Who Cares, Really??

 

   Duck Dynasty, Phil Robertson.  3 words: I.don't.care.

People voicing opinions on the two topics above:  same 3 words.  Voice it if you want, or not.  Don't care either way.

     The thing is, it's not my place to judge.  Anyone.  For any reason.  Unless I'm placed on jury duty and am asked to evaluate evidence and apply the laws of land.  

I've been called to jury duty a lot.  Six times between the ages of 18-39.  They really liked me.  When I got to liking them and looking forward to my next invitation, they mysteriously quit issuing them to me. Go figure.  

     Anyway, about the Duck Dynasty Debacle:  People get "suspended" from their jobs for a variety of reasons all the time.  I was told to "go home and don't come back for a week and bring documentation from your doctor when you return."  

     Go read the 4 posts beginning in July 2013 for that sordid tale, if you haven't already done so.  It's a real gem.

      How are these two things related?A&E, just like Mrs. Frills, is concerned with its own image.  Understandably so.  Administrators or corporations or television producers are not going to throw themselves under the bus for anyone.  Remember, their livelihood is at stake.  They don't give a rat's ass about anyone beneath them.  They don't have any real "friends."  They want whatever will please the sources of their finances. Period.  That's just the way it is.

     The people who they think are their friends are those who are willing to bow down and be submissive and go along with the program.  In essence, those who will pretend to agree with their edicts on order to protect their own livelihoods.  Usually this is done passively in the world in which most of us live.  The peasant employees just steer clear of the topic and keep everything hush-hush.  If we don't voice our true feelings or beliefs, no one gets hurt.  Or so we think.  We keep our fake friendship with the hand that feeds us and hope that our outward display of neutrality will prevent the "collateral damage" from thinking we don't care about him or her. 

      Here's what I am interested in with the Duck Dynasty crew:  We're about to find out which way the Robertson family will go in this public controversy.  We're going to find out the stuff of which this family is really made.  Will they throw poor Phil under the bus and continue their relationship with A&E?  Or will they display full-on support for their family member and decide that he is more important than the financial gain of maintaining submissiveness to A&E's demands?  Will they attempt to find some other option that will appear to be neutral with the hope that no one will call bullshit?   In the end, it's probably all just a ploy concocted to move the show to another network, probably owned by the parent company of A&E to boost ratings. Who knows?

     Even though I don't watch the show, and I don't have any sort of stake in the outcome, I'm in total suspense waiting to see what path they choose.  For me, it's not an issue of the beliefs expressed in Phil's statements.  Actually, I haven't taken the time to even investigate fully what he said because it's his opinion and I just don't care.  I don't need to know what exactly he said in order to know that the Robertson family finds itself at a crossroads between upholding the values for which they have become well-known yand maintaining the financial gains of their now-public lives.   

     It's quite ironic, really.  A&E loved capitalizing on the Christian values displayed by the Robertsons, but only as long as it was kept politically correct.   The Robertsons loved being in the spotlight, but now the light is going to reveal how true they really are to their beliefs in the importance of family and faith.   Do they have enough faith to refuse to conform to anything other than their own beliefs?   We're about to find out whether the Robertsons have "sold out."

     The suspense is killing me.  And that's a fact, Jack!

How I Learned Faith

  
    It's finally time to tell the story of how I learned to live by faith.  I have waited over 3 years to share it, never quite knowing how to put it into words.  I still don't really know how I'm going to do that, but that's kind of  the point of the whole story.  We don't always know how we are going to accomplish something, but the Lord will lead us there if we simply follow His direction. 

   In 2009, I was still a teacher.  I had finally got smart about doing continuing education and learned to look for workshops that were not only interesting, and applicable to my work, but that also had additional incentives for completion, like PAY.  In November of that year, I scoured the offerings from the National Endowment for the Humanities (NEH) because at that time, they had many week-long institutes for teachers that offered a stipend to cover travel expenses.

     I love the Appalachian Mountains.  Just love them, but I don't know why.  As I was cruising the internet looking for potential professional development opportunities,  I stumbled upon an institute offered by NEH in Boone, North Carolina that was about the Blue Ridge Parkway.  It was a week long in July 2010.  I applied in late 2009 and waited anxiously until spring 2010, when those who were accepted would be notified. 

     Since there was nothing else to do during this time, except for teaching and holidays and such, I started playing around on Ancestry.com.  I stumbled upon some interesting information about my paternal grandfather that I never knew.  I learned he was from Meat Camp, North Carolina in Watauga County.  Yep, there really is a place called "Meat Camp."  Anyway, it turns out Boone is also in Watauga County, just a stone's throw away from Meat Camp.  This made the possibility of attending the NEH Blue Ridge Parkway workshop even more exciting.

    While I was waiting over the winter, a very good friend said she would like to go along to camp with me.  I was already planning on taking my son, just to hang out while I wasn't in class.  This trip was shaping up nicely. 

     Sometime in the spring, I received a notice that I was on a waiting list if any of the class attendees should cancel their plans.  In other words, the program was full and I did not make the first cut.  I was disappointed, but didn't give it much more thought.  I figured it was over with. 

     Two days later, I received a phone call from the program director.  One of the potential attendees had to decline and I would be able to attend if I was still interested.  Of course I would not pass up this opportunity!  I accepted and proceeded to finish my school year, anxiously awaiting summer.

     As luck would have it, money was tight in the month prior to the trip.  My vehicle needed a lot of work.  I could pay to have the vehicle repaired, but then would not be able to make the trip.  I decided not to attend.    I had a strong feeling that I was not supposed to give up, yet I didn't know what else to do.  I announced my decision to my husband, but I would need to wait until morning to notify the program director.

     Later that evening, my husband suggested I use his truck for the trip rather than my vehicle.  This sounds like a logical solution to most people, but I would never have even considered using his truck.  I just don't like to drive it because if something goes wrong with it, I don't want to be the one responsible.  He's not weird about it, but I am.  I just don't like to feel like mishaps are my fault. 
But since he offered, and I was really, really feeling like I was supposed to attend this particular workshop for some unknown reason, I accepted and reversed my decision to bail out. 

     Time to attend the workshop came.  Money was still tight.  I still could have bailed out, but something was driving me to go anyway.  My parents each gave me some money to make the trip (the pay from the program wasn't going to be awarded until after the trip).  The money was enough for me to make the drive and pay for my campsite for the week.  My son and I pulled out of our driveway early on a Saturday morning with all of our gear, except for one thing:  We would need to buy a tent somewhere on the way.  And it needed to be cheap yet big enough for us to live in for a week. 

     I had no idea how we were going to buy food or fuel once we got to Boone.  I just knew I had to get there and figure it out day by day.  I should have been scared, but I wasn't.  By this time, I knew I was supposed to be there and that there was a bigger purpose for this trip than simply professional development.

     We got to the campground where we would be spending the week, set up, got dinner and went to bed.  The next day we explored a little and then I had to attend the first class meeting that evening.  When I returned to camp, my friend had arrived and she brought a friend along and a very special travel companion, a dog named "Jenna."

     Money wise, we ended up being ok for Sunday, Monday, & Tuesday. But every night I prayed and prayed.  In my head, going to sleep, I would sing "God Will Take Care of You."  It comforted me and kept me from worrying.  In the back of my mind, though,  I knew Tuesday evening, my husband's truck was going to need fuel.   I still had no idea how I was going to get it.  My 16-year-old son was not as calm as I was about it, but I knew somehow, some way it would be ok.  Still, neither of us talked about it in the presence of our friends.  We just enjoyed each other's company and told stories in the evenings after I returned from class. 

      One of the friends who had joined us randomly gave me money to pay for her part of the camping.  I had no expectation of this.  I was totally just glad to have her join me for this adventure and did not even think about having anyone else pay anything.  But being in the position I was, I accepted and was tremendously thankful, and I had enough money to buy gas for the truck and a few food items for one more day.

    Later that evening,  my son found a $25 gift card for Applebee's in the glove box of the truck.  Apparently,it was from the PTO of the school where I worked at the time.  I know I must have received it for teacher appreciation week at some point in my career, but I honestly only vaguely remembered receiving it a year or two earlier and I certainly had no idea how  it turned up in my husband's truck.  I figured if worst came to worst, we could use that for a meal at some point during the week.  I knew that God was looking out for me by now.  There was no other explanation.

     The next day, the other friend wanted to pay for her part of the camping for the week.  Now, this was really too much.  I certainly didn't expect that either.  But again, I reluctantly accepted and was thankful to have enough gas and groceries to get through the next day, which was Thursday.

     Friday was the last day of class as it turned out.  Originally, the schedule said it was Saturday, but what I didn't realize that the Saturday was just for people staying in the dorms to have a chance to get themselves together and be provided with a shuttle to the nearest major airport in Charlotte. 

     So, we made it to Friday!!!  We had class as normal on Friday.  That evening a final dinner was given for the participants and it was a pretty fancy deal.  I did not realize that our stipend checks would be given at the dinner.  But they were and I was one relieved chick!  Now I had more than enough money to get home and even take a little side trip to Townsend, TN. 

     This is where the story gets really good.

     By now, I was pretty amazed at all the blessings God had bestowed upon me to make this trip happen:  First, I wasn't accepted and then I was.  I had no trip-worthy vehicle, and then I did.  I had enough money to start the week, but not enough to get through the whole thing.  I made the trip on faith and God provided.  This was the only time in my life I had set out knowing fully that I did not have enough resources, yet went anyway and trusted that it would be provided.  And God did not fail me.

     Saturday morning, my son and I packed up and headed for Townsend, TN.  It wouldn't have been that long of a trip, but my son suggested taking the "scenic" route and traveling the Blue Ridge Parkway, stopping off to see Mt. Mitchell and then going through Asheville to get to Interstate 40.  Sounded like a grand plan to me. 

     We drove along.  As we neared Mount Mitchell (which is the highest point in the United States east of the Mississippi), I noticed the truck was not gaining speed or climbing hills well no matter how hard I pushed on the accelerator.  I wanted to panic, but tried to convince myself it was my imagination.  After the third try and losing speed, I had to admit to myself that we had a problem.
  
     I considered myself lucky to find a pull-off on this particularly winding part of the parkway.  I pulled off, my son told me I'm just not driving it right.  LOL.  He got out, checked under the hood, but of course found no problems.  He decided HE would drive and everything would be ok.  I sarcastically thought to myself "Good, glad I have an expert pickup truck driver with me.  All is well."  So we got back out on the road.  Everything seemed fine for the first mile or so.  Then, we came to more hill-climbing.  At this point, we also reached the entrance to Mount Mitchell State Park.  As soon as we turned onto the road leading to the mountain that is the highest point east of the Mississippi, we had no choice but to pull onto a very narrow patch of grass.  Now my son, the expert pickup truck driver had to admit there is a problem.  He was quietly freaking out. 

     As soon as he realized there was not much cell phone signal, he decided to be a little more verbal with his panic.   He tells me to call his dad.  I'm like "What good is that gonna do?  He's over 400 miles away??"  But I attempt to call anyway.  I was able to tell my husband what was going on and then the call was dropped and the signal did not return long enough to call him back.  We were on our own.

     The boy is continuing to panic.  I had to get mean and tell him "You can't freak out right now because I can't deal with that and the truck problem too, so suck it up!"  At the same time, I thought to myself  "The nearest tow truck is probably 60 miles away, no way they're gonna come up here to get us even if I do manage to get a call out.  No way.  I have no idea what we're gonna do." 

      Suddenly, my son's precious 16-year-old face lit up and he said "I KNOW WHAT'S WRONG WITH IT AND WE HAVE THE PART IN HERE TO FIX IT!!!!"  He said it with such conviction that I wanted really, really badly to believe him.  But seriously, who has spare parts in their vehicle?  And if we did have a spare part, what are the chances that it would be exactly the one that we needed?

      My son proclaimed "It's the fuel filter, I'm telling you.  And we have an extra one in here!"  We looked at each other silently for a few seconds, and then simultaneously jumped out of the truck, trying to avoid oncoming traffic.  We started unpacking ALL of our camping stuff from the backseat, piling it in the grass by the side of the road, trying to not let any of it tumble down the side of the hill.  Finally, at the bottom of the stuff and behind the back seat, my son pulled out the extra fuel filter that he said was there. 

     To make a long story short, he climbed under the truck, took off the old filter, put on the new filter, and the truck started and ran like a champ for the rest of our trip.  It was nothing short of miraculous. 

     The neatest thing about all of this was the location. The photograph at the beginning of this post shows the actual roadway where the big truck breakdown took place.  We couldn't have been any closer to "the heavens" in our part of the country.  We were in a very remote location.  We had the right part.  One of us knew how to replace the part, and it wasn't me.  All of these factors, and probably a few more details I'm forgetting, left me no doubt as to who had taken care of us. 

     And that's the story of how I learned what it is to have real faith.  Personally, I don't believe you really can have faith unless you have been through a situation where there is absolutely nothing else upon which to rely.  Having this experience has given me such a peace through every situation since.  I know that God truly can do everything.  I know that He sees things that I cannot.  I am thankful every day that He allowed me to experience such an incredible test of faith and that He gave me the peace to endure it and  to hold myself together and truly trust that He would provide. 
    
              

Wheels

 Yesterday I set out on a mission to find a knee walker for my mother.  The way I was presented with that mission is a whole other tale, but the excitement I felt when I realized "mission accomplished" took a bittersweet turn almost immediately.

My mom is going to be unable to walk for 6 months, due to a condition called charcot.  She has a great attitude about it and of course we realize it could be worse.  But acquiring a knee scooter made me think about wheels and the stages of our lives that are marked by the objects to which out wheels are attached.  

First, when a person is a baby, there are wheels on the crib or bassinet.  These wheels are there not for the baby's convenience, but to make life easier for the caregiver.  These wheels are inconsequential to the baby until he or she becomes a grown up caregiver. 

The next set of wheels us humans encounter are found on a stroller.  Baby is getting out more, able to go on adventures outside of the home without being glued to mom or dad's hip. Baby is getting a small taste of freedom within the safe confines of the stroller unit.

Not long after that, the baby is introduced to a whole new experience:  the self-propelled walker, complete with bumpers and, you guessed it, a new set of wheels.  Baby's world just got a whole lot bigger.

Finally, the baby moves on to bigger and better riding toys with wheels, like the trusty Fisher-Price scooter, the Little Tykes car, or other riding toys, and eventually the baby is a toddler. 

That toddler is soon ready for a tricycle. Still self-propelled, and fairly safe.  But independence is taken to a whole new level: the toddler will learn to pedal and also discover that hard surfaces, such as sidewalks and roadways make for much easier locomotion.  Wow, this world is even bigger than the toddler realized.  

Of course, that toddler gets a little older and a lot more coordinated.  He or she quickly outgrows that tricycle.  Soon it is time to graduate up to a bicycle.  But not so fast:  balancing on 2 wheels is quite a huge step.  So, auxiliary wheels are often utilized to assist the young child in learning to balance and pedal at the same time.  Training wheels are the bridge from toddlerhood to childhood.  The missing link can be defined by these gadgets, really.  Bicycles will take the child faster and farther away from home than ever before.  Those training wheels are helpful in reaching this new, wonderful plateau of independence. 

The bicycle phase lasts longer than any other experience with wheels up to this point in the child's life.  For the parents, this can be a magical time.  The child is fairly independent and able to fulfill most of his or her basic needs as long as the materials with which to do it are readily available.  The child is, however, still interacting with, and learning from Mom & Dad.  Total independence is not yet in the picture, but it's sneaking up fast. 

Before Mom & Dad know what has hit them, that child is 16 years old and in need of some "wheels."  The big kahuna:  a car.  A real vehicle to drive on a real street or highway.  Mom & Dad's magical period is ending, and the teenager's is just beginning.  

(Teenager:  These are the best years of your life.  Enjoy them and don't do stupid stuff.  Cherish your freedom, respect your parents for providing you with it.  You will be surprised by how quickly this idyllic period ends and you will want it back.)

So, now we have the ultimate in independence.  A car or truck or motorcycle.  You can go anywhere you want with one of these.   As a matter of fact, these wheels will likely be crucial to working and raising a family.  

See what I mean, teenagers?  That freedom without strings didn't last long.  As you begin this next phase with wheels, you quickly find out that you are now dependent upon these wheels in order to maintain them and thus preserve your ability to get around and to provide for your own family.

Well, what goes up really does come down, and our level of independence is no exception.  As we age, we find out that we are not as invincible as we thought we were when we acquired that first set of "real wheels."  More likely than not, at some point we find that we need a little help getting around.  Time for a different kind of wheels.  

We will fight this stage with everything we have.  We will use almost anything else to avoid giving up our ability to go anywhere we wish.  However, at some point, we find that we need a cane or maybe a walker.  As our upper body strength fails, we may need a walker with wheels, or a knee scooter, or maybe even a wheelchair.  With the acknowledgement of the necessity of wheels to help us perform everyday tasks, we give up a degree of independence. This is an unavoidable sacrifice if we wish to be able to continue to live in our own homes and allow family members to help care for us as opposed to living in a long-term care facility.  The wheels keep us free a little longer. 

So this was the bittersweet realization that swept over me as I accomplished the mission of obtaining a knee walker for my mother.  In trying to help her maintain some independence, I'm also forcing her to acknowledge that she needs some help.  It's a strange paradox and an unavoidable landmark along life's journey.  

At any rate, I'm thankful for the wheels that we have to make life a little easier. 

It's More Complicated Than You Think . . .

        I've been on a little break for almost a month now.  Lots of topics I could write about, but I really don't have enough to say about most of them to do a whole post.  One topic in particular keeps popping back into my mind, however.  It's like that bag of popcorn in the microwave.  I keep waiting for a long enough pause between between pops to take it out, but there is always the persistent pop that comes at the final split second before I open the door.  So I anxiously wait again, thinking there might be more pesky kernels that are going to give way if I just maintain my patience a few more seconds.

     It's a fine line.  Wait too long and it's going to burn and ruin the whole bag.  There are always going to be a few resistant kernels that have to be sacrificed in order to keep the rest of the bag edible.

     I think I've reached that point with addressing my thoughts on mental health care.   The lack of availability of it is what I have been pondering.  I guess I just find it so ironic that persons who finally decide they have got to seek help (which is a difficult point to reach in itself) are then faced with the daunting task of actually finding a place where they can obtain services.

   It happened to me.  I've seen it happen to others I have tried to help.   Usually by the time you are feeling bad enough to not give a hoot about what other people think of you, help is needed pretty quickly.  But it IS NOT readily available, despite what you see on tv and billboards and hear on the radio.

     When my little incident happened last January,  I was already waiting for a response from ANY psychiatrist with which my family doctor had tried to get an appointment for me.  There was none.  By the time things happened which caused me to be voluntarily removed from my classroom (see July 2013 post "Well, Well, Well), it was too late for me to care about saving my career.  

     It's a good thing I wasn't as crazy as certain people thought I was.  That's all I'm gonna say about that. 😉

      I recently tried to help a family find help for their adolescent child.  After several phone calls, a visit with a local juvenile resource agency, AND a trip to the hospital with a child who clearly needs help, we got nothing.  Absolutely nothing.  

     Prior to the hospital ER visit, (which was a last resort), one place I called said they do not serve persons under 17.  The place they suggested I contact had a 3 month waiting list, at minimum. Another place I tried to call had no answer and no voicemail available.  Two other places called and with which I left messages never returned my calls.  The one place that seemed to be on the ball went through an hour and a half of collecting information and setting up a series of appointments before calling back to inform the child's mother that her insurance would not cover the needed services at their facility.  

     At wits end, we finally broke down and took the child to the ER.  This was necessary we were told by the hospital's behavioral health clinic, because that is the only way they do intake for their clinic.  We were assured that once this step was taken, the child would receive either inpatient or outpatient services.  

      Well, that turned out to be misinformation.  After a 10 minute doctor consult, the adolescent was turned loose.  Even with the hospital having knowledge that the child is exhibiting dangerous, life-threatening behavior that occurred on our way into the ER, IN THE HOSPITAL PARKING LOT!  This child was given no referral for services of any kind.  However, I guarantee you the hospital will certainly expect a grand payment for their useless assessment of the situation.  

     The child's school has even ignored numerous phone calls from his mother, personal visits from myself, and emails from both of us.  No response whatsoever.

      It appears no one cares or wants to help this child to be safe and successful except the child's family, closest friends, and myself.  No agency, doctor or law enforcement officers care that this family is living in constant fear not only for the affected child, but also for their own safety and the safety of their other children. 

     Why do these so-called mental health agencies even exist???  They serve no purpose except to give someone a job answering the phone (or not) to say "We can't help you."

     The only reason I was finally able to get help in my own situation is because I had a terrific family doctor who knows me well and who was persistent in finding someone, anyone to evaluate me.  Once I told her I would drive anywhere in the state or even outside of the state if necessary and pay out-of-pocket to get around insurance restrictions, I was able to get help.  

     But guess what?  I'm not a juvenile.  I made a financial leap of faith in pledging to pay without using insurance if necessary.  Not everyone can do that. 

     So, the next time you see on the news a kid has gone on a killing rampage, you need to stop and wonder if his or her caregivers tried to get help and was turned away.  

     And we wonder what's wrong with people.  This country is way more screwed up than any of us have a chance to realize.  

Government Shutdown

With all the hullabaloo about the government shutdown, of course I have a few thoughts.  

First, it's time for a revolution in this country.  Why are we putting up with the shenanigans of ineffective government leaders? 

 Well, probably because there are too many of us minions to organize ourselves, and we are kept way too busy just trying to survive.  

I think it's high time to establish new qualifcatiions for members of congress.  Let's revisit the constitution, because, seriously, it's no longer the late 18th century, and a whole lot has changed since then.  

My first recommendation would be that anyone running for congress must not make more than 100,000 per year.  Nothing against the wealthy, but hey, we need people who are still in touch with reality and who may possibly know what it is like to still be working your tail off trying to provide for your family.  Let's just get rid of the greed-driven corruption right off the top.

Next, in order to run for congress,  any trust funds, investments, and other such potential wealth-building tools must be suspended while serving as a member of Congress.   This also applies to members of your immediate family.  You probably don't have much of these assets anyway due to rule #1, but just in case, don't be planning to transfer all that stuff to your wife or children. That oughta put a stop to self-serving agendas that are breaking the backs of the hard-working peasantry.  

In addition, term limits.  You get two if you can be elected to them. After that, you're done.  Go on about your business.  Limited congressional benefits for one year after leaving your legislative post.  If you were ambitious enough to get elected and serve, you'll have no problem  returning to a normal life.  You aren't going to need security to follow you around, because you did not benefit financially from making self-serving decisions as a member of congress due to rules #1 & 2.  Back when the Constitution established Congressional qualifications, this was pretty much the way it worked just because that's the way things were.  Although I'm sure hideous wealth & greed existed, it certainly was not the basis of all legislation.  Special interest groups had not yet been born, nor had the idea of robbing common Americans through big business.  The framers of the Constitution, for the most part, had more important things to contend with, like creating a healthy independent nation.  

I could think of a lot more, but this is a start.  Tremendously unrealistic, perhaps, but it's nice to have a dream anyway.  

Wise Up!

"We can never judge the lives of others, because each person knows only their own pain and renunciation.  It's one thing to feel you are on the right path, but it's another to think that yours is the only path."

The above is a quote from Paulo Coelho.  I had never heard of this Brazilian novelist until I stumbled upon this quote, but I have to admire how well he has crystallized my own scattered thoughts on a difficult topic with words.

     I noticed a "friend's" comment to one of my Facebook posts. The comment made contained only one word.  But I, with my insane hypersensitivity, felt the heavy sarcasm in that one word.  I am being judged, and lumped with the "leeches of society," and I am not surprised.  I knew it was coming.  I just didn't know from who or when.  

     There was a time when I would have been just as judgmental as the one-word commentator.  Except my life events have allowed me to really experience the pain and renunciation to which Paulo Coelho refers.  In doing so, I would be incredibly ignorant if I did not recognize that others also experience pain and torments of their own, stuff that is kept private and of which even their closest confidants are unaware. None of us really knows what any other person goes through.  

     Even though I know that my early retirement funding does NOT come from the taxes paid by my hardworking one-word commentator, he does not know that.  Therefore, he sees me as a "lazy bum," and he mistakenly resents me for it.  Or at least that is the feeling that I got.  I bet he'd be amazed to learn that my early retirement benefits from a private pension fund are even taxed, just like regular income.  He also does not realize that the benefits to which I am entitled serve as a sort of "insurance," in place because I no longer have the ability to do what my years of training and experience are all geared toward.  A teacher does not simply go into another line of work.  Many employers simply do not think teachers are able to do much of anything besides babysit, which is not a skill set they are looking to hire.  Of course, any teacher knows that this is a misconception, but unless the potential employer has been a teacher, the misconception wins the day.  

   Also, teachers do not simply change school districts.  Once a teacher has so many years of experience, he or she is stuck right where they are.  At hiring time in a school district, the cheapest candidate available has the edge.  

  I won't even go into the questions that a 21-year veteran teacher would have to answer in a job interview with any employer.  Stuff like "Why did you leave your last job?"  Any answer, honest or not, is certain to scare away any potential employer. 

  I really hope Mr. One Word Sarcastic Commentator reads this, but I'm betting he won't take the time and luckily, I'm determined to not let it bother me.  There is so much about the teaching profession outsiders can never truly understand. 

   Anyway, back to the main point, which was my inevitable judging.  I tried to blame myself for reading too much into one word, but another comment came on another post which was a thread within an event posting.  

   My gut was right the first time, yes, he had stereotyped me.  When will I learn to listen and quit giving others the benefit of the doubt?  Probably never, because I know that I could wrongly judge another person if I did not give second chances.  However, third, fourth and fifth chances are things I have eliminated.  I don't have the time or patience anymore, and I've finally wised up enough to know that it's a futile idea that those persons who need more than two chances will accept me for who I am.  Best just to cut my losses and drop those folks from my life. 

   Just like Mrs. Frills, the only contact or impact I plan to have on Mr. One Word Sarcastic Commentator's life in the future is to pray for him.  I know he has experienced things I can never know about and he has a lot of bitterness. No one can be happy living like that.

   I pray that Mrs. Frills & Mr. One Word find peace in their lives so that they both can function in a positive way for the benefit of those who must tolerate them.  

   It's the least (and most) I can do.  

  

   

That's What It's All About

     I have spent a lot of time pondering life.  By pondering I mean, what is the point of it all?  We get up, we go to work, we clean our houses, take care of our kids, if we have them.  We go to sleep (or try to) so that we can get up the next day and go do it all over again.   When we get paid, we pay our bills and spend our hard-earned money on stuff that we need.  If we are lucky enough to have money left over, we spend it on secondary needs or the occasional "want."

     This endless cycle seems to be the norm for most of the people I know.  For years and years I have wondered what is the deal??  Is this all there is to it?   Why would God put us here just to do the same mundane stuff day after day, until we finally die?  What if I just can't do the same mindless song and dance anymore, then what?  Why do I think there must be some reason besides "just because"?

     I can't remember when I started wondering about these questions, but I know it was pretty early.  Probably around the time I had to write my first research paper in high school or maybe had to try to analyze MacBeth.  I just thought "What is the point?  Is this the reason I am living?  Just to make wild guesses about some cryptic messages that were allegedly cloaked in all sorts of gobbledygook?"  I didn't sign up for that!  

     Even though I was a kid then, the world still puzzles me in the same way now that I am a supposed grown up.  Most of the stuff we do in life just seems like insignificant nonsense for the most part.  

     We do these things in the pursuit of happiness, usually our own happiness or that of our immediate family members.  We do them whether they really make sense or not.  

     This is NOT what it's all about, folks.  

     It has taken me over 4 decades to figure out what it is all about.  It is all about your impact on others.  I don't want to make this a 9/11 post, but the events of that day in 2001 and subsequent stories of heroism and just generally being good to others and helping are the ultimate illustration of what it's all about.  

     There are other much smaller, yet significant examples I could give.  But I think my readers should spend some time coming up with their own.  Think "random acts of kindness." If you've had any proper upbringing at all, you know what this means.  It means doing something nice for someone for no reason.  Doing the right thing, whether anyone else will know or not.  If it can be done anonymously, all the better. If it's something kind done for someone you may not even know, icing on the cake.  

    Why?  Because your willingness to do so shows your true character.  Random acts of kindness are not done for recognition.  They are done to make someone's life a little better.  THAT'S what it's all about.  

     Pass it on!  

25-Year Class Reunion

     I haven't thought of myself as a very social person in a long, long time.  But last night, I had one of the best social experiences of my life.  It was my 25th class reunion.  The experience of reconnecting with the people that were my friends during the formative and sometimes awkward teen years was just amazing.  25 years later, and it really felt like we picked right back up where we left off.

     What is most stunning about that to me, is that most of us have been outside of our little isolated community during the time that has passed.  We've carved out a niche for ourselves wherever we have ended up in the world.  We've had jobs, careers, marriages, children, divorces, illnesses, and losses.  We've been experiencing life, disconnected from each other.  Yet suddenly, 20-30 of us are in a room together.  We are visiting, laughing, crying, catching up, and reminding each other of funny things that happened during high school.  

    It is true magic.  

    I am so thankful that social media has allowed us to have some way to connect to each other.  Most of us have been able to interact through Facebook.  We've had virtual conversations, and been able to keep tabs on life events because technology has allowed us to do so.  We've been able to browse each other's photo albums and poke around profiles to see where each other is working, who we're hanging out with, and what part of the world we now call home. We are able to read each other's posts and commiserate over life's frustrations and trials, as well as rejoice in celebrations and blessings together, even if only in cyberspace.  

     Wow, we are so fortunate!  We still know each other.  Reunions are a lot less awkward this way.  

     For me, social media has really given me an anchor over the past eight months. When I left my job, I instantly lost almost all of my day-to-day friendships.  It was mostly my resurrected high school friendships that allowed me to realize that who I am was not completely killed off with my career.  People have encouraged me through Facebook posts and messages.  Most of them don't even have a clue that some of their random posts were encouraging to me.  Some, unknowingly, have even saved my life.  

    This post has totally not gone where I expected it to when I began writing it.  That's ok.  This is my blog, and my thoughts can ramble wherever they wish.  So I'm just gonna go with it.

     I remember not long after I graduated, my dad said there was just something different about my class.  We seemed, for the most part, to have a certain closeness.  I know he was right.  I am truly grateful for this wonderful group of people that is the Class of 1988.  

     I hope the Class of 1988 gets to see more of each other.  I've really missed these friends.  I'm so thankful that they still accept me, scars and all.  Not one of my classmates who knows my whole story of leaving my career have turned their back on me.  My dad saw something special in this group long before we ever could know how important it would be.  To this day, I can't identify what it is that made us "different" from other groups of classmates.  

    For me, it's enough to just accept the explanation that my class and the friendships we've shared is true magic and I am just one lucky girl.

Deep Summer

     

In my part of the country, it's already well into a time of year I think of as "deep summer."  The leaves have all gone from their joyous shades of green to a spent-looking black emerald.  The flowers, although still mostly brilliant, are showing signs of fading to more muted, classy colors of autumn.  The nearby crops are nearing their peak of perfection, anticipating the harvest that is soon to come.  Whitetail deer are running rampant, seemingly eager to jump in front of any vehicle moving at a high velocity.   Below-average overnight temperatures are leaving behind thick morning fog that cloaks the emerald hillsides in a downy mist. 

     The color of the sky changes to a more brilliant blue, accessorized by full, puffy white clouds. Even the sun seems to be taking a slightly more southerly track across the sky.  Canadian Geese are beginning to put on their annual show, forming themselves into the familiar accent marks, pointing the way toward life-sustaining warmth.  Summer is dying a little more as each day passes, gently escorting us to the next season. 

     Although I may have noticed bits and pieces of these changes in previous years, I have never really had the opportunity to fully enjoy noticing them all together.  I've always been busy being either a student or teacher since the age of 4.  It's amazing to me how all of these changes go on right in front of us, yet we never really think much of it.  It just happens and the next thing we know, we are putting on coats, hats, scarves, gloves and boots, trudging out into biting cold winds and the occasional snowfall.

    In autumn, we enjoy the leaves changing colors and falling off the trees, of course.  But the more subtle changes come and go without being observed by most of us.  When exactly did the sound of singing birds get replaced by the humming of insects?  When did the brittle brown start to take over the succulent green on the cornstalks?  When did the nighttime haze in the sky start to erode away, leaving behind highly polished, brilliant stars?  All of these changes happen, like clockwork, every year.  Sometimes a little earlier, sometimes a little later, but they always happen. 

     It's a magical thing, really.  I'm thankful I get to notice and appreciate all of these changes this year.  At the same time, it makes me realize there is so much more I take for granted.  But I'm not going to dwell on what I might be missing.  It's best to just go through the coming months and years with a heightened awareness and enjoy the new revelations as they come to me. 

"On Quitting"

The link below sums it up pretty well.  It expresses the courage needed to face the heartbreak of quitting something you love.  Doing what's best is not always what feels good.  It can be a challenge emotionally, financially and socially.

Please take the time to read the poem.

On Quitting by Edgar Albert Guest : The Poetry Foundation

Selfish Solitude

Yesterday's message at church was about selfishness. I won't get into the actual message itself, but I will tell you what it made me think about.

First, I started thinking about how one person's selfish narcissism helped to drive me from a career that I worked hard for and cared about.  Of course, I kmow, ultimately, the decision not to fight to hold onto that career was mine and mine alone.  I knew I could no longer be an effective teacher in that environment and, really, why would I want to?

I've come a long way in the past 7 months.  It's really only by the grace of God that I am even still here.  I have been blessed with a supportive family, true friends, a fantastic church family and incredible medical professionals who went above and beyond any expectations I would have had to get me through the really bad stuff.  Most of all, I had an inexplicable peace about the outcome of my situation. 

I have had nothing to rely upon but faith many times over the past 7 months.  I don't know why or how, but my family has been provided for without fail.

With that being said, I have reached a point of forgiveness.  It became a whole lot easier once I figured out what granting forgiveness does and doesn't require of me.  Also, I had to figure out that any expectations I have of other people regarding their behaviors or reactions are really unreasonable on my part.  No expectations=no disappointment=no anger.  Pretty simple, but difficult to really do while you feel like you are fighting for simple survival.

So back to selfishness.  Everyone has it to one degree or another.  As I suddenly realized where I am in my life and wonder what happened to land myself here, I started remembering those first few weeks I spent not working.  I remember how I thought to myself "Everyone else looks out for number one, so from now on, I'm doing the same!"

I knew that wasn't realistic for me to sustain forever, but I had to make a conscious decision to just take care of me.  I am still there for now, although I have tried to toss it out the window a few times.  

No matter how much we like to think that we are not selfish, we all have a little piece of ourselves that we need to preserve. It takes on different forms for all of us, but it is there.  For some people it is money, power, or time or any number of other things. 

For me, I think it is solitude. I like my time alone.  To not feel pressured to act a certain way or have to say anything to another person.  This probably comes from a lifetime of approval-seeking, and I've finally found that to be exhausting.  

Someday I may try to break out of my selfish habit of trying to be alone most of the time. For now, I just don't have it in me to fight it. I need to learn ways to make it less taxing on myself first, like learning to not care so much about what other people may think of me.  I think as I get older, I am slowly gaining an attitude of "So what?".  I just wish I could flip a switch and be there.  

I'm sure I have many other areas in which I am selfish.  This is likely just the proverbial tip of the iceberg. But I've got to stick with one battle at a time. 

Ch, ch, ch, changes!

13 days until school starts in XYZ school district. So far, I've survived a lot of "firsts" since January.  First class picture day I've missed in 19 years, first parent-teacher conferences I've missed, first class party I've missed, first last day . . .you get the idea.  

On August 20, which is in 13 more days,  it will be the first 1st day of a new school year I have missed.  In 20 years. This will be the only year I will pay attention to that.  Only paying attention now because it is the first. 

So, whatever shall I do on that day?   I haven't quite nailed it down yet, but I think it's going to involve being on a beach at sunrise.  

I will admit, for awhile I would get sad thinking about what I've left behind. Even though it wasn't really a choice.  But once I realized that the career I lost wasn't really the same occupation anymore, it helped me to figure out that I might as well celebrate it.  I might as well allow myself to get tangled up in the silver lining of this cloud and enjoy the blessing, in spite of the disguise it was wearing.  Some days this is easier than others, but it's coming along. 

One thing I'm really grateful for is that I won't be a witness to 7 year old kids experiencing test anxiety.   My final year was the first time I ever saw students that young have such a visible reaction at test time.  What was different than the previous 18 years?  I have some ideas, but that's a whole other bucket of worms. 

Another thing I'm grateful for is just having time to process thoughts.  Elementary teachers don't really have that luxury.  They have to be "on" from the time school starts until those buses leave at the end of the day.  Constantly "entertaining" to keep students engaged, while also juggling individual student needs.  Not just academic needs, but also physical, social, and emotional needs.  You gotta try to soothe hurt feelings and boo-boos, reassure Susie that everything's ok even though mom is in jail, give the foster kids extra encouragement, try to give equal attention to the needy, yet not ignore the independent students.  All of these tasks (and more) are done concurrently. 

Teachers do this crazy balancing act for mostly one reason:  they like helping children learn.  The job has intrinsic rewards for those who are there for the right reasons.  

However, the changes that are taking place in education across the United States are eroding the teacher's ability to really teach.  I guess someone somewhere thought the whole learning process can be "mechanized" in a sense.  A lot of other people apparently bought into this idea, although I doubt any if them were real teachers. 

This mechanization idea involves testing kids to make sure they've learned specific standards, tracking progress through data collection and analysis, and making adjustments to future instruction to improve areas of weakness.

Well, that makes sense.  In theory and to a certain point. But then, someone got the bright idea that we could apply this practice to every subject and every test.  That doesn't sound so bad.  Except for one forgotten detail:  kids need more from school than just learning what is listed in the curriculum.  Kids are PEOPLE, not widgets.  Schools are not factories.  We are trying to apply quality control measures to living, thinking, still-developing people.  

Quality control is a great thing if you are producing ice cream or automotive parts: If you get less-than-satisfactory ingredients, you can find a better vendor and then all is well with your final product.  This doesn't work so well in a school setting.  You can't just send faulty ingredients back and demand better from the suppliers.  

If you don't believe me, just try it - tell Mr. & Mrs. Johnson that Johnny just isn't up to par and they'll need to produce a better person if they wish to be considered as student suppliers in the future.  

This is why my chosen profession no longer exists;  schools are expected to find a way to make all children develop and learn the same things at the same times and prove that this forced maturity is being achieved. Of course teachers and schools strive to do their best and prepare students, but is it realistic to think that children coming into school with varying abilities, talents, and home lives are going to hit the same learning benchmarks at the same time?  Talk about pressure!!

So, yeah, things have changed. The concept of teaching and learning that I grew up with no longer exists.  I'm sure many of my colleagues will adapt, some will crack under the pressure and be forced out, and others will just eventually draw the line and decide its no longer rewarding to keep trying to do the impossible.  

All I know is, I am where I need to be and it's not such a bad place.  

Royal Babywatch

Well, the Royal Babywatch drama is behind us and I, for one, am quite relieved that there is now a male heir available to Great Britain.  

Personally, I'm pretty sure the little guy was born weeks ago and Kate has just been working out like a fiend ever since to spare us all the media's next planned drawn-out Royal saga called "figure watch."  You know how they did poor Diana for weeks after Will was born. 

Good thinking, Will & Kate!  Stay ahead of those ruthless story hounds.  

Anyway, I'm pretty sure all those Catholic Cardinal guys were way ahead of the game, too.  It seems like this year's Popewatch didn't last nearly as long as the one in 2005.  Granted, these dudes had some warning this time, since no one had to die before choosing a successor.  I was planning for weeks of watching the smoke curl up out of the little Vatican chimney, trying to discern the actual color of it before getting the official word from the man on the street.  Luckily, most of this broo-ha-ha was avoided and it was all over in a matter of a couple days. 

I'm bettin' with all the technology today, the Cardinals discovered it was much easier to do a google survey ahead of time from their own little part of the globe, then meet on the appointed date for some good-natured Bingo games in the Sistine Chapel basement. 

 Catholic folks:  I mean no offense, and I know you've got a good sense of humor, so don't take it personally.

If this isn't how it was, I think it would have been an awesome approach:  The world gets their bit of theatrical suspense, a new Pope is selected, the Cardinals get to fellowship for a few days of retreat in Vatican City, no harm done. 

I'm not sure what the next "watch" will be, but I'm pretty sure there are some media blitz geniuses working on it at this very moment. 

Stay tuned . . . . 

Invisible Illnesses

Almost everyone knows someone with an "invisible" illness. These are conditions like fibromyalgia, lupus, chronic fatigue syndrome, depression,anxiety and countless others. Unless you yourself have one of these illnesses, it is difficult to impossible to understand the affects and limitations that are imposed upon the daily activities of the sufferer. 

 I am ashamed to say I used to believe that some of these illnesses could be overcome if the person would just work at it a little and stay busy.  This just simply is not true, and I have learned that first-hand.  

The most frustrating thing for a sufferer of invisible illness is knowing that other people do not understand the need to pace yourself and to make choices.  Sometimes choices like do I eat breakfast or fix my hair?  I know I won't be able to accomplish both tasks and still be able to get to work.  Or, do I cook dinner or fold laundry?  I have enough energy for one task, but not both.  

To the normal person, this just sounds like pure laziness.  But it is a harsh reality for those with invisible illness.  When you have the flu, or even just a cold, are you going to be able to keep up a normal routine?  Can you meet all of the demands of a regular day while you are fighting off an infection?  Invisible illnesses are no different in that respect.  

One huge difference, however, is that invisible illnesses are almost always lifelong conditions. So the sufferer really has very little hope that he or she will be able to resume working at full tilt in a few days.  Unlike a cold, invisible illnesses do not go away.  Imagine how you would feel if you knew that for the rest of your life you were going to be dealing with cold symptoms on a daily basis. Really, I mean it.  Stop and imagine it.  . . . what would you have to do differently in order to adapt?  Would you need more frequent periods of rest throughout the day?  Would you spend Friday & Saturday evenings socializing, or would you prefer to spend that little but of precious free time recovering from a busy work week?  

I don't mean for this post to be a bummer, but I really do know what it is to be on the other side . . . the side that just assumes that a person who suffers from an invisible illness could do more if he or she just would.  Now that I'm on this side, I know it isn't so simple.  

If you have not experienced one of these illnesses, I hope and pray that you never do.  But I also hope and pray that you will at least make some attempt at not making false assumptions about those of us who are afflicted.  It's way more debilitating than you think.  

A really good resource is called "The Spoon Theory."  You can find it on www.butyoudontlooksick.com.  It's an incredibly good concrete explanation of this topic.  

I want others to know simply because I just never imagined it would be like this. 

A Viking Send-Off

I wrote those last 4 posts so this post would make sense.  

After all of the fallout from my days of being considered a threat to the children and staff of XYZ Elementary School for showing emotion, and knowing that I am being moved from one season of life to the next by God, I decided it might be kinda therapeutic to destroy what represents all those years of hard work, dedication and sacrifice. You know, really annihilate that ridiculous childhood dream that didn't quite reach the expected conclusion. 

I visited my brother during the July 4th holiday.  And while laying in a tent, near a beach, listening to waves crashing against the shore, it hit me.  I wanted to go do it right then!  But, alas, the one item that represents my ex-teacherhood was 475 miles away. 

So, I began plotting. I want to send it up in flames, but I also want to watch it drift gently away as it disintegrates.  "It" is my permanent teaching certificate. 

Ah, yes, that highly coveted piece of cardstock.

 I started thinking about all the summers I gave up spending time with my then-young son, he was probably between the ages of 7-9, just so I would have enough hours to slide in my renewal under the wire, before the permanent certificate became obsolete.  "But it will be worth it," I told myself.  I wouldn't have to work so hard during his middle school and high school years and could really be there for him as he moved into being a teenager. 

Before that, when my son was between the ages of 2 and 4,  I busted my rear end working toward a masters degree, which at that time, one needed to have to even get a professional certificate.  (One step below the permanent one).  But I told myself "It will be worth it."  I would be able to be there for his elementary school years, help him with homework and other activities in which he might like to be involved. 

I thought about how my son was 6 months old, and I started my first real teaching job, driving almost an hour to and from school, often working until 6 pm to make things perfect for my students.  But I told myself "It will be worth it."  I had a real teaching job!  I had to be good at it. I would be able to spend summers with my son as he grew up and got a little older. 

Thank goodness he had a great dad who wasn't a teacher and wasn't afraid to change diapers and wash bottles.  

So all of this hard work got me to that permanent teaching certificate.  A symbol of accomplishment.  A piece of paper that says "You've worked your way up to the highest credential a teacher can have to prove you know what you're doing.  Now you can just go do it, we'll not trouble you to waste more time in a college classroom."  

Well, that was a long time ago.  I know things have changed. But I worked hard for it and it was mine.  And now, since it is so utterly worthless, I want to do it up right.  Send it to the great beyond in style.  

And that's how the idea was born to let my naive little kid dream go, just set it free on a floating pyre.  May be bittersweet, but what else do you do to move on? 

  I think it's gonna be awesome. 

The Shunning

So, the past 6 months have been what I think of as a shunning for me.  I know it was unintentional.  I know my colleagues were all buried under a ridiculous workload designed to keep them from having a chance to even stop and think "Hey, these tasks and meetings seem pretty stupid and pointless."  I know people had no idea of what happened and were therefore unsure of what to say to me.  

And ultimately, the lack of contact with colleagues protected them from having to answer any awkward questions they may have been asked about my absence. As far as Mrs. Frills knew, only two people knew the whole truth of what happened to Goldie. 

Also, all the time I was not at work, I was not having a luxurious vacation from life.  I was going to appointments with doctors therapists and attorneys.  I was tracking down information to do what I needed to do to protect my family's best interests, since no one seemed to know anything about what I should do in this situation. I had very few days to indulge my own need for rest and escape.  So don't be thinking it has been a picnic!

Which brings me to an important point I need to make:  I am not telling my story to harm Mrs. Frills.  I am simply telling the truth of what happened. No other protection is available to my reputation to demonstrate that I have not committed some horrendous act, forcing me to leave.  

Therefore, I will tell the truth so that I can move on.  Mrs. Frills probably wishes I would keep my mouth shut and go away, but I can't do that.  If I did that, Mrs. Frills would be totally free to continue to harm others in a similar fashion.  

The good thing about this unintentional shunning, was I rediscovered some old friends, had opportunities to reconnect with some great people, and have begun to make some new friends as well.  I miss my work friends, but I know it can never be the same.  I also know that no one wants to be the next "target" by associating with me.

I understand, and it's ok.  

Aftermath and the stunning conclusion

Fast forward to the next morning, Friday, January 18, 2013.  Mrs. Frills called me, with feigned concern, of course, and told me that she had sent to my email a copy of the letter she was sending to my doctor. Great.  

The letter basically painted a picture of half-truths about me and my job performance, then went on to state that I was considered a threat to myself and others.  In addition, Mrs. Frills demanded my complete medical history, blah, blah, blah.  

So these demands led to over $10,000 in medical tests and doctor, psychiatrist and counseling visits. All over a 6-month period.  Which is where the diabetes diagnosis came in, which all of my care providers concur were likely a major factor in my anxiety. 

But now we have a new problem:  Post-traumatic stress disorder. Caused by the incident?  I say yes.  Is there anything I can do about it?  Pretty much not. Thanks, Mrs. Frills. You are freaking awesome!  

And, that, my dear readers, is how I am retired.  

. . . . well! The plot thickens.

Less than 2 minutes after the mysterious verbal flogging of my students by Mrs. Frills, a paraprofessional appeared in my classroom as if by magic.  She sympathetically told me to go take a break.  But not so fast - Mrs. Frills reappeared in my classroom and said loudly in front of everyone present "you need to go home or get yourself together or something, this is ridiculous !"

Well, I may have been in the middle of a panic attack, but somehow I still managed to feel an evil presence as these words were said.  And in the same split second, despite being upset, something told me to run like hell.  I didn't need to be told twice. As I stepped over the imaginary threshold that every classroom seems to have, I knew I would never teach again.  And I was surprisingly relieved.  But still hysterical.  

A few moments later, Mrs. Frills left my classroom, and walked past me, obviously pretending I was not there.  

I made my way to the women's staff restroom where a few minutes later, another second grade teacher, who also happens to be a good friend, but incidentally is also a guy, and also happens to be the union president, showed up to talk to me.  Of course, he had no idea that I was not nearly such a mess until my students and I were verbally attacked.  So he naturally gets the idea that I really have gone off the deep end.  

I urge him to go back to his classroom, not knowing who is supervising his room. He assures me it is ok, Mrs. Frills graciously offered to cover his class so that he could come talk to me.  

Ah, now it made sense.  Mrs. Frills could relieve him to clean up the secret mess she made of me, but could not be bothered to concern herself with whatever had really happened to me before the evil set in.  Ok. I get it. This good friend was specially selected so that the union would be well aware of what a nutcase I apparently was. For the record, it is claimed that Mrs. Frills did not know I was in the women's restroom.  But seriously, where do the hysterical women teachers usually end up??

My friend advises me to go to Mrs. Frills' office to debrief or whatever. I do that and am interrogated about my medical history, medications, as well as being verbally chastised repetitively.  Mrs. Frills told me to go home and not come back for a week and to bring medical documentation back with me.  She reassured me that since parent-teacher conferences were scheduled for that evening that someone would call my parents to cancel mine. 

So I went to my classroom, packed up as much as I could carry and was out the door in 10 minutes. . . . 

(To be continued again)

Well, well, well . . .

It's taken many, many years, but I think I've finally found the focus of my writing.  Turns out this little disorganized blog was not nearly as random as I first believed in the beginning.  Tidbits of truth. The word "truth" being the emphasis. The truth of what I have experienced and what I think about it. Genius! It was so obvious, I just couldn't even pick it out. If it had been a snake, it woulda bit me.  I hate snakes.

So, now that I am unexpectedly semi-officially "retired," I am hoping I may eventually have a little time to kill.   People who know my identity may be thinking "WHAT??? You're only 42. You can't just retire.  How so??"

Here is "how so":  I had the job I had always dreamed about, even as a little naive kid:  teaching other little naive kids.  It was a blast.  So much so, that I did it for 21 years.  Half of my life.  Never thought about doing anything else.  I don't really know how to do anything else.

Then, things started changing.  More and more job duties were being added.  As a teacher, I was kept busier and busier with all sorts of ridiculous new tasks that never seemed to involve actual teaching.  At the same time, my 42-year old body developed diabetes, except I did not know that.  I just kept working and working, trying to keep up with the insane marathon pace set by my employer.

I began having trouble with normal mental tasks, like thinking of words and even difficulty putting sentences together at times.  Anxiety began to set in, although mostly outside of my job and in crowded places.  I had no idea what was going on. I don't know about other people, but my body is not equipped with any sort of "check engine" sensor.

Anywhoo, I struggled through.  My doctor thought I was ADD for awhile.  Finally, in early January of 2013, I knew there was more.  Figured I was crazy and might as well face the institutionalization that I had convinced myself was coming.  Went back to the doctor, and she began trying to find a psychiatrist that could see me.

In the meantime, the principal at the elementary school where I worked, asked "Is everything ok?"  I stupidly told her what was going on, saw no reason to be anything other than honest.  I had never had a problem getting along with "Mrs. Frills."  (Not her real name.  Lol.  I'm not totally stupid, I know you gotta protect the guilty).

Turns out, I should have probably not shared medical disability information with my boss.  Let that be a lesson to ya.  Here's why:  2 days later, I happened to be having a rough day.  It was gonna be about 13 hours long, grade cards needed to be put into envelopes and distributed, valuable planning tine had been robbed of all of the teachers by the sacred, mandatory, 3-day-week grade-level meetings and about half of my 23 students were very needy.  Pencils kept breaking, need a band aid, or an eraser, forgot my reading book at home, blah, blah.  Oh yeah, I also was expected to be teaching during all of this.

I reached my point of being overwhelmed, after my concentration toward my lesson had been interrupted numerous times. So, I shed a few tears of frustration, but was not upset with anyone other than myself.  I just felt helpless to fix so many problems at once.  I continued to try to get my lesson moving anyway.  Then, Mrs. Frills "just happened" to walk into my classroom, and boy, was she pissed . . . . about some trash on the floor. She yelled at the students, never acknowledged me in any way.  Just yelled at my babies for a stupid, insignificant reason, and left. . . .

(To be continued in the next post)