Morning in Meridian

Sunny and warm this morning- we had a great first day on the road.  Our start was later than normal, but it *is* vacation and so why the rush?  And the journey is as wonderful as the destination.  We took turns driving, ate more than our share of snacks, stopped at our traditional stops- the Hardee's in Lumberton, the state-line rest areas (I love free stuff.  You can *never* have to many roadmaps), and creeped through the construction traffic that *always* exists around Florence SC, Augusta-Atlanta, Birmingham.

It was a day for spotting blue things- a neatly folded t-shirt hanging in a tree outside of the Hardees, a random tarp floating through the sky over the interstate- held up by traffic wind, a pair of blue birds playing chase in a field at the Mississippi state line.  Strangest of all though was the suitcase spill right out side of Atlanta- apparently someone split/threw out a box of panties.  Womens panties, all styles and colors, scattered all over for a good tenth of mile or so...lots of them.  Drifts.  The clean-up crews are going to have fun with that!

We stopped to eat in Meridian, and then decided to stay- found a cheap but clean Ramada with free internet and waffles (my requirements).  Cracker barrel last night for dinner- manfood (country fried steak) and a Reuben sandwich for me (yummm.... sauerkraut)... very pleasant waitress who Charles somehow got into a conversation with about college and ended up convincing her to check out online classes - he makes friends wherever we go.  

Right now I am up earlyish- I am not steady with the time as Evie says 8 but we crossed the line and it is seven.  Our cell phones auto correct the time but she doesn't for some reason... I am down in the sunny lobby drinking motel coffee, thinking about a waffle and will diligently check my school emails.  Then I will go wake him up and we will hit the road again- another adventure ahead.

Sunday at the Farm

Sunday at the farm for Father's day~ we all went out there for dinner and a break.  I love going to the farm, everyone sits around and tells stories, then they make fun of me for not knowing how to use the water dispenser on the fridge (True!  I am so 'special' in the kitchen. All my kitchen-based lady skills are gone!), then we walk around the garden.  I take photos of everything- right now is in-between time, lilies are over but those still out are beautiful.  Cream, pink, orange, lemon, deep burgundy, and the bright yellow-orange cannas.  The figs aren't quite ripe, and the grapes are still hard and small, but the blueberries are on the bushes and the corn is taller than I am.  We come home with bags filled with peppers and cucumbers, plums- and, for the manz, candy and sweets.  Cheesecake, chocolate, all of the things I love so dear and can't stay away from (guess who had cheesecake for breakfast even though I once again swore that I was going to 'eat healthy'.  But I am swayed by the fact that it is the first day of vacation-vacation, I woke up late anyway, and when do I *ever* get to have cheesecake for breakfast?)

We are off to Texas now- it is much later a start that I usually favor- we probably won't leave until 8- but I over slept, have to get some school stuff done and all the directions printed off for Grendel. (Even though he knows where everything is, and how to take care of stuff....I'm still a mum).  Charles is sleeping still, which is good because he was so tired last night from being on call and running around at all hours all weekend- his vacation is a week without interrupting phone calls.   And we will have great adventures in an easy manner- there is no time frame so lets just relax and take it as it goes.

The blog may or may not be updated this week- I have good intentions but sometimes they don't happen- but that's ok.   Blogs are for reflecting and I am going to be busy doing- but I promise lots of photos and stories when I get back from our trip.  Happy Travel!

Ado, I Do, You know you Do To~

I make much ado about nothing~ quite often~ and yet, all of my 'ado' results in actions that usually (hopefully) have good results.  (And by the way, I am over my nuclear anger from the other day.  Issue resolved, life goes on, all is well.  But sometimes a full-out meltdown is the only way to go- the only way I *can* go.  Like forest fires, anger serves its purpose.  Enough about that.)

Anyway, Ado.  For several weeks I have intended to give the house a good cleaning, but have put if off due to school, being busy/ tired, and just because sometimes I can't get started on that.  But Tom Podlucky was stopping in to visit on his way back from fishing, and *poof* the cleaning demons came.  It must be understood that I love Tom Podlucky~ and the rest of my family~ dearly, but at the same time I always have a great insecurity about visits.  Why?  Because our house is tumbledown, I get awfully socially awkward, worry about the strangest things (nothing to drink! must go get sodas, something...) and I suppose am just self-conscious about 'presentation'.  This is a puzzle, because I *know* that family is visiting to visit, not to inspect the kitchen sink, but yet I come from a family that cleans *everything* when anyone is expected.  I remember dusting chair rails as a child, painting Sister Sue's closets on summer vacation, Mother moving furniture to dust underneath it, Granny Wrye cleaning with lacquer thinner.  Barbie still takes a week off of work regularly to paint and clean.  And it is not just about the visible- but the dust under chairs, the clutter in the drawers, the rooms no-one ever sees, the lining of drawers, the state of the interior of the onion-bin in the fridge.  Things that no one who visits cares about or notices- yet we fret.

So in my state of ado, yesterday I managed the massive cleaning I had put off forever (well, more or less managed.  Not the rose room or bear's room, and not totally thoroughly- but furniture was moved, floors mopped, sinks scrubbed...as well as cabinet doors.  Curtains were washed, along with the rugs.... but I didn't get a chance to 'damp dust' yet...).  Along with the cleaning, Traveler car - back from the mechanic- was inspected, oils changed, new tire, registered and ready for Grendel to use while we are gone.  And Mr. Owens worked all day, and into the evening.  Much done.

Tom came and visited- we sat in the living room and chatted about all of the going-ons of life in general and our upcoming trip.  I love seeing Tom- he tells great stories, and manages to be both practical-sensible and good-mooded at the same time- no nonsense behind that friendly grin.  He is someone whose judgement I trust, and who I respect highly, and that is one reason why I was so 'ado'- I should not want him to think poorly of me.  Charles was able to take a few hours off (he is on call till Sunday night) and they talked about building things, repairing things, projects and man stuff.  We all went out to dinner at the new Chinese place- it was good when Melissa and I went after they had just opened, but not-so-great last night.....even the frog legs weren't that good.  (And as a measure of our community, they make sushi with *cooked* fish- because no one would eat the real stuff..... so it is kinda like tuna salad or salmon mousse in sushi form. bleah.)  Tom went on to Raleigh, Charles back to work, I stayed up for all of maybe 15 minutes after feeding the dogs then simply collapsed into bed.  Point is- we had a good time once I relaxed, and Tom *did not* care if I had cleaned the onion bin, and much ado was about nothing.  But it did leave me with a marvelously clean house (in places), a sense of a hurdle leaped (we never have company other than Grendel or Melissa- and they have seen the absolute worst of my housekeeping) and a connection restored.  Yes, the house still needs fixed, and more cleaning to be done always.  Yes, the yarden needs mowed and tended to, the porch roof worked on and replaced (storm damage) and everything (including the doggs) power washed.... but did the world come to an end because these things were not done? No.  Does Tom think any less of us because these things are not done? Well, it's not the way he'd do things- I know that- but hey, it's ok.  We'll get it done all in good time, and I hope he enjoyed our little visit.  Will this pattern of ado repeat itself the next time we have a visitor?  Of course!  We all do it, we all will continue to do it, and even at *this very moment* Mother is searching for a helper to move her furniture so she can dust underneath it.  Well, we are coming to Texas this week, and I will be happy to do all the dusting she wants- even the chair rails.

Poison

I get angry.  Sometimes I get very, very angry.  I tend to keep it stifled down, or channel it into something productive, or - eventually- just have a meltdown and let it all out.  But sometimes it is a long slow burn that comes to the surface then suddenly is in danger of erupting, and all I can do is to stay as quiet as possible and hope that it will pass.  But everything feels tight inside, and sick and hot...and my brain just keeps spinning- (and then electric things start going haywire.  Believe what you will, I just know it happens all the time, which is not useful at all when you are trying to get things done).

I'm not going into details here- my anger is a private thing- but I'm hoping that writing will help channel it out, and will help me to understand what happens.  Thing is, I am apparently easy to take advantage of.  I am generous by nature, empathic and hate to see anyone struggle with any problem what so ever.  This results in the urge to take action, to give what I don't have, to forgive things and brush them aside.  To be understanding when other people cannot fill their commitments, or keep their words, to just do their expected job.  Or even just let me alone so that I can do mine.  Time after time I let things slide, I understand, I promise to myself that I will not let it go again and I push all that rage deep down inside and put on my happy face.  My can-do attitude.  My 'don't worry about it- I'll figure something out' voice.  And end up hurting myself- my resources, my energy, my will- and denying myself the time/money/energy that I might just need to spend on me for once.

This is hard because I sound so selfish, and I don't want to be selfish. Or uncaring, unsympathetic, strict, harsh, or any of those things- but enough is enough, and I have to learn how to draw the line somewhere.  One day I might be able to~ today might just be that day.

In the meantime, I breathe in and out, try to distract myself with work and coffee, and am very, very glad that I am not the president with that magic red button. 

(Notice the date- half-way to the apocalypse, almost).

"This is my home..."

On the last day of school, after the students mostly left, I had a few that stayed around to help- Crystal, Ray and Sam (who is a girl), and some ex-students Josh and Jonathan  (Crystal's brother and Sam's boyfriend respectively- Ray is Josh's boyfriend.  They all live together in a happy house, except for Crystal who is here, there and everywhere.)   Anyway, I was glad for the help- they moved textbooks, and cleaned, and Jon even moved the refrigerator outside for defrosting, and then back in again.  They scrubbed away stray paint and other marks.... mostly hand prints.  One of the curious things about teaching, and especially in art (though in other places as well- we just have more stuff that makes it accessible) is the impulse to leave a mark.  It's not from the kids that are not engaged in the class- they could care less if they are remembered- but those who want to show that they *belong* to the space and that the space *belongs* to them.

The art bins- brought over from Pender years ago- are like that.  Certain names come and go, but some of the signatures remain forever:  "T.J. Halstead- I'll be famous someday!" (he is 30 now, and famous enough!).  Jeff's pictures of 'Ms. King, nice and pritty' (Jeff was one of my 'special' kids- he loved drawing me, Sister Wendy the art critic, and all of his friends-) , 'attack of the stick dragons' (Monster, Pepper and Kyle- from their freshman year).   Not-Grendels 'NG' signature which I keep finding in unexpected places, written very subtly (white on white, black on black.  He moved away from us this year- we all still miss him).  Crystal of course- and the previous art-chickas like her (Regina, Lily, Jen, Angelina, Neena- all of the same counter-culture, tattooed/pierced, free-thinking type)...all of the MHP tags.  (The art room- here and when I was at Pender- has been claimed by the Maple Hill Posse forever.  They even had their own dictionary- red cover, of course, at one time).  Kids are funny like that.

Every year though I clean up- it is a ritual of transition, the washing and painting help the kids to move on to life after high school, and also aid in making our separation clear.  We keep in touch, some of them, (behold the magic of facebook), but they don't *need* me anymore- they are grown and gone and it is time to let go.   I paint over without regret, scrubb off happily- the things that remain have either achieved permanence  through material (the marker on the bins lasts forever, the girls all leave art behind that lives in the room- as examples, ambiance, and magic), through subtly (NG's hidden signatures) or sentiment (the drawings by Jeff on the cabinet).  MHP reappears as if by magic- or determination- because I *do* clean it off when I find it since it is gang-related.  But they persist.  

All of this is leading up to the explanation of the picture.  After the kids stayed and cleaned and left, it was time for paperwork, graduation and all of the teacher things.  I hadn't noticed that Josh had painted this on the door to the bin-closet, and when I saw it I was moved.  It says "This was my home, my life began here". Later I found that someone had taken a photo of it on my camera- and this way I can have it, even when it is painted over.  (and it must be~ part of the ritual.  Along with the kool-aid man drawn in chalk by Kade Head, whose parents gave him the first name of Hunter.....so he is forever called Head Hunter....)  But Josh's sentiment is important- and it is *not* about me, it is about the *space* and the *atmosphere*.   In the art studio I have the overarching rule of tolerance, respect, 'peace and love'- which may sound hippish, and I suppose it is, but the main point is that everyone is welcome here- regardless.  I don't care if you are black, white, brown, yellow, red, blue, orange....I don't care if you are straight or gay... I don't care if you are a fundamentalist Christian, a gang-banger, have piercings, purple hair, weave down to your highly decorated toenails or dress in full camouflage.... I don't care if you speak English, Spanish, Russian, Chinese or whatever else.  You can be whomever you choose to be- IF you respect everyone else's right to be that way.  No name calling, no teasing, no meanness. Different is ok.

That is new to many of these kids.  Not the sentiment, but the idea that it is not only said, it is defended.  (I defend it fiercely- I remember being picked-on because I was different, and what type of special hell that was.  It doesn't happen in my class- ever.  And if it does, I become the mama-bear extreme- you do not want to push that button).   Anyway, it gives everyone a chance to be who they are- or at least who they are trying out at the moment.  (Teenagers, as you know, spend quite a bit of time switching personalities until they discover themselves- in my mind, they have to be allowed to do this or they will explode later).  So I think that what Josh meant, was that this was the first place that he was safe enough to be who he was, without anyone telling him that it was weird, or wrong, or actually- making any comment at all.  Sometimes the most powerful lesson is the unsaid- not making a point of a difference, but acceptance *as they are*.  It took me forever to learn this- and I hope to pass it on in some way.

Because I am at a cross-roads point (the possibility of a new job and Rochelle trying to lure me back to Pender.... thinking of what I really want from career and life and all those other deep thoughts- I am starting my transition to year 50 early, but it takes me awhile to process) I have been thinking about these things.  I am extremely comfortable where I am- I have power, a fantastic studio, respect and love- I have the freedom I have earned by hard work to teach as I please.  Do I really want to give those things up to start again in something else?  Something where I will be the outsider until I learn the ropes?  Is it complacency, fear or just plain laziness that keeps me here- or is there another reason?  I know that I have made some decisions- I *am* going to apply for the job (with the full support and cheers of Mr. Owens- even though it would mean him adapting to city life), I *am not* going to Pender- that part of my life is past, and this is my place.  Rochelle and Jerry can re-enchant Pender- I am needed here.   I *am* going to spend more time thinking carefully about what I want eventually- I am still evolving- and, like the students, I need to spend some time in 'trying on' different personas before I shed my skin.

This *was* my home.  My life began here.    (the most important words for me to remember are: was, began.  It is ok to say goodbye, and to change). 

My Personal Pinup

Mr. Owens sleeping on the couch- posed naturally in the best of pin-up styles.  I couldn't resist a picture- and even though it is dark because I didn't want the flash to wake him up, I love it.  On the blog it goes!  He has been sleeping on the couch lots lately- both out of consideration for not waking me up when he is on-call, and because it is easier on his back/knees/everything that hurts.  Which means that I sprawl out all over the queen sized bed, electric blanket happily on high, quilts and pillows piled all around and the cat on top of it all.  Just like Mother, I can't stand to be cold when I am sleeping and require a nest of warm/softness.  This of course cooks the manz, and reminds me of long ago when Grendel first slept in an electric blanket at Mother's house in Pennsylvania- he was little at the time, and woke up dreaming that he was swimming in a crock-pot... funny, funny.

I'm excited this morning- the last days of wrapping up at school (no students! I can get so much done without those pesky beloved students!), the first day of my virtual class (which I should be working on now, but one of my summer resolutions is- me first!  And in the morning that means time to read the news, drink my coffee, share a banana with Bear- bearnanas we call them now-, write, surf and do whatever I please for an hour or so...then time to work).  I am planning ahead for Texas- last night we watched a show on roadside attractions, and are both excited to hopefully find some interesting things on our trip.  That is the only issue with interstates- while fast and efficient, they are kinda boring after a dozen or so trips along the same route.  I still prefer to drive though, and search out wonders on the way- a few of the things on the show I have been lucky enough to have seen.  The shoe-house in York, Pa, the Mitchell Corn Palace... others not mentioned: South of the Border (of course), Jackrabbit Trading Post, Wall Drug Store, the Dinosaur land in Virginia, The Ship on the Mountain (long gone now~) others... I love the wacky stuff.  With luck, we might even be able to find one of the old motels for the first night on the road....you never know. Any way, we are open to adventure, and I am busy thinking about things to pack, places to go, what to bring along.  I love traveling, and it has been 2 years since we have been to Texas.  Can't wait, can't wait!

First Cow of Summer

       Cows.  I don't think I ever painted a cow before, but it is said that people buy cow-art around here, so I thought I should learn how.  This is my first attempt- it is rather small, only 6"x6", but I rather like it.  I used a piece of masonite (one of my all time favorite things to paint on) that had been covered with an old book page full of random farming advice for the background.  It was something I had done long ago then never added anything to, but since one of the subjects was 'Dairy' it was appropriate.  The article itself briefly talks about dry cows and how they are subject to abuse and neglect, because they are no longer producing members of the farm, and cautions farmers to remember to care for these cows as well.  I sentiment that I can agree with totally- I began the cow outside on the porch, after graduation I had great delusions of spending the last bit of the afternoon painting on the porch, but was swiftly overcome with the nap monster.... the cow was finished while watching Ghost Adventures, followed by a show about hidden codes whose name I can never remember.  (and they don't really talk much about codes,  but mostly about masons and conspiracy theories- still Mr. Owens and I learned quite a bit we did not know~ interesting stuff).  Cow is watercolor and colored pencil... it is the first worthwhile thing that I have made in days so I am happy about getting back into the grove.  The total exhaustion phase of transition is over, so now it is time to get back to balancing work + art + summer + learning.
         Yesterday was graduation, and it was the first (except for Grendel's) where I didn't have a kabillion chores to do- I was on the flower committee, but the florist had that all preset up, and I didn't want to deal with ribbons/bows, so I skipped out on it and just watched.  Mr. Owens came along (and received his fair share of hugs- the students love him!) and we sat with LC- the whole thing was nice, the class song wouldn't play and no one thought to sing it (it was 'stand by me' which everyone knows the words to. The first class song that *I* knew the words to and that I actually like- they mainly choose some Mariah Carey or Whitney Houston type song...).  The kids behaved, the audience behaved and were suitably interesting to view (the  'diversity prize' goes to the family that included a female member who was dressed in the veil and robes of the orthodox Islam sitting next to another female family member who was wearing the shortest skirt possible, stripper heels and showing extreme cleavage.  Mr. Owens described them as "united through division" which was fair awesome).  And now it's over.  On to summer!
           So today I have a zillion things to do for the start up of my virtual photography class tomorrow, I need to get various other bits of paperwork in order (bleah), and I want to clean the house- it needs a good, good cleaning.  And of course I have delusions of having time to play/work in the yarden, paint some more, create world peace, start my diet, go for a walk, do *something* about my hair..... to many things.  What I want to do is to drink some coffee and surf the web, and play on project NOAH which satisfies my inner scientist.  And I want to be magically 20 years younger, 40 lbs lighter, and ... well, money would be nice.  I want to have my room arranged at school (it has become incredibly precious to me since there is a chance I may move on next year), my class arranged on line, my paperwork in order, and be ready for Texas.
       I can't wait till our trip- though I worry about the manz back while travelling- graduation tied him up in a knot yesterday, all that sitting on bleachers.  I want to see everyone, and take photographs, and write, and draw... I always have the urge to give presents to everyone as well, but have no clue what they would want (hints would be appreciated).  I love to make things, but fear that everyone is sick of that- and I am sadly out of touch with what little ones like.... there are no direct little ones in my life right now, and Grendel was pleased with odd things (as was I).  Maybe some anti-monster spray or something- I am much better at making experiences as gifts than other things, but I still want to give.... and at the moment, I have a spare cow.   Any takers?

VARGH! AWK! BLEAH!

I'm done.  With doctors, and medicine, and endless appointments that seem to do nothing but cost money. This year- and I *know* part of it just has to do with getting a bit older- it seems like we have done nothing but live at the doctors.  Yesterday was another trip to Wilmington, this time to a neurologist, with dual appointments for the manz and I, as referred to by our normal doctor.  (This doctor *loves* referrals.... don't know if it is because he isn't equipped to do much more than handle primary care, is restricted by clinic rules, or profits someway- probably all of the three combined.)  Anyhoo, to the neurologist in reference to the manz back and my sleeping issues.  

Once found, the office was nice enough- part of a huge medical complex- the staff didn't have much of a sense of humor though.  The doctor himself looked like an old-school scientist (white hair and beard, scruffy mismatched green tweed suit, slightly European accent) and  had a spiel that was the same for each of us.  (performance cue: if treating two patients together, don't use the same jokes in the same order for each person- makes it seem insincere and makes us wonder if you are a robot).  And Yes, I am (and Mr. Owens moreso) big on 'bedside manner'.  Mr. Owens likes his doctors to listen to what *he* has to say, ask questions and then let *him* answer- not rush him through the answers but let him explain the circumstances and context.  Doctors who listen to 'this is what I'll do, this is what I won't do' and are open to working with that- no wild horses in this world is going to get him to stop smoking or agree to needles in the back. Or surgery.  Find another way- he *knows* the back can't be repaired, just want to be able to mange it without pain or injections.  It must be possible, somehow.

As for me, it is the endless sleeping issues.... which, after being pronounced neurologically sound (meaning that yes, I am ticklish, I do respond to pin pricks and my reflexes are off the chain) was indicated to probably be related to sleep apnea, which is quite common. Of course they would like to a sleep lab study- which would be one or two nights plus a days worth of napping- and I agreed but now I'm rethinking that.  For one thing, it sounds hugely expensive, for another I have done my homework this morning on sleep apnea.   Not that I know everything, or anything more than the beginning about it- but it surely sounds exactly like what is going on.  So then I looked up treatments- the first course of treatment suggested is: sleep on your side, lose weight, no smoking (which I don't do anyway), try an antihistamine before bed to eliminate allergy-nose.  Further treatments basically include wearing a type of mask hooked to a machine that pressurizes the air keeping the airway open, oxygen, or assorted surgeries if needed.  Now, I am no rocket scientist, and I already sleep on my side, but I can try to lose some weight, avoid smoke, and take an allergy pill- at least try it for a month and see if that helps.  If it doesn't, then I will peruse other things-  but truth be told (gee- that has become a familiar saying of mine) it has been worse since I've gained weight and been around smoke more, and it is spring allergy season- it can't hurt to try, right?  And Mr. Owens suggested keeping a log of when I sleep, for how long, how tired I am etc. which also makes sense to pinpoint other factors.  In other words, just do the practical sensible thing first and see how that goes.

The good parts of yesterday though included a late lunch date of cheesesteaks, a trip to Books-A-Million for new moleskins for my calendar books, then home where I promptly fell asleep (surprise!) and pretty much slept straight through- except for a glass of tea and an episode or two of Ghost Adventures.  Last night I was sleepy- but also feeling discouraged and down a bit- this morning I am more inclined to just take things into my own hands and see what can be done about it.  It's worth a try.

High Dive

Curious thing happened yesterday- after writing that blog post about dreams, and going to school, I received an email about a job notification.  It is something that is actually possible- I have all of the qualifications plus, all of my teaching benefits (retirement, insurance etc.) would transfer over to it, and there would be a pay-raise involved with the potential to make (much) more than I do at the moment.  BUT (and there always is a but) if I got this job, we would have to move to Raleigh, I would not be in the classroom teaching, and I would be in an office/desk/cubical with a more structured schedule and expectations to at least *look* like a grownup.  So this has me questioning again what I want to do-  I know I could do the job and do it well, I know that I would find it challenging and interesting and that the pay raise would be nice.  I am afraid of changing and then things not working out, of trying to adapt to standards of 'professional dress' (ugh. suits. heels. make-up/hair dos. bleack.) and the responsibility of the position.  And the shift from teaching to administration- which is a good thing/ bad thing.  I am very good at curriculum design, presentations, public speaking, vision and ideas- but I am lousy at phone calls, telling people what to do and delegating tasks.  I assume there would be training involved, and I would be working with someone whom I already know (and like) but the fear of leaving what I know is still present.  Life style change would be different as well- what to do with the house?  (selling it would involve a loss, renting it renovation...) where would we live? (Mr. Owens hates cities.  Living outside the city wouldn't be bad, except for the commute to downtown- and the whole worry of renting? buying? buying with what money? etc.)  Changes, changes and challenges- and nothing that couldn't be done if I got the job, but it is still trepidatious to uproot.  If our house was sellable, it wouldn't be so much of a concern.... or if there was money in the bank.... blah blah blah.

Well, I am going to apply for it.  Nothing ventured and all that you know- and truthfully, I would be very surprised if I am offered it.  Not because I am not qualified, or would be good at it, just because I don't quite fit the bureaucratic mold..... I seriously can't visualize myself as that type of professional.  But still and all, I'm going to do it- at the very least it will give me a chance to dust off and update my cv.

In the meantime, you may of noticed (if viewing online) that I changed the background of the blog a bit.  Not much, just cleaned things up and added the new background (which is a template, not one of mine).  Just thought it was time for a change- I get attached to doing things in a certain way and it can be easier to let them be rather than revise them, taking a chance that others won't like it, or that I will be uncomfortable with the change.  Applies to all of life, I suppose- I like to think myself a risk-taker to an extent, adventurous in many things- but truth be told, I worry far to much about other peoples reactions, and tend to have negative images of myself in some contexts. Sometimes it is just easier to stay in the groove rather than to put a new record on for a test spin- but once in the groove you run the risk of getting stuck repeating the same music.  The risk of becoming stagnant, boring, resigned.  I search always for the compromise between safety and security and being dynamic- taking on new challenges.  I never question my desire to learn and grow, just my competence- I have high expectations for my own performance at anything, and I hate to come in short.  Which creates an all-or-nothing attitude (which is why I don't play games)- either I want to be perfect at something or not do it at all.  If I can't clean the whole house, I won't even dust, if I can't be on a strict diet, I won't even try to avoid food.  If I can't be sure of success, I won't take a risk.  This is not a good way to be, and not healthy- but now that I have verbalized it maybe I can begin to work on it.  What this reminds me of is being a kid and swimming lessons at Bethco- particularly jumping off the high dive.  It took me forever to work up the nerve to do it, but I did it- once.  The anxiety came not from the fear of the water- I have never feared water- but the fear of the height, of walking down that narrow board without rails.  Even thinking about it I get queasy and nervous.... but at the time I eventually told myself : do it or don't, but enough is enough.  So I jumped off the high dive and it didn't kill me.  I didn't like it though- it's not for me- but I tried it.... and that is what I just need to do.  Wish me luck in getting to the places that I need to go~ even when they are up in the air.

Dream Work

I have dreams- big dreams, small dreams, ambitious dreams.... dreams.  I have always had them, and they have changed over the years in format- sometimes in purpose- but the main dream is that I want... Well, let's talk about that.  I don't know what I want, exactly, dream wise.  Or I do but it is hard to put into words, because you have to separate the nut from the chaff.  Like most everyone else, I dream about being financially responsible, having enough money to exceed our needs.  I dream about Grendel finding his true purpose, love, luck, wealth- but those are wishes for him and he is the one responsible for his dreams.  I envision all of those positives, wrapped up in general goodness for my family and friends, my students- safety for myself.  But I do have other types of dreams.

I have never had that big urge to become an 'important' artist, recognized in galleries, vetted at museums, paraded on the cover of Art News. (don't get me wrong, that would be awesome, just not something I put energy towards.  And believe me, the art market takes *lots* of time, energy and savvy.  It doesn't just happen on it's own).  When I was a kid, I dreamed of being a horse (that didn't quite work out- notice I said *being* a horse not *having* a horse).  Then a detective, then I put lots of time/energy/money into science.  I don't consider myself a scientist- but I did become a scholar, and naturalist, and that satisfies that dream.  Turns out it is the knowledge and the naming that I love, the secrets and lore of nature- not the lab.  Though it is fun to play and I *do* love my science glass and microscope.  And knowing cool science trivia.

I dreamed at a time about the American dream, and actually believed in it to the extent that I thought that I would automatically grow up, find a fellow, get married, have a nice house in a respectable neighborhood, a couple of kids- that I would have playgroups and dinner parties, decorate for holidays with abundance, be the mother who has dinner on the table, everything spotless and in it's place, become the hub of the family.  Well, that was a lovely dream but it surely didn't happen that way-  I am gifted with a wonderful child who had a magical growing-up, and I did have my share of love-and-housework.... but the rest of it?  worked out differently.  And I had to wait until I found my love, my Mr. Owens who brings me flowers from the yarden, tells me stories, tucks me in at night, worries about where I am. (which makes me feel cherished, even though I sometimes get testy- I would miss his concern very much....I have never had anyone care so much about my well-being.  It's very nice.)

I dream about other things to though.  I dream about magic and art, success and knowledge, words and colors and making a difference.  I love to learn and have drempt of getting my doctorate forever- but why?  In part it is because of the learning, in part because of the money, in part because I want that title and the awesome regalia with the stripy sleeves and hood. In part because I want to be the next Dr. Wrye (with the Owens, of course- but the tradition is Dr. Wrye).   And because I want to know *everything*.

I dream about teaching.  Truthfully, I *hated* school during elementary through high school- not the learning, but the structure and society.  I liked college the first time around, up at Edinboro, but that was more about learning how to be social and figuring out what I wanted.  I *loved* school third time around at ASU, when I discovered art and teaching and best friend and that it is more than ok to think the way I do.  I liked school fourth time around at ECU, online- the independence and the studio.  I like school ok the fifth time around at ECU, but I dislike the paperwork and am a bit- just a bit- bored with it.  But I'm going for the sixth time around- somewhere- and it is up to me to craft that experience.   Teaching wise, I *love* teaching- not the classroom management, or the budget or that stuff, but the summoning up a lesson, the research and development, the delivery and the action.  The creation and interest- I get excited just thinking about it, talking about it- a plethora of ideas.  Teaching is what I am good at, teaching is what I want to do.

And that brings us around to last night, the presentation of artwork to the new superintendent (who is a nice blonde lady dr. administrator), and the arts council meeting that I was persuaded to attend by Rochelle.  I have been on the arts council in the past, even was the president for a year, and I couldn't stand it.  I dislike intensely administrative paperwork (especially involving legal things like non-profit status, grant management...vargh...headache just thinking about it) and working with the press.  I did like cleaning the depot and arranging displays- this was back before renovation- but it got rather boring.  What I really wanted to do is to teach classes.  Not kids classes, but classes for adults.  Not 'let's paint a flower' classes- someone else could do that better- but classes on creativity.  Mixed media, storytelling, making books, keeping sketchbooks, exploring cultures.... opening doors to all the stories of the self.  That is what I want to do.  I might have a chance to do it- the arts council is restructured (oddly everyone but Rochelle is a redhead. Go figure) and is in cooperation with a local dance studio to share space.  There is a teaching room- it is small, dark and has no water, but it is a space. I can use it for classes- if I can persuade everyone that my kind of classes are ok- that there is an interest in a more creative aspect of community art than the typical traditional art council classes.  The only concern I have is the studio space- the lady who has the dance school is very conservative and sedate, and I know that once students get going (students of any age) they are not.  They tend to get into what they are making and let out certain expressions that are not conservative and sedate.  I get nervous then not about the class, but about keeping everyone happy- reminding myself that this *isn't* school where I am the behavior-police, that these folks are grown-ups (but creation is a risky business, and that sweet little old church-lady might just decide to paint a giant vagina.  It happens, you know.)....

So my dream- one of my big, big dreams, is to have my *own* space, where I can teach others, and others can teach others, and there are not any rules about 'appropriate' expression.  Where it is allowed to include music of all types, fortune telling, diversity of content- traditional as well as inventive. A place to gather all my books, for people of all ages to come and create.... just a place for that.  In order for this dream to come true, I have to work hard at it.  I'm not sure how to approach it- I have had a lifetime so far of academic instruction, practical classroom experience, and enough administrative training to manage the hateful paperwork.... I have a zillion and a half ideas of what/how to teach..... but I need the financial stability to do this and the physical area to make it happen.  One thing I *don't* worry about is students- I know that they will come.

And now I have bespoken my dream which is always the first step to it becoming reality- now I have to pour the work into it, investigate possibilities, have enough trust and faith that even though it may not turn out exactly as imagined, someday it will become.

Omens

Outside my door at school are the nests of swallows.  I have written of them before, for they have been there for years- always returning in the spring to raise their families, and the young always fly before graduation.  I take it as an omen of sorts, the blessing of leaving the nest and going on to new adventures.  The swallows themselves are symbols of faithfulness and voyage, soaring and returning over great distances.  British sailors tattooed a swallow for the first 5,000 miles, another for the next.  They have become popular icons in contemporary art and tattooing, mostly used without reference to the meaning or awareness of the bird itself.  But perhaps I sell things short, and young people are wiser than I know.

People tell me things, always.  Strange stories or observations out of no where, questions, comments, truths. I don't know why this is- I do smile lots, and am accessible I suppose and not afraid of strangers- but I can't hear worth crap and maybe that is why they pick me as well.  They can tell it and it will wash over me like water, and either I will nod politely then walk away when they are done or I will remember it and transform it into part of my story.  Or a retelling.

The past few days this has been happening frequently, more or less- first on Saturday morning, when I was in the farmer store buying dog batteries.  Now our local farmer store (Southern States) sells everything farmish, and is the weekend morning hangout for 'geezers' who stand in the back, drink coffee and talk about whatever farmers talk about.  Feed and pigs and planting and- you would assume- the weather.  Yet this Saturday while I was at the register (which is at the front of the store, and the nice lady that works there always knows what I want the second I walk in the door) one of the geezers made his way up to me.  White haired and farmer tanned, he drank a drink of coffee then asked me if it was supposed to rain today.  The question itself isn't strange, it is the fact that 1). he is a farmer-geezer and knows about the weather  2). he walked up to the front of the store to ask me  3). I do not look like a farmer- on this day I was going to the city with Grendel, so I had on just basic blue jeans, rainbows and my new scientists vs magicians shirt.  Not exactly alluring, but Charles seems to think that the old fellows had a dare to 'talk to the pretty redhead'.  Just like school boys....flattering (if I really believed it!), amusing, but odd none-the-less.

Yesterday it happened again at Wal-mart.  I was picking up frames for school (presentation of art tonight- yuck.  I am not thrilled with social things) and was wandering around looking at a sales rack.  A boy walked up to me- not an old boy, about 15ish, pale/glasses/typical geekish type of boy- nothing that odd about him- and asked me "Do you know about lightning?".   I said "Yes".   He then pointed to the umbrellas displayed above the cash registers- they were open and hung upside down- and said "That's a bad omen.  Umbrellas open inside.  Upside down.  Bad omen."  I said "Yes" and drifted away.   This was strange because he is not one of *my* kids from school (who I would expect to say strange things), he was not with friends and up to shenanigans, and he used the word 'omen' which, in my experience, is not a word often used by that age group.  And the whole umbrella thing- so I looked it up.  I know that umbrellas open inside are bad luck, and found out that if an umbrella falls in a house that murder is near, and some people believe that if you carry an umbrella in a rainstorm that you are more likely to be hit by lightning because of the metal tip at the end.  But nothing about upside down umbrellas drawing lightning.  A curiosity to add to my charrette of beliefs.  

So that is two in two days- today the moon is full and I will wait for the third.  Something about weather and lightning I suppose, and it would be fitting if it was said by a man of middle age (I've had the elder and the youth).  I will keep my eyes peeled and ears perked and let you know~

Glow

Early in the morning I walk out into the yarden- the grass is wet, the air coolish- I would like to say everything smells good, clean but it doesn't.  Today the air smells faintly of the turkey farm down the road, the pumping station chemicals and just the funky-country-fertilized field smell that happens sometimes.  But the doves are calling (one of my favorite bird sounds ever, along with red-winged blackbirds, owls and crows), the spiders are checking their webs for breakfast, the sun isn't quite up yet- everything is soft and damp and green and gray.  Our glads have been blooming- pink, bright red/orange, purple and the lovely strange green ones that we bought on a whim.  The manz picks glads for me, puts them in a ginger jar by the desk.  Other things are blooming as well- the petunias are growing, the lavender has spikes (I am absurdly proud of the lavender for growing so well), the butterfly bushes are yellow, pink, dark purple.  The wild spiderwort opens and shuts with the sun, the roses take turns, everywhere is clover, wood sorrel, other tiny wild blooms.  The morning glories/ moon flowers that I planted- those that grow so well wild, and for everyone else, have yet to do more than shoot up two leaves which are promptly eaten by whatever eats those things..... they won't grow but other vines are running rampart over the yard, trees, porch and invading the window above the sink.

It's been a strange summer so far- early storms, school schedules switched up at the last moment, and I am not quite functioning as normal.  I am sleepy, and my brain simply refuses to complete tasks- it wanders off and away, I forget things, get caught up in nets of others making.  I try to be disciplined, get my grades in, portfolios together, plans for next year, leadership and organization and all of those ducks into a row- but then I find myself one day after exams reading aloud to the class (by request.  M.R. James 'The Haunted Dollhouse'- doing all the accents that I can).  Another day Sara tells my fortune, and I tell Rachael's.  The kids eat minty m&m's and powdery doughnuts and wait for the bell to ring- I mark time and think of projects but then go home and take a nap.  Watch tv with the manz, not even drawing or sewing.  Spend all day Saturday with Grendel- he takes me out for belated Mother's Day, lunch at Ruby Tuesday's, double movies.  We take George to the reptile check and Grendel decides to give him over to the rescue people- George has an eye infection and needs care that we cannot give him (who turns out to be a her... no car, no vet.)  Sad but for the best, and I am grateful that Grendel has the wisdom to choose what is best.  I go home, eat church-ham (brought over by the folks) , forbidden brownies, go to sleep again.

This is transition time.  I am at once slow and lazy- recollecting my energy- and full of ideas, ambitions, plans.  For example right now I know that after writing this I must work on my virtual school photography class stuff (summer teaching, it begins Monday-week), get the rest of whatever together for my summative tomorrow, go to Wal-mart and purchase the frames for the artwork for the superintendent.  (For some reason I can't stand framing artwork- it does look better, but is expensive and difficult- to me- and I always try to make my own art to where it doesn't need framed).  I want to clean the house- dust and vacuum, sort and wash, scrub down floors and let the sun in.  I want to get out into the yarden and pull weeds, cut and trim, name flowers.  I want to work in the new book that I've started, paint and draw and carefully record information that I already know but want to put down again.  I want to check off this to do list, give the stinky doggs a well-needed bath, get those ducks in a row.....and I get excited about all these things, eager to accomplish them- but then, when I go to actually do them, its like moving through molasses and I just want to sleep. curious.

But today I am feeling ready to do- so I am just going to begin walking and see where this takes me.  Hopefully to the end of the road, ready to regroup and start again, out in the dawn of the next new day.