teaching workshop. Finally, an evening with our dear friends and their energetic daughters, share in some good food and sweet dessert, and then to bed in preparation for a day on the floor with my young supervisor selling sunglasses to the gear-geek who is willing to spend $200 for a specific name-brand.
True, I make a whole lot less money, but I'm finding that sanity and relaxation have a very different price tag.
It's definitely one I can afford.
Saturday, August 16, 2008
On the floor
We are in recovery at this house. Ann is now sick with the bug I've had for over three weeks, though I don't think she'll end up on medication. I broke down and popped the antibiotics yesterday after an early morning shift at work. I was desperate and I needed to try something, anything to feel more myself so in addition to the Neti Pot, a million supplements, any over the counter medication I could think of, and gallons of fluids, I started the course of antibiotics.
I'm not sure which of the many combinations worked, but something is working. I feel better and even now, 15 minutes after getting up this morning I have yet to have a coughing fit. That's big. No, that's huge. Especially after yesterday.
Yesterday I was asked to come in early, earlier than the store actually opens to be trained for my "official" job -- a clerk behind the optics counter. From all my previous general training days -- learning to fit backpacks, understanding the differences in sleeping bags and tents, practicing with the camp stoves -- I've learned that optics is perhaps the toughest job on the floor.
Great.
What makes it tough is that there are a bazillion items in our department. Everything from map sheets to fishing knives to GPS systems to sunglasses to watch batteries to tripods -- it's an endless stream of outdoor knick-knacks. It took Steve, my trainer, over an hour to go through the various GPS systems and another half hour to explain binoculars. While I know how binoculars work, even Steve admits that he only knows what the GPS systems do, not the details of how each one works. Not only do I have to learn about each piece of merchandise in the department, but I have to figure out where it can be found once someone wants to purchase it and the finding can be daunting.
And then there are the endless stream of customers. I got to watch Steve work for an hour and in that hour 11 customers came to the counter some with minor needs -- a battery for a certain watch -- and others with very detailed and specific needs -- one guy wanted a lesson on how to use his GPS (luckily we can't get reception in the department so he was referred to tech help after much discussion) and a woman holding her year old baby wanted to purchase some binoculars, but only after a lengthy discussion about the differences between the 30 kinds displayed.
I am not looking forward to my 8 hour shift on Tuesday. Luckily, someone will be there with me, but this is going to take awhile and I'm certain I'm going to piss off more than one customer with my ineptness.
The early shift was a challenge not only because I was still learning, but also because I was still coughing. I've felt self conscious about it during every training. The trainer will be with us out on the floor showing us how to use the torso measurer for backpacks and I'll start coughing. I 'd popped a bag of cough drops into my mouth like a chain-smoker of lozenges, but to no avail. Other times I'd have to remove myself from the training and just find a corner where I could hack away and make a hurried attempt to catch my breath.
Yesterday morning, right before the store opened, everyone on the floor met in a "morning huddle" to hear from the store manager about all sorts of store details. As she gave her speech, I felt a ripple at the back of my throat, like feathers and gravel, and I knew I was about to cough uncontrollably. I held it long enough to worm my way around displays and hide behind a wall of cash registers, but that didn't mean people didn't hear me. In fact, in the middle of my attack, 3 separate people came over to see if I needed help (3 women...never men...why is that?). Some offered me water, some offered to pat my back, some just stood next to me looking worried.
I could not talk. I could only cough and at one point, I coughed so hard I thought for sure I was going to vomit. This lasted for a good 5 minutes followed by another 10 minutes of sporadic coughing. By this time I found a bench at the back of the store and sat myself down practicing any meditation tools I could think of to get a grip. By the time the morning huddle was complete, my coughing fit was done though I was worn out beyond belief.
And I still had an hour left on the floor.
When I got home I took one of the large pills the doctor had prescribed and gave in to the fact that perhaps antibiotics were the only thing that would touch whatever was wrecking havoc in my sinuses. I slept on the couch for two hours, my cheeks flushing as the temperature of the day pushed 90 degrees. I watched Olympic coverage and woke up to Days of Our Lives.
And when I woke, I felt amazingly better. Not 100%, but better. I was not dying. By the time evening rolled around, I had had minimal coughing fits and I could actually hear out of both of my ears. My head didn't feel as clogged and the waterfall of slime that had cascaded down the back of my throat was merely a trickle.
I took another dose of antibiotics before I went to bed.
I slept well though the heat made it difficult to fall asleep. Still there is improvement and there is something to be said about improvement.
I'm not sure which of the many combinations worked, but something is working. I feel better and even now, 15 minutes after getting up this morning I have yet to have a coughing fit. That's big. No, that's huge. Especially after yesterday.
Yesterday I was asked to come in early, earlier than the store actually opens to be trained for my "official" job -- a clerk behind the optics counter. From all my previous general training days -- learning to fit backpacks, understanding the differences in sleeping bags and tents, practicing with the camp stoves -- I've learned that optics is perhaps the toughest job on the floor.
Great.
What makes it tough is that there are a bazillion items in our department. Everything from map sheets to fishing knives to GPS systems to sunglasses to watch batteries to tripods -- it's an endless stream of outdoor knick-knacks. It took Steve, my trainer, over an hour to go through the various GPS systems and another half hour to explain binoculars. While I know how binoculars work, even Steve admits that he only knows what the GPS systems do, not the details of how each one works. Not only do I have to learn about each piece of merchandise in the department, but I have to figure out where it can be found once someone wants to purchase it and the finding can be daunting.
And then there are the endless stream of customers. I got to watch Steve work for an hour and in that hour 11 customers came to the counter some with minor needs -- a battery for a certain watch -- and others with very detailed and specific needs -- one guy wanted a lesson on how to use his GPS (luckily we can't get reception in the department so he was referred to tech help after much discussion) and a woman holding her year old baby wanted to purchase some binoculars, but only after a lengthy discussion about the differences between the 30 kinds displayed.
I am not looking forward to my 8 hour shift on Tuesday. Luckily, someone will be there with me, but this is going to take awhile and I'm certain I'm going to piss off more than one customer with my ineptness.
The early shift was a challenge not only because I was still learning, but also because I was still coughing. I've felt self conscious about it during every training. The trainer will be with us out on the floor showing us how to use the torso measurer for backpacks and I'll start coughing. I 'd popped a bag of cough drops into my mouth like a chain-smoker of lozenges, but to no avail. Other times I'd have to remove myself from the training and just find a corner where I could hack away and make a hurried attempt to catch my breath.
Yesterday morning, right before the store opened, everyone on the floor met in a "morning huddle" to hear from the store manager about all sorts of store details. As she gave her speech, I felt a ripple at the back of my throat, like feathers and gravel, and I knew I was about to cough uncontrollably. I held it long enough to worm my way around displays and hide behind a wall of cash registers, but that didn't mean people didn't hear me. In fact, in the middle of my attack, 3 separate people came over to see if I needed help (3 women...never men...why is that?). Some offered me water, some offered to pat my back, some just stood next to me looking worried.
I could not talk. I could only cough and at one point, I coughed so hard I thought for sure I was going to vomit. This lasted for a good 5 minutes followed by another 10 minutes of sporadic coughing. By this time I found a bench at the back of the store and sat myself down practicing any meditation tools I could think of to get a grip. By the time the morning huddle was complete, my coughing fit was done though I was worn out beyond belief.
And I still had an hour left on the floor.
When I got home I took one of the large pills the doctor had prescribed and gave in to the fact that perhaps antibiotics were the only thing that would touch whatever was wrecking havoc in my sinuses. I slept on the couch for two hours, my cheeks flushing as the temperature of the day pushed 90 degrees. I watched Olympic coverage and woke up to Days of Our Lives.
And when I woke, I felt amazingly better. Not 100%, but better. I was not dying. By the time evening rolled around, I had had minimal coughing fits and I could actually hear out of both of my ears. My head didn't feel as clogged and the waterfall of slime that had cascaded down the back of my throat was merely a trickle.
I took another dose of antibiotics before I went to bed.
I slept well though the heat made it difficult to fall asleep. Still there is improvement and there is something to be said about improvement.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Changes
Learning to take care of myself has always been a challenge. After three weeks of being sick, and the past two days of really doing NOTHING, I decided I needed a change in my life...or the life that I post here, on this blog.
So, I messed around with the colors, slapped on a very old photo from my summer teaching gig in Alaska, and worked with the font, though in the end I left it as it is.
Boring? That's how it feels here in the house of the recovering. I am still coughing, though not nearly as much as yesterday. The Neti Pot is working albeit slowly. I searched for advice on the internet and was informed that I can Neti as many times during the day as I'd like though 2 times a day is recommended. So, I'm thinking of washing my sinuses clean again this afternoon in hopes that it clears this junk out and stops dripping down my throat.
Ann, on the other hand, just returned from her "surgery" at the dentist where they cut away some of her overhanging gum in the very back of her upper teeth. It's all done with lasers and while she's not in pain now, the dentist assures her the pain will come. So it's a diet of smoothies and applesauce for her, which is probably something I should do as well in an attempt to soothe my rough and worn throat.
And then there's Monty who we whisked away to the ER last night after his stomach bloated to the size of a basketball. I stayed back while Ann and Monty's mom, Colleen, made the trip to the Animal ER. All is well, but it was a scare as poodles are known to bloat and once the gut twists, if it twists, it can be a very quick descent. Luckily, all is well. The doctor gave him some medicine to induce vomiting and then some medicine to make him feel better. We walked him this morning and he was still pretty woozy and we're about to check on him again, so hopefully he's a little less wobbly and a bit more of himself.
Meanwhile, Rubin thinks we are boring, boring, boring and I have to agree. Taking care of yourself by doing NOTHING is very boring, but hopefully tomorrow, we'll all feel better.
And I work again tomorrow. Hopefully this time I won't cough through the whole thing like I did last time. My co-workers probably think I have TB or something...I could visually watch them move away from me every time I hacked out a cough.
I had an ah-ha, though, today. This time of year (for the past 22 years) has always been a time when I've had to gear myself up for long hours and focused work preparing for the upcoming school year. Now I don't have to, but I still feel myself wanting to gear up my energy for something exhausting. I walk into work all gung-ho and ready to exert as much energy as I do when preparing for a school year. Today it hit me that I don't need to push that hard EVER AGAIN! I only have to work 3 days a week and if I choose to work more, I can. I don't have to hold a bazillion things in my head --well, I have to keep track of 17 different kinds of water filters, and 74 different kinds of sleeping bags, and 12 different kinds of camp stoves and on and on -- but none of that requires the same kind of energy I've had to have for the past 22 years.
So whew...glad I figured that out! It actually made me feel a bit healthier just to realize it. Of course, then I coughed immediately after it, but at least the coughing didn't last for 10 minutes.
Off to Neti...
So, I messed around with the colors, slapped on a very old photo from my summer teaching gig in Alaska, and worked with the font, though in the end I left it as it is.
Boring? That's how it feels here in the house of the recovering. I am still coughing, though not nearly as much as yesterday. The Neti Pot is working albeit slowly. I searched for advice on the internet and was informed that I can Neti as many times during the day as I'd like though 2 times a day is recommended. So, I'm thinking of washing my sinuses clean again this afternoon in hopes that it clears this junk out and stops dripping down my throat.
Ann, on the other hand, just returned from her "surgery" at the dentist where they cut away some of her overhanging gum in the very back of her upper teeth. It's all done with lasers and while she's not in pain now, the dentist assures her the pain will come. So it's a diet of smoothies and applesauce for her, which is probably something I should do as well in an attempt to soothe my rough and worn throat.
And then there's Monty who we whisked away to the ER last night after his stomach bloated to the size of a basketball. I stayed back while Ann and Monty's mom, Colleen, made the trip to the Animal ER. All is well, but it was a scare as poodles are known to bloat and once the gut twists, if it twists, it can be a very quick descent. Luckily, all is well. The doctor gave him some medicine to induce vomiting and then some medicine to make him feel better. We walked him this morning and he was still pretty woozy and we're about to check on him again, so hopefully he's a little less wobbly and a bit more of himself.
Meanwhile, Rubin thinks we are boring, boring, boring and I have to agree. Taking care of yourself by doing NOTHING is very boring, but hopefully tomorrow, we'll all feel better.
And I work again tomorrow. Hopefully this time I won't cough through the whole thing like I did last time. My co-workers probably think I have TB or something...I could visually watch them move away from me every time I hacked out a cough.
I had an ah-ha, though, today. This time of year (for the past 22 years) has always been a time when I've had to gear myself up for long hours and focused work preparing for the upcoming school year. Now I don't have to, but I still feel myself wanting to gear up my energy for something exhausting. I walk into work all gung-ho and ready to exert as much energy as I do when preparing for a school year. Today it hit me that I don't need to push that hard EVER AGAIN! I only have to work 3 days a week and if I choose to work more, I can. I don't have to hold a bazillion things in my head --well, I have to keep track of 17 different kinds of water filters, and 74 different kinds of sleeping bags, and 12 different kinds of camp stoves and on and on -- but none of that requires the same kind of energy I've had to have for the past 22 years.
So whew...glad I figured that out! It actually made me feel a bit healthier just to realize it. Of course, then I coughed immediately after it, but at least the coughing didn't last for 10 minutes.
Off to Neti...
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Me and Neti
I have been sick (again) for about 3 weeks. I went to the doctor today who diagnosed clear lungs, clear ears, and a lot of "post nasal drip." Duh. This is why I'm coughing, I suppose and this is why I have trouble sleeping at night. This is perhaps why I am exhausted.
The doctor prescribed two courses of action -- a prescription for antibiotics BUT ONLY AFTER I clear my passage ways with Afrin and the Neti Pot treatment for three days. If that doesn't work, then use the prescription.
My brother gave me a Neti Pot last Christmas as a way of helping with my allergies. I have been afraid to use it until recently and then, once I mustered up the courage, was frustrated that NOTHING came from it. When I mean nothing, I mean nothing flowed out. Instead, the saline solution that conveniently comes with the Neti (slang for Neti Pot), backed up in my nostrils and felt similar to those times when I've gotten salt water up my nose while swimming in the Sound.
Yuck.
"I've tried the Neti," I told the doctor, "But nothing comes out."
"Nothing?" She seemed surprised by that then told me to try Afrin nasal spray first. "Be careful, though," she advised. "Don't use it for more than three days. It's a saint and a demon."
Turns out, she'd never prescribed both together before. Her hope is that the Afrin will clear the way for the Neti and frequent saline flushing will clear up my apparently clogged sinuses.
Too much information?
Yes, it is what I thought as well and is precisely why I've struggled using the Neti Pot in the first place.
"God," said my neighbor, "It's one of the greatest feelings in the world when you get the flow going!" She uses the Neti on a daily basis. "The flush is amazing!"
I can think of things that feel much better, can't you?
So this morning, after seeing the doctor and paying for the Afrin, I headed up to the bathroom, squirted my nose with the WOW of the Afrin and then prepared to flush my sinuses with the Neti Pot.
At first, I gagged. The saline solution went straight down my throat and never made it to my sinuses. I tilted my head and what do you know, a small stream at first and then, whoosh a steady flow.
Did it feel wonderful? No, not in the least, but I did feel successful in that I finally got the water to flow, trying NOT to picture exactly what it was flowing through or around. Do I feel better? At first, no, but now I'm a bit less congested though still incredibly tired and worn out.
I've tried napping, but am still coughing from the drip drip drip of my nasal congestion. And the neighbors next door are working on their deck, the contractors are pounding away on the house behind us, and now Ann has filled the kid's pool with water and Rubin and his friend Monty are racing and chasing and barking in the backyard.
Another treatment tonight might be just the thing, but I have contemplated getting the antibiotics and using them as well. "Research has shown that Neti Pots work better on sinus infections than antibiotics," the doctor told me, but I am so in search of instant relief I'm willing to try them both.
"Be patient," Ann tells me, "Just relax." But relaxing is not my specialty. I like to feel 100% and right now I'm creeping up to 50%. Thank god the Olympics are on. At least I'm not forced to watch soap operas and endless episodes of Top Chef or Law and Order. And thankfully I don't work until Thursday afternoon. I hope I feel better by then.
For now I'll go watch the crazy dogs at poolside. A little laughter may be just the ticket. That and lots more water (I've had at least a gallon so far) and more flushing for me and Neti.
The doctor prescribed two courses of action -- a prescription for antibiotics BUT ONLY AFTER I clear my passage ways with Afrin and the Neti Pot treatment for three days. If that doesn't work, then use the prescription.
My brother gave me a Neti Pot last Christmas as a way of helping with my allergies. I have been afraid to use it until recently and then, once I mustered up the courage, was frustrated that NOTHING came from it. When I mean nothing, I mean nothing flowed out. Instead, the saline solution that conveniently comes with the Neti (slang for Neti Pot), backed up in my nostrils and felt similar to those times when I've gotten salt water up my nose while swimming in the Sound.
Yuck.
"I've tried the Neti," I told the doctor, "But nothing comes out."
"Nothing?" She seemed surprised by that then told me to try Afrin nasal spray first. "Be careful, though," she advised. "Don't use it for more than three days. It's a saint and a demon."
Turns out, she'd never prescribed both together before. Her hope is that the Afrin will clear the way for the Neti and frequent saline flushing will clear up my apparently clogged sinuses.
Too much information?
Yes, it is what I thought as well and is precisely why I've struggled using the Neti Pot in the first place.
"God," said my neighbor, "It's one of the greatest feelings in the world when you get the flow going!" She uses the Neti on a daily basis. "The flush is amazing!"
I can think of things that feel much better, can't you?
So this morning, after seeing the doctor and paying for the Afrin, I headed up to the bathroom, squirted my nose with the WOW of the Afrin and then prepared to flush my sinuses with the Neti Pot.
At first, I gagged. The saline solution went straight down my throat and never made it to my sinuses. I tilted my head and what do you know, a small stream at first and then, whoosh a steady flow.
Did it feel wonderful? No, not in the least, but I did feel successful in that I finally got the water to flow, trying NOT to picture exactly what it was flowing through or around. Do I feel better? At first, no, but now I'm a bit less congested though still incredibly tired and worn out.
I've tried napping, but am still coughing from the drip drip drip of my nasal congestion. And the neighbors next door are working on their deck, the contractors are pounding away on the house behind us, and now Ann has filled the kid's pool with water and Rubin and his friend Monty are racing and chasing and barking in the backyard.
Another treatment tonight might be just the thing, but I have contemplated getting the antibiotics and using them as well. "Research has shown that Neti Pots work better on sinus infections than antibiotics," the doctor told me, but I am so in search of instant relief I'm willing to try them both.
"Be patient," Ann tells me, "Just relax." But relaxing is not my specialty. I like to feel 100% and right now I'm creeping up to 50%. Thank god the Olympics are on. At least I'm not forced to watch soap operas and endless episodes of Top Chef or Law and Order. And thankfully I don't work until Thursday afternoon. I hope I feel better by then.
For now I'll go watch the crazy dogs at poolside. A little laughter may be just the ticket. That and lots more water (I've had at least a gallon so far) and more flushing for me and Neti.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Today
I slept last night. Thank you, Rubin. He slept as well. Right next to me, stretched out the full length of my body. With Ann away this week, he's taken over for her and last night it was particularly comforting as I'm still trying to kick this nasty bug that has invaded my body again. He was hesitant to nuzzle up to me at first. Getting close meant he had to smell the Vick's Vapor Rub lathered on my chest and lingering on my fingers (hard to wash off), but once he figured he could put his head toward the foot of the bed and his back legs on the pillow, he was set.
I put in my first shift at REI, though I did not work with any customers. Instead, we were "trained" though as a "former" teacher, there wasn't much training that occurred. Rather, we listened to the store manager go through the key policies, values, and benefits that we'd been asked (and paid) to read in our Employee's Handbook. I was thankful to just be sitting and listening yesterday as this bug has zapped me of my spunky (ha!) energy.
It's hard, though, to shake the teacher in me. After the four hour session, I thought to myself, "If you stop repeating yourself, that training could take 2 hours." Oh well, at least I'm getting paid for it, which is the biggest difference between working in retail and working in education. As a teacher you're "expected" to do a lot of work without any rewards or benefits. Granted, you're on a salary, but still, the job description seems incredibly all-encompassing and generally means anything that needs to get done, you, as a teacher, are expected to do.
In retail, well in my limited experience, your job description is specific and detailed. If you are asked to work a 5 hour shift, you are asked to log in your overtime work so you can get paid. If you are asked to read a handbook, you are paid for reading the handbook. If you are asked to take on a new job, you're trained and that extra training job is paid for.
I could grow to like this.
Of course, minimum wage can't touch my previous teaching salary and perhaps that's the reason they can bleed more work out of you in education. For now, it doesn't matter. I like the clean lines of my job and the extra measures my managers take to make certain my job doesn't ooze over into areas where it doesn't belong.
Meanwhile, I feel left with a dilemma. I am struggling with how to settle into three jobs -- REI, dog-training, and writing. When I initially made this leap away from education, the goal was to make head space, creative space, and time for writing. I have it now and while I struggle with exactly what to do with it (a whole other topic), I'm feeling pulled by two "jobs" outside of the writing.
My retail job pays me and therefore I feel a bit more committed to it. Dog training is simply voluntary and while I love dogs and love the idea of working with them, there is so much to learn and so many hours to put in with a variety of dogs before I can actually make money as a trainer. I'm beginning to wonder if it's worth it to me. I'm beginning to wonder if this is where I want to put my limited energy.
This is what Leah was talking about, I think, when she said I need to practice being a flake. It was her humorous way of saying I needed to decide where I wanted to put my energy to benefit my writing. To choose a paying job over an apprentice job is an appropriate choice, but it will require backing out of the dog training job and that's the tough part for me. I don't want people to think I'm a "flake," that I'm not a committed and competent employee. In other words, I don't want the dog trainers with whom I've be working with to think less of me, to think me a flake. Leah's point is that that is MY issue, not theirs. They'd rather that I be honest than commit to something that I cannot completely commit to.
Yesterday, while listening to the store manager, I realized that REI is a good choice for retirement. It's clear they support their committed employees, but it was also clear (as stated in their Six Core values) that balancing one's life between work and real life is important to them. I quit teaching to find that balance and in the process, filled my plate with more than perhaps I could handle.
Is that why I'm still sick with this never-ending cold? Is that why I might have bronchitis?
The lessons never stop, do they?
Ann comes home this evening. I am glad. Rubin will be thrilled. He's tired of me and frankly, I'm a bit tired of him. We need some variety in our lives and Ann is just the ticket.
So today I shall clean the house, shop for some groceries, and change the sheets on the bed. Today I shall move slowly and take a nap and drink lots and lots of fluids in an attempt to break up this congestion. Today I shall live in today.
I put in my first shift at REI, though I did not work with any customers. Instead, we were "trained" though as a "former" teacher, there wasn't much training that occurred. Rather, we listened to the store manager go through the key policies, values, and benefits that we'd been asked (and paid) to read in our Employee's Handbook. I was thankful to just be sitting and listening yesterday as this bug has zapped me of my spunky (ha!) energy.
It's hard, though, to shake the teacher in me. After the four hour session, I thought to myself, "If you stop repeating yourself, that training could take 2 hours." Oh well, at least I'm getting paid for it, which is the biggest difference between working in retail and working in education. As a teacher you're "expected" to do a lot of work without any rewards or benefits. Granted, you're on a salary, but still, the job description seems incredibly all-encompassing and generally means anything that needs to get done, you, as a teacher, are expected to do.
In retail, well in my limited experience, your job description is specific and detailed. If you are asked to work a 5 hour shift, you are asked to log in your overtime work so you can get paid. If you are asked to read a handbook, you are paid for reading the handbook. If you are asked to take on a new job, you're trained and that extra training job is paid for.
I could grow to like this.
Of course, minimum wage can't touch my previous teaching salary and perhaps that's the reason they can bleed more work out of you in education. For now, it doesn't matter. I like the clean lines of my job and the extra measures my managers take to make certain my job doesn't ooze over into areas where it doesn't belong.
Meanwhile, I feel left with a dilemma. I am struggling with how to settle into three jobs -- REI, dog-training, and writing. When I initially made this leap away from education, the goal was to make head space, creative space, and time for writing. I have it now and while I struggle with exactly what to do with it (a whole other topic), I'm feeling pulled by two "jobs" outside of the writing.
My retail job pays me and therefore I feel a bit more committed to it. Dog training is simply voluntary and while I love dogs and love the idea of working with them, there is so much to learn and so many hours to put in with a variety of dogs before I can actually make money as a trainer. I'm beginning to wonder if it's worth it to me. I'm beginning to wonder if this is where I want to put my limited energy.
This is what Leah was talking about, I think, when she said I need to practice being a flake. It was her humorous way of saying I needed to decide where I wanted to put my energy to benefit my writing. To choose a paying job over an apprentice job is an appropriate choice, but it will require backing out of the dog training job and that's the tough part for me. I don't want people to think I'm a "flake," that I'm not a committed and competent employee. In other words, I don't want the dog trainers with whom I've be working with to think less of me, to think me a flake. Leah's point is that that is MY issue, not theirs. They'd rather that I be honest than commit to something that I cannot completely commit to.
Yesterday, while listening to the store manager, I realized that REI is a good choice for retirement. It's clear they support their committed employees, but it was also clear (as stated in their Six Core values) that balancing one's life between work and real life is important to them. I quit teaching to find that balance and in the process, filled my plate with more than perhaps I could handle.
Is that why I'm still sick with this never-ending cold? Is that why I might have bronchitis?
The lessons never stop, do they?
Ann comes home this evening. I am glad. Rubin will be thrilled. He's tired of me and frankly, I'm a bit tired of him. We need some variety in our lives and Ann is just the ticket.
So today I shall clean the house, shop for some groceries, and change the sheets on the bed. Today I shall move slowly and take a nap and drink lots and lots of fluids in an attempt to break up this congestion. Today I shall live in today.
Saturday, August 09, 2008
The Mind of a Dog
Rubin was tired last night. We'd played a rousing game of fetch and he got chased by Decoy, the large and young yellow lab puppy at the park. Rubin LOVES to be chased so by the time we got home, he was pretty exhausted. We headed up to bed, I smeared Vick's Vapor Rub on my chest, downed some cough syrup AND a Tylenol PM and prepared for a long, relaxing night of sleep.
At midnight Rubin woke up and needed to go out. Okay, that made sense as he hadn't done all of his business before he went to bed. Out we went and all of the sudden, Mr. Sleepy became Mr. Spunky and he would NOT, for the life of me, come back in the house. He wanted to play chase again only this time he wanted ME to chase HIM.
Drugged and still sick, I was NOT in the mood. (This is a post that REQUIRES many words in all capital letters.) In fact, I was PISSED. It was midnight. I was tired. I was feeling an urgent need to sleep well as I hadn't for the past few nights. I've been re-fighting a cold and feeling as if the cold was moving into something a bit more serious -- like bronchitis and I DID NOT want bronchitis. And there he was, bouncing around the backyard, barking at me.
I tried everything. I came into the house and sat in the living room waiting for him to follow. He did, but then, when I got up to close the back door, he raced out the door, bounded off the deck and barked some more. I followed him around the yard TRYING to herd him back into the house, but he has the "loop" down and knows how to avoid me and my outstretched arms.
This was a dog who was exhausted at 10, so exhausted, he barely made it upstairs to the bedroom and flopped onto his bed at the foot of ours. Two hours later, he was possessed -- a young and wild puppy again who wanted only to play keep away.
My next attempt was to go back to bed. I left the back door open and just hoped it neither got too cold nor too inviting for local criminals. I tried to sleep, but I couldn't ignore the quietly growling dog at the end of the bed. He sat there, like a statue and softly whispered a groan again and again as if to say, "Hey, we're not done playing yet!"
So I got up and he raced down the stairs and leapt off the back deck ready for me to follow.
"What would the Dog Whisperer do?" I thought in my sleepy, drugged stupor.
I grabbed the various pieces of deck furniture and blockaded the brat into the corner of the yard. As he always does when he knows he's caught, he came right to me, his head bowed and his tail down. "Damn," I heard him mumble under his panting breath.
After closing the back door, we headed back up to bed. I was still steamy and he knew it. He went straight to his bed, flopped down, sighed that impatient sigh of his, and didn't even ask to come up on the bed with me. He knew better.
This morning, I could smell the rain through the open windows. Rubin was still on his bed and with one work, "Okay" he knew he was absolved of his sins and allowed up on the bed. We cuddled for awhile and I asked in vain, "What's going on in that mind of yours?" He just sighed, licked his lips, and nuzzled under my arm with a breathy snort and a gentle thumping of his skinny, flaring tail.
I go to my first day of work at noon. I have a few chores to take care of before I hop on my bike and pedal to work in the rain. One includes a long, exhausting walk with the dog currently snoring under my desk. He's tired this morning. No doubt. He's not as young as he used to be though sometimes, around midnight it appears, he fancies himself a cute, tiny puppy who has not yet learned to listen to his mother.
At midnight Rubin woke up and needed to go out. Okay, that made sense as he hadn't done all of his business before he went to bed. Out we went and all of the sudden, Mr. Sleepy became Mr. Spunky and he would NOT, for the life of me, come back in the house. He wanted to play chase again only this time he wanted ME to chase HIM.
Drugged and still sick, I was NOT in the mood. (This is a post that REQUIRES many words in all capital letters.) In fact, I was PISSED. It was midnight. I was tired. I was feeling an urgent need to sleep well as I hadn't for the past few nights. I've been re-fighting a cold and feeling as if the cold was moving into something a bit more serious -- like bronchitis and I DID NOT want bronchitis. And there he was, bouncing around the backyard, barking at me.
I tried everything. I came into the house and sat in the living room waiting for him to follow. He did, but then, when I got up to close the back door, he raced out the door, bounded off the deck and barked some more. I followed him around the yard TRYING to herd him back into the house, but he has the "loop" down and knows how to avoid me and my outstretched arms.
This was a dog who was exhausted at 10, so exhausted, he barely made it upstairs to the bedroom and flopped onto his bed at the foot of ours. Two hours later, he was possessed -- a young and wild puppy again who wanted only to play keep away.
My next attempt was to go back to bed. I left the back door open and just hoped it neither got too cold nor too inviting for local criminals. I tried to sleep, but I couldn't ignore the quietly growling dog at the end of the bed. He sat there, like a statue and softly whispered a groan again and again as if to say, "Hey, we're not done playing yet!"
So I got up and he raced down the stairs and leapt off the back deck ready for me to follow.
"What would the Dog Whisperer do?" I thought in my sleepy, drugged stupor.
I grabbed the various pieces of deck furniture and blockaded the brat into the corner of the yard. As he always does when he knows he's caught, he came right to me, his head bowed and his tail down. "Damn," I heard him mumble under his panting breath.
After closing the back door, we headed back up to bed. I was still steamy and he knew it. He went straight to his bed, flopped down, sighed that impatient sigh of his, and didn't even ask to come up on the bed with me. He knew better.
This morning, I could smell the rain through the open windows. Rubin was still on his bed and with one work, "Okay" he knew he was absolved of his sins and allowed up on the bed. We cuddled for awhile and I asked in vain, "What's going on in that mind of yours?" He just sighed, licked his lips, and nuzzled under my arm with a breathy snort and a gentle thumping of his skinny, flaring tail.
I go to my first day of work at noon. I have a few chores to take care of before I hop on my bike and pedal to work in the rain. One includes a long, exhausting walk with the dog currently snoring under my desk. He's tired this morning. No doubt. He's not as young as he used to be though sometimes, around midnight it appears, he fancies himself a cute, tiny puppy who has not yet learned to listen to his mother.
Thursday, August 07, 2008
Ahhhhhh!
I woke to a breeze this morning, a breeze not generated by a fan. The skies are gray though the weather report predicts sunnier skies this afternoon. I'll take what I can get.
I have decided the blueberry is Fruit of the Gods. Simple but potent, a perfect blueberry can make my day, though I eat a handful at a time not one at a time. I bought some the other day. Organic. They are large and juicy and even when buried in my cinnamon/nutmeg/brown sugar/apple oatmeal, they dominate.
I am a happy girl.
This despite the fact that I slept like shit. Muggy, hot and sweaty it didn't help that I coughed for an hour before downing a slug of cough syrup. My cold is rattling around awhile longer, but I refuse to let it roll itself into bronchitis. I am forcing myself to have a productive cough, which is exhausting. Rubin looked annoyingly at me from his stretched out perch on Ann's side of the bed (she'll be home Sunday evening and won't Mr. Dog be bent out of joint when he must give up his favorite new spot).
But today is a busy day. Well, it's a busy afternoon and evening so I must get to my chores, fit in a nap, and conserve my energy for the long haul planned later on.
I'm practicing being nice to myself. It's hard. It takes effort. I had a list of 20 "must-dos" yesterday and still have 4 of them staring at me this morning. I'm trying to focus on the 16 I got done and not the 4 that still await, but I am not so good at complimenting myself. The items left on the list feel more important and urgent than the ones I completed yesterday which begs to question, why didn't I do them first?
And there you have it...my ability to punish myself in the midst of blueberries.
One of the leftover items is to read the REI employee "Base Camp" packet. I think about all those assignments and letters to parents I've written over the past 22 years knowing how few of them were ever read or read with any thoroughness. I feel obliged to read this new employee information in the most exacting way if only to honor those who toiled over the words, words like "You Trail Starts Here" and "Your dedication is appreciated."
I can already see the shift from an education environment to a retail environment. Hell, I get paid time and a half for holiday or overtime work. Granted the time and a half doesn't even come close the "hourly" wage I made as a teacher, but at least it's acknowledged that I did more than what was expected.
I can also win awards and not awards I've had to apply for myself. Ironically, this is how it was in teaching. I was once nominated for Teacher of the Year by a family of one of my students. Honored by the support, I was immediately overwhelmed with mounds of paperwork that I had to complete as well as recommendations I had to enlist and essays I had to write. Now, whenever I see a teacher holding an award in their hands, I know they earned it not by their teaching expertise, but by there industrious perseverance to promote themselves.
According to the REI Employee Handbook, I can get an award for "embodying the values and spirit of REI" and these rewards are not just monetary, but include kayaking trips, promotional gear, and time off. Nice.
My brother wrote me an email last night sending his (and his wife's) enthusiastic encouragement. In a series of exchanges I wrote to him that I have to remind myself that even the worst customer can't hold a candle to my worst students. He begged to differ, but then I told him that even if it was bad, at least I didn't have to come home and call the customer's parents in the evening!
Then my friend Jeanne called. I told her of my email exchanges with my brother and she laughed. "Did I ever tell you what Lisa did?" Jeanne asked referring to her partner.
"No, what did she do?"
"A guy at Home Depot came onto her and she got home and called his wife to let her know!"
Of course, Lisa is also an educator so perhaps it will take me awhile to shake the "communication" habits.
Okay, the day is slowly (thankfully slowly) getting warmer so I should grab the dog, the leash, and my walking shoes and head out the door for a long morning walk before I sit down to thoroughly read this handbook.
I have decided the blueberry is Fruit of the Gods. Simple but potent, a perfect blueberry can make my day, though I eat a handful at a time not one at a time. I bought some the other day. Organic. They are large and juicy and even when buried in my cinnamon/nutmeg/brown sugar/apple oatmeal, they dominate.
I am a happy girl.
This despite the fact that I slept like shit. Muggy, hot and sweaty it didn't help that I coughed for an hour before downing a slug of cough syrup. My cold is rattling around awhile longer, but I refuse to let it roll itself into bronchitis. I am forcing myself to have a productive cough, which is exhausting. Rubin looked annoyingly at me from his stretched out perch on Ann's side of the bed (she'll be home Sunday evening and won't Mr. Dog be bent out of joint when he must give up his favorite new spot).
But today is a busy day. Well, it's a busy afternoon and evening so I must get to my chores, fit in a nap, and conserve my energy for the long haul planned later on.
I'm practicing being nice to myself. It's hard. It takes effort. I had a list of 20 "must-dos" yesterday and still have 4 of them staring at me this morning. I'm trying to focus on the 16 I got done and not the 4 that still await, but I am not so good at complimenting myself. The items left on the list feel more important and urgent than the ones I completed yesterday which begs to question, why didn't I do them first?
And there you have it...my ability to punish myself in the midst of blueberries.
One of the leftover items is to read the REI employee "Base Camp" packet. I think about all those assignments and letters to parents I've written over the past 22 years knowing how few of them were ever read or read with any thoroughness. I feel obliged to read this new employee information in the most exacting way if only to honor those who toiled over the words, words like "You Trail Starts Here" and "Your dedication is appreciated."
I can already see the shift from an education environment to a retail environment. Hell, I get paid time and a half for holiday or overtime work. Granted the time and a half doesn't even come close the "hourly" wage I made as a teacher, but at least it's acknowledged that I did more than what was expected.
I can also win awards and not awards I've had to apply for myself. Ironically, this is how it was in teaching. I was once nominated for Teacher of the Year by a family of one of my students. Honored by the support, I was immediately overwhelmed with mounds of paperwork that I had to complete as well as recommendations I had to enlist and essays I had to write. Now, whenever I see a teacher holding an award in their hands, I know they earned it not by their teaching expertise, but by there industrious perseverance to promote themselves.
According to the REI Employee Handbook, I can get an award for "embodying the values and spirit of REI" and these rewards are not just monetary, but include kayaking trips, promotional gear, and time off. Nice.
My brother wrote me an email last night sending his (and his wife's) enthusiastic encouragement. In a series of exchanges I wrote to him that I have to remind myself that even the worst customer can't hold a candle to my worst students. He begged to differ, but then I told him that even if it was bad, at least I didn't have to come home and call the customer's parents in the evening!
Then my friend Jeanne called. I told her of my email exchanges with my brother and she laughed. "Did I ever tell you what Lisa did?" Jeanne asked referring to her partner.
"No, what did she do?"
"A guy at Home Depot came onto her and she got home and called his wife to let her know!"
Of course, Lisa is also an educator so perhaps it will take me awhile to shake the "communication" habits.
Okay, the day is slowly (thankfully slowly) getting warmer so I should grab the dog, the leash, and my walking shoes and head out the door for a long morning walk before I sit down to thoroughly read this handbook.
Wednesday, August 06, 2008
Whether or Not
there is still
somewhere deep within you
a beast shouting that the earth
is exactly what it wanted --
each pond with its blazing lilies
is a prayer heard and answered
lavishly,
every morning,
whether or not
you have ever dared to be happy,
whether or not
you have ever dared to pray.
...from Mary Oliver's "Morning Poem"
The haze of the morning sky is slightly orange. This is not beauty rather it is a warning not to breathe too deeply today, yet still I feel the need to do so.
I slept fitfully last night. The neighbors to the north danced in the dark in their dirt backyard, not yet groomed to be the patio they've been working on. Their music, an interesting Mexican folk song, played over and over while they practiced the gentle rhythms and pirouettes. Their Spanish conversations peppered with laughter threaded themselves into my dreams until I woke to the sounds of the neighbor to the south pulling ladders out from his shed.
It was 5:30 in the morning. I wanted to sleep more, but there was no point. Today is predicted to reach 90. It's already 75 degrees in the house though I've opened all the windows, turned on the fan, and blocked the sun from filtering into the kitchen. This day calls for early rising and afternoon siestas.
I finished "Under the Banner of Heaven" yesterday and was left with nothing to read, so I pulled Mary Oliver off the shelf and reread her poems. I want to say I understand them. Her language is both simple and intricate, but I can read a poem seven times over and still be struck by its detailed ambiguity.
Don't bother me.
I've just
been born.
That's exactly how I feel today. I like the silence of this orange morning. There is, of course, no silence at all -- I can hear the neighbor taking a shower, the planes flying south overhead, the music on the radio, the dog snoring quietly under the desk, the birds chasing after wilted cherries, and a distant neighbor's dog announcing the morning news. The garbage trucks are one block over and far off, there are the trains rumbling into town. But the morning feels slow and I want to drag my heels against the inevitable pull to move forward.
It's time to water the tomatoes. That's next on the list of today's duties. Then take the dog to the lake for a refreshing swim. In the heat of the day I'll empty the dishwasher, sort laundry in the cool of the basement, and then go for a swim at the pool myself. Then we shall lie around, the dog and I, and wish the day would pick up its feet and move into something less weighty and slow.
somewhere deep within you
a beast shouting that the earth
is exactly what it wanted --
each pond with its blazing lilies
is a prayer heard and answered
lavishly,
every morning,
whether or not
you have ever dared to be happy,
whether or not
you have ever dared to pray.
...from Mary Oliver's "Morning Poem"
The haze of the morning sky is slightly orange. This is not beauty rather it is a warning not to breathe too deeply today, yet still I feel the need to do so.
I slept fitfully last night. The neighbors to the north danced in the dark in their dirt backyard, not yet groomed to be the patio they've been working on. Their music, an interesting Mexican folk song, played over and over while they practiced the gentle rhythms and pirouettes. Their Spanish conversations peppered with laughter threaded themselves into my dreams until I woke to the sounds of the neighbor to the south pulling ladders out from his shed.
It was 5:30 in the morning. I wanted to sleep more, but there was no point. Today is predicted to reach 90. It's already 75 degrees in the house though I've opened all the windows, turned on the fan, and blocked the sun from filtering into the kitchen. This day calls for early rising and afternoon siestas.
I finished "Under the Banner of Heaven" yesterday and was left with nothing to read, so I pulled Mary Oliver off the shelf and reread her poems. I want to say I understand them. Her language is both simple and intricate, but I can read a poem seven times over and still be struck by its detailed ambiguity.
Don't bother me.
I've just
been born.
That's exactly how I feel today. I like the silence of this orange morning. There is, of course, no silence at all -- I can hear the neighbor taking a shower, the planes flying south overhead, the music on the radio, the dog snoring quietly under the desk, the birds chasing after wilted cherries, and a distant neighbor's dog announcing the morning news. The garbage trucks are one block over and far off, there are the trains rumbling into town. But the morning feels slow and I want to drag my heels against the inevitable pull to move forward.
It's time to water the tomatoes. That's next on the list of today's duties. Then take the dog to the lake for a refreshing swim. In the heat of the day I'll empty the dishwasher, sort laundry in the cool of the basement, and then go for a swim at the pool myself. Then we shall lie around, the dog and I, and wish the day would pick up its feet and move into something less weighty and slow.
Tuesday, August 05, 2008
Humid
I woke this morning covered in sweat. Not a pretty picture. I rolled over and said, "Damn, it's muggy."
Ann laughed. She always laughs at me when it comes to the weather, but this morning she laughed a bit more emphatically. This morning she flew out to Madison, Wisconsin to visit her family. We checked the weather report. At 10:30 in the morning it was 85 degrees with 89% humidity in Madison.
"Damn, that's muggy," Ann smirked as we looked at the weather for the week ahead.
So, she is gone and we are here (the dog and I) enduring the warm temperatures and the muggy, muggy weather. Yes, in my opinion it's muggy and the news even agrees that it's "thick" air. That's what the reporter said this morning, "thick air" with an advisory for those with breathing problems.
I have a sweating problem.
I just received a phone call offering me the position at REI. Ann is not here to celebrate with me, so I did a small dance with the dog though not too exuberantly because we are both too hot for such enthusiasm.
I am headed to REI shortly to fill out paperwork. I should ride my bike. I brought it upstairs from the cool basement, but the thought of riding downtown in this heat and humidity makes my pores open in anticipation. "Hi, you just hired me, but you may reverse that decision after you see how profusely I sweat on muggy days such as this."
How inappropriate would it be to drive the car?
Oh, to hell with it. I shall drive and save the sweating embarrassment for later.
Ann should be landing in Minneapolis soon. Then onto Madison. Rubin is wandering the house in search of her, though he knows she got out of the car and never got back in. I shall take him swimming later, perhaps with his friend, Monty. And if it's not too crowded, I shall submerge myself as well.
So glad I don't live where the weather is like this all summer long. I'd be miserable...
...and sweaty!
Ann laughed. She always laughs at me when it comes to the weather, but this morning she laughed a bit more emphatically. This morning she flew out to Madison, Wisconsin to visit her family. We checked the weather report. At 10:30 in the morning it was 85 degrees with 89% humidity in Madison.
"Damn, that's muggy," Ann smirked as we looked at the weather for the week ahead.
So, she is gone and we are here (the dog and I) enduring the warm temperatures and the muggy, muggy weather. Yes, in my opinion it's muggy and the news even agrees that it's "thick" air. That's what the reporter said this morning, "thick air" with an advisory for those with breathing problems.
I have a sweating problem.
I just received a phone call offering me the position at REI. Ann is not here to celebrate with me, so I did a small dance with the dog though not too exuberantly because we are both too hot for such enthusiasm.
I am headed to REI shortly to fill out paperwork. I should ride my bike. I brought it upstairs from the cool basement, but the thought of riding downtown in this heat and humidity makes my pores open in anticipation. "Hi, you just hired me, but you may reverse that decision after you see how profusely I sweat on muggy days such as this."
How inappropriate would it be to drive the car?
Oh, to hell with it. I shall drive and save the sweating embarrassment for later.
Ann should be landing in Minneapolis soon. Then onto Madison. Rubin is wandering the house in search of her, though he knows she got out of the car and never got back in. I shall take him swimming later, perhaps with his friend, Monty. And if it's not too crowded, I shall submerge myself as well.
So glad I don't live where the weather is like this all summer long. I'd be miserable...
...and sweaty!
Friday, August 01, 2008
This Morning
There is oatmeal on the stove, bubbling and burping in that slurpy and thickly kind of way. Oatmeal is a cold weather meal and though the sun is out, last night's rain has chilled the air. The wind doesn't help either. Still, the dog sits in his favorite spot on the back porch step, squinting against the sun and wind, his curly hair lifting in the breeze.
I have been fighting a cold and now the cold has won. It's not a wipe-me-out kind of cold, but it's enough of one to make me a tad bit cranky. This is one of the reasons I've chosen to make oatmeal. That and the fresh blueberries our friends brought us as a thank you gift for watching their dog while they hiked part of the Pacific Crest Trail. While they had a great time, they slept in rain and woke up to snow.
It is August 1 today and there is snowfall in the mountains.
Generally, this would be the time of the summer that I would lament my return to school. There would be only 2 weeks left before I'd have to gear up to get ready for the onslaught of meetings and preparations. Ann is starting the process now. She had a 3 hour meeting yesterday and moaned the whole time before she headed out the door.
"If it makes you feel any better," I shared, "It's kind of weird NOT to be getting ready for school."
I had an interview yesterday afternoon with REI. It went well, I think, but it's hard to know how others really perceive you while being perceived. The interviewer was a young man, handsome and maybe 30 years old. He was kind, soft-spoken and very comfortable with asking questions.
I saw him write "GREAT" with a funny exclamation point on three of the questions. I think that means I did a great job. He understood how "sales" was very much like teaching and laughed when I answered this question: Describe a time when you took initiative to complete something when no one asked you to complete it.
My response: That's my whole teaching career.
His response: Every teacher I interview answers that question the exact same way.
I hope he realizes that it is a truth for all teachers. I think he did.
If I get the job (I'm supposed to hear in the new few days...after the background check) I will be working in the Optics/Camping department. I will be helping people choose sunglasses and GPS systems, camp stoves and water filtration systems. The only downside at this point is that IF I get the job (I don't want to curse myself), we will have to cancel our weekend away in the San Juan Islands for that will be the weekend I'll learn to operate a cash register.
It's an all-day training. When did cash registers get to be so complicated?
Leah, the life coach I've been working with, will ask me if I really want this job and question my eagerness to get it as more a reflection of my need to feel that I have a job, not necessarily the job I want.
Yes, I want a job and while Optics/Camping is not my favorite, it sounds interesting and it gets me in (and out) the door. Once there, I can move about if other opportunities open up. An August paycheck from REI will be a nice addition to my last teaching paycheck.
I am rambling today, but that's the sort of day that it feels like...rambling.
Ann leaves for Wisconsin on Tuesday. This weekend we head out to the cabin in Wenatchee to spend time with our good friends and get away from the Seafair craziness -- Blue Angels will practice again today and the dog will shutter under the thunder of their engines as they pass over our rooftop. They are so close we can see the pilots' faces. The hydroplane races begin tomorrow, but we'll hear them practicing today. They are not as loud as the jets, but we'll hear their wasp-like buzzing for most of the day.
And the parking will be atrocious especially on Sunday when the Seafair-goers clash with the church-goers.
It's a good weekend to get away and IF I get the job, it will be our last summer vacation.
That's hard to swallow.
But my oatmeal went down smoothly and quickly, spooned in between sentences. I feel better because of it. The dog has come in from his morning sun bathing. He's now curled up under my desk. He's starting slow this morning, too.
I have been fighting a cold and now the cold has won. It's not a wipe-me-out kind of cold, but it's enough of one to make me a tad bit cranky. This is one of the reasons I've chosen to make oatmeal. That and the fresh blueberries our friends brought us as a thank you gift for watching their dog while they hiked part of the Pacific Crest Trail. While they had a great time, they slept in rain and woke up to snow.
It is August 1 today and there is snowfall in the mountains.
Generally, this would be the time of the summer that I would lament my return to school. There would be only 2 weeks left before I'd have to gear up to get ready for the onslaught of meetings and preparations. Ann is starting the process now. She had a 3 hour meeting yesterday and moaned the whole time before she headed out the door.
"If it makes you feel any better," I shared, "It's kind of weird NOT to be getting ready for school."
I had an interview yesterday afternoon with REI. It went well, I think, but it's hard to know how others really perceive you while being perceived. The interviewer was a young man, handsome and maybe 30 years old. He was kind, soft-spoken and very comfortable with asking questions.
I saw him write "GREAT" with a funny exclamation point on three of the questions. I think that means I did a great job. He understood how "sales" was very much like teaching and laughed when I answered this question: Describe a time when you took initiative to complete something when no one asked you to complete it.
My response: That's my whole teaching career.
His response: Every teacher I interview answers that question the exact same way.
I hope he realizes that it is a truth for all teachers. I think he did.
If I get the job (I'm supposed to hear in the new few days...after the background check) I will be working in the Optics/Camping department. I will be helping people choose sunglasses and GPS systems, camp stoves and water filtration systems. The only downside at this point is that IF I get the job (I don't want to curse myself), we will have to cancel our weekend away in the San Juan Islands for that will be the weekend I'll learn to operate a cash register.
It's an all-day training. When did cash registers get to be so complicated?
Leah, the life coach I've been working with, will ask me if I really want this job and question my eagerness to get it as more a reflection of my need to feel that I have a job, not necessarily the job I want.
Yes, I want a job and while Optics/Camping is not my favorite, it sounds interesting and it gets me in (and out) the door. Once there, I can move about if other opportunities open up. An August paycheck from REI will be a nice addition to my last teaching paycheck.
I am rambling today, but that's the sort of day that it feels like...rambling.
Ann leaves for Wisconsin on Tuesday. This weekend we head out to the cabin in Wenatchee to spend time with our good friends and get away from the Seafair craziness -- Blue Angels will practice again today and the dog will shutter under the thunder of their engines as they pass over our rooftop. They are so close we can see the pilots' faces. The hydroplane races begin tomorrow, but we'll hear them practicing today. They are not as loud as the jets, but we'll hear their wasp-like buzzing for most of the day.
And the parking will be atrocious especially on Sunday when the Seafair-goers clash with the church-goers.
It's a good weekend to get away and IF I get the job, it will be our last summer vacation.
That's hard to swallow.
But my oatmeal went down smoothly and quickly, spooned in between sentences. I feel better because of it. The dog has come in from his morning sun bathing. He's now curled up under my desk. He's starting slow this morning, too.
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