Went to Austin to work on Friday. Ate with Diane. Dog to dog park with Loretta.
Drove to Dallas Saturday morning. Hung with Gma before going to the RichTone, Sweet Adeline show. Ate dinner with Gma's friends. Got home 1am.
Visited my Gpa's burial site, hung out editing, skating in my new skates with Gpa's walker so as not to fall, and ate cookies while Gma slept till 1pm. Ate Wendy's with Mom, Dad and Gma. Talked with Gma and headed back to Austin to pick up the dogs. Arrived at 8:30pm. Loretta had dinner waiting!
Drove to SA. And back to work I am. Can I do it again to Houston this weekend? Woosh!
I'm a professor. I am one of the hundreds of thousands of over-educated, under-appreciated, and under-paid non-tenured faculty at a high minority, low SES, low funded, urban institutions of higher learning. When I calculate the time and money spent traveling, grading, answering email, teaching and planning, my wages come to about $10 an hour. Faced with this situation at any other job, I'd leave. But these conditions are outweighed by the simple fact that I am needed. When I walk into my classroom, as I will tomorrow, there are 35 pairs of eyes ready and waiting for me to be brilliant, to make them think, to learn. I can't turn away.
My students are oblivious to the internal wrangling of academia, and they aren't interested in how much money I make. They just want someone to teach them. But, once they leave the confines of my classroom, they are on their own. They have the charge to change education, to make it better, to create and inspire. I have but a semester; that goal keeps me interested. That goal is worthy of the Olympics of teaching.
Each week I read pages from each of them--about frogs, wars, Mexican food, their thoughts. The conversations after class concern lives, thoughts, and loves. One such involved Marta, a wonderful 45ish woman with a short black bob haircut and mantras about children. She told me, "When this class started I thought you were nuts. Young and nuts. Now, I can't go back to thinking that children are just empty bottles, waiting to be filled. They are full bottles ready to be recycled, foamingly eager, carbonated with ideas. This whole time I was waiting for some professor to teach me how to teach reading. You taught me how to think. That's more valuable, I think."
It is often my students' complicated lives walk off the page and into my classroom. But it is their lack of pretension, their raw and life experienced intellect. Messages arrive in my inbox from hotmama71 and rustytheyorkie81 and almost every message begins with, "Hi, my name is XXX and I am in your XXX class." They aren't afraid to tell me when I am talking too fast or otherwise confusing them. They are upfront and not afriad to tell me when what we are doing is boring. In college and graduate school, I learned to hide my ignorance, surrepticiously looking up information on my own time. My students dont bother with such intellectual guile. Their honesty disarms me, and forces me to keep my teaching fresh.
At my college, it is the older students who keep going, and I'm reassured by the fact that so many of them left school in the past and then returned, sometimes decades later. Non-tiered colleges like mine are forgiving in that way. Come one, come all-the battered, the child-full, the downtrodden, the cashier, the movie hostess, the mechanic, and the baby boomers. I guess that is why I keep coming back, too. I like to help people begin again. It takes an enormous amount of courage to re-enter school as an adult, but this choice can mean the difference between the food industry and a master's degree. My student's yearning for opportunity keeps me coming back each semester. So, in their robust interest, their experiences, and their intent eyes, I return each day, hoping to change the world, one teacher at a time, specifically those serving populations that have been left behind.
So, that my friends and family is why I am a professor and why, despite the hardship, I carry on at this university, in this city, with these students. It's because I make a difference.
Goals for the Fall of 2009: 1. Fall below my lowest adult weight 2. Provide quality, assessment-driven, personal, professional development for Dora 3. Create a coherent, well-read Assessment and Remediation Masters Course 4. Mentor Anita from a positive, research-based, professorial role 5. Call Gma every week 6. Enjoy my time off without feeling guilty 7. Limit complaints and remain as positive as possible 8. Keep a vigorous and deep thinking Content Area Literacy course
I went with Diane to see Beaches at the Paramount. Such a wonderfully made film that still makes me cry. Friendship is weird that way. When two people are so close they know everything about the other, it is so easy to love and so easy to be mean to each other. That movie's relationship between Hillary and Cece reminds me of my relationship with Diane. I had not thought about the parallels. I adore her and know her memory is long. I'm counting on that.
I just am so thankful for the friends I have. I am lucky to have wonderful friends. Sometimes I forget that I am surrounded by people who love me, people who want to spend time with me, who want to be a part of my life. If I could just feel that on the days that I am in the depths of despair. Thank you Diane, Loretta, Shelley, Dora, Dawn, Anita, Karen, Jody, Beth, Peg, Sherry, Eric...in no particular order. Thank you for knowing me and loving me despite and in spite of myself.
Today was interesting that way. I met my friend Dawn for lunch at Central Market and had a wonderful time talking about life and teaching. She is just great. The thing that was so interesting about the conversation was that I commented that I didn't think a professor was the job for me, that the politics, the drama, the writing, the angst did not fill me up, did not make me feel spent. Instead that guilt, and tiredness, and angst plagued me. Her advice? Get a new job. Then, there was the movie, which had the same repose, "Do what you love, life if short. Don't have regrets." Yeah, that is interesting, isn't it? What would I do? I only know teaching. I only know reading. Something to think about though.
So I am in Austin tonight after driving in this morning. Last night I spent the evening at a bar watching and listening to BARELY LEGAL and blowing out my eardrums. One of my students is the guitarist and his mom, another student, a friend. After too many gin and tonics, I made it home after 2. This morning, Mouser and I were slow to rise, not getting up till after 10. Zoey was up and playing outside from 7am-10. After packing, we headed here, the girls and I. I went to lunch with Diane and then Loretta and I ran to Target, ate Thai and came home to watch one of my current favorite shows, RUBY. Now, we are eating brownies and working on computers in tandem. Its sorta funny.
Tomorrow I have a meeting with my ex-principal Dora to talk about doing some consulting work for her school. I'm nervous though because I have never done such a thing and am very aware of my feelings about professional development when I was a teacher. Three things seem true in my teaching experience: 1) It is hard to change teachers, 2) It is also hard to make a PD fit specifically for each teacher and yet it is imperative that it be personalized, and 3) If the person working with the teachers isn't careful, she will waste her breath. As such, I am excited to attempt something I haven't done before and nervous that I might embarrass myself in front of Dora, whom I admire. After meeting with Dora, I'm going to workout and eat with Diane.
Tuesday, I am finally getting my hair done. I will be a blond again. I dyed it dark brown and when that wore off some, I redyed it to what I thought the roots were. I was a bit off and now the roots are blonder than the dye so in pictures I have this strange yellow halo. Hee hee! Im so excited to get it cut and colored. It is so long that when I lean back in a chair, it gets stuck behind my back! Thanks Diane for setting the appointment! Then I get to eat lunch with my dear long ago friend Dawn with which I taught in 2006. I just adore her so am looking forward to seeing and hearing all the news. Tuesday night I get to go see Bette Midler in Beaches at the Paramount. I will be getting popcorn and I will be sneaking in a vanilla coke.
Wednesday I'm hoping to have breakfast with Diane and then head back to San Antonio for a doctors appointment at 1:45. Wish me luck at that as I have excema sores again. Ever since the death of my grandpa, my eating has been a downward spiral. Im working on it, but boy do I like flour, milk, cheese, wheat, and eggs...or translated, "cookies, ice cream, swiss, bread, and cake."
It is rare that I get a forward in my email. I hate them and most of my friends know not to send them lest they are sent directly to junk. But this one came from a friend and is written by a friend. I tell you, she has my exact story. Weird how singular we all feel and yet how similar we all are. So, below is her story that is my story. I thought I would share the version that is hers with some editing so it is mine. Such a wonderful piece.
I love Cinderella. She’s beautiful inside and out, she’s kind to animals, she has a great singing voice, but most of all I love, love, love that ball gown. I want that ball gown! Some girls favorite princess was Sleepy Beauty; I thought Cinderella could kick her ass; after all she had a tough life with all those chores and nasty stepsisters and stepmother. Let’s not forget about Prince Charming—admit it, he was pretty darn handsome for a cartoon. And, although Cinderella married Prince Charming, I always thought she could make it on her own, kind of like Mary Richards on the Mary Tyler Moore Show, but that’s another story.
Growing up, my parents taught me to stand on my own two feet. It was implied that I could do whatever I wanted to, and for the most part, I have. Neither I, nor my brother have married, found our prince or princess respectively. That's right. I’m 33 and have never been married. Why? Good question.
Over the years, it never occurred to me that I wouldn’t get married. It seemed that everyone did sooner or later. I dated some very nice guys and had a lot of fun. I even lived with one for a while but I always knew I’d never marry him. He had big muscles and was cute. We had almost nothing in common—he worked outdoor construction, I hate the outdoors; I like politics, he hates it. You get the picture. Subconsciously, I knew that I was smarter than he was, and that was a problem, although I couldn’t admit that to myself at the time. The only thing we had in common was our adoration for The Three Stooges, and even a woman waiting for Prince Charming knows that The Three Stooges isn’t enough to base a marriage on. When he asked me to marry him, I had to say no. Frankly, I was astounded that he didn’t seem to know that we wouldn’t work long-term but then again, I was smarter than he was. You gotta love a big, dumb, cute oaf though.
There have been men that I have been nuts for. Although I’m usually the dumpee, some of these men have pointed out that I had left the relationship long before the actual separation. I’ve even come to realize that some of these men turned out not to be who I thought they were because I had made them up. I projected traits that I admired onto them and therefore, they could never live up to the image that I created. That realization was a real eye-opener for me. Don’t get me wrong; I truly cared for these men and even cried over some of them. Looking back, I don’t regret dating them, but I sure am glad I didn’t marry any of them.
I don’t know that my prince will ever come but I’m glad that I have never made waiting for him a priority because I would have missed so much-becoming a doctor, a career that is my own solely, travel to faraway places, exceptional food, meeting extraordinary people, fun with friends, and the fact that although I fall sometimes, I get back up and do it again with my own velocity, my own power, my own tenacity. I own a home, a car, enough money to buy myself things I want or pay to fix household things I can’t, and the love of two adorable but naughty doggies, and an obnoxious cat. I don’t really need anything. I like doing my own thing and not answering to anyone but me.
But every once in a while, not that often, but once in a while, I think I’d like to put on that Cinderella ball gown and meet a prince. Notice I didn’t say “marry”; I own my own crown.
My friend and colleague created and uploaded the picture below. I do think David Carusso is cute. Shut up Loretta.
So, the 2 week summer has begun. I was hoping to make it to LA to visit Jody before she heads off to Europe for 2 months, but due to budget cuts, I will not be going anywhere. Today was the first day of the summer off for me. Of course, Diane would say that I am not off, that there is work to be done. And, of course there is, but I am pretending. Today I: 1. Laid in bed watching episode of HOUSE till about 11. 2. Repainted an old stool with old spray paint, took off the top padding too. 3. Read some out of this memoir I bought at the Dollar Store. 4. Applied for an additional job working with toddlers from 7am-noon, M-F. 5. Called the mortgage company to learn more about my payments. 6. Went to JoAnn's Fabric to get a new cover for the stool. I bought $1.04 fabric. 7. Went to gym to watch Oprah. 8. Painted portraits of MouserDog, ZoeyLou, and CitaBandita on the fabric. 9. Unloaded the diswasher and made doggie dinner-dinner. 10. Rode the bike while Zoey ran. 11. Texted Shelley while watching TV. 12. Headed to bed to write this blog.
Such a busy day. Hee! Tomorrow I am going to meet a student at La Madeline at 1pm, return something to the mall, and then hit the gym. Big time. Maybe I will work a bit on my digital manuscript. You're welcome, Diane. As you can see from the photo, we are tired around here! Later Gators!
1. Ash tree: Gorgeous tree in the front yard, completely dead Huge pieces fell. Hazardous. Taken Down. Price: $550
2. Zoey: Reversed Sneezing and Asthma. Emergency vet. X-Rays. Outcome? Benedryl. Picture above is her at the emergency vet. Price: $328.00,
3. Electric, Mortgage, School Loans, Medical debt, Phone, Water, Security System, Cable, Food, sundry: $3,000
4. Gas. To Dallas, back; to Austin, back; to Dallas, back. To Work. To Work, To Work etc. $200
Guess I just found it.
So far this summer has well, sucked. Ive worked and worked and have about nothing to show for it except back pain and complete exhaustion. No human should teach 4 classes, several with 35 students in them and try to breathe. Now, due to #1 and #2, I am stuck here in San Antonio for my two weeks off. I wanted to go visit my best friend Jody in LA, but it is simply too expensive to go and spend any money. I was hoping to use my free ticket but I cant seem to get the dates to work out. Plus Jody is packing it all up and going to Europe for a couple months. I wish I could so bad! So, here I am. How can I make more money and not have more money? I am so bummed.
Today it really sank in. One income just doesnt cut it. Not with a house, 3 girls, myself, and an old car. Today I met Loretta halfway for dinner and shopping at the outlets. I know that sounds bad, but it was for her. She is in serious need of new clothing. So in and out we went. Snails pace, she shopped and I walked around too. I was finished way before her (always am) and took it upon myself to walk into the Coach Purse Store. You see for almost a year I have been coveting this purple, patent leather purse I saw in a magazine. So, I have a checked a few times online to see if I could find it cheaper (It is full priced at almost $600.). No, I have never paid that for a purse, nor would I. That is why I was looking everywhere for it cheaper. So today, a full year after I started and gave up hope, I found it. Like a beacon it sat in the store, already 50% off, and then an additional 10%. Gorgeous. The picture is above. Priceless find.
I had to walk away. I felt a lump in my throat, not because I found it, but because I simply dont have the money to buy it, dont know anyone who would for me (I need a rich boyfriend, parents, or friends), and I had to try it on. Look at it in the mirror on my shoulder and realize that I make good money and cant buy a damn purse that I have wanted for ages because it is expensive and I am poor. How can that be?
is coming in August. Finally. I've worked year-round for years, school, teaching, school, teaching. Now, I will have August. I wanted to go somewhere. First there were grandiose ideas of Spain. Then there was Vegas again and then Chicago. Now, after realizing my finances, I am wondering if I will get to go anywhere.
My grandma will spend her first night alone in the house. My aunt and uncle left at 4am. She cried on the phone today saying nothing really mattered anymore and that she now thinks that him going into the rehabilitation center which was like a nursing home made him give up. Poor gma. I so hope that some of the Sweet Adelines step up like they said they were going to and call and stop by. Oh please!
On Monday when I returned from Dallas my whole walkway was covered by a tree which fell while I was gone. About half of a huge lovely tree from the left side of my home died and fell down. More death. The tree is dying and I need to either get an arborist out here to see what it has and try to fix it (about 300$) or cut it down and out for 500$. There was supposed to be enough money to live in this house, but due to its other needs, it is not going well. Vacations might be curtailed.
Also sad, my neighbor's cat, Quita, who I got fixed about 3 months ago, was hit by a car yesterday. Her older cat died 2 days before that. I took off running when she called me thinking that because she is on social security, she wouldnt take her to the emergency vet. I would though. It was too late. After staying with her for several hours, I remembered that the door was unlocked. Luckily Zoey was sitting on the stoop and had not run away. Good dog but sad for Miss Eva. More death.
Definitely on a more happy note, my good friend and former principal, Dora, came by to visit. We chatted and had lunch at La Fogata. Then, Macy's and some shopping. It was so lovely to see her. I wish she lived closer than Austin. I know we would write together!
(15) The Shrine Circus (14) Doggies: Gus, Spooky, Penny, Sweetie, Willow (13) Ranger baseball (12) Kansas University basketball (11) Golf (10) Looking through Christmas cards (9) Walking around the block (8) Homemade soup and sandwiches (7) Washington D.C. (6) Listening to stories about mom and grandma (5) The library (4) The Luann platter on Tuesdays at Luby’s (3) New cars (2) Flower delivery (1) "You have been the light of our lives, G.G." (May, 2007)
My beloved Grandpa Cooper died on Monday. I'm still waterworks when I think of him and of course, there is the guilt of not coming the weekend before, when I had planned to. But, it didnt matter because he didnt make it. My sweet Grandpa.
I was in Austin on Sunday past when I got a call from my Mom saying that my grandpa had been taken by ambulance form the rehabilitation home after having low blood pressure, really low blood pressure. My mom told me he was being taken and that she would call with news. I prepared to leave Austin and head to Dallas at 7am, not returning for the last week of summer school. Up at 6:30 while packing, my mom called and said he had died at about 5:30, with my grandma at his side, holding his hand. She never left the hospital. Evidently, when he arrived at the emergency room he was struggling to breathe. They had him sitting up and 5 doctors working on him. My grandma and mom were denied entrance into the room. Somewhat stable, they brought him to his room and told my mom and gma that unless they intebated him, he was not going to be able to breathe on his own. Through sobs, they decided not to do any harsh measures; he had been struggling for so long. The doctors explained that if they didn't put the tube in, he would die. Asking if there was any chance he would ever get the tube out if they put it in, the doctor's all but said, "Probably not." My grandma and mom, both there at his side, said he wouldn't want it. They chose not to put it in. Instead, they placed a souped-up cpap machine on him that would force air in his lungs. It was so strong his lips quivered and his chest heaved. In addition to the adrenaline they were shooting him with to get his heart to pump, he was tense and uncomfortable. The doctor went in to him and asked him to raise his right hand. He did. Then, he was told to raise a foot and another and he did. The doctor then told him what was happening, that his family had decided not to put a tube down his throat and that he probably wasn't going to get better. I suppose he knew. He had been telling my gma a long time he was "really sick." The doctors then stopped the adrenaline and gave him morphine so he could relax. Slowly, he just fell asleep as my grandma held his hand. I wanted to make it there, to say goodbye, to hug him. I didnt make it. Sweet grandpa. I love him so.
He was buried on Thursday. I made a slide show of his life, graduation, my grandma, my aunt, my mom, me. The slide show played to 12th Street Rag and In My Life...It was horribly sad. Neither my gma nor me wanted to go. We were the last two to show up. While refreshments were served and people hugged my grandma, my aunt realized his hat had not been taken with his body to the mausoleum. I ran. Making it there, the director told me I could put it in. He raised the lid, and inside was my dear grandpa in his sleep pants and collared shirt, with his blanket at his feet, just like the last time I saw him...just like every time for the last 2 years. I put the hat in and an orange rose with a blue ribbon I brought for him. It seemed to symbolize the walks with him, the growth I had with him, the school I completed with his care and admiration. I laid both inside and put my hand on his head. "Bye Grandpa, I love you," I told him as I stroked his head once. His head felt so cool. The tears rolled in big belly cries as I walked back to the memorial service. No one knew I went. It was between me and my gpa, like much of our time together.
Ive never seen a body, the vessel left after the spirit. I don't understand the cultural practice of funerals and makeup and viewings. At the mausoleum, his flag was folded and taps played. I spent my childhood over at their house. We only live about 2 miles away. I can't tell you the hours I spent with him. Ive been sleeping in his space next to my grandma since then. I hate to leave. She is so distraught. 70 years they were married. I cant even imagine her sadness if mine is this bad. at 90, she had been feeding him by tube every three hours for 2 years. Amazing love.
