Vacation

No longer a teacher, vacation has taken on a whole new meaning. We went away for a few days to our friends' cabin along the Wenatchee River. There is snow, but not as much as usual and the temperatures were unseasonably warm. I suppose global warming may alter the idea of seasons altogether, but we certainly noticed the limited snow pack as well as the 44 degree skiing weather.

Vacation, for me, has always been something I've looked forward to. Not that I didn't this time, but it was different as I was not nearly as burned out as I used to be before a teaching vacation. I'm not sure what I expected, but this vacation took awhile to get the feel of. I wrote in my journal about the unnerving silence (something I may post here at a later date), but it was more than the silence of the place. It was my lack of need for it.

Once I accepted that I did not need it, I relaxed into the vacation more and enjoyed time skiing along the ridge, taking long walks along the river, reading late into the night, and eating home cooked meals without counting calories or feeling guilt. Ironically, the time moved quickly and before I knew it, we were driving home. Ann, on the other hand, felt the time went slowly, which for her, felt like a perfect vacation. She as a teacher, of course, needed the vacation in the way I once needed it.

Tomorrow I go back to REI for an 8.5 hour shift. Everyone must be watching the Oscars and therefore I've been summoned. Fine by me. The extra money is always important when my living is so cobbled together these days. I actually have a total of 15 hours this week, which is astonishing after weeks of minimal to non-existent hours over the past month. I'm actually looking forward to it plus it gives Ann quiet time to prepare for upcoming teaching week.

We took lots of photos on this trip as the light was astonishing and the days were filled with blue mountain skies. The above photo was taken at Lake Wenatchee. We hiked along a snowshoing trail that was so packed (due to the lack of snow) we could walk it without snowshoes. Rarely do I allow photos to be taken of me, but Ann snapped this shot in the shade and I snapped the subsequent one in the bright light of the sun. A contrast of our hike.

My legs are a bit sore today after a long climb up a ridge and back down again in our cross country skiing adventure, but it reminds me of how good it felt to get away and equally how nice it feels to be home again.

Remaking the World

Entering the world of dogs and dog care has been an interesting experience of late. I love my solitary time walking dogs, watching them play, and attending to their needs, but there's a whole other world out there of people obsessed in strange and bizarre ways with their dogs.

I do not wish to enter this world for it is a world of dogs dressed up in weird costumes, dog-related websites adorned in frilly brick-a-brack and cartoon illustrations of puppies, and people who sell dog products that I could never imagine buying. I'd rather create a different world, a world where a dog is simply that -- a furry canine who wants to sniff the ground, chase a squirrel and lie at your feet while you pet him or her.

But in this other world, in the world I wish not to enter, there are people who buy sidecars for their motorcycles so the dog can ride along. They adorn said dogs with "doggles" and leather jackets and helmets. Others write long posts detailing every movement (and I mean every movement) their dog makes in the day. Some even set up webcams so anyone who dials in can watch their dog take a nap, eat their dinner, roll over for treats.

Whatever happened to the dog as companion? When did dog become toy for human folly?

So, while I have a dogwalking business and a corresponding website, while my dog Rubin writes of his days adventure, I hereby promise never to enter the world of dressed up dogs who live in their own designer rooms or who eat at the family table or are groomed to look like Ninja's.

I shall remake this doggie world, one dog at a time. I will return to the natural order of things where dogs and humans can join not in the human world, but in their shared animal ancestry.

(Of course, I just got done giving Rubin a massage so perhaps I have one foot in said "other world!")

Looking In; Looking Back

Fishbowl Gemma...

Yesterday, I spent the day at the school where I taught for the past four years to cover a story I am writing for their newsletter. The story will be on the art program taught by my friend Trina who is an amazing artist as well as a wonderful teacher. This is her last year at the school having applied to graduate schools across the country. She'll get in but her gain will be the school's loss. Oh how little educators understand the beauty and necessity of art.

But that's the topic for the newsletter article. What I want to write about here is how odd it is to return to something I know longer do. I sat in on Trina's classes (two of them) to jot down notes and to photograph the students working with Trina and their art. I know most of these students. Many of them were once my students so when I am in the classroom, they carry on a conversation with me much like I am still their teacher.

But I'm not and as hard as it is to bite my tongue and not scold them back to work, I was sorely tempted yesterday as I watched (and listened) to the same rowdy students who tormented my teaching days, torment Trina's. There were the three spoiled girls who never once stopped talking during their classmates' presentation on artist Willie Cole and there was the ADHD student who is clearly off her medications running roughshod over her peers as they tried to sketch their self portraits in a contemplative silence.

And there was Trina, desperately trying to spread her passion for public art (the project of the 7th grade) to girls who didn't understand why Maya Lin's work was so interesting and quietly working with a young girl in tears who couldn't get her eyes in her self portrait (the project of the 6th grade) to "match." Trina is young and therefore has the patience I lost over the years. When she works one-on-one with a student, she is able to block out the clamor and the rigmarole of the rest of the class working on their projects. She is kind and compassionate. She listens and tries to help the girls resolve their individual and group conflicts. And she always carries on a conversation with each of them on an adult level -- in other words, she treats them not as children, but as thinking, feeling human beings with fascinating ideas.

After school, Trina came over for dinner and we talked about her philosophy and her vision for teaching. She was just as passionate and focused on helping kids understand that they are all artists, that art lives in all of them as she was all day long while she taught.

I remember when I was that idealistic. And while I don't think I lost the idealism, I do know it was tempered over the years by all the institutional demands, the mish-mash of families and students who walk through the door with mountains of emotional baggage that I never had time to attend to. At one point during dinner, Trina laid her head on the table and said, "I am just so tired."

I remember those days. In fact, February was the month when I dreamt of leaving on a long, long vacation to Bolivia or Kenya or living off the land in some commune in Eastern Oregon. I wanted nothing more than to lie down and sleep in the sun for weeks at a time, to let go of the consequences of my decisions.

I don't feel like that now...this February. In fact, I reflected on that very thought the other day when January rolled away. "I'm outside most of the day soaking in the sunlight," I told a friend. "I think that's why I've avoided that winter gloom and doom I always felt this time of year."

"And you're not slicing your soul in little pieces all day long like you were when you taught," my friend responded.

So true.

Still, there are parts I miss. Mostly the parts don't involve students, which I suppose is kind of cold-hearted, but after watching Trina try to herd cats all day yesterday, I know my teaching gifts are more on the creative end and not the relationship side.

Sometimes I think teaching is like being a goldifish in one of those tiny, round bowls. It all seems so contained. Your world is a gallon of water and a plastic castle. There's only so much you can do, only so many ways to swim, only one real view -- out. Leaving teaching is like jumping out of the bowl and realizing how enormous the world actually is, how many views the world offers. And even though there's no water in which to breathe, once you learn to breathe differently, your lungs actually expand in a way you never imagined or never believed when you lived in that little glass bowl.

I woke with laryngitis this morning, the final exclamation point of this nasty cold. Once a year, while teaching, I'd lose my voice so I'm not surprised that after my day-long visit back at school I woke without a voice this morning. 22 years in the fishbowl changed my life in many ways and made me, in some regards, the person I am today. I have no regrets, but neither am I sorry that I left. It was time. I have no idea what the future holds, but I know that I am not contained by deceptive glass walls nor limited tours around a little plastic castle.

And there's that thing about my soul, the daily slicing my friend mentioned. It's nice finally getting a chance to stitch it back together. That's what yesterday's looking back and looking into the world I left reminded me of -- I gave a lot and I don't need to give anymore.

I am good enough. I did give enough. I am enough.

Where's the Beef!

I have doubled my income from last month. This may seem astounding in an economy as bleak as this one, but when you consider that the doubling of $500 only totals $1000, perhaps then it makes sense.

I'm not complaining. I rarely complain these days (though I cut my thumb and it hurts like hell and whenever I use my right hand, I complain...thumbs actually DO come in handy...pun intended!), but even though I rarely complain, the money in all my accounts is a matter of diminishing returns. Not diminishing as fast as I thought they would when I padded my savings account before I left teaching, but still it's odd to watch the money float away without much effort.

And absolutely NO effort in terms of my retirement account. Wham! Thud! Kerplop! Like a watermelon off the Empire State Building. And I was worried about there being no social security when I got to retirement age. Hell, that might be the only thing left! My predicament is whether I should put anymore into the black hole of my investments or just hold onto it until we bounce out of this downturn.

Will we bounce out?

I suppose so, though sometimes I waver between the two ends of the spectrum: The "We came out of the Depression okay" side and the "Did they know Rome was falling BEFORE it fell?"

Okay, I'm still not complaining. I have a house, a car (paid for), a great partner and a funny dog and some money flowing into the bank. Oh, and I have a TV on which to watch THE CLOSER. Even Kyra Sedgwick and Kevin Bacon lost money...more money than I'll ever see in my life, mind you...when Mr. Madoff made-off with their investments.

I wonder if they're complaining?