I Am This Woman

I made it through this day.

Today was the last day of a job I’ve had for five years, and change is tough. It’s for the better, in that it will be different. And this change has been two and a half years in the making. But change is, as I said, tough.

What helped the most was not the delicious carnitas burrito I had for lunch, but the love and friendship of at least twelve good and decent people who care about me…

What also helped was me winning at Monopoly today after I managed to put two houses on both Park Place and Boardwalk, and nearly cornered the monopoly on railroads. At one point, I was down to my last $8, but all it took was one opponent landing on Boardwalk and forking over $600 in rent. That was teh awesome.

Never underestimate the power of good friends who know your heart and remind you when you lose the way a little. Never underestimate the sheer brilliance of a good board game.

(A birthday card post or three is long overdue. I will get to that over the weekend. Promise.)

I try to live by the motto in the title. This too shall pass. The good and the bad. It all goes by so quickly. This was brought home to me in the early days of my son’s life, when sleep was a somewhat random event and my day was broken up by bouts of crying, eating and diaper changes. A good day was a day I could take a shower and lather, rinse AND REPEAT.

Those days passed quickly. As I watch the hair sprout on my son’s arms, legs and face, I feel it all too keenly.

I learned somewhere along the way never to wish a day to be over, never to wish that some anticipated event that was weeks off would hurry up and get here. There was bound to be something good about the interim, and the event itself would pass quickly and be over as well. There is something to be learned in the interim, some valuable moment, thought, perhaps in preparation for the big thing. These are ideas that I live by, and for the most part, they work.

Except this week. I’m in my last week of a job I’ve had for five years. Most of the time, I have loved the work but not loved the job. There have been aspects of the job that I loathe, and parts of the job I shall miss. I would go into detail but maybe I’ll save the juicy details for my memoir, or that “tell-all” fictionalized version.

As I move into the next phase, I find myself lethargic, burned-out from stress, underappreciated and unmotivated. This too shall pass, but for once, I wish it would move a bit faster - the goodbyes, the closure, the getting past the inevitable sadness and awkwardness of the whole thing. I’m ready for the good parts, for the new stuff to happen. And I’m ready for the being glad that this is all over now.

But first, I still have work to do, boxes to pack and things to cross off my list.

(31 of 50)

My son has been alternatively-schooled and unschooled 11 years, and in public school for not quite one year. He was in a non-traditional daycare and kindergarten (Waldorf-inspired and Waldorf-proper) for the first six years, then in a charter school for five years that emphasized community responsibility, consensus building, theme-driven multi-year curriculum and individual responsibility.

The one lead teacher he had for the last three years of the charter school was, as it turned out, NOT a good fit for him in that last year, though I didn’t see it at the time (so much other stuff going on). I know better now. My son is what he is, and needs the kind of learning environment that he needs, and a teacher who does not make reasonable accommodations IN A SMALL CHARTER SCHOOL is a bad thing.

We unschooled for six months, exploring together what he wanted to learn, but mostly decompressing from that bad teacher. Last October, I enrolled him in a public school in a move that startled me but seemed to be the right thing at the time. The decision was twofold: as his main educator, I was failing him. I couldn’t find the right combination of approach, topic, method or structure that suited him (including NONE), motivated him. Some dedicated home educators said that I didn’t give him enough time. But the need for change was immediate. And thus as his parent also, I was failing him.

However, when I thought about more and more and more structure, I realized that I did NOT want to replicate school at home. I had a job to attend to, and as flexible as working from home is, it does require one to actually work. The much-ballyhooed “working alongside each other” was not working for us, and having me as the teacher and parent was confusing and stressful for the lad.

Unschooling was not working (at least not fast enough for my son’s well-being); I did not want to do “school-at-home” (even brief attempts at workbooks and lesson plans were met with tears and anxiety). So, why not share the responsibility with others to be the teachers? Oh, hey, there is a system for that. It’s called “school.”

I wanted to see how he would respond in addition to seeing how he would do when pitted against the mainstream school of thought, standardized testing and all that rot. Sixth grade was an ideal place for that to happen because, in reality, sixth grade is pivotal developmentally but not academically. It was a great learning lab for all sorts of reasons. If it didn’t work out, then we could also go back to Plan A, or move on to Plan C, D, E, F…

Sixth grade worked out just fine. Not great, not awful. Just fine. As it should be. He got the full experience of social mores (public school really is a funny sort of island tribe!), teacher nonsense and teacher wonderfulness (esp. librarian wonderfulness!). He learned cool stuff in math and science, and has emerged as bright and skilled in most subjects (completely “meh” in mainstream art-teacher art). He has learned the game of homework completion and the consequences of not doing it and not caring about it. And because of the ungraded foundation he had in the non-traditional schools, he is not a little trick monkey working for The Grades. The numbers on his papers were like weather reports to him, and me, and we dressed and reacted accordingly.

And now we are moving on to seventh grade, and I’m going to take the same attitude: it will be a learning lab. We’ll see what works, and what doesn’t, and if it doesn’t work on a catastrophic level, then we have Plan C, D, E …

So anyone who says, “oh, I can’t imagine homeschooling,” “homeschooling is too hard,” “I bet you got sick of it” or “kids need to socialize with other kids” will get a polite smile from me. Ditto the folks (much more rarely) who say, “public school is evil,” “I would never do that to my child,” or “You’re caught up in the establishment, man!” They really have no clue what we were and are doing, and I don’t have time to fill them in. Join us in the journey and conversation, see all the shades and colors of learning, be a supporter and a partner. But heckling, however well-meaning, will be ignored.

(30 of 50)

First of all, unless I do three entries a day, I am not going to get to 50 by next Sunday, which IS MAH BIRFDAY!!!! yay! yay! I’m not mad enough to try that, or think that it would be worth reading. But I may continue with daily entries until I indeed do have 50.

Secondly, I haven’t exactly been delving into the Deep Stuff. This birthday so far hasn’t seemed to be as momentous as 40 was. 30 was pleasant and rather sad. I was desperately unhappy at 30, and the day was made worse by an unwelcome celebration at work, if I remember correctly. In fact, it is rather funny (both in a ha-ha way and in a peculiar way) that other people assign so much meaning to one’s birthday even when you don’t. 50 is a number. When you are not yet fifty, it seems impossibly OLD. But days from 50, I feel like I’m truly in the middle of something. Not old. In the middle. Busy. Occupied. Booked up.

My creativity has been dampened this week. I’ve felt it sort of lying there in a wet little puddle in the corner, occasionally whimpering and sighing, “Oh please, let’s do something with paint. Or fabric. Yes, with fabric.” And then it slumps down again, just wistful and Edwardian and all want and no have.

I know that by directing some energy over toward that corner, that things will start to flow again. I know that ideas and experiments will be there when I am ready. During our recent trip to see the Prince Caspian movie in the Narnia Chronicles, I found myself drifting off the storyline (some would argue, “what storyline?”) and noticing the clothes. I wanted to remember how the clothes were constructed so I could make myself some cool period clothes, and my son a puffy shirt that looks very masculine and royal. I also have decided to make a mask like the helmets that the Telmarines wore (think Spaniard conquistadors).

The flow is there, when I want to release it. For writing, it’s much much easier, both because the medium is so simple (word processor, blog, keyboard - just start putting words down) and because it’s my preferred and oldest practice. But I also know that when I open some Sculpey, sit down with scissors and cloth, or pick up knitting, the same process is there. With some variations, but it’s there for me when I seek it. That’s one very very nice thing about 50. My creative process is a known quantity, an ever-evolving entity that I’m smack in the middle of.

For you, gentle reader, think today of ebb and flow. How would you map your process? Start in the middle with a work in progress. If you unravel time, where was the inspiration for that item? where were the ebbs and where is the flow? Did you find a flow, or was there something in the way?

It’s Sunday, and for me, I hope it rains because that will be loads of quiet “boring” time inside with books, fabric, yarn and ideas. (The border collie disagrees with me. She must go RUN!)

(24 of 50)

It’s been a week on the new system for sp*m removal, and it seems to be working. I have missed several days of blogging, but then again, one strives for quality not quantity, right?

Although, I am reminded of something a very good friend says (and maybe he’s quoting someone?): “There’s a certain quality to quantity.”

New developments:

• I rode a rollercoaster! Look for actual photo evidence soon!

• Graceful Crow Media has acquired a digital audio recorder with a very easy interface for transferring files into the computer. Expect plenty of nonsense audio soon.
• Yardwork is nearly complete. I will take one more set of interim photos, then the plants go in tomorrow. After that, I hope to have some nice pix with loads of “curb appeal.”
• I had pancakes/syrup for breakfast - a break from my usual high-protein yoghurt, fish or chicken, or chaste bowl of cereal. And I think the pancake coma is about to do me in, complete with catnap and really horrible dream about a friend who rejected me years ago. In the dream, she returned and silently gave me back some knitting I’d done for her. Knife to the heart. Made the pain of losing her friendship fresh again.
• Stupid dreams.
• I’ve received EIGHT (8) CARDS already! SQUEEEEEEEE!

(13 of 50)

While waiting to reach Nirvana, one must stay busy with everyday chores. “Chop wood, carry water” is the teaching that humbles even those on the verge of enlightenment.

The utter necessity of handwork is at the heart of enlightenment and creativity. Having finished up my little movie project, and having watched it a few more times until I was a bit embarrassed of its tone, tired of finding little quibbles that I could have fixed but won’t because it’s too late… I turned my attention to the dirty kitchen. Time to do the dishes, and then do something about those tomatoes that are going to rot.

I made corn tomato salsa in the style of pico de gallo. With spring onions, cilantro and fresh jalapeño. With garlic of course. It was delicious on my humble black bean tacos tonight.

But for me, it was the simplicity of chopping tomatoes, onions, jalapenos. Cutting out the almost woody tomatoey insides, putting the little black bits in the Mother Earth bowl along with the limp and slimy bits of spring onions – taking great care to deal with the seeds and pith of the peppers so that I wouldn’t give myself “the treatment” … it was all sheer pleasure while my mind happily babbled along.

Two thoughts came out of the chopping: 1) cooking from scratch engages all five senses and the mind, and 2) compost is nothing short of a miracle. (The Mother Earth bowl is the designated spot for compost scraps and gets dumped out there almost every day. Almost.) More on these later.

As for carrying laundry, thank Maude for a good washer and dryer because such mod-cons elevate the drudgery of hauling and heating water, hauling and wringing wet clothing to a near-scientific and aesthetically pleasing task.

(Plus when the child(ren) get(s) home, you can point to the folded stacks and say, “Put those away, or I’ll nag you.”)

(10 of 50)

I used to write koans when I was in graduate school. Dealing with really brainy, weighty ideas and analytical thinking all day makes you want to play with abstractions and absurdities. Here are a few.

(A koan is a brief saying or teaching. The more you think on it, the more the ideas bloom in your mind. Mine may or may not fill the bill.)

Wear red when cooking beets.

Tiger balm is kitty bane.

Practice breathing.

(this from my father) Don’t worry about what people think because they so seldom do.

(this from my astronomy prof) Put your money on gravity.

Cooperate with reality.

(6 of 50)

I wish I could wrap up a present tonight for my friend JjFf. A scary day with many tests and medical mysteries and carelessly gawking interested medical technicians.

I wish I could wrap up the biggest stuffed rabbit ever, and send it to her. A rabbit that is about six feet tall and squashy and silky, stuffed with lavender buds and buckwheat hulls, with a sheaf of good wishes from all her friends, visible and invisible. A huge body pillow bunny that she could tuck behind her back on one side as she wrapped her arms around her husband and children on the other, so she could just feel completely loved.

And completely healed from this annoying, worrying and mystifying thing that is ailing her.

All my best love to you, tonight, JjFf. When I find that website where I can order Complete and Palpable Health, I will bookmark it for the both of us.

And the bunny? His name is Jack, but you can name him or her anything you want. S/he is one terrific rabbit!

(2 of 50)

I started thinking about asking the other day, when I realized that I hadn’t gone to work out in nearly a week. I’m not motivated. Even though I get there and within 15 minutes, I’m feeling strong and confident, and all Zen and just one rep at a time about it.

NOT motivated. How does one get motivated? There is no motivation to get motivated. One is already not motivated!

The still small (nagging) voice in my head said, “Ask the fitness director at the Y. Talk to her and say, ‘I’m unmotivated to work out.’” Within the computerized system for keeping track of our machine workouts, there is a button: Send A Message To The Instructor! The pre-fab message was “I have a question.” By just touching the screen, I sent the message and am waiting to hear. I’m not motivated enough to call her. (It may not work as I haven’t heard from her. Or oh no! maybe she’s nmotivated to get in touch!)

So now, I’m going to have to get serious about this, and I’m far too savvy to my own tricks. But I’ll try my favorite answer to questions like Baseball Player’s “why?” (See this entry.)

When asked “why” by a young person, my answer is often “I wonder!” said with just a touch of mystery and appreciation. It works with kids, sullenteens, crabby sleep-deprived college students and defensive continuing-ed adult students. It doesn’t work with all questions. Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar, and there’s a simple answer to “What page are we on?” “What time is it?” Some do not respond well to the perceived-as-sarcastic “I wonder!”

But when said with sincerity and inquisitiveness, it opens up the possibilities, it challenges the brain to search, it kicks one over into creative mode.

Not motivated to work out? I wonder why? Hmmm. Perhaps I should find out. The Y fitness director might have an answer. I even have her email. I am motivated to switch to another window right now and send her a message.

I wonder what it will feel like to have already worked out. I wonder if I can sleep late tomorrow if I work out to alleviate back pain today. I wonder if I’ll come up with interesting blog topics while I’m on the elliptical. Hmmm, it might just be working.

I’ll see you at the Y. Maybe.

I am pursuing a nationally renowned weight loss plan that has Points and meetings and suchlike. In their online tools, they have a recipe builder which says that the following recipe is 3 points per serving. I always eat more than a “serving” which is approximately 1-2 tablespoons. However, I make no claim that this is an approved Plan recipe, um, you know, in case the recipe police are out today.

By combining the nationally renowned weight loss plan’s recipe with that of Deceptively Delicious, and my infamous Killer Pesto (now archived offline, probably 6 pts per serving), I came up with this recipe with far less fat from olive oil and parmesan cheese, which my son said, “tastes the same.” This recipe also works in sneaking vegetables into my kid, with his permission. HUZZAH!

Pesto Schmesto

2 oz. pinoles (pine nuts)

2 oz. hard parmesan cheese, grated (reduce points further by using reduced fat or fake parmesan cheese, but I’d rather eat Real Food and count the points)

1 c. fresh basil leaves

1 tablespoon olive oil (use less to reduce points further; one recipe replaces the oil completely with chicken broth eyes warily)

1/2 c. pureed cauliflower (yellow squash or zucchini puree will work as well)

3-5 garlic cloves, depending on your tolerance and desire for garlic

Salt and pepper to taste

Put all ingredients in the food processor and blend well. Place in pasta bowl and then add boiled, drained hot pasta (rotini, capellini or farfalle are great; whole wheat pasta means you can eat more!). Toss and eat.

Can be frozen ahead. Also good as an additive to eggs, cream cheese or salad dressing, or used as a cracker spread.

The garlic and basil leaves are wonderful as warding off upper respiratory crud and sore throats in this house.