English Teacher

she's 81 now.
hard to believe.... completely.
she's one of the reasons that i believe in myself.
funny, how a moment, a million years ago could
be burned into my memory.

she was my english teacher
in high school.
my junior year i believe.
i remember absolutely nothing about that class
except
for a paper i received back
with a comment

i think i have it in box of memories somewhere
it would take awhile to find
though
but i know it made me know
that she saw beneath the typical 17 year old costume
and into
who i was
who i am

i kept it
and i kept her

how did i get her number in the first place
i don't remember

it was a time before cell phones
email
texting

yet, as the years flew by
college
boyfriends
apartments
career
marriages
millions of moments

she has remained a light
in the recesses of my life
a reminder
that i was seen
and what she saw
was valuable

i love her for that
have always loved her for that

I called her today.
The phone rang and i held my breath
for i know
that her health has been failing for years.
waiting for a recording
or just the rings of a phone
that never even got
an answering machine.

An answer

Her nurse first and then
that
voice

A voice of wisdom
consternation
high expectation
and part of me
relaxed in the knowing that
she's still here.

In our lives there are isolated
moments
and people
that may feel or seem
insignificant

yet in that moment
they may
have given
a breath of life
of love
of belief in you

and they are forever part
of the tapestry
of what is good
in you.

She is part of the tapestry
of what
is
good
in
me.

Thank you
Ms. Helen Schallerer.

multi

nothing makes me more
aware
that we are
all

working with
the same capabilities

of love
and hate
gossip
and forgiveness
wisdom
and inappropriateness
fire and ice
awareness
betrayal
depth
vulgarity
peace
inciting anger
creativity
selfishness
and texture

than
looking
at
my
very
own
life.

Won't I miss her?

For those who don't know, my mom died of cancer when I had just crossed the threshold of 10 years old. What follows is an imagined dialogue between myself and God prior to my birth.


Me: God?

God: Yes love?

Me: So, I'm going back again soon....

God: Yes my expression, you've wanted to go again.

Me: I know. I do want to. I'm just always a little scared when I get ready to leave.

God: I know. I understand. I think you will love this go around.

Me: I think so too... I'm not sure about this losing her while I'm so young.

God: You've had her many times before, and this time, she wants to help you learn to really believe in yourself on a deeper level.

Me: Yes, I want to learn that. That I am capable and lovable and able. That I have everything I need within me.

God: Indeed my love. You will learn that and so much more.

Me: I'll miss her though, when she goes, won't I?

God: You will. Yet this missing will teach you as well. And we both know she'll be very close to you even when you can't see her.

Me: I know.

God: And, you'll be back here before you know it. Stronger, even more loving, and full of joy.

Me: Yes. It's gonna be great. Hard, but great.

God: Great indeed.

Paradise

How does one find
the balance between
trusting people and protecting oneself?

does it matter
if
people i trust
don't honor me with their words
or their actions?

does it change me in any way?

Not long ago, I was teaching a group of children
the truth that
no one
nothing
anything
at
all
can change the beauty that they are

I had them envision the
most beautiful bouquet
roses
lilies
yellows and reds purples pinks and oranges
bursting with
delight
and fragrance
a paradise of senses

I had them set this bouquet in front of themselves
and
begin to

berate it.

tell it that it is
ugly
stupid
hated
horrifying
dissapointing
nothing
ignore it
betray it
talk behind it's back

and i had them look at the flowers again.

Had they changed?

No

the children said
they had not.

The flowers were still just as beautiful
and pink
and fragrant
and miraculously wonderous
as they
were
before.

Nothing can alter beauty.
We forget.
don't we.

Nothing can change the beauty that is you or
me or
him or
her or
them.

A lesson I taught children
yet
I
haven't
quite
learned
myself.

Entwined

entwined
I'm one of those people.
the ones that talk, reach, send, give, create for
others.

I love other people.
I love their uniqueness, the texture and result of their choices, their voices --
what they have to say.
Sometimes, when what they have to say differs dramatically from what I have to say... well,
that can be a challenge to appreciate -- but in truth -- i do.

People fascinate me.
I love that each factor of our lives,
each choice, each turn around a different bend, each surprise, each new moment of each new day creates a new pattern, an altered hue, a change.

I love reaching, and experiencing people.
I can discuss it in a way that makes me sound altruistic and painfully generous.
I can do that. Yet, in truth,
I wonder if that is indeed the truth. Not altogether,
I am sure.

For reaching and touching and connecting and giving and considering and loving and knowing and talking to and hoping for
others
does a couple of things -- for me.

One, it enriches me. It provides for me
new texture, new shadows, new sounds and music, new things to consider, new ways to approach.
my life.
I love that. More than anything I believe.
People.

weird, sexy, wild, courageous, fearful, learning, wondering, judging, waiting, trembling, heart-filled, musical, conservative, cutting-edge, loving
people.

It does another thing for me as well.
The darker side of all of this people other than me focused living.
It keeps me from the silence.
that
is
soley
and
completely
inside
my
being
with
no
other
sound
but
my
own.

I know that I can live my life without really being all that concerned with that fact.
But there is a part of me that knows that spending time in this place is part of the next.... deeper....wise....experience for me.
for all of us.

Being completely alone, for me, is not an exercise is fear -- as it is for some.
It is an undertaking of courage.
It is in the silence of me, that my spirit pauses and my mind trembles.
Certainly my mind.
My mind loves to be busy... reaching, giving, considering, solving.
But to send my mind to the still, quiet waters of my own being? With nothing to distract? Well..... you're asking
quite
a
lot.

So, I look at the yin and the yang, the up and the down, the soft and the hard, the you and the me of my life. and when I do

I long
to know
both.

To embrace the texture and the sound and the noise and the problems and the solutions and the music and the dance and the interaction of

others.

And, entwined with the patterns that live outside of the edges of my own mind
to know intimately.... my own,
still silence.
Where i suspect
joys
and
secrets
reside.

Rough (morose)

i am a flippin emotional sponge.

a person i barely know,

but who's blog i read recently

lost a friend.

i'm not positive, but this person i know can't be over 30.

she is a brilliant, funny, irreverant writer and

i find myself at her writing daily.

She writes about her kids,

life,

stupid people,

the gamut.

Recently she has been writing about a friend who died.

Her friend was a mother.

Sounds like she was funny, sharp and kind.

she was also an addict.

The person I barely know

wrote of how it was hard to see her friend

spiral

out of control.

How she longed for some way to connect, to effect, to inspire

her friend to change.

She didn't.

A week or so ago she died.

Alcohol and perscriptions.

lethal.

I didn't know this woman. Why should I care?

I don't know.

maybe it's my unbearably annoying empathy

which really

cramps my fun loving style sometimes.

Thing is.

people are in pain. hurting. dying. crying. desparate. alone.

Whether they are the ones causing it, or the ones watching it.

It's going on

and it breaks my heart.

and yet, I'm perplexed.

while all of this pain and crap is going on right now...

Joy is also happening.

right now, I don't feel it, but I know somewhere... it is.

Every fucking thing possible

is happening right now.

How dizzying is that?

Just venting.

Feeling for this woman I barely know.

for the people who loved the woman I didn't know.

For all of us.

Cuz life....

its shit and pain....

despite the joys....

Will spare

not

a

one

of

us.

Life Lesson #476 Repeated. Again.

i am struggling with the reluctance to really face things that
are uncomfortable to face.
namely the responsibility that i have when i am feeling out of sorts.
discord.
angst.
upset.
still... though i know much.....
i show up in a day knowing very little about
how to be clear emotionally.

Feeling like making someone else responsible
for my state
of emotion
panic
sadness.
Wanting to flail.

There is a still small voice
reminding me of what i know.
what i claim.
what i say.
There is only me at this control panel.
It is glorious choice
that has me feeling
whatever way I am feeling.

If I am feeling sad
or mistreated
or maligned
or grumpy
for frumpled
or irate.

It is only me that ordered that plate.

And what is on the plate?

Sometimes so hard to swallow.

Dance.

thoughts.

running through. seeking a place. bounding
past where i might be able to
see
feel
understand
control them.

newness.
a dance riding on a wave of never
before experienced
like
a belly laugh coming from
a place unexpected.

knowing that
riding on a burst of delighted moving air
can
never
sustain
throughout
the mundane series of days.

but
knowing

things like this
are rare punctuations in rote
real
concrete
obligation
expected.

I am grateful. for fun. for you. for friendship. for initial insatiable emotional
mental
physical
hunger.

A connection of 2
locked within a mutual gaze
while the world rotates
in it's every day
way.

Feeling your hunger for knowing
meet my hunger for knowing.

Dancing.
Dancing.

Brings that quiet reminder that tumbling this way
is a vacation.
Because
it
cannot be sustained
in
it's
present
form.

As a fire that blazes through slumbering unexpectant wood.
You stumbled into my days.
Laughter
knowing
the
slightest angst of awareness.

gifts.
all of them.

for the memories of what is possible can always be sustained

in the midst
of
rote
everyday
obligation
remind us
of
the
joys
that
can
be
when we dance with unexpected joy.

one point

realizing every moment that brings a challenge
or a tear
or hurt
is an opportunity for me to look within and see
what
how i am
expressing my own life.

because
the point is
not to judge anyone
or anything else
but to realize that one's entire
awareness resides
withing the boundaries of one's own awareness

therefore
the only thing
that can change my experience
of life
of others
of situations

is me.

one might think me niave
or simple
or stupid
of short sighted

but as my life progresses
i can more clearly see
that there is only one point

to love.

a broad and simple word
don't you think?

give
forgive
laugh
release
allow
rejoice
wonder
expect good
forgive again
again
again
again

recently i have been faced
with the addictions and choices
of someone that i love very much
passionately
through lifetimes perhaps

i hate what he is doing
and choosing
and expressing
and letting go

what am i to do with the
judgements and anger and sadness and hopelessness that i feel?

look within and acknowledge
where i am being dependant on something
selfish
short sighted
needy
hurtful
self absorbed
disrespectful
hoarding
small

it is not useful for me to ask these questions about
him
or you
or them
or that culture
or that group
or that country
or that religion

it is only useful
to ask it of
myself.

every hurt
is an opportunity for me
to become
what
i
know
i
agreed
to
become
in
the
first
place.

a difficult task.

it's always easier to
look at

you
the neighbor with a messy yard
al quaida
george bush
my boss
the friend who hasn't called
the arrogant ass
the driver cutting me off
the family member who won't see it my way
anyone
other
than
me

yet, looking at them. judging them.
adds poison to an
already very poisoned
life.

i want to bring healing to life.
and i can only do that
by healing

me.

heaven

what if there is no
real
separation between

heaven
and
here

me and you
snow and sun
light and dark
good and bad
them and us

what if it is as if
we are looking
very closely
at an impressionist
painting

and rather than a whole
we
see
individual dots
of color
smudges
contained within
something more

i suppose it's not wrong
to see
life
in
just
that way

just a way
one way
to see it

experience it

maybe knowing that
it is simply
one way
of
a
million
ways

would give us
freedom to

see
allow
enjoy
rejoice in
invite
accept

other ways
of
seeing
life

maybe that would be

heaven
.

my sister's house

i'm at my sister's house.

minnesota today
is beautiful.

snow falling in tiny fast falling wisps
that make you squint when you're
treading your way to the car.

i'm reminded of the joys
and challenges of
the kind of cold that makes
your nose hairs curl
and demands that
tootsies be well warmed
against
a fire
covered in thick wool socks
after the desperate relief of the
warmth
inside.

my sister's house.
is lovely.

always a pot of tea on the stove
josh groban melting hearts on
the cd player.
the tree silent with
warm glistening joy.
and Maggie
holding a pair of thieved
socks in her mouth
wagging her brown stump
with joy overflowing.

the giggle of ten year old
siblings
vying for attention
or the mastery of the
most recent gameboy acquisition.

my sister's house.
a perfect blend of
pottery barn and garage sale
treasures
seamlessly inviting
class and cozy.

The fire ablaze
battling the constant
chilled air
trying to slip from the insistent
minnesota december.

slippers
tea
fire
tree
dog
family

love.

my sister's house.

So do you.

i don't have kids.

for much of my adult life, i have worked in settings in which i didn' t
interact much with children. People that behave like children?
Well, that's another blog for another day :)

i do, however, remember being a child.
quite clearly in fact.

i was talking today with some co-workers about memories of school.
junior high. high school. college.

we were in a consensus that we didn't have many memories
of actually learning,
being engaged by learning in our secondary education environments.
I'm sure this isn't true for everyone,
but it is true for me.

What I do remember is Mrs. Malinowsky.
She took just a moment in my third grade day
to let me know it was ok that I'd asked her if she was pregnant
(she was, phew!) when I was horrified with embarrassment.

I remember Mrs. Yost, who told my fourth grade class
that my mom had died. She showed up at the funeral.

I remember Mr. Mapes, my 6th grade science teacher who gracefully handled
a class of nutty 12 year olds while dissecting frogs. Even when Steven bounced the
eyes like tiny super balls.

I remember my 11th grade Sociology teacher, who jumped up onto a chair
and belly laughed to make his point
to the horror and silent admiration of his students.

I remember Mrs. Schallerer.
She returned a paper I had written with
a comment that made me know that
she believed in me.
And she was proud.

I don't remember much in the way of subject content.
As important as the area of a parallelogram is.....

It is the people who impacted my life

that
I
remember.

Those are the moments that
Shaped me.
Gave me.
Taught me.
Saved me.

When one doesn't have kids, the news about the education system
often falls through the auditory sifter.

funding.
teaching shortages.
no money for programs.
cutting of arts and music programs.

as i recall, it was much like background noise.
must be important
or it wouldn't be on the news.
but it's probably more important to someone else.

For the past almost three years I have been teaching.
It started as a "something to do" job while i waited for other
opportunities to arise.
funny how life works.
Since then I have decided that I enjoy it
(so much better than working with govt employees. go figure).
and now.
it's
important
to
me.

Making a difference in the lives of people.
people who are growing and learning
about life.

defining themselves
and others
learning
how to
be
in the
world.

yes,
they need to learn how to diagram a sentence (wait, do they?),
add fractions with unlike denominators (again..)
what the chart of elements look like,
blah blah blah.

I do that.
some of it anyway.

But what I really teach, and what I long to teach
is how to do life.
How to be ok in this crazy, insecure, fast-lane, road-rage, consumer oriented, gossip laden world.

Even in a perfect world, teaching a 13 year old how to feel good about themselves
is no easy feat.
But it could be the most important thing I will ever do.
For them.
For me.
For you.

Teaching a child about joy, and kindness, and patience
makes
a
difference
in
our
world.


Do I succeed ? every day?
Well, I want to say yes, but the truth is..... probably not.

But I hope that I show these kids how
to
be
human.

A flawed, honest, kind, giving, curious human.

And I hope that
when I make them laugh
or challenge them
or demand kindness
or smile and sincerely want to know who they are
that
I
inspire them
to
be
the
same.

I don't have kids.
But then again
I do.

So
do
you.

my story

i decorated my tree today

decorating my tree is kind of a sacred occasion to me

i wait for the perfect day.
not too close to christmas, not too far away.
too close to christmas.... well, one gets ripped off of delicious christmassyishessness
too far..... crunchy needles and far too much vacumming

anyway.
today was the perfect day.
december 9th.
I found it.
good height.
nice roundness (christmas trees should be a little on the chubby side)
no gaping holes.
slender easy to manage trunk.

she's a keeper.

so into her cocoon of white plastic netting she went and off to her last home she was carriaged.
eric says she was being driven to her death throes.
he's not very festive when it comes to christmas trees.
scrooge.

i love the ritual surrounding the tree.
honestly, it's a good thing that eric doesn't have
much investment in the tree,
because i think i'd hurt him if he tried to introduce gold garland to
the mix.

ho ho ho

it had begun.
Johnny Mathis on the cd player,
giant tupperware ready to be opened
fire ablaze
all i was missing was the spiced cider on the stove
and cookies in the oven.
there are years i have done that too, but... well.... i wasn't
channelling martha this year. It's ok.
It well regardless.

I keep my ornaments in a giant, pepto gree tupperware.
inside, the ornaments are separated a by a cardboard grid.
there they were.
waiting for me.
blinking awake after a longgggg nap.

Some people adorn their trees with
green
red
blue
silver
balls they bought at walgreens.
i don't have those.

my ornaments tell a story.

the first one i took out was a paper mache one
my mom made before i was born.
she was young and creative and too poor to go to walgreens.
i think it was supposed to look like a ball,
but it was really just a wad of newspaper paper mached in blue
with gold specs

it's the most beautiful ornament ever made.

when i stood on the step stool and put it
near the top, i thought of her
i smiled and cried
all at the same time.
remembering
all
of
her.

there are the ones i made out of sugarless cookie dough
of my dogs
and random things that make me smile when i see them

there's the one that looks like a tennis ball and reminds me
of my dad before.
before.

there are the ones of ruby feathered cardinals
that remind of when i sat on a chair
my socked feet not quite reaching the floor
eating cereal on winter break
looking out the window of
grandma's kitchen

there are the ones that are old
and have a greyish green patina.
they belonged to my dad's
ex girlfriend from a million years ago
but i can't bear to give them back
because in years that were sad and mom-less
she gave me warmth and love and made me feel safe
at christmas time
so i keep them.

i don't think she'd mind.

my christmas tree tells my story
if only to me

tonite i sit here in the quiet
a fire
the white lights
and i have a sense of
home

sitting so close to
my

story.

Come see.

'll tell it to you.

wonder bread

out there
among the what not
the many whos
surrounded by the world
i cannot see with
my everyday eyes

wondering what you're
thinking
and
if
you
think about me

If you wonder at all.

Or if you are different than i am
somehow
and the questions don't intersect
with the banal
mundane
everyday

bagels and coffee
newspaper on the front porch
traffic jam
damn that long red light
like
they
do
for
me.

As I sit behind the car idling
on the highway
blinkers on
stuck in the lane
with red blue silver black whizzing past
as I am stagnant in a moment

I think of you

where you must be
what your same moment might hold

maybe painting
wonder bread with chunky and grape
following a toddling child
scolding an adolescent for too much computer time
the toilet paper is out
we need milk
where's my phone....

do thoughts of me

intersect

?

Illusion

suddenly humbled.
no,
that's not honest.

reminded and humbled.

patterns created when i was 10. 13. 15. 19. 25.
continue.

motivated by a need for acknowledgement. a desire to be wanted. needed.
adored.

humbled again.
i feel foolish when i look at my angst from the view of an outsider.
how silly.
foolish.
childish I can be.
Why don't I already know that I am worthy of the love and care of others?
Why is it an unfillable hole?
Someone tells me
shows me
reminds me that i am loved
and
into
the
bottomless
hole
it
goes.

Oh, at first, It feels good.
Ahhhhhhhhh.
Like the hole squeezes together just past the opening.
It's filled.
Feels warm and knowing and good.

But in moments
hours
days
months.

The hunger is there again.

Humbled when I look at myself.
How I long to fill others.
Because I love them.
Because I want to show them how I want to be loved.
Because I hurt.
Weep quietly in a silent isolated place inside myself.
Sometimes even when joy abounds
outside the walls of my body.
Weep
at the emptiness that I
really
do
know is a lie.

I am projecting the fact that I don't love myself the way
I want to be loved.
Humbled.
Awed.
Can I love myself
and
fill the unfillable hole
so that I am no longer driven to create situations
to prompt others to fill it?

But I do love them. So much.
I do love me.
Someone
Something
Sometime
painted my canvas with colors
dull and lonely.
Colors that tell a story of not good enough.
Colors that bleed through the bold beauty of red
and gold, sea blue and sunshine orange
that I have created in my life.
to create spots of not so pretty
that surprise me
when they
become more clear than is comfortable for me


Humbled.
Questions.
Not answers.
Knowing.
that there is no need to find them.
But to know.

Despite the intensity of the illusion.
An illusion it is.

recycle

there are people
shadows of heartfelt memories
of people
spaces uninhabited
in my heart
but felt.
still.

my heart longs for people it has loved.
it hurts to think that i am not
anymore.

is that possible?

Why is it feasable for my heart to allow relationships to alter ?
evolve
change
grow
find a new place or definition.

yet for them
it is not.

my heart longs for
their eyes. their voices.
their intentions. their families. their values.
their songs. their views. their laughter. their magic.

i miss them.
i miss many.
i have been priveledged to have experienced.
so blessed.

i wonder if they even know that their
absence in my life is felt
noticed
pained.

not everyone feels as i do.
once a relationship fails to fit in the box we purchased it in
it is released
discarded
recycled
regifted.

not how I feel.

feeling this way.
is lonely.

yet
maybe
having
known
them
at
all
is
the
gift
.

new friend

in my life
i trust
that
the ongoing
gift.
the waterfall
of
friends
will continue.
drop.
by.
drop.

i trust
that
life
will honor
myrequest
for the next person
who will
open
my
eyes
and
bring joy
to my mind.

More colors
to the palate
of my experience.

thank you for being
a reminder.
and a new drop
of
color.

Sunday Morning

Lazy waking
eyes slowly peeling open
to the persistant mews of
the smallest cat

Gentle movements
of my happy
groggy
husband

The sound of the shower
his whistled tune
glorious alarm

The sound of coffee
beginning to brew
against the
canvas of morning silence

click click click
the dogs nails
saucer eyes asking
for
food

Slow rituals
a lazy brook
contentedly meandering
around
glistening
boulders

Clinking of spoons against
coffee cups
and the
beginnings of
a slow
starting
day.

belief

what's the difference
between what i believed then
and what
i believe now?



believe seems such a weird
and odd
word to me now.

BELIEVE.

What is that anyway?

To state that something
is
TRUE

even though there is no way to know?



I've heard it said
that's what
faith is.



I feel like an ogre
in that I have a problem with the term.

but i do.

Maybe belief and faith
are not the same thing
at all.



Believing may be accepting as true something

something
that
cannot be
or has not
been proven.



Belief in....



A needed savior of the world
Aliens
Joseph Smith and his seer stone
That God wants women to wear burkahs

and the list

goes

on.

So, what has changed for me?
I no longer cling to a belief,
or a doctrine
or specific covenant

but have faith
that
there is something.

and that when i strive to know it
and live from a place of
love
and
responsibility
that

I participate in
God
in
this
moment.

afar

saying goodbye is difficult for me.
even when it is clear to
every
clear
minded
person
that goodbye is the right course of action.

i often get commended for keeping in touch with people I have known.
i am quite good at it.
If I do say so myself.

but what they don't know
is that
there is
a
girl that lives within me
that fears
letting go
and being left behind by those i have been loved by.

sounds silly
i know. im working on it.

i reach out to people i have loved

recently
long ago

because
when i love someone
i never don't.
love.
them.
in.
some.
way.

a hard concept for some to imagine.

yet, it seems within the
joys of possibility
that
a love
can take many forms. and can shift. or change. or learn to be. something new.

a lover
a friend
a husband
a confidant
an occasional but real connection.

it has taken me quite awhile to see that
there are people who don't see it this way

at all.
when a relationship alters, it is gone. for good.

rest
in
peace.

well, i have made best friends and kept them
because my affinity for them
has an iron grip.

i wouldn't change it
for the world.

but there are hazzards in the practice.
and i have to be reminded
that there are some
people that i have loved
that i
would be wise to
love from
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
afar.