First, we are home in our newly remodeled house and though we still haven't set things into place (oh my, what work ahead), I am able to "piggyback" off someone else's wireless system until I hook up with the cable company sometime this week. Sweet.
Second, the title of this post was inspired by student of mine who, all last week, wore a fleece shawl-thingy with a hood that reached almost to the floor. She walked around the classroom draped in pink and purple looking like a cheerful druid, arms crossed in front of her like a holy monk. We played kickball in the afternoon recess and she stood in the outfield almost prayerfully, arms only unfolding when she attempted to catch a ball. At one point, not paying attention at all to the game, she stretched out both arms, tilted her head to the sky, and looked, for all the world, like Ram Das basking in the glory of some god or gods. "Ram Das in the outfield," I thought, "What a great title for a short story or an essay." Unfortunately, I haven't had a moment's breath to write such a piece, but the title seemed to fit nicely for this post.
Lastly, I have 10 more days of school left and I am more than ready to say goodbye to the year and hello to vacation. Living out of our house for 7 months has aged me. Sitting in the small study we've set up in the sunny room off the kitchen makes the journey all worth it, but I'm extremely tired and ready to just focus on my life again and not my work.
Our BIG EVENT (school performance) was last week and all went without a hitch. Well, almost without a hitch. One late student -- Ram Das, though her real name is absolutely divine and one I can't share in such a public way, but let's just say it's something like Blueberry Certain -- and the computer technology hiccuped a few times, but other than that, the kids performed well, everyone LOVED it, and the stress of that evening and all the days that lead up to it are behind me. Sigh.
Next up, a trip to the Horse Whisperer -- a woman who uses horses to help people build leadership skills -- and then three-days on Whidbey Island for the girls last trip of the year. Finally, on the last day of school, we'll head to the beach one more time to play naturalists for 100 kindergarteners...holy jesus! Once the kids leave, I have a tooth to repair and a bundle of meetings, but then I'm free and clear until my classes start mid-June.
Yes, classes. While I'm excited about these, it's hard not to get resentful about having to take them. Luckily, this round I don't have to pay for as there is money from some fund or another, but the thought of sitting in a classroom during the dry days of summer does not excite me in the least. I think, though, that since the classes are all focused on biology, we'll be outside a lot and I look forward to that.
Meanwhile, there's a brand new kitchen beckoning to me and some wonderfully dark chocolate begging to be baked in the new oven in the form of cookies. Off to the store for butter, then back home -- my real home -- to putz and putter til the sun goes down!
Ram Das ain't got nothing on me this afternoon!
Monday, May 29, 2006
Saturday, May 27, 2006
Death takes a holiday
I woke with this thought this morning...
Chester, our beloved dog, showed his first signs of illness on July 4th (he had his first seizure); he died on Good Friday; and on Memorial Day we shall move into our newly remodeled house without him.
I think he's trying to send us a message. I wonder what it is?
Chester, our beloved dog, showed his first signs of illness on July 4th (he had his first seizure); he died on Good Friday; and on Memorial Day we shall move into our newly remodeled house without him.
I think he's trying to send us a message. I wonder what it is?
Sunday, May 21, 2006
The rich and the homeless
Having lived among the rich these past few weeks, I've noticed some parallels between the homeless who live in my neighborhood, which is just over the big hill from the posh, mansion-ville I'm living in now.
Chiefly, the biggest similarity is the amount of time the rich and the homeless have on their hands.
Perhaps it doesn't have anything to do with being rich or without a home, but more with my being a teacher -- neither rich nor homeless (well, only temporarily at the moment).
I spent most of today working. I took time out for a brief nap, but then went right back at it. I didn't get everything done that I wanted to get done and am fighting the urge to kick myself about it tonight. My teaching partner last year used to tease me by leaving little notes on my desk that said things like, "Stop, you've done enough!" She's off teaching in Cyprus and I'm left trying to remind myself that "enough" is truly far less than what I end up doing...if that makes any sense.
Ironically, the weather was nice all morning while I was tucked away in my classroom pulling together the multi-media extravaganza that has haunted me for weeks as well as mounting the art work for THE BIG EVENT Tuesday night. When I got home, still with much to accomplish, it started to rain, therefore I haven't really been outside today.
Pity. Outside gives me strength. Even in the rain.
Tonight I'm not feeling weak so much as exhausted though I doubt much sleep will come my way partly due to the coffee ice cream I ate after dinner and partly because there are 12 thousand things I must remember and they all seem to pop into my head around 3:30 in the morning.
So I marvel at the weekend my friends spent...the friends who have graciously offered us respite in their million-dollar mansion.
Yesterday, Doris spent the day moving all of her art supplies (which are sizable and varied) from the upstairs billard room to their downstairs apartment. (Yes, they live in the basement of their mansion...as Doris told me yesterday, maybe twice a year does she make it onto the fourth floor and that's only if she can't find what she's look for.) Saturday, Doris cleared away, cleaned out and reorganized like a fiend, reveling in every little find. "Oh, I wonder what's in here" was her mantra for the day and she'd open up box after box to find beads or old cards or an odd assortment of test tubes, silver chains, and pastels. Meanwhile Steven, her husband, worked in the garden and then changed out his grips on his old set of golf clubs that he is giving to his son. He spent most of the afternoon reading and listening to his flotsam and jetsam musical selection on his IPod.
Today, Doris worked on an art project on the dining room table, while Steven putz with the pool. At 11:30, Ann took them to the ferry where they went to Bainbridge Island for lunch with long-time friends. We picked them up at 5:30 this evening and then everyone came home to putz some more -- Doris made pepper rolls and Steven read again (though I, of course, was still working).
I envy their days of "projects"...of passing the time with glue or putty or yeast.
But it's May, and I find that I always envy those who have time, be they homeless or rich, since, for me, May to the middle of June is a lesson in patience and persistence, a lesson in not running out into the rain naked screaming at the top of my voice and trying to remain calm in the face of mountains of work.
I dream of running away to some commune during May, of wearing overalls without a shirt on underneath, building up callouses on my hands by shoveling dirt and hauling hay, manure, and wood. I dream of a cloistered abbey somewhere high on a hill overlooking the ocean, a place where I wouldn't have to speak or be spoken to, a place where I wouldn't be in charge of anyone and only "God" would be in charge of me.
But the days will keep turning, one after the next, and I will remain between the rich and the homeless until the middle of June when I can let it all go and pretend I am either homeless or rich or both.
Chiefly, the biggest similarity is the amount of time the rich and the homeless have on their hands.
Perhaps it doesn't have anything to do with being rich or without a home, but more with my being a teacher -- neither rich nor homeless (well, only temporarily at the moment).
I spent most of today working. I took time out for a brief nap, but then went right back at it. I didn't get everything done that I wanted to get done and am fighting the urge to kick myself about it tonight. My teaching partner last year used to tease me by leaving little notes on my desk that said things like, "Stop, you've done enough!" She's off teaching in Cyprus and I'm left trying to remind myself that "enough" is truly far less than what I end up doing...if that makes any sense.
Ironically, the weather was nice all morning while I was tucked away in my classroom pulling together the multi-media extravaganza that has haunted me for weeks as well as mounting the art work for THE BIG EVENT Tuesday night. When I got home, still with much to accomplish, it started to rain, therefore I haven't really been outside today.
Pity. Outside gives me strength. Even in the rain.
Tonight I'm not feeling weak so much as exhausted though I doubt much sleep will come my way partly due to the coffee ice cream I ate after dinner and partly because there are 12 thousand things I must remember and they all seem to pop into my head around 3:30 in the morning.
So I marvel at the weekend my friends spent...the friends who have graciously offered us respite in their million-dollar mansion.
Yesterday, Doris spent the day moving all of her art supplies (which are sizable and varied) from the upstairs billard room to their downstairs apartment. (Yes, they live in the basement of their mansion...as Doris told me yesterday, maybe twice a year does she make it onto the fourth floor and that's only if she can't find what she's look for.) Saturday, Doris cleared away, cleaned out and reorganized like a fiend, reveling in every little find. "Oh, I wonder what's in here" was her mantra for the day and she'd open up box after box to find beads or old cards or an odd assortment of test tubes, silver chains, and pastels. Meanwhile Steven, her husband, worked in the garden and then changed out his grips on his old set of golf clubs that he is giving to his son. He spent most of the afternoon reading and listening to his flotsam and jetsam musical selection on his IPod.
Today, Doris worked on an art project on the dining room table, while Steven putz with the pool. At 11:30, Ann took them to the ferry where they went to Bainbridge Island for lunch with long-time friends. We picked them up at 5:30 this evening and then everyone came home to putz some more -- Doris made pepper rolls and Steven read again (though I, of course, was still working).
I envy their days of "projects"...of passing the time with glue or putty or yeast.
But it's May, and I find that I always envy those who have time, be they homeless or rich, since, for me, May to the middle of June is a lesson in patience and persistence, a lesson in not running out into the rain naked screaming at the top of my voice and trying to remain calm in the face of mountains of work.
I dream of running away to some commune during May, of wearing overalls without a shirt on underneath, building up callouses on my hands by shoveling dirt and hauling hay, manure, and wood. I dream of a cloistered abbey somewhere high on a hill overlooking the ocean, a place where I wouldn't have to speak or be spoken to, a place where I wouldn't be in charge of anyone and only "God" would be in charge of me.
But the days will keep turning, one after the next, and I will remain between the rich and the homeless until the middle of June when I can let it all go and pretend I am either homeless or rich or both.
Friday, May 19, 2006
That which does not kill you...
...frustrates the hell out of you.
THE MOVIE -- the 23 minute piece of "art" we've been working on for our BIG EVENT next week with our 5th grade girls -- died a slow and painful death today.
We learned, painfully, the limits of IMovie. Our script and scenes were rich and textured and therefore too much information for even our most expensive computer to handle. After an hour of trying to make it work, we threw up our hands in resignation and frustration.
And like any good teacher would do, we quickly brainstormed how to salvage the movie section of the BIG EVENT.
In the end, we're creating a sort of Performance Art Piece where the girls will perform their "movie parts" live while we synchronize a slideshow/movie behind them choreographing our selection of music throughout it all.
The girls were at first, crestfallen -- "You ruined my acting debut?" one girl moaned -- but once we explained the "new plan" they were excited to begin final rehearsals on Monday and Tuesday and then "go on stage" Tuesday night. Cross your fingers.
At the end of the day, this is what I wish they could learn from this frustrating, exhausting experience:
That sometimes, not always, but sometimes when you hit a wall, if you problem-solve, strategize, contemplate, breathe, activate some other section of your brain that was once focused soley in one direction ... the wall you so painfully crashed into will seem like a gift because what you've envisioned after the crash is often times more enlightened and meaningful than what you planned before the crash.
In the past few months, the faculty at our school has grappled with trying to rewrite our Mission Statement, which is long, jam-packed with catch phrases, and all stated in one (extremely complicated) sentence. When we look at our Mission Statement and try to live up to it each and every day, we often find ourselves walking away as failures because we all know we're trying to do too much all at once.
And too much, no matter how well-intentioned always ends up being too much.
After this week's MOVIE experience, I think the Mission Statement should simply read... "We empower girls to think beyond walls."
It's a HUGE life lesson and perhaps one of the keys to happiness and success (however one might define that). If you see the wall as a block, as an unavoidable stopping point, as a moment of giving up, it's hard to be happy or successful because life is full of walls.
But if you can see the wall as a gift, as a way to exercise your brain to get you beyond the wall in a different way, well then happiness and success have a glimmer of a chance in your life.
It sounds hokey, I know, and kind of like a Hallmark Card (Don't let the turkeys get you down...?), but as educators we're constantly struggling with WHAT TO TEACH and in WHAT ORDER and frankly, I don't think it matters what we teach. I think what matters is that we throw walls up in front of your students again and again and then say, "Okay, how are you going to get past this? What are some ways you can envision that move you beyond your stuck-ness and into a better place?"
The other day I was working with a kid on some math problems...fractions, to be exact. She is perhaps our lowest-skilled kid in terms of math, but funny, creative, and competent in the rest of her life. Math is her wall.
I am not the math teacher, per se, but my teaching partner and I pretty much tag team all areas during the day. So, here I am with V (the student) trying to explain how to find 12/5 on a number line between 0 and 2. After a half hour of grappling with the problem, I decided to ask her where 1/2 would be...thinking she'd surely get that it was between 0 and 1.
Nope, she points to the 1 because, in her mind, it's "half way" or 1/2 between 0 and 2. Makes sense in one way, but clearly V had a wall up and was unable to see beyond it.
So we make two points in the classroom. And I tell her point A is Seattle and point B is Portland. Then I make her walk between the two points. At halfway I tell her to stop and look behind her and ahead of her and tell me what she sees. She says, "I'm not in Portland yet, but I'm not home either."
Me: Great, how far are you?
V: (With a painful look of consternation that turns into a spark of light and a devilish grin)...Well, I'm half way, aren't I?
Me: Why, yes you are. So now think of Seattle as the 0 and Portland as the 1. Where is 1/2?
V marches to her paper and makes the correct placement for 1/2 on her number line.
It went on like this for another half hour as we tried to cover all those quirky componets of fractions (1.5 is the same as 1 1/2; 12/5 is the same as saying 12 divided by 5; and if that ain't enough, fractions can be written as percents.)
She didn't get much past Portland in our discussion, but she exercised her brain around the wall a number of times that afternoon.
I, of course, exercised my own brain trying to think of ways to explain it all with A)never having formal math training (except for my own twisted attempt at it years ago) and B)a limited vocabulary on what exactly 12/5ths represents...it just is, isn't it?
Is she better at math? A smidge though nothing that will register on the richter scale. Did she think beyond the wall? In fits and starts, but she did think and wrestle and twist and push and I think that will benefit her later in life when she gets stuck metaphorically between Seattle and Portland. Does she still hate math? Yes, but she's willing to keep at it and she knows it won't kill her...
...it will just frustrate the hell out of her and, hopefully in the end, make her stronger, wiser, and perhaps a bit more creative than she already is.
THE MOVIE -- the 23 minute piece of "art" we've been working on for our BIG EVENT next week with our 5th grade girls -- died a slow and painful death today.
We learned, painfully, the limits of IMovie. Our script and scenes were rich and textured and therefore too much information for even our most expensive computer to handle. After an hour of trying to make it work, we threw up our hands in resignation and frustration.
And like any good teacher would do, we quickly brainstormed how to salvage the movie section of the BIG EVENT.
In the end, we're creating a sort of Performance Art Piece where the girls will perform their "movie parts" live while we synchronize a slideshow/movie behind them choreographing our selection of music throughout it all.
The girls were at first, crestfallen -- "You ruined my acting debut?" one girl moaned -- but once we explained the "new plan" they were excited to begin final rehearsals on Monday and Tuesday and then "go on stage" Tuesday night. Cross your fingers.
At the end of the day, this is what I wish they could learn from this frustrating, exhausting experience:
That sometimes, not always, but sometimes when you hit a wall, if you problem-solve, strategize, contemplate, breathe, activate some other section of your brain that was once focused soley in one direction ... the wall you so painfully crashed into will seem like a gift because what you've envisioned after the crash is often times more enlightened and meaningful than what you planned before the crash.
In the past few months, the faculty at our school has grappled with trying to rewrite our Mission Statement, which is long, jam-packed with catch phrases, and all stated in one (extremely complicated) sentence. When we look at our Mission Statement and try to live up to it each and every day, we often find ourselves walking away as failures because we all know we're trying to do too much all at once.
And too much, no matter how well-intentioned always ends up being too much.
After this week's MOVIE experience, I think the Mission Statement should simply read... "We empower girls to think beyond walls."
It's a HUGE life lesson and perhaps one of the keys to happiness and success (however one might define that). If you see the wall as a block, as an unavoidable stopping point, as a moment of giving up, it's hard to be happy or successful because life is full of walls.
But if you can see the wall as a gift, as a way to exercise your brain to get you beyond the wall in a different way, well then happiness and success have a glimmer of a chance in your life.
It sounds hokey, I know, and kind of like a Hallmark Card (Don't let the turkeys get you down...?), but as educators we're constantly struggling with WHAT TO TEACH and in WHAT ORDER and frankly, I don't think it matters what we teach. I think what matters is that we throw walls up in front of your students again and again and then say, "Okay, how are you going to get past this? What are some ways you can envision that move you beyond your stuck-ness and into a better place?"
The other day I was working with a kid on some math problems...fractions, to be exact. She is perhaps our lowest-skilled kid in terms of math, but funny, creative, and competent in the rest of her life. Math is her wall.
I am not the math teacher, per se, but my teaching partner and I pretty much tag team all areas during the day. So, here I am with V (the student) trying to explain how to find 12/5 on a number line between 0 and 2. After a half hour of grappling with the problem, I decided to ask her where 1/2 would be...thinking she'd surely get that it was between 0 and 1.
Nope, she points to the 1 because, in her mind, it's "half way" or 1/2 between 0 and 2. Makes sense in one way, but clearly V had a wall up and was unable to see beyond it.
So we make two points in the classroom. And I tell her point A is Seattle and point B is Portland. Then I make her walk between the two points. At halfway I tell her to stop and look behind her and ahead of her and tell me what she sees. She says, "I'm not in Portland yet, but I'm not home either."
Me: Great, how far are you?
V: (With a painful look of consternation that turns into a spark of light and a devilish grin)...Well, I'm half way, aren't I?
Me: Why, yes you are. So now think of Seattle as the 0 and Portland as the 1. Where is 1/2?
V marches to her paper and makes the correct placement for 1/2 on her number line.
It went on like this for another half hour as we tried to cover all those quirky componets of fractions (1.5 is the same as 1 1/2; 12/5 is the same as saying 12 divided by 5; and if that ain't enough, fractions can be written as percents.)
She didn't get much past Portland in our discussion, but she exercised her brain around the wall a number of times that afternoon.
I, of course, exercised my own brain trying to think of ways to explain it all with A)never having formal math training (except for my own twisted attempt at it years ago) and B)a limited vocabulary on what exactly 12/5ths represents...it just is, isn't it?
Is she better at math? A smidge though nothing that will register on the richter scale. Did she think beyond the wall? In fits and starts, but she did think and wrestle and twist and push and I think that will benefit her later in life when she gets stuck metaphorically between Seattle and Portland. Does she still hate math? Yes, but she's willing to keep at it and she knows it won't kill her...
...it will just frustrate the hell out of her and, hopefully in the end, make her stronger, wiser, and perhaps a bit more creative than she already is.
Thursday, May 18, 2006
Tantra and tantrums
Exhausted, the words on the computer screen are fuzzy. Even with my new glasses on.
I woke again at 4 this morning and stared out the window where the lake shook with the first light of day. Ann slept soundly and peacefully beside me, her breath whispering with the leaves of the trees.
I met with my friends of 26 years last night and we talked "through" (not around or under) the large bump in our road. Tears. Wounds. Words. Understanding. Laughter.
Then today, this is the order of events in my day:
7:30 Arrive at school to get some work done on THE MOVIE we're making for our BIG EVENT next week.
7:35 Phone call to inform me that a student's grandmother passed away last night. (It's been a long illness and a struggle for a 10 year old to grasp -- death and all the trappings that slide along with it).
7:45 Copy machine because I realized I hadn't xeroxed off the assignment for the day, but then, as always, the copy machine was not turned on (needs to warm up for like 10 minutes), and once I tried running through my 22 copies, it jammed four times...by that time it was...
8:15 And the kids were in the classroom quietly reading while my teaching partner was tearing apart her desk searching for a missing wallet. No luck.
8:30 School officially begins with a whole school Community Meeting where everyone -- teachers and kids -- is in a fiesty mood. We are all counting down the days.
9:00 Work time to finish up those pesky projects. While the girls are painting and typing and organizing and practicing, we're busily working on THE MOVIE, downloading clips, matching up audio, and plugging in stills to cover up gaffes and mistakes.
10:00 Student whose grandmother died last night, walks into the room. We hug her and ask if she needs or wants anything, that we're sorry for her loss, and she says she just wants a normal day...but it's about to not get normal...
11:00 Math...(I continue working on THE MOVIE)
12:00 Lunch...and this is where it starts to get odd...I'm eating lunch in the room with S (our Health and Fitness teacher) and I casually ask, "So what are your plans for the weekend?"
S: Well, M (her husband) and I are going to continue our work with Tantra.
Me: Oh, like as in Tantric meditation and shakras (I am not as innocent as I may appear)?
S: Yes, as in getting in touch with your male and female aspects and using your shakras to have better and more meaningful sex.
Me: Oh.
S: Your face is a bit red.
Me: Yes, well... (and I'm really thinking...is this something people share at lunch?)
S: It's not as weird as it sounds.
Me: It doesn't sound weird (you must realize that this woman is amazingly fit, incredibly nice and seemingly grounded, and exquisitely gorgegous in a sort of sporty way and my teaching partner and I are constantly commenting to each other how beautiful S is and so, while Tantric sex doesn't sound all that outlandish, I have developed in my head this picture of S bent in some athletic position, orgamismly enjoying herself all the while I'm suspended OVER MY DISH OF COLD PASTA WITH TOMATOES!)
S: We've been working with this amazing couple who I met at a workshop last month.
Me: Oh.
S: They've been together for almost 20 years and have a 14 year old son, but they don't live together because she's in a relationship with a woman and he's in a relationship with a man.
Me: Oh. But they are still like together like sexually?
S: Oh yeah. I met her at a Queer Tantra workshop and M met him at a men's drumming circle. It was kind of weird how we all connected.
Me: Oh...how was that?
S: Well, I just wanted to explore tantras more and M was interested as well, so we started working with this couple in weekly sessions.
Me: Working with means what exactly?
S: We go to their house and learn about shakras and balance and work on stuff.
Me: So like when I go to workshops they show me how to do things. Is that what you do here?
S: Yes, exactly.
Me: (Uncertain of what "exactly" means...) As in what kind of things?
S: Positions. Ways to connect with one another. Clear blocked energy.
Me: Do they SHOW you this?
S: Yes.
Me: And then you practice it?
S: Yes.
Me: (Who cannot get the picture out of my head of this sexy woman and her husband straddled in some yogic posture, naked, while another couple, equally naked and straddled give them encouraging feedback ... "No, just a bit higher...yes, that's it...) You're much braver than I am...
S: It's really opened up a whole new world for us.
Me: I imagine it has. (At this point a student approaches me for help in math...the conversation fades away.)
1:00 My teaching partner and I sit down to start pulling THE MOVIE together. I tell her about my lunch time conversation. She says, "Oh god, I'll never look at S again. How can I without turning bright red."
1:10 We push play on THE MOVIE and what comes out sounds something like garbled oatmealish words. We turn to each other and say, at the exact same moment, SHIT! NO! WHAT THE FUCK?
Side note: We've worked for hours on this movie -- writing it, practicing it with the kids, shooting it, reshooting it -- we've probably put in 25 hours a piece to get this puppy ready.
1:20 (After trying a number of different tacks like rebooting the computer, changing computers, pushing every button we can think of...and still...) Mushy, goopy oatmeal.
Me: It sounds like a tantric mantra. (I start imitating it then segue into orgasmic moans and groans...my teaching partner starts throwing bits of orange peel at me, which I throw back, and soon we are in an all out food fight -- oranges, carrots, crackers -- when the kids walk in from recess.
Student: Our teachers are going off the deep end!
They all walk in scared. We're still throwing things and laughing hysterically and I keep saying "Ohmmmmm" over and over but in a kind of sexual way though the kids can't tell...they think I'm having a nervous breakdown, which I suppose I am since I've not slept well for weeks, I'm putting in 10 hour days, and then taking work, like THE MOVIE home every night...oh and let's not forget I'm not living in my house!!)
1:25 The kids settle down for art time. We brainstorm our options...there's no way we can reshoot...
1:30 I run down to another teacher's room to get help...he's teaching...I try another teacher...she says, "Oh no, you want T (a student) to help you. She's a whiz with IMovie." So we get T who tells us, "You need a bigger, faster computer, that's all."
1:50 We head to another room slogging all of our crap (camera, laptop, external hard drive, script) to find a bigger, faster computer, one whose "shakras aren't blocked" I quip.
2:00 Ahhhh, it works...and I clap and dance and sing "Ohmmm" again and my teaching partner laughs until her eyes fill up with tears and she can't breathe and meanwhile S (the Health and Fitness teacher) walks in and says, "What's so funny?" And we turn bright red and avert our eyes because now when we look at S we just see this sexy, fit woman NAKED in a foursome chanting and drumming and having the best sex of her life, unblocked energy and all.
3:00 We walk back into the room and a kid is having a tantrum about something and the art teacher is standing in the corner holding her hands to the heavens and we're still laughing and crying and trying to catch our breath when I say...
"Hey kids, time for a nap, what do you say..." And in less than a minute, they are all sprawled on the carpet, pillows on their heads, feigning sleep.
Me: That was easy.
My teaching partner: No unblocked energy here.
It would have all been well and good if I'd been able to go home after school, but it was my turn to monitor homework center while trying to download the last of our video onto the file which took me until 6 tonight. Then Ann picked me up, we drove to our house (10 days and counting until we move in) and finally out to dinner because we were too tired to cook.
Over dinner I say to Ann, "Want to hear a funny story?"
I woke again at 4 this morning and stared out the window where the lake shook with the first light of day. Ann slept soundly and peacefully beside me, her breath whispering with the leaves of the trees.
I met with my friends of 26 years last night and we talked "through" (not around or under) the large bump in our road. Tears. Wounds. Words. Understanding. Laughter.
Then today, this is the order of events in my day:
7:30 Arrive at school to get some work done on THE MOVIE we're making for our BIG EVENT next week.
7:35 Phone call to inform me that a student's grandmother passed away last night. (It's been a long illness and a struggle for a 10 year old to grasp -- death and all the trappings that slide along with it).
7:45 Copy machine because I realized I hadn't xeroxed off the assignment for the day, but then, as always, the copy machine was not turned on (needs to warm up for like 10 minutes), and once I tried running through my 22 copies, it jammed four times...by that time it was...
8:15 And the kids were in the classroom quietly reading while my teaching partner was tearing apart her desk searching for a missing wallet. No luck.
8:30 School officially begins with a whole school Community Meeting where everyone -- teachers and kids -- is in a fiesty mood. We are all counting down the days.
9:00 Work time to finish up those pesky projects. While the girls are painting and typing and organizing and practicing, we're busily working on THE MOVIE, downloading clips, matching up audio, and plugging in stills to cover up gaffes and mistakes.
10:00 Student whose grandmother died last night, walks into the room. We hug her and ask if she needs or wants anything, that we're sorry for her loss, and she says she just wants a normal day...but it's about to not get normal...
11:00 Math...(I continue working on THE MOVIE)
12:00 Lunch...and this is where it starts to get odd...I'm eating lunch in the room with S (our Health and Fitness teacher) and I casually ask, "So what are your plans for the weekend?"
S: Well, M (her husband) and I are going to continue our work with Tantra.
Me: Oh, like as in Tantric meditation and shakras (I am not as innocent as I may appear)?
S: Yes, as in getting in touch with your male and female aspects and using your shakras to have better and more meaningful sex.
Me: Oh.
S: Your face is a bit red.
Me: Yes, well... (and I'm really thinking...is this something people share at lunch?)
S: It's not as weird as it sounds.
Me: It doesn't sound weird (you must realize that this woman is amazingly fit, incredibly nice and seemingly grounded, and exquisitely gorgegous in a sort of sporty way and my teaching partner and I are constantly commenting to each other how beautiful S is and so, while Tantric sex doesn't sound all that outlandish, I have developed in my head this picture of S bent in some athletic position, orgamismly enjoying herself all the while I'm suspended OVER MY DISH OF COLD PASTA WITH TOMATOES!)
S: We've been working with this amazing couple who I met at a workshop last month.
Me: Oh.
S: They've been together for almost 20 years and have a 14 year old son, but they don't live together because she's in a relationship with a woman and he's in a relationship with a man.
Me: Oh. But they are still like together like sexually?
S: Oh yeah. I met her at a Queer Tantra workshop and M met him at a men's drumming circle. It was kind of weird how we all connected.
Me: Oh...how was that?
S: Well, I just wanted to explore tantras more and M was interested as well, so we started working with this couple in weekly sessions.
Me: Working with means what exactly?
S: We go to their house and learn about shakras and balance and work on stuff.
Me: So like when I go to workshops they show me how to do things. Is that what you do here?
S: Yes, exactly.
Me: (Uncertain of what "exactly" means...) As in what kind of things?
S: Positions. Ways to connect with one another. Clear blocked energy.
Me: Do they SHOW you this?
S: Yes.
Me: And then you practice it?
S: Yes.
Me: (Who cannot get the picture out of my head of this sexy woman and her husband straddled in some yogic posture, naked, while another couple, equally naked and straddled give them encouraging feedback ... "No, just a bit higher...yes, that's it...) You're much braver than I am...
S: It's really opened up a whole new world for us.
Me: I imagine it has. (At this point a student approaches me for help in math...the conversation fades away.)
1:00 My teaching partner and I sit down to start pulling THE MOVIE together. I tell her about my lunch time conversation. She says, "Oh god, I'll never look at S again. How can I without turning bright red."
1:10 We push play on THE MOVIE and what comes out sounds something like garbled oatmealish words. We turn to each other and say, at the exact same moment, SHIT! NO! WHAT THE FUCK?
Side note: We've worked for hours on this movie -- writing it, practicing it with the kids, shooting it, reshooting it -- we've probably put in 25 hours a piece to get this puppy ready.
1:20 (After trying a number of different tacks like rebooting the computer, changing computers, pushing every button we can think of...and still...) Mushy, goopy oatmeal.
Me: It sounds like a tantric mantra. (I start imitating it then segue into orgasmic moans and groans...my teaching partner starts throwing bits of orange peel at me, which I throw back, and soon we are in an all out food fight -- oranges, carrots, crackers -- when the kids walk in from recess.
Student: Our teachers are going off the deep end!
They all walk in scared. We're still throwing things and laughing hysterically and I keep saying "Ohmmmmm" over and over but in a kind of sexual way though the kids can't tell...they think I'm having a nervous breakdown, which I suppose I am since I've not slept well for weeks, I'm putting in 10 hour days, and then taking work, like THE MOVIE home every night...oh and let's not forget I'm not living in my house!!)
1:25 The kids settle down for art time. We brainstorm our options...there's no way we can reshoot...
1:30 I run down to another teacher's room to get help...he's teaching...I try another teacher...she says, "Oh no, you want T (a student) to help you. She's a whiz with IMovie." So we get T who tells us, "You need a bigger, faster computer, that's all."
1:50 We head to another room slogging all of our crap (camera, laptop, external hard drive, script) to find a bigger, faster computer, one whose "shakras aren't blocked" I quip.
2:00 Ahhhh, it works...and I clap and dance and sing "Ohmmm" again and my teaching partner laughs until her eyes fill up with tears and she can't breathe and meanwhile S (the Health and Fitness teacher) walks in and says, "What's so funny?" And we turn bright red and avert our eyes because now when we look at S we just see this sexy, fit woman NAKED in a foursome chanting and drumming and having the best sex of her life, unblocked energy and all.
3:00 We walk back into the room and a kid is having a tantrum about something and the art teacher is standing in the corner holding her hands to the heavens and we're still laughing and crying and trying to catch our breath when I say...
"Hey kids, time for a nap, what do you say..." And in less than a minute, they are all sprawled on the carpet, pillows on their heads, feigning sleep.
Me: That was easy.
My teaching partner: No unblocked energy here.
It would have all been well and good if I'd been able to go home after school, but it was my turn to monitor homework center while trying to download the last of our video onto the file which took me until 6 tonight. Then Ann picked me up, we drove to our house (10 days and counting until we move in) and finally out to dinner because we were too tired to cook.
Over dinner I say to Ann, "Want to hear a funny story?"
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
After a night of not sleeping...
...I've done remarkably well today. I even walked home from school (3 miles) after walking the not so gentle Ben (dog) for 2 miles this morning. No wonder I'm tired and sweaty and ready for bed.
I threw myself into work today, herding cats (my students) through the final phases of their huge projects for next week's BIG EVENT. We listened to the soundtrack of Akeelah and the Bee while we worked and went outside a few times during the day to enjoy the 80 degree weather. We played kickball, which was a sight as half the girls had on flip flops (better known as thongs in my day, but god forbid you call them that today) and sandals, and more shoes went flying than the ball.
Tomorrow I meet with said-friends (previous post) to discuss our difficulties. I'm not looking forward to it. It will be emotionally exhausting at a time when I don't have a lot of emotions to spare.
This is a tough time of the year. It always makes me laugh (and a bit angry) when people complain that teachers have the summer's off. I've always wanted them to just try my job for a week or two and see if they don't feel the need for a vacation.
Teaching is constant energy out. When I taught in public schools, so much energy went out I had so little left that I broke down emotionally. Now, in private school, though energy still goes out, energy still comes in (much more than when I taught in public schools). Still, at this time of the year, I'm counting down the weeks and the days and the hours until I can bid my class farewell and sleep in for a week or two.
Of course, the downside of the of private school teaching is that I must return August 7 as we are on a 10-month contract. Not a lot of time to recover from this year and as I get older, it takes me longer to recover than it did when I was in my twenties.
Ah, I sound as if I'm complaining. I suppose I am, in one sense, though mostly I'm just tired.
And hot.
I don't do well in the heat.
Hence, I shall forever live in the mild Pacific Northwest away from mugginess, away from mosquitoes, away from floods and hurricanes and tornados.
Will I sleep tonight? That's the big question. We're on the second floor of the mansion and it's warm up there...despite the open windows, despite the breeze from the lake, despite sleeping in a t-shirt or last night, in the buff.
I will shut my eyes and see if I can dream of something other than exhaustion in all of its weird permutations.
I threw myself into work today, herding cats (my students) through the final phases of their huge projects for next week's BIG EVENT. We listened to the soundtrack of Akeelah and the Bee while we worked and went outside a few times during the day to enjoy the 80 degree weather. We played kickball, which was a sight as half the girls had on flip flops (better known as thongs in my day, but god forbid you call them that today) and sandals, and more shoes went flying than the ball.
Tomorrow I meet with said-friends (previous post) to discuss our difficulties. I'm not looking forward to it. It will be emotionally exhausting at a time when I don't have a lot of emotions to spare.
This is a tough time of the year. It always makes me laugh (and a bit angry) when people complain that teachers have the summer's off. I've always wanted them to just try my job for a week or two and see if they don't feel the need for a vacation.
Teaching is constant energy out. When I taught in public schools, so much energy went out I had so little left that I broke down emotionally. Now, in private school, though energy still goes out, energy still comes in (much more than when I taught in public schools). Still, at this time of the year, I'm counting down the weeks and the days and the hours until I can bid my class farewell and sleep in for a week or two.
Of course, the downside of the of private school teaching is that I must return August 7 as we are on a 10-month contract. Not a lot of time to recover from this year and as I get older, it takes me longer to recover than it did when I was in my twenties.
Ah, I sound as if I'm complaining. I suppose I am, in one sense, though mostly I'm just tired.
And hot.
I don't do well in the heat.
Hence, I shall forever live in the mild Pacific Northwest away from mugginess, away from mosquitoes, away from floods and hurricanes and tornados.
Will I sleep tonight? That's the big question. We're on the second floor of the mansion and it's warm up there...despite the open windows, despite the breeze from the lake, despite sleeping in a t-shirt or last night, in the buff.
I will shut my eyes and see if I can dream of something other than exhaustion in all of its weird permutations.
Monday, May 15, 2006
Not drowning, but not waving either
I'm particularly sad tonight.
It's a long story, so I won't go into it. In fact, I'm not certain I can go into it because it's too complicated to write about. And if I did write about it, I'm not sure it would feel as significant as it does to me right now...that I'd minimize it to some kind of soap opera. And unlike soaps, my tears are real. Let's just say it has to do with friends and how sometimes, after years and years of knowing someone, you realize you don't know them at all. As another friend said, who knows the story, "What do you like about these friends anyway?"
A lot on the one hand. And yet there are a lot of things I've sort of overlooked in the 25 years I've known them. That's because all those things didn't matter and now all of the sudden they seem to matter...not to me, but to them. Well, sort of to me, but they don't matter as much to me as they matter to them.
Complicated.
And I'm not going to go into it.
It's been a long day. On top of everything else, my back upper right side tooth broke off. Another $1200 in dental work. "At least you don't need gum surgery," was the dentist's happy news.
At least, though with this friend matter, I feel as if I'm having gum surgery.
But I'm not going to write about.
Well, not directly. It's odd because when I'm overwhelmed (as I am right now with the remodel, the end of the school year, and now with my friends), I always have the same reoccuring dream that my teeth are falling out. Not whole teeth, but bits and pieces all crumbling into my cupped hands.
Let's just say this whole friendship struggle brings up huge issues for me about being "good enough"...something I never thought I'd have to address when dealing with friends.
Yet, here it is again...am I good enough?
And then the tooth falls out.
And then the dog I've been helping to train has sort of avoided me all day.
My friends are upset with me, my tooth falls out, and the dog won't even let me pet him.
I could read a lot into this and yet I always come back to the same issue -- am I good enough? Am I worthy of friendship, of good teeth, of a dog's affection?
Oh, I know the rational answers to all of these questions, but there are times when rational thinking eludes me and I am left with that hole inside that wonders, questions, agonizes over "am I good enough?"
Every day I work with my students on their friendship issues. My favorite today was a girl who kept killing the spiders on the sidewalk while all of her "friends" screamed at her not to, ran over to the spiders to protect them, only to have the said spider killer push their hands aside and smash the creatures with rocks. "They have no brains, no hearts, no blood...they don't really count," she squealed at me later when we discussed the issue.
Of course, it wasn't about the spiders at all. It was about power and bullying and about who she could get to kill spiders with her.
Meanwhile, another girl is freaking out because, as she told me later, "It really reminded her of how white people treated black people a long time ago."
A long time ago.
I'm thinking, "Not so long. Yesterday, in fact. Most likely even right now."
And here I am with two kids on the extreme sides of emotions -- "kill them all, kill them all," screams one while the other girl wails and moans that "they (the spiders) are living creatures!"
This must be some kind of personal lesson for me...you create your own reality...only my reality is created by the kids I work with whose dramas bleed over into my own life and I must deal with friends who think I kill spiders.
But I would never kill spiders. Ever.
So I mantra-size the whole ordeal..."I am a good person, I am a good person"... I rattle off in my head again and again all the reasons why I am a good person, but nothing can really fill that fist-sized hole in my belly that doubts and worries and spends her nights dreaming that her teeth are falling out only to wake up and find out that they really have.
It's a long story, so I won't go into it. In fact, I'm not certain I can go into it because it's too complicated to write about. And if I did write about it, I'm not sure it would feel as significant as it does to me right now...that I'd minimize it to some kind of soap opera. And unlike soaps, my tears are real. Let's just say it has to do with friends and how sometimes, after years and years of knowing someone, you realize you don't know them at all. As another friend said, who knows the story, "What do you like about these friends anyway?"
A lot on the one hand. And yet there are a lot of things I've sort of overlooked in the 25 years I've known them. That's because all those things didn't matter and now all of the sudden they seem to matter...not to me, but to them. Well, sort of to me, but they don't matter as much to me as they matter to them.
Complicated.
And I'm not going to go into it.
It's been a long day. On top of everything else, my back upper right side tooth broke off. Another $1200 in dental work. "At least you don't need gum surgery," was the dentist's happy news.
At least, though with this friend matter, I feel as if I'm having gum surgery.
But I'm not going to write about.
Well, not directly. It's odd because when I'm overwhelmed (as I am right now with the remodel, the end of the school year, and now with my friends), I always have the same reoccuring dream that my teeth are falling out. Not whole teeth, but bits and pieces all crumbling into my cupped hands.
Let's just say this whole friendship struggle brings up huge issues for me about being "good enough"...something I never thought I'd have to address when dealing with friends.
Yet, here it is again...am I good enough?
And then the tooth falls out.
And then the dog I've been helping to train has sort of avoided me all day.
My friends are upset with me, my tooth falls out, and the dog won't even let me pet him.
I could read a lot into this and yet I always come back to the same issue -- am I good enough? Am I worthy of friendship, of good teeth, of a dog's affection?
Oh, I know the rational answers to all of these questions, but there are times when rational thinking eludes me and I am left with that hole inside that wonders, questions, agonizes over "am I good enough?"
Every day I work with my students on their friendship issues. My favorite today was a girl who kept killing the spiders on the sidewalk while all of her "friends" screamed at her not to, ran over to the spiders to protect them, only to have the said spider killer push their hands aside and smash the creatures with rocks. "They have no brains, no hearts, no blood...they don't really count," she squealed at me later when we discussed the issue.
Of course, it wasn't about the spiders at all. It was about power and bullying and about who she could get to kill spiders with her.
Meanwhile, another girl is freaking out because, as she told me later, "It really reminded her of how white people treated black people a long time ago."
A long time ago.
I'm thinking, "Not so long. Yesterday, in fact. Most likely even right now."
And here I am with two kids on the extreme sides of emotions -- "kill them all, kill them all," screams one while the other girl wails and moans that "they (the spiders) are living creatures!"
This must be some kind of personal lesson for me...you create your own reality...only my reality is created by the kids I work with whose dramas bleed over into my own life and I must deal with friends who think I kill spiders.
But I would never kill spiders. Ever.
So I mantra-size the whole ordeal..."I am a good person, I am a good person"... I rattle off in my head again and again all the reasons why I am a good person, but nothing can really fill that fist-sized hole in my belly that doubts and worries and spends her nights dreaming that her teeth are falling out only to wake up and find out that they really have.
Friday, May 12, 2006
Third house, third dog
Tonight we are dog sitting for our friends, Melinda and Elizabeth (and their two kids, Meda and Aden). Their dog is a lively, wiry English Springer, full of energy and obsession. She is fine in the house -- calm and relaxed -- but once on a leash, she becomes fixated on the possibility of a bird or small animal crossing her path. The family is off for a family reunion in Port Townsend and they asked us to watch Josie for the weekend.
So, we packed an overnight bag and shipped out for tonight. We could have continued to stay with Josie at the mansion by the lake, but the gift of this house is their king sized bed. Normally, I am not a fan of king sized anything, but after sleeping in a double bed for the past 7 months, I am so ready to claim my own space in something larger. When Elizabeth told me they had a king sized bed I jumped for joy. We decided we would splurge and spend tonight in the larger bed! Now, when I want to cuddle with Ann, I have to search for her. Now, when Ann starts snoring because her allergies are acting up, she can saw away on her side of the bed. Now, when I want to stretch out sideways on the bed, I can point my head north and my legs to the southwest.
Luxury.
Joy.
Bliss.
At least for one night.
Then back to the mansion with Josie in tow as she will help in my quest to teach Ben, the German shepard, how to feel more comfortable around other dogs. Josie is oblivious to other dogs. Solely focused on birds, when other dogs approach she stands at attention and lets them sniff her. Only after she has deemed the horizon clear of feathered friends will she take a split second to sneak a sniff at her canine visitor. I think this will be good for Ben who sees every other dog as either his bully or his victim.
Third house and now our third dog...
The end of our vagabond life is in sight, though. The house remodel is nearly finished. We can move our bedroom stuff up to the master bedroom this weekend. Now we wait for the inspection and then we can move back in even though our builder has some finishing touches to complete...like the outside house painting. Of course, we'll still be living out of boxes as this is the busiest time of the year for teachers and we'll not have a moment's breath to move all of our crap from the basement to the house until the middle of June.
But even that, the middle of June, is fast approaching. Whew.
Another friendship crisis at school today. That makes 11 in 2 months. We only have 22 students and 11 of them are struggling with their friends. Approval ratings are dipping slightly...we're all growing tired of each other.
And I grow tired tonight as well...good night, good night!
So, we packed an overnight bag and shipped out for tonight. We could have continued to stay with Josie at the mansion by the lake, but the gift of this house is their king sized bed. Normally, I am not a fan of king sized anything, but after sleeping in a double bed for the past 7 months, I am so ready to claim my own space in something larger. When Elizabeth told me they had a king sized bed I jumped for joy. We decided we would splurge and spend tonight in the larger bed! Now, when I want to cuddle with Ann, I have to search for her. Now, when Ann starts snoring because her allergies are acting up, she can saw away on her side of the bed. Now, when I want to stretch out sideways on the bed, I can point my head north and my legs to the southwest.
Luxury.
Joy.
Bliss.
At least for one night.
Then back to the mansion with Josie in tow as she will help in my quest to teach Ben, the German shepard, how to feel more comfortable around other dogs. Josie is oblivious to other dogs. Solely focused on birds, when other dogs approach she stands at attention and lets them sniff her. Only after she has deemed the horizon clear of feathered friends will she take a split second to sneak a sniff at her canine visitor. I think this will be good for Ben who sees every other dog as either his bully or his victim.
Third house and now our third dog...
The end of our vagabond life is in sight, though. The house remodel is nearly finished. We can move our bedroom stuff up to the master bedroom this weekend. Now we wait for the inspection and then we can move back in even though our builder has some finishing touches to complete...like the outside house painting. Of course, we'll still be living out of boxes as this is the busiest time of the year for teachers and we'll not have a moment's breath to move all of our crap from the basement to the house until the middle of June.
But even that, the middle of June, is fast approaching. Whew.
Another friendship crisis at school today. That makes 11 in 2 months. We only have 22 students and 11 of them are struggling with their friends. Approval ratings are dipping slightly...we're all growing tired of each other.
And I grow tired tonight as well...good night, good night!
Friday, May 05, 2006
Iranian Friendships
My day...
Two girls in tears. Two girls in gasping sobs. I must negotiate between their dispute. I talk with one girl for half an hour while the rest of the class works on their projects for their BIG NIGHT performance in two weeks. The other girl sits at her table and whimpers.
Then I ask the other girl to come to my desk and tell her side of the story. It's a complicated story involving one crazed theatrical (she's a playwright) mother, a passive father, another therapist mother who allows her 10 year old daughter to watch R rated videos (like The Wedding Crasher!) and another father who is absent while off in on some business trip one week after the next selling his healthy snacks. Oh, and it involves the two girls -- one who is confident, dramatic, popular, and talented; the other who is insecure, slightly overweight, formerly a bully (at her previous school) as well as a victim...but both girls very sweet and very good friends...up until today.
When...in the midst of teacher playing therapist and trying hard not to say what I really feel...another student comes up and says, "The music you're playing isn't any good. Can we listen to the Classical I-Tunes station, though it's not really classical."
And I say, "Sure," while I'm handing the sobbing girl at my desk another box of tissues. So the girl who thinks my music sucks (how can anyone hate the Be Good Tanyas?), comes around my desk, messes with my computer (where the speakers are hooked up) and selects, Classical Iranian Music from the I-Tunes radio menu.
The rest of the afternoon, while I counsel the friendship back together, we listen to traditional Iranian music -- drums, chanting, the whole kit and kaboodle -- and the rest of the class works like a hive in honey season.
Go figure.
And in the back of my mind I'm thinking, "So, if someone is monitoring my computer, will I get arrested for playing 'subversive terrorist' music to a class of 5th graders?"
I'm glad, oh so glad, it's Friday. If I have to deal with one more friendship crisis (this makes number 10 in the past four weeks), I will throw up my liver...I swear.
At least I'll have good background music while I'm puking or while I'm being arrested by Homeland Security...or both!
Two girls in tears. Two girls in gasping sobs. I must negotiate between their dispute. I talk with one girl for half an hour while the rest of the class works on their projects for their BIG NIGHT performance in two weeks. The other girl sits at her table and whimpers.
Then I ask the other girl to come to my desk and tell her side of the story. It's a complicated story involving one crazed theatrical (she's a playwright) mother, a passive father, another therapist mother who allows her 10 year old daughter to watch R rated videos (like The Wedding Crasher!) and another father who is absent while off in on some business trip one week after the next selling his healthy snacks. Oh, and it involves the two girls -- one who is confident, dramatic, popular, and talented; the other who is insecure, slightly overweight, formerly a bully (at her previous school) as well as a victim...but both girls very sweet and very good friends...up until today.
When...in the midst of teacher playing therapist and trying hard not to say what I really feel...another student comes up and says, "The music you're playing isn't any good. Can we listen to the Classical I-Tunes station, though it's not really classical."
And I say, "Sure," while I'm handing the sobbing girl at my desk another box of tissues. So the girl who thinks my music sucks (how can anyone hate the Be Good Tanyas?), comes around my desk, messes with my computer (where the speakers are hooked up) and selects, Classical Iranian Music from the I-Tunes radio menu.
The rest of the afternoon, while I counsel the friendship back together, we listen to traditional Iranian music -- drums, chanting, the whole kit and kaboodle -- and the rest of the class works like a hive in honey season.
Go figure.
And in the back of my mind I'm thinking, "So, if someone is monitoring my computer, will I get arrested for playing 'subversive terrorist' music to a class of 5th graders?"
I'm glad, oh so glad, it's Friday. If I have to deal with one more friendship crisis (this makes number 10 in the past four weeks), I will throw up my liver...I swear.
At least I'll have good background music while I'm puking or while I'm being arrested by Homeland Security...or both!
Wednesday, May 03, 2006
house to bedroom
I am in a room, now, that is the size of our living room (the room we did not remodel), but this room is filled with oil paintings, four torch-like sconces, and an entire wall of cherry wood cabinetry. The couches in this room are leather (yes, there are two, and the floor is hardwood. An ancient rug given to the room's owner by some East Indian friend, stretches the length of the floor. Outside the window, the world is in bloom -- pinks and purples and oranges and peaches and yellows. In the backyard, a swimming pool and more colors busting open the nostrils of spring. Across the street, there is a gabled house with a balcony, equally virulent blossoms, and sculpted hedges the shape of overgrown Chia pets.
We are sleeping in a room the size of our original house (640 square feet) with a hot tub on the balcony just outside our window. The view from our bedroom and the hot tub is to the east where we can count the peaks of the Cascades and watch the rowers on Lake Washington work their way against the wind.
It is as if we have been transported to a resort hotel and only our daily getting up and preparing for work reminds us that we have not yet retired to such a deluxe life.
I love our friends who own this house, but every day I am amazed at how the manuver through their lives without one turn of the head, or a nod of consideration that beneath them lies 6000 square feet of structure, four floors of opulence, and a house large enough to accommodate 6 full-sized bathrooms.
The irony of it all is that they live in the basement, two rooms they've remodeled to make it warm and cozy. They cook in their exquisite kitchen and spend time, as I am tonight, in their study, but the other 5000 square feet is relatively untouched -- a collection of furniture, art, and dust.
Each night they cook their meal at 8:30 and sit down to eat by 9. The food is purchased at a variety of stores, where Steven spends his days shopping for just the right herb or piece of meat or the special endive that is only sold in one store in the International District. This is only after four hours of golf for which he rises each morning at 4:30. 18 holes of golf every week day, no matter the weather, and then a day spent searching for basil and rosemary, tender duck or substantial pork.
The price of staying here is my helping to "Dog Whisper" their enormous German Shepard, Ben. Ben is a sweet dog who has never once been given boundaries or limitations. He has destroyed countless pairs of shoes, numerous garden tools, and has a special affinity for bathrobes of which he's torn up 7 in his 4 years of life.
So Ben and I rise at 5 and walk the lake path every morning and then again in the evening. We work on not fearing other dogs (Ben is enormous, but hides behind Steven when another dog approaches or lunges out of fear to bite the head off an unsuspecting lab, or his favorite, a yorkie... the smaller the opponent, the more he fears it.) Tonight, we walked past the neighbor dogs who lunge at the gate setting Ben into a frantic spasm of growling and barking. I immediately threw Ben to the ground and made him lie in a submissive pose until the two large dogs settled down and stopped their slathering and huffing. Then we walked past the gate four more times and nary a bark or snivel was heard.
A small success in a rather long day of work where the drama of friendships dominates the curriculum.
It makes me want to train dogs for the rich.
But there is something uncomfortable about this temporary home. I think it is guilt, but it could be just an unfamiliarity with wealth of this magnitude.
I do find it ironic that Doris, Steven's wife, is an art teacher. An art teacher living in a mansion. A living, breathing oxymoron.
And perhaps the oxymoronic experience is partly what I'm feeling.
Still...
...what am I to do, but take another hot tub, eat another arugula salad, and take the dog on endless walks to overcome his low self esteem. A dog with low self-esteem...
Only in America.
We are sleeping in a room the size of our original house (640 square feet) with a hot tub on the balcony just outside our window. The view from our bedroom and the hot tub is to the east where we can count the peaks of the Cascades and watch the rowers on Lake Washington work their way against the wind.
It is as if we have been transported to a resort hotel and only our daily getting up and preparing for work reminds us that we have not yet retired to such a deluxe life.
I love our friends who own this house, but every day I am amazed at how the manuver through their lives without one turn of the head, or a nod of consideration that beneath them lies 6000 square feet of structure, four floors of opulence, and a house large enough to accommodate 6 full-sized bathrooms.
The irony of it all is that they live in the basement, two rooms they've remodeled to make it warm and cozy. They cook in their exquisite kitchen and spend time, as I am tonight, in their study, but the other 5000 square feet is relatively untouched -- a collection of furniture, art, and dust.
Each night they cook their meal at 8:30 and sit down to eat by 9. The food is purchased at a variety of stores, where Steven spends his days shopping for just the right herb or piece of meat or the special endive that is only sold in one store in the International District. This is only after four hours of golf for which he rises each morning at 4:30. 18 holes of golf every week day, no matter the weather, and then a day spent searching for basil and rosemary, tender duck or substantial pork.
The price of staying here is my helping to "Dog Whisper" their enormous German Shepard, Ben. Ben is a sweet dog who has never once been given boundaries or limitations. He has destroyed countless pairs of shoes, numerous garden tools, and has a special affinity for bathrobes of which he's torn up 7 in his 4 years of life.
So Ben and I rise at 5 and walk the lake path every morning and then again in the evening. We work on not fearing other dogs (Ben is enormous, but hides behind Steven when another dog approaches or lunges out of fear to bite the head off an unsuspecting lab, or his favorite, a yorkie... the smaller the opponent, the more he fears it.) Tonight, we walked past the neighbor dogs who lunge at the gate setting Ben into a frantic spasm of growling and barking. I immediately threw Ben to the ground and made him lie in a submissive pose until the two large dogs settled down and stopped their slathering and huffing. Then we walked past the gate four more times and nary a bark or snivel was heard.
A small success in a rather long day of work where the drama of friendships dominates the curriculum.
It makes me want to train dogs for the rich.
But there is something uncomfortable about this temporary home. I think it is guilt, but it could be just an unfamiliarity with wealth of this magnitude.
I do find it ironic that Doris, Steven's wife, is an art teacher. An art teacher living in a mansion. A living, breathing oxymoron.
And perhaps the oxymoronic experience is partly what I'm feeling.
Still...
...what am I to do, but take another hot tub, eat another arugula salad, and take the dog on endless walks to overcome his low self esteem. A dog with low self-esteem...
Only in America.
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