Stress isn't good for you!

But, it is prevalent in our lives, or my life anyway. Why is that? If it is chronic, then could it be that we/I am the one causing it? That due to the faults I have, the tragic flaws inherent in me/us, we dictate the emergence of stress?

Im stressed about work, I dont really like my job and it feels there is no end in sight. The hours roll on like a semi, with me either overwhelmed and consumed with things that in no way benefit me (example grading and editing students' papers), or drag on and on virtually not moving with boredom and ennui avast. How can that be? How can it be that I am bored and have so much to do all at the same time? So, while I need to be working towards tenure because without it, I will lose my job, I have no time to work on my writing. Okay, I probably have time (between like midnight at 8:30am), but I dont wanna. I dont wanna work on my writing. I hate writing. It makes me feel inadequate.

I heard yesterday that two of my friends did not get tenure at A&M-San Antonio. Both have been there since its inception. The people on their committee felt they "didnt have enough publications in their field" and "didnt give enough service." They have given a ton of service, way more than me, and as for publications, their articles are in education and they are in education so how is that outta their field? Im confused. Both of these people really wanted their tenure; they imagine themselves at A&MSA for the long haul. What is to become of someone like me who doesnt see themselves here for the long haul, but needs to job until I see what my next life step is? Someone who at the same time needs tenure to keep her job, doesnt give a shit about her job? Dont get me wrong, there are a few things I like about my job. Just overall, I could walk away tomorrow and not really miss it. Sometimes I dream about working at Target, if that tells you anything.

So, stress. My job is stressful, my dogs are stressful. I love them and they are stressful. I need a dog walker because Zoey is ADHD and on the days I work, I am gone a long time. It's not that she would have an accident inside, but instead that she wont sleep if I come home and she has been inside all day, even with a good night walk. She is hyper and no one really wants to keep her when I travel, stress. Then Charlie- his bum leg has cost me $4,000 and whether or not spending that was a good call, it was spent. Now, it is lame again and he needs surgery to either try and refix it again or take it off. The decision is hard concerning what to do. He uses the leg and has feeling in it, but it is so expensive to refix again with the possibility of it not working. Both cost about $1,000. What to do?

Then, my house on West Kings. It is the cutest house--that I dont want. Why dont I want it you ask, because it costs so damn much of my paycheck to live there. House poor they call it. Some people moved in to the house 2 years ago and were planning on buying it. It was all set and now, they are pulling out of the deal. Im stuck trying to sell it again. Stress balls.

So, my 13 year old Honda Civic is on the fritz- so I bought a little Toyota Rav4 from my friend Diane. Ive had it about a week and the MaitReQ light came on. The manual says it comes on for an oil change, but it still has over 1,000 miles to go on the current one, according to the sticker. What the hell is that bullshit? Now, regardless of the fact that it is prolly something little like when they did the last oil change, they forgot to reset the light, I have to make time to take it somewhere and run a diagnosis.

I miss my grandma. I miss her all the time, I think of her everyday and I am not sure what to do with the angst that I do have because she isnt there to listen to it and make it better. She was my rock-the one who loved me and listened to me and made me believe she understood, no matter what, everyday as needed. There isnt anyone like that now. No one. My tears roll every time I say her name or think about her, which is all the time, especially when Im in the car when I would have been having a session with her. In addition, I have come to the realization that without a family, I will die alone in a hospital bed, like so many others, a sea of nurses who poke your body and care nothing about your soul. That's depressing.

Lastly, I am once again struggling with a spiraling depression-like angst wherein I feel lost about what to do. It is very generalized angst. Im just not happy, with my life (job, living situation, car, animals, family). It feels yucky and I cant see how to fix it. I could look for a new job at another university, but why? It's the same job, different place and people. I could move back in to my house, but I dont want to have to pay so much. I could give Diane back her car, but I need one. I could find a new home for my animals, but I would miss them too much. I miss my grandma and there isnt anything to do about that.

Sometimes I imagine running away--but even that needs planning.

I dont know how

to not have my grandma. I dont. Every time I see a picture (there are 6 in my house alone) I imagine her in her house in Carrollton. But, she isnt there and then, I feel this gut-wrenching sadness, deep in the pit of my stomach. How can this have happened so fast? How come I wasn't prepared for this? How come death is so hard for me? How can it be so final?

Fifteen things I miss already

15. Her calling me Jen-Jen and GG
14. Love you more
13. Coca-Cola, especially her open one in the fridge
12. Her never-ending Mt. St. Helen's reading list
11. All the cards and letters she wrote while claiming to never write cards nor letters
10. Imagining her drinking a cappuchino and eating a donut everyday
9. Spending the night at her house and watching TV lounging on her arm
8. Splitting dinner with her every time we'd go out
7. Ability to talk to her for hours (and of course, everyday calls on the way to work)
6. Scrabble games
5. Her unending quest to cure me of my skin ailments
4. Her unending ability to make me feel better
3. Dropping to my knees to hug her in her reading chair
2. Having someone who genuinely cared to have me around as much as possible
1. Feeling unconditionally loved

Even as I wrote those 15, there are so many more, so many little ones, so many deep ones. 35 years with someone. The angst in my head is overwhelming. People keep telling me, "She lived a long life." Very true, but she wasnt done. Her body told us that as it just wouldn't go, wouldn't stop. It fought and fought. It doesnt matter now though, her "not time", became her time. And no comment about the length of her life or my luck in having her around so long makes me feel better. Actually, it makes it worse. I knew her longer, better, with all of the knowings of a child growing up with a daily role model who was loving, smart, caring, sincere, and whom adored you with all they are. Only those who have had that and lost it can understand how absolutely terrifying and disparate it is. Most children grow up and leave their parents, some with a quick step and others more laden, but I never left. From the day I was born she loved me and when she looked at me as I sat in that hospital day after day feeding and sitting with her, she told me again and again in her eyes how much. I will never be the same.

My Grandma, Helen Edith Palmer Cooper

left the Earthly world on October 6 at 93 years old, 35 of those years spent with me. I came to Dallas thinking I would be there 3 days, until she got the medication going for the respiratory infection. Instead, I spent 12 days with her, lifting her oxygen mask just enough for her cappuchino or milkshake, caramel apple slices, or hot fudge sundae. I sat with her for hours, talking about everything and nothing, watching TV with her, painting her toes and holding her hand, hoping with all I am that she would get better despite the specialists showing me x-rays and displaying no hope. I cried, and repeated over and over and over that I loved her and it wasn't her time. But, in the end, I watched her get mass amounts of morphine and anxiety medication, watched her not get enough air to breathe. I watched the person I loved most in this world suffocate, unable to get a breath, longing for my Gpa and her best friends Brownie and Sue, long passed. It is them in the picture.

And now, I am changed. Heavy and laden.

I feel broken and lost, as if there is a giant hole in my heart that is eternal. She loved me and I felt loved. That sentence says it all. There are so many people in one's life who you are said to love and who say they love you, but very few actually live the part, love unconditionally, with the intent of the entire being. My grandma gave me that. She was always happy to see me, hear me, and to be a part of my life. She was the most understanding and wisest person I know. She was my heart and I am broken.

In the last year I have lost 2 of my most vigilant fans, my most ardent followers. I have lost the ones who held my heart safe, protected it and loved it, loved me for nothing more than I am, but more than I am. Mitzie Mouse and Grandma made me a better person. They loved me and I them.

The following song was sung by a dear family friend at Gma's funeral (which I didnt attend). BJ told my mom that Gma requested it after it was sung at my Gpa's funeral. So, I am attaching it. I do know that all was well in my Gma's soul as she was a charasmatic light in the world and will be missed eternally.

Sitting with Grandma

Yesterday we got the worst news ever. After battling pneumonia for the last 3 weeks (she got it after her fall), Gma's lungs are almost completely filled with infultrates and her prognosis is grave. I personally saw her xrays with her lung specialist. Made her feel sad to show me, I could tell she knew what I was seeing and understood what we were up against. She gave Gma maybe 2 weeks unless there is a dramatic change. Made me cry all night off and on and when I saw her this morning, I just wept. I cant even describe the depth of my sadness, nor my fear for my family should she leave us, which unless there is a miracle, she will. Even my dad was at the hospital today. And I, well, I feel like I need to be there. I dont want to see it, but I want her to know that someone is there with her always, that she is loved so much, and that when she struggles to breathe and I lay a hand on her head or her hand, I think she remembers. As an asthmatic myself though, watching someone suffocate is so scary. Gma is so scared too. I can see it in her eyes. She is petrified of not being able to catch her breath, that feeling of being underwater wherein you wonder if you will make it to the surface in time. I dont wish that on her. One thing about going in a catastrophe and acute issue is it is quick.

As I sit here at 1am alone in the room with her, her body twitches and all I find myself doing as her leg moves or her hand begins to sew in her sleep, is watch the O2 and BP stats to make sure she is staying in the 90%. Then I can return to my computer to work.

People try to say the right things, you know. The one that is getting me right now is, "You are so lucky to have had her so long!" Yes, I am and no Im not. I mean, if I didnt really know her, like was true of my paternal grandparents, the pain wouldnt be so bad. So, yeah-Im lucky, but the pain is much, much more intense. I feel like I am losing the one person who loved me for being me, for just who I am. Grandparents are wonderful that way and now, I am possibly going to not have any.

What's New?

Well, days continue to roll on, continue to move at the speed of light and at the pace of a snail. Life is such an oxymoron.

Im teaching 6 courses right now, 2 sections of an undergraduate assessment and remediation course, a graduate assessment and remediation course, a graduate theories and processes of reading course, an adolescent development course and a course full of independent studies. I think I made about 20 syllabi and am meeting students until the cows come home. BUT, hopefully I will be able to pay off my loans this semester and start saving for a car.

The biggest news is that grandma fell and broke her back about 3 weeks ago. The saddest thing ever. The worst thing was I was there when she fell and we just hoisted her up and she walked around for a couple days before it became clear she wasn't okay. After several back surgeries in her life, this newfound break is really not good, not even counting the fact that she is 94. She has been on her back for over a week now and has developed fluid around her lungs, prolly from laying down all the time. Im so scared that I am about to lose my favorite person in the world. Grandpa, Mitzie, and now Grandma, my favoritist people in the whole world are leaving me one by one. Im going up there on Friday after my mandatory meetings.

I'm trying to remember, I'm trying.

Most of the time, nothing is ever as big a deal as it seems right now. Death is a big deal, irreversible, and obviously life-altering, but other than that, it really isn't as big of a deal as you think it is.

We all have heard of people who through the truly most life-altering of times, full family deaths, loss of limbs, mobility, cancer, and other seemingly huge deals, come to find out that while the next breath is difficult, after many, the angst begins to fade and the perseverance and tenacity that is our life on Earth carries on.

So, don't sweat the small stuff, and really, dont sweat the seemingly big stuff. All fades and ebbs. Over time, our stories become triumphant, living, changing. That horrible experience with the boyfriend in high school becomes insight, the death of a loved one, a lesson in love. We tell ourselves there are reasons, and maybe there are. But, regardless, big stuff becomes small, small becomes big, and then small. The recursive spirit of hope, breath, and ultimately of life.

So, remember, dont sweat the small stuff and most is small. Keep calm and carry on for it is in the next breath that it becomes easier to breathe.

Going to the Zoo?

Those that know me know that I do not do zoos. I dont like animals caged, often in extreme heat, on display for sitckey, popcicled youg-ins. The animals even look miserable. I would be. Someday we will be the ones behind bars and weird aliens will be looking at us, "Look at the blonde one," and, "That one is fat," and, "Look, that one is brushing her teeth!" Anyways, last Saturday I went with a friend of mine to a "zoo" in Johnson City. I say its a zoo, but it more like a sanctuary as the animals they have were given to them. As such, they really dont have many exotics (A pair of lemurs, couple of zebra and a camel or two). But, the amazing thing about this place is that visitors get to ride on a trailer and feed the animals, pet them, and have them, well accost you. It was awesome. I pet a zebra and a camel, had goats and llamas bowl me over for my feed bucket, feed and pet a buffalo, a camel, and various other creatures.

Mentors

My thoughts after reading Ken Robinson's, The Element (2009):
Guidance from others is such an important part of knowing what you want to be, inhabiting the space between passion and aptitude wherein our full potential resides. Or, so I think. I believe that having someone to guide us, to give us aid when we need it most is vastly important for it is often that they see something in us that we ourselves do not see. Good mentors raise a person's self-esteem, make them feel that they are worthy and wanted, smart and able. Or, at least good mentors do that. They recognize what nurturing could do for a person, seeing a light inside that reminds them of someone successful, something more than is there now, can tell that with nurturing something spectacular would blossom. They fan the flames of interest into a genuine passion--I see it as exalted work.
So, according to Ken, there are four roles of mentors: 1) recognition-Mentors must recognize a spark and fan it to flame; 2) encouragement-Mentors believe we can do things that might seem impossible without them. They dont let someone succumb to self-doubt for too long and guide our hand, pushing and pulling as is needed; 3) facilitating-Mentors provide strategies and advice and even paving he way for us; 4) stretching-Effective mentors dont allow us to sit idle, to be less than we can be and are able to remind us that we are put on this Earth to push boundries, our own and others'.
Effective mentors are able to push and pull, nudge and remind, find power within us which helps to fuel their power as well. These people inspire us and lead us to marvel at what we have done. They share in our successes as if their own. They open our eyes to possibilities that inspire us. They drive us to follow their examples, moving us to take on roles and then supporting us in our pursuit of the goals. Mentors show us the next steps and help us to take them. While I imagine myself to be a mentor of others, most specifically the preservice teachers I work with , I wonder if I realize the power I have to inspire them or to deny them helpful signposts to success. Do I even know what it means to be successful? What does it mean to be successful anyway? Where is my mentor at this stage in my life? Do I have one?

I've worked with children with special needs my whole adult life but yesterday, I really saw the beauty in their simple views of the world. I saw a child with multiple disabilities, for whom it is possible to wonder if he is even in the world I inhabit, smile as his hand touched a waterfall. When such children play, they are the same as any child, just more simple and yet more complex, but their beauty, so inspiring.

New Orleans

I love that town. So full of culture and great food. The people, the music, the feel of the city. Alive and kicking. Stayed off Canal Street in a nice hotel, ate amazing food (even at Emeril's restaurant) and listend to some amazing street jazz. Oh yeah, and talked about a study concerning guided reading and Read180.

Spring Break 2011

Had a nice Spring Break this year, some time in Dallas with family and a day in Austin, several in San Antonio.

How Good Do We Have to Be?

There seems to be something in the human soul that causes us to think less of ourselves every time we do something wrong. It may be the result of parents who expectedntoo much of us, or teachers who took for granted what we did right and paid attention to the things we did wrong, detailing our issues in red pen. And maybe it is good for us to feel that way. It may make us more sensitive to what we do wrong and move us to repent and grow. But it may also lead us to our setting unrealistically high standards for ourselves and others.

I believe much of the unhappiness people feel burdened witth, much of the guilt, much of the sense of being cheated by life, stems from one of tow related causes: a parent, a teacher, someone important, gave them the message that they were not good enough, and they believed it. It is in our notion that we could expect perfection of ourselves (because others did) and in that, others could be expected to be perfect too. Such acts leaves us feeling constantly guilty and perpetually disappointed.

I can remember so many occasions from my growing-up years and my life as an adult, occasions of shame, feeling I had disappointed people who were judging me and fallen short of what I wanted to be. What is remarkable is not that that happened, but that decades later, I still remember them and the longer I think of them, they still have the power to hurt. Why? Memories are powerful.

And thus, I need to learn to forgive. Forgive myself. Forgive others. For when we forgive, we come to see what someone did to us is not the result of malice or dismissal of our feelings, but as a result of human weakness, impatience, and imperfection. I must choose happiness over righteousness and to remember not to be jealous. There is enough love to go around.

"guilt is the product of an individual conscious, shame is the product of a community," said Dr. Herald Krusner.

Everything Old is New Again

My days seem to be too much the same. I'm sure that is true for all of working humanity. We get up, walk the doggie, have coffee, take a shower, and go to work until we leave, come home, watch TV ( damn you DVR), and head to bed. Same. Same. Currently, I have the dream schedule, well, not dream, but pretty good. I work on Monday-Wednesday till 10pm and them am off. The problem is the "off". I have work to do, I simply must work on manuscripts, preparations for class, and other sundry A&M tasks, but I dally around the tasks on my days off, work some, but not terribly efficient and certainly not as much as I could. And, while the dally might be somewhat earned while not necessary, it is inhibiting my ability to use my schedule to my advantage. There isn't a reason I don't have several articles in the pipeline for pulication other than I don't write them during the free time I have. I do other things that do not contribute to my academic or cultural journey, things I like, but not growth worthy things, for example, I take Zoey for walks and to the dog park, I vacuum and clean , I go to bed late and sleep till 10. Those actions make me feel lazy, not competent, not excited about the next day, and most problematically, make me not enjoy the time off in ways that lead me further on my life journey. They seem to make me hate my work, not manage my time well and overall, not enjoy my newfound freedom. My days were made to allow for self-paced work. I've decided i don't like it, but I can't go to work to work, I hate it there and nothing good gets done. My desk is tiny here at home (which is, don't get me wrong) where most of the magic happens. So what do I do? Where do I go to work, not be distracted unless I want to be and have scheduled to be? I need to be schedule-used better...I need something!

So, I've decided to a) find a coffee shop that I like here in San Antonio, not too far from my house; b) work Monday and Tuesday at school as scheduled and required; c) use Wednesday as a "cultural day" doing something that increases my social and cultural self; c) Thursday will be for manuscripts and will occur at the new coffee shop, and Friday will include a dog park, a good work out, and cleaning, plus sporadic academic needs including manuscripts, proposals, and teaching. I'll let you know...

Death

It's hard to swallow
the emotion of it.
It wells up.
It's never just a rite
of passage,
but a connection
to you
and each loss chips away
pieces
of you.
You cry
for those pieces.

And My Light Flickers...

Well, time for the semester to begin, meetings and then classes and while I have had a restful vacation, it has also been minus my baby girl and minus something just as important, passion. For the first time in my teaching life (which extends for about 22 years, right mom?) I don't want t be a teacher, at least one at A&M. For the first time, I feel that there is nothing I can do to give at A&M, to a school, a creed, a ministry that I had previously wanted to believe in like I never had at my fabulous, big, authoritarian college. Yet, it has died over the last couple semesters and with it, my passion. It used to be that I let everyone in my classes because I believed what I was doing was important, that it was paramount for students to be in a classroom with high expectations, with a mastery orientation, with serious implications and a calling to the field that no one but me could give them. I was important to the teaching world of San Antonio in ways even they didn't know. I was changing the future, making it stronger, against the grain, powerful and smart. Now, I find the beginning of the semester daunting, dreary, and the passion I had once had in the ministry of education in San Antonio, gone. What am I to do? As I write these syllabi and post Blackboard, I find myself anxious and weary for the first time. I must say Im not sure I am a good teacher anymore. My light is flickering.

I also learned this last semester something that has induced much personal angst and perhaps jealousy. Jealousy I hate, but it has reared its head in vicious ways concerning this. I am not the chosen one, at least not one of the chosen ones and I want to be. One of the hardest lessons in my academic life concerns not being the chosen one, being told I am chosen, but actions not aligning, mine and other people's. It is realizing that someone(s) I wanted to be my mentor, my colleague(s), to deem me smart, and to want to make my life better, has chosen others, but not me. And, what is worse, I am jealous. I don't want to be, I want to say it is okay for me not to be the smartest, to be chosen to work with, write with, but I am and now, at this crossroads in my life, the lack of an active mentor has crippled me and I feel dead at the university, left to rot. What is worse you ask? That I don't want to play the game anymore. Let me rot.

Disney 2010 with Eric, Jackie, Levi, David, Josiah and Laura